by Lily Zante
What have I let myself in for? I can’t even begin to think of a way to talk myself out of this. “She didn’t tell you?” I say, as calmly as I can. Why would the boxer’s sister keep this a secret. It wasn’t going to reflect badly on her.
Cardoza gives me a look that could split my head in two.
I cough lightly. “She ... she came to my rescue.”
“Say what?” Harper exclaims.
“She came to your rescue? Nina?” Cardoza’s voice is protective and rough.
“I was out a few nights ago and some guys jumped me. We got into a fight and your sister heard the noise and...”
“Jesus Christ,” the boxer wipes the sweat off his face with the back of his hand. “She was in the alleyway, walking into a fight? What time was this?”
“About eleven o’clock.”
Cardoza winces as if he’s in pain. “Why’s she fucking walking around the streets at that time of night?” he asks his girlfriend.
“She might have been walking to the bus stop.”
“She doesn’t need to get a bus that late. Why didn’t she jump in a cab? Why’s she still doing those late shifts?” Sounds to me as if Cardoza’s angry with himself. “Did she get hurt?”
“Did she look hurt to you?” I can’t help but retort, then I remember that I’m supposed to be appealing to her brother’s better nature. “I threw my wallet at the guys and they ran off.”
“Oh, Jesus.” Cardoza looks as if he could punch a hole through a wall. “Why didn’t you give them your wallet in the first place?” he asks quietly.
I press my lips together because I don’t want to get into the details of that night. This boxer dude looks so mad that even if I told him the truth, I don’t think he would care.
Cardoza shakes his head and points his finger at me. “Never ever, ever get into a fight if you’re being mugged. Give in. Give them what they want. Who the hell did you think you were?”
My silence hangs in the air as uncomfortable as if Cardoza had grabbed me by the balls.
“Eli! That’s not fair.” Harper seems to be my fangirl and I feel lucky that she’s on my side.
“The police came, and the guys ran off, and your sister came with me to the hospital.”
“She did what?” Harper cries. “She hasn’t said a word of this to us.” She looks at Elias. “Why didn’t she tell us?”
I wonder the same thing.
Cardoza shrugs. “I’ll be damned if I know. Wait until I see her. You were lucky the police came,” he points to me. “Because if she’d been hurt...”
“Eli, it’s not his fault.”
I’m about to echo the same thing. Yeah, dude, it’s not my fault, but I decide to stay silent.
But I’m curious about his sister and why she didn’t tell Elias and his girlfriend of all people. It shocks me to the core, and I don’t understand it at all. I’ve been around people who try to take, take, take and this woman whom I hardly know not only comes to my aid, she then keeps quiet about it.
It’s bizarre.
“I gotta get back,” says Cardoza suddenly.
“Already?” his girlfriend asks. I detect a slight annoyance on the boxer’s face. Looks to me as if the girlfriend, this Harper, is the only ally I have.
“I have a fight to train for,” he mumbles, and I’m so transfixed staring at his frame, at the muscles rippling all over his body, that it’s only when he walks away that I realize I forgot to ask him for his time.
“I was hoping to ask him if we could meet for an hour or so sometime. I know he’s a busy guy, training for a rematch, and it’s the last thing he wants, some actor guy stalking him.”
This gets a laugh from her. “I stalked him before. I was sent to the gym to do a story on him, and I had to shadow him for a few weeks, maybe a month or something. He didn’t like it. Don’t take it personally.”
“Thanks for the advice.”
“You just want to talk to him?”
“I want to find out what’s in his head.”
She winces. “I’m not sure you’d want to know.”
Emboldened, I say, “I want to know what he’s thinking when he sees Garrison walking towards him, at the weigh-in, and then again when they meet for the first time in the ring. I want to know what goes through his hand when he hits the guy. I’ve trained and all, but I’m no fighter. I actually hate the idea of violence.”
“How odd for you to go for this role.”
“It’s a change from my usual.”
She nods in understanding. “I’m sure we can work something out.”
This makes my insides sing. I might have time to spend with Elias Cardoza, the heavyweight champion of the world. “I’d appreciate it.”
“Are those injuries really from that night?”
The way she says it makes it sound as if I got a good beating. “It’s not so bad,” I tell her, raising a hand to my face. The director is still so mad at me he can barely bring himself to talk to me.
“She’s a feisty one, Nina, getting involved and coming to your help,” Harper says. “Lucky girl.”
I smile. I think I just caught Elias’s girlfriend say something without meaning to.
“I mean, I expect she asked for your autograph or something,” she ventures.
“She didn’t want a thing.”
“Right,” she says, nodding to herself. “That’s more like her.”
It reminds me, I still have no idea how to get in touch with her. I should at least thank her, I suppose, though if Cardoza had been friendlier, I wouldn’t have need to make the extra effort. “Where can I find her?”
“She works at Frankie’s Kitchen. It’s a diner not far from here.” She proceeds to give me the directions. “She’ll be there now, if you go.”
Looks like I have no choice. “Thanks.”
“Nice meeting you.”
