Fic: The Task At Hand (Leighton/Victoria, Adult, 59,000 words) 2/6
Master Post - Part 1
Victoria met with Mike on Monday afternoon to report in on her progress. The story they were telling in case anyone asked was that Mike was her mom's friend's son who'd been drafted to keep at least a minimal eye on her now that she'd just moved to New York. The reality was that Mike met her in a coffee shop that was almost empty and they sat in a corner where she told him what little she'd learned about Saporta.
"Jesus Christ," Mike said when she told him about the flowers. "That's fucking creepy."
"Tell me about it." Victoria sipped at her latte. "How the fuck did he even find me?"
"Could've had you followed."
"Yeah, that makes me feel better." Victoria tapped her fingers against the table. "The thing is that he's actually pretty fucking charming in person. Like I totally see what makes him a successful club operator. He probably has women falling all over him."
"And you've caught his attention. That's good."
"Yep. Now if I can just get him to tell me something useful."
Mike shrugged. "Guy like that, might be arrogant enough to believe nothing can take him down."
"That's what I'm counting on. I'm not sure how far he'll trust a woman he's trying to impress, but if he thinks he's safe, he might not be careful."
"Your cover's good," Mike said. "It'll hold."
Victoria shrugged. She wasn't too worried about that yet. She hadn't done anything to arouse Saporta's suspicion and nothing in Narcotics' background info suggested Saporta was violent. She could take care of herself, anyway.
"You need anything from the outside?"
Victoria laughed. "You make it sound like I'm in prison." She spread her hands on the table. "I've got an apartment, food, money for rent, clothes, coffee." She lifted her cup. "What more could I want?"
Mike shook his head. "We'll look into his staff, see what we can find. If you can get any more names, that'll help." He fiddled with his coffee, watching her for a moment.
Victoria just waited; if Saporta didn't rattle her, there was no way Mike was going to. He sighed, and she smirked in triumph.
"Want me to get a message to Leighton for you?"
Victoria's stomach dropped. She'd been working on the case, keeping herself busy with building up her cover and doing what Victoria Teague would do, and hadn't given herself time to think about Leighton. The moment Mike said her name, though, Leighton was all she could think about, and she wanted her there with an almost physical ache.
She hadn't really thought about passing messages through Mike and Michael, although it made sense. There wasn't really anything to say. It had only been four days, and Leighton knew that Victoria loved her, and that she would miss her while they were apart.
"No," she said to Mike. "But now I really do feel like I'm in prison."
"No conjugal visits though."
Mike smirked, and Victoria laughed, even as she wished for a sugar packet or a stirrer to throw at him.
*
Leighton met with Michael, whose cover was that he was a life coach to only a select collection of wealthy clients, on Monday and gave him the names of the bartender and the women from the spa.
She then spent Tuesday and Wednesday doing the things Elle Masters would do: shopping, having her nails done, buying and starting to read through a stack of books on business ownership with an emphasis on entertainment businesses.
On Wednesday night, she walked through the door of Coldman's at precisely six-thirty. She, of course, knew what Saporta looked like and spotted him almost immediately, but she wasn't supposed to know that, and so she waited just inside the entryway for a moment, scanning the bar in a completely obvious way.
Saporta stood up from the table he'd been sitting at and came over to her. "Elle?"
Leighton smiled at him. "Yes. Gabe?"
"That's me. This way." Saporta held out an arm to wave her into the bar, and she followed him across the floor to the table against a wall where he had the view of the room and she didn't. Elle Masters wouldn't notice things like that, so Leighton settled herself into the chair across from him and ordered a Manhattan when a waitress stopped by their table almost the moment Leighton sat down.
"So," Saporta said when they both had drinks in front of them, "you think you want to invest in a club."
"I do." Leighton sat back and casually crossed one leg over the other, watching the way his eyes dipped to watch. "My marriage was exceedingly dull and my husband was part of every financial decision I made. Now I have the money and I want some excitement. A club seems like the way to do it."
"Investing is definitely the right choice then. When you run the club, there's a lot of work to do. If you're just putting in the money," he shrugged, "it's more fun, less work."
Leighton smiled with all her teeth. "I'm not afraid of a little work."
"I'm sure you're not," Saporta said, smiling back at her in what was probably supposed to be a reassuring manner but came across as more condescending, "but if you want all the fun parts, investing is the way to go."
"In that case, do you know of anyone looking for investors?"
Saporta nodded slowly. "There's always someone looking for investors. Do you know what kind of club you're looking for?"
"Oh, you know." Leighton waved her hand. "Something fun, where people go to have a good time. Nothing too pretentious, nothing seedy, not the kind of place where stockbrokers go after closing a deal."
Saporta looked like he was about to say something, but instead pulled a phone out of his pocket and held up a finger telling her to wait a moment.
Leighton couldn't hear the other end of the conversation, but Saporta said, "She's there?" and then, "Yeah, last night," and then, "Fifteen minutes," and then he hung up.
"Club business," he said with a smile. "Never stops, and there are things I need to take care of. The drink's on me." He dropped cash on the table. "Stay and enjoy it. I'll come up with a list for you and call you later this week." He didn't even wait for Leighton's agreement before leaving.
*
Victoria stayed away from the club on Tuesday, and away from any of Saporta's known haunts. It could only work to her advantage to make him wait.
On Wednesday night, she dressed for Saporta's club, dress that hugged her curves, makeup that would pop in the dim lighting, heels high enough to keep Saporta from towering over her, and showed up earlier than she thought Victoria Teague would usually go out. But then, Saporta wasn't usual by anyone's standards, and even party girls liked to switch it up sometimes.
Saporta wasn't there, or at least not on the floor. He wouldn't have been hard to spot; the early Wednesday night crowd was small, mostly dedicated gamblers at the tables, a few people at the bar, and a couple slow dancing out of time with the music.
Victoria picked up a handful of chips and bet on a few of rounds of roulette, watched a woman lose, then win, then lose again at craps, and played three hands of blackjack. She was deciding whether or not to buy in for a fourth when a hand came over her shoulder and put a drink down on the table next to her. Victoria startled a little, and turned toward the person behind her. Saporta, of course, sliding into the chair next to her.
"You're late," he said. "I expected you yesterday."
Victoria tossed her hair back. "I had better things to do yesterday." She picked up her drink and her chips and stood up. She might as well free up the table for anyone else who wanted to play; she certainly wasn't going to when she could put her focus on playing Saporta instead.
"Now that can't possibly be true." Saporta caught her elbow and guided her to a table, far enough from the dance floor that it was slightly quieter.
"Believe what you want." Victoria pulled her arm away before they quite got to the table and chose her own chair.
"If you really weren't interested, you wouldn't have come today." The square table had four chairs; Saporta took one next to her.
Victoria shrugged. "I didn't have anything better to do today."
"I think you're interested. I think you're here because you like having the club owner buying you drinks. I think you liked the flowers."
"They are lovely. Thank you." Victoria sipped her drink. Rum and Coke, exactly what she'd ordered on Saturday. "And who wouldn't like having someone else buy their drinks?"
Saporta's fingers trailed along her forearm. "I think you like it better that I'm buying them."
His touch tickled; Victoria fought not to twitch away from it.
"Tell me what else you like, Vicky-T."
That she could handle. "Partying. Independent film. MAC lipstick." She smiled so his gaze would be drawn to it on her lips. "Dancing. Occasional risk-taking."
Saporta's touch firmed into his hand around her wrist. "Let's take care of a couple of those. Dance with me."
Victoria looked at him from under her lashes, as if she were contemplating it. She had to give it to him; he didn't break a sweat, just waited her out.
"Just this once."
*
Leighton had never guessed that being a wealthy divorcee could be quite so exhausting. It wasn't so much that she was doing anything to tire herself out, but the days just dragged on in an endless loop of shopping, coffee, and trips to the gym. She kept going to bars and clubs, too, to try to build up her cover, but that wasn't getting her any closer to Saporta. Unless he really did have eyes everywhere and there were people there reporting back to him. She was almost hoping he did, so her efforts wouldn't be in vain.
It was a relief when Saporta's number showed up on her phone on Friday afternoon while she was again at the spa.
"I've been thinking about what you're looking for," Saporta said. "Why don't you come down to my club this evening and see what it's like from the business end of things. See if this is what you really want."
Leighton grinned, but wiped it off her face before she spoke. "I'd love to." She took down the address and code word he rattled off to her, and made sure to leave her manicurist a hefty tip.
She had planned another exciting afternoon of reading at Starbucks, but she scrapped it in favor of going home and picking out an outfit that said "ready to have fun," "money," and "trustworthy" all at once.
Saporta hadn't given her a time, so Leighton had dinner first, and flipped through a magazine or two. She didn't leave the house until almost nine, when she called a cab and gave the driver the address of the deli.
Thank goodness for New York cab drivers who didn't bat an eye at taking her from an expensive apartment building to a storefront deli. He probably thought she was a working girl of some kind, but he wasn't who she had to prove herself to.
Even though Butcher and Victoria would do for witnesses, even if they couldn't flip anyone else below Saporta in his organization, Leighton was careful to note the details of the deli, Novarro behind the counter taking money and the code word, and the placement of the door to the club itself.
Saporta's rumored ability to know all made her think he probably had cameras everywhere - store, club, stairwell, and all. She tried to look for them without looking like she was looking for them, but aside from the obvious theft deterrent one over the cash register in the deli, she couldn't spot them.
Still, the possibility of their presence meant she made her way down the stairs at a brisk pace and didn't hesitate for a second before opening the door into the club.
*
Victoria stuck to her word and danced only one song with Saporta on Wednesday before she left to party somewhere else.
On Thursday, she buzzed up a delivery man and accepted a box that held a handful of extremely expensive chocolates and a card inviting her back to the club.
She thought about blowing him off again, but even a party girl would be intrigued by a guy who would send her flowers and chocolates in the same week, so instead she dressed in an extremely tight, extremely short skirt, made sure her makeup was absolutely perfect, and went to Saporta's club on Friday night.
This time, she skipped the gambling tables altogether and headed straight for the dance floor, melding into the crowd that was already there and moving to the music pouring out of the speakers. It didn't take more than a couple of songs before someone's hands settled on her waist, and she turned into the touch to find Saporta already moving with her.
Saporta's hands settled at the small of her back, and she smiled briefly at him before reaching up and putting her arms around him, her hands clasped together at the back of his neck. He was very much in charge, directing her to move with him and keeping them both on the beat and in the space on the floor he wanted them to be in.
Victoria couldn't help but compare it to dancing with Leighton. If she were with Leighton, chances were good they'd be laughing, or at least smiling at each other, and moving together effortlessly, without the need for either one of them to direct the other. Dancing with Leighton also usually resulted in the two of them tumbling into bed - or onto the couch or up against the wall, if they couldn't wait - and that wasn't how this dance was going to end.
Saporta leaned down to ask, "Buy you a drink?"
Victoria nodded. The dance floor was getting a little too crowded, and she was ready for some space; drinks would give her that.
Saporta found her a stool at the bar, more, she thought, through sheer height and presence than because it was his club. Surely not everyone who was there knew who he was. Some of them had to think he was just some outrageously dressed guy who was trying to pick her up. Saporta ordered their drinks, too, and handed Victoria her rum and Coke.
"You sure you don't want to try this?" He held up his Red Bull and vodka, and Victoria scrunched up her nose, making him laugh.
"Maybe when hell freezes over."
