Spiraling Deception

by Noree Kahika

  I knew I probably shouldn’t have and it was in my best interest not to—but I acquiesced. I justified it by telling myself it was getting dark and the subway was probably not the safest place to be at this time of night.

  “Okay. Thank you. A lift home would be nice.”

  Roman guided me with a hand to the small of my back toward a luxury black sedan parked on the road along side of the school, where Seth, Roman’s driver/bodyguard, waited.

  “Hey Seth,” I mumbled, when he opened up the back door for Roman and me.

  “Miss Gilmore,” he greeted warmly.

  “Charli, remember?” I corrected him.

  “Charli.” He grinned and gave me a wink.

  “Have dinner with me this Friday night?”

  The question broke the companionable silence we’d had in the back of the car for the last five minutes and I sighed. Without looking at Roman, I asked, “Why?

  “Because I’d like to enjoy a meal with you.”

  “Why?”

  “Why do I enjoy meals? Everyone likes to eat, Princess.”

  “No, Roman. Why are you asking me out?”

  I heard him sigh next, but his was an impatient sigh and then I felt his body shift to face toward me. “Look at me please, Charlotte.”

  Hesitantly, I twisted around and leaned my shoulder against the back of the leather seat for support. Roman’s midnight-blue eyes roamed over my face. With reverent tenderness, his hand clasped mine and he entwined his long, tanned fingers through my much smaller and fairer ones.

  “I want to spend some time with you, and...” He hesitated for a second; his eyes moved to the window before they came back to rest on mine. “Because I’ve missed you, Charlotte…and every single day for the last fucking month, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

  My breath caught. I closed my eyes in an effort to counter the hope that swelled in my heart. Damn—that must have cost Roman a lot to say those words, because another thing I’d learned from my time with him: he wasn’t a man who shared his feelings.

  “Don’t sound so pleased about it,” I teased.

  “Believe me, I’m not,” he stated gruffly.

  Seth’s voice announcing we’d arrived at my apartment broke the tense moment between us and I leaned to retrieve my bag from the floor.

  “I’ll pick you up at seven from here on Friday.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Roman. Besides, I’m busy unpacking all this week.” I lied.

  He chuckled, totally unperturbed by my refusal. “It’s a fucking fantastic idea, Princess.”

  “Roman—”

  “Charlotte,” he interrupted with a warning tone. “I’ll be here at seven on Friday to pick you up for dinner. If you’re not here, I’ll set Seth on the hunt to find you and bring you to me. And be warned, Princess, Seth is ex-Navy SEAL, so he will find you.”

  My eyes swung to Seth’s in the car’s rearview mirror in surprise. “Ohmigod Seth, you were a Navy SEAL?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied in his usual stoic manner.

  “That’s so cool, Seth.” I grinned.

  The edges of his eyes crinkled before he stepped out of the car to open my door.

  “Princess,” Roman called and my attention swung back to him. “I’m not kidding. Be here Friday when I come to pick you up. I have something I’d like to discuss with you over dinner.”

  “Oh, alright.” I huffed ungraciously and then with my heavy oversized leather bag and the bouquet of roses firmly fixed in my arms, I climbed out of the vehicle, muttered a farewell to Seth and made my way up six flights of stairs to my new SoHo apartment.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The next evening after my second full day of teaching at Whitfield Academy, I arrived home and unlocked the door, only to be met with delicious, mouthwatering aromas of peppers, onions, beef, and chili.

  “Hope you like chili,” Sam said in way of greeting. Her tongue darted out to taste the tip of the wooden spoon she held aloft.

  “Is the Pope Catholic?” I replied wryly.

  “Yes, yes, he is and I’m glad to hear you like it because I made a huge batch. We’ll be eating chili for at least the next four days. How was your day?”

  “Interesting. I had eighteen six-year-olds interrogate me as to why learning arithmetic was a necessity for getting a job when they all grew up. How was yours?”

  “Hmm, good point. Why is arithmetic so important for an adult?”

