by S. L. Scott
“Singer.”
I want to see her again. It’s only been a few hours but it feels like days since I’ve seen the sun, a year since I felt her heat.
Why did I allow myself to be distracted? Dariya didn’t drag me inside to watch the game. Keith wasn’t concerned about a possible scandal.
The whole setup makes me sick, but knowing I fell for it, makes me regret so much more.
I pour more bourbon and sit at a table that seats twelve, but has only ever hosted one. Maybe I should go out, find some entertainment for a few hours, bury myself deep in a different kind of regret. It gets lonely, and pretending I’m not isn’t easy.
Picking up my phone, I press Aaron’s number. He answers after one ring. “Good evening, sir.”
“Did Ms. Davis make it home safely?”
“She did. I’m just leaving her street now.”
As curious as I am to what she’s been up to since I left, I don’t ask. I didn’t send Aaron as a spy, but I’m weak and ask, “Is she in for the night?”
“She said she was, something about a movie to watch. She told me to go home. Can I take you somewhere, sir?”
“No.” My answer comes too quick, considering I want to say yes. I need relief. Want a distraction. “Go home. We’ll speak tomorrow.”
“Six?”
“Yes.”
“Have a good night, sir.”
“Stop calling me that, Aaron. You know I’m fine with Ethan.”
“Sorry. Habit.”
“Break it,” I reply, but still respect his integrity.
He laughs. “Good night.”
“Good night.”
I take one more shot of courage and get up from the table. I’m tired of this. It’s bullshit, and I’m over having to sit alone every night.
With a text from Matthews calling me back out, I decide to go.
After showering, I get dressed and leave. As soon as I get in the cab I’m tempted to tell the driver to take me to Singer’s, but Reegan’s warning replays in my mind. Until this case is settled, Singer’s red lips are off limits. Keep it casual. The paparazzi can twist the simplest photos into something seedier, but not if I don’t give them anything to run with. I’ve been lucky they haven’t tracked Singer and me so far. The pub in the afternoon and the game. Both were cleared before I arrived. I was told to keep it friendly.
Singer Davis makes that an almost impossible task.
But after six months of sainthood, the stalker media is finally losing interest in my personal life. I need to be careful not to feed the beast.
I entered through a private back entrance, making my way through the club to the VIP area, where no cameras are allowed. Just past eleven, a woman’s hand is on my thigh—red nails that come to a dull point—rubbing over my jeans. Her ample but hard tits are pushed against my bicep, her lips at my ear. I don’t think I’ve heard anything but maybe every third or fourth word.
This place is loud, and my mind is stuck on a walkup twenty minutes south of here. Matthews has his hand up the skirt of a redhead he met less than an hour ago. He’ll be leaving with her soon, leaving her friend attached to me. He always opens his big mouth to brag about the company when all I want to do is forget about work for a while. So I’m not really falling for her advances, they come with a price tag I’m not willing to pay.
She whispers, “Maybe we should go to your place?”
My place? It’s my safe haven. “No.” I stand and reach for my wallet. All three of them watch me. I avoid her eyes because I don’t want to see the need in them. They’ll conjure my own needs and then I’ll be stuck in that regret from earlier, trying to politely get her to leave the penthouse.
Matthews knows when I’m not into someone or something. He’s learned my telltale signs. Earlier, I left to save Singer the trouble. Now I’m leaving to save myself. He says, “I’ve got it.”
“Thanks.” I tell them and walk away before I’m shamed for bailing on her.
Outside, I get a cab fairly fast, considering the busy night. The address rolls off my tongue. Not a true slip, but one with motive behind hit.
I’m a foolish fucker for doing this, but courage has kicked in, so I sit back and think about how I’m going to explain why I’m there when I see her. Twenty minutes. I have twenty minutes to figure my shit out.
Any other day or night in the city and I’d be sitting in traffic. Not tonight. Destiny has cleared the path like a runway for this taxi to takeoff, and we make it to her place in record time.
Standing outside Singer’s building, I scope out the surroundings and her building in the middle of the street, and then shake my head. What the fuck am I doing here? I pace, checking the time and try to talk myself out of doing what I know I’m going to do.
“Got a spare ten?”
My eyes are drawn to a homeless man who has his stuff neatly piled around him. He doesn’t look too scruffy, though I’m not one to question him. I reach into my pocket and pull out a twenty. Handing it to him, I say, “What’s your name?”
“My friends call me Frank.”
“What can I call you?”
“You just gave me a twenty when I was gouging you by asking you for a ten. You can call me Frank.”
Kneeling down, I chuckle. “I thought twenty might be the going rate, Frank.”
“Don’t get conned, mister. Most of the guys down at the shelter admit they’d be happy with a dollar.”
“A dollar’s not gonna buy much these days.”
“It’s enough to get something to eat, something small, or a coffee at the corner to warm the insides.”
I reach out and introduce myself, “I’m Ethan. Good to meet you.”
“Good to meet you,” he says, shaking my hand. “Who are you here to see?”
“How do you know I don’t live here?”
