Page 32 of Mr. North
The sound of my name startles me. I turn around, and behind me a tall, blond guy in a dusky grey suit is smiling down at me. Paxton.
He takes his hand out of his pocket and offers it to me. “We met the other day. Outside the elevator?” He doesn’t say Raphael’s name. The very mention of it will have people’s ears pricking.
“Yes, I remember. You’re Paxton. Thalia’s told me about you since we ran into each other, too.”
The smile that spreads across his face is rueful. “I’m sure none of it was good. Thalia and I…we have a checkered past.”
I return his awkward smile. “She might have mentioned something along the same lines.” It would be rude to tell him about the dark picture Thalia painted of him. There’s clearly so much history between them, between all three of them. I find myself wondering why Raph will see this guy but he won’t see Thalia specifically. There’s so much left unexplained here. I’m so freaking curious, but at the same time, I’m exhausted by the situation. It’s complicated and complex, and I’m an outsider. I get the feeling I’m never going to know the truth.
“So funny that we cross paths with each other again,” Paxton says smoothly. “You’re on your lunch break? Would you care to join me at my table across the street?”
On the other side of the road, L’Assiette, a French restaurant with a reputation for out-of-this-world steak and frites, has stood for nearly fifty years now. I’ve never eaten there before. The extortionately pricey menu and the three-week wait for a table had always put me off.
“Oh, no, that’s fine. I don’t want to intrude. I’m sure you’re busy. I was just going to grab a salad to go and eat when I get the chance this afternoon.”
“I already have a number of dishes ordered with the kitchen. My business lunch just got cancelled so you’d be doing me a favor, actually. I don’t want people thinking I order so much from the menu for myself, now, do I?”
I can’t even see the counter inside the salad bar from where I’m standing. It’s going to be half an hour before I can order at this rate. I look at my watch, chewing my lip. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt,” I say.
“Wonderful.” Paxton offers me his arm like some old timey Southern gentleman. I thread my arm through his, already wondering if I’m making a mistake. I’d rather go hungry than invite more drama into my life right now, and where else can having lunch with this guy lead but to more drama. I’m irritated, though. I have no real reason to believe that Raph would be pissed if he knew I was eating lunch with Paxton—he could easily not give a shit—but the possibility that it might bother him gives me a bit of a thrill.
Across the street, a platter of oysters is being delivered as we’re led back to Paxton’s table. The waiter bows deeply as Paxton dismisses him with a flick of his wrist. He doesn’t even look the man in the eyes—very different to how Raph engaged with Denny when he was serving us. Paxton shoos away another waiter who tries to pull out a chair for me, making a show of pulling it out for me himself. “I’m very glad I spotted you, Beth,” he says. “I wanted to talk to you the other day but I was late to see Raphael, and you looked like you were in a hurry to get out of there anyway.”
I sit, sinking into the upholstered chair—way more comfortable than any chair in my apartment. I try to hide my surprise at Paxton’s words, but I mustn’t do a very good job. Paxton smiles, inclining his head politely. “I’ve known Raphael for a very long time. I’m sure Thalia explained our little story. How we went to school together, us four friends, joined at the hip.”
I accept the oyster fork Paxton holds out to me. “Four? She told me about you and Raphael. There’s another member of your group?”
For a second, Paxton’s perfect smile falters. Only a second. It would have been easy enough to blink and miss the stumble in his facial expression altogether. I catch it, though, out of the corner of my eye. He masters his features in a heartbeat. “Oh…no. My mistake. Plenty of people wanted to join our little band, but we were always too arrogant and full of ourselves to pay anyone else any attention. They used to call us the Three Musketeers, you know. Our parents. They used to hold weekly meetings to try and figure out what the hell to do with us, their reprobate children.” I laugh, because I think it’s what he expects. “Please,” he tells me, gesturing to the table. “Eat. You don’t have much time. If I’m honest, neither do I. There’s a mountain of paperwork on my desk. Sadly, no matter how hard I wish, it doesn’t ever seem to do itself.”
