Page 10 of Life

“In my business you need to know a little of most languages. Since I do a lot of work on the West Coast, Spanish is a job necessity.”

I nod and purse my lips. “So, care to enlighten me on why you’re here?”

“I told you, my brother’s passing. Had to pay my respects.”

I set about pouring two cups of coffee. “Cream and sugar?” I ask, because that’s the way Tommy took it.

He shakes his head. “Nah, black is fine.”

They take their coffee different. An unintentional harrumph slips from my lips.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

He lays a warm hand over mine. “What is it?”

I grin, thinking about Tommy. “You and Tommy don’t take your coffee the same. He liked cream and sugar.”

“Well, Spicy, he definitely preferred things in life to be a little sweeter. Not that you’re not sweet, because looking at you, any man within his right mind would want a taste, but you have a serious edge to you.”

One side of his mouth curves up, and he makes a point to ogle the deep open V in my robe and wink. My breasts are pushing up and out, helpless to the male pheromones he’s giving off.

“What is going on here, Eli?” I ask while slapping the counter in front of him.

“Red,” he says, deadpan.

I scrunch up my nose and cock my head. “Red what?”

“Just Red. My name. People call me Red.”

I roll my eyes. “What people?”

He grins. “All people.”

“That’s unfortunate. I’m not one of your ‘people,’ and since I’m me, I’ll call you what I want, which is Eli.”

“See, hot as hell and spicy as fuck.” The man has absolutely no filter. He says what’s on his mind and means it.

“So that’s why you call me Spicy? Not sure if it’s a compliment or a thinly veiled smart-ass remark.”

“Both. You’re quick to run your mouth, and the heat you leave in your wake isn’t diminished by a quick sip of water. Plus, look at you. Every man’s wet dream.” Once again, his eyes trace all over my curves. I wonder what he sees.

“Ha ha. Are you going to tell me why you’re here?” I point to the counter. “As in, my apartment. Last I saw you, you were with Chase and Gigi.”

His shoulders lift and fall slowly, as if the weight of what he wants to say is enormous. Just as he’s about to speak, the buzzer on my apartment goes off.

I lift up my hand and show him my index finger. “Un momento.” I rush over to the intercom and press the button.

“Yes?”

“A package arrived for you, Ms. De La Torre. Okay to have it brought up?”

“Sure. Thank you.”

Moments later, the elevator dings and the doorman hands me a long, skinny white box. One you’d normally receive if you were getting roses. I know for a fact because Gillian received several bouquets of roses from her stalker. A shiver of fear tingles at my nape as I accept the package and thank the doorman.

I set it down on the kitchen table and stare at the box as if it’s a ticking bomb, completely forgetting about my unwanted visitor.

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