Chapter 2

“No, I’m fine,” I lie. “Just a little dizzy from the helicopter ride. Where is Wyatt?”

“On the other beach,” Dermont replies. “We thought it would be best for you to go ahead and start with the photographs for the catalog.”

I make an apologetic face. I am over an hour late. My plan was to spend the morning in Los Angeles while Nikki, Nick, and Wyatt flew to the island before me. I would join them after they finished their private photo session and then spend the rest of the morning with Wyatt taking some photos to promote the resort. Nick would return to the city in his helicopter, and Wyatt, Nikki, and I would return later with Clark.

Nikki and I recently discovered our shared love for photography, and Wyatt offered to give us a crash course once the job was done.

“You didn’t bring your camera,” Nikki observes, her brow furrowed. “Is something wrong?”

I don’t answer, but then I add, “Okay, yeah. Kind of.” I look Dermont in the eye. “I need to talk to you.”

“I’ll go check on how Wyatt is doing,” Nikki says.

“No, please don’t. Stay,” I interject. “I mean, if Mr. Dermont—if Nick doesn’t mind.”

I still have a hard time calling him by his first name during business hours. But, as he has pointed out more than once, I’ve already spent quite a few hours having cocktails with his wife by the pool at his house, so after so many cosmopolitans, formality, when we are alone, is starting to feel forced.

“Of course, I don’t mind,” he replies. “What’s happened?”

I take a deep breath and deliver the news I’ve been keeping to myself. “Martin Glau left the project this morning.”

I see Nick’s expression change instantly. Surprise turns to anger, which quickly transforms into resolute determination. Beside him, Nikki reacts with less restraint.

“Glau?” she exclaims. “But he was so excited… Why the hell would he quit?”

“He didn’t quit,” I clarify. “He just left. He’s gone.”

For a moment, Nick just stares at me. “Gone?”

“Apparently, he went off to Tibet,” I explain.

His eyes widen. “Are you serious?”

“He sold his property, closed his business, and told his lawyer to inform his clients that he’s decided to spend the rest of his life meditating and praying.”

“Son of a bitch,” Nick mutters, his anger barely contained. I rarely see him display it in his business dealings, even though the press has magnified his short temper over the years. “What the hell is this about?”

“I understand your anger. In fact, I share it. This was my project, too, and Glau managed to screw us all,” I try to calm him down.

Even though the Cortez resort is owned by Dermont Vacation, that doesn’t mean Nick or his companies are fully financing it. No, we slogged over the past three months to land the best investors, and each and every one of them mentioned two reasons why they were committed to the project: Glau’s reputation as an architect and Nick’s reputation as an entrepreneur.

Nick runs his fingers through his hair. “Well, we have to get to work. If his lawyer is notifying his clients today, the press will find out right away, and everything will go very fast.”

I wince. I break out in a cold sweat just thinking about it because this project is mine. I conceived it, defended it, and worked my ass off to make it a reality. It means more to me than just a resort. It is my future. I have to keep this project alive. And I will, damn it. Even if, for that, I have to resume contact with the only man I swore I would never see again.

“We need to come up with a plan,” I say, my voice determined. “A concrete action plan to present to the investors.”

I see a hint of amusement in Nick’s eyes. “And you already have a proposal. Good. Let’s hear it.”

I nod and grip the bag tighter.

“Investors were impressed with Glau’s reputation and career path,” I begin. “But it is impossible for us to find another architect of the same caliber.”

Glau was the promoter of some of the most impressive and innovative buildings in the history of contemporary architecture. He was not only a famous architect but also a reputable one, and all this ensured the success of the project.

“So I suggest proposing a man who, by all accounts, is ready to match or exceed Glau’s professional worth.” I reach into my bag, pull out the magazine, and hand it to Nick.

“Marcus Steele. He has the experience, the style, and the reputation. He is not merely a young valor. In fact, now that Glau is gone, I think it’s fair to say that Steele is the best. And that’s not all. Because, even more than Glau, he has the kind of fame that can benefit this project. I mean the kind of potential publicity that will not only excite investors but will come in handy when we promote the project.”

“Is that so?” Dermont asks in an oddly subdued tone.

He turns to Nikki, and I can’t help but wonder at the quick glance they exchange.

“Read the article,” I encourage him, determined to prove him right. “Rumor has it they are going to adapt the story surrounding one of his projects to the cinema. But they already made a documentary about him and the museum he did in Amsterdam last year.”

