Beauty and the Blackmailer

by Amorette Anderson

  Her chest rose and fell ever so slightly with each breath she took. He felt an intense and undeniable attraction to her course through him.

  He wondered if she felt it too.

  “Did you lose yourself, Sebastian?” she asked quietly, while searching his eyes.

  He didn’t know what to say.

  Had he? Had he lost himself? Was this the gift that his father wanted to give him?

  “Who are you, really?” she pressed. “Who are you, beneath the surface? There’s a lot more to you... isn’t there, Sebastian?”

  He felt his breathing speed up. Her questions were beginning to make him uncomfortable. He felt the enchanted connection to her slipping through his fingers, as though perhaps it had only been in his mind the entire time. I can’t let her get to know me, he thought. There’s no way. How could I? I don’t even know myself.

  The restaurant, which felt warm and inviting when he’d first walked in, now felt stifling and claustrophobic.

  “I’ve got to go,” he said abruptly. “Bartender, tab!” he growled across the counter.

  The bartender looked surprised at Sebastian’s gruff manners. “Heading out, bud?” he asked while he added a cherry to the drink he’d been mixing up.

  Sebastian ignored the question. “Now,” he said, snapping his fingers twice.

  Once he’d paid his bill, Sebastian wasted no time in getting out of the restaurant. He gave a gruff goodbye to Bridget, grabbed his sweatshirt—an embarrassment, but necessary given the evening chill—and hurried out onto the street.

  He was walking briskly away, leaving the happy music and bustling crowd far behind, when he heard his name being called.

  “Sebastian!” It was Bridget.

  She fell into step beside him.

  “What is it?” he said, not turning to look at her.

  “I’m sorry if I upset you,” she said. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “I don’t have answers for you,” he admitted. The fact scared him. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “That’s okay, Sebastian,” she said. “I’m heading this way, too. Mind if I walk with you?”

  “Whatever.” He didn’t mind. On some level that he could barely acknowledge, he wanted her company—which confused him. With his shoulders hunched against the wind, he walked quickly. What she’d been saying back at the bar, about putting on an act to impress others, had really gotten to him.

  Was that all he’d been doing, all his life? Living an extravagant lifestyle—and for what? To impress his other jet-setting friends? To impress himself? He wasn’t sure, and that bothered him. One thing he was sure of was that her words had struck a nerve in him. He felt his surface identity had been stripped away, and he wasn’t sure what he was left with. Is this the real me? he wondered as he walked. And is it enough?

  As he thought this over, he felt her presence beside him. She was keeping pace with him, though he walked fast. Without turning to look at her, he spoke. “I’ve lived with certain... privileges my whole life,” he said carefully. “I’ve lost touch with so much... most importantly, other people. I don’t know how to care anymore. I don’t know how to love. I don’t know if there’s any part of me that’s capable of that.”

  “Sebastian, I don’t know you that well, and I don’t know what you’ve been through,” Bridget said. “But I do know that as long as your heart’s beating, you’re capable of caring about others. That’s all hearts do, you know... you might feel separate, but you’re just as connected as the rest of us. That’s just how life works.”

  He’d never heard someone put it that way. He knew his heart was beating—he could feel it. In truth, he felt more in his heart as he walked side by side with Bridget, under the night sky, than he had in years. Decades, even.

  “You want to know how to help people?” she asked. She stopped under a streetlight. He stopped, too. She took a deep breath. “It’s something I’ve been doing since I was little. My dad taught me. He’s a physics nut, you know. It’s like a trick.”

  “Okay...” he said. He felt her looking at him. He met her eye.

  She continued. “You just have to look past their appearances,” she said, “and into their eyes. You’re going to see a person in there—who might be trapped behind so many layers of fear and defenses that they don’t even know they’re there anymore. But you have to see it for them. And then, you just do whatever feels good. It’s going to feel good because everyone’s connected, so it’s really just like you’re helping a part of yourself—that’s the physics part, see?”

