Fate's Consort Page 4

  The car pulled up before the restaurant, putting an end to her mental head-scratching. She inhaled and pushed out a nervous breath, steeling herself for whatever Fate threw in her path. A faint, feminine chuckle resonated in her mind.

  You can’t blame us. You know the difference.

  Analise huffed. You’re really not helping here. Why don’t you go back to sleep and wait until I’m miserable again?

  Because today I no longer need to stay silent, Tamahaq.

  Roger got out and came around to open the door. “What time shall I return, Ms. Drake?”

  “Nine, unless I text Mark.”

  After the Jason debacle, Roger was her driver for all dates. When she asked why Mark said he was the epitome of ruthlessness. Mark declared, that since he liked his executive assistant position, he wasn’t about to let anyone interfere with his meal ticket. After a bit of name-calling, she recognized the truth in Mark’s words. Roger even scared her.

  She exited the car, aware he wouldn’t leave until she was inside Quincy’s, so she hurried through the door. “Hi, Sammy. How’s Chris doing with the tutor?”

  “Great, and thanks for your help with everything, Ms. Drake. Gregory is waiting near the bar.”

  Analise moved through the small crowd of waiting patrons, avoiding the press of bodies and the appreciative gazes of people, some with partners. A space cleared, and she saw Gregory Colson, one of Quincy’s founding partners and a long-time friend. A warm smile on his face, he abandoned the group and strolled over to her.

  “Lise, wonderful to see you. It’s been a while.”

  She kissed his cheek. “I show up enough to keep your prima donna chef on his toes. Has my dinner guest arrived?”

  “He’s here. I hope you don’t mind, I put him in the lounge,” Gregory said. “His hotness was sending my air-conditioning bill through the roof, and that was among my staff.”

  Analise laughed. “I thought San Franciscans were far too jaded to fall all over themselves for a well-dressed body and a pretty face.”

  At Gregory’s raised eyebrow, she added, “Okay, it helps he’s worth a billion or two. But, I’m sure he carries an ironclad prenup on him in case. Which room are we in?”

  “Six. Mark messaged that it was a business dinner.”

  Analise followed him to the private lounge, remaining in the hallway while he went to retrieve Nathanson. She smiled as she imagined Gregory returning with a package. Nathanson was definitely a package. FedEx, however, was not the delivery method.

  “I hope that smile is for me.”

  She glanced up, somewhat embarrassed by her thoughts. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  “I enjoyed my time in the lounge.” He glanced at Gregory. “Your staff is superb. My compliments to them.”

  Gregory bowed his head before looking at Analise. “If you will follow me, Lise, Mr. Nathanson, your dining room is number six.”

  Analise hid her surprise when Nathanson offered his forearm. It was a gesture she experienced more often with older males, most often European. Her fingers touched the fine silk weave of his jacket and a sharp tingle shot through her. She started to remove her hand, then decided it would be embarrassing. By the time they reached the dining room, Analise’s palm felt as if she’d clenched a smoldering piece of metal.

  Gregory opened the door. She walked in, relief flooding her when Nathanson entered and moved past her to the table. He pulled out a chair and waited until she sat. His fingers glided along the top of the chair, brushing her neck as he left. Pain shot across her skin. She managed to hide her reaction, not understanding what caused it.

  She glanced at Gregory while waiting for the burning sensation to die down. “Thanks for doing this on such short notice.”

  “Always. David and Stephanie will be your servers tonight.” He turned to Satan. “I hope you enjoy dining at Quincy’s, Mr. Nathanson. If there is anything you require, please ask,” Gregory said before leaving the room.

  “Do you mind if I remove my coat, Ms. Drake?” Peter asked.

  Analise flicked him a quick smile. “Not at all. Meals should be relaxed.”

  “Even with family?” he teased.

  “Especially with family. You don’t know how long they will be in your life. Would you care for a drink before dinner, Mr. Nathanson?”

  Nathanson nodded. “Only if you call me Peter. A scotch whisky please.”

