"Is there a problem at home?" the freshly showered blond asked with concern, sauntering out of the bathroom in a plush white hotel robe.
"No, no. That was confirmation that we are going out for a night cap." Alex replied, putting down the phone.
"Vraiment?" she groaned incredulously.
"The night is still young. And since I paid for 12 hours of your time...Chloe...you're still on the clock. Besides, it should be interesting."
He went on to explain that there was an opportunity for them to have a quick drink in the famed penthouse of the Four Seasons.
"Really?" she asked, interest piqued. "With who?"
"Someone who could be very important for my career. He and his partner have asked us to join them. Frankly, I thought you might be excited by the opportunity. After all, it's not every day you get to visit a place like that. I can speak with him, you can chat with her, can't imagine it will be that bad."
Passionate about design, and always keen to help her husband's prospects, she had to admit that it sounded intriguing.
"But, Alex," she complained, "I have nothing appropriate to wear. My overnight bag just contains pajamas and casual clothes for tomorrow, and..."
"Alex?" he shot back playfully.
With a roll of the eyes she corrected herself. "Well, Peter. The problem is that I have nothing to..."
"Yes, you do," he interrupted, picking up the previously discarded sexy black dress. "I'm sure the others won't mind you looking hot in this."
After a short pause, she nodded reluctantly, "Bon, OK. But let me freshen up first."
And disappearing back into the bathroom, she heard the command that underwear would not be permitted.
'Ha' she thought guiltily, if only he knew.
---------
As the gorgeous blonde led the way back through the Four Seasons lobby, Alex admired her from behind once more. Long blonde hair, now combed straight. A slim athletic body in a sleeveless Alexander McQueen dress. Toned calves, black stockings, and killer black heels. Quite the package. All made more alluring by the fact that the dress seemed see-through at first glance because it was made of elaborate black lace with skin colored lining.
Managing to pry his eyes away, he headed towards the concierge.
"We are guests of Mr George Roberts," he announced. "Please can you tell me how to reach the Penthouse."
"Ah yes. You are expected Mr. Peter. Please follow me to the private elevator."
Alex cringed slightly at the use of his pseudonym. Though fortunately, when he turned to see his wife's reaction, she was out of earshot.
The elevator ride proceeded smoothly, ascending to the top floor where the Ty Warner Penthouse floated above Manhattan. Renowned for its floor-to-ceiling windows and 360-degree view, it was fit for a master of the universe.
"You look tense," Sophie observed, as the elevator began to slow.
But before he could answer and tell her the truth about how they had ended up on their way to the top, the doors opened to reveal an old man in immaculate uniform.
"Mr Peter and Miss Chloe," he said grandly, with an inclination of the head, "Welcome to the Ty Warner Suite. Mr Roberts is expecting you."
The surprised blonde turned to her husband with questioning eyes.
"I'll explain later," he whispered, taking her hand and following the butler.
As she was preparing to interrogate the situation further, they entered the breath-taking living room. High overhead a dramatic cut-glass chandelier bathed the room in light, causing the crystals embedded in the cream-coloured walls to sparkle. And beyond, glass walls framed the twinkling lights of the city that never slept.
"Impressive, isn't it," came a familiar crisp English accent.
--------
Alex tracked the svelte silhouette of his wife as she glided through the crowd towards the ladies' room. Only once her blonde mane was out of sight did he scan for a waiter. However, they had all vanished, leaving the bar tender as the only member of staff within sight. Grateful for the opportunity to stretch, and discreetly rearranging a hard on, he got up and strode over.
Ordering another round of mojitos, he leaned back and took the place in. The Ty Bar at the Four Seasons was sophisticated and cool. A stylish soaring space with Art Deco inspiration and cool jazz tunes. No wonder, even on a Monday, it was filling up with a mix of New York's wealthy and the global jet-set elite.
An arrogant laugh caught his attention. It was the older gentlemen from earlier speaking to a small circle. The same one that had been trying to chat up his woman. And whatever he was saying must have been enthralling, because he had everyone's rapt attention. Studying the man briefly, Alex was immediately struck by his authority and confidence. Tall, well dressed, and sporting neat silver hair, he was a text book alpha male. And maybe he had a sixth sense to boot, because while Alex's gaze lingered, he turned, as if knowing he was being watched. Locking eyes, there was a flash of recognition. A polite nod. And then he was suddenly approaching.
"Good evening," came the crisp English accent as the man stepped away from his group. "Terribly sorry about earlier, I had no idea..."
"Oh. It's fine. Really," Alex assured, waving it away.
"Our greatest weakness lies in giving up," the Gentlemen chuckled. "While the most certain way to succeed...is always to try just one more time."
Alex looked a bit confused by the sudden profoundness.
"Thomas Edison. A philosophy to live by. But never mind, I am prone to rambling. At least let me buy you a drink as an apology."
"There's no need, really, I just ordered a round of mojitos anyway."
A pause.
"Mojitos?"
"Yeh, Chloe likes mojitos."
Referring to his wife's pseudonym came so naturally that Alex barely realized he had done so.
"Chloe, indeed. I love French women," the man reminisced, almost speaking to himself, "so alluring...so open-minded...so..."
But he caught himself and stopped.
"I know exactly what you mean," Alex chuckled in agreement, "there is something about them."
