Page 28 of The Marriage Pact
Alex smiled. He wouldn’t have left if he had. Over the years, he’d come to trust Hilary absolutely. There was nothing she couldn’t deal with, and there’d been many times when she’d saved him by the skin of his teeth.
“Where are we up to with the Jamaican investment? Have our Mexican friends had a change of heart yet?”
Hilary nodded.
“They wanted twenty percent. I suggested seventeen and a half. They wanted nineteen. I suggested sixteen and a half, along with profit share. They thought about it, then asked about the percentage of the profit share. I told them ten percent, for fifteen upfront. They agreed. The projections suggest we’ll be up twenty percent in the long term, meaning we make the real profit.”
Alex smiled. Trust Hilary to negotiate a deal that looked better for the other party but actually made them less money.
“You can have that as a bonus,” he said.
“It’s all on your desk. I’ve laid it out in priority order. Read and sign,” she said, holding out a pen for him. “How’s Kaitlyn?”
Alex nodded. “She’s fine. She loves the studio. You did well on that, too,” he said, sitting down and opening the first folder of documents.
“I thought you would take a bit more time to help her settle in. We could’ve managed here,” Hilary said.
It hadn’t occurred to Alex that he and Kaitlyn needed more time. She was fine. More than fine. They’d had a wonderful evening together at Gill’s,and the look of excitement on her face when they’d gone to the artists’ collective had told Alex he’d done the right thing in arranging the space for her.
“She doesn’t need me breathing down her neck all the time. It’ll be good for her to find her feet. She has the whole city to explore,” he said, opening the second folder and beginning to sign the next set of documents.
Hilary shrugged. “All right. Well, let me know if there’s anything you want me to do for her. Fill the apartment with flowers,book a restaurant, or have a chauffeur take her along Madison Avenue. It seems a shame for her to be on her own.”
But Alex didn’t think Kaitlyn would appreciate such gimmicks. She’d probably take a walk and find a café, have some lunch, then go to the collective. He’d see her later, whenever he got home. She knew he had work to do, work he’d neglected for the past week.
“I’ll get these signed as quickly as possible. Then what’s next?” he asked, avoiding Hilary’s suggestion.
“Ten o’clock with Illinois, eleven with the French trade secretary. Lunch with Noel Kitterson from Cross Keys Bank.Two o’clock with the White House, and then we need to draft the negotiation outline for the Broker-Zdeal. I can do that, if you want to go early,” Hilary replied, but Alex shook his head.
He liked to be involved in every aspect of the business. He knew it inside out. That was another thing they taught you at Harvard. “Always know what the right and left hands are doing, and if you don’t have eyes on the back of your head, grow a pair.” That’s what Professor Klimt used to say.
“It’s good to be back,” Alex said, smiling at the thought of a busy day ahead.
Yawning,Kaitlyn rolled over and stretched out her arms. Sunlight was pouring through a crack in the curtains, and the red numbers on the alarm clock told her it was well past nine o’clock. The bed was the most comfortable she’d ever slept in, and, rolling over, she reached out to find Alex. The bed wasempty. Sitting up, she realized she was alone. For a moment, she was confused, wondering where he was. But the answer was obvious. He’d gone to work and not wanted to disturb her. His suit, neatly hung up by Brett while they were at dinner, was gone, and a damp towel lay on the floor.
Doesn’t he pick up after himself?
Worried she was about to be disturbed by a maid or some other member of Alex’s staff, Kaitlyn got up, slipping into a robe and going into the bathroom. Operating the shower was like flying something from NASA, and she’d pressed most of the buttons before the water became pleasantly warm and neither a jet of steam nor a deluge of rain. Everything about the apartment was bigger and better. It was like staying in a five-star hotel. Taking out some clothes from the closet, she placed various combinations on the bed, trying to decide what to wear. Her phone pinged. Thinking it might be Alex, she reached over and grabbed it, but it was only Rachel, who was still in Palm Springs.
What’s going on? What’s it like?Kaitlyn sent back a few photos from the night before at Gill’sand the view from the bedroom window. Rachel’s response was predictable.OMG.
Rolling her eyes, Kaitlyn stepped out into the kitchen and went to see if she could work the coffee machine. That, too, was like something out ofStar Trek,but she had no intention of ringing for Brett or whatever she was supposed to do if she wanted something. The thought of asking people to do things for her seemed pointless; by the time she’d asked and waited, she could’ve done it herself. That was her logic, at least. Having managed to only make the coffee machine spurt hot milk mixed with vanilla syrup, Kaitlyn decided to go out instead of making further attempts. If she couldn’t get a decent coffee in New York,wherecouldshe get one? Glancing at her phone, she wondered why Alex hadn’t been in touch.
He’ll just be busy. It’s his first day back. We don’t have to be together all the time.
Having managed to work the elevator, she stepped out of the sliding doors and was greeted by the security team.
“Did Alex go out early?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am. He left at his usual time. Would you like me to call the car for you?” one of them asked.
Kaitlyn shook her head. “No, thank you. I’ll walk. Where’s the nearest subway?”
The security guard looked surprised, but he pointed her in the direction of the subway. Kaitlyn had it in mind to go down to the studio collective and meet some of the other artists. She’d get a coffee on the way, and perhaps a bagel. Outside, the street was busy with the hustle and bustle of the city. It was a far cry from Cedarhurst, and Kaitlyn felt quite overwhelmed. San Francisco wasn’t the same. Downtown could be busy, but there was always a quiet street or patch of green in which to find some peace. New York was relentless.
“Sitting in or taking out?” the barista at the trendy café asked her after she’d placed her order for a black coffee.
“I’ll take out,” she replied, glancing at the rows of cakes on the counter. It was weird to think she didn’t have to worry about what things cost. Kaitlyn had never been poor, but, as an artist, she’d always been used to watching every penny. It was only a cake, but at ten dollars apiece — the coffee had been seven — itwas a treat she’d have forgone in the past. “And a piece of the carrot cake with vanilla frosting.”
