by Eve, Melody
Then she begins to brew a cup of coffee in the tiny crappy Mr. Coffee machine on the dresser. “I’ll be fine. If I get tired, I’ll…”
She’d like to say she will go home and rest, but she can’t. Her home isn’t safe, and she knows it.
“I’ll give you the keys to my apartment here in town. If you get tired, you can go there and sleep. Also, you might want to think about just staying there until we figure out who is coming into your apartment and how. Just a suggestion, of course, but this hotel is going to get expensive if you stay here.” There, that was diplomatic of me. I didn’t tell her where she’s going, and I didn’t suggest she come home with me, not to my actual home anyway, and I gave her a choice. Oh, and I didn’t tell her I own this hotel either. Diplomatic indeed.
She taps her fingers on the dresser while she thinks it over. Then she pours both packets of sugar and both creamers into her coffee and stirs. Why bother with the coffee? Just drink the creamer and sugar.
“No. I don’t want to go to your apartment,” she announces as if it’s a proclamation.
“So, you’d rather stay here? We will have to get your clothes, but I guess it’s doable if it’s what you want.”
“No, I don’t want to stay here either.” She sips her coffee leaning against the dresser crossing her ankles.
“You’re not considering going back to your apartment. I’m trying to give you your freedom here, Aria, but there’s no way I’m allowing that. No. Way.”
She looks at me over her coffee, and a sly smile spreads across her face. “I don’t want to go there either.”
If not there, then… Now I get it. She wants to come home with me. Oh halleluiah, she’s come to her senses! “You’re coming back home with me?”
She nods, and her messy bun bounces on top of her head.
I whip back the sheet, bound across the room, and lift her up off the floor in a bear hug. She squeals holding up her coffee to keep it from spilling. “My coffee!” she gasps.
“You mean your sugar and creamer? Put that crap down and get ready for work. I’ll take you for a real coffee on the way.” I give her a chaste kiss on the lips and set her back down. “Off you go, hurry and shower. I need to get to the bank before eight, too.”
She hurries into the bathroom, and I hear the shower turn on. When I’m sure she’s not coming back, I start to make phone calls. First up is my head of security to have him go to Aria’s apartment. Then I call Tandoori’s, my favorite restaurant, and arrange for them to cater lunch in my office today to surprise Aria. And last, I call my mother to tell her the good news that Aria’s coming home and have her notify Ella so she will set her a place at dinner tonight.
“Mom, she’s coming back.”
“Oh, sweetheart, that’s wonderful! Can I call you back in a few minutes?”
“Why?” She sounds distracted, and dare I say winded. “Are you at home, Mother?”
“Of course, I am. I heard you getting breakfast, but I wasn’t dressed yet.”
“Mother.”
“Yes, dear?”
“I didn’t come home last night. Why are you lying to me, and where have you been going?”
She lets out an exasperated sigh. “I’m sorry, love. I’ve been… I’ve been seeing someone, and I didn’t want to upset you with the news.”
Seeing someone? My mother? What the hell? “Seeing whom?” I growl not meaning to sound so menacing.
“You see, this is why I didn’t want to tell you. You’re angry.”
“I’m not angry that you’re seeing someone. I am angry, however, that you thought you had to lie to me about it. How serious is it?”
“I’m sorry, dear. It’s just that, well, I never thought I would love anyone again after your father, and now that I do, I still feel a bit… guilty.”
“You love him?”
“I do.”
“Who is he?”
“His name is Pierre Laurent. I met him in Paris, and he’s come to visit.”
French? I don’t like it. Not one bit. He’s probably a shark preying on my wealthy mother. Not that she isn’t gorgeous and able to get any man she wants, she truly is.
“Invite him to dinner tonight. I want to meet him. And just so you know, I’ll be doing a thorough background check on him. I have to go to work, Mother, goodbye.” I jab the end button and push my hand through my hair. I need a haircut. I’m getting shaggy on top. I make one more call to my stylist to make an appointment for later on this afternoon before Aria opens the bathroom door to let the steam pour out.