I’m so lucky that his girlfriend likes me. If Cardoza gives me some of his time, I’ll make sure they get tickets to the film premiere and get VIP access to the after party.
Chapter Seven
NINA
* * *
I’m waiting on tables when I hear the commotion. When I turn my head, I see that actor guy sitting at one of the tables. He’s surrounded by a group of giggling young girls, having their photos taken with him. He’s signing autographs too and judging by that super smug look on his face, he’s loving every single moment of it.
He catches me looking at him, and waves.
I instantly dive back into the kitchen. I sense he wants to talk to me. I don’t want to talk to him. He’s so full of himself.
Frankie fixes me with a stern gaze. “Who are you hiding from this time?”
“Who? Me?” I look up at her, as I pin another few orders on the board. “No one.”
“Ummm hmm.” She folds her arm and sets down the crossword puzzle she’d been doing. “Then shouldn’t you get back in there?” she tells me. “It’s starting to fill up again.”
I look out. She’s right, but I suspect it’s become busy so quickly because word must have spread quite quickly that the big-headed actor guy is here.
Luckily, I’ve managed to avoid waiting on him, and Joni ends up taking his order. It will probably be the highlight of her day. A quick glance in his direction and I see him surrounded by a group of pretty young things who are huddled around him taking selfies. I turn my back to him and continue waiting on other tables.
“He’s so gorgeous!” Joni whispers in my ear as I pin another order on the board. “I could sit across the table from him and stare at him all day long.”
“He’d love that, I’m sure,” I mutter under my breath.
“Hey,” he pulls at my apron as I walk past. I turn around, because nobody does that. Nobody has ever done that to me in all the years I’ve worked here and I’d like to know what makes this guy think he can. I cock my head, and shoot him a stern stare. Matronly, is the effect I’m going for, but I don’t have that kind of air about me.
“I’m serving someone else,” I tell him, not giving him a chance to finish his sentence, “and you already have someone waiting on you.”
“You’ve got your hair up,” he comments.
“Food hygiene dictates it. I’ll get your server.”
“Can’t you take my order. I just want to order another milkshake. This place does great milkshakes. Their Key Lime Pie looks good. Do you recommend it?”
“I’ll get your server for you,” I say, turning to go.
“Why are you avoiding me?” he asks, lowering his voice. I’m not the kind of woman who bats her eyelashes at anyone, and least of all him. I suspect he’s not used to this level of indifference. I look around and see a table of tourists ogling him. They’re already taking photos of him, without his consent.
“Doesn’t that bother you?” I ask him, genuinely shocked.
He looks at them. “Nothing I can do about it. I should have come in disguise.”
I remember the beard hanging off his face on the night he got robbed. “You should have.”
Joni comes rushing over. I’m surprised she didn’t come sooner, because she’s territorial and obviously this is new for her, to have someone be interested in her for a change, instead of me. “Is there anything else I can get you?” she asks, her voice soft and sweet.
“Just the bill, thanks.”
“Coming right up.”
“I believe the gentleman also wanted another milkshake and a slice of Key Lime Pie.”
“To go, please.” He smirks at me.
Joni gives him a huge smile before leaving. She’ll also be expecting a huge Hollywood-sized tip.
“Nice milkshakes you do here.”
“Frankie’s is known for them.”
“Nice food.”
“You should tell Frankie.”
“I’m telling you,” he says.
“Well,” I turn to go.
“Don’t go. Please.” Is that a hint of pleading in his voice. Surprised, I stop and listen. “What is it you want?”
“You saved my life the other day.”
“So you admit to it now, because you didn’t admit to it so easily at the hospital.”
“I wasn’t thinking straight. You came to my aid. I’m grateful to you for that.”
“I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” But I wonder why he feels the need to bring this up now. I haven’t told anyone anything about that night, and his secret is safe with me. “Is that why you’re here?”
“I wanted to thank you.”
That doesn’t quite ring true. I scoff.
“What’s so funny?” he asks.
“You, pretending you came here to thank me. You could have thanked me the night you got beaten up—”
“Shhhh,” he says, putting a finger to his lips and looking around. And that tells me everything I need to know about him.
“So, what is it? The real reason you’re here?” I nod, waiting for it. The thing he really wants. The real reason as to why he came. He didn’t come here for Frankie’s famous milkshakes either. I may not be very man-savvy but I know people usually want something when they appear out of the blue for no reason.
He laughs. “There’s no reason. I genuinely wanted to thank you, and I’m curious to know why you didn’t tell anyone.”
I shrug. “Because I can keep a secret.”
“But you didn’t have to do that for me.”
“I didn’t.”
“So why did you?” he asks. It says a lot for his industry, and his life, if he thinks that me withholding what happened that night is such a big deal.
“I figured you had your reasons. You had your reputation to worry about, and with your friend trying to pay me off, it wasn’t hard for me to understand.”
His face and body are pure hunk and yet his eyes are dark, and wise and ageless. I feel as if he’s appraising me. Trying to work me out. His expression isn’t so much brawn, as something altogether deeper. Strange how I would have missed it if I’d walked past him. He’s not the type of guy I would notice let alone whose picture I would drool over, but talking to him makes me a little self-conscious. This isn’t like me.
