Red Hourglass (14 page)

I half-reluctantly grabbed his arm and struggled to walk straight as he led me out of the building.

* * *

I checked Google News Monday morning and clicked on a story about the company. The headline read: “Wilmar to acquire more buildings around Manhattan.”

“Taking more interest in the business?” asked an authoritative voice from behind me.

I almost jumped out of my seat. I looked over my shoulder and Conan was standing in the doorway.

“Just curious,” I said. My hand was trembling as I closed my browser. “I don’t want to be a secretary forever, so I figured reading the business news is a good place to start.”
Get a grip girl. Bosses want their staff to be informed about the business. He has no idea that you’re on a mission for one of his enemies.

“We have to inspect a new place tomorrow night. Be ready by seven.”

“Okay. Uh … I was a bit tipsy last night. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” He smiled. “I enjoyed it.”

“Yes sir.

“Why are you calling me sir?” he asked as he went back into his office.

What’s wrong me with me
?
Why did I call him sir
?
Was it something subconscious
? I went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face.

* * *

The next night, after everyone else left the office, I changed into my black velvet halter top evening gown with the plunging neckline and high slit. I took off my glasses and applied a light foundation, eyeliner, and red lipstick.

Conan came out of his office just as I got back to my desk.

“You look stunning,” he said. “That dress really shows off those legs of yours.”

“I like dressing up for you … just as I like seeing you dressed well for dinner.”

“Is that so?” He looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “You surprise me Scarlet.”

“I feel the same way Conan.” I tilted my head and looked at his strong, rectangular jaw.

Our eyes locked and the intensity between us was burning my skin. I felt electric currents running through my hands, into my body, and down my legs.

“Let’s go,” he said, glancing at his watch.

The limo dropped us off in front of a building and Conan’s bodyguards tailed us inside. He did his usual—chatting with the on-site security guards, looking around, and using our date as the pretext for being there. He checked the emergency exits before we headed into the restaurant.

The restaurant had different themes throughout the week and we were there on Egyptian Night. We dined under the chandeliers in the plush surroundings as a belly dancer danced between the tables.

“Your little shopping spree at Lawrence cost me thousands,” said Conan after we’d finished eating.

“Is that a problem?”

“No, not at all.” He smiled. “People aren’t equal. What we wear is a sign of who we are in the hierarchy.”

“What do you mean people aren’t equal? What hierarchy?” I’d scavenged like rat in the subway and his words angered me.
I’m a human being no more important or less important than anyone else
.

“You either lead or follow. That’s a universal truth. I’m the commander and I subjugate those under me. I have to dress the part, and when you’re out with me you have to too. Anything else just won’t do.”

“I see. I’ll remember that next time I go shopping with your card.” I was appalled.
Does he think he’s superior to everyone
?
Does he look down on me
?

“Touché.” He raised his glass at me and winked before finishing his wine.

The waiter poured more wine and I started talking about work. I didn’t want to hear more about his
superiority
. Conan was enjoying the Cabernet Sauvignon, and the waiter kept refilling his glass. He was beginning to slur ever so slightly, and I knew this was my chance to learn more about him.

“Conan, what happened when you were young?”

“I was bullied pretty badly in the orphanage.” A sad smile crossed his lips and he looked down. “I started lashing out when I was a teenager … and I hung out with a bad crowd. I was eventually kicked out of school. I was a very different person back then.”

Now I understood why he could go from Mr. Nice to Mr. Not Nice in a split second. He didn’t have a good start in life.

“Is that why you chose to go to West Point?”

“I don’t think I really had a choice. It was necessary if I wanted to turn my life around. I don’t do well in unstructured environments, or with unpredictable people. But you Scarlet,” he stroked the side of my cheek, “you know what I want.”

“I try.” I smiled. “Conan, you can always talk to me about anything … if it helps.” I knew he longed for someone to understand him and I wanted to understand … for myself, not the White Queen.

“Thanks Scarlet,” he said with a forced smile. “We should go to El Tango Milonga some Friday.”

“I’d like that.”

“It’s a date then. We’ll go this week,” said Conan as he downed the last of his wine.

