“The company you have built has seen a good amount of controversy, hasn't it?”
“In what way?” he asked.
“Well, your core business is buying apartment buildings, doing some refurbishing and increasing the rents drastically. There have been a number of high-profile cases where your company has evicted old people and families with young kids—people who couldn't pay the new rents.”
“I knew it. I fucking well knew it. I'm the dumbest businessman in this whole godforsaken city. I thought you were different; that's why I invited you here. But you're just the same as all the others. Now get the hell out of my office.” Ryan swiped his arms over the table and knocked the microphone onto the floor.
“That's the first and last time, Steffi. Never again,” he said as he walked past her desk. “Bloody media. And don't say I told you so.”
“Well, I did,” Steffi said. “If she hadn't been so good looking, you would never have agreed to the interview.” Typical Ryan, she thought. He was a great businessman but a sucker for a pretty woman. She couldn't remember the number of times she’d had a tearful lady on the phone asking after his whereabouts.
Ryan slumped into his giant leather desk chair and looked through his e-mails. There was one from Alina telling him she would arrive in LA around eight that evening. She told him she would take a cab to his home and not to bother sending a driver.
“Steffi,” he shouted. Steffi arrived in his office with a notepad. “Alina's coming this evening. I'll bring her to work in the morning. How long do you think you'll need to hand everything over?”
“I think I can teach her all she needs to know in a month. After that, she can have my phone number and call me if she needs to know anything.” Steffi looked at Ryan and noticed how tired he looked.
“You're not overdoing it, are you?” she asked.
“What makes you say that?”
“You look tired.”
“I am tired, tired of people who don't keep promises. This morning we had to hold a guy over the edge of a building and threaten to drop him.”
Steffi laughed. “You have a wild imagination, Mr. Jacobson.”
If only she knew the real truth, he thought. “I'm going home. If you need me, you know where I am.”
The black Rolls Royce drove to Beverley Park and pulled into a gateway. The security guard came out of his hut and opened the gate. As Ryan's car passed, he waved and closed the gate.
Ryan loved his home. At just thirty-five, he was the youngest resident in the area. At an average price of thirty million dollars, the houses in the immediate area were owned by business people and Hollywood stars.
Getting out of the Rolls, he pulled out his cell. “Party time,” he shouted into in. “Spread the word. Starts at seven. Let's make it a pool party.”
When he walked into the house, he was greeted by John Frazer, a man he'd hired in London. John was one of the few real butlers the world still possessed. “John, it's pool party time. Starts at seven. Can you organize?”
John was tempted to roll his eyes in disgust, but Ryan paid him ridiculously well to turn the other cheek. “Of course, sir. Leave it to me.”
*****
“Hi, Mom,” Alina said. “Yes...yes...yes. Mom, don't worry. I'm fine. Nothing to worry about. I'll be there soon. Yes, Mom, the flight was great. What? Yes. Of course I've got enough money.”
“Moms, huh?” the young man sitting next to her on the train said.
“Yeah. She's worried about me.”
“First time away from home?”
“Yes. I suppose it is. I went to college in New York, but I lived at home because it was so close.”
“Where are you headed?”
“To downtown LA. My first job.”
“Wow. Such a long way from home too,” he said, looking at her. He really liked what he saw. Her long legs were covered by a pair of faded jeans that showed off her slender thighs. Her white blouse had one button too many open, and he got a glimpse of her lacy bra with its overflowing contents.
“Yes, it sure is a long way from home, but I'm looking forward to it.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I'm going to be PA to a real estate dealer. I'm so excited. I never dreamed I would get the job.”
“Was there a lot of competition?”
“Well, if I tell you the name of the guy, you'll know the answer.”
“Go on then.”
“Ryan—”
“Jacobson,” he said.
“How did you know?” she said.
“He's famous. Not for the right reasons either.”
Alina turned her head to him. He was about her age but dressed older. He was wearing a tweed jacket and a pair of highly polished black shoes. “What do you mean by that?”