  This baffled Sebastian slightly, but she seemed so sincere that he merely nodded. Besides, he’d noticed Bridget’s direct gaze many times, and had experienced her helpfulness. If she could do it, maybe he could, too.

  “Maybe I’ll try it,” he said.

  “I hope you do,” she responded.

  And just like that, he gave it a shot. He looked into her eyes. He sensed the presence there, beyond her pretty appearance. It was like a light, shining out from within her. He was startled that he’d never noticed the intensity of her presence before.

  What feels good right now? he asked himself. Then, the words came to his lips. It was like his body knew what to do—exactly what to say. “You said that whoever is blackmailing your father sent an email, is that right?”

  Half of her face was hidden by shadow, the other half beautifully illuminated by the soft light cast down from the lamp above. She nodded.

  “You could trace it to the computer it was sent from,” he said. “That might help you figure out who sent the message.”

  “Sebastian, that’s a great idea,” she said, a grin forming on her lips. “Do you know how to do that?”

  “I can figure it out,” Sebastian said.

  She laughed. “Let me guess—it’s not rocket science?”

  He laughed, too. “I’ve got a few connections,” he said. “Can you send the original email to me?”

  She nodded, pulled out her phone, tapped the screen a few times and then held it out to him. “Can you put in your contact info?” she asked.

  He entered his contact information. As he handed the phone back to her, their hands brushed. He felt the familiar surge of energy that he’d noticed anytime she was near.

  She pulled back quickly, and he wasn’t sure if it was because she noticed the tension, too, or if she was eager to get away from him.

  She pointed right. “I’m down this way.” She tucked a loose strand behind her ear and looked down the shadowy street.

  He was about to offer to walk her the rest of the way home instead of continuing on his way to his own apartment, but she spoke before he could.

  “I’d better leave you here,” she said. “It’s nice getting to know you a little bit, Sebastian.”

  “You too, Bridget,” he said, just before she waved goodbye, turned, and walked away.

  11

  Beauty

  Bridget yawned as she pulled open one of the double glass Glitter Cup front doors. A toddler carrying a tiny, glittery pink cup of milk was too busy sucking up the yumminess of her drink to see Bridget, and Bridget narrowly avoided a collision.

  She stepped aside and held the door open as she finished her yawn. It had been a long night of tossing and turning—she doubted she got more than three hours of sleep, all told. She was too anxious to sleep. The blackmailer was expecting payment that very night, at midnight. She had to crack the case soon.

  She’d intended on getting to work at seven—two hours early—but since she hadn’t fallen asleep until the wee hours of the morning, she’d decided to ignore her alarm and stay in bed until eight. It was now almost nine.

  “You look just like I feel,” a young mother, who was chasing the toddler through the open doors, said. She had a baby bump and another child at her side.

  Bridget managed a smile. “Omph... I think it’s time for coffee!” she said to the mother.

  Once she made it inside, she was about to head over to t
he café when Jeremiah caught her eye. He was behind the register on the bookstore side of things. He waved her over.

  “I printed out the HR forms for Adrienne to sign,” he said as soon as she reached him. “And I’m going to ask her out. Look at what I did.” He held up a paperback book. There was a UFO on the cover, along with a woman in a white dress. A man carrying a glowing green sword had his arms around the woman, and there was an alien, along with a horse, in the background.

  “It’s the newest book in the Galaxy Rider series by Buster Leeman,” Jeremiah said. “I’m going to give it to Adrienne, with the papers inside! I sort of got her into the series. She likes how the protagonist is sort of known for rising up out of the ashes. Do you think that’s romantic...? Or just weird?”

  Bridget wanted to say “weird,” but couldn’t bring herself to crush Jeremiah like that.

  “Um... I think it’s... well, it could be a nice gesture, Jeremiah. But maybe I should talk to her before you spring this on her.”

  His face fell.