His laugh got louder and then settled into a grin. "You are a delight, Vicky-T. I'm glad you came to see me again."
Victoria raised her eyebrows at him. "What makes you think I came to see you?" She gestured at the club with her glass. "I just wanted to party, and I know your club is a good time."
*
Leighton didn't let the noise of the club faze her. She went through the door, letting it fall shut behind her, and glanced around, taking in the place. Gambling tables, dance floor, bar, all of it full of people there to have a good time.
Leighton didn't see Saporta, but given his all-knowing nature, it wouldn't be long before he found her or she found him, so she wandered her way through the tables, stopping here and there to watch people gambling. Professional croupiers, everything as above board as an underground gambling establishment could be. The gamblers seemed to appreciate it, and Leighton guessed they were mostly people there just to have fun, not addicts who would be better served by a place where they could have more constant access to the action.
She was watching the roulette wheel spin when something caught her eye, and she looked across the club to see Saporta's hand cupping Victoria's elbow as they made their way from the dance floor to the bar.
Leighton was hit with a stunning flash of jealousy. She was pretty sure she managed to keep it off her face, but she was surprised by herself; usually other people flirting with Victoria didn't bother her. It was, she supposed, worse when she couldn't pull Victoria back out onto the dance floor herself.
The roulette wheel stopped spinning, the ball stopped bouncing, and the croupier started divvying up bets. Leighton abandoned her place at the edge of the table for someone else to take and went to the bar.
Saporta was too canny not to keep an eye on his club, even while having a drink with Victoria, which meant he saw her coming. The smile on his face changed from the flirtatious one he'd been using on Victoria to the slightly cooler, businesslike one he'd given Leighton the last time they'd met.
"Elle," he said, getting up and greeting her with a handshake. "Glad you could make it."
Leighton nodded. "I hope I'm not interrupting."
The flirtatious smile made another appearance. "A little. Victoria, this is Elle. She's a business associate. Elle, this is Victoria."
Leighton shook Victoria's hand, careful not to let on that Victoria's touch made her heart beat faster.
"Nice to meet you," Victoria said, managing to be both sincere and the bored party girl at the same time.
"Likewise."
"Let me get you a drink." Saporta gestured the bartender over and ordered her a Manhattan without asking.
"Actually," Leighton said, leaning past him to speak to the bartender herself, "I'll have a martini." She smiled at Saporta, hoping that it conveyed both her thanks for the offer of a drink and her intention not to let him walk all over her.
"A martini then." Saporta said to the bartender, and further instructed him, "Elle's drinks are on the house tonight."
*
Victoria sipped at her drink to keep from laughing at the power struggle between Leighton and Saporta. Where Victoria's strategy was to be obviously contrary, Leighton was making it look like she was completely oblivious to the way she was thwarting Saporta's attempts to take charge.
Once Leighton had a drink, Saporta leaned closer to Victoria. "Elle's thinking about investing in a club. I invited her to come see what exactly that means."
Victoria raised her eyebrows at him, then turned to Leighton. "From what I can tell, it means you get to drink and dance with the clientele."
Saporta laughed, a pleased little rumble. "Only when it's worth it." His eyes raked over her body, and she was very aware of the way her skirt had slid up when she sat down and just how tight her top stretched across her breasts. "You're definitely worth it."
Victoria gave him the briefest of smiles.
"Of course," Saporta went on, turning to include Leighton again, "that's not all that goes into it. There's all kinds of boring shit involved in running a club. But partying with the clientele is a definite bonus."
"I can tell," Leighton said, and Victoria could almost feel the sweep of Leighton's eyes taking her in. "But I'm not quite looking to party like that."
"Maybe not yet, but you will," Saporta predicted. "What do you think of my club so far?"
Victoria watched Leighton look around the room. She hated being so close but not being able to touch Leighton, and she barely stifled a jump when Saporta's hand landed on her shoulder. She let it stay because she was supposed to be into him, but she wished it were Leighton's instead.
"Busy," Leighton answered. "Is it always like this?"
"Fridays and Saturdays," Saporta answered. "Weekdays are quieter, but we get enough business that we're open all week."
"Successful," Leighton said.
Victoria turned halfway away from them, looking at the dance floor instead. Victoria Teague was not a woman who would suffer business discussion for long. Saporta moved, and then his arm was around her waist, making it that much more difficult for her to slip away from them.
"Very," Saporta said. "We have a good business model. Partying all night, a service you can't get anywhere else in the city, and good music. It all brings people in and keeps them coming back."
"That's what makes for a successful club," Leighton said, "or so say all the investment books I've been reading."
"They're right, but it's really too loud out here for this conversation. Come on back to the office." Saporta squeezed Victoria's hip and leaned close to her. "This won't take too long. I'll find you when I'm done."
"If I'm still here," Victoria said. She nodded shortly at Leighton, who nodded back with a slight smirk of amusement.
"You like my club," Saporta said. "You like me. You're not going anywhere." He and Leighton walked away before Victoria could answer him. That was probably for the best; she wasn't sure Victoria Teague would actually say, "Like hell," to that, even though she was most definitely going to leave before Saporta got back.
*
Saporta's office, located down a hallway that also included doors to the restrooms and one marked "Poker," was equipped with the same soundproofing that kept the noise of the club from spilling up the stairs into the deli.
Instead of taking the chair behind the desk, Saporta sat on the far end of the couch pushed against one wall and gestured Leighton onto the other end. She looked around the room as she sat carefully, balancing both her purse and her drink as she sank into the plush cushions. Saporta's desk was an intimidatingly wide L-shaped expanse of wood unmarred by any clutter. There was a monitor tucked at the bend of the L, angled to be seen only by someone behind the desk, a printer at the far end, and a small tray at the corner closest to the door where, Leighton supposed, people could leave things for him when he wasn't there. It was empty at the moment.
There were two chairs in front of the desk and a filing cabinet with a lock behind it.
The walls held photographs, Saporta smiling out at the camera from most of them between groups of people Leighton recognized from the background info on his crew, although there were a large number of strangers mixed in as well. She didn't see Dueñas anywhere, although surely she'd been there before, which meant that Saporta had enough photos good enough to display to be able to switch them out when necessary. Leighton wondered who else used to be on his walls.
"The most exciting club in the world always has a boring office behind it," Saporta said. "Mine happens to be on site, but that's because I have just the one. If you get in on a club owned by someone with multiple places, chances are good they'll have one office to administer them all. A club's a lot like any other business." He gestured at the office. "Computer, files, space for meeting anyone who needs to be met. I know you want excitement, but that all happens on the outside. This part isn't any more glamorous than anything else."
"Except then you get to go party with the clientele," Leighton said.
"Except that." A smile creased Saporta's face. "Definitely a bonus. But back here, it's all bookkeeping and staffing. If you're just an investor, you'll want to keep an eye on the finances, but you won't have to deal with the day to day shit." Saporta tipped back the end of his drink. "You'll get a return on your investment and get to party with the clientele."
Leighton weighed the moment, and decided to plunge ahead; Elle Masters needed to prove she was willing to be bold. "And how's the return on investment on your club?"
*
Victoria was watching the room, so it wasn't a surprise when Butcher slid into the slight space between her and the person next to her.
"Hi." He leaned in close. "Looks like you're all alone."
Victoria smiled at him, deliberately friendly, knowing someone was likely to see it and report back to Saporta. "Not anymore."
"I'd offer to buy you a drink, but." He shrugged, and she looked down at the drink in her hands.
Victoria twisted to put her glass down on the bar. "I'd rather dance anyway. I'm Victoria."
"Butcher." Butcher took the hand she held out to him and let her lead him onto the dance floor.
Butcher didn't quite have Saporta's effortless command of rhythm, but he was nice to dance with. Although the other dancers pushed them close together, Butcher left her enough space to move on her own, and it was Victoria who closed it and pulled him close to her. He didn't try to direct her then, either, and Victoria found herself genuinely enjoying it. That made it easy to turn an uncomplicated smile on him for the benefit of anyone watching them.
He smiled back and only then pulled her closer.
The music changed and changed again, and Saporta didn't show up to collect her. Maybe whatever combination of electronics and people he had watching her didn't care who she danced with as long as she didn't leave.
Victoria Teague had better things to do than wait around for a guy she wasn't sure she was that into anyway. Victoria Asher knew that leaving was probably a good way to keep Saporta's interest. From the looks she'd seen women throwing them earlier in the evening, it probably didn't happen to him that often.
"I'm going to get out of here." She had to raise her voice to be heard over the music. "Thanks for the dance."
"Thank you," Butcher said. "It's been a pleasure."
Victoria smiled at him again, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. Butcher had said Saporta knew about every hookup that happened in the club; surely that would get back to him.
Victoria had enough practice working her way through crowded spaces that getting off the dance floor was the work of a bare minute, and getting from there to the exit was practically a cakewalk. No one stopped her to talk, and if Saporta's people were watching her, they were good enough to do it without being noticed.
She was only a couple of blocks from a subway stop, and she flipped through her phone as she waited for a train, choosing her next destination. She picked another club that was closer to the apartment and spent a few more hours dancing with strangers before she decided Victoria Teague's budget could spare the money for a cab home.
Only when she was in the apartment, faced with Saporta's flowers and an empty bed, did she let the party girl facade drop. She'd known it would be hard to be away from Leighton, but she hadn't realized how much worse it would be with Saporta touching her instead.
*
"Excellent," Saporta answered promptly. "But I'm not looking for investors."
Leighton waved away his concern. "Everyone's always looking for investors. This place must take a lot of capital to run."
"This place takes in a lot of capital."
Leighton sipped her drink and let her lips settle into a slight smile. "Ever think about expanding?"
"You are persistent." Saporta sounded as if he appreciated that. "I am expanding my business operations at the moment, but I have the cash to cover it."
"And that means the liability is all yours. If you had a partner, you could spread the risk around."
Saporta leaned forward, his eyes boring into hers. "And why are you so eager to buy your way into my affections?"
Leighton laughed sharply. "I don't give a shit about your affections. I'm done with men." She cut her hand through the air, then smiled. "At least for now. I want to buy my way into your club."
"Just like that."
"Every decision in my life," she said, "from marrying my cheating bastard of an ex to divorcing him to buying every fucking piece of furniture we owned has been very, very carefully considered." She shrugged with one shoulder. "I'm living an exciting life now, and I'm ready to jump into something."
"And the fact that my club is underground, figuratively speaking, doesn't scare you off?"
"Not a bit." Leighton paused for a moment. "I do want to know how you keep from getting raided by the cops, but I'm not afraid of it."
Saporta sipped his drink and looked at her in silence for a small eternity. Leighton didn't let it faze her, just waited and occasionally sipped at her martini.
"I'll think about it," he finally said. "You do realize I'm going to have to look into your finances."
"Of course." Leighton smiled. "One useful thing I learned from my ex is how to keep careful track of financial matters. Everything's in order. Make me a list of what you need from me and I'll make sure it gets to you."
Saporta had her put her email address into his phone and promised to let her know. "In the meantime," he said, standing and offering her an unnecessary hand up, "come enjoy the club. I'll spot you a handful of chips, see what you can do with them."
Leighton followed him back into the noise and bustle of the club, and across the room to the cashier where he did, in fact, give her a handful of chips.
"Gamble, have a drink, dance." He spread his arms out, showing off like the tycoon he appeared to be. "I'll email you next week." He headed toward the bar, clearly finished playing host to her.
