Between the sessions, there was informal talk over croissants and espresso. After her panel, Christy was sought out by bankers and other CEOs who could help her grow the company. On the personal front, she had the advantage of being one of the younger and prettier single women at the event. That, plus her athlete status, was enough of an aphrodisiac to the unattached men to create a mini-stir. On day two, her BlackBerry started vibrating with amazing regularity. “Would you like to have dinner?” the Russian president proposed. “Can I interest you in a sleigh ride and midnight picnic?” a notorious investment banker wondered. “Would you like to get sex in the bed with me?” a prince of suspicious lineage asked.
Christy accepted the invitation of Francis Rich, managing director of Cantor Farrar, who had attended her session. Coincidentally, he was the estranged husband of that ghastly woman on the co-op board at 830 Fifth Avenue. They’d recently broken up—Christy had read about it on the Post’s Page Six. He invited Christy to tag along with him to the most interesting sessions, the coveted parties, and private conversations from which she’d earlier been excluded. Christy felt like a junior in high school again, when, as a certified geek, she’d been unwelcome at, well, everything until she went out with Ty Schwab, the senior tight end. Then her status was temporarily elevated to low-grade popular.
Fran was as dapper as they came—the sort of blueblood who always wore elegant wing tips and hand-tailored suits with shirts showing the perfect amount of white cuff. Christy thought he was the most sophisticated man she’d ever met. She was so in awe of him that, by his side, she felt flustered and slightly tongue-tied. She didn’t know the protocol of dating a Master of the Universe, but she didn’t want to blow it.
Like Ty, Fran expected Christy to show her appreciation for the privilege of being on his arm. On the fourth night, he leaned over and suggested they blow off the after-dinner discussion of the day’s highlights. He led her outside the hotel and into a waiting sleigh drawn by two huge horses, its backseat heaped with fur blankets. They left the town behind as they turned up a small mountain road past cottages with bright lights inside. Christy could see that Fran was a man with a plan and her job was to go along and be impressed. And she was. The sleigh came to a stop where the snowplow had finished. Beyond them were the towering peaks of the Alps, shimmering in a hazy moonlight. There was a little lamplight from an inn fifty yards away, and they could just hear the slightly drunken voices of delegates heading into eleven P.M. dinners. The driver turned around and nodded at Fran, then left them alone in the sleigh. Christy gulped.
Fran covered her with a warm fur blanket and asked if she wanted anything. Christy had no idea how she was supposed to answer that question, so she mumbled that she was fine, that it was all so beautiful. She was waiting for whatever came next. He traced a finger along her cheekbone and down her throat. Then he told her to take off her clothes.
Christy didn’t know what to say, but she couldn’t do what he asked. She sat frozen, staring at him.
“Christy, you are beautiful, sexy, smart. No man is going to spend time with you without wanting you. There’s no reason to hold back. You deserve to let yourself go once in a while. Look, we’re in the mountains, all alone, on a moonlit night. No one will miss us. Why don’t you just let me take care of you? Tomorrow you can go back to being a CEO.”
Christy prepared her comeback, but as she did, Fran ran his fingertips lightly down her thigh, slipped them between her legs, and began to massage her. She was startled by the wave of heat coming from his hand, and suddenly she wanted more. She took off her clothes, piece by piece, while Fran watched every move.
Later, she got dropped off at the Earth Shoe Lodge, where she sat up watching the sunrise, torn between hope and fear. He seems so interested, so solicitous. Sure, until you gave him everything. He said I was intelligent, attractive, and he was so gracious when he put me in a cab to my hotel. Still, you should have waited…and on and on until finally she pulled on her mukluks and went for a dawn walk through the empty streets, delighted to find a McDonald’s sitting incongruously at the opposite end of town.
By Saturday night, Christy was feeling more confident. She’d come alone and done well. She had made dozens of valuable business contacts. Even really accomplished people seemed to find the story of her company notable—that anyone would have the balls to go up against the Nikes and Reeboks of the world. And she thought she had a real shot with Fran. It seemed important to make a memorable impression at the closing soiree, the only formal event at Davos. She glided in gracefully in her black, wispy-as-a-breeze Versace. Even in the freezing Swiss air, the dress made Christy feel hot, with its tiers of sheer chiffon, its leg-revealing slit to the thigh, and its hand-embroidered leaves hiding the ties that held the backless outfit together. She could sense the heads turning, male and female, and realized almost shyly that her lean athletic body would always be one of her great assets, even at a gathering of the powerful and brainy. She just hoped Fran was watching.
Christy grabbed a
