Carter's POV

Tara is lost in thought. She has been this way all evening. Occasionally, I caught her scanning the crowd as if looking for someone. That makes two of us. But at least I am more discreet than her. I put the glass to my lips and take another sip of Masseto. I roll the wine on my tongue before swallowing. The lingering sweetness teases my taste buds before I follow it up with another sip. My eyes are trained on an interesting pair in the corner of the restaurant.

I chose this table specifically to have a full view of Ded Moroz and his guest having dinner. Before coming, August tipped me off that Mr. Von was here. Of course I had to think of a way to be here without sticking out. That's where Tara came in; anyone who saw me with a beautiful woman at a first class restaurant wouldn't even think twice; money and power allow me that much at the very least.

Said woman looks at me again, "Aren't we having dinner?" She asks. Her eyes look tired already. I must entertain her if I want to remain long enough to get the documents I came here for.

"Of course." I answer with a small smile on her face. She doesn't return it but rather looks desolate. "What would you like to have?" I try again.

"I am fine with anything." She answers noncommittally. For Tara to let me choose anything for her, she must be extremely out of it. I should do better. "I went sky diving." I blurt out.

"Good for you." She comments sarcastically. As I am thinking up something else to say, less lame this time, her body shoots upright, "You did what?" She looks at me with utmost disbelief.

Thank god, "Yeah. I did last summer." I say with pride.

"Congratulations, you," She takes a dramatic pause, "are no longer a pathetic scaredy cat." She is impressed.

"I wasn't a scaredy cat even before." I take a sip from my glass, emptying it. I signal a waiter for a refill.

She tsks, "Having a fear of height doesn't pin you on the brave list if you ask me." If her sarcasm was wine, she'd have outsold Cabernet Sauvignon.

"I wasn't scared of heights." I protest. The waiter arrives mid conversation, I dislike him for listening in on such an embarrassing fact about me. I wait for him to leave before I speak again. "I am just less partial to getting squished after an accident in the air."

"My point exactly." She is silent for a moment, a short laugh escapes her. I perk up with interest, "Remember the time when we went to Empire State Building?" She smiles to herself, I can see that day as clearly as yesterday; I am too embarrassed to even think about it now. "Your screams, oh god! They were legendary. You couldn't even look through the binoculars to see the skyline when the sunset came," Her lips move too fast, I am stuck looking at them without really hearing what she is saying, "The whole deck was cast in an orange hue. You were so adorably scared, but you definitely ruined the experience for me." She rants. I remember how I clung to her arm as kindergarteners who were there that day laughed at me. A small girl with pigtails even called me a scaredy cat. I'd rather not remember that day.

"You never went back afterward?" I observe.

"No. it had too many memories." She realizes too late what she said. The air is tense again between us.

"At least you weren't the one being embarrassed." I remember the news articles that followed that incident; they were degrading at the least. 'Millionaire prince charming? More like sissy-charming.' and the likes.

"Yeah. for sure." She answers briefly and returns to swirling her wine in the glass. I call over a waiter and look through the menu. I scan the whole thing for a meal Tara would like.

"I want your best steak." Tara says without even looking at the menu.

I raise an eyebrow. The waiter who looks equally dumbfounded, clears his throat, "Ma'am, we don't serve that here. Could I delight you in a Lobster Thermidor instead?" He asks with a strained smile on his face. It's showing how much he is upset, which ticks me off.

"I do not like seafood." Tara replies sheepishly. Somewhere in her act, I realized she knew damn well that they only serve sea foods here and still ordered steak.

I watch as she looks at the perplexed waiter, flashing him an innocent smile that only makes me wary. What game is she playing? She is onto something I am sure.

"Um-" This man's brain must be short circuiting. It's unruly of Tara to perturb him so, but I find her sense of humor quite entertaining. He squirms for a second longer before Tara sighs and looks at him with disappointment, "Fine, I'll have dessert then." she says with a 'i'll-be-telling-this-to-your-manager look.

"Yes ma'am." he replies looking ill at ease.

I order grilled salmon and a lemon mousse. I see Tara's lips curve into a scowl when I pronounce my order, I do not comment on that though. "You still don't eat seafood?" I fail to hold judgment from my voice. She looks at me with a disapproving look of her own.

"I don't." In her eyes I see a storm brewing. Her eyes are like 'what are you gonna do about it?' Based on what I say next, we may either spend the rest of the night amicably or leave in a huff, separately.

I do not get the chance to pacify the situation. I watch Ded Moroz's guest get up and head to a corridor in the back of the restaurant. As he goes, Tara's eyes follow my direction. She takes a glance at Ded Moroz's table and looks away uninterested. I excuse myself from the table. I do not wait for Tara's answer before I follow the man with the briefcase.

The corridor leads to the washrooms. One door leads to the men's while the other leads to the women's. I wrap my hand around the men's door handle, but then remove it. I turn and enter the women's washroom instead.