  “The book is great,” she said. “It’s really thoughtful. Adrienne is going to love it. But maybe just give it to her separately, once the paperwork is sorted out. I’m her immediate superior. I’ll talk to her about the HR forms. Then, once it’s signed, and maybe when you two are on your own personal time—not here at work—you could give her the book.”

  “Right, right,” he said. “You’re right. Absolutely. Okay... That’s what we’ll do.” He pulled out two white pages that had been folded and tucked into the middle of the paperback.

  “Here are the HR forms. I already signed my part. They just need her signature.”

  “I’ll handle it,” Bridget promised.

  She left him as he started wrapping the book in gift wrap, and headed over to the café.

  As usual, there was a short line, and her staff was bustling behind the counter.

  “I have a triple shot caramel macchiato with soy for Hannah!” Sean shouted out. This was followed quickly by Adrienne’s, “and a plain bagel with butter for Inez!”

  Christine was chatting, smiling at the customer before her, while making a note on a paper cup in marker. She passed the cup over to Sean.

  Bridget stepped behind the counter. She was determined to talk to Christine today, no matter how busy and hectic things were. Her father’s future depended on it. After tossing her jacket and purse into the office chair, she moved over to the hangers of aprons. It was so hard to get a moment alone with Christine in the back room yesterday, she thought. I’m just going to have to join her up at the register and talk to her between customers. She found the apron that she wore when she jumped in on the service line with her crew.

  She didn't feel excited at the prospect of trying to question Christine while the busyness of the café buzzed around them—not to mention the fact that Adrienne and Sean would be within hearing distance. It might be hard for Christine to be honest about what she’d seen or noticed that morning with her coworkers listening in.

  “Oh well,” Bridget whispered to herself. “I gotta do what I gotta do.”

  Resolved to make the best of it, she headed out to join her staff. Christine was standing at the register, and to Bridget’s surprise, so was Sebastian. Not only was he two hours early for his shift, he was also dressed in a clean uniform shirt, a crisp apron, and his nametag was square on his chest. His khaki pants looked pressed. There wasn’t a smile on his face, but there was no frown, either, which was progress.

  She approached them just in time to hear Christine say, “Nice job, Sebastian! You handled that order perfectly.”

  “Sweet,” he said. “I think I can do this.”

  “Of course you can!” she chirped, while giving him a pat on the back. “You take the next one, too.”

  The two of them turned to face Bridget as she joined them. “Good morning,” Bridget said to Sebastian. She was curious about whether or not he’d been able to track the email, but she didn’t want to ask him in front of Christine. So instead, she said, “I didn’t see you come in. You’re early!”

  He nodded.

  “And in uniform!” she added with a smile.

  He looked down at his apron. “I took the shirt and apron home and washed them a few times to make them softer. I think it worked. The fabric isn’t bothering me like it was yesterday.”

  “Good to hear! So you’re thinking of jumping on the register?”

  “If that’s alright...” he said. “You’re the boss.” He eyed her. Bridget thought she sensed a hidden message behind his look. He has information for me, she thought. I’ll have to ask him about it later. My first priority is to talk to Christine.

  “It’s fine by me,” she said. She looked at Christine and wondered if now would be a good time to pull her aside for questioning.

  Sebastian seemed to read her mind. “If you two have things to talk about, I can handle this on my own.”

  “You sure?” Christine asked. “Because we all saw how food went for you yesterday.”

  Bridget heard Adrienne, somewhere behind them, give a hearty guffaw. Sean snickered.

  Bridget was afraid that Sebastian would take offense. To her surprise, he chuckled. “I made a mess of that,” he said. “But I’m feeling pretty confident about the register. Bridget, you and Christine have something to talk about, don’t you?”

  “That’s right... actually,” Bridget said, giving Sebastian a subtle nod of thanks. “We do. Christine, can I chat with you in the back for a sec?”

  She heard Sebastian greeting a customer as they walked away. “Welcome to Glitter Cup, what can I get started for you, sir?” he asked.

  Bridget smiled to herself. It seemed Sebastian had undergone somewhat of a transformation the night before, and she wondered if the change in his demeanor had anything to do with what they’d talked about.