“Did you know my mother was dating a Frenchman?” I ask a little too snappy.
Her head jerks back, and she frowns. “Um, no. Wow, she has a boyfriend? That would explain why she goes out late at night and comes home before the sun is up.”
“What?”
“Yeah, bedrest is pretty boring, you know. I listened to every car that came and went round the clock.”
“And you never mentioned it to me. Why?”
She rubs the ends of her hair with a towel tipping her head to the side. “I didn’t know it was her for sure. It could have been Leeza or someone who works for you. I didn’t think it was any of my business.”
“So you’re not sure it was my mom?”
“Oh no, I’m sure. I got to learn the different sounds everyone’s car makes after a while. It was your mom’s BMW. It makes this little extra clicking noise when she starts it. Leeza’s car doesn’t do that.”
How could I, the patriarch of my family, have been missing so much? Aria knows what my mother’s car sounds like for God’s sake, and I didn’t even know she had a lover.
“Well, his name is Pierre, and we are meeting him at dinner tonight.”
“Oh, that should be nice. I’m sure he’s great, your mom has great taste and good judgment.” She picks up her pajama shorts from the floor and pulls them on followed by her shirt.
She does? Why don’t I know that? I’ve been so wrapped up in Aria to notice what’s happening with my family. No more. It’s time for me to be as observant, if not more, than my girlfriend about my family’s habits.
“Mmm,” I grumble and squeeze past her into the bathroom to shower.
“Uh oh, that ‘mmm’ sounded like you’re upset. Doesn’t your mom usually date?”
“No, she doesn’t. Or at least this is the first I’ve known about since my dad died.”
She’s quiet for a moment, choosing her words carefully. “Roman, you didn’t expect her to say single forever, did you? She’s a gorgeous woman with a lot of life left to live.”
“No, I didn’t. I did, however, expect her to tell me when she met someone. Who knows what this guy is about? He could be using her for her money. He might hurt her. She probably didn’t even do a background check on him.”
“Did you do a background check on me?”
“Yes, to find out who you were, that was different. I wasn’t looking to see if you were dangerous. I wanted to know you, but when I learned you were dating David, I didn’t want to intrude on your life.”
“Well, thanks for that. I almost wish you had.”
“No, then you would have been the cheating scoundrel, and I wouldn’t want your family to think badly of you. It was better that you figured out who David really was on your own.”
“You might be right about that. Still, I hate that he made me look like a fool.”
“No one sees it that way. It’s obvious that he is the fool for leaving you.”
“Thank you. I love you.”
“I know.”
Twenty minutes later, we are leaving the hotel on our way for coffee before work. Several employees give me a second look when I walk through the lobby arm in arm with Aria. They have been instructed not to approach me. I didn’t want Aria to be uncomfortable knowing she just happened to spend the night in a hotel I own.
We walk to her apartment first to get her clothes to wear to work. Inside, I check every room, closet, nook, and cranny before I allow
her inside. Everything looks undisturbed. I wait while she changes into a long, jewel-toned prairie skirt and a fitted turquoise tank. She accessorizes with bangle bracelets and two long, beaded necklaces.
I have to say, the one and only thing I don’t like about Aria is her sense of style if you can even call it that. Her clothing does nothing for her beautiful figure. It’s almost like she’s hiding behind all that material, but I have no idea why.
I fiddle with my father’s coin in my pocket while I wait for her to grab an orange and banana for a snack at work.
“Ready?”
“Yep, let’s go.”
“I’d like to invite you to lunch in my office today. Can you get away?”
She smiles sweetly. “Yes, I believe I can. What time?”
“Noon sharp. I have a meeting at one thirty. It’s at the bank, so I don’t have to leave, though, so we should have plenty of time together.” I open the door for her, and she steps into the hallway.
