Swimming with Sharks (8 page)

Alex climbed the subway stairs at the corner of Broadway and Eighth Street and picked up some pasta from an Italian restaurant and a bottle of Brunello di Montalcino, stubbornly ignoring the repeated humming of her cell phone as she made her way home. When she finally checked, she saw that it was Sergio. She had no desire whatsoever to talk to him. She was well above playing second fiddle to a starved, cow-eyed model. She turned at the corner and saw the bicyclist too late. He tried to brake, but the front wheel and handlebars slammed into her hip and elbow. The bag with the pasta and the bottle of wine slid from her hands.

“Damn it!” she yelled at the bicyclist, who almost crashed. “Open your eyes!”

“You could watch where you’re going, lady!”

This voice sounded familiar to Alex, and she took a closer look. After a few seconds, she recognized Oliver Skerritt.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said in a sarcastic tone. “Are you chasing after another conspiracy? Why are you in such a rush?”

Then he recognized her and grinned.

“What a coincidence,” he said. “Honestly, I was just grabbing some food at Giovanni’s. I’m sorry.”

“You just ruined my dinner.”

Alex bent down to pick up the broken glass.

“Wait, let me help you.”

“No thanks, I’ve got it. Ouch!” Alex cursed as she cut her finger. Her emotions overcame her: she was mad at Sergio and feeling tired and hungry. Tears welled in her eyes.

“Here.” Oliver handed her a clean tissue, which she wrapped around her bleeding finger as they both continued picking up the remnants of her dinner.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I can’t stand to see girls cry.” He looked up and smiled, his face level with hers. She realized that he had beautiful eyes. His hair was a little shorter than it was a few weeks ago, and looking closely, she found him quite attractive.

“I’m not crying anymore,” she replied, “but now I have to find myself something to eat.”

“How about a plate of
tagliatelle al salmone
over at Giovanni’s?” Oliver straightened up. “As compensation for damages, so to speak.”

Alex looked at him suspiciously for a moment and then shrugged her shoulders. She didn’t feel like sitting in her apartment alone hoping Sergio might possibly appear at her door because she wouldn’t answer the telephone.

“I’m really hungry,” she said, “but I’m in no mood for an evening of abstruse conspiracy theories.”

Oliver looked at her bemusedly and then adopted a solemn expression.

“I swear,” he said, raising his hand as if making a pledge, “that I will not utter a single word about LMI or Gilbert Shanahan.”

“Okay.” Alex had to smile reluctantly. “It’s a deal. But if you mention them even once, I’ll get up and leave on the spot.”

“I would never risk such a thing,” Oliver responded and picked up his bike. “I’m a journalist in my heart and soul, but I’m not an idiot.”

He really wasn’t. He was downright entertaining and had a good sense of humor. Over big bowls of pasta and a bottle of Chianti, he told her about his childhood in Maine, where his father owned a few fish trawlers, and his student days at Harvard and in Europe. He had lived and worked in Paris, London, Frankfurt, and Rome over the course of his career. He and Alex got to talking about Frankfurt, ordered a second bottle of Chianti, and then a third. Alex’s cell phone was turned off, and she was surprised how quickly the time passed. It was after midnight when they left the restaurant. Oliver had kept his promise and not said a word about LMI or Shanahan. Alex struggled to walk in a straight line and stumbled over the curb. Oliver let go of his bike just in time to grab hold of her.

“Oops,” she mumbled. “I think I had a little too much to drink.”

His embrace felt good. They stared into each other’s eyes and before she knew what was happening, he leaned forward and kissed her. She could not contain the flash of lust that coursed through her body. She wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with passion. They broke apart and shared a moment of breathless eye contact. The second kiss was longer and more passionate than the first. She liked Oliver. Very much. Sergio had cheated on her and stood her up with some model. Ha! In less than a half hour since discovering his infidelity, she’d gotten back at him.

Sergio Vitali looked silently at the photos spread on his desk. He flipped through them slowly and was annoyed to notice his hands shaking.

“Who is this guy?” he asked, trying to control his voice.

“His name is Oliver Skerritt,” Silvio Bacchiocchi responded. “He’s a freelance journalist for the
Financial Times
and he lives on Barrow Street in the Village.”

A wave of jealousy washed over Sergio. For days now, he had been trying to reach Alex to no avail. Her secretary kept making excuses, and his voice mails remained unanswered. So he had sent Silvio to follow her, and now he had to face the fact that she was running around hand in hand with another guy! He had done what Nelson suggested. With this nitwit Farideh Azzaeli, he had been trying prove to Alex that he didn’t need her, even if it was terribly difficult for him to do so because his longing for Alex almost drove him crazy. Sergio was annoyed by his obsession; he couldn’t bear the thought that she was seeing another man.

“How often does she see him?” he asked.

“Three times last week,” Silvio said. “Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday. They spent the entire weekend together. They went to Central Park, a couple of bars, the Washington Square Arch, and went shopping.”

“Did she also…stay overnight?”

“Er…yes.”

Sergio swept the photos off his desk and stood up. With a stony expression, he stared down over the city from his office window on the top floor of the VITAL Building. The thought that she may have talked to this guy about him, maybe even laughed about him, was eating away at Sergio. This humiliation was a defeat that he could hardly bear. “What do you want me to do?”

Kill the bastard,
Sergio thought, but then he relaxed.

“Nothing,” he said without turning around. “Watch him and keep me posted.”

