He reaches over and places his hand on top of mine. My eyes dart up to his intense ones. “I’m being honest. Not shooting you a line.”
I freeze, holding his gaze as one side of my lips curls upward. “I know. I do get asked out a lot, but the ones asking are not my type.”
“You have a type?” He removes his hand and wraps it around his mug and takes a sip. I know he’s waiting on me to answer.
“Everyone has a type.”
“What’s yours?”
This conversation just took a lighter, playful turn. Leaning against the counter again, I still hold Matt’s gaze and say, “I like strong men, hard workers.” My eyes drift over his face before returning to his eyes. “Brown hair, blue eyes. I like dimples and freckles.” I’ve never been so bold before, but it’s easy to talk to him.
He laughs, using all his facial features.
“Miss, can I get two beers?”
I savor the moment, and then break eye contact. Glancing down the bar at the patiently waiting man, I nod before returning my attention back to Matt. I smile and say, “See ya later. Enjoy the show.”
The electric guitar strums a note as I join reality once again, waiting on customers until Jimmy returns.
“Thanks, Ariel.” Jimmy says as he places his smokes under the bar.
“No problem.” I head back to the table area to check on customers. Alina covers all the tables in the bar when I cover for Jimmy.
The band starts playing, each instrument joining in until the lead singer grabs the microphone and lets loose the first line in a song. The crowd’s on its feet, people from other areas of the restaurant filtering in, making it standing room only. The ones lucky enough to have tables can’t see, but they knew that beforehand.
Four or five songs later, I’m at the bar when Alina walks up. “Ariel, table five is requesting that you bring his drink.” Table five is in the dining area where the families eat.
My nose crinkles and I shrug. “Okay.” I take the scotch from her and weave carefully through the crowd until I stop mid-step.
It’s him . . . the man from the nightclub. My breath quickens.
I’m gulping air.
I can’t move as I get my first real look at him.
A black suit jacket is draped over the back of the chair. He tugs at the edges of his white button-up shirt. A shiny gold watch catches my eye, which draws my attention to his well-manicured nails.
My feet start to move again. Slowly, I approach the table. When I set the drink in front of him, intense dark brown eyes turn on me. I swallow hard before I say, “Enjoy your drink, sir.”
I’m frozen in place as his gaze roams my body until it reaches my eyes once again.
“I’m Luca,” he says in a deep voice. With a flick of his wrist, he gestures to the other chair. “Would you please join me?”
The place is packed, so joining him is out of the question. But no words freely flow from my mouth. I have to force them out. One broken syllable at a time.
“I . . . I.” I swallow hard and try again. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” Abruptly, I spin around and quickly head back to the bar.
Jimmy grabs my arm as I rush past him. “Ariel, what’s wrong?”
“I’m not feeling very well. I need to leave.”
His eyes widen incredulously. “You can’t leave right now. We’re understaffed as it is.”
My eyes plead with him to understand. If I can only tell him, explain what’s going on, but I can’t. I don’t know who that man is, why he’s here, and I will not put Jimmy in danger.
“Ariel.” Tommy motions me over. My heart sinks and I wonder what’s wrong. What did I do?
I walk over slowly, my eyes darting all around, looking for the stranger. When I’m standing in front of Tommy, I ask, “Yes?”
“Mr. Damonte would like a word with you.”
“Excuse me?” Who is Mr. Damonte and why would Tommy accommodate his request? I shake my head, not understanding what he’s telling me.
“Mr. Damonte.” Tommy nods at something behind me.
Slowly, I glance over my shoulder. There stands the mystery man with his arms folded across his chest, staring at me.
From the side of my mouth, I quietly say, “I don’t know who he is.”
Tommy’s face twists in disbelief as he stares at me with round eyes. “That’s Luca Damonte. One of the wealthiest men in town.”
Relief floods my body when I realize he’s not after me. Nobody sent him to find me. I blow out a slow breath.
“Well don’t just stand here. Take a break and go talk to him.”