Leighton did a quick scan of the room and didn't see Victoria anywhere. She could have been somewhere on the dance floor, but Leighton had a pretty good view of the room from where she was, and she knew how Victoria moved.
*
Victoria answered her phone, which was showing a number she didn't recognize, with a cautious, "Hello?"
"Vicky-T," Saporta said, his voice warm, "you ditched me last night."
Victoria didn't even pretend to be conciliatory. "The way I remember it is that you ditched me." She rummaged through her fridge, not really looking for anything, but keeping her hands busy and her attention divided so he would have to work for it.
"That was business. If I'd known you were going to be there, I wouldn't have invited her. Besides," Saporta added, "I heard you found someone to entertain you while I was gone."
"I am not," she informed him, "the kind of girl who waits around." Victoria closed the refrigerator, hard enough that the sound of it should have carried to him.
"I'm worth waiting around for."
Saporta's ego trip was almost charming just in its excess.
"Let me buy you dinner tonight. No business, I promise."
Victoria hesitated. She had to make him come to her. "It's Saturday. Don't you have to be at your club or whatever?"
"They'll survive without me for one night, even on a Saturday. Come on, Vicky-T, don't let me down."
Victoria sighed heavily. "Fine. One dinner."
"One dinner to start with," he said. "I'll pick you up at seven. Wear something nice." The click of the phone told Victoria he'd hung up, and she ground her teeth together. Was that kind of macho presumption still something people did? And did it actually work?
She shuddered. It was only working on her because it had to, because it was her fucking job for it to work on her.
The tulips were still staring at her from the living room. Victoria resolutely turned her back on them and spent some time trying to decide what Saporta would consider "something nice" before settling on a relatively demure black dress and a pair of yellow heels to set it off. It wouldn't do for the party girl to be too tame.
That still left most of her afternoon free, and she amused herself by eavesdropping on conversations at the closest Starbucks while pretending to read a magazine whose pages she never turned.
Victoria was actually reading the same magazine, perched on the edge of her couch to avoid wrinkling anything too badly, when the intercom buzzed and she told Saporta she'd be right down. She checked herself one last time in the mirror in the entryway - lipstick still perfect, half-smile firmly on - before she left the apartment.
"Victoria," Saporta greeted her when she opened the door to the building. He'd been leaning against a very expensive car, but pushed off it and came across the sidewalk to kiss the back of her hand like he was in some sort of costume drama. The appreciation in his eyes, however, was all twenty-first century lust. "You look lovely."
"Thank you. You clean up respectably." He'd switched out his jeans and flannel for a suit that fit him perfectly. In truth, it went beyond respectable and well into the realm of damn fine, but she wasn't going to make anything too easy for him.
*
Saturday evening, and Leighton was poring through financial records. She'd gone over the basics of her cover's finances as part of her prep for the job, but she'd decided they were worth another look. She could reasonably claim to need to refer back to her records if Saporta asked something she didn't know, but she'd also told him she was at least somewhat financially savvy, and it couldn't hurt to be as familiar as possible with the inner workings of Elle Masters' financial life.
The problem with that approach was that Elle Masters' financial life, while extensive, was incredibly boring. While Leighton was used to the slogging through details that often made up police work, she was usually keeping an eye out for something that didn't fit, or that would best be explained by a crime. Elle Masters had none of that. Her profile was simply an even mosaic of the financial interests held by the wealthy.
Leighton gave up after a while. She had enough of it memorized that she would hold up to Saporta's scrutiny, and the paperwork was available for the rest of it if he asked.
She changed her clothes and hailed a cab to one of the other clubs on her list of places Saporta and his associates frequented. Even if she'd gotten a direct line to Saporta through Dueñas, it couldn't hurt to forge some other ties to him and his world. Dueñas didn't really know her, even if she was enough to get Leighton an introduction, and other contacts would give her a little more pull with Saporta.
The club had some sort of children's television theme going. It was enough to make Leighton pause in the doorway, wondering if she'd somehow gotten the wrong place. Gambling and - she glanced around - SpongeBob didn't really seem to be in the same league. But then she remembered Saporta's apparent fondness for hideous clothing and decided that it might not be that incongruous after all.
She'd barely gotten her drink when an extremely tall man, his hair parted in such a way that it did nothing to conceal a hairline that was beginning to recede, came to stand next to her. Last time Leighton had seen his face, it was in a surveillance photo - he didn't have a record - with "Ryland Blackinton" labeled across the bottom.
"I couldn't help but notice you," he said in a British accent so smarmy Leighton almost laughed at him then and there. "You seem to be all alone. Perhaps you would like to join me for a drink."
Leighton did laugh then, but just a chuckle. "Does that ever work?"
"More often than you might think," he said, still with a wide smile but dropping the accent. "And if not, I still have friends to talk to." He gestured back at a table for four with only two occupied chairs. Leighton recognized their occupants from their surveillance photos as well: Alex Suarez and Lauren Strenge.
*
The place Saporta took her - or, more specifically, the place he had his driver take them - was far, far out of her price range, either as Victoria Teague or Victoria Asher. Victoria refused to be impressed. She merely followed the maitre d' to their table as if this were the thing she did every day and ignored every less than complimentary glance at the color of her shoes.
"What do you think?" Saporta asked after they'd been seated.
Victoria looked at him over the top of her menu, then glanced around the restaurant. She'd already taken in the exits and the other diners, but he hadn't seen her do that; this look was for show.
"I haven't tried the food yet." Victoria looked back down at her menu, but could see the twist of Saporta's mouth in her peripheral vision.
"I promise you it's excellent."
"You drink Red Bull and vodka."
"Don't knock it till you try it."
Victoria ignored that and kept reading through the menu. It certainly sounded excellent. When she'd made her choice, she set her menu down next to her plate.
A waiter, who'd apparently only been waiting for that signal, appeared as if by magic to take their orders. Saporta ordered one of the ridiculously decadent appetizers for them to share and a bottle of wine, but wasn't quite so presumptuous as to order Victoria's meal for her.
"Independent film," Saporta said, when the waiter left as unobtrusively as he'd arrived. "Is that how you met Adrian?"
Victoria shrugged with one shoulder. "More or less. I was in film school and we had friends who knew each other. You know how it is." That story had the advantage of being absolutely true.
"Film school," Saporta repeated. "So why New York? Isn't Hollywood the place to be?"
Victoria didn't have to feign her annoyance. "Not for independent film. Hollywood is all big budgets and big business. Doesn't matter how good you are, just who you know and what kind of numbers you can bring in."
Saporta chuckled. "Sounds like running a club, except how good you are is what brings in the numbers."
The waiter came back with their wine and let Saporta taste it for his approval before pouring glasses for each of them.
"I would never have known about your club if I didn't know someone who knew about it." Victoria sipped her wine. It was excellent.
"Not even the same thing." Saporta's eyes were bright with challenge. "The fact that you have to know someone who knows about it is part of what makes my club so good. I wouldn't get half the people if we were aboveground."
"So you're saying your club doesn't stand on its merits alone. It's all business."
Saporta chuckled. "Okay, maybe I'm more like Hollywood than independent film, at least when it comes to business." He reached across the table and took her hand. "Personally, it's all about how good I am."
*
Leighton sipped her drink and pretended to consider Blackinton's offer. "You get," she pulled out her cell phone, "twenty minutes to convince me that sitting with the three of you is better than drinking alone." She set a timer and dropped her cell phone back into her purse.
"We'll have you convinced in ten." Blackinton let Leighton precede him to the table, where he gestured at Suarez and Strenge. "My compatriots are the nerdy Alex and the lovely Lauren. I myself am the extremely handsome Ryland. And you are?"
Leighton thought for a second, then introduced herself as, "The incomparable Elle."
Leighton took the empty chair across from Suarez, leaving Blackinton to sit between them. Narcotics' files had said that Suarez and Blackinton had run some small-time gambling interests - floating craps and poker, mostly - on their own before Saporta had absorbed them into his enterprises. While they were both sharp, all their available information said Suarez was the one to watch out for. He was more serious, and he had a culinary degree, which meant he was proficient with any manner of sharp objects.
"Our task," Blackinton said to his companions, "is to convince Elle that drinking with us is better than drinking alone."
"Anything's better than drinking alone," Suarez said.
"No one to interrupt your thoughts," Leighton said.
"No one to engage in witty repartee," Blackinton countered.
"Unless you like talking to yourself," Strenge said.
The three of them had a good rhythm going, and they managed to absorb Leighton into it nearly effortlessly.
"Let me ask you a question." Leighton put her glass down. "Why come to a bar that looks like Nickelodeon's merchandising department threw up all over its walls?"
Suarez said, "Now you've done it," and Strenge laughed.
"SpongeBob," Blackinton intoned, holding up a finger to draw her attention, "is one of the true heroes of our age. A man with only one pair of square pants. A man who lives in a pineapple under the sea. A man who works, day in and day out, for a crab. This man still manages to be an inspiration to millions."
It was hard to tell if he was serious. It could all be a put-on designed to entertain, but Leighton had met criminals - and even law-abiding citizens - with equally strange preoccupations.
"Besides," Blackinton said, dropping back into the casual manner that was probably his usual speaking style, "you're here."
"Ah," Leighton said, "but I didn't know what I was getting into when I came in here."
"Then why come in at all?" Even though it was Strenge who'd asked, Suarez was intently focused on Leighton.
Leighton shrugged. "Heard the name somewhere, and wanted to try something new. That's been my goal since my divorce."
There was a moment of silence while the rest of the table digested that. Suarez was still watching her intently, but Strenge looked sympathetic and Blackinton apologetic.
*
Victoria would give Saporta this: he had excellent taste. If she thought they could ever afford it, she would insist on bringing Leighton here. The food was incredible, everything cooked and spiced to bring out the best of its flavor, and the wine and appetizer Saporta had chosen went well with her dinner.
He also turned up the charm as the meal progressed, and it lost the obnoxious edge most of his come-ons had held. That made keeping a conversation going a lot easier, and Victoria was able to ask him, "How did you become an underground club owner?" without seeming like it was coming out of nowhere.
Saporta chuckled. "It's probably not all that different from how anyone becomes a club owner. I used to play in poker clubs." He waited for her nod before continuing. "And after a while, you know, I got to thinking, 'Hey, I could do this better.' Saved up, sold some real estate I'd been holding onto, and put the money into a club. Been doing it better ever since."
Everything but the reason he'd chosen to do it matched what his file said. "You make it sound so easy."
"At a certain point, starting a business stops being such a challenge."
Victoria put her fork down and sipped at her wine between bites. "Does that mean you have other businesses?"
"Of course." Saporta's mouth quirked into a smile. "Are you going to want to see my credit report too, or will an abbreviated profile be enough?"
"Oh, just the highlights," Victoria said breezily. "A girl can never be too careful."
"Highlights," Saporta repeated. "The club. The deli, of course. Another restaurant across town. Couple of houses in Jersey." He leaned in. "All of them solvent, everything in the black. I am not whatever kind of deadbeat you're trying to figure out if I might be."
No, but he was some other kind of deadbeat. Victoria said, "A girl can never be too careful," again, and added, "I don't know what to expect of a guy who runs an illegal club."
"Some men," Saporta said, "wouldn't know what to expect of a girl who frequents illegal clubs." He reached across the table to pick up her hand and press a kiss to the back of it. "I know that it only shows a willingness to take risks and the kind of spirit that refuses to let arbitrary rules keep her from enjoying herself."
Victoria shivered under the intensity of Saporta's gaze. She'd maybe had too much wine; she was starting to find his overbearing attention flattering.
