Chapter 12
Rachel left shortly after having a breakfast of toast and eggs in Zack’s personal abode. She said she had a meeting with a client. Just as well, because Zack had a meeting with his father. Sure, his father called it lunch, but Zack knew it was a meeting.
It probably had nothing to do with business.
Nevertheless, he would have to dress up well enough to pass off as a billionaire heir in whatever fancy restaurant his father chose. This meant foregoing the T-shirts and shorts. But it didn’t mean saying goodbye to his favorite pair of sandals.
He enjoyed the air on his toes while he locked up his apartment. The next door neighbor’s door also closed with a soft click.
“Did you forget those files for the Brunswick’s?”
“Nope. Got them right here.”
“Good, good.” Kathryn Alison let out a harried breath. A few feet away, Zack pocketed his keys while deciding between walking – in this heat, in these clothes – and taking a ride share to his meeting. His bike would muss up his nice clothes, and his car wasn’t worth dragging out of the parking garage for a few blocks. “Oh. Good morning.”
Zack had hoped they wouldn’t notice him. Probably didn’t recognize me in these clothes. He turned around and flashed the neighbors one of his most charming grins. They often didn’t work on Kathryn.
They almost always worked on Ian Mathers, the only man who could smile better than Zack and get away with it.
“Morning!” Zack held up his hand, hoping that it would be good enough for a wave. “Lovely Monday morning, isn’t it? Off to work?”
Ian kissed his girlfriend on the cheek before sprinting toward the elevator. “I’ll go ahead and get the car started. Later, Feldman!”
Kathryn, who took her time fixing her ponytail and readjusting her bag strap, waited until her boyfriend had disappeared into the elevator before saying anything else to Zack. “We have a business meeting to get to. Well, he has a business meeting. I’m helping.”
“Surprised you don’t get married and share the merry load.” Ah, yes, the M word. The perfect word to utter should Zack want to get a rise out of his neighbor. The tabloids and society pages were always speculating when Ian and Kathryn were going to finally tie the knot after two years of intense dating. I should know all about that. I get a show at least once a month. “But I know why you doooon’t.”
Kathryn rolled her eyes and took one step past him in her nude heels. “Feminism?”
“Psh. Yeah, right.” Zack followed her to the elevator. “’Cause you’re waiting for a better man to come along and make all your real dreams come true.”
They were stuck waiting for the elevator Ian hogged on his way down to the parking garage. “Is that what I’m doing? Thought I was taking my time and enjoying my life.”
Enjoying was right. Zack couldn’t help himself as he leaned down toward her ear and whispered, “Loved the show last night.”
Kathryn blushed, yet kept her perfect posture as she rebuttoned the bottom part of her white silk blouse. “Did you? All ten minutes of it?”
“Come oooon, you know you can do way better than him.” The light signaling the next elevator’s arrival finally dinged. “Take me, for instance. I can go for at least fifteen.”
Kathryn kept a wary eye on him as she stepped into the elevator with a well-dressed woman from one floor up. Zack kept his next comment to himself when he joined them.
It wasn’t until they reached the lobby that Kathryn finally replied. “Who said only ten minutes was his idea?” She stepped out, her confident gait mesmerizing both Zack and the middle-aged woman who asked for his help stepping out. This is gonna be a long day.
***
Isaiah Feldman had expensive tastes. He wasn’t the biggest spender in his family – that honor had gone to his mother, who singlehandedly bought an entire island back in the ‘90s only to turn around and sell it to the Warren family because her husband had a stroke upon hearing the news from his accountant. Their son had acquired the same luxurious tastes and desires as his mother, but had his father’s financial sensibilities.
He also knew his youngest son really well. So well that, even though he often begrudged Zack for his lifestyle, he knew better than to pick a place like the country club or the Rooftop Gardens to have lunch with only him. One of those places required closed-toe shoes, and the other required ties. Two things Zack would rather eat than actually wear.
