Dimples. The feature served as kryptonite to my stoicism. There was more to his smile than what’s considered to be a facial muscle deformity. It was incomparable to anything I’d seen before. Without it, he seemed intimidating and brooding. With it, he appeared to be a charismatic man who had the ability to melt the most frigid person to have ever existed.
“You almost ran me over. Fuck was necessary." I glimpsed at his friend arguing with Skylar while he remained in the passenger seat. Skylar appeared on the verge of kicking the door in.
The man in front of me extended his hand up in the air, snapping his fingers loud enough to echo. It was effortless and smooth, and when he did it, he never took his eyes off me. His action quieted the man in the passenger seat right away. Nevertheless, it did not quiet Skylar. “I apologize for the accident. I was…preoccupied.”
I turned my gaze back to the gentleman in front of me, who seemed visibly pleased he’d recaptured my undivided attention. “Oh!” I slapped my hand on my forehead, finally making sense of what I didn’t understand. “He’s your partner?” I pointed to the man in the passenger seat a little too excitedly. I immediately dropped my hand, tempering my smile. “You really shouldn’t give—or I guess in your case, receive—head while you’re driving; it’s dangerous. I’m okay now, but what if you had hit a kid? How would you explain that to the police?”
“What?” His voice heightened just a little and his eyes widened. My question and his reaction created a tangible tension between us. He threw his head back, showcasing his prominent jawline, and laughed, diminishing my sudden discomfort. “That’s not what I meant.” The piercing gaze made me feel like I was the only one in the galaxy as it settled back on me. “I’m not gay. Neither is my friend. I meant I was preoccupied with staring at you.”
I dropped my chin, shaking my head. I continued to shake my head while stepping backward. In another life, I would’ve forgiven him and been the one to ask him out, but my circumstances were less than ideal for a relationship at this point. “I’m sure you’re a really nice guy, but I can’t. I’m sorry. I really have to go.” Walking to the passenger side of the car, I grabbed Skylar shortly after she’d kicked up her foot, cursed her skirt for being restrictive, hiked up her skirt, and kicked the car door.
When the passenger decided to get out of the car, we both quickened our pace to escape inside the mall. We looked less than cute while doing so thanks to our very high heels.
“Oh shit!” She clutched her heart, suddenly looking flushed. “I can’t believe I did that. Do you know whose car that was? I didn’t know until I saw him after I dented his car. Oh, he’s going sue me out of house and home. Not like it’s much, but he’ll do it just be an even bigger asshole than he already is. What do I do?”
With our arms remaining linked, we walked at a steadier pace down the corridor. She consistently slapped her hand across her forehead while muttering to herself.
“Who was that guy?” I looked behind us, reeling over the whole ordeal. “Is he a prostitute?”
She giggled. “He looks like the type, huh? No. His family is a bit of a celebrity around here. His father was some big-time racecar driver turned entrepreneur. Does the name Cari Properties mean anything to you? This mall is one of many controlled and owned by his father’s firm. The architectural firm who did this place? The guy you met owns it. Elias Cari is his name, and Elias Cari Architects is the name of the business.”
Suddenly, I felt sick to my stomach.
“Usually, girls go all gaga when they know he comes from money." She scrutinized me. "You look like I told you he was a monster who ate babies. Bad past with a beautiful and rich asshole?”
“You could say that,” I replied, unwilling to divulge the details.
The attraction was instant and would have to be abated. His father was the reason I was here, and Elias was supposed to be a tool for a particular purpose. My trepidation became stifling, making it difficult to breathe.
I’d caught Elias’s attention before I was ready to receive it. I only hoped his mild interest in me was transient.
Once we reached the store, I helped Skylar open.