“You’re different to everyone I know,” he says.
“That doesn’t say much for the people you know.” He’s so cheesy. A man with that face and that body doesn’t need to use such lines. In any case, he’s wasting his time trying them out on me.
“You didn’t even tell your brother or his girlfriend.”
I blink, then blink again. “How do you know about my brother?” But I already know the answer to that as I ask the question. I realize then that this is the reason he’s found me.
“I met them at the gym. How do you think I found out where you work?”
“You went to the gym?”
He nods. “I wanted to thank you.”
I remember what Elias said about this guy wanting to spend time with him. “It’s unforgiveable that you told my brother.” The other reason I didn’t mention it to them was because Elias would have scolded me.
“Sorry,” the actor says. “I didn’t know that your brother didn’t know.”
“He’s going to be so mad at me.”
“He was mad at me,” Callum says.
“I fully understand that.” Right now, I’m mad at him. Elias and Harper are going to interrogate me when I next see them.
He raises an eyebrow. “You’re nothing like how I thought you’d be.”
“You’re exactly like how I thought you’d be.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad—”
But Joni returns and looks as me as if I’m stealing her customer, so I shake my head as I walk away.
Callum Sandersby told me exactly who he is just now. People always want something. No one does something for nothing. If he wanted to thank me, he could have sent his assistant the day after, instead of waiting three days before showing up.
Chapter Eight
CALLUM
* * *
Well, this is a first. This woman hates me. She deliberately ignored me when I walked into the diner, and even when I waved at her, and she could see who I was, she didn’t come over. I ended up having another waitress waiting on me.
Later I pulled Cardoza’s sister’s apron as she walked past, but she didn’t like that either.
I’m beginning to hate Chicago. First I get mugged, then the city’s golden boy looks at me as if I’m his opponent in the ring. Then his sister acts as if she’s had a vaccine against my charm.
I leave a huge tip for the waitress who served me. “Thank you!” she squawks, seeing the huge tip I’ve given her.
“You’re welcome.” I reach for my jacket and survey the door.
“Do you need to leave from the back entrance?”
I turn around and stare at the waitress. “The back entrance?”
“To avoid the crowds.”
I laugh. “That’s not necessary.” I’ve called an Uber.
“But won’t you get mobbed by fans?”
“I won’t get mobbed,” I assure her. There are people here, and I’ve been recognized. A few have had their selfies taken with me, but it hardly constitutes a mob. “I try to maintain a low profile.”
“That’s not possible. You’re Callum Sandersby!”
I slip on my jacket. “Believe me, it’s possible.”
“Any chance I can get a photo with you?”
“Uh, sure.”
She whips out her cellphone, primps her hair, and pouts as she comes to my side, then she raises her cell in the air and snaps away. She looks at her photos, as I survey the door, checking to see if my Uber has arrived.
“Oh no!” she whines. “I had my eyes closed. Can we take another one?”
I stifle my breath of exasperation, smile sweetly and oblige. We go through the same rigmarole.
“Have you worked here long?” I ask, as she looks through her phone.
“Too long.�
� She smiles. “The photos are great. Thanks”.
“Say, what’s with your friend?”
“Elias’s sister?”
Interesting choice of words. “Yeah.”
“Don’t worry about her. She’s stuck-up. She thinks she’s too good for everyone.” I wasn’t expecting this woman to talk of her colleague in those terms. But I’m curious. “She’s not as friendly as you,” I tell her and give her one of my best pantie-melting smiles. Her eyes widen and she flashes me a smile. “I have a boyfriend,” she says, probably without thinking, because she suddenly looks embarrassed. “I don’t know why I said that.”
I laugh and dismiss it. People sometimes say the stupidest things to me and I have no idea why. “You were saying about your friend?” My curiosity gets the better of me.
“Nina’s never friendly. She gets a lot of attention just because she’s Elias’s sister. It’s gone to her head.”
“Gone to her head?” Somehow, I find this hard to believe. If she had told everyone the truth about how she met me, I might have been more inclined to agree, but Cardoza’s sister remained silent when it wasn’t in her best interests to do so. I can’t believe she did it for me, because most people aren’t wired like that—doing things for the benefit of others. I’m already intrigued by her and I didn’t expect to be.
“A lot of guys hit on her. She’s never interested.”
“No?”
“She’s only getting that attention because of Eli.”
I glance over the waitress’s shoulder and see Nina going about her business. Unlike almost everyone else in this diner, she’s not even remotely interested in my presence. Not once does she look my way.
“You probably have that effect on most women, huh?” The selfie-taking waitress refuses to budge.
“You think so?” I lean towards her an inch and give her one of my I-dig-you-looks. Acting has so many advantages.
She exhales and seems unable to say anything back.
“Shame your friend isn’t as nice as you,” I add.
“Her loss.”
I nod. “Thank you for the service.”
“Anytime.”
It takes me a while to get out of the door because in the few yards between where I am and the door, a whole heap of people want to take pictures with me, or get me to sign their T-shirts, their hands, their arms.