Nele Neuhaus - Swimming with Sharks

“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.”