La Dentelle was an exclusive boutique chain that only built brick and mortar stores in affluent areas. I had never visited a single store, having never really been one who liked pricey lingerie. As an employee, I would pretend to be the store’s greatest fan. The materials used for the garments were luxurious and not ones that could be easily thrown away after a year or two of use. From what I could see from the way they were artistically displayed on the shelves and racks, they were definitely beautiful pieces. I was told during my post-interview to wear them to work, and somehow find a way to showcase one of the bras while wearing them, but I couldn’t talk myself into paying for one of the cheapest pieces they had in stock; a bra priced at nearly eighty-dollars. They recently launched a beauty line with products equally as expensive as the lingerie.
Skylar promptly escorted me to the counter and tended to my scraped knee. I looked around the store, noting the French-provincial theme in the furnishings and decorations.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Skylar said, bandaging me up. After she was done, she scanned the store with pride. “It reminds me of when I went to Paris and stayed at this bed and breakfast place.”
“I’ve never been. How was Paris?” I asked cheerfully.
“Gorgeous. I’ve been there so many times, I’m bored with it. But you should go.” She looked in the mirror and turned around to palm her round behind. “He was right. My ass looks just as ginormous as my tits.”
“Skylar,” I groaned, disappointed that she would allow an insignificant man’s insults to affect her. “You have a body many women secretly envy and most men would ogle. He was just a jerk.”
She winked at me in the mirror. “Flirt.”
I leaned over the counter, putting my chin on my palm, watching her run her hands over the steep curves of her form.
She gasped and marched up to me. “I can see down your shirt! Why are you wearing that cheap bra and not a La Dentelle bra?”
Standing up straight, I fluttered my eyelashes and cast my guilty gaze to the white faux marble effect on the concrete floor. “I couldn’t afford it.”
She squinted at me. “I knew you were faking your love for the brand in the interview. You think what everyone else does. They think it’s an overpriced underwear store full of clown-faced bitches.”
Stunned at her acidic tirade, I gawked at her. “I didn’t mean to offend you—”
“Hanley, I’m just kidding.” She grinned broadly, easing my worry. “I thought the same thing when I first worked here, but we’re the highest paid non-department store workers in the entire mall. You’ll forget all about your modesty and show off your tits soon enough.” She examined my breasts, her attention darting to each one as though visibly weighing them. “What are you? A thirty-six between a C and a D? I can make you a double D.”
“How did you know that?” I asked, covering up my breasts with my hands to protect them from her X-ray vision.
“Eventually you’ll have an eye for it, too. I’ve seen so many women’s tits Hugh Hefner would be jealous.” She marched around the store and pulled out a golden lace brocade bustier from the wooden rack, resembling a wall unit for a walk-in closet. “Put this on underneath your button-up. Make sure it can be seen.”
“I can’t afford it.”
“You get a thirty-five percent discount.” From behind me, she grabbed my hips and pushed me along. “Go. Try it on. There’s no one in the store and there won’t be anyone for a while.”
I took the garment into one of the dressing rooms at the back of the store.
After I wrestled with removing my bra, I pulled on the bustier, having trouble with the clasps.
“Asshole!” Skylar proclaimed from outside the dressing room.
“What?” Writhing around, I struggled to close the first clasp on the bustier.
“I haven’t h
ad my coffee yet. I’m feeling super bitchy right now.”
“Yeah.”
“Bitch!” She playfully hit the door, making it shudder from the impact. “You don’t have to agree with me.”
“Whom were you calling an asshole?”
“I went to high school with both of those jerks. The private school had a lottery for kids they considered underprivileged and I got picked to attend. Elias Cari was a jerk in high school, and now, he’s a jerk as an adult. Did you see his car? Like he needed anything else to extend his penis. I know—or used to know—almost all of the girls who’ve claimed they’ve slept with him.”
“What did you do in Paris?” I asked, wanting to change the subject.
“Saw the sights. Banged a lot of Parisian men. They are such awesome lovers. I mark them right up there with Italian men. I bet I’m making you blush under that gorgeous dark skin.”
She wasn’t before, but at the present, she succeeded in making my cheeks feel a little heated.
She knocked on the door. “What’s taking so long?”
On the verge of giving up after only being able to fasten one clasp, I dropped my fatigued arms.
