“When she turns up, without my money, you’re going to fuck her in front of me.” He blanches as I stare past him out to the skyline and keep spinning my cubes. “The entertainment while I eat can help me decide.”
“Decide what?”
I twist the seat to aim myself back at him, taking another sip as I watch the crease in his brow turn to a scowl of annoyance. “Whether you put a bullet in her after.”
“Boss?”
“That, or we can roll these dice now. Have her pick a number when she gets here.” I flick one of them at him and watch his hands grab wildly at it before it lands, presumably hoping to delay fate. I just chuckle in response, smiling at his cacophony. That’s why marriage isn’t a beneficial concept to my world. It confuses, makes decisions harder than they need to be. “Your choice, Shifty.”
That’s it. He knows the score. He’s been inside Cane business long enough, and approaching this topic wasn’t best served with a debt looming to cloud my judgement on fucking renditions of love. Shame of it is, I probably would have let him. He’s been good up until now. Dependable, no nonsense. I would have assumed he’d pick a useful whore to bed down with, though. One who would have been loyal to our world. He’s as good a sidearm as I’ve had before. Unfortunately for him, he’s picked a cunt, one who’s coming without my money in her bag.
He paces about as I hear the waiter place my entrée on the table behind me, the smell of lemon sole diminishing the taste of nuts. So I turn and grab a napkin, indifferent to his turmoil. Whatever the fuck he chooses is fine by me. I’ve already legalised my casino today, and cleaned up my laundering racket. One hundred K has become marginally irrelevant, other than the principle that needs shoving down throats. Maybe I’ll fuck her first, work it out of myself that way, presuming she’s clean. He’s always had good taste.
Chapter Six
Friday drags.
Jenny displays either nerves or excitement all morning, and it’s a distraction. I want to get through the day and get to the date part.
Over the week I’ve built this up into something much bigger than it will likely be. It’s just a date. A first date that could lead nowhere and be hideous. That is the only thing keeping my rational feet on the ground. I can’t stop the whimsical fantasies from fluttering about in my mind if I let them, though.
“Don’t forget, dress up. Don’t wear something that hides you. And introduce yourself as Jenny.” She hands me a cup of tea half an hour before I get to escape home and get ready.
“I won’t. Don’t worry. I don’t see the problem, anyway.”
“Trust me.”
“And where will you be? I mean it—if the guy’s gross or a loser, I’m bailing. I don’t care if he writes you a snotty review on your dating app. If the guy you’re seeing tonight is so great, you might not need to go back to blind dates.”
“Let’s not get too hasty, Emily.” Although I don’t miss the secret smile that twitches at her lips. “So, what are you wearing?”
“I’m not sure if you’ve seen it. It’s a beige, lace—”
“Beige? What’s sexy about beige?”
“Okay, taupe or cream. But it’s a pretty dress. Lace with coloured flowers decorating it.”
“And the neckline?”
“It’s a sweetheart line.” Jenny raises her brows, impressed that I haven’t described it as a turtleneck.
“Okay. Text me when you’re there. And thank you.” She looks me in the eyes and delivers the thanks with such sincerity I wonder what’s gotten into her.
“You’re acting funny. It’s just a date.”
“Yeah, I know. You don’t mind if I skip out now to get ready?” Jenny smiles and twists her hands in front of her.
“Sure. I’ll be following behind.”
I close down the studio, put the cups in the sink and lock up. It’s already dark out, but the forecasted rain hasn’t begun to fall yet. I make it home in plenty of time and have to resist rushing to my room to get ready.
I haven’t felt this restless energy in months. None of the previous dates I’ve been on have sparked this reaction and some of them I’d already met a time or two. What is it about this blind date that has me in a flutter?
I finally relent and go to my room to get ready. I wash my hair under the scorching hot water of the shower, and while the conditioner does its thing, I wonder if I should go the full nine-yards. There’s no way I’ll be sleeping with anyone on a first date, so I don’t know why the thought even creeps into my head, but it has. My bikini line takes a few more minutes than I expect to tidy, but when I step out of the shower, I feel silky, smooth, and sexy. I’ve buffed and scrubbed, and now I can feel the invisible confidence it gives me, just feeling good in my own skin.
