“Hmmm,” she said, smiling while crossing her legs.
“Okay, Andrea. I have a question for you,” Quinn said, suddenly feeling vulnerable. “What exactly does Wayland Tate expect you to do for his clients?”
“He expects me to take care of them,” she said, taking pleasure in the fact that she’d aroused him. Time to increase the sexual tension, she thought to herself. “What I do on my own time is my business.”
“Don’t tell me you’re here sipping tea on your own time,” he said sarcastically.
“Of course I am,” she said with conviction. And she wasn’t lying. Everything Vargas did was on her own time. She was an independent contractor, with enough accumulated wealth to live comfortably for the rest of her life. Contracting her services to Tate Waterhouse was something she did because she loved it-and she was good at it.
“Let’s be honest here. I’m overweight, I can’t remember the last time I worked out, and I haven’t had a full head of hair since you were in diapers. So tell me what Tate really wants you to do for me.”
“He told me to make sure you were comfortable and that you enjoyed yourself. Nothing more,” she said, nonchalantly. “Any attraction I have to you has nothing to do with Wayland Tate.”
“Give me a break. A woman like you is rarely attracted to a man like me unless…”
She finished the sentence for him, “…unless she’s paid to be? Is that what you think? Sorry, David. I have no such arrangement with Wayland Tate.” She stood up and began walking away. Before reaching the door, she looked back at him. “Sometimes, women like me are only attracted to men like you.”
“Why?” Quinn said. He was certain she was lying, but still curious about how she might respond.
“Because you’re fascinating,” Vargas said, taking a step toward him and then another. “You’re a man who can have anything he wants. You could walk away from Musselman today and enjoy a life of indulgence and pleasure, but you won’t because the challenge of taking your company to new heights makes you feel alive. Men like you are not common, David. Besides, young and handsome is overrated and much too predictable.”
“You’re almost believable,” Quinn said, smiling at her. “And you’re right, I won’t throw away my life for a passing indulgence.”
“I don’t want you to throw anything away, David,” she said, taking another step toward him. “I know what kind of reputation you’ve spent your life creating. I’d just like to get to know you better.”
“Sorry, Andrea, I’m not your man.”
She raised her eyebrows with a charming coyness. “See you in the morning, David. Our relationship will remain strictly professional.” She opened the door to the cabin and exited without looking back. Seducing David Quinn may prove tougher than originally planned, she mused, but the challenge excited her.
After Vargas left, Quinn took off his robe and got into bed. He’d allowed himself to be enchanted by Vargas’ stunning beauty and disarming openness, but it wasn’t the first time something like this had happened to him. Vargas was right. A man’s power and wealth attracted some women far more than all the other male attributes combined. But he’d decided long ago that one woman in his life was enough, and although Vargas had aroused him, his years of resolve had taught him how to quickly overcome such temptations. Within minutes he was enjoying the comfort of his principles while falling asleep. No second thoughts.
6
Vargas — Boeing 767, Inflight
Andrea Vargas’ international call from onboard the Executive Class charter came through to Wayland Tate’s suite at Suvretta House a few minutes before six o’clock in the morning, St. Moritz time. Tate had just finished showering and was primping in front of the mirror, when he lifted the cordless phone to his ear. “Yes?” he said, walking to the beige chenille sofa in boxers and an unbuttoned shirt.
“Sensual desire does not seem to be David’s weakness, although he’s tempted,” Vargas said, getting straight to the point. She relished her interactions with Wayland Tate because she loved the challenge of manipulating powerful men almost as much as he did.
“I’m not surprised. What else?” Tate asked as he sat down on the sofa, eager to obtain Vargas’ initial assessment of David Quinn.
“Musselman’s depressed stock price is causing him a lot of anxiety. It seems that the only reason he accepted your invitation to St. Moritz was to meet with you and Jules Kamin. He sees you playing a key role in holding his company together.”
“Why do you think he’s so obsessed with staying at the helm of Musselman?” Tate asked, standing up and stepping to the balcony windows that overlooked the frozen lake. He knew from past experience with Vargas that when it came to quickly diagnosing a client’s peculiar mix of hidden motivations and obsessions, her intuition and judgment were usually spot-on.
“Based on what’s in his file and reading between the lines of our brief conversations,” Vargas said, pausing a moment to confirm the words she was about to speak. “I’d say he’s obsessively conscious of his place in the world. Breaking up Musselman, especially during this time of difficulty, is completely unacceptable to him because it would undo what he’s already done.”
“In other words, he’s willing to betray his precious principles to avoid getting ousted by the board.”
“Musselman is David Quinn. The company’s future is his offspring. He’ll do whatever is takes to guarantee survival.”
“Perfect,” Tate said, mentally reviewing his history with David Quinn. Like most people with substantial wealth and power, Quinn would justify unprincipled behavior to preserve his institution. They all did it, because they could get away with it. Whoever has the money makes the rules.
“I don’t need to tell you that Quinn is nobody’s fool, even if he may look and act a little frumpy,” Vargas said.
“Getting attached?”
“I wouldn’t have a problem staying with David for awhile,” she said, feeling more and more energized by the challenge. She admired Quinn’s obsession and fantasized about having it directed at her. Of course there was also the money. Tate’s compensation program was extremely generous, as long as he got what he wanted.
“Really? Well, let’s make sure he doesn’t get away. Nice work, Andrea. I’ll see you in a few hours. Get some sleep,” Tate said, smiling to himself as he said good-bye and put down the phone. Vargas could make any man want her, Tate imagined. Thanks to Morita, she’d become an invaluable contributor to Tate Waterhouse and its clients.
7
Wilson — Boston, MA
Weintraub, Drake, Heinke amp; Redd’s law offices were unmistakably designed for discreet client handling, Wilson thought as he introduced himself to one of the three receptionists sitting behind a large circular desk. She was an Asian woman, with severe looking black glasses, who quickly ushered him into one of several small conference rooms encircling the foyer. As she closed the door behind her, she informed him that Mr. Redd would be with him momentarily.
Within seconds, Daniel Redd walked through a door at the opposite end of the elegantly sparse conference room. He was dressed in uniform-dark expensive suit with white monogrammed shirt. Only their ties were different: Daniel’s was yellow, Wilson’s purple. “How’s your father?” Daniel asked.
“Stable. They’re still doing tests, but Malek’s team seems optimistic about him regaining consciousness. Injury to his medulla seems less likely than the doctors in Sun Valley originally diagnosed, which means brain damage is no longer as much of a concern.”
“We may need to increase security around him,” Daniel said.
“Two men from your firm are outside his ICU along with two uniformed policemen. Detective Zemke alerted Boston’s police chief, who happens to be a close friend of his. The uniforms have been there around the clock. If you think we need more than that, then there’s something you’re not telling me,” Wilson said, suddenly anxious about Daniel’s comment.