The parking lot was nearly deserted, only a few wayward vehicles in various spots- a Beamer, a Jag, an old Station Wagon with rust decorating its haunches. Lauren knew it was partly due to the weather as she glanced up at the leaden sky. Grey with clouds that roiled like an impatient sea. Most owners didn't race horses during winter, and there appeared to be precious few people around to bet even if there had been availability. Yet spring was approaching, and there was no reason not to be ahead of the game.
She burrowed her chin further into the collar of her coat as she strode across the asphalt, boots echoing a lonely call. She'd emailed the owner and he'd said he'd leave the front door open. Upon reaching it, she tugged the handle to try and was pleased to find he had done as he said. Swinging it wide she entered, eyes bouncing here and there. It was immaculately clean, none of the corner dust or beginning stages of deterioration to be seen. Some venues she'd been in had been seedy, more like a race track's junkie cousin than a reputable business. She'd meant to come before the meeting to casually look around, but she never quite seemed to make it. It was refreshing to find there wouldn't have been a need. She'd made it a point to mention the fact that if she didn't like the surroundings, there would be no talks, no negotiations. Of course, they weren't her horses, though she had begun to think of them as such. They were Nigel's; some his own, some the equine baggage his ex had left him with. Lauren didn't pry into that, however. They were horses regardless of who owned them and it was her job to see to them, which she did well. At least, there had been no complaints so far. He'd given her free reign and she'd made sure they were taken care of and healthy. The racing had been a recent decision.
They'd discussed it briefly, and he'd said to do whatever she felt best. It didn't mean he completely disregarded the animals. He cared and he rode them. Others, Lauren herself of course included, rode them as well. They got exercise and were content, but some of them had abundant energy. This could be a very legitimate outlet for them, as well as producing some monetary gains. Nigel paid her well and he didn't appear to be in any financial straits, but it wouldn't hurt anything. He'd even said she could keep the money, but the idea still made her uncomfortable. She considered Nigel her friend and trusted him, but it was hard to accept money, which was a big deal to her but seemed to be a pittance to him.
As she looked around the main part of the building with its plush benches, gilded gold accents and bank of windows where people went to place their bets, a door opened at the far end of the chamber and a man stepped inside. He was handsome, tall and broad-shouldered with a serious, humorless expression- along the lines of what she'd been expecting. Though she'd never been caught up with one, track owners that dealt with any significant wealth seemed to have people to watch their back. Occupational hazard, she supposed.
"Miss Calloway?" the man asked as he drew closer, his eyes traveling over her with efficiency, the look of someone perhaps checking for weapons as opposed to a man thinking a woman attractive.
"Yes, Sir," she replied, dipping her head slightly in acknowledgement. She would have smiled at the man but she had the feeling it would have been a waste of facial muscles. "I'm here to see Mr. Nikolaidis." She assumed he'd know this, but it was a standard response to state the nature of your business, and so she did. "Follow me." He gestured briefly and turned to go back the way he had come. Lauren fell into step behind him, arms relaxed at her side. The man lead her through a door that had a lighted "Employees Only' sign mounted above. It led into a hallway, surprisingly wide with moderately high ceilings. She hadn't spent a large portion of her free time traversing the inner corridors of racing venues, but the ones she had visited always seemed to have backs that were cramped, with short hallways leading to a squat office. This one, however, led past doors on either side to a sort of sitting area with comfortable chairs and a large monitored TV set high up on a corner perch. This room was moved through but their destination was another door, closed, at the furthest wall. Her guide knocked and it was only a moment before a voice hailed them. The inside of the office was large, done in tasteful dark colors and wooden accents. It was spacious enough to hold a bookshelf that dominated one wall, and a floor-to-ceiling liquor cabinet that appeared to have been just recently stocked. She had only a moment to take a look around before the man that had led her there was stepping to the side and announcing her. "Mr. Nikolaidis, this is Miss Lauren Calloway." She wasn't sure exactly what she'd been expecting. Perhaps by the rich appointments of the building itself, or by the austere nature