She reached for her water glass instead of the wine and used the excuse of sipping it to look away from him.
"I do like to enjoy myself." She put her glass down and gently pulled her hand away from his so she could use both hands to unnecessarily cut a piece of potato into two smaller pieces. "The food is excellent, by the way."
Saporta grinned at her. "Now that you trust my taste, I'll have you drinking Red Bull and vodka in no time."
*
"Oh, shit," Blackinton said, interrupting Suarez's discourse on the relative merits of French cooking and vegetarianism. "How long has it been? We're supposed to be convincing Elle we're better than drinking alone."
Leighton checked her phone. "Seventeen minutes." She smiled at him. "I'm already entertained enough not to walk away at twenty, so I think that means you've done it. Congratulations." She turned off the timer and glanced down at her glass. "Tell you what, next round's on me."
Blackinton went with her to the bar to grab four more drinks. When they got back, Suarez and Strenge were holding hands, but they let them drop casually.
"You're a chef?" Leighton asked Suarez.
"Used to be." Suarez twisted his glass on the table. "Now I just cook for fun."
"And because you're a giant food snob," Strenge added.
Suarez smiled at her, and Leighton could see that it was genuinely affectionate, the kind of smile Victoria might give Leighton for teasing about her fondness for skirts and dresses over pants.
"And because I'm a giant food snob."
"What do you do instead?"
Suarez and Blackinton exchanged a quick look that Leighton wouldn't have seen if she hadn't been watching for exactly that kind of thing.
Blackinton took over answering. "Alex and I used to have our own thing going, but now we work for a guy who's basically a one-man empire. A club, some restaurants, that kind of thing. We take care of various business things."
"Really? I'm looking to invest in a club."
Suarez and Blackinton exchanged another quick look. Leighton sipped her drink and pretended not to watch them.
"Not sure the boss is looking to take on investors right now," Suarez said. "But clubs are a dime a dozen in the city. I'm sure you'll find one."
"I'm sure," Leighton agreed. "And what do you do?" she asked Strenge.
"Jewelry design." Strenge tucked her hair back and tilted her head toward Leighton. "These are some of mine."
Leighton reached out and let the weight of the earring rest against her finger, examining it. Platinum and diamonds. Strenge was doing well for herself if that was the sort of thing she was selling. Leighton couldn't remember seeing anything about it in the files. She'd have to tell Michael; maybe there was something they could catch there too.
"Very nice," she said.
"Thank you." Strenge reached into her purse and handed over a business card. There was a tasteful image of jewels against a light purple background and instructions to call for an appointment. "In case you're ever interested."
"Thank you." Leighton slipped the card into her own purse. That would make things much easier for Michael. "Next time I need something new, I'll know where to go."
*
"Are you sure I can't convince you to come dancing at the club?"
Victoria shook her head. "You said no business, and if we go to the club, you'll end up doing some anyway."
"The curse of the business owner." Saporta held the door of the restaurant for her, then put his hand on the small of her back to lead her across the sidewalk to the car. "Dancing somewhere else then? I do frequent establishments other than my own." He held the car door too.
Victoria rested her hand over her stomach. "I'm so full. I don't think I can summon up the energy for dancing tonight. Maybe next time."
Saporta leaned forward to tell the driver to take them back to Victoria's building, then sat back and smirked at Victoria. "Does that mean there's going to be a next time?"
Victoria scooted a little bit closer to him, not all the way across the seat, just far enough that she could put her hand on his arm. "You're a very charming man, Gabe Saporta. I'm sure you can talk me into a next time." She didn't have to lie as much as she'd thought she would to say it. He was very charming.
"Oh, Vicky-T," he all but purred, "I'm going to talk you into all kinds of things."
Victoria outright laughed at that. It was so outrageous, such a line, but he sold it so well.
Saporta didn't take offense at her laughter. He seemed content to smile at her in response.
Victoria looked away from him, glancing out the window to watch the lights of the city pass them by. She was supposed to be getting close to Saporta, and she knew how to play hard to get, but this was trickier. Now she had to work the balance between letting him know she was interested and making him think she was a sure thing. He would give up if she didn't encourage him at all, but she would lose her interest if she made it too easy for him.
"I love this," Saporta said. He'd moved closer to her while she wasn't looking. "The way the whole city lights up at night."
"It's so different from L.A." Victoria dredged up her memories of how New York had looked when she'd first moved. "There it's all horizontal. You can go up in the hills and look down on this huge area that's all lit up. Here it's all vertical. The lights just go up around you."
Saporta was close enough that Victoria could feel the heat of his body along her side. "How would you film it?"
That one was easy; when she'd first moved to New York, that had been how Victoria had seen the world. "Keep the cameras low, so everything was at a slight up angle so you get that sense of being in the valley between the buildings." Victoria laughed a little and turned back toward Saporta, using the motion to put a little more space between them. "But you'd have to have matching flat-out shots of L.A. for the contrast."
"You seem like a determined woman," Saporta said. "I'd put money down that you could make it happen."
*
Suarez and Strenge left not much later, but Blackinton smiled wide and exaggerated and said, "I'll keep the incomparable Elle company."
"That's a tall order," Leighton said. "Now it's all on you to be entertaining."
Blackinton shrugged. "I'm a very tall man. And a very entertaining one." Leighton couldn't quite figure out what the accent on that was supposed to be. She was starting to get the sense that Blackinton was more than he appeared. The constant playacting was a good distraction; anything could be going on under it, and it would keep people underestimating him.
"Let me ask," she said. "You don't seem attached. Girlfriend? Boyfriend?"
"Not at the moment, but it's only a matter of time." Blackinton leaned back in his chair and didn't even bother trying to be subtle as his gaze roamed from the top of her head to the toes of her shoes. "I don't suppose you're in the market."
Leighton didn't even have to fake her laughter. Forget the fact that men just weren't her thing. She would never go for someone with as little ability to be direct as Blackinton seemed to have. Even in the early days of their first subtle flirtation, Victoria had never hidden who she was or that she was interested in Leighton.
"No, sorry," she said, still laughing. "You go through a divorce like mine, and the last thing you even want to think about is a relationship." She smiled to soften it. "I could always use a drinking buddy."
Blackinton raised his glass and knocked it against hers. "Done." He drank, and then asked, "How do you feel about dancing and gambling?"
"Sounds like a good time to me."
Blackinton grinned. "Then let's get out of here. The boss is out tonight and Alex and Lauren were going home, so I should drop in to check on the club. Care to join me?"
Leighton finished off her drink in one large swallow. "Lead the way."
Blackinton held out his arm to her, pretending to stoop to get it low enough. Leighton laughed and linked her arm through his. They had to walk around the corner to a busier cross street to hail a cab, and Blackinton kept their arms linked until he had to step away to open the cab door for her. He gave the address to the driver as he got into the car. Leighton managed to start as if she'd actually been surprised by it.
"You work for Gabe Saporta? I was just in there yesterday talking to him about investing."
Blackinton looked at her sharply, and then smoothed it out into the wide grin from earlier. "Then perhaps we were just destined to met. Must be kismet."
Leighton laughed lightly. "Must be."
*
Victoria's temporary home was on a quiet street where the driver could pull up right in front of her building without being in the way. Victoria glanced out the window at the building, automatically taking note of her window, still dark, and the man halfway down the block bending over to clean up after his dog. She missed Gizmo with a sudden sharp pang. He'd been with her even longer than Leighton.
Victoria turned back to Saporta. "This is me."
"That it is." Saporta opened his door. "I'll walk you in."
Victoria didn't wait for him to open her door, but he came around the car and closed it behind her. Saporta put his hand on the small of her back and guided her up the steps to the door.
Victoria dug her keys out of her purse, then turned toward Saporta, smiling softly up at him. "Thank you, for dinner. It was an adequate apology."
"I should hope so." He trailed the back of one finger down her cheek. "Are you going to invite me up?"
Victoria kept her tone light as she said, "Not on the first date."
Saporta stepped closer, into her space, and his other hand settled on her hip. "I've bought you drinks twice. Surely we're into third date territory here."
Victoria shook her head. "Those don't count. This was definitely the first date. And I'm not that kind of girl."
Saporta tipped her chin up with the hand still on her face and bent down to kiss her, slowly enough that she could have stepped away if she wanted to. If it had been just about her, she would have, but she was playing a role here and she needed to make him believe she was interested.
Victoria wasn't surprised that Saporta was good at kissing, but she was surprised by how light he kept it. He just brushed his lips against hers, one hand still on her hip, the other tucked under her chin, his skin warm against hers in the cooling night.
He pulled away, and she followed him without consciously thinking about it, acting only on her instinct about what to do when someone kissed her like that.
Saporta tapped a finger against her lips. "You're not that kind of girl." His smile was both pleased and tinged with triumph. "When should we go on a second date?"
Victoria regained her balance enough to ask, "What makes you think you're getting a second date?"
"That was not the kiss of a woman planning never to see me again." Saporta squeezed her hip. "Tuesday?"
"I have things to do other than spend time with you." Victoria took a step back. "I'll let you know."
Saporta laughed. "All right, Vicky-T, you win this one. Call me."
Victoria turned away from him and unlocked the door to the building. Saporta was still standing there when she turned to close it behind her. He waved at her before turning back to the car.
Victoria didn't let herself relax until she was in the elevator and the doors had closed behind her. It was just that she missed Leighton. That was the only reason she'd responded to his kiss the way she had.
*
Over the next week, Leighton met with two financial advisors, a club promoter looking to open a new place, the women from the spa, and Michael. She was extra careful, especially when she met with Michael; she spotted tails at least twice, which meant Saporta was checking up on her. That was, on the whole, good. Her cover was solid, and if he was going to the effort of having her followed - and doing God only knew what other kind of investigation - he was considering taking her on as an investor.
On Thursday she went back to the bar where she'd met Blackinton and Suarez. There wasn't anyone she knew there, but she got a drink anyway and sat at the bar making notes on her phone.
Half an hour later, Blackinton slid onto the stool next to her and said, "Fancy meeting you here."
"I think all the yellow kind of grew on me." Leighton smiled at him. "Besides, I was hoping to run into you."
Blackinton arched an eyebrow, then leaned away from her to gesture at the bartender. "You could have come to the club."
"I could have," Leighton agreed, "but this place is much better for conversation."
"Then by all means, let us converse." Blackinton had no sooner said it than the bartender arrived to take his order, interrupting their conversation.
Leighton waited until he had his drink before trying to say anything of substance. Then she asked, "How serious is your boss about the possibility of taking me on as an investor?"
If Blackinton was surprised by the question, he didn't show it. "What makes you ask?"
"He said he was going to get in touch this week, but he hasn't." Leighton leaned forward into the space between them. "This is something I'm going to do, and if he's not interested, there are other people I've been talking to." She sat back and smiled at him. "I just like his club best."
Blackinton chuckled. "It has that effect on people." He drank down half his drink in one swallow. "What's the rush?"
"Quite frankly," Leighton told him, "I'm bored. I don't have to attend events or keep house for a husband, and there are only so many days I can go to the spa. I'm ready for an adventure."
"You could always open your own club."
Leighton smiled, watching to make sure she had all of his attention. "I'd like to, but I want a little experience under my belt first."
"That seems wise." Blackinton sipped his drink and looked past her at the TV in the corner showing something that no doubt featured one of the cartoon characters festooning the walls. Leighton waited, and he looked at her again after a moment. "I can't make any promises, of course, but I'll put in a good word with the boss."
