The smile of the groom’s father was practically audible over the phone. I could hear the cash registers of his family’s fortune ringing in his smirk, and whatever twinge I felt, a nagging sensation that felt strangely like guilt, was beat away by the quickening winds outside my Jaguar window.
A grey rain started to beat down in sheets now, probably washing away the remnants of a groomsman’s nosebleed or two. In the middle of an early March downpour, I shed the memory of my afternoon along with the entire identity of Sheldon Grady, the wedding invitee whom no one ever met… and whom no one would ever meet again.
I was back to Giovanni.
Six months before that, I was Andrew Gibson, and two months before that, I was some name I wished I didn’t fucking remember, infiltrating the inner workings of the notorious New York Gafanelli mob and almost getting myself killed in the fucking process.
Four months before that, I was Jeff DeSantos, getting paid for a job that would put me in front of a five-foot, four fireball—a seemingly innocent, but sultry secretary known as Sienna Santiago.
She was the reason I’d pulled the job I had today—a trade for a trade.
I could admit—the little typist was something special. Though it shouldn’t have been “hard” to tell… considering how hard she once made me just with the sound of her voice.
And her hips. Those eyes.
Sienna Santiago had the body of a sinner and the face of an angel—pure Hell-fire in a skirt. The first time we met, she’d tried to claw all seventy-three inches of me down to the bone. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
We’d never consummated the relationship, no… but it didn’t mean I hadn’t wanted to. I didn’t account for wanting to fuck her when I pretended to be Jeff DeSantos.
Meeting a future prospect for a job turned out to be a lucky mistake, one that professional imposters like me didn’t often get, and even now, in the back seat of my Jag, with another woman’s perfume still clinging to my clothes, I knew I still wanted her.
The worst part?
So did every powerful organization within three hundred miles. I just had to make sure I got to her before anybody else did.
In the back seat of our speeding Jag, I finally removed my wig and the colored contacts with the full knowledge that I now had sured up Townsend senior’s favor in my back pocket.
And that was more valuable than my red wig’s weight in gold.
I leaned in closer to my phone, holding back a hiss.
“Well, now that that’s taken care of…” I felt excitement tugging at my tongue. “Do you have my package?”
The elder Townsend stammered. For the first time since I’d ever spoken to him… his booming voice lost a bit of that boom. He started speaking fast.
“W-well, I… we’re handling it.”
“Handling it?”
“Yes.”
“‘Handling it’ meaning you have it, yes?”
A little less boom. “Not exactly…”
I thought I might crush the phone. “Not exactly? You mean to tell me…”
“We know where it is. We just haven’t…. retrieved it yet. You have to understand…”
I cut the floundering fucker off. Townsend or not, my clients always made good on their promises.
Or all bets were off.
“Oh, I understand completely. I understand that I should have never sent an amateur to do a pro’s job. Expect another call. Soon. And Townsend?” I paused, thinking. “You fucking owe me.”
“I know. I just…”
I cut his call off by tossing the phone out the window. Didn’t matter. I had a million others just like it. I leaned in behind Grimm. He spoke before I could get any words out.
“My turn, boss?” His voice held little excitement.
“Your turn, Grimm.” I knew he was more hyped than he portrayed. This was his forte, his personal house specialty. Grimm would deliver. Even if it killed him…
“I’ll get the package for you…” he muttered.
I reclined in my seat, letting what little liquor was left in my system soothe me. I nodded, turning on my real phone. There was a new message on it… and I knew exactly who the text was coming from. I smiled.
“I know you will.”
New sparks
SIENNA
I was done thinking about packages for the night—big and small.
I'd picked up enough to last a lifetime as I moved them out of my shitty studio apartment earlier today. And now as I was sitting in Tina's bar twelve hours later, I drunkenly decided that, like all matters in life—and dating—that maybe packages as a whole were just hit and miss. The date I waiting for must have a big one if he thought it was okay to keep me waiting. I’d used my best photo on that DateMe app.
My long auburn hair was loose and curly in it. My perky, “Smedium”-sized breasts sat high and mighty—weapons that not even the gayest of men couldn’t resist… and when Parker Daniels responded, I was only too happy to make his acquaintance. Out of all the men my friend Angie forced me to entertain, he was the funniest… and seemed the sexiest and, clearly, was the “ballsiest.”
The last guy I’d had a date with had a dick print that wasn’t even worth waiting around for. The one before that was even worse. A date I had two months ago had offered to lick between my toes, and Mr. Daniels—the mysterious, half-hidden man from his shadowy profile didn’t even have the audacity to text me to let me know that he wasn’t showing up…
I checked my watch. Again.
An entire hour late. Which was precisely the reason I didn’t gamble in the first place.
Because gamblers always lied.
I hated bluffing, despised anything that required me to twist the truth, and after four years of fighting for a Criminal Justice degree that was currently getting me nowhere, I knew that liars lay at the top of my “fucking disgusting” list.
And now the truth seemed clear: Parker Daniels was a liar, too.
I’d gambled by deciding to meet him here tonight, knowing that betting odds were never in my favor. The wager I’d just made would prove to the best decision I’d made in a long time… or a death sentence. Only time would allow me to distinguish between the two.