Breaking eye contact with Luca, I turn toward Tommy. “Why? We are super busy tonight.”
“Because he’s Luca Damonte.” Tommy throws his hands in the air, acting as if I’m daft.
Whatever.
“Fine.” I head over, and when I’m standing in front of the man, I compose myself, throw my shoulders back, and nod. “Mr. Damonte, you wanted to speak with me?”
I can see the satisfied gleam in his eyes as he flicks his wrist and waves to the open table. “Please, have a seat.”
I slide into the empty seat across from him, fold my hands in my lap, and wait for him to say something.
“Let’s try this again, shall we?” He leans back, folds his arms across his chest, and says, “I am Luca Damonte. And you are?”
“I am Ariel Hancock. Nice to meet you.”
He studies me for a moment, making me squirm in my chair. I’m still not sure what he wants with me, why he needs to talk to me, so I wait.
“Would you like something to drink?”
I narrow my eyes at him, trying to figure out what he’s doing. I’m at work, I can’t drink, this is not a date, and I say as much.
“Mr. Damonte, I need to get back to work. So, if you have something you wish to talk to me about, please get on with it.”
Wrapping his fingers around his glass, he leisurely takes a drink. It feels like he’s asserting his dominance, like no one ever tells him what to do. But I’m not like everyone else. His money doesn’t impress me. He’s the type of man I’m hiding from. The quicker I can get away from him, the happier I will be.
“Fine.” He crosses his legs and studies me. His gaze roams my body, at least what he can see of it. I can’t imagine he finds me sexy or even attractive while I’m sporting my food-stained gray T-shirt, no makeup, and my hair pulled back in a ponytail. “I have dinner reservations for the two of us next Friday night.”
I glance around, trying to buy time so my voice comes out steady and strong. When I finally look him in the eye, I say with confidence. “I’m sorry, but next Friday night I will be working.”
“I’ll pick you up next Friday night, seven o’clock sharp.”
I narrow my eyes at him, wondering what game he’s trying to play. “Look Mr. Damonte—”
“Please, call me Luca.”
I bite the inside of my lip, trying to hold my tongue. His smug look and superior attitude is not alluring to me at all. “Luca,” I say with my sweet southern accent, “I appreciate the invitation, but I don’t know you. I don’t date. And besides that, I am working Friday night.” I flash him a polite, insincere smile and push up from the table. As I head back to my workstation, I’m surprised to see Matt standing off to the side with his arms folded, watching the entire exchange between me and Luca. As I pass by him, his eyes dart to mine for a mere second before zoning back in on Luca. I refuse to look over my shoulder to see if Luca watches me.
I head back to the bar where Jimmy stands watching me with narrowed eyes. Just as I get close enough, he asks, “Everything alright?”
“I have no idea,” I say in clipped tones as I pass by him and head behind the bar. When I glance up, I see his jaw clench tightly as he stares at something. I follow his gaze and see Luca standing a few feet away with his arms folded across his chest, and now he’s staring at Jimmy.
Matt slides onto the barstool in front of me, and with all the male
testosterone in the air, I could choke. The room is closing in on me, and I know something is not right.
Matt smiles an easy, lazy smile as he grips his beer. Like the last ten minutes didn’t happen. I shake my head as I go about my work, grabbing the freshly made drinks and heading to a waiting table. This shift can’t end soon enough.
~~~~
The first thing I do when I get home is take a hot shower. At the bar, I paid for a bottle of red wine and slipped it into my bag, just like I always do. If anyone finds out, Tommy could lose his liquor license, except my ID now says I’m twenty-one. Finally legal. But after tonight, I thought a glass—or five—might help me unwind, relax a little.
Dressed in a T-shirt and boy shorts, my favorite outfit to sleep in, I pop the cork and pour a glass of Apothic Red before heading to the couch. As I sip my wine, I think about the strangeness of work tonight. Two men, handsome men, both interested in me. At least Matt looked interested. Luca . . . I shake my head as I remember how sexy, put together he looked. Confidence poured from every inch of him. It scares me a little.