Part 3
Victoria met with Mike on Monday afternoon to report in on her progress. The story they were telling in case anyone asked was that Mike was her mom's friend's son who'd been drafted to keep at least a minimal eye on her now that she'd just moved to New York. The reality was that Mike met her in a coffee shop that was almost empty and they sat in a corner where she told him what little she'd learned about Saporta.
"Jesus Christ," Mike said when she told him about the flowers. "That's fucking creepy."
"Tell me about it." Victoria sipped at her latte. "How the fuck did he even find me?"
"Could've had you followed."
"Yeah, that makes me feel better." Victoria tapped her fingers against the table. "The thing is that he's actually pretty fucking charming in person. Like I totally see what makes him a successful club operator. He probably has women falling all over him."
"And you've caught his attention. That's good."
"Yep. Now if I can just get him to tell me something useful."
Mike shrugged. "Guy like that, might be arrogant enough to believe nothing can take him down."
"That's what I'm counting on. I'm not sure how far he'll trust a woman he's trying to impress, but if he thinks he's safe, he might not be careful."
"Your cover's good," Mike said. "It'll hold."
Victoria shrugged. She wasn't too worried about that yet. She hadn't done anything to arouse Saporta's suspicion and nothing in Narcotics' background info suggested Saporta was violent. She could take care of herself, anyway.
"You need anything from the outside?"
Victoria laughed. "You make it sound like I'm in prison." She spread her hands on the table. "I've got an apartment, food, money for rent, clothes, coffee." She lifted her cup. "What more could I want?"
Mike shook his head. "We'll look into his staff, see what we can find. If you can get any more names, that'll help." He fiddled with his coffee, watching her for a moment.
Victoria just waited; if Saporta didn't rattle her, there was no way Mike was going to. He sighed, and she smirked in triumph.
"Want me to get a message to Leighton for you?"
Victoria's stomach dropped. She'd been working on the case, keeping herself busy with building up her cover and doing what Victoria Teague would do, and hadn't given herself time to think about Leighton. The moment Mike said her name, though, Leighton was all she could think about, and she wanted her there with an almost physical ache.
She hadn't really thought about passing messages through Mike and Michael, although it made sense. There wasn't really anything to say. It had only been four days, and Leighton knew that Victoria loved her, and that she would miss her while they were apart.
"No," she said to Mike. "But now I really do feel like I'm in prison."
"No conjugal visits though."
Mike smirked, and Victoria laughed, even as she wished for a sugar packet or a stirrer to throw at him.
*
Leighton met with Michael, whose cover was that he was a life coach to only a select collection of wealthy clients, on Monday and gave him the names of the bartender and the women from the spa.
She then spent Tuesday and Wednesday doing the things Elle Masters would do: shopping, having her nails done, buying and starting to read through a stack of books on business ownership with an emphasis on entertainment businesses.
On Wednesday night, she walked through the door of Coldman's at precisely six-thirty. She, of course, knew what Saporta looked like and spotted him almost immediately, but she wasn't supposed to know that, and so she waited just inside the entryway for a moment, scanning the bar in a completely obvious way.
Saporta stood up from the table he'd been sitting at and came over to her. "Elle?"
Leighton smiled at him. "Yes. Gabe?"
"That's me. This way." Saporta held out an arm to wave her into the bar, and she followed him across the floor to the table against a wall where he had the view of the room and she didn't. Elle Masters wouldn't notice things like that, so Leighton settled herself into the chair across from him and ordered a Manhattan when a waitress stopped by their table almost the moment Leighton sat down.
"So," Saporta said when they both had drinks in front of them, "you think you want to invest in a club."
"I do." Leighton sat back and casually crossed one leg over the other, watching the way his eyes dipped to watch. "My marriage was exceedingly dull and my husband was part of every financial decision I made. Now I have the money and I want some excitement. A club seems like the way to do it."
"Investing is definitely the right choice then. When you run the club, there's a lot of work to do. If you're just putting in the money," he shrugged, "it's more fun, less work."
Leighton smiled with all her teeth. "I'm not afraid of a little work."
"I'm sure you're not," Saporta said, smiling back at her in what was probably supposed to be a reassuring manner but came across as more condescending, "but if you want all the fun parts, investing is the way to go."
"In that case, do you know of anyone looking for investors?"
Saporta nodded slowly. "There's always someone looking for investors. Do you know what kind of club you're looking for?"
"Oh, you know." Leighton waved her hand. "Something fun, where people go to have a good time. Nothing too pretentious, nothing seedy, not the kind of place where stockbrokers go after closing a deal."
Saporta looked like he was about to say something, but instead pulled a phone out of his pocket and held up a finger telling her to wait a moment.
Leighton couldn't hear the other end of the conversation, but Saporta said, "She's there?" and then, "Yeah, last night," and then, "Fifteen minutes," and then he hung up.
"Club business," he said with a smile. "Never stops, and there are things I need to take care of. The drink's on me." He dropped cash on the table. "Stay and enjoy it. I'll come up with a list for you and call you later this week." He didn't even wait for Leighton's agreement before leaving.
*
Victoria stayed away from the club on Tuesday, and away from any of Saporta's known haunts. It could only work to her advantage to make him wait.
On Wednesday night, she dressed for Saporta's club, dress that hugged her curves, makeup that would pop in the dim lighting, heels high enough to keep Saporta from towering over her, and showed up earlier than she thought Victoria Teague would usually go out. But then, Saporta wasn't usual by anyone's standards, and even party girls liked to switch it up sometimes.
Saporta wasn't there, or at least not on the floor. He wouldn't have been hard to spot; the early Wednesday night crowd was small, mostly dedicated gamblers at the tables, a few people at the bar, and a couple slow dancing out of time with the music.
Victoria picked up a handful of chips and bet on a few of rounds of roulette, watched a woman lose, then win, then lose again at craps, and played three hands of blackjack. She was deciding whether or not to buy in for a fourth when a hand came over her shoulder and put a drink down on the table next to her. Victoria startled a little, and turned toward the person behind her. Saporta, of course, sliding into the chair next to her.
"You're late," he said. "I expected you yesterday."
Victoria tossed her hair back. "I had better things to do yesterday." She picked up her drink and her chips and stood up. She might as well free up the table for anyone else who wanted to play; she certainly wasn't going to when she could put her focus on playing Saporta instead.
"Now that can't possibly be true." Saporta caught her elbow and guided her to a table, far enough from the dance floor that it was slightly quieter.
"Believe what you want." Victoria pulled her arm away before they quite got to the table and chose her own chair.
"If you really weren't interested, you wouldn't have come today." The square table had four chairs; Saporta took one next to her.
Victoria shrugged. "I didn't have anything better to do today."
"I think you're interested. I think you're here because you like having the club owner buying you drinks. I think you liked the flowers."
"They are lovely. Thank you." Victoria sipped her drink. Rum and Coke, exactly what she'd ordered on Saturday. "And who wouldn't like having someone else buy their drinks?"
Saporta's fingers trailed along her forearm. "I think you like it better that I'm buying them."
His touch tickled; Victoria fought not to twitch away from it.
"Tell me what else you like, Vicky-T."
That she could handle. "Partying. Independent film. MAC lipstick." She smiled so his gaze would be drawn to it on her lips. "Dancing. Occasional risk-taking."
Saporta's touch firmed into his hand around her wrist. "Let's take care of a couple of those. Dance with me."
Victoria looked at him from under her lashes, as if she were contemplating it. She had to give it to him; he didn't break a sweat, just waited her out.
"Just this once."
*
Leighton had never guessed that being a wealthy divorcee could be quite so exhausting. It wasn't so much that she was doing anything to tire herself out, but the days just dragged on in an endless loop of shopping, coffee, and trips to the gym. She kept going to bars and clubs, too, to try to build up her cover, but that wasn't getting her any closer to Saporta. Unless he really did have eyes everywhere and there were people there reporting back to him. She was almost hoping he did, so her efforts wouldn't be in vain.
It was a relief when Saporta's number showed up on her phone on Friday afternoon while she was again at the spa.
"I've been thinking about what you're looking for," Saporta said. "Why don't you come down to my club this evening and see what it's like from the business end of things. See if this is what you really want."
Leighton grinned, but wiped it off her face before she spoke. "I'd love to." She took down the address and code word he rattled off to her, and made sure to leave her manicurist a hefty tip.
She had planned another exciting afternoon of reading at Starbucks, but she scrapped it in favor of going home and picking out an outfit that said "ready to have fun," "money," and "trustworthy" all at once.
Saporta hadn't given her a time, so Leighton had dinner first, and flipped through a magazine or two. She didn't leave the house until almost nine, when she called a cab and gave the driver the address of the deli.
Thank goodness for New York cab drivers who didn't bat an eye at taking her from an expensive apartment building to a storefront deli. He probably thought she was a working girl of some kind, but he wasn't who she had to prove herself to.
Even though Butcher and Victoria would do for witnesses, even if they couldn't flip anyone else below Saporta in his organization, Leighton was careful to note the details of the deli, Novarro behind the counter taking money and the code word, and the placement of the door to the club itself.
Saporta's rumored ability to know all made her think he probably had cameras everywhere - store, club, stairwell, and all. She tried to look for them without looking like she was looking for them, but aside from the obvious theft deterrent one over the cash register in the deli, she couldn't spot them.
Still, the possibility of their presence meant she made her way down the stairs at a brisk pace and didn't hesitate for a second before opening the door into the club.
*
Victoria stuck to her word and danced only one song with Saporta on Wednesday before she left to party somewhere else.
On Thursday, she buzzed up a delivery man and accepted a box that held a handful of extremely expensive chocolates and a card inviting her back to the club.
She thought about blowing him off again, but even a party girl would be intrigued by a guy who would send her flowers and chocolates in the same week, so instead she dressed in an extremely tight, extremely short skirt, made sure her makeup was absolutely perfect, and went to Saporta's club on Friday night.
This time, she skipped the gambling tables altogether and headed straight for the dance floor, melding into the crowd that was already there and moving to the music pouring out of the speakers. It didn't take more than a couple of songs before someone's hands settled on her waist, and she turned into the touch to find Saporta already moving with her.
Saporta's hands settled at the small of her back, and she smiled briefly at him before reaching up and putting her arms around him, her hands clasped together at the back of his neck. He was very much in charge, directing her to move with him and keeping them both on the beat and in the space on the floor he wanted them to be in.
Victoria couldn't help but compare it to dancing with Leighton. If she were with Leighton, chances were good they'd be laughing, or at least smiling at each other, and moving together effortlessly, without the need for either one of them to direct the other. Dancing with Leighton also usually resulted in the two of them tumbling into bed - or onto the couch or up against the wall, if they couldn't wait - and that wasn't how this dance was going to end.
Saporta leaned down to ask, "Buy you a drink?"
Victoria nodded. The dance floor was getting a little too crowded, and she was ready for some space; drinks would give her that.
Saporta found her a stool at the bar, more, she thought, through sheer height and presence than because it was his club. Surely not everyone who was there knew who he was. Some of them had to think he was just some outrageously dressed guy who was trying to pick her up. Saporta ordered their drinks, too, and handed Victoria her rum and Coke.
"You sure you don't want to try this?" He held up his Red Bull and vodka, and Victoria scrunched up her nose, making him laugh.
"Maybe when hell freezes over."
His laugh got louder and then settled into a grin. "You are a delight, Vicky-T. I'm glad you came to see me again."