“That sounds nice, thank you.”
“I also want to tell you that I will have someone outside the bookstore and this apartment today watching out for whoever is trying to make you uncomfortable.”
She stops and turns around to face me. “Roman, I really don’t think it’s necessary. No one even knows I’m going back to work today, and I can’t imagine anyone trying to bother me there.”
I give her a this isn’t up for discussion look, and she purses her lips with irritation. “I can see arguing with you about this is a losing battle.”
“You would be correct.”
“Fine, if you want to waste your money on hiring people to watch me sell books, I can’t stop you.”
“That is precisely what I want to do.”
She throws up her arms and lets them fall slapping on her hips. “Well, okay then.”
“Thank you, now shall we go to work?” I say, offering her my elbow. She links her arm through it, and we make our way out of the building walking toward Savage Books.
The neighborhood makes an abrupt change during the several blocks we walk as we leave her dirty building behind for the shiny newness that surrounds my bank. I’m proud to say that I had something to do with upgrading the area years ago, and now other businesses are following suit.
People are hustling here and there trying to get to work, and horns are blaring their irritation with slow downtown drivers when we duck into a coffee shop for two black coffees and a scone for her. We walk the rest of the way to her store on the crowded sidewalk with my hand securely on the small of her back.
We stop at the entrance, and her face falls. “I forgot my keys in my rush to leave last night.”
“Not to worry, I have one, and Monica is probably already here.”
I fish my keys from my pocket and open the door. Monica is indeed already here, but the store doesn’t open for forty-five minutes, so she keeps the doors locked. I don’t see her, though, so I call out, “Monica, Ms. Savage and I are here.”
I watch as Aria slowly turns in a circle looking at all of the antique oak bookshelves filled to the brim with every kind of book imaginable. She looks like she’s died and gone to heaven. I think she’s even smelling the air trying to breathe in the scent of paper and ink. Her store is impressive, she worked hard to make the old two-story building look new without losing its charm and character.
It’s welcoming with its plush, comfortable chairs and couches arranged in the center of a massive pale yellow, round rug right in the middle of the main floor. She has a coffee bar in the back with four small tables that she decorates with vases of fresh cut flowers every day. Her coffee is pretty great for a bookstore, and she purchases pastries wholesale from the bakery around the corner that are to die for. I should know, I’ve sat in this store, unbeknownst to her, eating them for years.
Upstairs there are two ladders that can be pushed around the perimeter to reach books on higher shelves. She says she’s never been on one because she’s afraid of heights. For that, I am grateful. I would have a stroke if I saw her up that high. Thankfully, she had her only employee stock those shelves in the past.
I hear Monica’s shoes clicking along the concrete floor in the back room walking in our direction. “Hello! It’s so good to finally meet the boss,” the tall, beautiful brunette says. She’s stunning in her cherry red skirt and silky white button-up blouse. Monica could be a plus-size model on the cover of Vogue as well as she’s put together. She doesn’t look like a hard-up single mother at all.
“Good morning, I apologize for being gone so much longer than expected, and I thank you for keeping things in order while I was gone.”
“Oh, it’s no problem. I was thrilled to get the job. I recently moved to Chicago, and I have a baby, so this job was a blessing.” She places a hand over her heart when she says the word ‘blessing.’
“It seems we have helped each other out then. The place looks amazing, and Roman tells me sales are up.”
“They are. Would you like to go over the books before we open?”
“Sure, that would be great.”
Aria turns to kiss me on the cheek. “I’ll see you at noon sharp in your office,” she says.
“If you’re not there, I’ll hunt you down.”
“Oh, you won’t have to, the guy outside watching through the windows will surely call you if I take one step outside the building.” Her voice is laced with sarcasm and teasing.
“That’s right.”
I bid them goodbye and caught a cab to my apartment to change for work. When I’m leaving, it occurs to me Aria doesn’t know the address of my apartment if she wants to come and rest during the day. I’ll have to insist, or strongly encourage rather, that she go home after our lunch together this afternoon. Half a day is enough for her first day back.
