I nodded. He was the closest thing to a friend I had in this town. Considering I never saw him outside of work that wasn’t saying much. The girls at the office were catty and still treated me like an outsider. The other waitresses here were all in college and into partying. I was the only “adult” of the bunch. At twenty-nine, I had left that life years ago when I’d agreed to support Jeff while he pursued a singing career.
I had worked all the time. He’d played music and partied. And since he’d left just six months after we’d moved from Milwaukee to Chicago, I’d had no time to make friends. Now I worked two full-time jobs and didn’t have the time or the dime to go out and meet new people. Eric was it... my one sort-of friend.
“Excuse me.” I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see the face attached to the voice.
A man about my age stood in front of me. Blonde streaked his light brown hair that he’d tousled into trendy spikes. His eyes, soft and brown, reminded me of the loyal Labrador, Barkley, who’d lived down the street during my childhood. He wasn’t as attractive as the man I’d seen earlier, though honestly, I’d never seen his equal. But this guy was well above average in the looks department. On top of his impressive looks, he also sported tailored designer clothes that fit his athletic build like they were custom made. He was walking style.
“Hi, I’m so sorry to bother you. I’m Mark Atwood.”
“Hi Mark,” I answered with hesitation in my voice. What does he want?
“This is going to sound terribly high school, but my friend would like to meet you.” He smiled, his eyes dancing with an almost childlike enthusiasm while he awaited my answer.
“That does sound very high school,” I responded, not sure whether to be flattered or annoyed. “Tell your friend I’m sorry to disappoint but I’m working.”
“He knows you’re very busy and on the clock. Here, he will happily pay for your time.” He pulled out a wallet and I noticed the Versace logo stamped into the smooth black leather.
Yep, walking style.
“Five hundred enough?” He fingered the hundreds that seemed to go on forever. My eyes widened as I eyed the wad of money.
“Five hundred? To talk?”
He nodded, seemingly unaware of his unusual request.
“Jesus! Take it!” Eric said, now leaning over the bar eyeing up the dough.
Glancing over my shoulder my eyes connected with Eric’s. My face asked for permission to take the money I really, really needed. His enthusiastic nodding said go for it.
“Five hundred. To talk. Here. In the bar.” I said it as more of a confirmation I wasn’t agreeing to leave with anyone.
“Great!” He slipped the money into my hand. I shoved it into my cocktail apron and pushed it down deep so it wouldn’t fall out. “This way.”
He placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me through the club to... wait a minute. We were going to the corner booth. To him. That incredible male specimen.
Him? He wants to talk to me?
I kept moving but my pace slowed. The Glamazons still preened in front of him, laughing too loud and talking with exaggerated hands in obvious attempts to get his attention. Why me? I wasn’t unattractive, but I certainly wasn’t of the caliber of those leggy thoroughbreds. They didn’t even have a dimple of cellulite. I hadn’t been able to say that since I put on ten pounds eating my weight in ice cream when Jeff left. Those girls were the ones he should talk to... not me.
Mark encouraged me forward. My eyes locked with the man in the booth.
Good God is he gorgeous. That’s not even right.
He stood up, one hand clasping the button on his grey designer suit shut while his other hand gestured to the padded leather chair across from him. I smoothed my black dress under my butt and slid down into the seat. He stared at me for a moment before slipping his coat button back open and sitting back down.
“Hello.”
Even his voice is beautiful. A deep tenor with a hint of grit. Not so deep he sounded like a muscle head, but deep enough he sounded all man.
“Hello,” I squeaked back.
“This is Aiden McKay.” Mark stood beside him now. “I’m so sorry but I didn’t catch your name.”
“Emilia. Emilia Charles.”
Mark nodded and turned back to Aiden. “Aiden, please meet Emilia Charles.”
What the hell? Why is he introducing us instead of this guy just telling me his name? This is so weird.
“Pleased to meet you, Emilia.” His jaw ticked and then tightened, inhibiting any chance of a smile. It almost seemed like he was clenching his teeth.
