LITMIR.BIZ

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He slapped a palm against his forehead, winced, then rubbed hard and fast. ‘That kind of hurt, Dewitt.’

      ‘I am so s-s-sorry, Mr Holder!’ I stammered, and instinctively reached out to him.

      Just as instinctively, he pulled back.

      Oops. I set the offending Geographic back on the table, wishing for the second time in five minutes that I could disappear. Oh, and he called me Dewitt. How horrible. No Ms, no Lily, just …

      ‘You OK?’ he asked, but his politeness was strained. That bump stung his head more than a little. Well, guess what? The product in his hair maybe hurt mine. So there.

      ‘As much as a girl in my shoes could be.’

      ‘Your shoes, yes, of course. Come in.’

      We stood, looked at each other evenly, looked at silent Beatrice Collins even more evenly, and he opened his office door. It was an even deeper shade of green than his Bangy’s foyer. I followed him into the Emerald City. This would be the part at BC where we’d turn on Pink Floyd, smoke pot and play that ‘Dark Side of the Oz’ game.

      ‘Welcome,’ said Dorian Holder, gesturing to the black leather couch across from his ostentatious desk, against which he leaned. Mr Holder’s body language was both graceful and elegant, the liquid movements of his large frame unexpected and most appealing.

      We stared at each other. I knew this trick – or I’d read about it, anyway – and refused to break the silence. Whoever speaks first loses the power play. So I shifted my gaze upward, as gazing into his titian eyes was unnerving, to say the least. They tell you to never look into an eclipse of the sun, and that moment was the second time I thought of it when peering at Dorian Holder.

       You’ll go blind.

      Don’t stare at a golden compass.

       You’ll get hypnotised.

      Perhaps that was when it first became clear to me that Dorian Holder was more than a man. He had a certain magic, a power greater than his obvious advantages over the Troy Matthewses of the world. He could make anyone’s head spin, should he wish, not just because of his notable beauty, his powerful position as one of the wealthiest men in America or his casual intelligence. No, Dorian was the master of his domain, and could become the master of anyone else’s domain as well. I was no match for him.

      To distract myself from the thickness in the air, I checked out the office in a manner I hoped was subtle. There was one detail it was impossible to tear my eyes away from. Near the top of each wall was a narrow shelf with a miniature train track on it. No joke. And there was a very long train directly over his desk. Though I was dying to ask about it, I’d just have to wait.

      Thirty seconds passed. And yes, I was totally doing the ‘one-Massachusetts, two-Massachusetts, three-Massachusetts’ count to time it.

      I had never realised how long the word ‘Massachusetts’ is.

      Crickets.

      So I waited, and peeked back at Dorian Holder. One corner of his mouth was curved into a half-smile, in fact he looked as though he were about to laugh. At me? Again, I looked back up at the Lionel train, and began to count cars.

      The CEO of Apollyon’s model train set is composed of 32 cars, if you include the locomotive and caboose. Just sayin’.

      ‘You win,’ I said, at last.

      ‘Of course I do.’ He beamed. ‘Holders always win.’

      ‘Should I “feel free” to sit?’

      ‘Please do.’

      The new leather couch made an unfriendly crackling sound as I leaned back against its sterile softness. ‘Thanks.’

      ‘You’re most welcome. Don’t mind if I stand.’ He crossed his legs and leaned back. ‘I’ve been sitting most of the day.’

      I pointed up at his toy collection. ‘So …’

      ‘Like it? Nineteen-forty-six model. The year they introduced the “smoke effect”.’

      ‘What’s that?’ This was not the conversation I had been expecting. ‘The smoke effect?’

      ‘Oh, you drop what looks like a little white pill into the smoke box.’

      What do you say to that? And what was Dorian Holder?

      ‘You like trains.’

      ‘Yep.’

      He was not offering to turn it on for me.

      I looked through the window, or rather the wall of glass. ‘Beautiful view.’

      The city lay below and beyond. Though I don’t recommend swimming in Boston Harbor, it makes for a stunning sight, especially from about 300 feet overhead mirroring the springtime light. Everything is stunning from up on high. Now I get it.

      ‘Indeed.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘You should see the terrace.’

      ‘The terrace? I hadn’t known there was one. You can’t see much of this building from the ground.’

      ‘It’s quite splendid, Ms Dewitt. After we’re finished here, I’ll show you the real view. Puts this one to shame.’ He waved toward the window.

      ‘The sunset must be gorgeous.’

      ‘Hopefully. I’ll find out tonight.’

      ‘Oh.’ I wished he would just cut to the chase so I could go home and get my cry on. Perhaps he was enjoying watching me squirm? ‘How late are you staying?’

      ‘Until I’m done.’ He walked over to the windows, hunched over as though tired, then gave me a sidelong glance. ‘I have a bedroom suite up here as well, should I need to pull an all-nighter.’

      Wow. The bedroom suite. Where did he keep it? I wondered. I cleared my throat and forced my eyes to wander around the office again. Anywhere but at Dorian Holder.

      It was quite lovely there, and smelled very new. A few potted trees in the corner. Built-in bookshelves, void of books. Mr Holder seemed the sort who would buy some objet d’art as a conversation starter, seeing as he didn’t want to discuss his toy train set in depth. But for now the black shelves were stark and bare. The coffee table in front of me was glass-topped, with a small antique vase in the middle, also empty. No one brought him flowers.

      There was an old-fashioned dessert cart with several crystal decanters of what I’m sure was the most expensive booze. And a box of Cuban cigars.

      How quaint.

      Dorian Holder watched me closely. I could feel him. At last, he asked, ‘Would you care for a drink, Ms Dewitt?’

      I very much did, but thought it not the wisest choice. ‘No, thank you.’

      ‘Hope you don’t mind if I imbibe.’

      ‘Why would I?’

      ‘Indeed.’ He moved across the room with animal grace, and made quite a show of clinking the crystal as he poured about three fingers of scotch.

      ‘No ice?’ I asked. Oh, Lily. Sometimes I made myself so weak.

      ‘Never.’ He turned around to face me. ‘Why? Would you have a drink if it were chilled?’

      ‘Not at the moment.’

      ‘I’ve kept the bar and restaurant, if you change your mind.’ Mr Holder sat down in one of the two throne-like leather chairs that faced the couch. How very cosy. Apparently he’d changed his mind about standing.

       I want to be closer to you, Lily. I can’t help myself.

      My fantasy version of Dorian Holder was so corny. But wicked hot and in love with me.

      ‘Really?’

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