Adam's Apple (Touch of Tantra #1) (7 page)

“Why the fuck would Simon do this to us?” Tom has moved to the edge of his seat now.

Stunned disbelief registers on both Tom’s and Patrick’s faces. They are having as hard a time as I did believing that Simon would betray us and the company.

“He’s been acting weird since his fiancée dumped him. I tried to get him to talk about it. But you know Simon, he keeps everything to himself. None of us has even met her. At times I wondered if she existed,” Patrick says, attempting to make sense of Simon’s behavior.

“I agree with you, Patrick. I’m angry as hell at Simon, but something doesn’t add up here,” I say, echoing their incomprehension. “Simon wasn’t close with us. Nothing like we all are, but he’s not close with
anyone
. We are likely the only friends he has.”

“I’ve been at a loss, too,” Tom chimes in. “Being so distraught over a woman that he turns on his only friends just doesn’t seem like Simon’s style. Not that he really had one, but this betrayal is something I would’ve never expected. Not in a million years.

“Carl emailed me last night with the rundown of Simon’s departure from Kings.” I continue explaining the situation to them. “Yesterday afternoon, Carl told Simon he was needed on the main floor. Simon dutifully followed. When they approached the main door, a lobby guard joined Carl. Simon was then told to hand over his company ID, corporate credit cards, and his Blackberry. Simon briefly protested but Carl presented a copy of the Talcott email. Simon offered no resistance at that point. I actually watched Simon leaving the building from my SUV as Carl escorted him out.”

In my rundown I fail to mention Simon’s approach to my vehicle, his rabid eyes filled with hate, and his finger that traced across his neck. When my mind repeats the scene from yesterday, it feels more like I’m watching a movie rather than replaying an actual experience in my own life. Tom’s voice brings me out of the horrible vision.

“Where do we go from here? How are you planning on handling the public exposure with his departure? Our investors are gonna shit. Wall Street, too.” Tom brings up the points we need to discuss. Nothing surrounding this whole debacle is going to be easy.

After almost two hours of debating and discussing the void created in our company with Simon’s departure, we decide on the best direction with the media and attorneys. We all agree Patrick will step in and take Simon’s place on an interim basis. Patrick will have his second in command take over his position as Chief Financial Officer.

When the meeting finally concludes, I’m exhausted. Tom and Patrick head to the door to exit my office. Their shoulders are weighted down, and there is a little drag in their steps. Simon’s betrayal will take a long time for us to work through. Forgiving and forgetting aren’t likely to happen any time soon. But we all want to know what led Simon to stab us in the back.

The door shuts behind Tom and Patrick as they exit my office, and I'm left alone. Solitude surrounds me.

Ms. Carter notifies me when Peters arrives. I close my laptop to give him my undivided attention. It's an appointment that occurs every day, rain or shine, here or via phone. I have tabs to keep up on and people to monitor. Today, however, my focus shifts to Kathryn Delcour.

I'm anxious to know what Peters has learned about her. Details are what I'm looking for. I wipe my sweaty hands across my trousers, stopping as I realize that for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, just the thought of Kathryn Delcour has made me sweat.

"
Damn her,"
I angrily mutter as Peters walks in and takes his usual chair.

"Did you say something, sir?" Peters lifts his brow, looking at me quizzically.

"No, no. I'm fine." I’m quick to dismiss his question. "What do you have?"

"Which would you like first, Kathryn Delcour or the daily X report?" Peters motions with the two folders in his hand.

"Anything new on the X front?"

"Status quo. Let's say the wheels are grinding slow, but still exceedingly fine," he tells me with a hint of a smile on his mouth.

"Let's skip that update for now. Just give me the folder and I'll look it over later. I'm really interested in what you found on Kathryn Delcour."

Peters opens the folder marked
Delcour, K
. "I made two copies." He hands me some papers. Kathryn's information I presume.

"I conducted an intensive and thorough due-diligence report and also called in a special favor from our friends at Sprint." I smile remembering Peters’ ability to skate the law.

I start at the top of the list.

SUBJECT:
Kathryn Marie Delcour

DOB:
February 15, 1979

Age:
34

Spouse:
Jean-Paul Delcour, June 21, 2009.

Jean-Paul Delcour, Olympic silver medalist, deceased, Feb. 14, 2011. Death
ruled

accidental. Result of a skiing accident in the French Alps.