We sat in silence for a few moments as Mark’s eyes darted between us. I waited for Aiden to speak, but he only clenched his jaw tighter, causing the muscles in his neck to twitch.
Enough of this cryptic nonsense. I wanted to know what this hottie wanted with me. “Why did you want to see me?”
After taking a deep breath, he cleared his throat. “Can I offer you a drink?” His gaze drifted to my cleavage before lifting to meet mine. That ten pounds I’d put on may have given me a few dimples in my ass, but it had done wonders for my tits.
“No, thank you. I’m working. I’m not allowed to drink.”
“Very well.” He gestured for Mark to sit. Mark didn’t hesitate and slid into the booth beside him. As I sat across from them, I shrank under their penetrating stares. The last time I had felt this uncomfortable in a chair was sitting in Principal Smith’s office back in tenth grade when I got caught cheating on my math test.
“Tell me about yourself,” Aiden said.
“Like what?”
“Do you have any family?”
What kind of question is that? “No. My parents died and I’m an only child.”
Something resembling approval flashed through his eyes. “Husband? Boyfriend?” he continued.
“No and no. I’m sure you, like the rest of the bar, heard my husband walked out on me six months ago.”
“Yes, I recall that.”
Okay, he may be gorgeous but he’s fucking weird. What is with these inappropriate personal questions?
“Would you say you have an active social life?”
“I’m not even sure what you mean by that. If you’re asking if I have friends, the answer is no. I work over eighty hours a week between two jobs. I don’t have time for friends.”
Wow. No boyfriend, no family, no friends... I’m starting to sound pretty pathetic.
But as pathetic as that admission felt, his eyes flashed more of that approving look.
“I also overheard you are having financial difficulties?”
Pathetic and broke. This conversation stole my already shredded self-confidence.
I nodded. Ordinarily I would have told him it’s none of his business, but I had already announced it to the whole bar.
He glanced over to Mark. The two exchanged a look, and then turned their attention back to me.
“I have a proposition for you, Emilia,” Aiden said. “A very lucrative one.”
Whoa. What is this, “Indecent Proposal”?
“I’m not a hooker!” I shouted, the nearest heads all snapping to look at me. I leaned forward and quieted my voice. “I’m not a prostitute! I can’t believe you think I would take money for sex!”
It appeared again. A flicker of mirth inside those frozen eyes.
“I’m not propositioning you for sex. It’s a business opportunity.”
“What kind of business opportunity?” My question didn’t mean I trusted him or would entertain his crazy proposal, but he’d piqued my curiosity.
“I cannot explain that now, but if you meet us tomorrow, we can tell you how you stand to make a considerable amount of money.”
Considerable amount of money? This must be illegal. I may be broke. He may be beautiful. But hell. No.
“I don’t know what it is you think I would be good for and why it is you think it, but I’m not meeting you anywhere. I’ve seen enough movies to know t
his doesn’t end well for me.”
His face didn’t change. A frozen gaze remained fixated on my eyes.
“Emilia,” Mark’s soft voice interrupted the stare down. “I promise you, there is nothing illegal or dangerous for you. This is an incredible opportunity. I wish we could tell you more but not here. Trust me... you’re going to want to do this.”
His eyes were honest and kind, unlike the straight predatory gaze of his companion. Aiden made me feel like a frightened gazelle; Mark eased my tensions. Still, this reeked of nothing but bad ideas. I’d made enough of those in my twenties with Jeff, and I wasn’t going to start into my thirties down the same crappy path.
“I’m sorry but I’m not interested. If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.” I pushed back my chair and rose. Both men stood in unison, Aiden opening his coat button again before giving me a nod.
“I hope you will reconsider. In case you do.” He nodded to Mark who whipped out a white card with only a number on it. No name, no logo, just a number. I took it and turned around.
“Emilia!” A shrill voice sent shivers up my spine, and not the good kind. My boss, Carol.
Son of a...
“Are you still clocked in?” she asked as she stood with crossed arms and an eyebrow arched so high it nearly touched her hairline.
