Part 10 (2/2)
I waited for a dark Chevy Suburban to pa.s.s, but instead it pulled against the curb at the corner into a No Parking zone. So typical. Drivers in Miami pay no attention to signs. It's beyond me why anyone would need such a ma.s.sive vehicle in Miami in the first place, but apparently they're all the rage. There had been another one exactly like it parked in the circle at my condo, right under the Loading Zone Only sign.
Mari's office was on the twenty-fourth floor of One Brickell Square, a towering structure of white concrete and gla.s.s with marble floors throughout not only the lobby but the outdoor plaza as well. It was after six and most workers had gone for the day.
The mirrored walls of the elevator gave me one last chance to check my look. I'd gone home after work to change into something I hoped would pa.s.s for casual elegance, slacks with a plain silk blouse and a colorful silk corsage I'd gotten for Christmas two years ago from my Secret Santa at the foundation...someone with fas.h.i.+on sense. Mari was taking me to dinner across the street at Truluck's, and then giving me a tour of her condo. From the suggestive tone of our kazillion text messages over the last three days, I wasn't expecting to see any more of her place than she'd seen of mine a couple of nights ago.
Mari had described her wealth management firm as a boutique family business, which just happened to control more than two billion dollars in investments. She and Pepe oversaw the accounts with the help of five sales consultants, an accountant, three junior a.n.a.lysts-one of whom was Chacho's older brother-and three administrative a.s.sistants, including Talia's mom, who was Mari's sister-in-law. Another key player was Felix, her gay uncle, who served as the firm's legal counsel.
A receptionist, dressed as if she were on her way to a nightclub, met me at the door. All young Hispanic women seem to dress that way, probably knowing perfectly well how much pressure it puts on the rest of us.
”You must be Daphne,” she said, her Spanish accent barely noticeable. Second generation, I'd guess. ”Mari's in her office...next to last door on the left.”
There wasn't another soul in the place, which made me feel bad for the poor woman working reception. She'd probably stayed late at Mari's request to show me in.
Mari was on the phone, but grinned and waved when she saw me. ”Let me talk to Pepe. I bet he'll want to have you to dinner on the yacht one night. Does that sound like something you and your wife would enjoy?”
Ah, yes...dinner on the yacht with our friends. For Mari and Pepe, it was just another day at the office, while for me it had been a once-in-a-lifetime fantasy come true.
Beyond her desk was a gorgeous view of flickering lights from the luxury condos and hotels on Brickell Key. If I looked out on that all day, I'd never get anything done. Even the inside of her office was beautiful, with expensive furniture and not a single element of the decor out of place. Thirty-three years old and already sitting on top of the world.
”Hey, sweetie,” she said when she dropped the phone. ”Thanks for meeting me. Did you look around?”
”I saw enough. It looks like a great place to work.” I was still playing back the mental tape of her calling me sweetie, and taking in the sight of her tight brown skirt, plunging ivory top and open-toed platform pumps.
”Come over here.” She led me to the window and pointed to the building next door, soaring so high above us that its reflection twinkled in the bay. ”That's where I live. I walk to work every day.”
”Now you're just rubbing it in. I'd be downright cheerful all the time if I had your commute.” I waited as she tidied her desk and collected her handbag. ”Sounds like you and Pepe have lots of dinners on the yacht.”
”Yeah, that's something he likes to do for all the Iberican investors. It reminds them how rich they are, so they don't balk when we tell them it costs five million to buy in.”
”Five million dollars?”
”I know. It's not for average investors, just the ones who have serious cash. Most of our clients are inst.i.tutions, like corporations, or pension funds and foundations. Pepe won't even let me invest because I can't afford it.”
”I guess you won't be coming after my IRA.”
She surprised me with a kiss, more intense than I would have expected in such a public place. ”I don't care about your money, but I'm quite interested in your other a.s.sets.”
Good thing.
”I never do business with my friends. They all want discounts and insider tips that would send me to jail. Besides, investing is risky, and friends don't like it when you lose their money.”
The sound of a throat clearing startled me but Mari seemed nonplussed about holding me in her arms as the receptionist handed her a folded slip of paper.
”Sorry...I took a message.” Her voice was decidedly apologetic, and I got the impression it was for the message itself rather than the intrusion. She didn't wait around for Mari's reaction.
Mari glanced at the note, rolled her eyes and dropped it into the wastebasket. ”I know I said we'd eat at Truluck's but then I got a better idea. Hope you don't mind.”
