Three and a Half Weeks (23 page)

But this man, Daniel Butler? Whatever
it
is, he has it in spades. He’s golden, but not fair, with blond streaks throughout his brown hair and a bronze skin tone that nearly matches. Piercing light green eyes that have incredible depth peer out from thick lashes, and his physique, well, I’m not going to even go down that road because Ian is watching me ogle him and that can rapidly deteriorate the situation, making my night ugly. I lightly grasp Daniel’s outstretched hand and murmur, “Likewise,” and drag my eyes away, focusing them back on my own hottie.

“I’m sorry,” I say, swallowing reflexively. “I thought your business was concluded. I didn’t mean to interrupt…”

“Not at all, Ariel. We were just finishing up.” Ian looks at Daniel.

“Yes, of course. Please have a seat and join us,” Daniel says, gesturing to the empty side of the booth. The booths are U-shaped with the longest part connecting the two sides. The men sit across from each other so I slide into the wide bench between them while Ian is still standing.

“Ariel, Ian tells me that you’re frequently in New York on business?” Daniel asks.

“Yes, for the next few months anyway. I’m working with a filmmaker on a new documentary film he’s producing.”

“Yes, so I’m told. Fascinating work, I’m sure.”

I eye him closely again. Not as formal as Ian, he wears charcoal gray fitted trousers and what looks like a cashmere sweater, black and vee-neck. He’s certainly polite, pleasant even, but he holds himself at arm’s length. I suppose he could be called reserved. “Yes, it’s interesting,” I reply to his comment.

Daniel nods. “My fiancée and I have just purchased a brownstone on the Upper West Side. Please consider joining us for dinner if you find yourself at odds in the city. Olivia loves to show off the house—she and her father have been renovating it a bit together.”

“Ella,” Ian says, “Daniel’s prospective father-in-law is the sculptor Derek Girardi. Do you know his work?”

“The name sounds familiar.”

“He’s quite renowned,” Daniel adds and checks his watch. “I should get going. It was a pleasure to meet both of you,” he says, standing.

Ian stands also, and they shake hands as Daniel says, “I’ll get back to you with more information when I have it, Ian. I wish you good luck in fending off the barbarians.”

Ian laughs, but it sounds bitter or perhaps angry. “I gave in and let the bastards feed at the trough last time. They won’t find me so accommodating again.”

Nodding his head in satisfaction, Daniel says, “Good. You should never allow parasites like that to win the day—it just encourages the behavior. I’ll be in touch,” he says in closing and nods at me, before leaving. I look at Ian, wondering what the hell they were talking so cryptically about. Should I ask? I also wonder how many gorgeous men are there out in the world and how sad it is that each girl can only have one.

While I’m watching them exchange goodbyes, I am trying desperately to keep my thoughts clean but they keep drifting into the gutter. Imagine having both of them? At the same time? At one point Butler glances sharply at me and I blush, feeling as if he could read my mind. That would be horrible, wouldn’t it? Sometimes when I have a bad thought, I begin to think that someone in a crowded room knows what I’m thinking. It’s terrible enough to force me to keep things clean, even inside my head.

Once we’re alone I wait for Ian to explain but of course he doesn’t. I always have to pry information out of him—it’s like pulling teeth. “So, what parasites was Daniel referring to, Ian? Is everything alright?”

“Yes. Did you get everything done today?”

Tricky man always flips the conversation back to me. “Yes, pretty much but I may have to either stay here longer than planned or return at the end of next week when Lucien is due back so we can begin editing footage. Also, there’s an art historian he wants to interview about Stieglitz… oh, and Mo invited us to a party tomorrow night. I told her probably not, just in case it was
that
kind of party. I was afraid to ask.”

Ian smiles. “It might be educational for you.”

“Mmm, sometimes ignorance is bliss.”

It is a beautiful autumn morning in New York City, the kind of day New Yorkers always say they woke to on 9/11, when nature’s beauty makes it glorious to be alive, the sky a startling blue, the cool air crisply fresh, without a hint of the usual amalgamation of offensive smells that come with a densely populated city. Well, except for all the motor vehicle exhaust clinging to the air currents. Halting his jog to catch his breath, Ian leans, hands on thighs, and watches the cars swing onto the FDR entrance ramp in rapid succession. Doing something healthy like running while sucking up all the fumes of New York City traffic seems rather self-defeating yet here he stands, drawing in deep lungfuls of the tainted air. Despite the drawbacks, he desperately needed exercise and often found he did his best thinking while physically exerting himself. Well, not during
all
physical exertions—just the monotonous ones like running. And Ian had some serious thinking to do, too. Things were beginning to move at warp speed and this was precisely how mistakes got made, grave mistakes. Taking the time to carefully consider his moves was imperative in this chess game of very high stakes.

He smirks: history repeats itself. Five years ago, he was riding high on the crest of the tall wave he himself created out of air. Every single company he took over was a resounding success; there was never any backlash or interference. He’d identify a firm ripe for the plucking, usually one that had decent asset to liability ratios but had tried to grow too quickly and was strapped for cash, and he’d make his move. Never once did he fail. In less than four years, he’d acquired a diverse portfolio of firms: media dot.coms, electronic component manufacturers, energy-efficient product design, and even a telecom. No problems until he made the foray into energy. Almost as soon as the ink was dry on the deal, they descended like thieves in the night.

