A Reckless Note

by Jones, Lisa Renee

  “Ask me again,” he replies, “another time.”

  Another time. As if there will be another time, and I suppose there could be, considering the VIP auction that is still weeks away. Weeks too long when Gio is missing.

  An announcement sounds over the intercom. “The auction will begin in five minutes. Please take your seats.”

  “They’re calling us,” he says. “Why don’t I show you the way around?”

  No, I think. Yes, I think. Please, I think. “Thank you,” I say.

  “You’re very polite,” he teases and motions me forward.

  “Shouldn’t I be?” I ask, as we fall into step and I realize now that he’s tall, well over six feet to my five feet four inches.

  “Please has appropriate uses,” he says softly, and the look in his eyes is pure suggestion. He is flirting with me. Isn’t he?

  We’ve just passed the doors to the cocktail room again when Mark steps into our path and motions to Kace to join him. Kace doesn’t fight him this time. His jaw flexes and he glances over at me. “I need to-”

  “No problem,” I say. “I’m good.” I quickly dart away, because the truth is, I’m treading in dark waters with Kace. I need to bid on this wine and get out of here before I walk through the Valley of Death, so to speak. Though I am doubtful that’s what any moment with Kace would feel like, and that’s the problem.

  I’m directed into a room that is set up with a stage and rows of chairs in front of it, and an usher in a tuxedo greets me. He then leads me to an assigned seat which is near the rear of many rows of white foldable chairs, which is a location that I claim with mixed feelings. I need to blend and fade in the crowd, but I also need to win this auction to pay the bills, and for the added security that I get into the VIP event. Hopefully sitting this far back in the room won’t impede my bidding. A paddle for just such an action is in my seat and I claim it before I sit down. Guests are quickly filling the surrounding seats and the fit is tight. I end up sitting and standing several times to allow guests to pass. One of the times, I turn slightly and end up staring into Kace’s blue eyes. He’s three seats back to my right, but in this moment, it feels as if he’s right in front of me.

  “Are you going to sit back down?” The elderly man behind me scowls with this question.

  “Sorry,” I say quickly and I sit down, my cheeks heating with the embarrassment of standing there, staring at Kace. My God, I just acted like a groupie. It’s embarrassing. I’m not a groupie. I’ve never been a groupie. I will never be a groupie. My ancestor created the Stradivarius. That’s a big deal, but maybe that’s the point. Kace isn’t interested in me. He’s interested in that “recipe” as Sofia had called it.

  I swallow hard with that brutal thought as a man a few spots in front of me to the right turns and smiles. It’s Alexander and he mouths, “Good luck.”

  I groan in my head. He’s in this for the challenge and I have no idea how deep his pockets are, but I suspect a tunnel to hell from my perspective.

  Crystal walks to the stage and steps behind a podium, speaking into a microphone. “Welcome everyone,” she greets, before relaying a few rules and processes and then says, “We’re going to bring our expert auctioneers up to get this event started.”

  And so the auction begins.

  Item after item is auctioned off. The wine is more than halfway through the event and my nerves are jumping all over the place when the bidding begins at one hundred and fifty thousand. Alexander bids first. I lift my paddle and bid. Another man bids. We repeat. The “other” man falls out at three hundred thousand. Alexander bids three-fifty and eyes me over his shoulder.

  I bid three-sixty. He goes three-seventy-five. My chest is tight. I need this win. I bid again. Three-eighty-five. He bids four hundred and that’s it. I’m out. A blade of despair guts me. Alexander turns to gloat. I want to throw my paddle at him. I inhale and exhale, trying to calm my emotions. I want to get up but no one has gotten up. I need to impress Mark. That’s all I have left, my only way to get to that violin for an early viewing. And so I wait and wait until the crowd disperses. When I’m on my feet, I squeeze through the bodies and hurry out of the room, but not the building. As much as I want out of the here now, I am going to have to wait for a car service and I need to use the ladies’ room.