  Her fingers tapped the iPad. Within seconds the door opened. She smiled at the server who entered. “Hi, David. My guest would like a whisky.”

  The server turned to Satan. “Is there a particular brand you prefer, sir?”

  “Macallan?”

  “We have Reflexion and M.”

  “Reflexion.”

  David inclined his head and peered at Analise. “Simeon asked me to let you know he has a lovely wine that pairs nicely with the ragout and salad you’ll request.”

  Analise’s laugh floated across the table. “Typical Frenchman, he’ll never give up. First off, he didn’t ask, he commanded, and second, we both know I don’t have a choice.”

  David winked and gave her a slight bow before he left the room.

  “May I ask what just happened?”

  “Simeon despairs my lack of diversity with foods,” she answered. “I ordered the same thing the first couple of times I dined here. He took umbrage I was so lacking in taste.”

  “You’re scaring me. Dare I ask what you’d recommend?”

  She held her hands and shook her head. “Oh no, make your own choice or ask David when he returns. Entrees can be adapted to your taste. If there is something you prefer and it’s not on the menu, you can make a request.”

  He studied the tablet for a few minutes and then set it aside. “You haven’t looked at your menu, Ms. Drake.”

  “Analise, and didn’t you hear David? I’m having ragout and the same salad I always have,” she explained.

  Her fingers toyed with a curl. “It’s a contest of wills. Our first clash resulted in a classic chef meltdown on Simeon’s part. He stomped into the room, demanding to know why an intelligent woman would order such ordinary food. Since then, it has been his mission to defeat my ordinariness.”

  “There is nothing ordinary about you.”

  Analise tensed when he reached across the table to take her hand. She avoided his touch by picking up the iPad. “Don’t let the veneer fool you. I am rather ordinary, Peter.”

  “Forgive me if I embarrassed you. I meant to suggest, given your achievements at your age, ordinary shouldn’t be a self-description in your vocabulary.”

  “I’m not that young,” she said.

  “Younger than I am.”

  A knock on the door silenced the debate. David entered. “I suppose you don’t care to check the label, Ms. Drake.”

  She shook her head while David poured wine into her glass and said, “Simeon will fire me.”

  Once he set a glass of whisky before Peter, Analise spoke. “Tell Simeon if he does, I’ll boycott his cooking. Tell him since it’s a Pauillac Medoc, I will forgive his presumption.”

  David pocketed the cork with a flourish and chuckled. “I will. Enjoy.”

  Peter raised his glass once they were alone. “To your ordinariness, Analise.”

  She brought her glass to her lips, took a sip, and set the glass on the table. “Although I don’t believe there will be much to discuss, Peter, I’m curious why you’re interested in AnthroGen. Why the invitation to dinner?”

  The door opened before he replied. David and Stephanie wheeled a silver food cart into the room. Analise waited until they were about to leave before saying, “David, tell Simeon the Medoc is delicious.”

  The server nodded as he exited the room. “I hope you enjoy the starters, Peter. Quincy’s is one of my favorite restaurants. Have you visited the city before?”

  “No, my first trip. Until this week, there hasn’t been a reason for me to travel west of New York City.”

  Analise chewed, then sw
allowed a wine-soaked mushroom before she said, “Oh, please. Every New Yorker of means visits San Francisco at some point. Are you telling me you haven’t even been to LA?”

  Peter shook his head. Analise stared as if he’d sprouted a second pair of eyes. “How long have you lived in New York?”

  “If I said centuries, would you believe me?”

  Her laughter echoed in the room. “From the lips of a New Yorker, yes. I can’t believe this is your first visit to San Francisco, let alone California. Do you plan to see some sights? Be a proper tourist?”

  “With the right guide, I would extend my stay,” he said, his eyes on her.

  She stared at him. Something in his tone sent shivers racing down her spine. Seconds later, heat rubbed the back of her hand like slow licks of a tongue. It was an unpleasant sensation, bordering on pain. She looked at her food to hide her discomfort, hoping he didn’t catch her reaction.