He didn’t care all that much about it really: it was one company among many. He could have let it go or fought back: he’d come out smelling like roses either way. It was Natasha’s betrayal that forced him off the rails, caused him to reevaluate his life and his business, hold them up to the harsh light of day—and ultimately found both sorely lacking. He was no better than the barbarians who tried so hard to unravel his deal.

He was, in point of fact, one of them.

Mergers and acquisitions is a euphemism for corporate piracy and when he looked in the mirror, he didn’t like the thief who stared belligerently back at him: stealing other people’s sweat equity under the banner of acquisition, causing employees to lose their livelihoods and calling it elimination of redundancies, capitalizing, in general, on the misfortune of others—all of it. Covering up his crimes with crisp suits and euphemisms was akin to any common criminal laundering dirty money. He was glad to be done with it all. He dismantled Blackmon Enterprises completely in less than a month’s time, signed over the companies to their employees, and eventually divested himself of even the minimal shares of stock he’d held. Then he began virgin fresh.

Mmm, virgin fresh. Of course Ella pops into his mind now. He can’t wait to touch her
again. Last night they’d both been exhausted but tonight? Tonight, he had plans. He shakes off his lascivious thoughts for the moment—running with a hard-on is not a good idea.

He selected the name Excalibur for he needed some magic in his life and work; he hoped it would pave the way to get some.
If you build it, they will come,
right? And it did: it all came so quickly, all over again. He had a Midas touch.

One thing he couldn’t fix so easily was his fractured soul: Natasha had wreaked pure havoc with it.

Since high school he’d known her. Ian could even remember the first time she graced his eyes—English class, right? She was sitting in the back, next to the only available seat when he came sauntering in fifteen minutes late. Once he saw her face, well, that was that—instant hard-on, instant adulation, permanent love. He couldn’t concentrate on anything academic afterward.

And what a beauty she was—and still is, in all likelihood. Born of Russian émigré parents, she bears classic Slavic features: high cheekbones, crystal-clear blue eyes, and such beautiful lips. Her hair so blond and naturally so. After she cut him down, he began to gravitate toward brunettes, as if blondes were evil. Yeah, Natasha did that.

For months after that initial meeting they were inseparable but then college divided them: he went east to Harvard; she went south to Stanford—both of them geniuses and the schools they each applied to recognized it. They planned to get together after graduation: work together, play together, live together.

And they did: their teenage plans actually came to fruition. Natasha returned to Portland, came to work for him, and they moved in together. He was content with her and believed—wholeheartedly—that she was, too, with him. They worked in sync and when he discovered Natasha could be cutthroat in the boardroom, he’d considered it an asset, not a liability. He thought ruthlessness was a positive trait in the corporate jungle.

He thought it until she royally fucked him over.

Paranoia followed on the heels of heartbreak. Ian chuckles as he recalls Ella’s facial expression when he produced the paperwork and pen with a flourish for her to sign on their first date. He was certain she thought he made her sign away any rights to disclosure to keep his sexual proclivities confidential since he showed her his dungeon almost immediately afterward, and to some extent it was true. Especially, perhaps, when he was young and just starting out in business, he worried about his reputation, back when he wasn’t sure of himself or his place in the world.

After a few years of consecutive successes, he learned who he was and what he deserved from the universe, what he’d earned with his genius and iron balls. It became less important to worry over someone learning about his unusual sexual appetite. Moreover, that appetite pretty much grew out of Natasha’s betrayal.

No, the restrictive legal agreement was necessary as one of many tools to prevent more of the same bullshit he’d contended with from the hostile takeover of Total Energy Solutions
, orchestrated by one very beautiful and treacherous woman named Natasha Yenin.

But Ella didn’t have to know
any of that, now did she?

The moment that Excalibur became interested in rescuing a green-energy outfit that was having growing pains, things began to go awry. A break-in, important papers misplaced or missing, high levels of their system hacked into… the same shit that happened the last time. Only this time, he was going to fight back with every gun he had at his disposal. If this were Natasha, et al., again, they’d shortly find out they can bleed too. Oh yes, and bleed copiously.

Jackson Delacroix had given him the name and number of someone who’d endured a similar situation, a man named Daniel Butler. Ian called him the moment their plane landed at JFK. It was the second reason he came to New York.

The first reason, of course, was preventing Lucien from getting Ella alone. He didn’t trust that SOB, at all. Butler agreed to meet him the next day for lunch. They decided to go to the Russian Tea Room since Ella was anxious to see the iconic restaurant and she was to touch base with him there after his meeting with Butler was concluded.

Already seated at a table, Ian eyes the man approaching his table. Over six feet tall, mid to late twenties, expensively dressed, good comportment, a little too pretty but he couldn’t really throw stones in that respect—overall, Butler looks like a man to be reckoned with. He stands up to introduce himself as the man reaches the table.