I pull open my underwear drawer and rummage at the bottom to find one of the few sexy sets I own.
The black, cream, and gold filigree pattern is gorgeous. Luckily, the material of the dress is thick enough that wearing a black bra underneath won’t show. I holster my boobs and then ease into the dress.
I dry my hair and attempt to straighten out my waves. It will do.
It’s truly a pretty dress, and I can’t help but turn and flick the skirt out a bit. I ignore my hammering heart and swallow down my excitement, turning back to my reflection in the mirror. My mismatched eyes always confuse me when it comes to makeup, so I stick with neutrals. A lick of mascara and a sweep of blush is the extent of my skills. No smoky eyes or liquid eyeliner for me.
My jewellery box sits on the dresser and I open the lid. The charm bracelet my grandmother gave me sparkles at me and I pick it out of the protective confines. I think better of it, though, and put it back. I’d be devastated if I lost it. I’d rather keep it safe than risk it.
I take the tube into town and will grab a taxi to the hotel. I wrap a fine, grey scarf around my neck in an attempt to keep the cold out. By the time I exit the tube, the heavens have opened. I dash down the street and thrust my arm out, hoping for a black cab. It only takes a minute before one pulls over and I jump inside, but the rain is relentless. I dash the droplets from my face. “The Regal, please.”
It isn’t a long journey and certainly doesn’t offer enough time to dry off.
I pay the cab and manage to make it inside the hotel without drowning in the rain. I try to shake a few droplets from my hair, but my attempt to straighten it is completely pointless now. I can practically feel my hair frizzing out of place. My heart beat has cranked up in pace, and I can’t escape the empty feeling in the pit of my stomach at walking in here looking like a drowned rat. I prefer to assume my damp palms are a result of the rain rather than my nerves.
“Good evening, welcome to The Regal. Do you have a reservation?” The maître d’ does a good job of ignoring my state of dress.
“Table for Jonathan Hannover?” I smile and pretend that a small piece of me isn’t dying inside. I don’t miss his arched brow when I tell him who I’m here to meet.
“Certainly.”
As he leads me through the immaculately dressed tables, I banish the dashingly good looking man that has featured in my daydreams from my mind, and replace him with a more modest guess at who will be waiting for me. If we ever arrive.
I’m led to the back of the restaurant, to a screened off section. It’s private, or seemingly so, with only a handful of tables. My eyes drift closed for a moment before I open them to look at the guy I’m meeting.
The air is stolen from my lungs as my eyes cast over him. He’s casually sitting at the table fiddling with something in his hand. He’s not looking towards me. He’s concentrating on the plate of food in front of him. My face flushes with embarrassment. Did I get the time wrong? I stand there, taking the time to absorb the man. Movement catches my attention and I turn to see another man standing to the side of the table. My eyes dart between the two. Jonathan still hasn’t acknowledged my presence, but his friend has.
“Mr Cane.” The waiter eases me towards my chair. Cane? I th
ought I was meeting Jonathan Hannover? Although, I can’t really complain as I’m here under Jenny’s name. Jonathan, or Mr Cane, finally looks up. He doesn’t stand to greet me, nor does his face reveal any exterior sign that he’s even registered my presence. His firm jawline and brown hair frame his handsome face. Cool, blue eyes that remind me of a frozen lake stare at me as if in challenge.
He moves his gaze from me to his friend and back again. His disinterest hits me in the chest, and it takes me a moment to compose myself. As first dates go, even blind ones, this isn’t going in the right direction.
“I’m Jenny,” I blurt. The words sound false, but I go with it.
Jonathan’s lack of reaction unnerves me, not to mention bringing a friend along and starting without me. My anxiety spirals. I was prepared for a geek, a toad or a slime ball. This handsome man is a fantasy I didn’t put any stock in, and I wish I had. Despite the confusion and hurt that are radiating from my chest.