Instead, Isaiah had forwarded his son the address for a place called Bell Jar’s, which took more than simple Googling to find. Great. In the Monroe building. That meant it was sure to be extra stuffy, because the only family in town that could make the well-established Feldmans feel inferior were the damned Monroes and that deplorable “dynasty” they were hell-bent on building. Or at least that’s what Zack picked up on the grapevine. He made a point of avoiding families that would rather smell their own flatulence than be within fifty feet of Zack in his cargo shorts. So of course the king douche owns the biggest yacht at the marina. One he barely used since marrying the second prettiest blond in the city. (The first was Kathryn, of course, but only because Zack was still nursing that bruised ego from his college days.)
As expected, Bell Jar’s was a cozy soup and sandwich place that charged way more than any of the help or ingredients were worth. But people didn’t come here for the best taco salad in New England, now did they? No. Zack knew damn well that people like his father made reservations for Monday lunch at Bell Jar’s because of status. They wanted to be seen there, even if they paid extra to reserve one of the private rooms usually held for the Monroes’ business meetings. They must be out of town today.
Zack found his father sitting at a small table overlooking the grand view of the downtown commercial business district. Daresay it’s better than the view from my apartment. It helped that this side of the building didn’t compete with any other skyscrapers for a view.
A few of the other diners murmured as he walked by. Most of them were the housewives of the rich gossiping about which island they were flying to next or who was having an affair with their French tutor. Men who weren’t having quiet business meetings were old enough to be Zack’s grandfather. Too bad that man died years ago, from complications of his stroke.
“There you are.” Isaiah, who had shaken his personal assistants for this personal lunch, stood up from their table and attempted to smile in fatherly pride. “You always look good in a collared shirt, son.”
Zack pulled out the chair opposite of his father and sat down with only a nod. A waiter appeared before he could start warming his seat. “Don’t suppose they have BLTs here?”
The waiter helpfully pointed to one of the specials of the day. Instead of a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich, however, it was marketed as, “Tender, honey-infused pork, sun-dried tomatoes, and fresh greens.” Whatever. It would do. Even better if it came with sweet potato fries. That should’ve been fancy enough for this place.
The menus were taken away. Isaiah mentioned that he had already ordered right before Zack walked through the door – which insinuated that he assumed his son would be late, not that he would ever admit that.
He also wouldn’t admit that anything he asked his son was only a lead up to the real reason he had arranged this meeting. Zack wasn’t dumb. He knew his father’s interest in him stopped at how he affected the family. Zack didn’t have to go into the steel business to still reflect on the Feldman name and image. How many times had his father sat him down to discuss what the flagrant partying on yachts and going out with a different woman every week looked like to the world? I know what both you and Mom fear the most. They never outright said it, but they feared their youngest disaster knocking up some middle-class gold-digger and losing half his fortune to child support, alimony, or both. Unlike his brother, Zack didn’t have the classiest tastes in women.
Unlike his damned brothers.
Daniel, the heir-apparent who had been courting the same well-bred New York heiress for the past five years. Evan, the bright-eyed box of new ideas that had made Feldman Steel more than its fair share of money over the past two years. Both of them had solidified their place in the Feldman family. Daniel was on track to responsibly take over the company Stateside and continue the Feldman name with class and sophistication. Evan was ambitious enough to live abroad and bring in more international clients with murmurs of establishing a separate-yet-parallel company.
Then there was Zack. The youngest. The laziest. The artist.
“The least you could do is apply your artistic talents to architecture,” his big brother Daniel had told him. “Buildings need steel, right?”
“Film is one of the biggest industries,” Evan had cut in. “So many great networking opportunities. Don’t suppose you could turn your talents toward Hollywood, hm?”
Zack wasn’t interested in architecture or film. He wanted to carve statues and paint pictures. Nobody in the family had time for that.
So when Zack finished talking about the latest commission he had decided to take on, his father grunted a few meaningless words and changed the subject. “And what about that woman you were dating? That, hm… Penelope. No. Polly. What was her name?”