  I follow the signs and once I’m inside one of the many stalls, voices echoing around me, I grab the wall. My brother’s gone. I have no money. I have to make this work. I’ll find another bottle of wine for my client and get a commission to pay the bills. I’ll talk to Crystal. Maybe she has another prize for my client. That’s what I’ll do. Still, I can feel the eruption inside me that wants to happen. I need out of here before I fall apart. I quickly do what I came in here to do, wash up, and manage to smile at two women also at the sink.

  When I walk to the door, I steel my spine. I could run into Mark or Crystal. I need to stay focused. I need to stay strong. I’m here to find Gio. I exit to the hallway and make it to the lobby without impediment, but there stands Alexander with Mark. I draw a breath and walk right up to them both. “Congrats, Alexander,” I say and then to Mark. “My client capped me at four hundred. My hands were tied. It’s undrinkable or I might have gotten him higher. He actually prefers to sample the old vintages.”

  Mark’s eyes assess me, and I swear the man could move a mountain with the force of his steely gray stare. “You put up a good fight. Maybe next time.” He then nods at us both. “Goodnight.” And then walks away. Hope flutters inside me like a pair of butterfly wings afraid to fully take flight. I think he just told me that I’m invited to the VIP event where Sofia is certain to be as well.

  “Why don’t I make it up to you with a nightcap?” Alexander offers.

  “No thank you. I’m not a big drinker. And I have to talk to my client.”

  “Then how about dinner tomorrow night?”

  “I’m going to be hunting another bottle of wine, but thank you. Good night, Alexander.” I head for the door, and exit into a crowd of guests hovering around the building, shivering with a colder temperature than expected, wishing I’d brought a coat. I step off to the side of a group of people and I’m about to call an Uber when Kace is suddenly in front of me. He’s in a brown jacket made with soft fitted leather, the color contrasting with his blue T-shirt and matching his boots. The entire outfit screams cool. And warm. He’s warm. I’m not. I shiver and hug myself. “You’re cold.” He motions behind him. “I already had my car pulled around. Come. I’ll give you a ride.”

  “No, I-”

  He steps closer, the mix of the scent of man and a woodsy cologne lifting in the air and teasing my nostrils and apparently every other part of my body. I’m so hyperaware of this man it’s insane. “Don’t say no,” he says softly.

  He’s close, so very close and I want him closer when I should be pushing him away. I tell myself to decline, but he repeats his words. “Don’t say no, Aria.”

  My name on this man’s lips undoes me. Maybe he’s just being friendly. Maybe this is more. God, it feels like more. Maybe it’s a dangerous fire igniting, but I don’t seem to care. I can barely find my voice, but somehow I manage and awkward, “I ah – yes. Yes, please.”

  His eyes twinkle with mischief. “Well, since you said please. I do think that word could grow on me.”

  My cheeks heat and my lips part with what is surely a suggestive comment and he laughs low and deep, a musical masculine rumble that I feel in every part of me. “You blush easily. Come on. Let’s get you in the warm car.”

  He slides his arm around me and ushers me forward, and the thing is, I let him.

  CHAPTER SIX

  What is happening to me?

  I’m melting like butter from having this man’s arm around me.

  I tell myself that my intense reaction to Kace is simply that I haven’t been touched in a very long time. And I’m alone right now, so very alone. Gio is gone. My rock is gone. And Kace came i
nto my life at just the right moment to stir a fierce reaction. That’s all this is.

  To prove this fact to myself, I try to focus on something other than his body warming mine, like his car—a fancy blue sports car, that I’m pretty sure is a Roadster, which I only know because I had a rich classmate in college who drove his father’s on occasion. They’re outrageously expensive, but then, Kace has money. Of course, he does. He’s a Grammy award-winning artist. He tours the world. He has fame, and millions of albums sold. He has women falling at his feet and I don’t intend to be one of them.

  He clicks his locks and when his arm leaves my shoulders, the absence of his touch is a shock that sends a chill radiating down my spine. He opens the passenger door for me. “You don’t have to do this,” I say.