Silvio picked up the photos and left the office. Sergio sat down at his desk and buried his face in his hands. Nelson was so right about her! He had almost trusted Alex! He really thought that he meant something to her! Now, she was more interested in a miserable newspaper hack who
rollerbladed in the park! For the first time he could remember, his private life consumed him to such a degree that he neglected his business—which made him even angrier. Alex had developed into a dangerous obsession.

Alex couldn’t get out of the annual charity event sponsored by LMI at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, though she considered every conceivable excuse. A personal invitation from Vincent Levy was an order. For a moment, she considered asking Oliver to join her so that he could get a closer look at these Wall Street sharks—whom he loved to observe and disparage—but then she decided against it. She really liked Oliver. He was funny, sensitive, and intelligent. She didn’t feel an unpleasant pressure to play any role with him. The last weekend—the third they’d spent together—might not have been as spectacular as the ones with Sergio, but it was much more relaxed and entertaining. She and Oliver went roller-blading in Central Park, visited the Frick, shopped at Zabar’s, and spent an entire afternoon people-watching in Washington Square Park. And the day built up into a great night together. There was no tense competition for dominance between them, no tactics, no acting as with Sergio. Sergio! He was the real reason Alex didn’t want to attend this event, but she couldn’t avoid him forever. For three weeks, she had consistently ignored his phone calls, voice mails, and the flowers that he sent to her office.

When she arrived at the Met, the tension was almost unbearable. Sergio was suddenly right in front of her. She had almost forgotten how it felt to be in his presence. He looked breathtakingly handsome. If she thought her time with Oliver would erase all her feelings for Sergio, then she was mistaken.

“Good evening,
cara
,” he said. The sound of his dark voice made her shiver. “I was hoping I’d see you tonight.”

“Hello, Sergio,” Alex replied with a tentative smile. “I hoped so, too.”

“You look stunning.” Sergio didn’t say a single word about how Alex had been obviously avoiding him. He pretended everything was just fine. They chatted for a while, just like distant acquaintances, until he finally posed the question that seemed to burn in his soul.

“Why do I get the feeling that you’ve been avoiding me the past few weeks?” He made it sound casual, taking two glasses of champagne from the passing waiter’s tray and handing one to Alex. She noticed that Zack was roaming near them, curiously watching from the corner of his eye.

“Why should I avoid you?” she asked.

“I was wondering the same thing.” He sipped his champagne and observed her closely.

“I’m very busy at work.” Alex lowered her voice. She knew Zack’s ears perked up. “And when I saw in the paper that you’d rather be accompanied by Farideh Azzaeli, I figured you were tired of me.”

He smiled, but his eyes were penetrating.

“Are you jealous?” he inquired.

“No, I’m not. I certainly know other men besides you.” She said this with a sense of malicious satisfaction as she watched the smile fade from his face. “I don’t need to be stood up. There was a time when I thought that you cared about me, but you obviously don’t. I don’t feel like playing games.”

Sergio raised his eyebrows.

“Games?”

“Exactly. What else would you call this? A relationship? First you call to tell me to keep my weekend open, and then I read in the newspaper that you’re screwing this skinny bitch!”

He didn’t like her vulgarity, but as usual, he hid every emotion behind his expressionless face.

“I didn’t have sex with that woman,” he said.

“Oh really?” Alex grimaced in disgust. “I don’t believe that for a minute.”

“But it’s true. And after all, you stood me up first.”

“I have a tough job,” Alex said, without averting her gaze from his blue eyes. “I work eighty hours every week, and I can’t always be available whenever you feel like it.”

“What do you expect from me?” Sergio asked.

Yes, what did she expect? Did she expect anything at all from him anymore? Alex suddenly lost interest in this childish trial of strength. She didn’t feel like arguing with him.

“I don’t know,” she said with a sigh. “Let’s talk about it some other time. I had a long day.”

Sergio took a long and close look at her, and then he nodded.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said. “It would be nice of you to stop having someone else make excuses for you.”

Alex suddenly thought of Oliver, and she felt even more miserable. She had not even talked to him about Sergio. To her own surprise, she wished she was courageous enough to tell Sergio to leave her alone. Before he could say anything else, she pushed through the crowd toward the coat check.

Alex stood on the steps of the Metropolitan Museum and took a deep breath. She longed for Oliver. Suddenly, she grabbed her cell phone and dialed his number. But she got his voice mail. Disappointed, she put her phone back in her purse. She sat down on the steps with a sigh and lit a cigarette. She didn’t care if anyone saw her. After a while, she started to feel better. She flicked the cigarette butt and went looking for a taxi. She leaned on a telephone pole, taking in the mild night air, but no taxi passed.

She was just planning on returning to the museum to tell Sergio to forget about calling when a piercing scream startled Alex out of her thoughts. In the dim light of the streetlamp, she saw two men attacking a woman who had just left the museum. Without thinking, Alex jumped up, slipped her heels off her feet, and ran over to them. The woman was
lying on the ground while one of the men pulled at her purse and the other—a scruffy white guy with rotten teeth—kicked her. Alex rammed her elbow with full force into the kicking man’s back. He fell, hitting his head against a wall. His buddy let go of the purse in surprise. Alex had finally found an outlet for her pent-up frustration. She took a swing and slammed her purse into the other guy’s face and then kicked him in the groin. This sent him to his knees with a gurgling groan. With sheer panic in her eyes, the woman crawled to the side.