  He punctured a mushroom with his fork and ate it. “Quite good,” he said. “I’ve eaten wine-soaked mushrooms before, but none prepared like this.”

  “I’m glad you like it. You still haven’t explained why you wanted a dinner meeting.”

  Peter sipped his whisky then viewed her over his glass. “How did a dual doctorate in literature and cultural anthropology become involved in genetics research?”

  Analise masked her irritation when he didn’t answer her question. Her fingers closed around the stem of her glass. “My cousin was the Gen in AnthroGen, although any anthropologist should have an interest in genetics. We were graduate students at Berkeley.”

  She stared at the ruby-colored liquid in her glass. “Fieldwork took me to Algeria. Martine tagged along. My research focused on the Amazigh people of the Sahara, specifically an isolated group living in the Ahaggar Mountains of Algeria.”

  A soft musical note announced dinner and Analise fell silent. Once the servers left, she continued. “The People weren’t really nomadic. Martine wanted to see what might show up genetically not found in other Amazigh.”

  “What were you searching for, Analise?”

  “Angels, demons, vampires, and shifters are important to the People’s origin stories, particularly those about the Tamahaq or the women. I wanted to document the belief systems.”

  “Did you find them?” Satan asked. “Angels and demons?”

  “You forgot vampires and shifters. No, but it doesn’t mean they don’t exist. I suspect they don’t want human contact, too messy,” she joked.

  “Martine walked away empty-handed too. She couldn’t find genetic anomalies linked to isolation, although there were several unusual things.”

  “I still don’t understand how AnthroGen was born.”

  Analise squeezed the stem of her wineglass. She felt a light mental probe and immediately strengthen her blocks. Until Peter admits he’s dream boy, he wasn’t getting back in.

  “Martine designed a coding system, which became the basis for two patents. My contributions were some money and superior literary and cultural studies skills.”

  “I understand she died tragically,” Satan said, his voice laced with sympathy.

  “She was murdered two years ago.”

  He reached for her other hand. “Forgive me, Analise. I didn’t mean to bring up such horrible memories.”

  “They never go away,” she declared, pulling her fingers away before he touched her. Her skin still ached from the earlier contact. “You still haven’t answered my question, Peter. Why AnthroGen?”

  “Because none of the other biogenetic companies are as promising,” he answered. “AnthroGen’s reputation for innovative and thorough research is stellar. How do you fund your company besides grants?”

  Analise talked about her company’s funding and research without going into details. She sensed Peter’s frustration. He obviously assumed his charm was sufficient. A quiet knock and the opening of the door interrupted her explanation. Stephanie entered and set a dessert plate on the table. Analise grinned. “Let Simeon know he has my heart for this.”

  Picking up a spoon, she dipped it in a crème brûlée. Lifting her gaze to Peter’s face, she dragged her tongue across her bottom lip. “Let’s skip the foreplay and go straight to your offer. What’s your proposal?”

  Analise rested the spoon on her bottom lip as Peter choked on his drink and stammered, “I was not aware we were engaged in foreplay, Ms. Drake.”

  “What happened to Analise?” She said huskily before sliding the spoon between her lips. A soft moan floated behind the spoon as she withdrew it.

  “Analise,” he repeated, once he regained his composure. “I’m prepared to offer twenty-five million annually, with additional funding as needed.”

  “What do you get for such generosity?”

  “A twenty-five percent stake to start and full partnership if and when AnthroGen goes public.”

  Analise dipped her spoon into her dessert and brought the silken mass to her tongue. She licked the spoon before allowing the sweet concoction to melt on the warm surface of her tongue. Once she swallowed, she gazed at him. “When do you need an answer?”

  “Will a week be sufficient for you to consult with your board of directors?”

  “There isn’t a board of directors,” she answered. “I’ll inform my lab directors about your interest. However, the decision is mine.” She set the spoon on the empty dessert plate. “Would you like a lift to your hotel, Peter?”