“Come out here. I’ll help you.”
I stared in the mirror, trying to tame my layered mid-back length black hair to look a little neater than it did before. I might’ve gone a little crazy with the flat iron, it had absolutely no body. The natural texture of my hair was pretty close to my mother’s naturally curly hair texture, just a little more coiled. I was cursed with her hairline, full of short downy hairs at the temple and corners of my forehead that only went one way; down and flat against my skin.
Looking at my makeup—a poor attempt to compliment my complexion—I thought maybe I was a little too understated for a La Dentelle employee. Skylar’s makeup was flawless; it was imperative I figure out how to improve my makeup application skills. I settled on beauty balm and black liner to accent my round-shaped brown eyes. I always downplayed my lips, thinking they were too full for brighter hued lipsticks.
I ran my hands around the outline of my square face shape and sighed.
“Hello in there.” She knocked impatiently on my door.
“Coming.” I held the cups up to my breasts and exited the dressing room. Turning around, I gave her access to the back of the garment to make it easier for her to fasten the bustier.
“The trick is to do it before you pull it up,” she told me. “If you do it at your waist, it won’t be so hard.”
“Did you take any pictures?” Images of Skylar gallivanting around Paris wormed its way into my thoughts.
“Of Paris? No. Like a dope, I always forgot my camera and the one on my cell phone is shitty. Oh, well. Memories.” She snapped the last clasp and turned me to face the full-length standing mirror situated between two sets of changing rooms.
“It’s gorgeous.” I fingered the beautiful embroidery and admired the way it cinched in my waist.
“You’ve got to do a lot more with your makeup.” She pointed to my face in the mirror. “We have to wear—at a minimum—foundation, eyeliner, blush, lip liner, lipstick, falsies, at least one eyeshadow, and eyebrow pencil,” she said all in one breath. “We have to up-sell the shitty new cosmetic line in the adjoining store.”
I nodded, knowing I wouldn’t remember to put all the products she suggested on my face, much less have all the things I needed to do it. “Understood. I need to wear more makeup.”
“You don’t need it.” The boom of a familiar man’s voice made Skylar and me freeze before managing to turn around. I’d completely forgotten I was in only a skirt and a bustier until Elias studiously scanned my pushed-up breasts.
I covered my chest with my hands and walked swiftly into the dressing room, shutting the door. A sudden and foreign sense of panic washed over me. Fanning my face with my hands, I paced the small space. Taking deep, quiet breaths, I attempted to calm my nerves. I had no idea what was wrong with me, nor did I know why the man, who was a stranger to me, seemed to elicit uncontrolled and unwanted sensations. Upon calming down, I retrieved my blouse from the ground and quickly put it back on.
Exiting the dressing room, and behaving as though Elias’s presence barely affected me, I tried to mirror the casual way in which he regarded me. Even under the unforgiving lights of the changing area, I couldn’t find very much at fault with his looks. Actually, I couldn’t find any fault in his looks. He was a gorgeous, meticulously-groomed man, and he was indubitably aware of his attractiveness.
“A gentleman would’ve never looked,” I stated, referring to the way he leered at my breasts moments before. My head remained high while I reached up to casually grip the supporting wall of the archway.
“Someone dead would’ve never looked,” he countered with a smirk.
Clearing my throat, I dropped my hands, clasping them in front of my thighs. “What are you doing here?”
Showing surprise over my question, he quirked a brow. “I do that from time to time. Visit here.”
“Oh? Are you in here because you’re looking for something for your girlfriend or your wife?”
Stepping forward, he raised his hands, and mine flew up in defense. A flash of a warning in his eyes made me reluctantly drop my hands. “Your buttons weren’t done properly.” In silence, he fixed my shirt, making sure my bra wasn’t seen from the opening at the collar. On the occasion his fingers touched my naked skin, I pressed my lips together to downplay a reaction. At the moment, my stomach was inundated with a constant fluttering sensation.