of her guide, she'd thought he'd be similar. What she saw was a man of average height and a more than average weight with dark eyes and hair that grew thick and curled atop his head. He was dressed impeccably in a suit and royal blue shirt. A cigar, unlit but waiting, rested on the lip of an ashtray off to his right atop his desk. When she was introduced, he stood and smiled. "Ah, Miss Calloway! How good it is to meet you!" He leaned across the desk to offer his hand to her. She took it and shook it firmly, the bands of his rings pressing into her skin slightly. She wasn't sure why, but it seemed like some rich men had a thing for too many rings. "Please, sit. Can I offer you something to drink?" "No, thank you," she replied with a smile, sitting down in the low backed chair placed before his desk, setting her hands atop her thighs. He nodded and gestured to the man behind her. "John, go make yourself useful." Lauren didn't turn to look but she heard the man move over to the cabinet that housed the many bottles of liquor. "Did he give you the silent treatment on the way down here" Don't mind him, he's just protective. May I call you Lauren?" The words came affably. "Oh' yes, of course," she said with a small nod. "Don't be nervous," he said kindly, offering another smile. John brought him a drink, something dark in a glass and he nodded to him and picked it up for a sip. "Now, you're here about getting a few of your horses into the races here. You spoke a little bit about that in your email. Were they bred as race horses?" She shook her head slightly. "No, but they're very strong, and I have been working with them for some time now. I've started to lead their training toward racing. They're adaptable and I believe they could do very well. I don't own them, but I am the handler for my employer. I have his permission, of course." The last was added to ward off the chance that Mr. Nikolaidis would cut off the conversation when he found she wasn't the actual owner. "Who is the owner" I assume he wasn't the one that facilitated this interest in racing if the horses weren't bred that way." "No, the racing was my idea. My father dabbled while I was growing up so I understand it. The owner's name is Nigel Alder." Lauren was slightly surprised when there was a flash of something in the man's eyes. It was quick and immediately afterward she wasn't sure she'd actually seen it. But for a moment, it was sharp and carried with it the connotation of negativity. Had she seen it' Maybe not' no. Certainly not, the man was right before her and his smile was there. Sincere. "Do you know him?" she queried anyway. Lauren could be na've in some areas, but she hadn't accomplished the things she had in life by being clueless. "No, I haven't. The name sounds familiar but otherwise?" he offered a shrug. "I hear of so very many people." He cleared his throat lightly and continued. "What breed are they?" "One is a Thoroughbred and two are Quarter Horses," she supplied. It led into a conversation on the horses- their specs, temperament, abilities, training. Everything that a man well acquainted with racing would need. It was encouraging to see that he knew the right things to ask. He wasn't a random rich hack with a passing fancy in the sport that relied on others to make his decisions. She'd had expectations going in and so far they had been met. Along with his expertise he seemed sincere, pleasant enough, and interested. When the meeting was adjourned he rose, and Lauren followed suit. "So it's agreed, then. You will bring the three horses here for an inspection. If you're quite sure it wouldn't be easier to just have me out to where they are?"" Lauren smiled to balance the negating shake of short hair. "It's really no trouble, Sir. I don't mind and they've got to get reacclimated to travel." It wasn't entirely the truth, but it wasn't a lie, either. The horses would do fine in their trailer, but she also wasn't going to allow someone Nigel didn't know on his property. Whether or not he would care, she knew he valued his privacy and whether or not it was warranted, she was just this side of protective. "Very well, then." He extended his hand for her to shake, which she did. "I will see you in a few days time, then?" "Absolutely. I'll be here right at 9:00 A.M. Thank you again for meeting with me, Mr. Nikolaidis." "My pleasure," he said, waving the thanks away. She turned, heading for the door. When she reached it, his voice stopped her. "Oh, and Lauren?" "Yes?" She turned, hand on the doorknob. "Be careful." The farewell had her pausing a moment and it was only barely that she managed to hide the flash of confusion that danced across her features. It didn't sound like a warning, but it wasn't exactly a normal thing to say to someone you'd just met. But he was still smiling, for all the world unassuming. Maybe it was the same as saying "take care" for him. She didn't say anything but smiled and stepped out.
