What We Do in the Night (Day to Night #1) - Stylo Fantome Page 0,26

when the bartender finally wandered over to him.

“Yeah. How'd your vacation go?” he asked with a wink.

Ari didn't wink back.

“It was excellent. In fact, I'd like to discuss going on vacation permanently. I need to talk to your boss. Now.”

Gary lost his smile and didn't discuss the issue any further. He walked over to the register and picked up a walkie talkie. Said a few words into it that Ari couldn't hear before putting it back down. He nodded in his direction, then went back to work.

While Ari waited, he let his thoughts drift back over the last hour or so. When he'd walked in and seen Valentine sitting at that table, he'd been shocked. And then intrigued. A temptress in neon by night, then a grunge-wearing student by day? Very little caught his attention, but she'd managed to, so of course he'd had to go immediately after her to Caché.

And the temptress was back, though this time in silver sequins. She had a fan-fucking-tastic body, no wonder she chose escorting as a living. He had no doubt that her date book was always filled, looking and acting the way she did.

And yet, there was something else there. Just beneath the temptress; beneath her Saint Valentine facade. He thought maybe, just maybe, deep down Valentine was a good girl. That's why she didn't sleep with her clients, and that's why she'd been hesitant to work with him.

She was a good girl who'd lost her way, and possibly just needed someone to take control of her. Someone to help set her on a different path.

Or at least set her on my path. How long have I been waiting for someone like her to come along?

He didn't have to wait long. Maybe five minutes after asking for her boss, a greasy looking man in his late forties walked up to Ari, and behind him was the giant bouncer from the cooler door. Serge was his name, if Ari remembered correctly, and he didn't look thrilled to be downstairs.

“I was told you had a matter of urgent business,” the owner of the establishment said. His voice was surprisingly serious and he spoke in a straight forward manner. It didn't match his looks at all. Ari stood up straight and held out his hand.

“Aaron Sharapov. I'm a lawyer with Sharapov, Heimer, and Schimmer.”

The guy stared at him.

“Excuse me if I don't shake your hand, counselor, but I make it a habit to not trust lawyers who aren't working directly for me,” he explained, and Ari laughed.

“Understandable. I'm not here to sue you – I'm more interested in working with you on something.”

Finally, the other man shook his hand.

“Marco DelVecchio,” he introduced himself. “Follow me.”

They strode away from the bar, Serge following a couple paces behind them. Ari was led to a back staircase he hadn't seen during his time with Val. It was behind a locked door, and went up two flights before ending in what looked like a large break room and office space. As they walked across the floor, he thought he heard a shower running in one of the rooms, and he wondered if Valentine was in there right now.

“You've got quite a place here, Mr. DelVecchio,” he commented as they entered an opulent office. Dark brocade wallpaper, leather furniture, and a huge oak desk pulled the eye in every direction.

“Call me Del, everyone does,” Mr. DelVecchio – Del – informed him. “I've heard of you, you know.”

“You have?”

“Yeah. You were lead counsel on the Hanscom Co. trial. Youngest lawyer to win a settlement that large in Cook County, if I remember correctly.”

“You do, indeed. I'm flattered.”

“And I'm not a cheap date. Time is money, Mr. Sharapov. I heard you spent time with Valentine tonight – was there a problem?” Del cut right to the point.

DelVecchio looked like everything Ari hated in most men, but he found himself liking him. Possibly even respecting him.

“Quite the opposite,” he assured him. “I found your little Saint Valentine to be quite the pleasant surprise. I understand that her time, like yours, is money. I want to how much it would cost to occupy her time exclusively.”

“More than you can afford. Was that all?” DelVecchio asked, climbing to his feet. Ari held up his hand.

“That seems to be a very popular saying around here. Why don't you throw out a number, and we'll see if it's true?”

“How about there isn't a number?” Del countered. “Valentine is a party in a body. She's a hostess. But