I looked down at my shirt, no longer unbuttoned in a way that would reveal the bustier worn underneath and completely covering any semblance of cleavage. “I’m supposed to advertise.”
“If I was your boyfriend, I would make you quit for that reason alone. You’re not a walking advertisement. You never should be.”
My bottom lip detached from my top, but the only noise coming forth was a squeaking stream of exhaled air. While his first sentence would’ve been easy to invalidate, I couldn’t fault him for his second and third statements. “I guess it’s a good thing you’re not my boyfriend.”
“Is it?” His dull discourse left me guessing as to whether he meant it as a joke or if he was serious. “Elias.” He gave me a bright smile—a weapon which could easily have pardoned the most heinous of crimes.
My neck burned with an irritating heat in response. “I know who you are. Skylar told me. I’m Hanley. Hanley Harper.”
“I don't think I've ever seen you before,” he stated, his words deliberate and quiet. “But there is something so familiar about you.”
“Not possible. I moved here a week ago.”
“From where?”
“Why does it matter?” A tinge of paranoia revealed itself through my question.
“Are you running from something, Hanley? Is that why you’re so secretive about where you were?”
Folding my arms, I glared at him. “You’re being very presumptuous, Mr. Cari.”
“She calls me Mr. Cari,” he muttered, glancing back at Skylar, who pretended not to listen in on our conversation while she busied herself at the cashiers’ desk. I realized I’d been staring more at Skylar than the man in front of me when his eyes began to burrow holes through me, demanding my attention.
Chewing on the corner of his luscious pink pout, he continued to regard me silently from underneath his thick, curly lashes.
I gave him a friendly smile and he smiled again, making my neck feel flushed. When I glanced at the mirror across the way above a basket of perfumed drawer sachets, I spotted slow-forming burgundy marks on my skin. Embarrassed, I discreetly attempted to cover my neck.
“It’s irritating,” he stated, his vocal inflection barely showing any variance.
“I’m sorry?”
“I can’t figure out why you're so familiar to me.” His green-hues flickered with cognizance, and for the briefest of moments, he noticed my neck. “Have dinner with me tomorrow night. Hopefully, by t
he end of the night, I can figure out why, and hopefully evoke a reaction without making you break out in hives.”
“It was something I ate,” I replied hastily, my smile fading. Remembering how easily he asked—or rather assumed I would go out with him—I couldn’t hide my shock. “You think it’s that easy? You ask me out and I fall over myself to say yes? Just…like…that?”
His shoulders widened, making his posture rigidly straight. “Why wouldn’t it be that easy?”
“Can you be any more of a cliché?” I shook my head, suppressing a laugh. Remembering what happened at the car, I decided to call him out on his behavior. “Yeah, you read as the type of guy who snaps his fingers and things magically happen as you want them to without saying a word.”
His lips twitched into a crooked smile. “Now who’s being presumptuous?”
“But you just said—”
“Said what?” He stepped forward, his posture bowing to meet my height. The cologne, which made me gleefully dizzy earlier, worked overtime at dismantling my game of downplaying my overeagerness.
"Hanley," he called, snapping me out of my daze.
I hated my new name; it wasn’t my choice. The name change was a part of starting our new life here. For the first time, the life we once led had to be quickly erased or our plan wouldn’t work. Disappearing on paper, as it turned out, was an expensive task. Suffice it to say, the way my new name rolled off his gruff, quietly commanding voice made me hate it a little less.
“I should get back to work. It’s my first day, and I don’t want to get in trouble for socializing instead of working. I’m sorry. Excuse me.” I brushed past him.
An abrupt grip on my elbow halted me. I glared from his face to his hold on me, torn between intrigue and awe at his gall. It was made perfectly clear, in the short time I’d spent with him, the man commanded everything and everyone. His subtle attempt to usher me into the pool of his loyal and obedient subjects slowly began to work. The man was intimidating to say the least. I didn’t need to know him fully to know I’d never met anyone with a presence like his. I’d have to put up quite a battle to avoid being included in the list of those who were influenced by him instead of the exception.
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