But the hour was late.
The drink prices on the menu were high, my red pumps were even higher, and as I sat at the bar at Tino’s with a cold, dirty martini at my fingertips, a line of sweat formed beneath my skirt, making me anxious.
Two minutes.
This guy had exactly two minutes to show, or I was fucking out of there.
I had already perused the face of every man walking through the bar. A few caught my attention. One even smiled, but they all came and went quickly, catching my eye before they joined their parties… or left out the front doors where fun could only have been waiting.
I never should have agreed to meet after-hours at my job. It was a recipe for disaster, but I needed a place that I was familiar with—a place that was crowded. I glanced at my tiny gold watch for the thirtieth time since I sat in my seat, touching my glass to the tip of my lips. Nearly draining it, I placed it back on the bar and before my first aching arch could even touch the floor, a man touched the edge of my martini stem.
I heard his voice before I even saw his face.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
The grin of the man suddenly at my side was wide. His hair stood straight on end. With the spikiness of a boy band member past his prime, its cowlick practically flicking me the middle finger, the hair of the man in front of me was the least of my drunkening worries.
His ill-fitting outfit was the finisher.
Too tight for his full-bodied frame, it was practically bursting at the seams, stretched to capacity by the pudgy person squeezed beneath it. I turned to him, uncrossing my legs. What else could I do?
I was already here.
“Parker?”
“Park here?” He flashed a toothy grin full of gaps. “Sure, I’d love to.” He laughed
at his own joke, taking the stool beside me. There was an affableness to his demeanor, and when he squeezed his body beside mine, I wanted to wipe the places his sweaty shoulder had touched.
So he wasn’t cute. I could overlook that. The man in my DateMe chat had seemed much more than that. He was a breath of fresh air. But when the overweight bastard beside me put his oversized hands on the hem of my skirt, he felt less like fresh air… and more like a harried sniff of a cesspool, and his breath smelled like a bag of “Shit-tles.” He had a third of the looks I expected and none of the flavor.
“Taste the rainbow,” my ass.
I took the last sip of my drink, practically inhaling it. The Parker Daniels I had wanted was nothing but a myth, and I was going to need all the alcohol my little liver could take.
My phone buzzed inside of my purse, and as I removed Parker’s pudgy hand from my knee, I reached for it. I nearly spit my last swallow to the floor when I saw what was on my screen.
Him.
A DateMe message notification popped up.
Parker:
There’s nothing I can say to make up for the biggest fuck-up of all time, so I’ll just use the words I already know you want to say to me. I’ll start:
1. Go fuck myself.
2. Take my excuses and shove them.
3. Eat a bag of dicks. With Mayo. (Because you know how much I fucking hate it.)
4… Never message you again…
I just want you to know that I’m doing the first two. Three ain’t ever happening, and I’d do number four…but that would be worse than eating that white shit. You call it Mayo. I call it the “Devil’s semen.”
Not talking to you is worse than eating the Devil’s semen. Have pity on me.
I looked up. The Pretend Parker that had offered me the drink was currently picking at his teeth, and I didn’t know whether to push his ass over to the side or respond to the push notification on my phone that was pulling at a feeling within me. A feeling that was eerily close to excitement. Despite the anger I’d felt ten seconds ago, I held back a small smile. I put my fingers on the keypad, pressing.
Sienna:
I’d take pity on you… if I hadn’t already found your replacement.
I glanced back at Parker #2 who was signaling unsuccessfully for the bartender, my friend Javi. Javi looked over, glanced at me and grimaced. Seems he also caught sight of the porky Parker imposter blowing his nose with a few drink napkins.
The mysterious Mr. Daniels on my phone was sounding better and better… But still. I was pissed. The tapping on my screen got louder and louder as I gave my keys the beating I would have liked to give the man who’d stood me up.
Sienna:
At least he knows better than to leave a lady waiting. For you, right now, a diet of Devil’s Semen might be too generous. Might I suggest some Arsenic to go with your bag of dicks?
Parker:
How about a rain check on the Arsenic? Not to mention the dicks.
I waited for the next message to appear while the fake, phlegmy Parker finally got Javi’s attention. He smiled at me and I flashed a fake grin, anxious to get back to my text convo. And as always, Parker Daniels said exactly what was on my mind, seemingly knowing what I was thinking next.
Parker:
Speaking of dicks, did you catch that last episode of Game of Thrones? The one with Ramsay?
I smiled, typing back.
Sienna:
Sure did. Bolton’s bastard? The guy’s one walking, talking penis. Makes Joffrey look misunderstood.
His text was quick.
Parker:
You have no fucking idea what you’re in for…
For the next five minutes, we spoke in GoT-lingo, trading banter and barbs as we debated the pros and cons of villains in the show. I tried to convince him to convert to Big Bang Theory after that and he tried to harass me into starting episode one of House of Cards.
A message popped up.
Parker:
Tell me something. We’ve been texting back and forth for more than five minutes. I’m guessing the replacement doesn’t know how to speak your language…?