Tango

On Friday night, I changed out of my work clothes into a knee-length maroon dress. I put on a blazer, hoping not to attract any attention as I left the office.

Christophe was standing outside the bathroom door and I bumped into him.

“Are you waiting for me or something? What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Where are you going all dressed up like that?”

“Uh … somewhere. Can you please move?”

“Are you late for a date with your jerk boss?” He leaned toward me.

“Um …” I said, taking a step back.

He followed me into the bathroom and backed me into a wall.

“Christophe, that’s none of your business.” I felt the icy porcelain tiles with my fingertips. I tried scrambling along the wall to get around him but he just moved with me.

“Where are you going tonight Scarlet?”

“You’re acting creepy. Will you please just let me by?”

“Scarlet, I thought we were friends,” said Christophe, stepping closer and pinning me against the wall.

“I’m warning you, get out of my way or you’ll regret it!” I screamed as I leaned over to reach for my blade.
I hope this doesn’t turn into a bloody mess
.

Conan stormed into the bathroom. “What the hell is going on here?” He grabbed Christophe by the shoulder and threw him into a stall. “What’s wrong with you Christophe? Don’t ever pin a woman to the wall! Scarlet, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I said. “Everything’s okay. It was just a misunderstanding. Let’s go.”

“Are you sure? I can’t have a sexual predator working here. You have to tell me what he did,” said Conan.

“He didn’t do anything and he’s not a sexual predator. He’s just awkward around women. Can we please get out of here?”

Conan took me by the wrist and dragged me away like a rag doll. Christophe walked out of the bathroom after us and I looked over my shoulder at him. He was being weird, but I knew he wasn’t a threat to anyone. Anyway, he was the one in danger, not me.

“Where are your bodyguards?” I asked Conan as we got in the limo.

“I gave them the night off. Don’t tell Kelvin.”

We pulled up outside El Tango Milonga, a tango social club and school. The club was dimly lit in a red neon glow and the walls were decorated with hand-painted Venetian masks.

“You look ravishing. That’s the perfect dress for a night of dancing.” Conan’s long fingers swept across my cheek and lifted my chin. “Do you know how to dance the tango?”

“No. I don’t know a single step of any dance,” I lied. I knew how to dance solo, but I’d never danced with a partner.

“Don’t worry. Mrs. Anderson will show you the basics. She’s a great teacher. First, we have to get you a pair of tango shoes.”

An extensive selection of tango shoes was displayed against one wall. The long shoe racks reached all the way up to the ceiling, and most of the women’s shoes had, at least, three-inch heels.

“Aren’t these heels a little too high for dancing?” I asked a woman behind the counter.

“They help you dance gracefully,” she said. “The shoes take a little getting used to, but they’re comfortable once you break them in.”

I put a pair of blood-red tango shoes on my tiny feet. The leather was stiff and the straps tightly bound my ankles, but they fit well. I stood in front of the full-length mirror and turned in a semi-circle to see how they looked in back.

When I turned around, I noticed Conan’s reflection in the mirror. He couldn’t take his eyes off me. He walked up behind me with a smile and squeezed my waist, sending tingles down my spine. We looked like we were made for each other. I knew we had no future and I wanted to freeze time. In that moment, we were perfect together.

“The shoes look good on you,” he said. “Maybe you should wear them to work sometime. I’ll pay for them, and then we can get a quick bite to eat before we start.”

We sat down at a table on the edge of the dance floor. The table was covered with a crimson tablecloth and there was a candle in the middle, next to the wine list. I ran my fingers over the dinner knife. The blade was dull, but it could still be used to kill.

A Latino waiter handed us menus. I watched the dancing couples as Conan looked over the wine list.

“We’ll have a bottle of Argentinian Malbec,” said Conan.

“Yes sir,” said the waiter.

“Do you like tapas?” Conan asked.

“I’m not familiar with tapas.”

“They’re sort of like little appetizers. I’ll pick some for us to share.”

“Okay.”

The waiter arrived with a bottle of Malbec. He filled the glasses and took our order. I had a sip of wine. It was velvety and full-bodied.