  “Duh…it helps if you can add up how much money you’ll need for a case of beer.”

  “Hmm, an excellent point.”

  In just three days of living together, Sam and I had successfully acquired a level of friendly banter that usually only developed from years of really knowing and living with someone. I knew we’d formed a connection from the very first night we met and I prayed we’d never lose it.

  “Any hoot, my day was…exhausting. After a shift at the coffee shop, I had to race downtown for an interview—which, by the way, I totally blew—then I raced all the way back up to Midtown because I left my stupid phone at work. And then I brought groceries, did my laundry, cleaned my room, blah, blah, blah.”

  “And now you’re cooking dinner for me. How can I help?”

  “Actually, I was in the mood for some chili and I can never get the damn recipe right. I always end up cooking enough for an army, and you can help by getting me a drink.”

  Walking to my room, I threw my bag on the bed, shrugged off my trench coat and kicked off my shoes. “I have a bottle of red that will go great with your chili,” I called out.

  “Now see, that’s why we’re going to be BFFs. Wine and chili—a match made in heaven. Oh, I almost forgot, you had a package delivered earlier this afternoon. It’s on the coffee table and the packaging looks really expensive.”

  Curiosity had me walking to the small living room without changing out of my work clothes. On the table sat a huge black box with white satin tied around and a Bergdorf Goodman sticker on the upper right-hand side.

  “Ooohh…Bergdorf Goodman—someone’s got expensive taste. Open it.” Sam nudged my shoulder.

  Unwinding the ribbon, I lifted the lid and peeled aside the surrounding delicate white tissue paper.

  “Holy shit!” Sam cried.

  Holy shit is right!

  Nestled inside the box was a neatly folded black cashmere coat with a gray chinchilla fur collar. After I carefully pulled the coat out of the packaging, I gaped at the double-breasted, mid-length coat. The skirt was pleated at the back, with deep inlayed pockets at the sides. Both the weight and texture of the cashmere wool was exquisitely soft and luxurious.

  “Holy shit!” Sam repeated and ran her fingers reverently through the fur of the collar. “This is freaking Fendi, Charli. Look at the tag! Did you buy this?”

  “No!” I bit my lip before I added, “I don’t know where it came from.” Which was kind of a lie. I had a sneaking feeling I knew exactly where it came from—or should I say, whom it came from.

  “Holy shit,” Sam cried again, tapping at the screen on her phone.

  “Would you stop saying that!” I snapped.

  “Look, Charli.” Sam shoved the screen of her phone in my face. “It’s a fucking nine-thousand-dollar coat!”

  My fingers automatically dropped the coat as if it were covered in acid and I bent over at the waist, hyperventilating. I felt flushed and clammy; a nauseous wave clawed its way up my stomach. Who gives someone a nine-thousand-dollar coat—a coat that costs more than two months of my annual salary? Roman-fucking-billionaire-Knight does, that’s who.

  “Oh look, here’s a card.” Sam reached into the box. I closed my eyes and held my breath.

  “Charli?” Sam called warily. “How do you know Roman Knight?”

  “Umm—”

  “The card says and I quote: Princess, something to keep you warm—other than me, that is. Roman.”

  Defense was always the best offense, so I pointed to the card.
“How do you know that the Roman on the card is Roman Knight?”

  “Because it’s written on a fucking Knight Industries card, for God’s sakes.” She flipped the card over and held it up. “Is there something you want to tell?”

  For the next hour, together we consumed an entire bottle of red wine while I spilled my guts. I explained about meeting Roman in France, my passport being stolen and staying in Paris with Roman at his hotel. I told Sam how I’d agreed to go to Italy with him and about our time together on the yacht. I also shared how things ended between us and the fact that even though it was supposed to be nothing more than a holiday fling, I’d stupidly fallen for the guy.

  Next, I told her all about Roman showing up at school yesterday, his involvement with my new job and his demand to have dinner with me Friday night. And lastly, I confessed my feelings of doubt and reservations concerning his intentions toward me.