Sienna:
What, Spanish?
Parker:
Netflix.
I laughed out loud, and Parker continued.
Parker:
Prick probably hasn’t even read the GoT books.
Sienna:
Thank God. The world has enough addicts. That show is worse than crack.
Parker:
Tried a lot of crack lately, have you?
He sent the message then responded.
He’ll never know the true hatred between a Lannister and a Stark.
He compared the two great houses from Game of Thrones, and I responded, barely waiting the customary two seconds.
Sienna:
No.
But he does have an advantage… He can find out these things in front of my face and not behind a screen…
I got the sense that Parker was thinking as I waited for his reply. He didn’t think too long. A DateMe notification hit my screen before it could go black.
Parker:
Ditch him, the replacement.
I was stubborn… though that’s exactly what I wanted to do.
Sienna:
Why should I?
Parker:
Because we both know you wish that I was there instead.
And if it hadn’t been for this big fuck-up currently happening here at work, I would have been.
I’m just as disappointed as you are, Sienna. More, actually. Much… much… more.
I can’t tell you how often I’ve been thinking of your beautiful face.
My heart started beating hard. My fingers suddenly felt damp, and I was fiddling with the hem of my honestly-too-short skirt. What was it about this guy? It was only a date…
But there was something—something about Parker Daniels that always made me feel as if he were sitting in the window seat to my thoughts and brain.
Dating was only supposed to be a distraction, something meant to keep my mind off of the crazy life I had left behind, but when the prospect of online chatting with Parker Daniels fell into my lap, I’d jumped in with both feet. Because Parker was more than just some random love interest like the others.
He was a mission…
Slowly he was turning himself into more than that, becoming my slight obsession. This man had the capacity to make me, Miss No Patience, wait for an hour just to see his face. His sardonic humor and scathing wit had attracted me to him, and even now, while he was standing me up, there was a part of our power struggle—our damning dynamic of tit-for-better-tat, that made it hard for me to say no…
So, I didn’t.
Sienna:
So, how do you expect us to just recover from this disaster of an almost-date?
Parker:
The way any disaster is solved…
We follow the course of nature.
Let Fate handle the rest. What’s meant to be… will be. Nothing real has to be forced. It should be as natural as breathing. If not, it’s important to get out. Get out before you start to choke.
The statement made me stop. Sometimes it felt as if my last relationship had ended that way... I shook off the feeling of freaky nostalgia at the thought of my former love, our past and my present. I thought about how that section of my life had started with a kiss on the swings at fourteen…and ended with a possible prison sentence at twenty-four.
I hesitated before typing. Instead of tapping on the screen, I turned my phone face down. Javi started placing the Parker replacement’s drinks on the bar, and when the last glass hit the table, I pressed my invisible “Panic Button,” giving the designated “bat signal” to Angie, who was waiting the tables beside the bar.
She wiped her hands on her apron, and before I knew it, she was sauntering in my direction. Just as Parker’s temporary replacement was looking at me.
With a sliver of snot below his right no
stril and a pound of grease in his hair, he rotated on his stool towards me…just as Angie knocked a deluge of drinks into his lap. A downpour of Don Julio tequila fell from his shirtfront onto the floor, and with enough alcohol on his pants to fill one of the Great Lakes, I exited stage left as Ang fumbled and fussed to clean him up, shooting me a wink.
Phone in hand, I retreated to the far end of the bar, hiding. I had just settled into the corner when another notification sprung to the screen. Parker.
Parker:
I’m waiting…
Sienna:
Waiting on what?
Parker:
You.
You’re not choking yet, are you?
The subtext to Parker’s text was obvious. And I knew then that when we saw each other, it would be so much more than a date; it would be a submission. And despite this whole debacle, I couldn’t lie to myself: In that moment, the clock nearing the midnight hour, tequila trickling through my system and my hormones higher than they’d ever been, the inner sappy part of me was ready. Ready to give myself over to someone worthy.
It had been so long…
I let that sappy part control my fingers, nervously stabbing at my cellphone with the pads of my thumbs, feeling lightheaded… and almost high.
I was barely holding onto my last bit of power when Carlos, the owner, breezed by, practically stabbing me with a sharp stare. I rolled my eyes behind his back and kept texting.
With Parker, sometimes it felt impossible not to. But nothing, not even Parker Daniels, was going to tune out the headlines on the bar’s overhead TVs. I reached for the remote, pressing the volume button as high as it would go when I saw the images on the screen.
“The mystery surrounding the bizarre disappearance of the daughter of New York Senator Robert Fletcher was partially solved Friday when the belongings and clothing of the Manhattan socialite were found floating in a South Riviera offshoot on June 3 and identified as that of Audriana Fletcher. Officials say that that recovery efforts after the disappearance of Fletcher over one year ago have been escalated due to the assassination attempt of her father, Robert Fletcher, at a New York opera house six months ago.”
And then the reports showed it… or, rather, they showed him. In a tux, looking devastating and stern as he stared through a pair of eyes I still hadn’t been able to get out of my mind.
Among the Flames (Kisses and Crimes Book 3) Page 2