“I know,” Nick declares. “It opens tonight at the Chinese Theatre.”

“Yes,” I say enthusiastically. “You’re going? You could talk to him there.”

Nick’s mouth twists in what I take to be ironic.

“Oddly enough, I haven’t been invited. I only know because Wyatt commented on it. They hired him to do the photo report of the red carpet and the guests.”

“You see it?” I insist. “That man is booming! We need him on our team. And the article also says that he plans to open another office in Los Angeles, which suggests he’s looking to establish himself in the West Coast market.”

“Marcus Steele isn’t the only candidate,” Nick argues.

“No,” I agree. “But right now, he’s the only one in the limelight. Other than that, I’ve already researched the other potential architects, and none of them are available. Steele is. I didn’t propose him as an architect from the start because he had taken on a project in Dubai that would last six months.”

And I was thankful that Marcus was busy because I didn’t want to see myself put right in this situation.

“But things have changed now. Dubai fell through,” I continue. “Political and economic problems, I suppose. The article explains it all. I’ve done some digging, and I don’t think Steele has any other major projects on his plate. He won’t stay idle for long, though. Marcus Steele can save the Cortez resort. Please, Nick, believe me when I say that I wouldn’t propose this if I weren’t completely convinced.”

Nick remains silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the magazine cover. Then he looks up and nods. “I trust your judgment,” he says. “If you think Steele is the right choice, then let’s make it happen. But keep in mind, if we don’t sign Marcus Steele soon, we’ll lose our investors. The only other option is for me to finance the project myself, using funds from my companies or my personal resources.” He takes a deep breath. “Gabriela, that’s not how I do business.”

“I know,” I reply. “And I appreciate that. That’s why I propose that we reach out to Marcus… Steele,” I correct myself, wincing at the slip of using his first name so casually. “This is a very flashy project, just the kind of project he’s been focusing on lately. He’ll accept. And I believe he’s the missing piece we need.”

Nick and Nikki exchange another glance, and I sense a deeper conversation passing between them.

“Excuse me,” I say, “but is there something I don’t know?”

“Marcus Steele isn’t interested in working for Dermont International,” Nikki clarifies after a brief hesitation.

“What?” It takes me a moment to absorb those words. “How do you know?”

“We met him in the Bahamas,” Nick says. “I offered him a position on the project even before Dermont International acquired the land. I gave him full access to all the project details. But he made it clear that he doesn’t want to work for me or any of my companies. He believes I would overshadow him, and he doesn’t feel like being outshone.”

“In other words, we won’t be able to get Steele on the project,” Nick concludes, his tone tinged with disappointment. He checks his watch and then looks at Nikki. “I have to go,” he announces. He turns to me. “Call the investors personally. This isn’t the kind of news I can keep from them. I’m truly sorry, Gabriela,” he adds, using my first name to emphasize the sincerity of his apology.

The project is falling apart. My project, the one I have poured my heart and soul into, is slipping through my fingers. I tell myself I should feel relieved, that I shouldn’t risk reopening old wounds and facing the demons of my past. I should just let go and accept defeat.

But that isn’t who I am. I can’t give up without a fight. This project means too much to me. It is my future, my chance to prove myself. I can’t let it go. Not like this. Not without a fight.

And, yes, it is possible that, in part, I want to see Marcus Steele again. To show me that I can do this. That I can see him, talk to him, work with him in the closest proximity and, somehow, make sure that the weight of it all doesn’t destroy me.

“Please,” I plead with Nick. I clench my fists, telling myself that my racing heart and cold sweat are from my fear of losing the project, not from the prospect of seeing Marcus Steele again. “Let me talk to him. At least let me try.”

“There will be more projects, Miss Brooks.” His voice is sweet but firm. “This is not your last chance.”

“I believe you,” I say. “But I’ve never seen you give up a failing business if there was any chance of saving it.”

“Based on what I know of Mr. Steele, there’s no chance.”

“I think there is. Please let me try. I’m only asking for a weekend,” I hasten to add. “Just long enough to meet with Mr. Steele and convince him to join the project.”

Nick falls silent for a moment, contemplating my request. Then he nods. “I can’t keep this from the investors,” he finally reasons. “But… since it’s Friday, we can take advantage of the timing. Call them, tell them we need to provide an update on the project, and schedule a video conference for Monday morning.”