She burrowed her chin further into the collar of her coat as she strode across the asphalt, boots echoing a lonely call. She'd emailed the owner and he'd said he'd leave the front door open. Upon reaching it, she tugged the handle to try and was pleased to find he had done as he said. Swinging it wide she entered, eyes bouncing here and there. It was immaculately clean, none of the corner dust or beginning stages of deterioration to be seen. Some venues she'd been in had been seedy, more like a race track's junkie cousin than a reputable business. She'd meant to come before the meeting to casually look around, but she never quite seemed to make it. It was refreshing to find there wouldn't have been a need. She'd made it a point to mention the fact that if she didn't like the surroundings, there would be no talks, no negotiations. Of course, they weren't her horses, though she had begun to think of them as such. They were Nigel's; some his own, some the equine baggage his ex had left him with. Lauren didn't pry into that, however. They were horses regardless of who owned them and it was her job to see to them, which she did well. At least, there had been no complaints so far. He'd given her free reign and she'd made sure they were taken care of and healthy. The racing had been a recent decision.
They'd discussed it briefly, and he'd said to do whatever she felt best. It didn't mean he completely disregarded the animals. He cared and he rode them. Others, Lauren herself of course included, rode them as well. They got exercise and were content, but some of them had abundant energy. This could be a very legitimate outlet for them, as well as producing some monetary gains. Nigel paid her well and he didn't appear to be in any financial straits, but it wouldn't hurt anything. He'd even said she could keep the money, but the idea still made her uncomfortable. She considered Nigel her friend and trusted him, but it was hard to accept money, which was a big deal to her but seemed to be a pittance to him.
As she looked around the main part of the building with its plush benches, gilded gold accents and bank of windows where people went to place their bets, a door opened at the far end of the chamber and a man stepped inside. He was handsome, tall and broad-shouldered with a serious, humorless expression- along the lines of what she'd been expecting. Though she'd never been caught up with one, track owners that dealt with any significant wealth seemed to have people to watch their back. Occupational hazard, she supposed.
"Miss Calloway?" the man asked as he drew closer, his eyes traveling over her with efficiency, the look of someone perhaps checking for weapons as opposed to a man thinking a woman attractive.
"Yes, Sir," she replied, dipping her head slightly in acknowledgement. She would have smiled at the man but she had the feeling it would have been a waste of facial muscles. "I'm here to see Mr. Nikolaidis." She assumed he'd know this, but it was a standard response to state the nature of your business, and so she did. "Follow me." He gestured briefly and turned to go back the way he had come. Lauren fell into step behind him, arms relaxed at her side. The man lead her through a door that had a lighted "Employees Only' sign mounted above. It led into a hallway, surprisingly wide with moderately high ceilings. She hadn't spent a large portion of her free time traversing the inner corridors of racing venues, but the ones she had visited always seemed to have backs that were cramped, with short hallways leading to a squat office. This one, however, led past doors on either side to a sort of sitting area with comfortable chairs and a large monitored TV set high up on a corner perch. This room was moved through but their destination was another door, closed, at the furthest wall. Her guide knocked and it was only a moment before a voice hailed them. The inside of the office was large, done in tasteful dark colors and wooden accents. It was spacious enough to hold a bookshelf that dominated one wall, and a floor-to-ceiling liquor cabinet that appeared to have been just recently stocked. She had only a moment to take a look around before the man that had led her there was stepping to the side and announcing her. "Mr. Nikolaidis, this is Miss Lauren Calloway." She wasn't sure exactly what she'd been expecting. Perhaps by the rich appointments of the building itself, or by the austere nature of her guide, she'd thought he'd be similar. What she saw was a man of average height and a more than average weight with dark eyes and hair that grew thick and curled atop his head. He was dressed impeccably in a suit and royal blue shirt. A cigar, unlit