Chapter 7
Ethan
That evening, I found James at his usual spot in the Blue Note jazz bar.
The Blue Note jazz bar pulsed with energy, the elite of Manhattan swaying to smooth saxophone melodies. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the glittering skyline created the perfect backdrop for what I'd come to think of as a chess board of power and influence. This place was where Wall Street money mingled with social clout, where deals were made and secrets exchanged over $500 bottles of champagne.
I leaned back against the buttery leather of the VIP section sofa, swirling eighteen-year-old Macallan in my glass. From this vantage point, I could observe the entire floor while remaining partially obscured by strategic lighting. Perfect for a man who preferred watching to being watched.
"Your investment in this place continues to pay off," I said to James, who sat across from me. "Busiest bar in Manhattan."
James Hayes, the owner of Blue Note, merely shrugged. "Survival mechanism. People need somewhere to pretend they're happy."
His short reply was typical. James knew who I really was—one of the few who did—and our conversations always had a hidden meaning. Michael Davis, my personal assistant, was also one of the few. He sat quietly beside me, casually scanning the room with practiced ease.
"So, Mr. Black," James leaned forward, lowering his voice. "How's the contract marriage going? Or should I say, how's your investigation coming along?"
I took a measured sip of my whiskey. "Three months to uncover the truth, then divorce. Clean and simple."
James's eyes sparked with curiosity. "What's she like? I'm quite intrigued."
An unexpected image of Amelia flashed through my mind—her delicate features, those striking green eyes that seemed to see right through bullshit, full lips that rarely smiled in my presence, and the slender waist I'd noticed when she'd reached for something in the kitchen last night.
"She's..." I hesitated, unsure why I was reluctant to discuss her. "She's just part of the operation."
"I assume your 'investigation' is proceeding smoothly?" James asked with a knowing look. I shot him a warning glare—even here, in his own establishment, some words were dangerous.
I drained my glass and set it down with more force than necessary. "It's time. I need that 'gossip' we talked about arranged for tonight."
James's eyebrows shot up. "That's... direct. Mind sharing the endgame? And won't Ashley be jealous?" He always brought up my ex, knowing it irritated me.
"Stop wasting time and make it happen," I said coldly.
Michael leaned in, his voice barely audible. "Don't lose focus, Ethan. The Viktor Group money laundering case is our priority."
"I know exactly what I'm doing," I replied. The Viktor Group had been laundering money through various shell companies for years. Amelia's mother had been their accountant before her suspicious "accident." The question remained: was Amelia innocent, or involved? This marriage gave me access, but I needed to ensure the Viktor Group believed I was nothing more than a playboy financier with no interest in their operations.
Ten minutes later, the bar manager approached with a tall blonde woman in a dress that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. Her practiced smile told me everything I needed to know—she was one of James's "professional companions."
"She's our top girl," the manager said discreetly. "Very exclusive."
James smirked. "Her services typically run in the tens of thousands per night. Only a select few can afford her."
As the woman took a seat beside me, James leaned over. "Conspicuous enough for the media? Will get the attention you want?"
I nodded slightly. The plan was in motion.
In the private suite upstairs, I guided the blonde woman through the door with my arm around her waist, making sure we passed directly in front of the hidden camera in the hallway. Once inside, I immediately released her and stepped back.
"Don't worry," I said, noticing her nervous expression. "This is just a performance. I won't touch you."
Relief washed over her face. I moved to the desk and wrote out a check, adding an extra zero beyond James's suggested amount.
"This is your performance fee," I explained, handing it to her. "I only ask for your complete discretion about tonight's arrangement."
She looked at the check, eyes widening slightly. "Of course, Mr. Black."
I checked my phone, confirming the hallway camera had captured exactly what I needed—Ethan Black, financial prodigy and newlywed, bringing a high-class escort to a private room. The tabloids would have a field day.
I dialed James's number. "Get the trending topics up. Tonight. Top position."
"You're playing with fire, Ethan," his voice crackled through the speaker. "What about your new wife? What will she think?"
"That's not her concern. We have a contract." But as I said the words, I felt an unexpected twinge of... something. Guilt? Impossible. This was work, not personal.
After ending the call, I texted Michael: [Make sure someone from the Viktor Group sees this news.]
The blonde sat awkwardly on the edge of the bed. "Should I... stay here for a while? For appearances?"
"Two hours," I replied, moving toward the door. "Order whatever you want from room service. I have work to do."
By early morning, I was back at Black Group headquarters, reviewing the files.
Michael entered with coffee and tablets displaying various news sites. #EthanBlackMysteryWoman was trending at number one, with #WallStreetPlayboy close behind.
"The gossip is spreading fast," Michael reported. "Do you want PR to contain it?"
I shook my head, staring at the images of myself with the blonde. "Let it run. This is exactly the kind of noise I need to make them underestimate me."
Michael nodded, though his expression suggested disapproval.
My mind drifted to Amelia. What would she think when she saw these headlines? Would she care? She shouldn't—our arrangement was purely transactional. Yet I found myself wondering about her reaction.
I turned to the Manhattan skyline, watching early morning light glint off glass towers. This was a necessary move in a complex game—my personal feelings had no place in it. Still, I couldn't shake the image of Amelia's face from my mind, and the unexpected question that kept surfacing:
What would she think of me now?