Christopher Smith - Fifth Avenue

Celina began with the basics. “Two weeks ago, my father and I met with a group of Iranian officials to see if we could work out a deal that would make us one of Iran’s chief exporters of oil. For a lot of reasons, few are willing to go near them.”

“Except for you and a few others,” Jack said. “But why?”

“We’re willing to take the risk because of two factors,” Celina said. “First is the price we’ll be paying for the oil. Iran has guaranteed us a price so low, the revenues we’ll earn from hauling and selling the oil should pay off WestTex in less than five years. That’s over two billion dollars a year. In a sense, we can’t afford not to go to Iran.”

The kind of money they were discussing was astronomical. “What’s the other reason?” Jack asked.

“It was recently announced that the U.S. would do what they did during the Gulf War. Our country plans to send the Navy into the Gulf to provide military escorts for dozens of American-flagged tankers. For security reasons, the exact date wasn’t given. It’s been kept top secret. No one-not Iran nor Iraq, nor any other oil or shipping company-knows the date but us.”

“How did you find out?”

“I have contacts at the State and Defense Department,” George said. “I called in a few favors and was given the date.”

“So, what you’re saying is that, with the Navy in the Gulf, the risks will be fewer and insurance prices will go down.”

“Exactly,” George said. “Making the venture profitable.”

“If that date was made public, every oil and shipping corporation in the world would be scrambling to export oil out of the Gulf.”

Celina smiled. “But instead, most are scrambling to get out of it.”

“It’s not all a gilded road,” George said. “There are problems-major ones. Just yesterday afternoon, RRK, the investment group we hired to help finance the deal, pulled out. They felt the risks were too great to get involved, the deal with Iran too shaky because our agreement with them is verbal.”

“Verbal?”

“That’s right,” George said. “Verbal.”

“I’m not sure what to think about that.”

“That’s because you don’t have the biggest set of balls in the room. Earlier this afternoon, I met with Ted Frostman from Chase. We talked over a game of skeet, I told them the pros and cons of taking over the company and he’s agreed to work with us.”

“That's terrific,” Jack said.

“Don’t get excited just yet,” George said. “We’ve yet to discuss fees and the terms of the deal-but Ted did assure me that he can get a commitment from Chase and, if for some reason that falls through, word’s out that Peter Cohen at Morgan Stanley is looking for an LBO-he might be interested.”

George looked at Jack. “What do you think?”

Jack’s former boss was Peter Cohen, Morgan’s chairman and chief executive. “I think Peter would be very interested,” he said. “Morgan is still trying to get back into the LBO business and I happen to know that Peter is under pressure to save their third-quarter earnings, which are expected to be down. A one-shot injection of, say, $100 to $200 million might be the opportunity he’s been waiting for.”

“Good,” George said. “Because we have to move fast. If I wait much longer, Iran could learn of the Navy’s move-and if that happens, there’s no question they’ll withdraw their offer.”

He stepped away from the window and sat in his chair. There was a sudden energy about George, a vitality that glimmered in his eyes and animated his features. “My sources at the State and Defense departments say that the Navy will begin its move on July 21. I’ve already spoken to my contacts at Lloyds, and they’ve agreed to cut their insurance rates in half when the Navy is stationed in the Gulf.”

“Where do I come into all this?” Jack asked.

“You mean besides your connections at Morgan Stanley, which might prove invaluable? On the day WestTex becomes ours, you, Celina and Harold Baines will be signing the final papers in Iran. It’s all just a formality, really-by then, the papers will have been drawn up and vetted. But obviously, it’s an important formality. If I take over WestTex without having secured this deal with Iran, I could lose everything I’ve ever worked for if they decide to back out.”

“Why don’t you just complete the deal with Iran first?”

George looked wistful. “I wish I could, but Iran won’t allow it. Only when WestTex is ours will they sign the final papers. They refuse to commit themselves otherwise.”

Jack couldn’t still a sense of apprehension. The risk this man was taking was great. He found himself admiring Redman, but also wondering how the man slept at night. “Are you sure this is the right move?” he asked.

“No,” George said. “But I didn’t get where I am without taking risks. I think this one is calculated. I feel good about it, so I’m going for it.” He stood. “I think you and Harold should meet before the trip. How does dinner sound?”

“Fine,” Jack said. “I’m free anytime.” He looked at Celina, who was flipping through a file on WestTex. He had been waiting all afternoon for a moment like this. “Why don’t you join us?” he asked casually.

Celina looked at him, surprised and speechless. She was about to refuse when her father said, “That’s a good idea. This way, you all can get to know one another before the trip.”

Eric Parker was there, but now only in the back of her mind. As her dinner date with Jack drew nearer, Celina found herself thinking more and more about him.

At board meetings, he would enter her thoughts by surprise. At business dinners, she would remember his smile and how they first met. In cabs headed cross-town, her mind would wander into his personal life. When he wasn’t at work, how did he spend his time? He seemed athletic. Was he on a team of some sort? Did he belong to a gym? And where did he live? Near her? On the West side? Downtown?

And her thoughts deepened. She wondered if he was seeing anyone.

She began to imagine the kind of woman he was interested in. She would be pretty, of course, but not so pretty that she didn't want to get her hands dirty. Somehow, she sensed that looks were less important to him than intelligence. And he would want someone who had a sense of humor; someone witty like himself, but not cruel or cutting. As the days passed, she imagined endless possibilities-but then, on the eve of their dinner date, she put an end to it.

This is crazy, she thought. Not only have I just ended a relationship, but once WestTex and the deal with Iran is secured, there will be more problems, more responsibilities and less time for me. This man should be furthest from my mind.

She was thinking this as she slipped into the black silk dress she purchased earlier that morning at Saks. Besides, it isn’t as though we’re going to be alone at dinner. Harold will be there. I’m simply a businesswoman attending a business dinner with my business colleagues.

She stepped in front of the bedroom mirror. The dress was short and chic and clung to her body, exposing her tanned shoulders, accenting her long legs. Studying herself, she wondered what had happened to the businesswoman, wondered what Jack Douglas would think if she arrived at the restaurant looking like this.

She reached into her closet and removed a black Chanel jacket. She put it on and turned before the mirror, inspecting the more conservative version. “That’s more like it,” she said.

But when she left her apartment, it was without the jacket.

When she arrived at the restaurant, she was led by the captain into a room filled with bouquets of fresh flowers, people dining at elegantly appointed tables, a man playing piano in the center of the warmly lit room. Jack Douglas was already seated at their table and he stood as she approached.