Hidden Seams

by Alessandra Torre

  She holds her breath when I slide my hand further and I cup her through the panties. I can feel her dampness, feel the easy give of her body when I curl my fingers against the silk. “Things like what?”

  “Like if you like this…” I use my thumb to circle her clit, the silk still between us, the contact causing a murmur of pleasure. “Or this… better.” I nudge her panties out of the way and use my forefinger and middle finger, pushing them inside of her, the sudden entrance causing her eyes to pinch shut, her pelvis to lift, her knees to fall open.

  I’m in love. I’m in fucking love with this woman. She has the blood of a Horace, the temperament of a lion, and the sexual proclivities of every fantasy I’ve ever had.

  “I need more,” she gasps, arching against me and clawing my chest for attention.

  I’ll give her more. I’ll give her everything. I pick her up in my arms, steal a kiss from those lips, and swap our positions on the couch. In three quick moves, I am inside of her—my hips rocking, our kiss messy, her breath gasping, body squeezing me. She pants my name and I slow my thrusts, go deeper, take a moment to pull at her bodice and free her breasts.

  I look down at her and, in the moment before I kiss her, I almost tell her how I feel.

  * * *

  She can’t leave yet. I just found her. I swallow the thought and watch her twist her hair into a knot. She abandons the action and leans forward, wrapping her phone charger around her hand.

  It’s painful, watching her pack and knowing that she is leaving. It’s even worse so when the process is so short, the act done in minutes, her new clothes stuffed into one of our duffel bags without a second thought. I lean against the wall and watch her, my mind flipping through a hundred ways to try and delay her exit. I reach into my pocket and close my hand around the ring I still need to give her.

  She zips the bag shut and looks at me. “I think that’s it. Are you sure about the plane? Cause I can just grab a fl—”

  “I’m positive. Think of the plane as yours.” I step forward and pull out James’ ring. I’ve put it on a silver linked chain, one I pulled off an Atocha coin that Vince had, the intricate links pairing nicely with the band. “Here.” I undo the clasp and hold it up, fastening it around her neck.

  She looks down, lifting the ring and turning it over, examining it. “Wow.” She glances back at me. “I have something of my father’s. That’s—that’s pretty cool.” She is affected by it, her voice cracking on the last word, and I suddenly hate myself for holding on to it for these last few days. I shouldn’t have cared about the chain. I should have, the minute I put two and two together on her paternity—run upstairs and grabbed this first.

  “You’ll have a lot more than a ring, once the paperwork goes through. There’s a storage unit somewhere in New Jersey that is filled with his items from Spring Lake.”

  “Yeah, but…” She loops a finger through the ring and tugs on it. “This was in the photo. It’s special.”

  She steps forward and kisses me, the action catching me by surprise, and I grab her waist, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss. I want to beg her to stay, but I don’t. I kiss her, release her, and watch James’ ring settle in the dip of her cleavage.

  * * *

  I walk down the long table, each ad page blown up and laid out on the glass. I stop beside one and shake my head. “Not this one. Use the shot from the park instead.”

  Vera moves the piece away and launches into an explanation of the ideology behind the winter campaign and the corresponding social media effort. I nod, my eyes catching sight of the next display ad, a girl from behind, in knee-high riding boots, walking along a track, toward an oncoming train.

  I think of Avery, of her sprint across the Spring Lake highway, the silver on her boots flashing in the sun.

  I think of her, standing at the other end of that conference table, her eyes meeting mine, the challenge in them.

  I think of her leaning over the cramped table at that Ukrainian restaurant, and when she laughed so hard the table shook.

  I look away from the displays and walk to the window, the clouds low and hiding the streets below. I glance at my watch and don’t understand how a single day away from her can seem so long.

  “Mr. Lent?” Vera moves closer. “Would you like to see the demographics report from the latest campaign?

  “Yeah.” I turn away from the view and focus on the woman’s face. “Please.”

  She moves to the laptop, pressing a button and bringing a PowerPoint presentation to life. I stare up at the screen and wonder what Avery is doing.

  Chapter 38

  AVERY

  “I’m asking you to work with me,” I beg the scrawny blonde. “It’s two weeks, max. You’ll barely know she’s there.”

  “I don’t trust Russians.” Kata sneers at the woman behind me, and I move in between them to block the view.

  “What’s she going to do, steal from you? You’ve got a lock on your bedroom door. Use it.” I cross my arms and give her my sternest look. “Matilda already said it was cool, so I need you to play nice or I’ll find a graveyard shift and put you on it.”

  The blonde explodes in a string of Ukrainian, and I know enough of the words to understand that she’s cussing me out.

  “Hey—” I interrupt. “HEY!” I point at her. “Stop that. I’ve never asked shit from you, other than this. Be fucking grateful for once and work with me. Remember what it was like when you landed. She needs a place to stay, and I don’t have any more room in Herman Gardens.”

  I have placed twenty of Andrei’s surprise arrivals. At this rate, we’ll all be eighty before I find housing for the rest of them. I push open the door and pause, something inside the apartment catching my eye. “Bruce,” I call over my shoulder.