I nod, maintaining a professional composure on the outside while inwardly feeling a surge of hope.

“That gives us the weekend,” Nick continues. “On Monday morning, we’ll either announce that we’ve signed Marcus Steele or that the project is in trouble.”

“We’ll have him on board,” I say confidently, though it is more a reflection of my determination than any actual certainty of success.

Nick tilts his head slightly, contemplating my words. “What makes you think that?” he asks, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

I run my tongue over my dry lips, gathering my thoughts. “I… I know him,” I begin, my voice filled with conviction. “We met five years ago in Atlanta, right before I started working for you. I can’t say for sure if he’ll agree, but I believe he’ll at least listen to me.”

At least, that’s what I thought before learning that he already turned down a Dermont project.

Now the rules have changed. Before, I thought I was going to serve him a fucking project on a silver platter. That I was doing him a favor. That I was in command.

Now it’s just the other way around.

He can ignore it. He can say no. He can show me the middle finger and send me to fry asparagus.

The conversation we had comes to mind, a conversation that tore me apart.

“I need you to do one thing for me,” I told him.

“Whatever.”

“No questions or objections. It is important.”

“Whatever it is, baby, I promise. You just have to ask me.”

He kept his word. He did as I asked, even though he nearly destroyed us both.

Now there’s something else I need from him.

And I wish with all my heart that, once again, it is enough that I ask for it.

***

“Can you arrange a meeting for today?” I say into my phone, holding it to one ear and covering the other with my hand because the noise of the helicopter shutting down its engines almost prevents me from hearing Marcus Steele’s secretary from his office in New York.

“I’m sorry, Miss Brooks,” the secretary responds. “Mr. Steele’s documentary is premiering in Los Angeles this afternoon, so he’s quite busy.”

I am on the roof of the Dermont Tower, and despite the feeling of being on top of the world, I don’t think I have the situation under control and I don’t feel calm. I want to open the door to get into the elevator shaft, but I know from experience that I risk losing the signal, and it seems to me that if I let this woman hang up, I won’t be able to talk to her anymore.

So I stand still, windswept with the sun beaming down on me and surrounded by concrete, with the distinct feeling that I’m not only at the mercy of the elements but of Marcus Steele, his secretary, and even the damned cell phone company.

“And tomorrow?” I ask. “I know it’s Saturday, but if he doesn’t go straight back to New York…”

“Mr. Steele is going to stay in Los Angeles for at least a week.”

“Great,” I say, my body relaxing with relief. “Could you please tell me what time works for him?”

“Could you give me a moment? Let me clarify with Mr. Steele,” she says and puts me on hold.

I wait, feeling a little ridiculous, while the music plays. When I hear the click that the secretary is back on line, I straighten up as if to attention, instantly rolling my eyes at my absurd behavior.

“I’m sorry, but there is nothing I can do for you, Miss Brooks.”

“Ma’am, I have no problem seeing him at any time. And if you prefer, I will go to his hotel, or he can come to my office. Whatever suits him best.”

I hear a sigh, long and deep, and I bite my lower lip when she says: “No, Miss Brooks, you don’t understand. Mr. Steele specifically asked me to decline any requests for a meeting. And, of course, to tell you that he’s sorry.”

“What is he sorry about?” I ask, my voice tinged with disappointment.

“He said you would understand,” the secretary replies. “That it was already discussed in Atlanta.”

“What?”

“I’m so sorry, Miss Brooks. But I can assure you that Mr. Steele’s refusal is final.”

My mouth has gone completely dry. In any case, it doesn’t matter because although I would have wanted to continue insisting, it is too late. The secretary has hung up.

I stare at my phone for a moment, not quite believing what I has just heard.

Marcus has already made up his mind. He said no.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, running my fingers through my hair. I glance over at Clark, who looked at me after securing the helicopter, and force a smile.

“Any issues?” he asks, furrowing his brow.

“No, not if I can help it,” I reply.

And I have no intention of calling Nick to tell him that I’ve screwed up so badly that I haven’t even gotten Marcus Steele to agree to meet with me. Which means I’m in dire need of a plan B. Another super architect. Or a magic potion… or a bloody miracle, anything to salvage the project.

Before stepping into the elevator with Clark, I stop short, remembering something.

“Go on without me,” I say. “I have to make a call.”

Then I go through my contacts until I find Wyatt’s number and dial it, hoping he can work a miracle.