Numbered Account

Nick made his way around her living room, stopping to examine a picture here, a knickknack there. "Someone once told me that every man and woman could easily choose how happy they wanted to be. The whole thing boiled down to a simple equation. Happiness, he said, equaled reality divided by expectation. If you don't hope for much, then reality will almost surely beat your expectations, therefore you'll be happy. If you expect the world, you'll always be disappointed. The problem is for folks who always want to be happy, the dreamers who put a big ten on the bottom of that equation."

"What do you expect, Nick?"

"When I was young, I wanted the ten. We all do, I guess. After my father died and things took a turn for the worse, I would have been happy with a three. Now I'm more optimistic. I want a five, hell, I'll take a risk, give me a six. If six days out of ten are good, I'll be all right."

"I mean, what do you really expect? What do you want to do with your life?"

"Well, obviously I'd like to put my father's murder behind me. After that I'm not sure. Maybe I'll stay in Switzerland for a while. Fall in love. Have a family. Mostly, I want to feel like I belong someplace." A feeling of intimate complacency fell over Nick as he spoke to Sylvia, almost as if he were yielding to a mild opiate. He barely knew her, yet already he was sharing his innermost feelings, dreams he had held for a future with Anna. Dreams for another world, he reminded himself. And another lifetime. "What about you?"

"I change from day to day, from minute to minute. When I was growing up, I wasn't very happy. I always wanted my mother to come back. I would've taken a four. When I first began at the bank, a nine. Anything was possible. Today, with you sitting in my dining room, I still want a nine. I'd rather be a little disappointed than not have wished at all."

"What do you really want?"

"That's easy. To be the first woman on the executive board of USB."

Nick ended his tour of her living room and fell into the overstuffed couch. "A dreamer, eh?"

Sylvia sat down next to him. "Why else would I help you with these binders? They're darned heavy to carry around."

"Poor Sylvia, what will we do with her?" Nick rubbed her back. "Bad back?"

She nodded her head. "Uh-huh."

He lifted her legs onto his lap and massaged her calves. "And your legs. They must be killing you?" Running his hands along her smooth legs sent a current of desire through his body. He had forgotten the touch of a woman's body, forgotten seduction's joyous impatience.

"As a matter of fact, yes." Sylvia pointed to a spot that needed particular attention, and he obliged. "That feels much better."

"And your feet?" Nick threw off her loafers. "To think they had to carry around such an enormous load."

"Stop," Sylvia cried. "That tickles. Stop it now."

"What, this tickles?" He ran his fingers lightly over her stockinged toes. "I don't believe it."

"Please stop." But her command dissolved into laughter. "I'm begging you."

Nick paused momentarily, allowing Sylvia to place her feet on the floor. "What will you give me?"

She smiled coyly. "How about I try and elevate your top number?"

"I don't know. That's pretty serious stuff. How high do you think you can get it? An eight?"

"Definitely higher." Sylvia gently bit Nick's lower lip, then caressed his neck.

"A nine?"

She straddled him. Slowly, she unbuttoned her shirt until it hung open before him. "Higher."

"Higher than a nine? Nothing's perfect."

Sylvia unsnapped her brassiere and gently rubbed each breast in turn across his open mouth. "Take that back."

Nick closed his eyes and nodded his head. He had decided to go for the ten.

CHAPTER 32

Nick arrived at the office the next morning, eager to begin work on a document that would be sent to institutional shareholders- naturally, under the Chairman's name- detailing steps the bank would take to cut costs, increase efficiency, and better operating margins. All were measures designed to improve financial performance over the next five years. He set to work drafting an outline, but after only a few minutes he discovered it impossible to concentrate. Images of Sylvia flooded his mind. He saw the curve of her waist. He felt her firm belly. He ran his hands over her endless legs. Without speaking, she made him smile; without moving, she made him wince; without breathing, she made him pant.

Abruptly, Nick rolled his chair away from the desk. He rubbed his hands slowly on his thighs, requiring some physical assurance that it was him having these thoughts- the same man who only two months before had left behind a woman who loved him and whom, he was afraid to admit, he might still love. You're a cad, he thought, jumping at the first woman who comes your way. You betrayed her. No, a calmer voice objected, Anna belongs to your past. She's safer there.

At half past nine, Rita Sutter tucked her head into his office.

"Good morning, Mr. Neumann. You arrived early this morning."