Education:
Dalton School, 1998

Barnard College, 1998-1999

Sorbonne, Paris, France 1999-2002

Université Paris Diderot, PhD in Psychology 2008

Address:
997 Fifth Avenue #12A (Upper East Side)

New York, NY 10001

Sold for 6,499,000 on 10/13/2012

No mortgage lien

Yearly common charges: $19,229

3 bedroom/2 ½ baths

Previous address:
*732 Rue du Bastille, Paris, France (17th Arrondissement)

Business Partnerships:
The Spiritual Touch, LLC. New York, NY

Website:
THESPIRITUALTOUCH.COM

Kathryn as a young widow is hard to reconcile in my mind. Her marriage to an Olympic athlete was short-lived, just a couple years before he died. I imagine a tall and handsome man with her on his arm, both smiling. My fingers want to enter his name into my computer and search. Jealousy perhaps? Or maybe I’m just intrigued and want to learn more about the man who once held her heart.

Looking at her New York City address, I realize we live only a few blocks away from each other on Fifth Avenue. Surely, she used family money to purchase her apartment. How else could she afford such luxury?

But my reading stops when I reach the name of her business. I wonder what the hell type of business this woman operates.

"I need more details on this business of hers." I look directly at Peters. "Sounds like a seedy massage parlor’s name to me."

"I thought the same thing and expected your response, so I did a little more digging. It’s all in the report. Ms. Delcour is a certified Tantra teacher. According to her company's website, she left a successful practice as a psychologist in Paris after experiencing the…" Peters pauses to read from the papers in his hand, "'Freedom, sensuality, and healing power of Tantra,' whatever the fuck that is, sir. It seems she took up this practice after the death of her husband, a Giant Slalom silver medalist. She recently moved back to New York City, opened this business, and does whatever the hell Tantra teachers do."

"That's what she meant by teaching men to 'fuck women into oblivion.' Tantra is a sexual practice taken from the Far East, I believe, and teaches some new age type techniques. That sums up my limited knowledge." I sputter the last sentence then mumble, "I plan to find out more, though. And here I thought she might have been referring to her own
personal
lovers." Kathryn’s comments being semi-professional make more sense. Now I want to learn more about Tantra as I’m completely intrigued.

“Peters, you mentioned calling in a favor from our cell phone company. I'm hoping it has something to do with GPS." I find myself on the edge of my seat, anxious to hear his response.

"Exactly. I have her cell phone’s GPS tracking. I emailed you an app for it. Click on the link, then download it to your phone, and you should be good to go." He points to my phone lying next to me on the desk. 

"How did you know I would want such an intrusion into her personal life?" I stare at Peters, unflinching.

"Call it a hunch, but other than your birth father, you've never asked for someone's background unless there's a business connection. And this request seemed personal. Am I right?"

"Spot on as usual, but that's what I pay you for—getting it right." Peters smiles, satisfied.

"I have what I need for now," I conclude while browsing over the documents from Peters. “But keep digging. I’d like to find out more about her switch to Paris for schooling. What made her leave New York City? Email me anything you find that adds to this report. That’ll be all for today.”

Peters takes my cue and leaves me rustling through the papers of Kathryn's report. She's become less of a mystery but remains a puzzle to me, so I carry on, hoping to learn more.

Her education reflects her pedigree: all elite schools. One year at Barnard and then finishing her studies in Paris is unusual. I hope Peters can find out more about her transfer. Having visited Paris many times, imagining her there isn’t difficult. A beautiful young woman buried in her books while driving the young boys crazy.

I pull the first paper of the report back out of the pile and lay it on top, finding the web address for her business. I open my laptop and punch in the address, my fingers flying over the keyboard. On my screen pops her homepage with her picture sitting to the middle right of the page.

Fuck, she's smiling in a rather coy fashion, with a trace of seduction behind her eyes. Beautiful. She is simply breathtaking. My eyes can't even leave her face to read the words on the screen. I could really care less right now.

Acting on an impulse, which I never do, I set my mind on a course of action and get the wheels in motion. I’m going after her today, as in right now. I believe it’s time to act on Mrs. Swanson’s motherly advice and persuade the beautiful Kathryn to have dinner with me.

"Ms. Carter. Cancel the rest of my meetings for today. Reschedule the conference call with the investors for tomorrow. Tell them I’m,” I can’t think of a good excuse, because I never cancel calls like this one. “Oh, hell, make up a believable excuse. And inform Tom Duffy that he and Lois will be attending tonight's fundraiser for the New York Public Library in my place.” Lois lives for going to events where celebrities and New York’s elite mingle. A night out on the town might be a good thing for her, and Tom, as well.

"Yes, sir. Anything else?"

"Hold all my calls this afternoon. I don’t want to be disturbed. Only notify me if something is code red urgent.” I hear her affirmative reply and text Eddie to meet outside my building in twenty minutes.

I grab my Blackberry and open Peters’ email containing the GPS tracking app for Kathryn’s phone. The download appears to be working smoothly. I wait for the blue dot to display on the screen and grin wickedly when I see it appear.