A couple was dancing across the floor. The woman’s eyes were closed as the man led her around in sync with the music.

The waiter returned with tapas in small bowls. Everything was delicious, but I particularly enjoyed the button mushrooms with olive oil and chilies.

“Look at the woman in the orange dress,” I said. “The precision of her toes … landing in step with the music and the man. She’s very impressive.”

She was a middle-aged woman with graying hair. Her bright lipstick contrasted with her pale, wrinkled skin. Despite her age, her body was fabulous. She glided across the dance floor as her partner led her in a series of steps and turns in time with the music. Her long, thin legs moved like fast fingers over the keys of a piano.

“She’s a good dancer. Do you know her?” I asked.

“Yes. That’s Mrs. Anderson, the tango teacher.”

“How long have you been dancing tango?”

“Forever.”

Mrs. Anderson smiled in our direction and walked over to our table.

“Conan, it’s been some time since I’ve seen you,” she said.

“Mrs. Anderson.” He stood up and kissed the back of her hand. “I’d like to introduce you to Scarlet. She’s new to tango.”

“Nice to meet you Scarlet.” Mrs. Anderson smiled.

“Nice to meet you too,” I said.

“Is this your first time at Milonga?” asked Mrs. Anderson.

“Yes. I’ve never danced the tango.”

“Let me show you some steps.”

Mrs. Anderson took my hand and led me onto the dance floor.

“First, you’ve got to loosen your arms … lose the tension. Do this,” she said as she shook her hands and rolled her shoulders.

I shook my hands and rolled my shoulders.

“Good. Now hold me like this,” she said as she put my hand in the middle of her back. Then she put one hand behind my back and the other against my palm. “Just follow the shift of my weight as I move.”

I followed her as best as I could. Conan watched us with an intense focus, studying my movements and occasionally sipping his wine. After an hour or so, I’d picked up some basic tango steps.

“You’re a fast learner Scarlet,” said Mrs. Anderson.

“I’m trying my best.” I felt like I was just fumbling along. The dance looked simple, but it was difficult.

“You’re ready to dance,” she said, putting my hand into Conan’s. “Conan, bring her back for my regular class. We wouldn’t want those beautiful heels to go to waste.”

“I will Mrs. Anderson. Thank you.”

I felt a connection with Conan the moment he put his hand on my back and started to lead. There was a rush through my veins and all my muscles contracted.

“Don’t be nervous,” he said. “Loosen up and softly squeeze my hand.”

I breathed deeper and relaxed. I felt like a child learning to walk.

“Better,” he said. “You’re doing fine. Just follow my lead.”

He gently held me as we glided around the floor to the passionate music. Our chemistry was electrifying.

We returned to the table after our first dance. I wanted to hide away in a corner out of embarrassment, but I drank wine to calm myself.

“Scarlet, it takes practice. You did well,” said Conan.

“Thanks, but I’d obviously need a lot more lessons to be anywhere near as good as the dancers here.”

“Probably, but don’t worry about that. As long you know the basics, that’s good enough for me.” He rubbed my back with his strong hand. “Have some more wine.”

“Good idea,” I said, taking another sip. It steadied my nerves and I wanted to be back in his arms. “Let’s dance.”

I stood up and pulled Conan onto the dance floor. I could no longer deny that I was falling for my target.

* * *

Conan and I began spending Friday evenings at Tango Milonga. I attended Mrs. Anderson’s class for an hour before the dance social.

Sometimes the dancers at the Milonga swayed in circles. I could spend my life watching them. I learned that tango was based on technique and emotion. I didn’t connect with it at first, but after a few sessions I felt closer to the dance … and to Conan. The Argentinian music lit a fire in me that burned on the dance floor.

Conan was supportive during my lessons. I was uncomfortable dancing with other men, and he volunteered to dance with me so that Mrs. Anderson could watch and give me pointers. Conan smiled more when he danced. It seemed to be when he was happiest. We didn’t need words to communicate when we were dancing.

“You’ve gotten a lot better,” Conan said one night after class. “I’m glad you like dancing. We have something in common besides work.”