is smack in the most elite part of the rich and famous strip of Tribeca and near the Hudson River. After a packed subway ride, I arrive at the cute little spot, easy to identify by way of its baby blue wooden sign and two matching wooden benches out front. A line of people has formed and extends past the double open doors. I step past the crowd and enter the bakery, walking around the register. The scent of sweet treats is deliciously tempting, while the seating area I bring into view is a cute rainbow of colored wooden tables and chairs.
“Aria.”
I glance to my right and toward the back of the seating area to find Alexander standing just behind an order pick-up counter, motioning for me to join him. To my surprise, he’s not perfectly pressed and in a suit today. In fact, not only is he wearing jeans and a T-shirt, but as I close the space between us, I find his thick dark hair in wavy disarray. Somehow it all makes him a little more human and likable. Even more so when I stop in front of him and he announces, “I bought some cookies and a coffee for you, to spare you the line.”
It’s a thoughtful gesture and I decide then that perhaps I’ve been hard on him. “Thank you,” I say ever so politely, shoving aside a memory of Kace. Again. I can’t get him out of my mind.
“Of course,” Alexander says, motioning me into action and I follow him around the counter to another private seating area of at least another half-dozen filled tables.
We settle into our chairs across from each other and he hands me the coffee he’s ordered for me. “It’s their house vanilla latte. I hope that works. In hindsight, I should have sent you a text and asked what you liked.”
“This is perfect,” I say, sipping the sweet, warm beverage. “Thanks for the coffee and for meeting me.”
“My second chance,” he comments and when I might fidget a bit, I don’t get the chance. He moves on. “And I get it. Auction remorse is common. I feel for you. How pissed was your client?”
“He’s too nice to be angry and I pushed him for his max right before the auction. He’ll go to four hundred and twenty-five thousand today if you’ll sell the bottle.”
He thrums fingers on the table, his Rolex glinting in the overhead light. “Here’s the thing,” he says. “I can’t sell this bottle.”
My spine slowly straightens, the idea that he’s playing me setting me on edge. “Can’t or won’t?”
“Can’t. I bought it for a client that does tens of millions with our company. I teased him with it. I promised him I’d get it for him. And he’s paying me.”
Feelings I try to avoid and dislike—anger and desperation—rip through me. “Why did you bring me out here for this then, Alexander?”
“Because I’d like to be your friend and—”
I stand up.
“Wait,” he says. “I have a proposition. Please.” He pats the table. “Sit. Hear me out.”
I’m torn. I feel played, but I remind myself of my reasons for being here, and they all come back to Gio. I breathe in a calming breath and settle back into my chair across from Alexander.
He studies me a moment. “You really don’t want to like me, do you?”
“It’s not that—”
“Then what is it?”
It’s a complicated question. He’s a good-looking man. He’s wealthy. Most women would be flattered by his attention but I know my problem with him. Powerful men, collectors of rare items at that, stir unease in me. He reminds me of the powerful men my mother said my father did business with before he disappeared. But the truth is, I’m not being fair. I judged him before he ever opened his mouth.
“I’m sorry. I’m on edge over this client. And I’m confused about what we’re doing here.”
“I’m trying to help. I really am. I have a large rare wine collection. I’m willing to part with a bottle to make this up to you. You can come over and see what catches your fancy and we’ll negotiate.”
Unbidden, suspicion spins round and round in my mind all over again. “Why would you do that? You don’t even know me.”
“But I want to know you. And I find it’s good to make friends. I help you. You help me one day.”
A violin screeches a wrong note in my mind. “I don’t like owing favors. And I don’t know you.”
He leans closer.