Dolly All the Time(58)

“Anything that goes haywire is on me,” says Stewart, leading me by the arm into his office. It’s the corner, of course, with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out on the Seaport and Boston Harbor. I run my hand along the edge of his leather-topped desk. There’s a wet bar to the left, exactly the Mad Men detail I was expecting. A telescope faces the other window, pointing in the opposite direction, and I walk over to it.

“Who do you spy on?” I ask.

He looks into the telescope, adjusting a few things and then lowering it a bit. “Have a look.”

He steps away and I look into the scope. It takes me a second to focus, but when I do I laugh. “It’s Fenway Park!”

“It is. Home game tonight. If we didn’t have this to do, we could have gone.”

“That sounds so much more relaxing,” I say.

Stewart reaches for my arm and turns me toward him. “Listen, I’m the one under pressure tonight. You’ve already done everything you needed to do.”

“What did I do?”

“You showed up, looking like a knockout. You just need to seem like you like me.” He laughs a little and looks away, out the window.

I run my hands down the sides of my dress, smoothing imaginary wrinkles. “You’re doing great with the compliment thing.”

He turns back to me. “It’s coming pretty naturally. Must be all the method acting.” He holds me there with his eyes. I am terrified of the unsaid thing, so I walk over to the other window and look out at the Seaport.

“It’s so pretty,” I say.

“I sure hope so,” he says.

“Why?”

“We own a lot of those buildings. And I suspect we’re a little too concentrated in this area right now.” He stops a deliberate two feet away from me and it feels unnatural. “Which is another reason why tonight matters. The Kramer deal would be a low-risk way to diversify to the West Coast.”

I’m trying to imagine owning a whole building. “Which ones do you own?”

He points at the low skyline. “That,” he says over my shoulder. “And those. The tall one. And everything to the right of that.”

I turn to him. “Seriously?”

He nods.

“Do you own Fenway Park?”

He laughs an actual laugh. “I’ve been trying to buy Fenway Park my entire adult life. It’s my Moby Dick.”

“This is very disappointing,” I tease.

Damion is in the doorway. “You should head out,” he says.

“Right,” Stewart says.

“Are you okay to walk?” he asks when we’re on the street. “It’s about four blocks.”

“Of course,” I say. Though I’m not exactly wearing sneakers. “Are you nervous about this? How do these things usually go?”

“A little. My dad being here is sort of a formality, a show of our commitment. But I hate having him looking over my shoulder. I just need to get this done. They’ve got a huge amount of money to put into this project, we have the reputation and the experience. They’re basically buying my grandfather’s name and the idea that I inherited his good judgment.”

“Oh God, what if they think you picked the wrong woman?”

“Dolly, you’re probably the first woman I’ve ever picked that wasn’t all wrong. And you were an accident.”

I smile at the sidewalk. “Is that my second compliment? It’s a good one.”

“Third. I gave you one when I first saw you.”

“I couldn’t hear.”

He looks at me and smiles. “Well, I’m not saying it again.”

The restaurant is elegant, with silver-leafed walls and starched white linens. Henry is already at the table and stands as we approach. Stewart’s holding my hand, and I see Henry note it.

“Dolly, so nice that you could join us,” he says.

“We thought it would be fun to get away for the night,” Stewart says, and I busy myself with my napkin. This sounds like sex. Sex is what you do when you are having fun getting away for the night. Stewart and me all tangled up in each other between impossibly soft sheets. The Kramer people arrive and save me from the thought. They are a Nick and Hillary, both in their forties, I’d guess. He’s in a charcoal-gray suit, a pale blue shirt, and no tie. She’s also in a charcoal-gray suit.

“Dolly, thank you for coming,” Hillary says. “Keep this from being a solid meal of deal talk.”

“I don’t mind. If the food’s good, I’ll listen to all the deal talk you’ve got.” No. Weird. Too casual. I eye the bread, whole-wheat buns that I suspect are a little sweet, right next to a big crock of soft butter and a little bowl of sea salt. I am not going to be the first to grab it.

They talk business for a bit, and Stewart takes the lead. He has the artist’s renderings of the restored buildings. A fountain fills a dead space in a courtyard, and an old movie theater is reimagined as a concert venue. They pass around a summary of the financials everyone has seen before. Henry asks about permitting issues, and Stewart talks through the design decisions to preserve the historic integrity of the architecture in the area. He talks generally about preservation and his grandfather’s commitment to building things that will last. I hate to admit it, but it’s all very sexy. His mastery of the subject matter, his confidence in his ability to get this done. The way he listens and responds like he has all the time in the world. He does business exactly like he kisses, actually.