  “Yeah, boss?” The man appears, big and hulking, and Kata takes a step back.

  “Tell Eddie to keep the newbies in the hall, and come in with me.”

  “Come in?” Kata shakes her head. “No. This is my private—”

  Bruce shoulders through the place and she jumps back with a curse. “What’s up?” He looks at me.

  “Those sneakers by the door. Check her room for more.”

  “I bought those!” Kata protests and I follow him toward the left bedroom and past the brand-new Nikes lying on the carpet. He swings open the door and flips on the light.

  “Motherfucker.” I curse at the stack of boxes along her far wall, then look over my shoulder at her. “Are you serious right now?”

  “I bought them,” she protests.

  “In men’s sizes?” I open the top of the box, glancing down at the two-hundred-dollar Mizunos. “Jesus, Kata. Do you know who you’re stealing from?”

  She flips her hair over one shoulder. “Matt likes me.”

  “I’m not talking about fucking pimple-popping Matt.” I grit. “I’m talking about Matt’s boss. Frankie Martello. Heard of him?”

  She shrugs. “Yeah. He’s come in before.”

  I put my palms together, pressing my fingers against my lips and try to explain this in the simplest way possible. “He’ll cut your toes off.” I step forward. “If he doesn’t rape you first.”

  “They’re shoes,” she protests.

  “It’s not about the shoes. It’s about respect—which you don’t have for me, and you sure as shit don’t have for him.” I look around the room, every surface covered with items. Forget the shoes. I think she’s been stealing from every store in Detroit. “This is what we’re doing. Bruce, stay with her and watch what she packs. She’s bringing what she brought here and nothing else. If it looks new, it’s staying. Kata, you’ve got—” I look at my watch. “An hour to pack up everything.”

  “Pack up everything for what?”

  “You’re going home. We’ll get you on a flight to JFK tonight and then on to Boryspil.”

  “No.” She shakes her head rapidly, her eyes wet, lips tightly pressed together. “Please. I give it all back.”

  One
year over here. One year and you’d think it was a lifeline.

  “I’m getting you out of here because you broke the rules, but also so you don’t get hurt.” I meet Bruce’s eyes and he nods in understanding.

  When I pass by Kata, she grabs my arms, begging me to stay, and I twist free of her grip. Stepping into the hall, I look at Eddie. “Let’s take everyone for lunch and come back in an hour.”

  * * *

  If I ever have kids, I’ll rock the hell out of class field trips. I lean against the shuttle bus and pass out Tigers tickets to the forty-two newbies as they depart. Once done, I turn to hand Eddie, Bruce, and Marcia theirs.

  “What the fuck?” Marcia complains, reading the seat number on it. “Why can’t I sit with you guys?”

  “Because your Russian is better than the guys and I’m paying you three hundred dollars to help me out.” I count out a fifteen hundred bucks in cash and hand it to Eddie. “This is for snacks. Try to keep Marcia happy.”

  “I’d be happy in your seats,” she pouts, pushing her arms into a clubhouse jacket with a fuzzy collar.

  “Yeah, me too.” I look at the girls, who mill around the bus, a chorus of Russian voices filling the air. “Just don’t lose anybody.” I glance at my watch. “I have to call Frankie about Kata. I’ll come find you guys in the fifth inning and check in.”

  As the girls pass, they lift their hands, and I high-five a dozen of them before they are gone, a cluster of color and energy. Eddie and Bruce nod at me, their faces solemn and serious, and I smile despite myself—the grin widening when I see Marcia’s glower. She sticks out her tongue at me and I match the gesture. She reaches out and affectionately pinches my arm. I look down at my phone and take a deep breath, any lightheartedness replaced with anxiety as I scroll down my address book and click on Frankie’s name.

  I’ve been in this situation before. The last time, I didn’t handle it right, making the call before I had the girl out of town. That girl got roughed up so badly, she’d had to spend three days in the hospital before she was healed enough to fly home. I keep photos of her on my phone, and show them to each batch of newbies, pairing the display with a stern warning about breaking the rules. And yet, there’s always, out of a hundred, one know-it-all bitch.

  Now, with her on a plane, it’ll be too late for Frankie to do anything. He’ll be pissed, but I’ll make sure the stolen inventory is returned tonight and will waive my fees for the next month. I’m banking on that gift, plus my exposure of the theft before he found it himself … hoping that will cushion any fallout.

  Lifting the cell phone to my ear, I lean against the shuttle bus and wait, listening to it ring. Looking up to the sky, I wonder what Marco is doing.

  * * *

  “And this James guy—your dad—he owned part of Vince Horace, Inc?” Andrei lifts a loaded hot dog to his mouth, cupping a napkin underneath it to catch the mess.

  “Yep. It went back to the company when he died, but Marco is signing it back over to me.”

  Andrei glances at me, his mouth full but his brows lifting. I wait as he chews, the giant bite washed down with a sip of beer. “Awfully nice of him.”

  “Yep.”