“The doubt that keeps you walking back and forth out here instead of going in there. The debate you have going on in your head, most likely concerning the time, or the girl—”
“Hey hey, Frank. Ease up there. I thought we were friends.”
He leans his head against the brick and laughs. “We are, but I know the look of questionable intentions when I see them, and you have them written all over your face.”
“My intentions are not questionable.”
“What are your intentions then?”
Taking a minute to think about it, I start to wonder if my intentions are questionable when they concern Singer. I stand up and sigh. Running a hand through my hair, I reply, “I don’t know. She has me all messed up.”
Laughter echoes from deep within him, and then he says, “That sounds like a woman you should marry.”
“What?” I’m shaking my head. “No. I don’t know her well enough for that.”
“I’m telling you. Save yourself the disaster that lies ahead and marry her. Skip the pacing and just go forth, young Ethan.”
He makes me laugh again. “You might have a valid point, but how about I get to know her first?”
“That’s a good idea, too, but you should do it before some other guy marries her while you’re busy getting to know her.” He taps his wrist though he’s not wearing a watch. “Best get to it. It’s getting late.”
I step toward the building buzzer, but pause with my finger hovering above it. “Hey Frank, do you think it’s too late to knock on a woman’s door who you’re interested in, but haven’t told her yet?”
He looks far off into the sky. “It’s almost midnight. Might come off like a booty call. You don’t want that for the girl you’re going to marry.”
“Stop saying that.” He shrugs, and I add, “Yeah, I don’t want her to think I’m just stopping by for . . . well, you know.”
“I know.” He points at the corner. “If you’re needing a ride home, you can catch a cab down there a lot easier than this street.”
“Why’d you pick here to make camp?”
“Quiet and safe, I reckon.” Shrugging again, he says, “Anyway, I
look out for the tenants when I’m around. They’re some of the nicest I’ve met.”
“They’re lucky to have you.” Reaching into my pocket, I pull out another bill. It happens to be a fifty. I hand it to him and he graciously accepts. “You looking for work?”
“Always.”
“I’ll ask around tomorrow.”
“I’m a people person, so don’t be shoving me in some old basement to sort mail.”
Laughing, I reply, “Duly noted.”
“So you want me to tell Miss Singer you stopped by?”
Taken by surprise, I ask, “How’d you know I was here to see her?”
“I didn’t, but figured. She’s the only single tenant in the building who’s not dating anyone other than crotchety Mrs. Kelso, and Kirby, the landlord.”
“The power of deduction.”
“You have good taste. She’s a lovely woman.” It doesn’t surprise me that he knows Singer well enough to say that. No doubt she won his heart by simply being her.
“Yes, she is,” I reply. Looking up at the building once more, I sigh. “Guess I should get going. Have a good night and a good meal, Frank. Nice chatting.”
“You too, Ethan. Next time I want to see you in the daylight.”
Laughing while walking away, I reply, “Okay.”
I may not have accomplished what I came here to do, but the trip wasn’t a loss. In fact, I consider it a win. I met another person completely under Singer’s thrall, and somehow, that makes me feel a little better. Her friends are loyal and love her dearly. I may not ever get to have her, but she’ll never lack for people to adore her. As she deserves. As she’ll always deserve.
12
Singer
7:38 a.m.
Late.
I’m going to be late.
The only positive I can find on this dreary Friday is I have Aaron waiting to drive me to work. We’ll make up some time since I don’t have to run four blocks to the station, but only if traffic is flowing. And if I find this damn shoe. Either way, if a miracle doesn’t happen, I’ll be late.
I find the shoe under a pile of dirty clothes and hold it up like I’m celebrating a World Series win. Baseball seems to be on my mind more than ever. Ethan’s rubbing off on me when I really wish he were rubbing on me. My mind goes to the gutter a lot faster the more time I spend with him as well.
Girlfriend.
Days later, just thinking about when he called me his girlfriend does things to me. He tried to cover, but I see through him. It made me feel closer to him, protected in some caveman way I shouldn’t admit to other women. I’m strong all the time. It would be nice to find someone to carry some of the burden sometimes.
7:42 a.m.
Shoot.
I’m definitely going to be late.
I quickstep to the kitchen and slip my bag onto my shoulder. I grab the two coffee cups and head out. Skipping down the steps and out the front of the building, Aaron is standing there with a smile on his face. “Good morning, Singer.”
“Good morning, Aaron.” I hand him the cup. “I thought you might like a cup of coffee.”
His strict stance is shaken as he takes the travel mug in hand. “You brought me coffee?”
“It’s not the fancy Starbucks kind, but I think I make a decent cup.”
“I’m sure it’s more than decent. Thank you.”
I find immense pleasure that I could crack his staunch façade. Now we can be real friends. “You’re welcome.”
I reach for the car handle, but Aaron says, “Someone would like to speak with you,” and signals behind me.
When I turn, Frank is leaning against the lower brick of the building. Some mornings he’s not here, but it’s always good to see him when I do. He has a heart of gold and has been around for as long as I have. With a keen knowledge of the area, our building, and the tenants inside, he’s fun to chat with.
