by Erica M Kim
“Moreno’s drug deals have been interrupting our business.”
“I don’t need to know the details of your business,” I interject. “The less I know about the client’s business, the better it is for me in the long run. I am a hand for hire, and that means that I don’t need to know the intricacies of your business problem.” I learned this lesson the hard way when I worked for Aleksei.
Markus gives me a nod before continuing. “Good. In this file, you can learn as much or as little as you’d like about Vincent Moreno,” he says as he hands me a sealed manila envelope. “One caution though, don’t bother using a fake name with Vincent. He’s a man of power, and he will get what he wants. If he finds out you’re lying, it will be game over,” he says seriously. I nod accepting the challenge. “I’m willing to pay $30,000, which is more than what we would pay anyone else.”
“$40,000 is my going rate. No less.” I set my sandwich down to make a point.
“$35,000.”
“This isn’t a bargaining type of deal. $40K, take it or leave it,” I say with steely resolve. “Aleksei should have been wise enough to tell you not to try to negotiate,” I bite out the foul-tasting name. With that, I begin to pack up my belongings and scoot my chair back. I’m sad to leave my half-eaten panini and my barely-touched cappuccino, but I don’t put up with bullshit. Especially when it comes to money.
“Fine,” Markus responds after a pointed silence. He waves his hand over my food as if to tell me to continue eating. He stares at his plate for a few seconds before he takes the first bite out of his sandwich. We’re silent for a few tense minutes, and then Markus seems visibly less annoyed. The grimace on his face softens, and his shoulders relax ever-so-slightly. Good, so I know he gets over things fairly quickly.
“How long have you been doing this?” Markus asks in a friendly tone as if we’re on a date.
“Too long already,” I respond tersely, not interested in talking about this part of my life.
“Too long? You’re hardly grown-up. You been a killer since you were twelve or somethin’?” As he says the last bit, I hear a faint New Jersey accent.
“Something like that. Trust me, Markus. You don’t want to know about me. You don’t need to know about me. And I don’t need to know about you. That’s better for both of us.”
“That’s not how I like to do business. I like to know every aspect with anything or anyone I deal with.”
“Well, that’s not how I roll. And you and I are in the middle of a business transaction. You want to hire someone to take on a date? Hire someone else.”
“Ouch, you certainly know how to hack a man down,” Markus says as the corner of eyes soften a bit. “Okay. We’ll play this your way. After all, Aleksei says you’re the best that money can buy. And I only want the best.”
The rest of the meal goes by pleasantly enough without too much friction between Markus and me. We land on common territory and stay there for a while: dogs. Turns out his Jack Russell, Rocky, is Markus’s soft spot. After paying for the meal, Markus sticks his hands out.
“Look forward to working with you, Lunis.”
I grip his calloused, large hands with a tight squeeze. “Likewise. Please give Aleksei my regards.” Yeah, right.
“He would love to hear that. I’ll check in with you as the time approaches.”
“Thank you for the meal. Goodbye.” I leave the café without a second glance, eager to get back to the shop that is my safe zone.
If Markus turns out to be anything like Aleksei, I might have to kill him. He doesn’t seem as cunning. Although anyone associated with Aleksei can’t be trusted. I should have killed that bastard when I had a chance.
7
Back at the shop, Ramon seems to be in a frenzy scrubbing down one pup after the next. He barely notices me as I walk in through the door.
“Hey Ramon, I’m back. Take your break.”
“Si, I finish this perro first.”
I walk to the front of the shop to check the schedule for the rest of the day. Surprisingly, Ramon is already scrubbing the last dog scheduled for the day. Fridays are usually busy, but I suppose we’re just having an off day. With business being slow, it gives me a chance to wrap my head around the new assignment—so I’m grateful.
“Ramon,” I call out as I peek my head around the corner into the washroom. “It looks like the Bernese is the last dog for the day. You can leave afterward. I’ll take over from here. Make sure you stop by before you leave so I can pay you.”