I stretch my legs out, resting my feet on the coffee table. My wine takes the edge off and I power up the laptop.
Wine always helps me relax. Constantly expecting someone to burst through my door, grab me from the street, I could never rest. Never relax. Wine helped, and after a while, I started to enjoy the flavor, savor the taste. Apothic Red is a favorite of mine.
Altruist?
It takes him only about five seconds to respond, which makes me happy.
Syrah, are you okay?
Yes, why?
I didn’t like the way you abruptly ended things last night.
Hmm . . . he’s right. I worried I had said too much, and it made me nervous. I don’t know much about Altruist, and I broke the rules and spilled my guts to a stranger.
Can I ask you a question? And I want you to be completely honest.
I wait, and when he doesn’t readily answer, it pisses me off. I told him so much last night and he can’t answer one single question. Trying not to let my anger show in my words, I type Come on . . . we don’t even know each other’s names, or where we live. Why can’t we just be honest? What harm could come of that?
Waiting for his response, I head to the kitchen and refill my glass. When I sit back down and pull my laptop onto my lap, I smile when I read his response.
You’re right. There is no reason to hide things and not be honest. Ask away!
How to ask tactfully what I need to know. Hmm . . . my fingers drum on the keys. You’re not into anything illegal, are you?
LOL, No! Why would you ask that?
You told me to stay away from that guy at the club. You said you knew his type and then you got kind of bossy.
Sorry about that. I just worry about you. Probably more than I should.
My stomach flutters with his admission. Why would you say that? You don’t know anything about me.
I know that you’re all alone. You don’t like to go to clubs, you don’t like to drink the hard stuff.
I’m having a glass of wine right now.
Wine is not hard liquor. Now let me finish. I know that your favorite movies are The Proposal and While You Were sleeping, which tells me two things. One, you’re a hopeless romantic, and two, you have bad taste in movies.
My heart melts a little before, suddenly, I’m a little angry. He knows all these things about me and I know almost nothing about him. Only that he had a girlfriend but she didn’t like his job.
Are you there?
I’m here. I just can’t believe you remember all of that. And I do not have bad taste in movies. Those are some of the all-time greatest movies ever filmed.
That’s debatable. So, how was your day, dear?
I laugh aloud, thinking about the old shows I used to watch. Why did June Cleaver just pop into my head?
Uh, because I was quoting her? (smiling here) Really, how was your day?
Honestly?
Yes, I thought you just demanded that.
Yeah, I did, didn’t I? But first . . . Tell me about your day first.
There’s not much to tell. I’m in between jobs right now so I’ve been doing house maintenance. Fixing the fence, that kind of thing.
You don’t have a job?
Yes, I have a job. I’m just waiting on a new assignment.
Huh . . . mysterious. What do you do?
Just mundane stuff, nothing worth talking about.
Uh huh . . .
For some reason, I don’t believe him. That’s okay; we all have our secrets. My head tilts back and I drain the last of my wine before setting the laptop on the couch. As I refill my glass one last time, I picture Altruist in a cowboy hat and boots. He has a hammer in his hand as he mends the fence to keep the cows in.
I laugh at the images in my head, sit back down, and grab my laptop, pulling it onto my lap.
How about you? Anything interesting happen today?
I wouldn’t say interesting, but strange. The guy from the nightclub showed up, demanded I have dinner with him Friday night. Turns out, he owns the club.
And? Are you having dinner with him?
I don’t want to. I told him I had to work, but my boss seems to do anything this guy wants. Then there’s this other guy. He’s nice, and he’s been coming by the bar for the past week or so. But when guy #1 showed up, he watched us with an odd expression. I don’t know what’s going on.
Maybe they both want to date you. I’d definitely stay away from the club owner, though.
I think I may need to move again.
I don’t understand.