“Yes, but I—”
“You’re on the clock and have been sitting at a table with customers. Unacceptable! I also heard you yelled at a customer tonight? He complained about you at the desk. Is it true?”
“Yes, but he—”
“We have a reputation here, Emilia! I cannot have you behaving this way. I’m sorry. There is no excuse. You’re fired.”
Fuck.
Watching her walk away I considered begging. I needed this job. Without it I was certain to lose my home. Even with both jobs I wasn’t sure if I could make it. I started after her, prepared to toss myself on the ground and cling to her ankle while I pleaded, but I stopped myself. Carol didn’t believe in second chances, so I’d just end up fired and with my remaining dignity in tatters.
I looked over at the bar to Eric who mouthed the word “sorry” and stuck out his lower lip. With a shrug, I slipped my hand into my apron and touched the wad of hundreds. This would have to stretch out until I could find another job.
Or would it?
My slow turn brought be back around to face Mark and Aiden. Mark’s eyes held sympathy while Aiden’s flickered with pleasure. With a breath, I spun and marched back.
“Promise me you’re not a rapist, serial killer, or criminal.” I stared Aiden straight in the eye.
“If I was, do you really think I would admit it?” A smirk lifted the corner of his lip for a beat.
“Promise,” I demanded.
“I promise,” Aiden said.
“Mark.” My attention shifted over to him, “Do you also promise neither of you are serial killers, rapists or criminals nor will you be asking me to do anything horrible like prostitution, drug running or anything of that nature?”
I realized the futility of my dire situation, and as Aiden pointed out, even if they had nefarious plans for me, they would just lie. Yet I found it necessary to ask before I did what I couldn’t believe I was about do.
“Emilia. I promise. This is a good thing and you will be safe.”
I gave them a sharp nod. “Fine. Where am I going?”
Mark grinned a goofy grin and clapped his hands together. Aiden stood unresponsive, his face never moving. No wonder he remained wrinkle free, yet he had to be in his thirties.
“Wonderful!” Mark said as he pulled out his cell phone. “What is your address? I’ll send a car tomorrow at four.”
“I’m not telling you where I live.” At least I had enough sense left in me not to do that. “Where am I going?”
Mark glanced at Aiden for direction and got a brief nod from his stoic friend. Mark pulled a pen from his pocket and took the card with the number I still held in my hand.
“Here. Uber to this address. We are so excited to see you tomorrow, Emilia. Please, don’t be worried. This is going to be fun!”
I returned his contagious smile with a small one. Aiden must have been immune to Mark’s charms because his face remained frozen. In fact, I still didn’t even know if he had teeth.
“Very well, we will see you tomorrow, Emilia,” Aiden said, maintaining his formal tone.
With a nod, I turned and walked away to grab my purse and leave this godforsaken job. Eric gave me a hug and said he would call but I knew I wouldn’t see him again unless we bumped into one another on the streets. We weren’t that good of friends.
I glanced back to the booth before I left. Aiden sat in stoic silence, his eyes watching my every move.
Well, if I am about to be murdered at least I’ve got one hot ass killer.
He nodded to me as I walked out the door.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
CHAPTER TWO
Emilia
THE COFFEE POT SPUTTERED and wafted out the smell of the one thing that made mornings bearable to me. If I could wake and sleep as I chose, I would never rise before ten o’clock. But I rarely got to sleep in because of the chirping birds, honking horns, and people shouting outside our little Chicago apartment.
Our. I cringed. I was still getting used to not saying that. “My” was the new “our”. My apartment. My car. My life. The word “our” shouldn’t still cause such a shock to the senses yet there it was slapping me in the face once again. I hadn’t been able to use that word since Jeff had walked out leaving me saddled with the mortgage on this apartment we had bought together, and drowning in half of the credit card debt he’d hidden from me. There was no “us” paying that off. It was all me.