I am assailed by strong perfumes the moment I enter. The room looks cleaner and definitely pink. Rather than being irked by the infantile color scheme, I follow the sound of urine hitting the toilet water. I end up at the second door to the last. Positioning myself beside the door, where he will immediately see me when he gets out, I wait patiently.

With every drop of pee, I get more pissed off. What a disgusting asshole! What is he even doing in the women's lavatory? Finally, the toilet flushes and the door opens.

"I would ask what you're doing in here, but it's pretty obvious you're a piece of shit."

The face he gives is a cross between finding the monster under your bed at night, and going into cardiac arrest; priceless. He melodramatically stumbles backwards and lands on the toilet seat, hand on the toilet bowl.

I leave my hiding spot and lean on the sink, watching him. After a few deep breaths he calms down. "You scared me mate." He laughs nervously. He is of a medium build, probably unaccustomed to heavy work, he has a beer belly and very average facial features.

His British accent makes him sound whiny and every bit as pompous as he looks. Just what I need in a 'mate'. He gets up and comes to stand beside me. He washes his hands leisurely, stealing furtive glances at me once or twice. He is sizing me up. I already tower over him, so that does little to assuage his mind.

"You left your briefcase in the toilet." I comment nonchalantly.

The man turns abruptly and makes a run for the briefcase. I stop him midway, and grab it before he does. His eyes lose all the calm from before, he looks on the verge of tears. "Give it to me man." he demands. Pompous for sure.

"What's so interesting about it?" I ask slowly, scrutinizing it. I hold it up under the light and twirl it looking at all sides. He tries to get it but I only swerve his attempts. He lunges for the handle. In a flash, I slam him into a stall door, my forearm against his neck. "What's in the bag?" I ask, my eyes no longer friendly. He should have answered the first time rather than squirm like a little bitch.

"Nothing." I tighten the pressure around his neck. His eyes bulge and his mouth gapes as he tries to inhale as much air as he can get through the little space left. For every second he is silent, the hole narrows. "Please." he begs, "I'll tell you." he croaks. I let go.

He falls in a heap on the floor, breathing like an aged aspirator. "There's nothing in there, " he starts to say but the glare I give him retracts the foolery from him, "It's just documents. Nothing more." he replies, his voice getting smaller.

"About what?" I lean back onto the sink and wait for him to speak. For a full minute, no sound comes from the floor. "Tell me." I command.

"They'll kill me." He pleads, actual tears falling down his face. What a wuss! "Please." I can't believe he is crying now, when I've barely done anything to him. Imagine what he'd do if he sees a gun? Probably piss his pants.

I abandon my train of thought and focus on getting information out of the man, whose name I still don't know. "What's your name?" I ask to rectify that, and also for traceability.

"Arnold Schwarzenegger." Very funny. My hand lands on his neck and pulls him from his sitting position. A few seconds without air in his lungs convinces him that I am in fact not playing games. "Finn Goetman." I barely hear the name. I unwind his wind pipes again, my hand leaves a mark this time, I can see his neck turning red along with his face.

"Now be a good mate and answer my question and I'll forget I ever saw you." I instill as much venom in my voice as I can.

"They are contracts for a new automobile industry, what do you care anyway?" he says getting defensive. Now I am curious what Finn has to do with the partnership between me and Ded.

"I don't." I pick up the suitcase, and crack it open. I collect any documents that look remotely important and leave the rest for him. "It was nice meeting you, Finn." With a parting glare, I walk out of the ladies'. I bump into a group of three ladies at the door. Their initial shock morphs into shameless cheshire like grins, that were meant to seduce me but only convince me to stay away from them. Still I wink at them and make my way back to the table. By the time I reach the table, I have stashed the documents in my suit jacket and straightened myself up.

"What took you so long?" Tara asks in a low, very pissed off tone.

"Should I give you all the details of my dump, or just a summary?" I ask light-heartedly. She rolls her eyes once and leans back in her seat, the lateness forgiven. Lucky for me, the food comes immediately. I am famished anyway, so I dig in without a second's delay and demolish my meal in record time. When I look up, Tara is looking at me weirdly.

"What cave have you come from?" she asks. I admit, I was not so conscious of my manners as I ate fervently, but I am hungry so that should count for something, right? "Jesus, did you even chew that food?" She takes a small bite of her chocolate mousse. My lemon mousse can't even compare to hers, I want a taste of hers. When she sets her spoon down, I pick it up and scoop a healthy portion of it. She looks murderous when I ingest the dessert and even lick her spoon. I return it to her.

"Your mousse is better." I say. She doesn't grace me with an answer, but still uses the spoon I licked without complaint. Hmm.

Finn returns to the dining area, looking proper. His neck is hidden from sight by a hideous neon pink scarf. On closer inspection, it was on one of those women's neck when I passed by them. He returns to his seat and resumes conversation like nothing happened. Smart man.