Victoria raised her eyebrows at him. "What makes you think I came to see you?" She gestured at the club with her glass. "I just wanted to party, and I know your club is a good time."
*
Leighton didn't let the noise of the club faze her. She went through the door, letting it fall shut behind her, and glanced around, taking in the place. Gambling tables, dance floor, bar, all of it full of people there to have a good time.
Leighton didn't see Saporta, but given his all-knowing nature, it wouldn't be long before he found her or she found him, so she wandered her way through the tables, stopping here and there to watch people gambling. Professional croupiers, everything as above board as an underground gambling establishment could be. The gamblers seemed to appreciate it, and Leighton guessed they were mostly people there just to have fun, not addicts who would be better served by a place where they could have more constant access to the action.
She was watching the roulette wheel spin when something caught her eye, and she looked across the club to see Saporta's hand cupping Victoria's elbow as they made their way from the dance floor to the bar.
Leighton was hit with a stunning flash of jealousy. She was pretty sure she managed to keep it off her face, but she was surprised by herself; usually other people flirting with Victoria didn't bother her. It was, she supposed, worse when she couldn't pull Victoria back out onto the dance floor herself.
The roulette wheel stopped spinning, the ball stopped bouncing, and the croupier started divvying up bets. Leighton abandoned her place at the edge of the table for someone else to take and went to the bar.
Saporta was too canny not to keep an eye on his club, even while having a drink with Victoria, which meant he saw her coming. The smile on his face changed from the flirtatious one he'd been using on Victoria to the slightly cooler, businesslike one he'd given Leighton the last time they'd met.
"Elle," he said, getting up and greeting her with a handshake. "Glad you could make it."
Leighton nodded. "I hope I'm not interrupting."
The flirtatious smile made another appearance. "A little. Victoria, this is Elle. She's a business associate. Elle, this is Victoria."
Leighton shook Victoria's hand, careful not to let on that Victoria's touch made her heart beat faster.
"Nice to meet you," Victoria said, managing to be both sincere and the bored party girl at the same time.
"Likewise."
"Let me get you a drink." Saporta gestured the bartender over and ordered her a Manhattan without asking.
"Actually," Leighton said, leaning past him to speak to the bartender herself, "I'll have a martini." She smiled at Saporta, hoping that it conveyed both her thanks for the offer of a drink and her intention not to let him walk all over her.
"A martini then." Saporta said to the bartender, and further instructed him, "Elle's drinks are on the house tonight."
*
Victoria sipped at her drink to keep from laughing at the power struggle between Leighton and Saporta. Where Victoria's strategy was to be obviously contrary, Leighton was making it look like she was completely oblivious to the way she was thwarting Saporta's attempts to take charge.
Once Leighton had a drink, Saporta leaned closer to Victoria. "Elle's thinking about investing in a club. I invited her to come see what exactly that means."
Victoria raised her eyebrows at him, then turned to Leighton. "From what I can tell, it means you get to drink and dance with the clientele."
Saporta laughed, a pleased little rumble. "Only when it's worth it." His eyes raked over her body, and she was very aware of the way her skirt had slid up when she sat down and just how tight her top stretched across her breasts. "You're definitely worth it."
Victoria gave him the briefest of smiles.
"Of course," Saporta went on, turning to include Leighton again, "that's not all that goes into it. There's all kinds of boring shit involved in running a club. But partying with the clientele is a definite bonus."
"I can tell," Leighton said, and Victoria could almost feel the sweep of Leighton's eyes taking her in. "But I'm not quite looking to party like that."
"Maybe not yet, but you will," Saporta predicted. "What do you think of my club so far?"
Victoria watched Leighton look around the room. She hated being so close but not being able to touch Leighton, and she barely stifled a jump when Saporta's hand landed on her shoulder. She let it stay because she was supposed to be into him, but she wished it were Leighton's instead.
"Busy," Leighton answered. "Is it always like this?"
"Fridays and Saturdays," Saporta answered. "Weekdays are quieter, but we get enough business that we're open all week."
"Successful," Leighton said.
Victoria turned halfway away from them, looking at the dance floor instead. Victoria Teague was not a woman who would suffer business discussion for long. Saporta moved, and then his arm was around her waist, making it that much more difficult for her to slip away from them.
"Very," Saporta said. "We have a good business model. Partying all night, a service you can't get anywhere else in the city, and good music. It all brings people in and keeps them coming back."
"That's what makes for a successful club," Leighton said, "or so say all the investment books I've been reading."
"They're right, but it's really too loud out here for this conversation. Come on back to the office." Saporta squeezed Victoria's hip and leaned close to her. "This won't take too long. I'll find you when I'm done."
"If I'm still here," Victoria said. She nodded shortly at Leighton, who nodded back with a slight smirk of amusement.
"You like my club," Saporta said. "You like me. You're not going anywhere." He and Leighton walked away before Victoria could answer him. That was probably for the best; she wasn't sure Victoria Teague would actually say, "Like hell," to that, even though she was most definitely going to leave before Saporta got back.
*
Saporta's office, located down a hallway that also included doors to the restrooms and one marked "Poker," was equipped with the same soundproofing that kept the noise of the club from spilling up the stairs into the deli.
Instead of taking the chair behind the desk, Saporta sat on the far end of the couch pushed against one wall and gestured Leighton onto the other end. She looked around the room as she sat carefully, balancing both her purse and her drink as she sank into the plush cushions. Saporta's desk was an intimidatingly wide L-shaped expanse of wood unmarred by any clutter. There was a monitor tucked at the bend of the L, angled to be seen only by someone behind the desk, a printer at the far end, and a small tray at the corner closest to the door where, Leighton supposed, people could leave things for him when he wasn't there. It was empty at the moment.
There were two chairs in front of the desk and a filing cabinet with a lock behind it.
The walls held photographs, Saporta smiling out at the camera from most of them between groups of people Leighton recognized from the background info on his crew, although there were a large number of strangers mixed in as well. She didn't see Dueñas anywhere, although surely she'd been there before, which meant that Saporta had enough photos good enough to display to be able to switch them out when necessary. Leighton wondered who else used to be on his walls.
"The most exciting club in the world always has a boring office behind it," Saporta said. "Mine happens to be on site, but that's because I have just the one. If you get in on a club owned by someone with multiple places, chances are good they'll have one office to administer them all. A club's a lot like any other business." He gestured at the office. "Computer, files, space for meeting anyone who needs to be met. I know you want excitement, but that all happens on the outside. This part isn't any more glamorous than anything else."
"Except then you get to go party with the clientele," Leighton said.
"Except that." A smile creased Saporta's face. "Definitely a bonus. But back here, it's all bookkeeping and staffing. If you're just an investor, you'll want to keep an eye on the finances, but you won't have to deal with the day to day shit." Saporta tipped back the end of his drink. "You'll get a return on your investment and get to party with the clientele."
Leighton weighed the moment, and decided to plunge ahead; Elle Masters needed to prove she was willing to be bold. "And how's the return on investment on your club?"
*
Victoria was watching the room, so it wasn't a surprise when Butcher slid into the slight space between her and the person next to her.
"Hi." He leaned in close. "Looks like you're all alone."
Victoria smiled at him, deliberately friendly, knowing someone was likely to see it and report back to Saporta. "Not anymore."
"I'd offer to buy you a drink, but." He shrugged, and she looked down at the drink in her hands.
Victoria twisted to put her glass down on the bar. "I'd rather dance anyway. I'm Victoria."
"Butcher." Butcher took the hand she held out to him and let her lead him onto the dance floor.
Butcher didn't quite have Saporta's effortless command of rhythm, but he was nice to dance with. Although the other dancers pushed them close together, Butcher left her enough space to move on her own, and it was Victoria who closed it and pulled him close to her. He didn't try to direct her then, either, and Victoria found herself genuinely enjoying it. That made it easy to turn an uncomplicated smile on him for the benefit of anyone watching them.
He smiled back and only then pulled her closer.
The music changed and changed again, and Saporta didn't show up to collect her. Maybe whatever combination of electronics and people he had watching her didn't care who she danced with as long as she didn't leave.
Victoria Teague had better things to do than wait around for a guy she wasn't sure she was that into anyway. Victoria Asher knew that leaving was probably a good way to keep Saporta's interest. From the looks she'd seen women throwing them earlier in the evening, it probably didn't happen to him that often.
"I'm going to get out of here." She had to raise her voice to be heard over the music. "Thanks for the dance."
"Thank you," Butcher said. "It's been a pleasure."
Victoria smiled at him again, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. Butcher had said Saporta knew about every hookup that happened in the club; surely that would get back to him.
Victoria had enough practice working her way through crowded spaces that getting off the dance floor was the work of a bare minute, and getting from there to the exit was practically a cakewalk. No one stopped her to talk, and if Saporta's people were watching her, they were good enough to do it without being noticed.
She was only a couple of blocks from a subway stop, and she flipped through her phone as she waited for a train, choosing her next destination. She picked another club that was closer to the apartment and spent a few more hours dancing with strangers before she decided Victoria Teague's budget could spare the money for a cab home.
Only when she was in the apartment, faced with Saporta's flowers and an empty bed, did she let the party girl facade drop. She'd known it would be hard to be away from Leighton, but she hadn't realized how much worse it would be with Saporta touching her instead.
*
"Excellent," Saporta answered promptly. "But I'm not looking for investors."
Leighton waved away his concern. "Everyone's always looking for investors. This place must take a lot of capital to run."
"This place takes in a lot of capital."
Leighton sipped her drink and let her lips settle into a slight smile. "Ever think about expanding?"
"You are persistent." Saporta sounded as if he appreciated that. "I am expanding my business operations at the moment, but I have the cash to cover it."
"And that means the liability is all yours. If you had a partner, you could spread the risk around."
Saporta leaned forward, his eyes boring into hers. "And why are you so eager to buy your way into my affections?"
Leighton laughed sharply. "I don't give a shit about your affections. I'm done with men." She cut her hand through the air, then smiled. "At least for now. I want to buy my way into your club."
"Just like that."
"Every decision in my life," she said, "from marrying my cheating bastard of an ex to divorcing him to buying every fucking piece of furniture we owned has been very, very carefully considered." She shrugged with one shoulder. "I'm living an exciting life now, and I'm ready to jump into something."
"And the fact that my club is underground, figuratively speaking, doesn't scare you off?"
"Not a bit." Leighton paused for a moment. "I do want to know how you keep from getting raided by the cops, but I'm not afraid of it."
Saporta sipped his drink and looked at her in silence for a small eternity. Leighton didn't let it faze her, just waited and occasionally sipped at her martini.
"I'll think about it," he finally said. "You do realize I'm going to have to look into your finances."
"Of course." Leighton smiled. "One useful thing I learned from my ex is how to keep careful track of financial matters. Everything's in order. Make me a list of what you need from me and I'll make sure it gets to you."
Saporta had her put her email address into his phone and promised to let her know. "In the meantime," he said, standing and offering her an unnecessary hand up, "come enjoy the club. I'll spot you a handful of chips, see what you can do with them."
Leighton followed him back into the noise and bustle of the club, and across the room to the cashier where he did, in fact, give her a handful of chips.
"Gamble, have a drink, dance." He spread his arms out, showing off like the tycoon he appeared to be. "I'll email you next week." He headed toward the bar, clearly finished playing host to her.
Leighton did a quick scan of the room and didn't see Victoria anywhere. She could have been somewhere on the dance floor, but Leighton had a pretty good view of the room from where she was, and she knew how Victoria moved.
