Chapter 1 - The Ice in the Glass
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The rooftop bar of the Alden Mir Hotel sat fifty-three floors above Midtown Manhattan. On a Tuesday night in late October, it was filled with people who had never checked a price tag in their lives.
Nathaniel Ashcroft had been standing at the north railing for eleven minutes before he noticed her. His assistant had booked the penthouse suite for a series of back-to-back investment meetings, and the rooftop was the only place his phone lost signal long enough to give him an excuse not to answer his father.
He watched the Hudson River darken in the distance, holding a scotch he didn't really want.
"I’m sorry," a woman’s voice cut through the low hum of wealth and jazz. "Is there any way you could make this with less ice? It’s diluting too fast, and I can’t finish it quickly enough for it to matter."
Nathaniel turned.
She didn't look like she belonged here. Her dark hair was escaping a messy clip, and she wore a blazer over a shirt with a tiny ink stain on the cuff. A battered leather notebook lay open beside her drink.
He moved toward her before he even realized he was walking.
"The ice thing is a real problem in places like this," Nathaniel said, leaning against the bar.
She looked up. Her brown eyes were direct, tired, and completely unimpressed.
"They fill the glass with ice before they put anything else in it," she replied. "Economically, it makes sense. But it also means you’re paying twenty-two dollars for something that’s mostly water within four minutes."
"You timed it?"
"I time things." She studied him for a second. "You’re not here for the view."
"What makes you say that?" he asked, amused.
"You’ve been facing north for ten minutes. The view is better south."
He smiled, a genuine crack in his usual corporate armor. "I'm Nathaniel."
May you like
"Clare," she said, shaking his hand without a hint of recognition.
And just like that, the heir to the Ashcroft dynasty found the one thing he couldn't buy.