“Daniel Butler? Hello, I’m Ian Blackmon. It’s very nice to meet you.”

After a quick appraisal, Butler takes his extended hand and offers a slight smile in return. “Likewise. You mentioned a mutual acquaintance—Jackson Delacroix?”

“Yes. Delacroix recommended I speak with you over my current situation fighting off a hostile takeover of one of my companies. He said you encountered a similar situation.”

“Delacroix is an associate of my father’s. Dependable, I think.”

“That’s been my experience certainly.”

“Mmmhmm. Let’s sit, shall we?”

Ian seats himself and waits for Butler to get settled and order a drink. “So,” he says, looking pointedly at Ian, “tell me what’s going on.”

A half hour later, Ian finishes recounting to Daniel the sordid details of what was currently going on and his experience five years ago. The man impressively listened without interruption, carefully considering everything Ian told him.

“I can state unequivocally, Ian, that Big Oil is behind every last one of these takedowns. The major players in the industry know their fat revenue stream is entirely dependent on a dying industry and they’re panicking from all sides. Stupid, how they go after every endeavor with great potential, no matter the size. Ridiculous, really, but it’s been an effective strategy for them thus far: attack them when they’re small and weak—they never get big.”

“Why don’t they themselves simply get into alternative energies? It makes the most sense, doesn’t it?”

Butler shakes his head. “They will never cannibalize current revenues for future profits—goes against their outmoded business model. Quite frankly, they don’t think they have to. It’s not very farsighted, I agree, but there it is. They’d much rather sabotage every viable effort to bring renewable energy sources to a large volume of people, keeping everyone small and of no threat to their gargantuan market share. For God’s sake, they’ve been squashing the electric car since the 1970s. The technology has been here that long and so has the desire to make it happen. It’s absurd.”

“So exactly what did you do to fend them off?”

Daniel shrugs. “Well, my situation was a bit different in that we were poised to make a deal when they struck. We pushed it through quickly and rendered their efforts fruitless. I had to rush back to the States from Britain and buy up every share I could get my hands on to keep my majority percentage. I suggest you do that to the extent possible, even if it means buying—on paper—all your employees’ shares, friends’ shares, whatever, and holding them until the threat passes. Erect an immediate and united front. If there are any deals in the works with any outside contractor, expedite them. The more auxiliary business you could attach to your firm, the more difficult it will be for them to destroy.”

He stops speaking for a moment, tapping his finger on his lips. “May I ask why you walked away the last time?”

“Personal reasons: a friend’s betrayal and a long, hard look in the mirror. I redirected my efforts into supporting privately held enterprises and earning the stake in the companies rather than taking them over and wringing out all the capital. Everyone gets to keep his or her job and I still see a healthy profit margin. Win-win and I go to bed with a clear conscience.”

Grinning broadly, Butler says, “Good for you. Have to say, I hate those M&A types. They are fucking leeches, aren’t they?” He leans back, watching Ian’s reaction to his comment. “So… I understand you make regular trips to New York?”

“Lately I have been. My girlfriend took a job with an art film producer and director. She’s been traveling back and forth between NYC and the left coast.”

“Ah. Who’s the filmmaker?”

“A man named Lucien Phillips. Know him?”

Daniel tilts his head back, considering the name. “No, I can’t say I do. My soon to be father-in-law probably does, though. He knows just about everyone who is anyone in the art world.”

“Oh? Who is your future father-in-law?”

“The sculptor, Derek Girardi?”

Ian nods, looking intrigued. “Yes. I know his work very well—very talented artist. He’s an interesting man, too, from what I’ve seen and read about him. Married to an African model, isn’t he? Very thin, very beautiful woman?”

“Yes. Mia is Ethiopian.”

“She’s not your fiancée’s mother, is she?”

“No. Olivia’s mother is Derek’s first wife.”

“Yes, the model looks too young to have grown children.”

Daniel chuckles. “Actually, Olivia’s mother is but a couple of years older than Mia. Her father, too. Her parents married and had their two daughters very young. Neither of them has breached forty yet. Both terribly good looking, too.”

“So you’re practically a contemporary of your future wife’s parents?”

“Sort of. There’s not much more than a ten-year gap. Derek often feels more like a rival for her affection than her parent. They’re too close in age, among other things, and due to their past history, he’s far too territorial about her. Strange, even uncomfortable dynamic at work.”

“Sounds like it. How old is your fiancée?”

“Young. Very. Not yet twenty. But she’s an old soul, and I’m a possessive sort: there are too many people—both men and women—trying to get at her.” He laughs. “It’s easier to pluck her off the market than beat them all back.”

Ian raises his hand up and grins. “Kindred spirit, here. Can you ask Girardi about Phillips? I did have a security check done on him but it came up clean. Still, there’s something about the man that doesn’t sit well with me.”

“Yes, I will. We’re actually seeing them tonight for dinner. I’ll give you a call tomorrow if I learn anything of value.”

When Ella returns to the hotel from her meeting, Ian is lying in wait for her. As soon as she walks through the door, he’s on her. Putting one hand on the back of the door, he slams it closed the moment she’s inside the room.