  He steps closer and Lord help me, I want him even closer. “I want to do this,” he says softly.

  Want.

  That word was in my head and now it’s on his lips.

  I hesitate, but I don’t know why. I know that I’m not going to say no and so does he. To play a game of yes or no is silly. I climb inside, sinking into the luxury of the car and the leather seat. He surprises me by kneeling beside me. “Where are we going?”

  That question jolts me. I don’t live in a neighborhood that suggests I have clients capable of bidding on a ten-million-dollar violin. I rotate to get out of the car, but that’s a mistake because Kace is not eye level. “What just happened?” he asks, and his hands, his musically talented hands, rest on his powerful thighs. I find those hands incredibly alluring.

  I’m not only drowning in everything seductive about this man, I’m captive to the façade of money. No, I’m captive to lies. Lies have held me prisoner my entire life, and I just can’t add another. My gaze lifts to his. “I don’t live in Tribeca or Soho, or whatever fancy neighborhood you live in, Kace. I live in the West Village.”

  “I happen to love the West Village. It has personality.”

  “I should take an Uber.”

  He holds out his hand to me. “Nice to meet you. I’m your Uber.”

  I laugh in spite of myself and accept his hand, heat darting up my arm and across my chest. “You’re—”

  He kisses my hand and steals my breath and words. “I’m what?”

  I have no idea what I was going to say and I’m not getting out of this ride. “You’re stubborn, but I’d appreciate the ride.”

  His eyes light with approval that I ache for far too much. I’m afraid he’ll see this in my eyes, afraid I’m just reacting to being alone and him sharing a connection to my past that I desperately need right now. I turn and slide back into the seat. He shuts me inside the car and I pull on my seatbelt that feels necessary to navigate my life right about now. He joins me and settles in. “Where are we going?”

  I give him the address and he revs the engine, power purring to a smooth hum. “Is this a Roadster?” I ask.

  “It is. You like it?” He pulls us onto the road.

  I run my hand over the dash. “It’s a beautiful car. A beast like your violin.”

  He laughs. “I’ve never thought of my violin as a beast, but I like that analogy. A beast with a life of its own.”

  I want to ask what that means. I’m curious about his training, his practice, his entire life, actually, but I’m sure everyone is. And I don’t dare show just how knowledgeable I am about music anyway. A reckless note can change everything, I remind myself.

  “You didn’t get the wine,” he says. “That sucks.”

  “Yes, it does. Calling my customer and telling him is going to suck all over again, too.”

  “Alexander made buttloads in oil and hates to lose. He would have paid another hundred just to win.”

  “I could tell that. It was in his eyes. The irony is that my client is old oil money.”

  “They’re both crazy,” he says. “A bottle of wine you can’t drink is not my kind of investment, but you know, to each their own.”

  “You’d be surprised at some of the requests we get. People have all kinds of quirky interests and when they have money to blow, they will pay to satisfy their interest.”

  “And occasionally you get to make a purchase that also interests you,” he assumes. “Like the violin.”

  I don’t deny or confirm that statement. “Is it really supposed to be a Stradivarius?”

  “That’s what I’m told.”

  “Do you know what source validated its authenticity?” I ask.

  “I don’t, but I trust Mark to ensure it’s the real deal. He’s damn good at what he does.”

  “And so are many of the counterfeiters.” I’m showing too much knowledge and I change the subject. Or redirect it. “Obviously, you, of all people, have played a Stradivarius.”

  He smiles. “Among many other great instruments, but it will always be my instrument of choice. Have you ever played one?”

  “I’m not a violinist. That would be you. And perhaps the single most famous violinist ever.”

  He glances over at me. “I’m a niche market. The people who know me know that niche market, like you. You knew who I was.”

  “You’ve brought people to the instrument. You made violins cool.”

  “To many, I defile the instrument and the craft.”

  “Because you play pop music and wear denim and leather? That’s ridiculous. They know how well you play. You just stepped out of the box and that makes some people uncomfortable.”