”You should know by now I'd skip dinner for the right distraction.”
We walked out the main entrance and crossed the street to the mirrored SunTrust Bank building, where Truluck's occupied the ground floor.
”I thought we weren't going to eat here.”
”We aren't.” She went through her usual animated greeting of the hostess, who took her credit card and handed her a large paper bag. ”I figured we'd eat in.”
I like a girl who keeps secrets. And wears tight skirts.
One thing I truly adore about Hispanic women is their habit of walking arm in arm with other women. I'd see them all over South Beach or Bayside and wonder if they were lovers or just family or friends. So it was no surprise when Mari hooked her elbow with mine once we started down Brickell Bay Avenue to her condo building, the Plaza at Brickell. Whereas I considered my building moderately luxurious, her place was the whole enchilada. Or since we're in Miami, let's call it the whole arepa. The lobby looked like a grand ballroom, with marble floors, fountains and crystal chandeliers as big as my car. Mari pressed the b.u.t.ton for the forty-ninth floor and I braced for having my ears pop.
Walking into her apartment was like stepping onto the cover of one of those urban home magazines, the kind that make you realize there's more to interior design than where to put the furniture. A single spot shone down from above the kitchen island, revealing one of the most elegant living s.p.a.ces I'd seen in all of Miami. The brown and gray of her granite countertops set a muted tone for all her decor, which included a low-profile sectional sofa, wall-mounted electronics and a plush rug. Floor-to-ceiling gla.s.s formed the far wall, beyond which I could see the lights on the gantry cranes at the far end of the Port of Miami.
”This is incredible.”
”Nice, isn't it? When I first went to work for Pepe about ten years ago, I'd look over here every day and dream about buying something in this building. Then one day at lunch I walked into the lobby and there happened to be a realtor standing there. Her appointment had stood her up, so she showed me this and I didn't even negotiate. Pepe could have killed me.”
”You don't negotiate for your dreams. You just go get them.”
”That's exactly what I told him.” She set the bag on the counter. ”Show yourself around while I get dinner ready. My cleaning lady came today, so I shouldn't have any embarra.s.sing messes.”
I wandered first into the near bedroom, obviously the one where Mari slept. Two entire walls of gla.s.s offered the same view as the living room, giving the impression of endless s.p.a.ce. A king-sized bed draped in a gray coverlet and stacked with pillows dominated the suite, which included a walk-in closet as large as my guest room and a bathroom fit for a queen. It was all I could do not to riffle through her rack of designer clothes, but I didn't even try to resist counting the shoes-twenty-six pairs.
When I returned to the living room, Mari was nowhere in sight but the door out to the terrace was open. I walked past the dining table to what turned out to be a second bedroom suite, not quite as large as the other, but equally elegant because it had its own private terrace. What it didn't have was a bed. A futon-perfect for putting up guests you hope won't stay long-sat against one wall, but a desk, credenza and computer dominated this room.
”Mari, if I lived here, I'd never want to leave. It's gorgeous.”
She came in from the terrace and waved me out. ”You haven't even seen the best part.”
Right she was. Nestled on the terrace was a bistro table draped in a white cloth, two chic place settings, a bottle of wine and a pair of flickering candles.
”Wow.” I didn't dare say what I thought, which was that it was the most romantic scene anyone had ever set for me. I was more than happy to get romance from Mari, but I didn't want to read too much into it because we hadn't traded any words to that effect. All we had between us was one actual date and a night of hot s.e.x. Really, really hot s.e.x. For all I knew, dinner on the yacht or terrace was her idea of foreplay, not romance.
She'd probably be mortified to know how far my fantasies about her actually went. I joke in my head all the time about marrying every beautiful woman who gives me the time of day, all the while knowing that's my end game when I finally meet the right one. Not that I'm saying Mari's the right one, but if she is, that's where I expect romantic love to go. The moment she realizes she loves me madly and can't live without me, I'm sure I'll be ready.
”I a.s.sumed you liked stone crab,” she said, pouring each of us a gla.s.s of Louis Jadot's Pouilly Fuisse, something I'd seen on menus but never ordered because it's out of my price range.
”Mari, this is wonderful, better than any restaurant could have been.”
”Yeah, I probably should have cooked something, but I leave things like stone crab to the pros. I haven't eaten out here like this in a couple of years.”
The math was easy on that one. It would have been right around the time Delores moved in. ”I'd probably be out here every night, even if I was eating a Happy Meal by myself.”
”What's not to love about it? Miami's the most beautiful place on earth.”
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