  When she reached her office, she motioned for Christine to sit.

  Christine did not. Instead she hovered over a cardboard box that was sitting on the edge of Bridget’s desk. “Oh! It’s the St. Patrick's Day decorations! Can we open them? I can’t wait to put them up!” she clapped her hands.

  Christine had always reminded Bridget of a cheerleader. It didn’t seem far outside of the realm of possibility that Christine might at any moment pull pom poms from her apron pocket and burst into a song and dance about the latest Glitter Cup Café special deal. Bridget loved the company she worked for, and she suspected that Christine loved it even more. Could someone so enthusiastic and cheerful stoop so low as to try to blackmail another person—especially her boss’s father?

  It seemed very unlikely to Bridget, which was why she’d left questioning Christine for last. Though Bridget didn’t suspect Christine, she was hoping that the cheery blonde barista might have some information that would implicate either Adrienne or Sean. Bridget also knew that she might be surprised, and Christine could be the guilty party herself.

  “Maybe we’ll start decorating Monday,” Bridget said. “I didn’t pull you back here to show you the decorations. I actually want to talk to you about Tuesday morning—the morning that my dad’s folder went missing.”

  She watched Christine’s reaction carefully, but didn’t see any signs of guilt—no rush of blood to the cheeks, averted gaze, or worry lines. Instead, Christine looked right back at Bridget with a steady gaze and said, “Right... your dad’s folder with the multi-million-dollar idea inside. Do you think someone stole it?”

  Bridget gave a noncommittal shrug. “Did you happen to see it that morning? Sean said you were the one who cleaned off the tables.”

  Christine rolled her eyes. “Of course I was. Who else would?”

  “Sean,” Bridget said.

  Christine laughed. “I wish! No, he doesn’t do much to help with opening duties.”

  “He doesn’t?”

  For the first time, Christine looked uncomfortable. She sat down in the folding chair. “Sorry, Bridget,—I’m not trying to throw him under the bus or anythin
g; you know I love Sean. He’s my friend. I’m just saying... ever since he started designing that tiny house, it’s all he talks about.... The siding, the roof, the walkway, yada yada yada.” She rolled her eyes again. “On and on and on he goes. That morning, he was all fired up about something that happened with his buddy who was helping him build it. While I was working, he was on his phone, probably sending messages to that guy. Tim, I think his name was.”

  Bridget nodded. What Christine was saying fit with the rest of the information she’d gathered so far. “I’m sorry you’ve had to carry so much of the weight,” she said. “I’ll have a word with Sean.”

  “I’m not sure it’s going to do any good,” Christine said, “since he’s already got one foot out the door.” Her eyes widened. “Oops!” She clamped her hands over her mouth. Through her fingers she said quietly, “I don’t think I was supposed to tell you that.”

  Bridget sighed. “It’s okay. I know about his plans to quit once his house is built.”

  “Did he tell you?”

  Bridget shook her head. “I just kind of pieced it together.” Just because Sean had money problems and was planning to quit soon didn’t necessarily mean he was the blackmailer. She needed more evidence before she confronted him. “Christine, do you remember seeing the folder while you were wiping down the tables?”

  Christine shook her head. “I would have had to move it... and I didn’t, so I’m sure it was no longer on the table when I cleaned.” She frowned. “Oh, wait a sec—there were some books on the table. I picked them up and brought them into the back room so that one of us could put them away when we got time. Maybe I scooped up the folder along with the books...?”

  “You brought the stack of books into the back room?” Bridget said.

  “Yeah, I remember now,” Christine said. “I did.”

  “When was that?” asked Bridget.

  “Oh, I don’t know, probably after getting all the coffees brewing,” Christine said, “and that usually takes a good twenty minutes. Then I usually get the tables wiped down while I bring out the cream and milk. So, must have been about 6:20 or 6:30. Then I brought them over to the bookstore side to reshelve them when I had a lull, probably about a half hour or so before you got in.”