I settle into my office and meticulously review the week’s expenditures and revenue in a spreadsheet for the shop. Not too shabby, but the new assignment will definitely help with the balance sheet. Rent in Santa Monica is no joke.
A quiet shuffle interrupts my analysis. “Ma’am, I’ve cleaned up for today. I’m off to school now.” Ramon balances school at the local community college plus a job—sometimes multiple jobs—to take care of his family. I have to hand it to the kid.
“Here’s your paycheck and today’s tips. You keep it all.” We exchange our goodbyes, and Ramon throws his apron into the hamper before he heads out of the shop.
As soon as I’m alone, I settle comfortably into the office chair and dig out the manila envelope from my big purse. I carefully open the large envelope and extract the file that’s hidden neatly inside.
Opening the file, I notice that all the papers are perfectly organized and paper clipped together by size. I couldn’t have done a better job myself. So, Markus is a neat freak? The first item is a photo of Vincent.
Vincent Moreno looks like a perfectly respectable man. He has a full head of salt-and-pepper hair and eyes that glisten with a hint of mischief. He even has rosy cheeks in this picture. His facial hair is a mixture of both black and silver hair. He’s dressed in fine clothes, likely a custom-fitted suit, from what I can see in the photo. And most surprisingly, he has a beguilingly charming smile. Looks can be deceiving.
Lost in scrutinizing the photo of this mysterious man, the sound of the front door opening startles me. The papers are placed neatly back into the manila folder, and I shove the folder into the safe quickly. I kick myself for not locking the door after Ramon left. I leave my office, and as I round the corner, I’m prepared to tell the customer that I am closed for the day. As soon as I see who it is, the sky-blue eyes, the tousled brown hair, an unfamiliar warmth spreads across my face. Please tell me I am not blushing.
“I thought I’d try again since I was in the neighborhood. And this time, I left Chase at home in case he competes for your attention,” Lio says with a smile that showcases a pair of dimples that I never noticed before.
I literally fail to respond.
“Did you eat? I know a great place around here. Or maybe we can go for a drink? Or coffee? Wow, do I sound desperate right now or what? I swear I’m not usually like this,” he says as he puts a hand on his neck and looks away awkwardly. But a cute awkward. A smile breaks across my face.
In any other circumstance, I would be completely turned off by this type of persistent, direct approach by a man. Quite frankly, I would have been turned off by any kind of approach by anyone. But there is something about Lio that is disarmingly honest and likable. I’m not creeped out by him, and a part of me believes that he genuinely wants to just take me out for a meal. Plus, he is so damn handsome. I can’t resist, and I’ve never wanted to give in like this before. My loneliness is begging me to say yes, and the last thing I want to do is throw myself another pity party tonight.
“Fine,” I hear my voice relenting before my mind fully accepts that it has. “I can wrap up in an hour. I’ve already eaten, but I’ll have a beer, or two. Meet me outside the shop.” I’m positively giddy with my decision, even though I don’t show it at all.
“See you in an hour,” he responds with a boyish grin that makes me melt to the core. He turns around and walks out the door, leaving me completely speechless. Oh gods, what have I done?
The next hour is both
excruciatingly slow and lightning fast at the same time. I don’t know what to do with myself at first. I tidy up the washroom, but that doesn’t take long. Then I sit in my office for fifteen minutes, trying to review Vincent’s file, but my mind can’t process anything that my eyes are seeing. I try to review the Hair of the Dog’s financials, and the same thing happens. Frenetic, anxious energy settles into my stomach, yet I can’t seem to find anything to channel it into. I try to shuffle through some more papers before giving into my futile attempts. Sigh.
The last thirty minutes are spent in the bathroom rinsing off dog fur in the shower then applying makeup. The nervous anxiety is settling into my arms, and my fingers are numb and cold. Putting on black liquid eyeliner has never been harder, as rigid focus steadies my hand. I My hand twitches as I reapply mascara, making a black smudge against my right eyelid. Damn it! After rubbing the smudge out with my finger, I’m finally done. Slamming my makeup onto the counter, my fingers flex into a fist. Yes, get a grip on yourself.