  As I spoke, Sam nodded in understanding, occasionally grimaced, and generally gaped at me with bug eyes. When I finally finished, she cleared her throat and grabbed both my hands in hers as if she was going to impart something very important and she wanted my full attention.

  “Charli, a man like Roman Knight doesn’t have some casual fling with a woman and when it’s over and he’s done with her, turns around and pulls some major strings to get her a job. A job that requires an ex-lover to move to the same city he lives in. Babe, from what you’re telling me, it sounds like he might feel something more for you than just some casual fuck. Have you thought about that?”

  I bit my lip and considered her words. She had a point.

  “No, I haven’t.” I sighed and gave her hands a quick squeeze before I released them and reached for my wine glass. “But truthfully, I don’t know if I can go there, Sam.”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, I understand—it’s a big risk.”

  We both contemplated our wine glass in silence for a few moments.

  “Well, whatever you decide,” she picked up the wine bottle and refilled our glasses, “just be careful. I may be new to this city, but even I’ve heard of the irresistible and sexy Roman Knight. He’s notorious for having an endless reservoir of tall, leggy brunettes on his arm. If you can believe what’s on ‘Page Six,’ none of them stick, of course, but that’s besides the point.”

  The image of Roman’s reservoir of tall, leggy brunettes made the red wine churn in my stomach and my face must have crumbled because Sam slammed her glass on the table and reached for my hand.

  “Oh Charli, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “No, no, I’m okay. I know you didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just…” I waved her hand away, picked up the coat and stuffed it back into the box. “I think I’ve had way too much wine—plus I’m really tired. I think I’ll just head to bed.”

  “Alright, but let me get you a bowl of chili first.” Sam jumped off the couch and headed to the kitchen. “Charli, I’m really sorry if I said something to hurt your feelings,” she called over her shoulder.

  Sam’s pinched features and worried tone made me feel equally bad and silly for reacting so badly. “No, I’m good, really, Sam and a bowl of chili would be nice. I’m starving.”

  After dinner, I took a long hot shower and tried to wash the image of tall, leggy brunettes hung all over Roman out of my head—but it didn’t work. I was frustrated, confused, and angry and when I’d felt like this in the past, I’d always hit the aerial ribbon for a workout. Something about spending hours and hours absorbed within the motion of dance, until your limbs ached in protest, was so cathartically soul lifting.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t have an aerial ribbon in the apartment and I hadn’t had the chance to look for a local gym nearby, so to let out some of the pent-up frustration I was feeling, I did the next best thing—I texted Roman.

  * Thank you for the coat. It was a thoughtful gesture but I can’t accept it. *

  Surprisingly, sending the text to Roman worked. It released some of the tension. And he really had to be told: buying someone a nine-thousand-dollar coat was not an acceptable gift.

  Exactly three minutes later, my cell chimed with a new message.

  * You’re very welcome and yes, you can and will accept the coat. *

  * No, I really can’t. Besides it’s almost summer—I don’t need a heavy coat. *

  * Yes it is, but then comes fall & winter. You’ll need a warmer coat. *

  * What were u thinking!!! $9,000 for a coat!!! Really Roman??? *

  * Wow, that’s a lot of punctuation! Keep the coat, Princess. More importantly—wear it! *

  * That’s not a coat, Roman! It’s a down payment for a house! *

  * Just wear the fucking coat, Charlotte. I don’t want you cold. Now, I have to go—in a conference call with London. See you Friday for dinner. *

  Argh! I rolled over on my stomach and punched my pillow in frustration.

  Friday afternoon rolled around quickly and with my impending dinner with Roman in a few hours, I was a bundle of nerves. I tidied my desk and stood to collect my bag and the Coat—slipping my arm through one sleeve and then the other. Yes, I wore the coat Roman gave me and I’d worn it since Wednesday. I’d been crazily referring to it in my head as the Coat in capital letters.