Honesty, right? And besides, you don’t know the important things, like my name, where I live, so I can’t put you in danger.
Now you’re worrying me. What’s wrong? Why would you put me in danger?
I know I’ve had too much to drink. I always talk more when I’m relaxed, and Altruist feels safe. Feels like a friend. If I don’t want to talk to him again, I can delete my account with the stroke of a key. What harm would it do? It’s not like he’s going to show up at my apartment, one of many that lines the crowded streets.
I set my glass down and type.
My stepfather was into, or is still into, some bad stuff. Illegal stuff. I took something from him and ran away from home a few years back. I’m always afraid that someone will show up looking for me and they will eventually find me.
I smile, feeling a burden lift from my shoulders. Actually telling someone makes me feel better. Until I stare at the blinking cursor. He’s not typing back.
No reply.
I wait.
And wait. I grab my glass from the end table and take a gulp. I’m a little angry that he didn’t respond right away. It makes me feel like I’ve scared him off. And why wouldn’t it?
You must have been scared, and it sounds like you still are. Is there anything I can do to help?
A rush of air escapes my lungs, and my lips curl upward. At that moment, I know his opinion is important to me. It shouldn’t be. I don’t really know him. He could have buckteeth, a straw hanging out of the side of his mouth, a jaw full of tobacco, and be spitting every few minutes.
Just being able to talk to you . . . finally . . . helps a lot.
I’m glad. Now why do the two men scare you?
I can’t explain it. It’s just a gut feeling. I’ve lived here three years and nothing. And now . . . I shake my head as I try to explain. I thought Matt was a nice guy, but you didn’t see the look in his eyes when he watched me and Luca talk.
Matt and Luca?
Oh shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! I can’t believe I did something so stupid! I let my guard down too much. Crap! How to fix this. Think! I vigorously rub my forehead just before my fingers fly over the keys.
Just names I made up so I don’t have to say guy one and guy two.
Oh, okay.
Still upset with myself, I drain the last of my wine and type It’s late. I need to head to bed
. Goodnight, Altruist.
Goodnight, Syrah.
Chapter Four
Zack
I pick up my cell and dial Tyler’s number.
“Yes,” he answers on the fourth ring in a sleepy monotone voice.
“Tyler, it’s Zack. I think I have a problem.”
I hear the rustle of covers, maybe clothes. I can tell he’s moving around. In a more awake voice, he says, “What’s wrong?”
“My pen pal, the one I told you about the other day. I think she’s in trouble.”
“Okay, kid, what did she say exactly?”
“A couple of days ago, she referenced that she thought they had found her. A few minutes ago, she admitted that her stepfather was into some illegal shit. She took something from him and ran away.”
I pace the floor, knowing that something bad is about to happen. My nature doesn’t allow me to ignore such a plea for help, even if she didn’t mean to ask for it.
“Where is she?” Tyler’s voice comes out weary and I imagine him sitting on the couch rubbing his forehead.
“I believe she’s in New York City. At least for now.”
“Okay. We have some down time. You want me to go with you?”
“I don’t want to take you away from Sheila, so it’s your call.”
“She’s leaving tomorrow, heading down to her mother’s for two weeks.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, it’ll get me out of the to-do list she’s made for me.” Silence, and then I hear a yawn. “When do you want to leave?”
“How about now?” I know I should wait, but I have a hunch that this is big, the tip of the iceberg, and Syrah is all alone.
“Fine. I’ll pack and let Sheila know. You call the director, let him know what’s happening and that we’re taking personal time. I’ll pick you up in thirty minutes.”
Sheila, Tyler’s wife of five years, is very supportive and understanding of his job. She never complains when he has to rush off in the name of duty.
“See you in thirty.”
I click off the phone and then dial my boss. “This better be good.” His voice sounds angry, but that’s normal for him.
“Director Hobbs, this is Zack Cummings. Tyler and I are taking personal time, heading to New York.”
The Secrets We Keep Page 5