Lastly, I blow dry my long hair. A glance at my watch tells me it’s almost four o’clock—no time to finagle with anything else. I pack up the manila folder for some late-night reading before turning off the lights in the shop. Here goes everything.
8
After checking the lock to the front door to Hair of the Dog, I blink a few times to let my eyes adjust to the glistening Santa Monica sunlight. It seems that the sun finally made up its mind and decidedly conquered all of the gloomy haze from earlier in the morning. The sea breeze gently wraps itself around my body, and the scent of salt and sea fills me. With another breeze, the aroma of a local ice cream parlor’s famous waffle cones wafts through the street. I close my eyes for just three seconds to enjoy this very moment. Deep breath steadies me. Relax. There is absolutely nothing to worry about because this means absolutely nothing. When I open my eyes, I spot Lio sitting on a bench across the street, curiously watching me while a smile plays on his lips. Oh, gods, he is watching me!
“Hey there,” he says as I approach him. “Have you been to Fiora? They have a great selection of beer and their food is tasty too.”
“I haven’t been, but let’s go.” Truthfully, I haven’t set foot inside most of the restaurants and stores in Santa Monica. I don’t get out much. More like, I never go out.
We start to head toward Third Street Promenade, and the place is jam-packed. The Promenade is three blocks of shops and restaurants, thereby drawing hordes of locals and tourists from all parts of the country and the world. You can’t walk down the street without hearing at least five different languages—and I love that about it.
Street performers are setting up their latest acts, trying to garner a crowd. Dancers, singers, and magicians alike making their living from the generosity of passersby. Vendors are attempting to sell their products as a rarity, although anyone willing to walk just a few feet further would see another vendor selling the same exact items.
I love the livelihood of it all and take it all in eagerly. In some weird and melancholic way, it reminds me of a simple life that I could never have. I suddenly remember that Lio is walking next to me and realize that we haven’t spoken a word for about a block. Strange as that might be, it doesn’t feel awkward at all. I glance up at him. He must be at least six feet, and I have to crane my neck to get a good look. He seems equally lost in his thoughts. The moment we lock eyes, a warm sensation takes over, starting in my face and traveling down the rest of my body. I feel as if I am basking under an island sun. I’m alarmed by the fact that a complete stranger could have such a physical effect on me. What is it about him?
A surprised look must have been on my face, and he simply gives me a dimple-adorned, sweet smile. I take a peek out of the corner of my eyes to check out his arms and notice that he definitely spends time at the gym. His T-shirt fits nicely around his well-defined chest and arms.
“So, Lio,” I say as I attempt to break the silence and distract myself from the magnetic attraction I feel toward him, “what is it that you do that allows you to be free on a Friday?”
“I run a shipping company. Running my own business gives me a more flexible schedule . . . for the most part.”
“Oh, really?” Impressive. “What’s it called?”
“Manos Maritime Shipping.” I make a mental bookmark so I can go sleuth on Google later at home.
We approach a glass door with just the word Fiora on it. Lio chivalrously opens the door.
The bar looks like the antiquated world of a Parisian salon accentuated with modern décor—deep burgundy walls, gilded mirrors, and fresh roses. There is a black chandelier that hangs from the center of the room with tiny lights that flicker like real candles. I am quietly impressed by Lio’s choice. The place is still empty, and the hostess allows us to select our own seats.
Lio chooses a cozy table in the corner and pulls out my chair, patiently waiting as I settle in. I could seriously get used to this. I thought the ladies say chivalry is dead these days.
After sitting down, Lio passes me the drink menu, and his hand grazes mine gently. An electric current passes between our hands. It’s so shocking that at first, I think that it’s just static electricity until I realize it’s traveling up my arm, straight to my stomach and downward. I almost flinch. Almost. I see Lio looking intently at me, and I smile, flustered.
