Chapter 9

Dom

I had the rest of Samantha’s things moved in and while they looked like so many odds and ends to me, to her they were precious, and I respected that. What I loved was her enthusiasm for life and love—something you seldom found in a jaded New York City. I was excited with the idea of having a future with her. There were so many things I wanted to introduce her to, places I wanted her to see and experiences we could share. Having money can’t buy you happiness, that much is true. But it certainly comes in handy when you have someone important in your life and want to give them their dreams. That’s what I felt for Samantha; I wanted to give her everything she ever dreamed of. As I learned, however, her tastes tended to be for the simpler things and maybe that was good. Simplicity certainly had its value.

My apartment had been decorated for a single male and that was no longer appropriate. Naturally, now that Samantha quit her delivery job, she had time on her hands and I gave her carte blanche when it came to hiring a decorator to suit her tastes. “If you could just leave my office the way it is, you can do whatever you like with the rest of it.”

I think she discovered a side to herself she’d never had the luxury to acknowledge. She was highly creative and when she was paired with a designer who had access to anything she could possibly think up, they were an awesome duo. I moved my computer system into the office, so I could work quietly while the rest of the rooms were under construction. Originally, there had been a master bedroom and four additional guest rooms. Samantha combined the adjoining guestroom to the master, giving us a conversation area with comfortably overstuffed chairs, Ottomans, and a broad side table that would easily hold cups of coffee or even a complete dinner. It became apparent that unlike myself, Samantha wasn’t afraid to live her life in the open. She furnished the apartment for us as a couple, so we could do things together. My natural inclination was to retreat to solitude, so I knew there would be an adjustment. She’d read that in me and gave me the time I needed to myself.

“Are we making too much noise?” she asked me and although I could barely hear myself think, it made me happier to shake my head and tell her everything was fine. She grinned, gave me a kiss, and then bounced out of the room, intent on her next project.

Then came the day that changed everything.

George called up from the lobby, telling me he was on his way up with a delivery. I didn’t think much of it until I saw his face when I opened the door.

“What’s wrong, George?”

“I’m so sorry, sir.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

George gestured to the white envelope in his hand and held it out toward me. You’ll see, sir. It’s all in there.”

I watched as George left via the elevator and carried the envelope into my office, where I shut the door. If it was serious enough to cause that kind of reaction from George, I needed to be alone when I read it.

I slit the envelope with a silver, hammered letter opener I’d bought while vacationing in Egypt. It was one of the few mementos I’d collected over the years and I kept it in my desk drawer. I opened the enclosed letter and felt the blood draining from my face at first, and then quickly returning in a rush as the anger coursed through me.

It was a letter from the building management. They were sorry to inform me that perhaps I had neglected to review the contents of my lease but that I should be made aware that due to my upcoming nuptials, I would be asked to vacate the apartment. It had completely slipped my mind, but part of the lease included the stipulation that each occupant be a billionaire in assets, and be single. My marriage to Samantha would obviously violate that latter stipulation.

That’s when the blood rushed back, and I became angry. Having been a private individual for so many years, I knew absolutely no one else in the building with the exception of George, the doorman. I knew he would never have reported Samantha and my plans. With the exception of the ring on her left hand, there was otherwise no proof of what we were planning to do. It was not against the rules to have a companion living with you. However, marriage was definitely out of the question, most likely because children were not permitted in the building, not even as temporary guests. I was reminded of what I’d told Samantha about the tenants of the building being in a position to purchase just about anything they wanted.

How did they find out? I’ve never spoken to management directly as everything had been handled by a leasing company. I suspected whoever lived on the sixty-ninth floor owned the building overall, but it never mattered enough to investigate it.

I wasted no time in telephoning the management company.

“I received your letter.” I kept my voice even and well-mannered.

“Yes, sir. We’ll be sorry to see you go.”

“Then you’ll be happy to hear that it may be some time before you will be losing me. I believe my contract with you stipulates that I may have a roommate as long as subletting is not included.”

“That’s very true sir. You do understand that once your status changes to married, you must be out of the building, correct?”

“Yes, I think you’ve made that abundantly clear.”

“Very well, sir. We’ll rely on your honor to notify us when you will be leaving.”

“Not so fast. I’d be interested in knowing how this information came to your attention.”

“Certainly, sir. We were notified by the newest tenant in the building. In fact, he owns the floor just below your own.”

“I’m curious. What’s his name?”

“That would be a Mr. Satterly, sir.”

That was when my head felt as though it would explode. Without the polite conclusions of a telephone call, I slammed the phone on my desk, shattering the screen. Satterly, again! The man was intent upon getting to Samantha. I knew he would do it, too. He would wait for his opportunity, like a spider, silent in its corner until the fly was caught in its web. If I ever left the building, he would know it and Samantha would become that fly. He had effectively tracked us to our safe place.

Now came the first question. Should I let Samantha know? She’d been the happiest I’ve ever seen her the last couple weeks, scurrying around with fabric swatches and paint chips as she chattered with the designer and then supervised the workmen. I’d even benefited because at night, she lavished affection upon me and for possibly the first time in my life, I became excited about the future and it was all due to her. If she knew Satterly was that close by; if she knew that he could, at any time, find his way to our door, her happiness would disappear. She would feel as though she were being stalked, and in reality, I couldn’t deny that was exactly what was going on. It wasn’t obvious enough to have him arrested, but he knew I’d follow up on the eviction notice and that I’d find out he was behind it.

I could hire a security detail to stand outside the door around the clock, but she would know. If I didn’t tell her and made up some lie to cover his presence, I’d leave her vulnerable and when the lie was revealed, I’d lose her trust again. I couldn’t have that.

If I told Samantha outright and still put the security guard, she would feel equally trapped. I also knew her well enough to know that when she learned that our marriage would cause me to be evicted, she would feel guilty and there was no telling what extent she might go to, to relieve me of that perceived inconvenience.

I thought about bypassing the entire situation by purchasing a house somewhere out of the city and giving up the apartment before we were even married. She’d been working so hard on redecorating, though, it would be a slap in her face and she’d want to know why. Again, it was a trust issue.

I was furious. Satterly had played his pieces well and my queen was in jeopardy. Why hadn’t I seen that coming? There were no other options open to me. Satterly had to be dealt with, once and for all. I’d held back until then, believing that Eric and his father-in-law were the problem. Now, it would be dealt with in my own way.