As he says this, the waiter returns with two fresh green salads and a plate of grilled meats. The smell is divine, enough to make my stomach audibly rumble.
I place a selection of food onto my plate, eating slowly, savoring each bite. “What did you want to talk to me about?” I ask.
“Well. I suppose…this is quite a difficult subject to broach. You seem like a smart woman, though, Elizabeth, so I won’t insult you by beating around the bush. I wanted to gauge your intentions toward my friend.”
I stop chewing. “My intentions?”
“Yes. Your reasoning behind spending time with Raphael. He’s…” An awkward look flashes across his face. “Raphael’s a very wealthy man. Wealthier than the rest of the New York elite combined. The past few years have been tough for him. It seemed prudent that I should figure out what your angle is before he ends up getting hurt.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t quite follow. My angle ?”
Paxton’s smile remains firmly fixed in place, but something about him changes. Some sour note creeping into the lines around his eyes. “You’re a broke student who’s recognized an opportunity for herself. I don’t blame you. I’m sure most people in your situation would do the same. You’re in debt up to your eyeballs, you have rent and expenses to cover. An invitation to spend time with the richest man in New York was probably a gift from the heavens. He’s a means to an end. You think he’ll cover your tuition fees. Maybe buy you a nice little loft space somewhere that you can live in rent free.” He nods as he says this, not a hint of anger in his voice. “I get it, I really do. I’ve had dalliances with women and done the same thing. Covered their costs, helped them out financially when they needed it. Given them a car to use every so often. For men in positions of power, it’s fairly normal. But Raphael’s different. He hasn’t formed a connection with a woman in a very long time. He may seem distant. Reserved. Cold, even. But I assure you, he’s quite the opposite. He’s…fragile . I think it’s better for him if he forges a connection with someone of an equal social standing, who doesn’t ask too much of him too quickly.”
I can’t believe my own ears. As I’ve been listening to Paxton talk so flippantly about the fact that I’m a money hungry gold digger, the food in my mouth has turned to ash. My tongue feels like a lump of raw meat. My pulse is hammering out a staccato rhythm that’s making my vision pitch and flicker. I look down at the plate in front of me, fighting my need to throw up. I put down the fork. “You think I agreed to see Raphael because I thought he’d give me money?”
“Yes,” Paxton says. “I know about your arrangement. Six thousand dollars a month? That’s an awful lot of money for a few games of chess, Elizabeth.”
Bile burns at the back of my throat. Slowly, dizzily, I push my chair back from the table and I stand. I can’t think straight. I can’t…fucking…think… “I told him I didn’t want his money,” I whisper. “I told him I wasn’t going to accept a dime. I didn’t agree to meet with him so I could fuck him for money, Paxton.”
He rocks back into his seat, holding up his hands. “Oh, no. No, no, no, that’s not what I meant at all. Not just sex. God, I’m not accusing you of being a hooker. I’m referring to companionship as well as that kind of intimacy. Enjoying meals together. Spending time together. That kind of thing.”
“Fuck you. You’re accusing me of being an escort,” I hiss.
Paxton reacts as if I’ve struck him. He jerks away from me, surprised, but it’s a fake surprise. I can see that much now. His face may do one thing but his eyes show his real emotion. He’s been playing this as cool as he can, pretending what he’s saying is completely normal, acceptable, and understandable, but I can now read how much I disgust him by the sharp, hostile steel in his eyes. “Not very ladylike, swearing at a gentleman in public, Beth,” he chides. “Especially after he offered you a free lunch.”
My stomach rolls, and I almost learn forward and vomit straight into his lap. Would serve the fucker right. I should never have agreed to come to lunch with him. The fact that I said yes has played into his argument, making me look like I’d do anything to get something for free. “You’re a pig,” I snarl, my eyes pricking like crazy. I can barely see through the tears that are welling there, clouding my vision. “I was trying to help Thalia’s friend. Nothing more.”
Paxton nods, retaining his composure, even though mine has completely fled me. He reaches into his pocket and takes out a checkbook, opening it up. He clicks the ballpoint pen he retrieves after it, then looks up at me. “How much do you want?” he asks flatly.