*
Victoria answered her phone, which was showing a number she didn't recognize, with a cautious, "Hello?"
"Vicky-T," Saporta said, his voice warm, "you ditched me last night."
Victoria didn't even pretend to be conciliatory. "The way I remember it is that you ditched me." She rummaged through her fridge, not really looking for anything, but keeping her hands busy and her attention divided so he would have to work for it.
"That was business. If I'd known you were going to be there, I wouldn't have invited her. Besides," Saporta added, "I heard you found someone to entertain you while I was gone."
"I am not," she informed him, "the kind of girl who waits around." Victoria closed the refrigerator, hard enough that the sound of it should have carried to him.
"I'm worth waiting around for."
Saporta's ego trip was almost charming just in its excess.
"Let me buy you dinner tonight. No business, I promise."
Victoria hesitated. She had to make him come to her. "It's Saturday. Don't you have to be at your club or whatever?"
"They'll survive without me for one night, even on a Saturday. Come on, Vicky-T, don't let me down."
Victoria sighed heavily. "Fine. One dinner."
"One dinner to start with," he said. "I'll pick you up at seven. Wear something nice." The click of the phone told Victoria he'd hung up, and she ground her teeth together. Was that kind of macho presumption still something people did? And did it actually work?
She shuddered. It was only working on her because it had to, because it was her fucking job for it to work on her.
The tulips were still staring at her from the living room. Victoria resolutely turned her back on them and spent some time trying to decide what Saporta would consider "something nice" before settling on a relatively demure black dress and a pair of yellow heels to set it off. It wouldn't do for the party girl to be too tame.
That still left most of her afternoon free, and she amused herself by eavesdropping on conversations at the closest Starbucks while pretending to read a magazine whose pages she never turned.
Victoria was actually reading the same magazine, perched on the edge of her couch to avoid wrinkling anything too badly, when the intercom buzzed and she told Saporta she'd be right down. She checked herself one last time in the mirror in the entryway - lipstick still perfect, half-smile firmly on - before she left the apartment.
"Victoria," Saporta greeted her when she opened the door to the building. He'd been leaning against a very expensive car, but pushed off it and came across the sidewalk to kiss the back of her hand like he was in some sort of costume drama. The appreciation in his eyes, however, was all twenty-first century lust. "You look lovely."
"Thank you. You clean up respectably." He'd switched out his jeans and flannel for a suit that fit him perfectly. In truth, it went beyond respectable and well into the realm of damn fine, but she wasn't going to make anything too easy for him.
*
Saturday evening, and Leighton was poring through financial records. She'd gone over the basics of her cover's finances as part of her prep for the job, but she'd decided they were worth another look. She could reasonably claim to need to refer back to her records if Saporta asked something she didn't know, but she'd also told him she was at least somewhat financially savvy, and it couldn't hurt to be as familiar as possible with the inner workings of Elle Masters' financial life.
The problem with that approach was that Elle Masters' financial life, while extensive, was incredibly boring. While Leighton was used to the slogging through details that often made up police work, she was usually keeping an eye out for something that didn't fit, or that would best be explained by a crime. Elle Masters had none of that. Her profile was simply an even mosaic of the financial interests held by the wealthy.
Leighton gave up after a while. She had enough of it memorized that she would hold up to Saporta's scrutiny, and the paperwork was available for the rest of it if he asked.
She changed her clothes and hailed a cab to one of the other clubs on her list of places Saporta and his associates frequented. Even if she'd gotten a direct line to Saporta through Dueñas, it couldn't hurt to forge some other ties to him and his world. Dueñas didn't really know her, even if she was enough to get Leighton an introduction, and other contacts would give her a little more pull with Saporta.
The club had some sort of children's television theme going. It was enough to make Leighton pause in the doorway, wondering if she'd somehow gotten the wrong place. Gambling and - she glanced around - SpongeBob didn't really seem to be in the same league. But then she remembered Saporta's apparent fondness for hideous clothing and decided that it might not be that incongruous after all.
She'd barely gotten her drink when an extremely tall man, his hair parted in such a way that it did nothing to conceal a hairline that was beginning to recede, came to stand next to her. Last time Leighton had seen his face, it was in a surveillance photo - he didn't have a record - with "Ryland Blackinton" labeled across the bottom.
"I couldn't help but notice you," he said in a British accent so smarmy Leighton almost laughed at him then and there. "You seem to be all alone. Perhaps you would like to join me for a drink."
Leighton did laugh then, but just a chuckle. "Does that ever work?"
"More often than you might think," he said, still with a wide smile but dropping the accent. "And if not, I still have friends to talk to." He gestured back at a table for four with only two occupied chairs. Leighton recognized their occupants from their surveillance photos as well: Alex Suarez and Lauren Strenge.
*
The place Saporta took her - or, more specifically, the place he had his driver take them - was far, far out of her price range, either as Victoria Teague or Victoria Asher. Victoria refused to be impressed. She merely followed the maitre d' to their table as if this were the thing she did every day and ignored every less than complimentary glance at the color of her shoes.
"What do you think?" Saporta asked after they'd been seated.
Victoria looked at him over the top of her menu, then glanced around the restaurant. She'd already taken in the exits and the other diners, but he hadn't seen her do that; this look was for show.
"I haven't tried the food yet." Victoria looked back down at her menu, but could see the twist of Saporta's mouth in her peripheral vision.
"I promise you it's excellent."
"You drink Red Bull and vodka."
"Don't knock it till you try it."
Victoria ignored that and kept reading through the menu. It certainly sounded excellent. When she'd made her choice, she set her menu down next to her plate.
A waiter, who'd apparently only been waiting for that signal, appeared as if by magic to take their orders. Saporta ordered one of the ridiculously decadent appetizers for them to share and a bottle of wine, but wasn't quite so presumptuous as to order Victoria's meal for her.
"Independent film," Saporta said, when the waiter left as unobtrusively as he'd arrived. "Is that how you met Adrian?"
Victoria shrugged with one shoulder. "More or less. I was in film school and we had friends who knew each other. You know how it is." That story had the advantage of being absolutely true.
"Film school," Saporta repeated. "So why New York? Isn't Hollywood the place to be?"
Victoria didn't have to feign her annoyance. "Not for independent film. Hollywood is all big budgets and big business. Doesn't matter how good you are, just who you know and what kind of numbers you can bring in."
Saporta chuckled. "Sounds like running a club, except how good you are is what brings in the numbers."
The waiter came back with their wine and let Saporta taste it for his approval before pouring glasses for each of them.
"I would never have known about your club if I didn't know someone who knew about it." Victoria sipped her wine. It was excellent.
"Not even the same thing." Saporta's eyes were bright with challenge. "The fact that you have to know someone who knows about it is part of what makes my club so good. I wouldn't get half the people if we were aboveground."
"So you're saying your club doesn't stand on its merits alone. It's all business."
Saporta chuckled. "Okay, maybe I'm more like Hollywood than independent film, at least when it comes to business." He reached across the table and took her hand. "Personally, it's all about how good I am."
*
Leighton sipped her drink and pretended to consider Blackinton's offer. "You get," she pulled out her cell phone, "twenty minutes to convince me that sitting with the three of you is better than drinking alone." She set a timer and dropped her cell phone back into her purse.
"We'll have you convinced in ten." Blackinton let Leighton precede him to the table, where he gestured at Suarez and Strenge. "My compatriots are the nerdy Alex and the lovely Lauren. I myself am the extremely handsome Ryland. And you are?"
Leighton thought for a second, then introduced herself as, "The incomparable Elle."
Leighton took the empty chair across from Suarez, leaving Blackinton to sit between them. Narcotics' files had said that Suarez and Blackinton had run some small-time gambling interests - floating craps and poker, mostly - on their own before Saporta had absorbed them into his enterprises. While they were both sharp, all their available information said Suarez was the one to watch out for. He was more serious, and he had a culinary degree, which meant he was proficient with any manner of sharp objects.
"Our task," Blackinton said to his companions, "is to convince Elle that drinking with us is better than drinking alone."
"Anything's better than drinking alone," Suarez said.
"No one to interrupt your thoughts," Leighton said.
"No one to engage in witty repartee," Blackinton countered.
"Unless you like talking to yourself," Strenge said.
The three of them had a good rhythm going, and they managed to absorb Leighton into it nearly effortlessly.
"Let me ask you a question." Leighton put her glass down. "Why come to a bar that looks like Nickelodeon's merchandising department threw up all over its walls?"
Suarez said, "Now you've done it," and Strenge laughed.
"SpongeBob," Blackinton intoned, holding up a finger to draw her attention, "is one of the true heroes of our age. A man with only one pair of square pants. A man who lives in a pineapple under the sea. A man who works, day in and day out, for a crab. This man still manages to be an inspiration to millions."
It was hard to tell if he was serious. It could all be a put-on designed to entertain, but Leighton had met criminals - and even law-abiding citizens - with equally strange preoccupations.
"Besides," Blackinton said, dropping back into the casual manner that was probably his usual speaking style, "you're here."
"Ah," Leighton said, "but I didn't know what I was getting into when I came in here."
"Then why come in at all?" Even though it was Strenge who'd asked, Suarez was intently focused on Leighton.
Leighton shrugged. "Heard the name somewhere, and wanted to try something new. That's been my goal since my divorce."
There was a moment of silence while the rest of the table digested that. Suarez was still watching her intently, but Strenge looked sympathetic and Blackinton apologetic.
*
Victoria would give Saporta this: he had excellent taste. If she thought they could ever afford it, she would insist on bringing Leighton here. The food was incredible, everything cooked and spiced to bring out the best of its flavor, and the wine and appetizer Saporta had chosen went well with her dinner.
He also turned up the charm as the meal progressed, and it lost the obnoxious edge most of his come-ons had held. That made keeping a conversation going a lot easier, and Victoria was able to ask him, "How did you become an underground club owner?" without seeming like it was coming out of nowhere.
Saporta chuckled. "It's probably not all that different from how anyone becomes a club owner. I used to play in poker clubs." He waited for her nod before continuing. "And after a while, you know, I got to thinking, 'Hey, I could do this better.' Saved up, sold some real estate I'd been holding onto, and put the money into a club. Been doing it better ever since."
Everything but the reason he'd chosen to do it matched what his file said. "You make it sound so easy."
"At a certain point, starting a business stops being such a challenge."
Victoria put her fork down and sipped at her wine between bites. "Does that mean you have other businesses?"
"Of course." Saporta's mouth quirked into a smile. "Are you going to want to see my credit report too, or will an abbreviated profile be enough?"
"Oh, just the highlights," Victoria said breezily. "A girl can never be too careful."
"Highlights," Saporta repeated. "The club. The deli, of course. Another restaurant across town. Couple of houses in Jersey." He leaned in. "All of them solvent, everything in the black. I am not whatever kind of deadbeat you're trying to figure out if I might be."
No, but he was some other kind of deadbeat. Victoria said, "A girl can never be too careful," again, and added, "I don't know what to expect of a guy who runs an illegal club."
"Some men," Saporta said, "wouldn't know what to expect of a girl who frequents illegal clubs." He reached across the table to pick up her hand and press a kiss to the back of it. "I know that it only shows a willingness to take risks and the kind of spirit that refuses to let arbitrary rules keep her from enjoying herself."
Victoria shivered under the intensity of Saporta's gaze. She'd maybe had too much wine; she was starting to find his overbearing attention flattering.