  Analise’s eyes followed his rise from his chair. He circled the table until he stood behind her. His fingers gripped the edge of the chair and gently tugged it away from the table. She got up and managed to avoid physical contact.

  “Dinner was excellent, and the company enchanting,” he murmured before running a finger along her jawline. “You are exquisite, Analise. Only once in my lifetime have I met a woman like you. Her death broke my heart. Since then, I’ve shied away from women who remind me of her. Something tells me I’m about to make an exception.”

  Analise stepped beyond his reach and walked to the door. Her body tense, she waited while he opened it. As she stepped into the hallway, she looked at him. “You do realize I have a say in whether I’m to be an exception.”

  She made her way through the restaurant and outside to the valet stand. She started to extend her hand but didn’t. “Good night, Peter. I’ll be in touch about your offer.”

  A taxi pulled up and the doorman opened the door. Satan smiled. “Good night, Analise.”

  He started to enter the taxi and hesitated, his gaze centered on her face. “If you have some free time over the next two or three days, I’d love to have you as my tour guide.”

  “I need to check my calendar, so no promises,” she said before she turned and walked to where Roger leaned against his car.

  Chapter 4

  Analise started at her phone’s screen. She was far enough from home to let Mark know she had left San Francisco. A wicked grin settled on her lips as she typed, “Mark, text Richard I need two al pastor burritos.” She hit send then mumbled a quick prayer her executive assistant wouldn’t call.

  A ping let her know he’d received her message. She could imagine him leaning back in his chair, trying to decide whether to curse or ignore the text. Instead, she received a text asking, “where are you.”

  “Los Gatos and, yes, I’m on my way to Santa Cruz. I need to talk to Richard before you and I chat.” She grinned when his reply came back with a “fuck” and “tell me when you’re leaving the city. Who’s driving?”

  “Will.”

  “Okay. FaceTime me.”

  Analise hesitated before pressing the call icon she’d set for Mark. “Hey.”

  “Having trouble with FaceTime I see. How was dinner last night?”

  “Fine,” she responded. “We’ll talk when I get back to the city.”

  “What’s wrong? Did Nathanson forget himself?”

  She heard the probing note in Mark’s voice. He understood her better than anyone. “No, dinner wa
s fine. I just need to talk to Richard.”

  “Then why the moody I’ll claw your heart out and make you eat it vibe I hear in your voice?”

  “Thanks, I so needed to remember what separates the widgets from real thinkers, and you from the rest of humanity this morning. Check your email. Never mind, I’ll save you the hard work. Nathanson wants twenty-five percent of AnthroGen and full partnership if it goes public.”

  Mark’s soft whistle echoed in her ear. “What is Mr. Billionaire Hottie offering in exchange? First-born? A chorus of angels? Me as your Consort?”

  “Those I might consider, especially the latter if it comes with Jesse, although it’s funny you say Consort. . .anyway, he’s offering twenty-five million a year research funding, an additional four million a year to maintain the two labs, and more cash if we need it.”

  “Impressive, and the problem is. . .”

  “I don’t know. Something about him triggers all thirty-two of my internal alarms, not the usual six.” She sighed. “It’s like there’s more behind his thinking than AnthroGen. Anyway, I should be back in the city by three. What’s on my calendar?”

  “A girls’ night out with Mei Li and Iris. Want me to cancel?”

  “No, it’ll do me good. I’ll confirm with Mei Li while I’m here. Anything else?”

  There was a brief silence before he said, “Harrison called. The judge dismissed Marilyn’s latest lawsuit and threatened her with serious jail time if she files another one.”

  Marilyn Trent was like a tick on a deer’s ass in her efforts to set aside the Drakes’ and Martine’s wills. The worst part: the woman’s on-going resentment made it difficult to keep the heartache at bay.

  “See if nine a.m. tomorrow works. If not, whatever you set up is fine by me,” Analise replied.

  “Will do. You get one pastor since you haven’t been to Deng’s this week. I heard about the jambalaya, beignets, and Creole coffee. If I didn’t love you. . .”