but waiting, rested on the lip of an ashtray off to his right atop his desk. When she was introduced, he stood and smiled. "Ah, Miss Calloway! How good it is to meet you!" He leaned across the desk to offer his hand to her. She took it and shook it firmly, the bands of his rings pressing into her skin slightly. She wasn't sure why, but it seemed like some rich men had a thing for too many rings. "Please, sit. Can I offer you something to drink?" "No, thank you," she replied with a smile, sitting down in the low backed chair placed before his desk, setting her hands atop her thighs. He nodded and gestured to the man behind her. "John, go make yourself useful." Lauren didn't turn to look but she heard the man move over to the cabinet that housed the many bottles of liquor. "Did he give you the silent treatment on the way down here" Don't mind him, he's just protective. May I call you Lauren?" The words came affably. "Oh' yes, of course," she said with a small nod. "Don't be nervous," he said kindly, offering another smile. John brought him a drink, something dark in a glass and he nodded to him and picked it up for a sip. "Now, you're here about getting a few of your horses into the races here. You spoke a little bit about that in your email. Were they bred as race horses?" She shook her head slightly. "No, but they're very strong, and I have been working with them for some time now. I've started to lead their training toward racing. They're adaptable and I believe they could do very well. I don't own them, but I am the handler for my employer. I have his permission, of course." The last was added to ward off the chance that Mr. Nikolaidis would cut off the conversation when he found she wasn't the actual owner. "Who is the owner" I assume he wasn't the one that facilitated this interest in racing if the horses weren't bred that way." "No, the racing was my idea. My father dabbled while I was growing up so I understand it. The owner's name is Nigel Alder." Lauren was slightly surprised when there was a flash of something in the man's eyes. It was quick and immediately afterward she wasn't sure she'd actually seen it. But for a moment, it was sharp and carried with it the connotation of negativity. Had she seen it' Maybe not' no. Certainly not, the man was right before her and his smile was there. Sincere. "Do you know him?" she queried anyway. Lauren could be na've in some areas, but she hadn't accomplished the things she had in life by being clueless. "No, I haven't. The name sounds familiar but otherwise?" he offered a shrug. "I hear of so very many people." He cleared his throat lightly and continued. "What breed are they?" "One is a Thoroughbred and two are Quarter Horses," she supplied. It led into a conversation on the horses- their specs, temperament, abilities, training. Everything that a man well acquainted with racing would need. It was encouraging to see that he knew the right things to ask. He wasn't a random rich hack with a passing fancy in the sport that relied on others to make his decisions. She'd had expectations going in and so far they had been met. Along with his expertise he seemed sincere, pleasant enough, and interested. When the meeting was adjourned he rose, and Lauren followed suit. "So it's agreed, then. You will bring the three horses here for an inspection. If you're quite sure it wouldn't be easier to just have me out to where they are?"" Lauren smiled to balance the negating shake of short hair. "It's really no trouble, Sir. I don't mind and they've got to get reacclimated to travel." It wasn't entirely the truth, but it wasn't a lie, either. The horses would do fine in their trailer, but she also wasn't going to allow someone Nigel didn't know on his property. Whether or not he would care, she knew he valued his privacy and whether or not it was warranted, she was just this side of protective. "Very well, then." He extended his hand for her to shake, which she did. "I will see you in a few days time, then?" "Absolutely. I'll be here right at 9:00 A.M. Thank you again for meeting with me, Mr. Nikolaidis." "My pleasure," he said, waving the thanks away. She turned, heading for the door. When she reached it, his voice stopped her. "Oh, and Lauren?" "Yes?" She turned, hand on the doorknob. "Be careful." The farewell had her pausing a moment and it was only barely that she managed to hide the flash of confusion that danced across her features. It didn't sound like a warning, but it wasn't exactly a normal thing to say to someone you'd just met. But he was still smiling, for all the world unassuming. Maybe it was the same as saying "take care" for him. She didn't say anything but smiled and stepped out.