CHAPTER ONE
THE day Jake Ramirez’s life turned upside down began like any other.
He rose at six, had his first cup of strong black coffee while he scanned the New York Times, drank his second after he’d shaved and showered. A few minutes after seven, dressed in a dark gray suit, white shirt and navy tie, he took the private elevator from his Fifth Avenue
duplex to the marble lobby.
His black Mercedes waited at the curb. The driver had been with him a long time and knew better than to leap from the car to open and close the door for his boss. Jake had homes on both coasts and was rumored to own half the skyscrapers in Manhattan, but old habits died hard.
People who worked for Jake Ramirez were not his servants.
“Morning, Ramirez.”
“Good morning, Dario.”
His driver pulled into traffic. As always, Jake spent a couple of minutes engaging him in small talk. Would the Jets win Sunday’s game? Had his eldest daughter won the part she’d tried out for in the school play? Then, also as always, Dario raised the privacy partition, Jake took out his cell phone and started his day.
First, a call to his office. He had a breakfast meeting at the Stock Exchange but he wanted to touch base with his P.A. Belle was almost as much a workaholic as he was; she might already be at her desk.
Not today, though. Jake left a message on her answering machine as the car headed downtown. It saved time, and time was a precious commodity when you headed something the size of Ramirez Enterprises.
Calls to people he was currently doing business with came next. Jake took no notes—he had a prodigious memory—as he reassured one, questioned another, told a third he’d fly out at the end of the week to deal personally with a developing problem.
The cell phone rang before he could dial again. Jake checked the incoming number as he brought the phone to his ear.
“Good morning, Belle.”
“Good morning, Ramirez. I thought I’d better remind you that it’s Vickers’s birthday.”
Jake closed his eyes. Hell. He’d forgotten all about it, despite the hints Samantha had been dropping—hints about diamond solitaires, though he’d made it clear enough that wasn’t on the agenda.
“Right. Well, phone the—”
“Florist. I already did. Two dozen roses. Red.”
“Fine, fine. And phone—”
“Tiffany’s. They’ll deliver a sapphire bracelet at noon.”
“Sapphire?”
“ Vickers has blue eyes,” Belle said, so crisply that he could almost hear the unspoken reprimand within the simple words. Wouldn’t it be nice if he paid attention to such things? He never did, though. After a while, beautiful women were all the same. “I made you an eight-thirty dinner reservation at Sebastian’s. A booth in the front room, of course.”
“Of course,” Jake said, smiling. “And you did all that this morning?” He flashed a look at his watch. “I didn’t think anybody was open at this hour.”
“They’re all open for you,” Belle said dryly. “Just in case you don’t want Sebastian’s, I made back-up reservations at Leonie’s. Tell me which you prefer and I’ll cancel the other.”
“What’s Sebastian’s?”