Page 42 of Damaged

If anything, by the time I shut my laptop, I feel like I know less. I opened so many doors to halls that I know nothing about. It’s an ocean of information. I remind myself even doctors google symptoms to diagnose patients.

I’ll essentially be doing the same. The internet is my best friend when it comes to my expertise here. But it doesn’t help with the imposter syndrome. I can picture Jessica shaking her head at me. Her perfect notes. Tape recorders.

I’m not a straight-A student. I don’t deserve to be here.

I need a drink. I may be in Egypt, but being that I’m in a western hotel, it shouldn’t be too difficult to find some alcohol.

I debate ordering a bottle of wine up to the room but decide to check out the bar. I put on jeans and a blazer before I go. I’m somewhat insecure in a hotel full of foreign businessmen, and I want to give bad business bitch vibes.

The last thing I want is to be at the bar in a pretty dress.

The bar and restaurant are on the third floor, and it’s as chic as I thought it would be. There are live palm fronds potted in bejeweled planters and a goddamn waterfall flowing behind the blue-lit shelves of liquor bottles. And here I thought it might be tricky to find a drink.

There’s even a ladder to reach the highest shelves of the bar.

I sit down and order something fancier than a gin and tonic. I order a drink called an Anubis. It’s a delicious mixture of vodka and tart juices the color of dark blood.

I’m on my second when I see him.

James.

He’s been here the whole time, I realize, alone on the balcony. Elbows on the railing. He’s staring out at the city with a forlorn gaze.

I wonder what’s on his mind. Whatever it is, it looks heavy.

He doesn’t look like he’d appreciate being disturbed, and I have no intention of going out on the balcony patio and joining him.

Something else gets my attention. The drinks have numbed my nerves somewhat, but now my hairs are standing on end. I have a feeling like I’m being…

I glance halfway over my left shoulder to see a man in a black suit and black T-shirt sitting alone at a table.

Watched.

He has tattoos crawling up his neck and down his sleeves, where I can see them on the backs of his hands.

He’s bald and his cheekbones are wide, and when I meet his eye, I see he’s staring directly back at me. He doesn’t look away, and I turn back to the bar a little too quickly—it’s obvious that I caught him staring and didn’t like it.

The man’s thick neck and wide-set eyes give him a shark-like appearance. He looks like he’s no stranger to brutal violence.

I glance back at my drink and hope he doesn’t approach me. A part of me wants to leave, but with James nearby, I don’t feel too scared. By the time I order a third drink, I steal another glance in the mobster’s direction. He’s not looking at me anymore. His legs are spread wide, and he’s texting on his phone.

I’m suddenly wondering what James meant by security threats. Maybe he meant that it’s not just locals we need to be on the lookout for. This man’s reason for staring might not be that he’s attracted to me.

I might be his target.

Ten minutes pass since I first noticed him, and James is still staring out at the city in thought.

I look at the tattooed man again and gulp. He’s looking at me again and not trying to hide it. His eyes are dark and unblinking. I get up off my stool with my drink in my hand. I don’t even think about it. Suddenly I’m walking around the bar to the balcony door and opening it. This upper patio is huge. It’s fifty feet across, but James is the only one out here.

He doesn’t lift his arms off the railing when I step a few feet outside. He doesn’t turn at all.

“Hey, snowflake.”

I frown. How the hell did he know it was me? I glance back inside, but it’s too dark for him to have seen me at the bar. “How could you tell?”

“Your footsteps. They’re light.”

This man has senses like a tiger. “How’re you tonight?” I say, walking closer. It comes out clumsy and fast, but I don’t know what else to say.

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