“Right, yes. Are you local? I detect an accent.”
“I’m originally from Belgium. I live in Switzerland now. I come and go for business here.”
“What sort of business?”
She falls silent. Her eyes appraise him.
“Apologies. I . . . I don’t even know your name, and here I am asking what business you’re in.”
“It’s okay. I’m Mia. I’m a banker.”
Impressed, Jon holds his hand out. “Pleased to meet you, Mia-the-banker.”
She laughs and places her hand in his. It’s slender, and her skin is soft and smooth and cool. Her nails are deep red. They match her lips. He notices no ring on her ring finger. And she has noticed him noticing. She withdraws her hand.
“Does Mia have a last name?”
She hesitates again. And Jon quickly dials it back.
“No worries,” he says. “We can leave it there.” But now he really wants to know. He wants to know everything about Mia the sultry banker who has awakened the beast in him that had begun to shrivel with time and complacency and the mundane.
“I should go.” She finishes her drink and begins to slide off her barstool.
“Do you—ah—would you like to join me for one more? In the booth—it’s so noisy here, so close to the band.”
She checks her watch and Jon’s heart sinks a little.
“I—okay. Just a quick one. I have an early start tomorrow.”
Instantly buzzy again, Jon hurriedly orders two more drinks. They relocate to the booth. Mia is easy to be with. She flatters him in all the right places. She talks about ski racing and the ski industry with knowledge. He feels a kinship as well as sexual arousal.
She says her last name is Reiter. Mia Reiter.
He tells her he’s still with TerraWest.
“It’s a good fit for a skier, the ski resort business.” She laughs. He laughs, too, leans closer.
“Was that a business colleague you were with earlier?” she asks.
“Henry? Yeah, one of the old toads. He goes way back with Labden Wentworth.”
“Your meeting looked intense.”
He gives a shrug. “He wanted to give me a heads-up about some job competition.”
“Serious competition?”
“It’s nothing I can’t take care of.”
She regards him intensely, then says, “Labden Wentworth’s resort business has grown into an international powerhouse with global impact. Their latest quarterly report shows summer visits are booming. In some TerraWest resorts they’re now outpacing winter visits.”
“Thanks to the mountain biking.”
Her gaze locks with his. “Industry magazines also tell me you’re married to his daughter.”
Daisy’s face floats into Jon’s mind. He’s instantly reminded of the joy he felt while holding her hand and watching their baby boy moving on the ultrasound monitor. What in the hell is he doing here? He glances at his watch, his heart beating faster.
Mia notices him checking the time, and her features change. “Of course, I—you know, I really didn’t mean to monopolize you like this. I should go. I need to call it a night.” She reaches for her purse and begins to slide out of the booth.
“Thank you for the chat, Mia,” he says. “I needed that.”
She stills. “Needed what exactly?”
Jon’s phone vibrates again.
Mia exits the booth.
His phone continues to vibrate. Tension coils in his chest. Before he can reconsider, he blurts, “Wait. Don’t leave just yet. I need to take this. Give me a moment?”
She hesitates, then reseats herself. He connects the call.
“Hey, hon,” Daisy says immediately. “Is everything okay? I was worried about you.”
He holds up two fingers to Mia, mouths, Two minutes. “I’m fine. Let me take this somewhere quieter. Hang on a sec.”
Jon scoots out of the booth. Pressing his phone against his shirt, he hurriedly weaves through the crowd, making for the quieter lobby area outside the pub. He puts the phone back to his ear.
“Sorry, love. I should’ve called. Just as Henry left the pub, some of the guys from work came in. They’re all talking about the new development. One of the environmental assessors is with them. I figured I should connect with him, build some contacts. He’s still here. Could be a late one. You okay with that? I can come home now if—”
“No. No—I—it’s fine. How’d it go with Henry?”
Jon says it went fine. Daisy presses and he says he will explain at home. He tells her not to wait up. But before he can kill the call, Mia enters the lobby.
“Jon, I really do need to be up early,” Mia says quietly. “Thank you for everything. It was a lovely evening.” She walks past him, out the hotel doors, and into the autumn night.
Jon ends his call, pockets his phone, and rushes to the doors. “Mia!” he calls after her.
She stops on the sidewalk, turns. Streetlight glints on her hair. She looks at him expectantly.
Suddenly he feels awkward. He slides his hands into his pant pockets.
“I—good night,” he says. “Thanks.”
They stand there for a moment. Facing each other. Man and woman. A chemistry crackling between them. They’re on a knife’s edge—either they act on their desire, turn it into something. Or walk away. Jon does not act.
Mia comes quickly forward. She puts her mouth near his ear and whispers, “Bye, JonJon Rittenberg. I’m pleased to have met you. Finally. In the flesh. After all these years.” She gives him a feather of a kiss on the cheek, turns, and walks away.
“Fuck,” he mumbles under his breath as he stands in the cool night, watching her go—the seductive sway of her hips. Those high, sexy heels. The swish of her long hair on her back. He’s hard with lust. He’s sweating, breathing heavily. She disappears around the corner of a building, and is gone.
He swallows, slowly becoming conscious of the city sounds. Of reality. And he says a silent thanks to whatever gods rule the universe, because he’s just been saved from making a terrible mistake. He turns and reenters the pub. He did the right thing, holding back. This knowledge gives him a little burst of self-satisfaction. But as he returns to his table to collect the bill, he sees a napkin with a smudge of deep-red lipstick. It’s a Schr?dinger’s-type conundrum, he thinks. He simultaneously wants and does not want to see Mia Reiter again.
Jon considers folding the napkin and sliding it into his pocket. But he leaves it and goes up to the bar to settle his tab.
“The lady paid already,” the bartender says as Jon fishes in his wallet for his credit card.
He glances up from his wallet. “I was going to settle for the earlier steak meals and whiskies as well,” he says.
“Like I said, she settled it.”
“The whole thing—the two steak meals and drinks?”
“Whole thing.”
He starts to leave, stops. “Did she pay by credit card—leave an address or anything?”
“Nice try, buddy. She paid cash.”
THE PHOTOGRAPHER
Jon Rittenberg appears to have no idea he’s being watched from a vehicle across the street as he converses with the brunette outside the hotel entrance.