Death Logs In by E.J. Simon Page B

look stunning this evening.”
    Catherine looked at Rosen and nodded, leaving it to Jennifer to respond. “Good evening, Mr. Rosen.”
    Rosen, obviously hoping for more but sensing that any conversation with the two ladies was going to be limited, then turned to Michael. Holding his hand out, he said, “Mr. Nicholas. We met in Paris last year—at Ralph Lauren’s new restaurant. You were having lunch.”
    Now Michael remembered. It was an unusual meeting. Rosen had come up to him and Samantha while they were dining at Ralph’s Lauren’s bistro on the Left Bank. Rosen had acted as though they knew each other, yet Michael couldn’t really recall when or where. He was apparently the founder and head of the highly successful French investment firm, Rosen & Sons. His clientele included some of the most distinguished members of French society.
    “Yes, it is good to see you again, Monsieur Rosen. You look well and healthy.” Michael hated these types of meaningless encounters and the small talk that they required. He felt sure that Rosen had only come to their table in order to be seen with Catherine Saint- Laurent who, nevertheless, clearly had no desire to engage Rosen any further.
    He was saved from further conversation by the waiters who were now circling their table with plates of barely cooked scallops in a brown butter sauce and baked snapper surrounded by charred green tomatoes.
    “Perhaps, Monsieur Nicholas, we could meet here in New York or the next time you are in Paris?” Rosen surprised Michael with his interest, let alone the meeting request.
    “Of course. I’ll actually be leaving for Paris in several days. That would be the most convenient for me schedulewise.” Michael was suspicious but curious. He saw the disapproving expressions from Catherine and Jennifer.
    “Perfect. Let me know when you’ll be there. Where will you be staying? I will call you.”
    “I’ll be at the Park Hyatt, at Place Vendome.”
    “Very well. I will be in touch. Bonsoir.” And with a polite nod to no one in particular at the table, Rosen returned to his table. Michael sensed an increased chill in the air conditioning. Catherine and Jennifer were vying to be the first to speak. Jennifer won.
    “Michael, besides being an asshole, that guy is trouble. I know he’s wildly successful but I can tell you, he’s a creep.”
    Michael looked at Catherine who said nothing but tilted her head to one side, smirked and pointed her eyes upward, indicating a discreet but total agreement.
    “I admit there’s something about him that seems off, but I don’t know him. He’s certainly connected in Paris. I’ll be cautious, but I need to see what he’s about. He may be able to refer some people to me as potential clients for Gibraltar—or, for that matter, for Tartarus. Maybe he has rich friends who like to bet on sports. Not that I suppose he’s even aware of Tartarus.”
    After tasting Le Bernardin’s yellowfin tuna and foie gras on the toasted baguette, Catherine gazed again at the mural. “This fish is so fresh, I feel like I am swimming in that ocean.” Her gaze then turned into a laser focus. “Be careful with that man, Michael. He is what I would call, rough seas. Be sure you’re a good swimmer.”
    Michael looked back over to Rosen’s table and saw him staring back.
    ___________
    Two hours, another bottle of champagne and a fabulous chocolate mille-feuille later, Jennifer insisted that Michael join them in their suite at the Standard Hotel downtown for a “nightcap.” We have the room stocked with all of Alex’s favorite…”
    Michael felt a stirring—and a sense that he’d already ventured too far out to sea.
    “You must come, Michael.”
    “I’d love to, but … as appealing as it is … I just can’t.”
    Catherine leaned closer, “Please, only to watch. I promise.”

Chapter 21

    Chapter 21
    Paris, France

    A s Michael walked down the rue St. Honoré, he glanced at the stylish Parisian women as they