  School was over for the week, and I was looking forward to my first full weekend in the city. Tomorrow, I planned to scout out a gym that was close to my neighborhood and do some grocery shopping and some much-needed laundry. I was running out of clean clothes to wear. Sunday, I was going to tackle the job of unpacking the six boxes that had arrived from LA. But first, I had to get through my date with Roman in one piece. Since our texting tussle, I hadn’t heard a peep from him and I wondered whether the dinner was still on.

  “Miss Gilmore!” Piper burst into the classroom. Piper was one of my adorable little students; however, the panic-stricken look on her sweet, tiny face alarmed me.

  “Piper, hey,” I cooed, bending down to her eye level. “What’s up, sweetheart?” A tear rolled down her cheek and I swiped it away with my thumb.

  “I’ve lost Mr. Bumbles and I can’t find him anywhere.” She started to cry.

  “Okay, well, he can’t have gone far. Let’s look for him, okay?”

  She nodded her head and sniffed back the tears. I took her hand and we went in search for her stuffed teddy bear.

  We’d found Piper’s bear out in the playground and after sending her safely on her way, I returned to the classroom for my bag when my cell rang. Digging it out, I answered without checking the caller ID.

  “Hey, Princess,” hummed Roman, and I shivered from the sound of his seductively low voice through the phone. Damn, the man’s voice alone should be outlawed.

  “Hey yourself,” I replied.

  “Dinner reservations at seven thirty. Make sure you’re wearing something warm, Charli.”

  His bossy tone irked me a little, so I decided to have some fun. “Tonight? Hmm…I don’t know, Roman. I’ve already made other plans.”

  “Charlotte,” he growled and I could hear through the phone the creaking of leather—it sounded as though he shifted in his chair. The vision of Roman sitting in his office, dressed in one of his three-piece designer suits, running his empire and issuing orders to his staff, piqued my curiosity. I wondered what his office looked like, where in the city he worked and what his home was like. Did he have any pets? He didn’t seem the type of person to have a dog.

  Up until recently, my whole perception of Roman was based on our whimsical time together in Europe and not the real world. But this was reality and I was suddenly very curious to know everything there was to know about Roman Knight.

  “Charlotte,” he growled again.

  “I’m still here and I’ll make sure to wear something warm. I know, perhaps a coat—a nine-thousand-dollar coat, in fact.”

  He ignored my sarcasm. “Good. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

  Before I could say my good-byes, he hung up.

&nb
sp; Sam was still at work when I got home, so I put my iPod on and turned the music up loud, and drowned all thoughts from my head along with the sounds of honking cars, blazing sirens, and construction clanks that made up the melody of New York City. I showered, blew out my hair and applied some sultry make-up that made me feel sexy. Then I picked out my best little black dress, paired it with some black pumps and a little beaded black clutch that Courtney had given me for my birthday last year. Lastly, I slid on the Coat that so aptly reminded me that Roman and I lived in two very different worlds.

  “Fuck it!” I grumbled. My brain throbbed from overthinking every little thing. The least I could do was have dinner with the man, listen to what he had to say and then make a decision as to whether it was worth the risk in getting involved with Roman again. I at least owed him that seeing as he played a significant role in getting me the interview at Whitfield Academy.

  All breath escaped me when I opened the door at his knock. The sight of Roman standing in the doorway to my humble six-floor walk-up apartment in SoHo was a sight to behold. He was all kinds of delicious: dressed in his urbane, black three-piece suit, with his dark hair artfully mussed, and his perfectly sculptured features most likely the envy of every other man on the planet. Roman’s trademark smirk curved his full lips and his eyes twinkled mischievously.

  “Are you going to invite me in, Princess?”

  My hand released the doorknob and I stepped back, sweeping my hand toward the apartment’s interior. “By all means, come in.”

  Mesmerized, I watched as Roman leisurely strolled around and surveyed the tiny apartment. He looked so large and commanding, but then I noticed the small frown etched on his forehead. The frown became more pronounced, turning into a V between his eyes when he’d finished poking his head through the door of my bedroom. Unexpectedly, I felt self-conscious and a prick of hurt stung my feelings.