  He wipes at his face with a napkin. “I thought he was an asshole.”

  “Well,” I stretch out my legs, “he was in the beginning. Or…” I pull my sleeves over my hands. “In the middle.”

  The edit goes completely over Andrei’s head, who focuses on his hotdog, another bite managed before it falls apart. “Fucking bun,” he mutters through a mouthful of food.

  I say nothing, watching the big screen as the camera pans over the crowd.

  “So, what are you going to do with all your money?” He sits back, his elbow bumping me.

  “Find a better lawyer.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ve heard that before.” There is the crack of a bat and we both lean forward.

  “Foul.” I sit back. “I’m thinking about leaving Detroit.”

  “No shit.” He looks over at me. “Why?”

  I’m not ready to say it, not ready to even admit it to myself. I’d spent four days in New York. Four days with him. It wasn’t long enough to make any sort of decision. And now, back home, surrounded by everything I know—it seems like a dream. A crazy, seductive dream. Dreams aren’t real. People don’t fall in love in days. Lives don’t change overnight.

  Yet, mine did. I found my father. Inherited a fortune. Slept with a billionaire. Lost my heart.

  “Hey.” He elbows me. “What are you thinking about?”

  “Nothing.” I reach down and lift my beer, hiding my face with it as I take a sip.

  “You can’t just move,” he points out. “I mean, shit. I’ve got a stack of visa applications that are stretching into next year.”

  “I know.”

  “Plus…” he lifts his hands and gestures to the game. “You can’t abandon the Tigers to go lounge in a bikini on a beach.”

  I smile. “I’m not abandoning anyone. And I might not go. It just depends.”

  “Depends on what?”

  He’s so fucking dense. I swear, if Marcia was next to me, she’d have sniffed out my indecision and labeled the source of it within three minutes. I’ve dropped hints for four innings and all Andrei cares about is the logistics of the assets transfer.

  It’s probably for the best. I’m not ready to defend my actions yet, aren’t sure how to explain my feelings for Marco—feelings that are probably not reciprocated, at least not at my extremist level. It’s as if, with him, my heart has forgotten how to protect itself, running forward and nose-diving into him with the enthusiasm of a Golden Retriever puppy.

  I stand up and stretch. “I’m going to go up to the nosebleeds and relieve Marcia for a bit.”

  He nods, his eyes on the pitch. “Tell her to grab me a pretzel on her way down.”

  “Pure romance, between the two of you.”

  “You know it.” A strike hits and he leans forward to watch the final pitch.

  Chapter 39

  * * *

  I step over an air mattress, then another, making it across my living room in four giant steps.

  * * *

  “Miss Avery?” A quiet voice comes from behind me.

  * * *

  “Yeah?”

  * * *

  “My bed…” the girl sits up and points to the bottom of the air mattress, then makes a whooshing noise.

  * * *

  “Okay.” I open the cabinet below the sink and pull a roll of duct tape out. “Use this.” I toss it across the room, almost hitting a pink-headed girl whose name I don’t know yet. I hold up my hands in apology and she shrugs.

  * * *

  “Okay.” I let out a breath, my eyes moving over the room, which holds six girls, between the air mattresses and the sectional couch. I’ve got another three girls in each guest bedroom, plus one in mine. My phone vibrates against my butt and I reach back, pulling it out and glancing at the display. My heart skips at the New York phone number. I move through the kitchen and step into the garage, pulling the door closed behind me.

  * * *

  “Hello?”

  * * *

  “Hey.” Marco clears his throat. “It’s Marco. I’m calling from the house line.”

  * * *

  “Oh, thank God. I wasn’t sure if it was you or my other boyfriend.” Other boyfriend. Why did I say that? We aren’t in a relationship. At least I don’t think we are. I’ve dissected our awkward conversations a dozen times and have convinced myself that we’re either on the verge of getting married or new business associates who accidentally slept together, on three separate occasions.

  * * *

  “I hope it’s not too late.”

  * * *

  I flip on the lights, illuminating the stairs down to the garage, and sit on the top step. “No, it’s fine.”

  * * *

  “I saw you on TV. We had the game on in the kitchen.”

  * * *

&nb
sp; “I’m surprised you remembered where my seats were.”

  * * *

  “It’s easy to pick you out of the crowd.”

  * * *

  I smile, enjoying the thought of him looking for me. “I didn’t realize you were a baseball fan.”

  * * *

  “I’m not. I’m an Avery fan. And, to be completely honest…” he pauses. “I may have had one of the employees watch it for me and pause the video when a shot of you came up.”

  * * *

  I laugh. “Oh my God. You just crushed the romance out of that action.”

  * * *

  “But it’s much less creepy,” he points out.

  * * *

  “Yes.” I nod. “A tad bit less creepy.”

  * * *

  “I miss you.”

  * * *

  My breath catches, the confession so unexpected. “You do?”

  * * *

  “Yes.”

  * * *

  I should tell him that I miss him also, that I’ve thought of him at random times, and spent half the day wanting to text him. I don’t.

  * * *

  “And, right now … I think you should get naked.”