I push my way through the big brass revolving door of the bank dressed in a dark gray Welch and Jeffries Savoy Row suit with a white twill oxford shirt with a plaid tie. I dress to impress when I’m at the bank because it’s professional, I like to, and also because it shows customers we are a high-end financial institution.
“Good morning, Mr. Forrest, welcome back. I hope your vacation was relaxing,” Chester, the doorman, says as I pass him.
“Thank you, yes it was,” I reply not stopping to chat. Chester is one of the only people I speak to on the first floor of the bank, and that’s because he has worked at Clover Bank three times as long as I have, and he deserves the respect.
“Good morning, Mr. Forrest,” Maddy, one of our newest and youngest tellers, says as I pass the teller line. She hasn’t learned yet that it’s better not to draw attention to herself. She will.
I enter the elevator at the back of the oldest and most luxurious bank in Chicago and take it to the eighth floor. Outside the elevator, Ingrid, my secretary, greets me with a curt nod even though I’ve been gone for weeks.
“Your eight thirty is early, sir. I showed him to your office and offered him coffee,” Ingrid says in her no-nonsense professional tone, just the way I like it.
“Thank you. Did Tandoori’s call to confirm lunch in my office today?”
“Yes, they did, ten minutes ago, and your mother left a message. She would like you to call her at your earliest convenience.”
I’ll bet. “All right, anything else?”
“No.”
“Good. I’d like you to call Anthony and have him do a background check on Pierre Laurent and Brandon Jamison. I want an in-depth job, everything he can possibly uncover.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hold my calls until after this meeting.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Unless it’s Aria Savage. You are to always, no matter what, put Ms. Savage through. Do you understand?”
She looks surprised which for Ingrid is a slight widening of her eyes and parted lips. She holds her emotions very close to her sleeve. Another characteristic I like about her.
“Yes, sir, Aria Savage, always put her through. Got it.”
Satisfied that I have everything under control, I enter my office and close the door to spend an hour with an oil tycoon who doesn’t trust banks.
At eleven thirty, caterers arrive and set up an extravagant table for my lunch date with Aria in my office, complete with a bottle of champagne and a bowl of white floating roses. I’m going over some of the things Anthony has found on my mother’s boyfriend when Ingrid buzzes to tell me Aria has arrived.
“Send her in.”
I close the tabs about Pierre and check for something about Brandon, but there’s nothing so far. Either the guy is squeaky clean, or he’s got so much dirt Anthony is holding off rather than sending it all at the same time. I don’t know which I’d rather he do.
The door opens, and Aria crosses the floor eating up the distance between us in seconds. “All the years you had someone watching me, I never felt watched, but today, in my store, it was like someone’s eyes were on me, and I don’t mean your goon outside the bookstore.” She sits in my lap and wraps her arms around my neck nuzzling in as if to hide.
“Did anyone out of the ordinary approach you at the store?”
“No. It’s just a feeling. I’m probably nuts but…”
“But what?”
“She pulls back and opens her purse. “I debated on whether or not to show you this. I found it in a book on my desk. It’s was a coffee table book I had set aside to buy before my honeymoon. It’s been there the whole time we were gone.”
She slides out a photograph of me walking down Michigan Avenue holding hands with a very pregnant Millie.
“Where the hell did this come from?” I snatch the photo and turn it over. Our full names and the date the picture was taken are written on the back in Millie’s handwriting. “This is my photo from my house. How did someone get this?”
“I don’t know, I don’t like it. Do you think we should contact the police?”
“Maybe. Someone’s been in my house. This is out of a photo album in the family room.”
I reach around her and pick up my phone. I dial my mother, and she answers on the first ring like she’s been sitting on her phone waiting for me to call. “Oh, Roman, I’m so glad you called me back. Please, can we talk…”