I tuck myself behind the table and attempt to act unfazed, as my hands try to tame my messy hair behind my ears, but it’s no use. I must look a wreck. My carefully straightened, glossy hair, is now a mop. My fidgeting is uncontrollable and is only spurred on by Jonathan’s totally cool exterior. He turns to face his friend and I see an expression pass over his friend’s face. He looks shocked, but I don’t know why. I dare to move my eyes back to Jonathan, and there’s a spark—a flint—behind them, but only for a second. My eyes travel down his chest, and I can’t help but catalogue his wide shoulders, hidden behind his crisp, midnight blue suit. The bright white shirt creates a sexy contrast. He looks far too good.
I look around the pristine dining room. Soft mood lighting creates a sensual atmosphere, and gleaming glasses twinkle on the handful of tables. Still, Jonathan hasn’t said a word.
“Would you excuse me?” I don’t wait for an answer and slip back out of the restaurant towards the ladies. I barge in, pushing the heavy black wooden door open. I stop in front of the letterbox shaped mirror. My earlier fear is realised when I see the state I’m in. My silky blond hair now looks more like messy bed-hair. I go over to the hand dryer and position it to help give my hair a blast of hot air. I scrunch it, adding volume to the natural wave and, without the water, it doesn’t look so bad.
I re-apply a sweep of gloss to my lips and pinch my cheeks to put some colour back into them. I use the hand dryer to dry off my skirt and smooth it back down. My jacket is a lost cause, so I remove it, hoping to leave it in the cloakroom to dry. I stare at my reflection, satisfied that I can at least go out there and hold my head up. His attitude so far is shocking. Who doesn’t introduce themselves or even say hello when their date arrives? Or starts without them?
If I weren't so attracted to him, I would march back out into the rain. But I am interested, and feel a little stubborn. If he doesn’t want a date, he should have just cancelled. I’m here now, and I can’t deny I want to hear his voice. I take a couple of deep breaths and exit the ladies, stopping the closest waitress.
“Can I leave this in the cloakroom please?” She smiles before taking my damp jacket. With a sliver of confidence restored, I go and face the gorgeous Jonathan once again.
I pull on all of my inner courage to muster a genuine smile as I return to the table. “Sorry about that.” I ease back into my seat. His penetrative glance is now riveted on me and it sends a shiver down my spine. I reach for the glass of water that is now waiting for me.
Jonathan’s stare doesn’t drop, but it’s hard to keep our eyes locked. The longer I do, the more uncomfortable I grow. My pulse quickens, but not in a sexy way. In a dangerous one. Like his stare has triggered a dormant fight or flight response and everything is screaming for me to flee. The sensible part of me is telling me that as well.
He’s done nothing apart from sit and look at me, but I’ve had more of a reaction to him than anyone else in my past. The idea that you can have an instant reaction to someone is stupid, or so I thought, until tonight. With all the other crap around this date, I should be out the door. And I’m about ready to give in to my rational brain. All of my muscles tense, ready to stand and leave.
“Your name isn’t Jenny, is it?”
I flush with embarrassment for the second time tonight, my cheeks heating as he calls me out. I knew pretending to be Jenny wouldn’t work.
“No. My name is Emily.”
“At least you’re honest.” He leans back in the chair and stares coldly for a moment, making my embarrassment level triple, and then, for the first time, he smiles at me. I would never have described a smile as dangerous before. It’s a social expression reflecting pleasure or happiness. Yet Jonathan’s smile has my heart stampeding in my chest, and my stomach quivering. “Later, we’re going to find out why you really came here tonight, Emily.”
I swallow past the nerves and offer a less than confident smile in return.
“But for now you should know my name is Quinn. Please, sit.” He waves his hand at the chair.
“Quinn? I’m sorry, I’m a little confused. I thought I was meeting Jonathan Hannover.”
“And I thought I’d be meeting Jenny. Seems like we’re even.” He closes his knife and fork and sits back in his chair. “Jonathan works for me.”
I reach for my water as if I can hide behind it. The man lingering behind Quinn moves closer and whispers something I can’t make out. Quinn just shakes his head ever so slightly.
