The First Whisper: An Unconventional Meeting at the Ritz
The clock struck 8:03 PM when he arrived—late, but precisely the kind of late that suggested power rather than carelessness. The Ritz-Carlton’s lobby bar hummed with muted piano jazz as I watched him scan the room. Our eyes locked.
*Investment banker. Mid-40s. The subtle tension in his shoulders betrayed a man who hadn’t relaxed in years.*
I rose, the silk of my custom La Perla gown whispering against my skin. “Mr. Delacroix, I presume?”
His lips quirked. “You’re taller than I expected.”
“And you,” I countered smoothly, “are exactly as impatient as your emails suggested.”
His startled laugh broke the ice.
The Unexpected Guest: A Misplaced Picasso
Dinner was proceeding flawlessly—discussing his recent acquisition of a rare Basquiat, the peculiarities of Toronto’s art scene—when his assistant called in a panic.
“The Picasso sketch for the charity auction—it’s not in the vault!”
Amused, I watched his composure crack. Most companions would offer platitudes. I reached for my phone.
Three calls later: The “missing” sketch was safely stored under his ex-wife’s name at a private vault in Yorkville.
“How the hell did you—?”
“You mentioned her fondness for revenge gifts last week,” I shrugged. “Elementary, really.”
The gratitude in his eyes was worth more than the 1959 Dom Pérignon he ordered in celebration.
Midnight Confessions: A Walk Through the Distillery District
Later, beneath the twinkling fairy lights of Toronto’s historic district, he asked the inevitable question:
“Why does someone like you do this?”
The cold air crystallized my breath as I considered.
“Because men like you,” I said finally, “pay therapists to listen, assistants to organize, and artists to inspire. I happen to be all three.”
For the first time all evening, he looked truly seen.
The Suite at the Top: Where Luxury Meets Serendipity
What began as a simple dinner evolved into an impromptu private viewing at the AGO, followed by drinks in his Hazelton Hotel penthouse. Key moments:
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The discovery: His hidden talent for playing Debussy’s Clair de Lune
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The confession: My unexpected fluency in Mandarin amusing him during a call with Beijing
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The rule: Professional distance maintained, yet something intangible shifted
At 2:17 AM, we stood on the terrace as snow began dusting the city. This is true luxury—not the champagne, but the rare silence between two people who need not perform.
The Morning After: A Note in Chanel Rouge Noir
I left at dawn. On the bedside table:
“A—
Last night I remembered what it means to be interesting.
Until Geneva. —C”
I traced the embossed lettering with a gloved finger. Another masterpiece of a night, carefully archived.
by:Amelia Frost