At least that meant the coffee was all mine. I took a sip and stared at the business card sitting on my little farmhouse table. Sleep had evaded me last night while visions of Aiden kept flashing through my mind. Panic over my financial status followed just behind, rounded off by the horror of being fired last night. Those three things had played on a continuous loop through my mind all night long.
The card on the table with the address and phone number continued to taunt me as I downed my second cup of coffee. It was eleven o’clock. In five hours I was supposed to arrive at the address written in sloppy scribbles on the back of the card. In five hours, everything could change.
Or I could end up dead when they turn out to be murderers who torture and kill me.
My senses returned, and I shoved off the idea of going on this stupid adventure. Last night, in the heat of my panic over the loss of my job, I had thought it a promising idea. Like most things, in the light of day, it looked very different now. It looked dangerous and stupid. I may have made some bad decisions over the last decade to get me to this place—friendless, no family, broke and divorced—but at least I was still alive to tell the tale. Going to this address might change my life status if they turned out to be serial killers.
No. Nope. No way. Not going to do it.
Walking my coffee mug to the sink for its bath, I looked at the card one more time before tossing it in the trash.
There, it was settled. I watched it flutter down and land on the wet coffee grounds. Brown liquid spread and stained the little white card, the number fading as it took on a dark shade of brown. As the number faded away, so did my hope of finding a better solution to my money problems than working eighty hours a week for the rest of my life.
Son of a bitch.
Plunging my hand into wet coffee grounds, I yanked out the card and gave it a once over. The phone number was gone, but the address was still visible. I was broke, alone, and without any real options. This was a life-defining moment. Would my luck finally change, or was I heading toward my impending doom? But in the end, what did I really have to lose?
Your life. You can lose your life, dumbass.
But desperation drove me on, and I silenced my inner voice and walked to the c
loset. What does one wear to a clandestine meeting with two handsome potential serial killers? Little black dress? Business casual? Perhaps something more spy-chic like a headscarf and large sunglasses?
Though I didn’t have as many outfits as I’d like, I loved every item of clothing in my closet. I picked through them with the care one takes when handling priceless art. They weren’t the expensive designer clothes I drooled over, but they were mine and I loved them. There were a few thrift store designer scores mixed in with Target and TJ Maxx as the heavy hitters. My closet reflected that fashion didn’t have to be expensive to be stylish and pretty. Quality took a hit at my price point but who really wore an outfit more than a few times?
I pulled out a white summer wrap dress and grabbed a thick black belt. Paired with the Coach black sandals I had snagged on eBay for thirty bucks, it would be the perfect outfit for... whatever lay ahead. Casual yet dressy.
The perfect outfit to wear to my own murder.
Several hours of pacing and getting dressed, then undressed, then dressed again had culminated in my final decision to go. I clasped the black leather strap of my shoe around my ankle and stood up, admiring my outfit in the mirror. I’d been right. The little black heels made the look.
After pulling a brush through my hair one last time, I made a mental note to buy a box of hair dye from Walmart the next time I shopped. My mousey brown color had revealed itself again. A few shades darker with a hint of auburn red was my preferred color, but lately I couldn’t afford to keep it up. Mousey brown and straight would have to do.
A sweep of bronzer, a dab of lip gloss, a bit of mascara and I was set. I was going to... wherever it was. Google Maps showed the address took me to a parking lot. Probably abandoned and covered in tarps where they would chop me up when they finished murdering me.
Several times I thought I should bring someone with me or tell a friend about the meeting. Several times I concluded there was no one to tell. Even my beloved cat, Mittens, had left me a few months ago when old age forced me to kiss his nose one last time and hold him while the vet slipped him the pink stuff. That devastating loss came not long after Jeff had left. Alone hadn’t come close to describing how I felt coming home that night. No husband. No cat. Just me and this stupid apartment I broke myself to pay for and couldn’t sell. The neighbor two doors down had shot his wife and with that tragedy dropped any chance of me getting it sold soon. Every miserable inch of it belonged to me, leaving me stuck here. Alone.
Into The Light (Immortal Hearts Book 1) Page 2