I place my bag on the table and fight the urge to check in with Jenny. What the hell has she gotten herself into? I keep my hands in my lap and look over to Quinn. He’s looking at me, his eyebrows drawn together.
“Perhaps we should call it a night. I can see you’re not here for a blind date. Excuse me.”
“Sit down.” The order makes me jump a little, but he smiles again. “You’re right, Emily. You’re not what I was expecting, but you’re here. Let’s at least salvage something of the night.” He looks at his friend with what I can only describe as a wicked sneer. “I’ve already ordered. Pick something for yourself. I’ll have the kitchen add it to mine.” He nods to his friend who moves to retrieve a menu from a neighbouring table. My hand shakes as I take it from him, not sure whether to stay or not.
“No, really, I think it’s probably better if I leave you to it.”
“Sit,” he snaps, cutting me off before I finish my sentence. I gawp at his gravelled tone, still stunned at the first order, then shoot my eyes round to look at the other man again as my backside hits the chair. “Don’t mind Shifty. He’s got a soft spot for women, don’t you, Shifty? A weakness.” Shifty offers me a tight smile, or an attempt at a smile, before he hauls himself back to where he’s been lurking.
“Is he staying here?” I whisper as I run my eyes over the menu, still unsure if I should be here or not as my stomach knots, but not from hunger.
“Yes. Anything, take your pick?” I hadn’t noticed, but the waiter who showed me to the table has returned to clear Quinn’s plate.
“Um, sure. Everything. But I’ll go for the lamb, please.” Quinn looks to the waiter, which quickens his pace.
“Yes, Sir.” He scurries away.
I hear the vibration in my bag from my phone. I glance at it, but Quinn slowly shakes his head. What would I tell Jenny, anyway?
“So, Emily. As you’re on a date, I expect you’re hoping for conversation. I’m sure there are a number of polite topics we could start with.”
“Yes. But I find it hard to believe you don’t know how to act on a date.” The desire to flee is only growing stronger. Good looks and a heavenly voice only go so far.
“I don’t date, Emily. You’re lucky I’m feeling indulgent tonight. It’s not one of my usual traits.”
“So what are your usual traits?”
He chuckles. “I don’t think we know one another well enough for that type of conversation.” He leans back and stares. “Tell me what you do for a living?”
“I’m a photographer. Portraits, mainly. I have my own
studio in Pimlico. What about you?”
“Friends, family?”
“Yes, my best friend Jenny works for me at the studio. My parents live in Oxford.” This suddenly feels like an interrogation, not a few friendly getting to know you questions.
“Ah, Jenny? So you took her place because she’s your friend?”
“Yes,” I say, straightening my back and sitting taller in my seat.
“Honest and loyal. Good characteristics to have.” He picks up his water and sips.
The waiter appears and places a sumptuous plate in front of me, before delivering the same to Quinn.
“And a bottle of the Krug Grande Cuvee, Shaun. Two glasses.”
“Very good, Sir.”
“Champagne? I thought you didn’t know anything about dates?”
“It’s a drink I like. Nothing to do with dates.” His cold eyes slip to my chest for a moment before meeting my eyes again.
“I haven’t met many men who enjoy champagne.”
“You haven’t met men with any taste, then.”
I don’t know how to respond. There haven’t been many guys in my past, and I’m starting to wonder just what this man is all about. He lifts an eyebrow and gives me a stunning smile that turns my insides upside down before starting his meal.
The champagne is delivered and poured. Quinn sips and nods his approval to Shaun who then pours my glass. “To honesty and loyalty.” Quinn’s toast might be a little awkward, but we clink, and I take my first taste of liquid bubbles.
The food is delicious, tender, and full of flavour. The champagne is the best I’ve tasted, and Quinn is devastatingly handsome. He’s charming for the rest of the meal. If it wasn’t for the strange vibe from Shifty and the embarrassing and awkward start, on paper, the date is going brilliantly.
Innocent Eyes (A Cane Novel Book 1) Page 5