  He pulls to a halt at a stoplight. “But not you.”

  “I’m envious of your courage.”

  He rotates to face me and leans in close, so very close. “Are you now?” he challenges softly.

  “I am,” I whisper and I have this insane urge to run my fingers over the stubble on his jaw.

  Someone honks and his jaw clenches, as if he regrets the interruption. We both settle back in our seats and it’s only then that I realize I’d turned to face him, that’s we’d turn to face each other. He turns down my street and adrenaline surges through me. I don’t know how I’m at my apartment with this man. I motion to the front of the building and he parks in front.

  “Thank you for the ride.”

  He kills the engine and gets out. I fumble with my seatbelt and before I’ve even reached for my door, he’s opening it. I rotate to exit and my skirt hikes up my legs, the burn of his stare, hot. I glance up at him and find him staring down at me, something unreadable in his expression. He offers me his hand and it’s almost like a question. I’m not sure what that question is, but there is only one answer, this moment, this night. I check that my purse is at my hip and then steel myself for the impact of his touch, before sliding my palm against his palm, sucking in a breath with the charge of that connection.

  He pulls me to my feet and close, his woodsy scent once again teasing my nostrils. For just a few beats, I’m on an invisible island with this man, one that floats in an ocean with the stars and moon shining down on us. “I do believe,” he says softly, his voice a low rasp I feel in every part of me, “that there’s a song in your story.”

  “No,” I say. “I’m not that interesting.”

  “I disagree.” He steps back and takes me with him before releasing me to shut the door. I move more fully onto the sidewalk and then he’s beside me, and we’re walking to my building. I pull out my key and unlock the door, flipping on the light before I turn to face him. “My apartment is above the store.”

  He leans closer and presses one hand on the doorjamb above my head. “Aria means melody or song in Hebrew and Italian.”

  He knows too much. He sees too much but there’s no running from what he already sees. “Yes,” I confirm. “Yes, it does.”

  His gaze lowers to my lips and I swear he’s thinking of kissing me. I want him to kiss me like I have not wanted ever before, but then his gaze lifts to mine and he says, “Good night, Aria.”

  He pushes off the wall and walks to his car. I’m stunned at his
abrupt departure and I quickly turn and enter the store, shutting the door, locking up, and turning on the alarm. And then I just lean on the door and stare into the empty space. I don’t know what just happened, but I feel more alone than ever. And I didn’t even ask him if he knows Sofia.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The building creaks and hums with random noises that I suspect have always been present.

  Ed is not happy about the wine, but I promise to find him a new treasure and quickly. I spend a good part of the night searching through my brother’s apartment and office for a clue to where he is now. Again. I’ve done this now three times. I finally decide to try to get into his cellphone account and just have the peace of mind that he’s using his phone. An hour later, I can’t figure out his password and I know I need to hire a private investigator to dig into this problem safely, but even that makes me nervous. And it’s going to cost money.

  At nearly two AM, I force myself to lie down in bed and turn out the light, but the darkness and silence overwhelm me. I grab my phone and I can’t help myself. I dare to play one of Kace’s albums. I can’t get him off my mind, but there’s a good reason for that I tell myself. His music speaks to my past, to my heart, to my family. And the way he plays Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony is just beautiful.

  I fade into the night, into the sound of his notes, and wake to my cellphone ringing. I jolt with the sound and roll to grab it from the nightstand to find Ed calling. I groan with my tired body and sit up, glancing at the six AM hour. “Morning, Ed.”

  “Can you reach out to the buyer and offer them four hundred and twenty-five thousand?”

  “I can certainly try, but from what I understand, this guy would have paid five hundred thousand just to win the auction last night. It’s not about money to him. It’s about the game and the power.”

  “Try. You have a way about you, Aria. I know you can do this.”

  “Don’t do that to me,” I chide. “Don’t build me up to let you down.”

  “You can’t let me down. I believe in you, no matter what. But try. That’s all I ask.”