"I want to matter," I heard myself say. "I spent too many years being invisible. Being the guy people overlooked or dismissed. Now I want to be someone people remember. Someone who makes an impact."
"Ambition," he murmured, and the word sounded almost sensual the way he spoke it. "How refreshing. Most people in your profession simply want money."
"Well, I want that too," I admitted with a laugh, trying to lighten the strange heaviness that had settled between us. "But yeah, there's more to it than that."
"And relationships? Are you close with anyone?"
I hesitated. The question was definitely crossing into personal territory, but I didn't want to offend a potential whale of a client. "Not really. I've been focused on work. Why do you ask?"
"Because I value discretion, William. My affairs are... complicated. I need to know that my advisor won't be distracted by outside obligations. That he can be available when I need him, even at unusual hours." Those dark eyes held mine. "Can you offer me that level of commitment?"
Every professional instinct told me this was weird, that I should politely refer him to someone else. But the promise of European real estate holdings, of the biggest commission of my career, kept me in my seat.
"I can be flexible with my schedule for the right client," I said carefully.
Raoul's smile widened, and for just a second, I could have sworn his teeth looked longer than they should. Must have been the lighting. "Excellent. Then I believe we have the foundation for a very productive partnership."
He stood abruptly, and I scrambled to my feet as well, not wanting to be rude.
"I'll return tomorrow evening with the necessary documentation," he said, producing a business card from his jacket pocket. The card stock felt heavy and expensive between my fingers. "This is my private number. I'd prefer if you kept our arrangement confidential for now. No need to mention me to your colleagues."
"Sure, I can do that." Though it seemed odd. Usually I'd want to brag about landing a client like this.
"Perfect." He extended his hand again, and despite knowing how cold it would be, I shook it. His grip was firm, possessive almost.
“And there’s one more thing,” he said, not letting go of my hand. “I’d like to get to know you better. Outside of work, I mean.”
I wasn’t sure why I felt a surge of excitement. It wasn’t strange for clients to want to meet outside the office fordinner or drinks. Liking and building trust with the person that managed your money was essential. But this felt…different.
“That’s fine,” I nodded. “Is there a place you prefer?”
“Yes.” He finally let go of my hand and I felt a strange sense of loss. Reaching into his suit he pulled out a second card, this one handwritten in extremely fine penmanship. “Meet me here tonight at eleven. Show this card to the man at the front desk and he’ll let you in.” He paused for a moment, looking me over with those dark eyes that made my skin tingle. “And make sure youenjoyyourself.”
I took the card. “I’ll be there.”
"Wonderful. I look forward to getting to know you better, William. I have a feeling you and I are going to become very close indeed."
Then he turned and glided toward the exit, his umbrella tucked under one arm. I watched him go, my hand still tingling from his touch.
It wasn't until the door closed behind him that I realized I'd been holding my breath.
I looked down at the handwritten card. The address was in the warehouse district downtown. Not exactly where I'd expected a guy in a suit like that to hang out. No business name, just an address and "11 PM" written beneath it in that same elegant script.
My phone buzzed. A text from Derek, one of the other advisors, asking if I wanted to grab drinks. I typed out a quick excuse about being tired and having more work to get done. It wasn't entirely a lie. I did need to get more work done, it just happened to be a private meeting with a client at practically midnight.
I drove home on autopilot, my mind replaying every moment of that strange encounter. The way Raoul had looked at me, likehe was appraising something valuable. The cold touch of his hand. That comment about getting to know me "intimately."
Maybe I was reading too much into it. Rich people were eccentric. Everyone knew that. And if he wanted to meet at some exclusive club in the warehouse district, who was I to judge? Probably one of those members-only places that the truly wealthy frequented. Maybe they had good food there or strong drinks. Who knew?
I showered and stood in front of my closet longer than I wanted to admit, trying to figure out what to wear. Business casual? Too formal? The self-help book had a chapter about dressing for the life you wanted, not the life you had. I settled on dark jeans and a fitted button-down that showed off the results of all those gym sessions. Not too eager, but put together.
By the time I parked near the address, it was five minutes to eleven. The building looked damn near abandoned from the outside. The place was all metal, old brick, and a single neon sign out front that said OPEN. I double-checked the address on the card. This was definitely it and there were quite a few cars parked out front.
A single metal door painted matte white sat at street level. It looked pretty normal as far as I could tell. The only other thing I saw was a handful of chimneys coming from the building that billowed what might have been steam. Was this a factory of some sort? Or maybe it was one of those clubs that liked to use a lot of fog machines? I had no idea.
With a sigh, I headed inside. I didn’t want to lose a client like Raoul because I kept him waiting. I just hoped this wasn’t some weird mafia headquarters or something.
When I stepped in, out of all the things I expected, a small minimalist lobby with vinyl floors and a single man behind the counter was not what I expected. There were no chairs, just a couple of plants and a single door next to the desk that seemedto lead deeper into the building. The man at the desk didn’t look up as I entered. Instead, he was focused on what looked like a smutty romance book.