Despite the condition of his life, he remains positive and respectful. I’ve never felt unsafe around him. He’s our personal neighborhood watch. I really wish I could do more than I do for him. With finances being tight, I give what I can but sometimes that’s only a dollar or two. He’s always grateful, though I suspect that sometimes he gives the money to other people more in need than he is. It wouldn’t surprise me. “Good morning, Frank.”
“Morning. I came by to let you know that a man was here to see you last night.”
“Really? Who?”
“Ethan.”
“Ethan?” I ask, shocked to hear this.
The smile on Frank’s face grows as if he has the secrets I want, which I do. “That’s the one.”
“What did he say? Did he say why he was here?”
“He stood at this very spot looking at the building and mumbling to himself. Lots of pacing, his steps matching his thoughts, I suppose.”
Aaron is laughing behind me, so I shoot him a glance, and silently ask why Ethan was here.
Frank adds, “He introduced himself and shook my hand.”
That sounds like Ethan. He looks both ways down the sidewalk before lowering his voice and saying, “A little warning though. You should look out for him. This city’s going to take advantage of him if he’s not careful.”
Now I laugh. If there’s anything I’ve learned about Ethan Everest, it’s that he knows how to take care of himself. “Duly noted.”
“I had a good meal last night because of him. I’ll have a better one today.”
As much as I love to hear that Frank’s getting good meals, my mind is still stuck on the fact that Ethan was here. “When?”
“Breakfast and lunch. I might even squeeze in brunch.”
“No, I mean, when did he stop by?” I glance back to Aaron who shakes his head no. So he came by cab. “What time?”
“Around midnight. I told him that you deserved better than a booty call.”
My eyes go wide. “He came here for a booty call?”
Aaron clears his throat and interrupts, “We should get going, Singer. You’re already going to be late.”
“Okay.” Turning back to Frank, I say, “Thanks for letting me know.”
I hand him my coffee, but I wish I could help him get a home. “I’d like you to have this.”
His expression softens as he takes the turquoise coffee cup. “Thank you, Miss Singer.”
“Thanks again and have a nice day.”
He holds the cup up and returns to his belongings. The car door is opened and I slip inside. As soon as I’m settled inside, Aaron rushes back inside, and says, “I’ll try to make up some time. Would you like this coffee?”
“No,” I reply, shaking my head. “I made that for you.” I stare out the window, still in shock to learn that not only was Ethan here last night, but he was here on a booty call. That man is going to drive me nuts with curiosity. Why would he come to see me for a booty call when he says we can’t date? He makes no sense at all. Leaning forward, I ask, “Did you know about Ethan coming here last night?”
“No.”
“What do you think he wanted?” A million things run through my head. His gaze reflects in the mirror and I know he wants to say what I struggle to believe. “You really think he came here on a booty call?”
“Mr. Everest has never been the booty-call type.”
“But?”
“No but.”
“But I feel like you have thoughts on the matter. Care to share?”
“I do think it’s odd he traveled here just to turn around and go home.” Especially at midnight. Was he already out? Had he not gone home and worked like he said he would?
Flopping back on the seat, I find it odd, too. “Please tell me what to think before I drive myself mad, overanalyzing this all day.”
He steals a glance in the rearview mirror before returning his eyes to the road. “I wouldn’t assume the worst. Mr. Everest tends to surprise people.”
“Well, I’m surprised all right. That’s for sure.”
I think Aaron is intuitiv
e. He knows when to drop a subject and he does though I’m sure he could defend Ethan until the end. It’s probably best if I follow his lead and not overthink the late-night visit.
I’m twenty-five minutes late when I walk past reception. Chip is sitting at my desk, rummaging through my personal effects. “Sorry, I’m late. Traffi—”
His hand goes straight up to stop me from talking as he turns toward me. “No need. I have a favor to ask.” Oh great. I take the bag from my shoulder and set it on the ground as he stands up. Eyeing my desk to make sure he’s not found any incriminating evidence that would get me fired—receipts from sneaking out to the café for an afternoon cupcake, phone bills showing I talked to Mel during work hours, my candy drawer. Before I have a chance to speak, he says, “I need you to accompany me to a dinner tonight.”
“What?” I look around hoping not to get any attention from my coworkers. Or him for that matter.
“I know this seems potentially out of line—”
“Potentially?” I whisper, cocking an eyebrow up.
“Okay, a lot out of line, but so is being late, and if I’m not mistaken, this tardiness might be your third, which means a written warning.”
My jaw hits the floor. “You’re blackmailing me?”
“I can’t show up alone,” he whispers. “My ex will be there.”
“Then why are you going?”
“My ex is a client.”
My head jolts into a double take. “You were dating a client?” My lips contort from pursed to cat who ate the canary.
“Yeah, keep it down.”
The tides have shifted . . . “That’s against company policy, Chip,” I tease.
“This is why we can call it even.”
“Blackmailing is against the law, you know. So I really think I’m in the power position right now.”
He huffs, but I see the smile trying to peek through. “You are. What do you want?”
“What time’s dinner?”
“Seven.”
“I’ll never make it home and out again with enough time to change.” I pull the front of my cardigan out. “I’m thinking this isn’t the right attire for dinner?”