She reached for her water glass instead of the wine and used the excuse of sipping it to look away from him.
"I do like to enjoy myself." She put her glass down and gently pulled her hand away from his so she could use both hands to unnecessarily cut a piece of potato into two smaller pieces. "The food is excellent, by the way."
Saporta grinned at her. "Now that you trust my taste, I'll have you drinking Red Bull and vodka in no time."
*
"Oh, shit," Blackinton said, interrupting Suarez's discourse on the relative merits of French cooking and vegetarianism. "How long has it been? We're supposed to be convincing Elle we're better than drinking alone."
Leighton checked her phone. "Seventeen minutes." She smiled at him. "I'm already entertained enough not to walk away at twenty, so I think that means you've done it. Congratulations." She turned off the timer and glanced down at her glass. "Tell you what, next round's on me."
Blackinton went with her to the bar to grab four more drinks. When they got back, Suarez and Strenge were holding hands, but they let them drop casually.
"You're a chef?" Leighton asked Suarez.
"Used to be." Suarez twisted his glass on the table. "Now I just cook for fun."
"And because you're a giant food snob," Strenge added.
Suarez smiled at her, and Leighton could see that it was genuinely affectionate, the kind of smile Victoria might give Leighton for teasing about her fondness for skirts and dresses over pants.
"And because I'm a giant food snob."
"What do you do instead?"
Suarez and Blackinton exchanged a quick look that Leighton wouldn't have seen if she hadn't been watching for exactly that kind of thing.
Blackinton took over answering. "Alex and I used to have our own thing going, but now we work for a guy who's basically a one-man empire. A club, some restaurants, that kind of thing. We take care of various business things."
"Really? I'm looking to invest in a club."
Suarez and Blackinton exchanged another quick look. Leighton sipped her drink and pretended not to watch them.
"Not sure the boss is looking to take on investors right now," Suarez said. "But clubs are a dime a dozen in the city. I'm sure you'll find one."
"I'm sure," Leighton agreed. "And what do you do?" she asked Strenge.
"Jewelry design." Strenge tucked her hair back and tilted her head toward Leighton. "These are some of mine."
Leighton reached out and let the weight of the earring rest against her finger, examining it. Platinum and diamonds. Strenge was doing well for herself if that was the sort of thing she was selling. Leighton couldn't remember seeing anything about it in the files. She'd have to tell Michael; maybe there was something they could catch there too.
"Very nice," she said.
"Thank you." Strenge reached into her purse and handed over a business card. There was a tasteful image of jewels against a light purple background and instructions to call for an appointment. "In case you're ever interested."
"Thank you." Leighton slipped the card into her own purse. That would make things much easier for Michael. "Next time I need something new, I'll know where to go."
*
"Are you sure I can't convince you to come dancing at the club?"
Victoria shook her head. "You said no business, and if we go to the club, you'll end up doing some anyway."
"The curse of the business owner." Saporta held the door of the restaurant for her, then put his hand on the small of her back to lead her across the sidewalk to the car. "Dancing somewhere else then? I do frequent establishments other than my own." He held the car door too.
Victoria rested her hand over her stomach. "I'm so full. I don't think I can summon up the energy for dancing tonight. Maybe next time."
Saporta leaned forward to tell the driver to take them back to Victoria's building, then sat back and smirked at Victoria. "Does that mean there's going to be a next time?"
Victoria scooted a little bit closer to him, not all the way across the seat, just far enough that she could put her hand on his arm. "You're a very charming man, Gabe Saporta. I'm sure you can talk me into a next time." She didn't have to lie as much as she'd thought she would to say it. He was very charming.
"Oh, Vicky-T," he all but purred, "I'm going to talk you into all kinds of things."
Victoria outright laughed at that. It was so outrageous, such a line, but he sold it so well.
Saporta didn't take offense at her laughter. He seemed content to smile at her in response.
Victoria looked away from him, glancing out the window to watch the lights of the city pass them by. She was supposed to be getting close to Saporta, and she knew how to play hard to get, but this was trickier. Now she had to work the balance between letting him know she was interested and making him think she was a sure thing. He would give up if she didn't encourage him at all, but she would lose her interest if she made it too easy for him.
"I love this," Saporta said. He'd moved closer to her while she wasn't looking. "The way the whole city lights up at night."
"It's so different from L.A." Victoria dredged up her memories of how New York had looked when she'd first moved. "There it's all horizontal. You can go up in the hills and look down on this huge area that's all lit up. Here it's all vertical. The lights just go up around you."
Saporta was close enough that Victoria could feel the heat of his body along her side. "How would you film it?"
That one was easy; when she'd first moved to New York, that had been how Victoria had seen the world. "Keep the cameras low, so everything was at a slight up angle so you get that sense of being in the valley between the buildings." Victoria laughed a little and turned back toward Saporta, using the motion to put a little more space between them. "But you'd have to have matching flat-out shots of L.A. for the contrast."
"You seem like a determined woman," Saporta said. "I'd put money down that you could make it happen."
*
Suarez and Strenge left not much later, but Blackinton smiled wide and exaggerated and said, "I'll keep the incomparable Elle company."
"That's a tall order," Leighton said. "Now it's all on you to be entertaining."
Blackinton shrugged. "I'm a very tall man. And a very entertaining one." Leighton couldn't quite figure out what the accent on that was supposed to be. She was starting to get the sense that Blackinton was more than he appeared. The constant playacting was a good distraction; anything could be going on under it, and it would keep people underestimating him.
"Let me ask," she said. "You don't seem attached. Girlfriend? Boyfriend?"
"Not at the moment, but it's only a matter of time." Blackinton leaned back in his chair and didn't even bother trying to be subtle as his gaze roamed from the top of her head to the toes of her shoes. "I don't suppose you're in the market."
Leighton didn't even have to fake her laughter. Forget the fact that men just weren't her thing. She would never go for someone with as little ability to be direct as Blackinton seemed to have. Even in the early days of their first subtle flirtation, Victoria had never hidden who she was or that she was interested in Leighton.
"No, sorry," she said, still laughing. "You go through a divorce like mine, and the last thing you even want to think about is a relationship." She smiled to soften it. "I could always use a drinking buddy."
Blackinton raised his glass and knocked it against hers. "Done." He drank, and then asked, "How do you feel about dancing and gambling?"
"Sounds like a good time to me."
Blackinton grinned. "Then let's get out of here. The boss is out tonight and Alex and Lauren were going home, so I should drop in to check on the club. Care to join me?"
Leighton finished off her drink in one large swallow. "Lead the way."
Blackinton held out his arm to her, pretending to stoop to get it low enough. Leighton laughed and linked her arm through his. They had to walk around the corner to a busier cross street to hail a cab, and Blackinton kept their arms linked until he had to step away to open the cab door for her. He gave the address to the driver as he got into the car. Leighton managed to start as if she'd actually been surprised by it.
"You work for Gabe Saporta? I was just in there yesterday talking to him about investing."
Blackinton looked at her sharply, and then smoothed it out into the wide grin from earlier. "Then perhaps we were just destined to met. Must be kismet."
Leighton laughed lightly. "Must be."
*
Victoria's temporary home was on a quiet street where the driver could pull up right in front of her building without being in the way. Victoria glanced out the window at the building, automatically taking note of her window, still dark, and the man halfway down the block bending over to clean up after his dog. She missed Gizmo with a sudden sharp pang. He'd been with her even longer than Leighton.
Victoria turned back to Saporta. "This is me."
"That it is." Saporta opened his door. "I'll walk you in."
Victoria didn't wait for him to open her door, but he came around the car and closed it behind her. Saporta put his hand on the small of her back and guided her up the steps to the door.
Victoria dug her keys out of her purse, then turned toward Saporta, smiling softly up at him. "Thank you, for dinner. It was an adequate apology."
"I should hope so." He trailed the back of one finger down her cheek. "Are you going to invite me up?"
Victoria kept her tone light as she said, "Not on the first date."
Saporta stepped closer, into her space, and his other hand settled on her hip. "I've bought you drinks twice. Surely we're into third date territory here."
Victoria shook her head. "Those don't count. This was definitely the first date. And I'm not that kind of girl."
Saporta tipped her chin up with the hand still on her face and bent down to kiss her, slowly enough that she could have stepped away if she wanted to. If it had been just about her, she would have, but she was playing a role here and she needed to make him believe she was interested.
Victoria wasn't surprised that Saporta was good at kissing, but she was surprised by how light he kept it. He just brushed his lips against hers, one hand still on her hip, the other tucked under her chin, his skin warm against hers in the cooling night.
He pulled away, and she followed him without consciously thinking about it, acting only on her instinct about what to do when someone kissed her like that.
Saporta tapped a finger against her lips. "You're not that kind of girl." His smile was both pleased and tinged with triumph. "When should we go on a second date?"
Victoria regained her balance enough to ask, "What makes you think you're getting a second date?"
"That was not the kiss of a woman planning never to see me again." Saporta squeezed her hip. "Tuesday?"
"I have things to do other than spend time with you." Victoria took a step back. "I'll let you know."
Saporta laughed. "All right, Vicky-T, you win this one. Call me."
Victoria turned away from him and unlocked the door to the building. Saporta was still standing there when she turned to close it behind her. He waved at her before turning back to the car.
Victoria didn't let herself relax until she was in the elevator and the doors had closed behind her. It was just that she missed Leighton. That was the only reason she'd responded to his kiss the way she had.
*
Over the next week, Leighton met with two financial advisors, a club promoter looking to open a new place, the women from the spa, and Michael. She was extra careful, especially when she met with Michael; she spotted tails at least twice, which meant Saporta was checking up on her. That was, on the whole, good. Her cover was solid, and if he was going to the effort of having her followed - and doing God only knew what other kind of investigation - he was considering taking her on as an investor.
On Thursday she went back to the bar where she'd met Blackinton and Suarez. There wasn't anyone she knew there, but she got a drink anyway and sat at the bar making notes on her phone.
Half an hour later, Blackinton slid onto the stool next to her and said, "Fancy meeting you here."
"I think all the yellow kind of grew on me." Leighton smiled at him. "Besides, I was hoping to run into you."
Blackinton arched an eyebrow, then leaned away from her to gesture at the bartender. "You could have come to the club."
"I could have," Leighton agreed, "but this place is much better for conversation."
"Then by all means, let us converse." Blackinton had no sooner said it than the bartender arrived to take his order, interrupting their conversation.
Leighton waited until he had his drink before trying to say anything of substance. Then she asked, "How serious is your boss about the possibility of taking me on as an investor?"
If Blackinton was surprised by the question, he didn't show it. "What makes you ask?"
"He said he was going to get in touch this week, but he hasn't." Leighton leaned forward into the space between them. "This is something I'm going to do, and if he's not interested, there are other people I've been talking to." She sat back and smiled at him. "I just like his club best."
Blackinton chuckled. "It has that effect on people." He drank down half his drink in one swallow. "What's the rush?"
"Quite frankly," Leighton told him, "I'm bored. I don't have to attend events or keep house for a husband, and there are only so many days I can go to the spa. I'm ready for an adventure."
"You could always open your own club."
Leighton smiled, watching to make sure she had all of his attention. "I'd like to, but I want a little experience under my belt first."
"That seems wise." Blackinton sipped his drink and looked past her at the TV in the corner showing something that no doubt featured one of the cartoon characters festooning the walls. Leighton waited, and he looked at her again after a moment. "I can't make any promises, of course, but I'll put in a good word with the boss."
Part 3