I have a Fifth Avenue address to stalk.

***

The sunny weather's pleasant this afternoon with a light breeze blowing through my hair. I'm thankful it’s not raining like yesterday as I lean against my shiny black Escalade illegally parked in front of 997 Fifth Avenue. I have removed my tie and loosened my collar, but my suit coat remains. I place my hands in my pockets after checking my watch and Kathryn's blue dot again.

I’ve been here for several hours now waiting for Ms. Delcour. Searching the Internet on my phone while I stand around, I start exploring the world of Tantra. It’s some wild shit. The more I learn, the more I become confused. I switch to Kathryn’s GPS app again and notice the dot has moved slightly but not from the address I’m staking out. Hopefully this slight change means she’s finally leaving her apartment. I’m not sure how much longer Eddie can stay parked here. Traffic is becoming heavy as the rush hour nears.

I focus on the building's doorman. Any movement from him signals a resident's eminent exit from the building. He seems relaxed and jovial when he speaks to the residents as they come and go.

The doorman cracks his biggest smile yet and reaches for the door to let someone exit. I hold my breath. My heart begins to race because I know without a doubt who it is the second she appears in my line of sight. It's Kathryn with her face turned toward the doorman. She gracefully tosses back her head and laughs. I can vaguely hear her from where I stand.

She places her bag on her shoulder and starts to stride my way. I relish in the sight of her, observing her unnoticed for now. Tousled, wavy hair. Tight-assed jeans tucked in tall, black leather boots. Her hips have the sexy sway I noticed from last night. She looks up midstride and stops when she sees me.

Our eyes connect and she appears shocked or maybe confused. Rightly so, I would have never done this with any other woman. Judging from her wide blue eyes, she knows it, too. My appearance is unexpected, but after a quick moment she appears rather amused having processed I’m here for her. She lowers her head briefly before raising it again. Maybe she needed to look away and make sure she was really seeing me.

I feel my smile turning into that sexy smirk, my trademark expression when I’m attracted to a woman and on the prowl. I stuff my phone into my jacket pocket since I don’t need to track Kathryn anymore. Instead I watch her approach as my presence becomes clear to her.

Goddamn, she’s a sight to behold. Seeing her finally walking toward me was worth the long wait. My heart continues to race in anticipation as she draws closer.

Kathryn stops and stands in front of me. A sparkle in her eyes shines at me, and only one word describe the goddess in front of me: breathtaking.

She starts to speak, but I still her ruby lips by placing my index finger across them and mouth a simple and quieting word to her.

“Hush,” I whisper. I remove my finger now that her lips have stilled.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Delcour. Lovely day isn’t it? Glad you decided to leave the confines of your apartment. I was wondering if you had plans for dinner. Could I interest you in something to eat?" I pause and watch her beautiful face transform from shock to amusement. “Just following up on your mother’s suggestion.”

"Cut the ‘good afternoon’ crap. You really are something, Mr. Kingsley. Standing here waiting for me as if nothing seems out of place." She snarls out a laugh. "I’d ask how you found me, but at this point I have a feeling you know everything about me anyway. Probably even down to my bra size and favorite cologne." Smirking, she walks closer, almost touching me. A preferable position.

"That's easy. D cup. Shalimar, and you’re a Tantra instructor." The bra size and perfume guesses don’t faze her, but she appears surprised or maybe a bit uneasy when I mention Tantra.

“Oh my God, you
do
know everything.” She knits her brow and shakes her head at me in disbelief.

"I confess to knowing a bit about you, but I still don’t know the answer to my question: Dinner?" Raising my brow, I smile encouragingly at her. Usually this combination wins me the right answer, but with her everything is up in the air.

"Well, Mr. Kingsley, you're pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?" She laughs and I nod in agreement, knowing it's one of my innate traits. Insecurity isn’t a feeling I experience, and the lack of it has served me well. "But don't you think it's a little early for dinner? It's New York City. No one eats dinner before seven."

In an attempt to distract me, she runs her fingers down my suit coat's lapel. This woman does have a thing for suit coats, and I make a note to remember this little detail. I notice a gold Cartier watch sitting on her thin wrist as her hand pulls away from me. It seems she
prefers the finer things like I do.

"If I know your cup size, surely you can call me by my first name."

“I’ll have to think about that request, Mr. Kingsley. One thing is for certain, though, I won't be going anywhere in that car with
you
." She points to the black metal I'm still leaning against, and disappointment hits me, hard. Rejection isn’t something I’m used to hearing from the women I’m chasing. Then again, I can’t remember the last time I chased a woman. Usually they’re drawn to me like magnets.