I settle on a beer from a local brewery and look around the room while Lio continues to review the menu.
“Do you have any restrictions or preferences? Anything that you’re craving?” he asks while reviewing the menu.
“No, I enjoy most foods. Feel free to order whatever you think looks good.” Lio is still studying the menu, so I glance around the room. I spot a blonde waitress heading to our table.
“Welcome to Fiora. What can I get for you?” she says breathlessly, addressing only Lio, even though I’m the one who is looking at her. Lio looks up briefly, and I swear I hear blondie let out a tiny sigh.
“Please, ladies first,” he says as he gestures toward me. The waitress reluctantly turns her gaze to me, piercing me with psychotic eyes. Whoa, Nelly.
“I’ll have the pale ale from San Diego,” I say as I snap the menu shut, handing it to her.
“And I’ll have the stout. We’ll also have an order of the tuna tartare, bacon-wrapped figs, and bruschetta.”
“Okay, I’ll get that started right away. Anything else?” the desperate blondie suggestively asks.
“No, that’s it for now,” Lio responds, not even looking at her. And with that, blondie turns around and walks away.
It’s quiet for several seconds as Lio gets comfortable on the plush leather seat, and it causes me to fidget.
“Were you surprised to see me today?” Lio asks. I’m taken back by his unexpected question.
“Yeah, I was.”
“I couldn’t help myself,” he says as he flashes a devilish smile. I force my gaze to tear away from the sight and stare at my hands that are twisted in a knot in front of me, a telltale sign of my nervousness. I quickly move my fingers apart, hoping he hasn’t noticed. He seems so at ease as if he’s done this hundreds of times. Who knows, maybe he has?
“Do you own Hair of the Dog?”
“Yes, I do,” I answer tersely. I sound like a nervous freak.
“How long have you owned it?”
“I bought the shop from a husband and wife team two years ago. Been running it ever since.”
“Do you enjoy it?” I meet his eyes at this question, surprised again. No one has ever asked me this question.
“Yeah. I do. I would rather deal with dogs than humans.” I’m serious, but I offer up a joking, half-smile.
“I don’t blame you. I’d take feisty dogs over feisty people any day. It seems like you have quite a way with dogs. Chase was smitten with you.” He says this last part seriously and looks me dead in the eye. I feel myself grinning stupidly and glance away, searching for my beer. I see blondie heading over, and I am grateful for her
return.
“Here you go,” she says as she roughly passes the drink to me and thereby sloshing some of the beer over the cold glass.
“And here’s the stout. Your food will be out shortly. Anything else you need?” Again, she’s only addressing Lio, so I don’t even bother answering.
“We’re fine, thank you.” Lio waits until she is out of earshot.
“Cheers to Friday.” He offers up his drink, and I clink my glass against his. He doesn’t even take notice of the blonde’s blatant attempts. Maybe he’s used it being gawked over constantly.
“Cheers.” I take a big, long swig of the ice-cold beer. It tastes like heaven. A perfect balance of hoppy bitterness balanced with a fruity finish. I quickly take three more large gulps of liquid courage. I need it. I’ve never felt this nervous in my life.
“Now, where were we? Hair of the Dog?” I nod in response. “How many people do you employ?”
“Just one. His name’s Ramon. He’s a hard worker and a nice guy.”
“You manage the entire shop with just one worker?” What is this, an interrogation?
“Yup. I like to be hands-on.”
“A bit of a control freak, are we?” His eyes are dancing with playfulness.
“A lot of a control freak. And I’m not ashamed of it.” I give him a playful grin. I’m not sure whether it’s the beer, or I’m regaining my wits, but I feel suddenly more at ease. Maybe it is the brew. I’m already almost done with the beer. As if he read my mind, Lio signals to the waitress across the room and holds up the nearly empty glass.
“Okay, enough with the twenty questions. It’s my turn.” I give him my stop-what-you’re-doing smile, and he freezes momentarily, fixated on my face. I’m not too shabby at this, after all.
