“Yes, really. As a matter of fact, I was thinking of reaching out to you to commission one of your pieces for my parents’ restaurant. Imagine how lucky I felt when I realized it was you in line,” I poured on the charm, but with a twist of geeky as I pushed up the glasses I wore. I kinda reminded myself of Clark Kent.
Except the glasses were fake. The act was fake. Hell, all of it was fake.
Well, except my attraction to her. Which had no business in this situation. But, fuck, she was classically and insanely beautiful. And there was something about her that was simply… enthralling.
“Oh! Wow! Well, uh, let me see when I have time available to discuss your idea,” she offered as she began to dig through her purse.
“I’d really like to discuss it with you as soon as possible. My parents have their anniversary coming up and I’d love to surprise them with it. If you don’t think you’d be able to get it done in time, I would need to know as soon as possible so I could plan something else. Please?” I begged her with my charming devil smile.
She quit rummaging through her bag to glance up at me. “I mean, if you’re a little flexible, I can meet you for lunch, I suppose,” she conceded, biting her lower lip.
“That would be fantastic,” I told her with heavy relief in my tone.
“I can’t promise you anything. My schedule is a little wild over the next couple of weeks. How about around three p.m. next door on the Tuesday after next? That way, we miss a lot of the crowd. Unless you’d rather come earlier and risk not getting in,” she offered, and I almost choked at her words because, yeah, I’d love to get in and come.
Fuck, good thing I was already going to hell. If I wasn’t, I sure would be after those thoughts.
“Three on that Tuesday works.” That was still two weeks away, and I cursed in my head.
“Okay. Perfect. Then here’s my business card. You can email me, call me, or text me. That’s my business line.” She held it out and when I reached for it, my fingers brushed hers. The jolting current of electricity that seemed to run between us sent my heart racing and her eyes went wide before she shook it off.
I did the same.
By then, we were at the counter. She placed her order and moved to the side, then I did the same. As we waited, she was going through the calendar on her phone. Because I knew what the fuck I was doing, she didn’t realize I could see everything on her screen.
Her thumbs flew over the screen as she put our lunch on her calendar. Then she was going through other appointments. She was volunteering at the soup kitchen tomorrow. My brows knotted together. She had an appointment with her gynecologist the next day. Interesting.
Jesus, Alessio, knock it the fuck off. What the hell are you doing?
Wait. She had adateon Saturday? I refused to think about why that grated on my nerves. I didn’t even know this chick. Yet I’d been following her around for almost a week.
With that, I had to remind myself that this was a job. That was the whole reason I was following her around. She. Was. My. Target. Christ, maybe it was time for me to retire. But at twenty-seven years old, I wouldn’t know what the hell to do with myself.
The barista called out Nivea’s name and the ebony-haired beauty gathered her cup. With a small wave, she flipped her scarf around her neck, lifted the cup to her plush lips, and left the coffee shop.
When my order was ready, I nodded to the barista and went outside. As I watched the crowd swallow up the beautiful artist I’d been speaking to, I also lifted my cup to my lips. Steam rose from the opening of the lid. Then I dropped the full cup in the nearest trash and kept walking.
I had a lot to do.
“Black Out Days”—Phantogram
Iwas exhausted. I hadn’t slept much since the day of Justin’s—my biological father’s—funeral. For one, how does a guy who seemed so damn fit and healthy die of a damn heart attack? Out of nowhere.
One day you’re having lunch with your newfound biological father. Then….
BAM!
Dead.
It just didn’t make sense.
The email I’d received from Justin’s attorney asking me to come down to his office on Friday was another stressor. Why would he need to talk to me? I had no control or shares in any of Justin’s businesses.
A quick glance in the mirror by my door was one last reminder that I looked like shit. With a slump in my shoulders, I dug in my bag for my concealer. After finally locating it at the very bottom, mixed with a bunch of pens and random crap, I dabbed some under my eyes.
“Useless,” I muttered and dropped it back in the deep dark hole that was my purse and left my loft.
Me: I’m coming