“What?”
“Stand up,” she said again.
He did.
She stepped in close and looked into his eyes. “We better both be careful, no?”
She slipped her hands inside his blazer and ran them slowly up his sides. She could feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt, the muscles underneath. She never took her eyes from him. He wanted to play it mocking and insolent? She could play it that way, too.
She knelt in front of him and touched him with the same clinical ease, the same sense of entitlement, that he had used on her. Then she stood and put a hand on his stomach. It was hard and flat and she could feel it expanding and contracting slightly with his breathing.
“I guess you're unarmed,” she said, still looking into his eyes.
He put his hand over hers and started pushing it lower. She couldn't believe it… what was he doing, one-upping her? But she wasn't going to blink first.
Lower. Her heart was pounding but she wouldn't look away.
Her hand stopped at a hard protuberance just above his groin. She realized what it was-a gun, in some kind of special concealed holster.
“Maybe I can trust you after all,” he said.
She glared at him. “Why?”
“Because nobody, with even the most rudimentary training, could have done such a lame pat-down. Maybe you are just a lawyer.”
“And maybe you're just an asshole.”
“Oh, I'm a lot more than that.”
His hand was still covering hers. She pulled it away and sat down. After a moment he joined her.
“Well? What did you want to talk about?” he asked, his tone and expression casual enough to suggest that he didn't really care.
She looked at him for a long second, anger seething inside her. “Forget it,” she said, and stood to go.
He was out of his seat with such liquid speed it amazed her. He caught her arm. “Why?” he said. “You mad because I patted you down? Because I didn't get turned on when you did the same to me?”
“Getting turned on is a human quality. I don't see it in you.”
“Listen. I don't know you, so I don't trust you. It's not personal.”
“The hell it's not. You trusted me fine right up until you heard my name. So don't tell me it's not personal.”
“Why don't you sit down and I'll buy you a drink.”
“I'll buy my own drink.”
Ben glanced over her shoulder. “All right, buy one for me, too.”
She looked, and saw the waitress standing behind her.
“Bombay Sapphire martini,” Ben said. “No olive, no vermouth.”
The hell with it. She nodded to the waitress. “Make it two.”
They sat. Ben said, “You going to tell me why you're here?”
She felt her heart beating and it made her angry again. She hated that he could be so cool with her, and that at the same time he made her nervous. And she was scared about what she was going to say next.
She cleared her throat. “It's… about the Four Seasons. I'm thinking about what you're thinking, putting myself in the other person's shoes, the way you said to do. And if I were in your shoes, I'd be afraid that I might… go to the police or something. I'm afraid of what you might do to prevent that.”
He looked at her for a long moment, and she thought she saw something play across his eyes in the diffused light from the street. Sympathy? Regret?
Then he glanced away. “When we're done with this, you'll look back and it'll seem like it never happened.”
She didn't follow him. Was he telling her not to worry? He wouldn't… hurt her?
“How do you know that?” she said.
“I just know. This is all weird to you. Like something that's happening to someone else. When it's over and you're back to your life, it'll be like waking up from a dream.”
She looked at him, trying to read his expression. “You're right,” she said. “It does feel like that. But… how do you know?”
He shook his head and looked away, and she thought, Because you never woke up.
The waitress brought their drinks and Sarah paid for them. They sipped in silence for a few minutes.
“Why do you speak such good Farsi?” Sarah asked, switching languages.
“You already know why,” Ben said, also in Farsi.
“I don't like what you do,” Sarah said, switching back to English.
Ben laughed. “That's okay. I like it fine.”
“You like violence?”
He shrugged. “It's a tool for a job.”
“The craftsman doesn't enjoy his tools?
“Why did you become a lawyer? Because you enjoy lawyering?”
She looked at him, surprised at the way the question went to the heart of her own doubts. “I don't really know why. Maybe just because I was good at it. Why did you get into your line of work?”
For a moment his expression was oddly blank, and then he looked away. “It's a long story.”
They were quiet again. Sarah said, “Tell me something about yourself.”
“Like what?”
Actually, she didn't know. The words had just come out. She hadn't planned them, and didn't know what she was asking exactly.
“I don't know. Just… something you can tell me. Not something about work. Something personal. So I'll feel like I at least know you a little.”
He shrugged. “I like to pull the wings off flies. It's just a hobby, but I'm thinking about going pro.”
She shook her head, realizing it was a waste of time, feeling foolish for even having tried. “Are you married?” she asked. “Do you have a family?”
There was a pause, and she thought he wouldn't answer. But then he said, “Not anymore.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing happened. She was Filipina. I met her in Manila. When we got back to the States, I found out she wasn't who I thought she was.”
“Maybe she found out the same thing about you.”
“I'm sure she did.”
“Kids?”
A long moment went by. He said, “A daughter. They live in Manila.”
She couldn't help being intrigued at his obvious reluctance, and more by his ultimate willingness to answer. “You don't see them?”
He shrugged. “It's a long way away.”
“But that's not why you don't see them.”
He took a long swallow of gin. “What about you? Boyfriend?”
She shook her head. “There was someone in law school. But not now.”
“Why not? They must go crazy for you at your law firm.”
“Why do you say that?”
He looked at her. “Are you fishing for a compliment, or are you really that blind?”
She felt herself blushing, half in anger, half in embarrassment. “I just haven't met anyone.”
“No, that's not it.”
“What do you mean, that's not it? How would you know? You don't know anything about me.”
“I know a lot about you. It's my job to know things about people.”
“Yeah? What do you know?”
“I know that when a woman as beautiful as you is unattached, it's not because she hasn't met anyone. It's because she doesn't want to.”
“And why wouldn't I want to?” she asked, resisting the urge to shift in her seat.
“A lot of reasons. You got to the office at, what, seven o'clock this morning? So you want to make a big splash as a lawyer. A boyfriend would be a distraction. And if people in the office knew you had a boyfriend, they wouldn't hope as hard. If they didn't hope as hard, you couldn't subtly manipulate them as much.”
She couldn't believe what she was hearing. “You're pretty sure of yourself.”
“You asked.”
“What else?”
He took another swallow of gin. “You know any guy you get involved with is going to lose his perspective. You know because it's happened before. He'll probably want to get married right away to lock you in while he can. You can't abide that because you want to keep your options open. Not about men, about your life. You don't know what you really want to do. What you want to be when you grow up.”