Blind Attraction

by Eden Summers

  “What would you like me to order for you?”

  “A cappuccino with two sugars, please.” She reached for the money in her pocket and pulled out a note.

  “Are you sure that’s all you want?” he asked, his voice gruff, but deeply caring. “Don’t women usually want the skim, soy, caramel, mocha, double decaf crappa latte stuff?”

  Alana chuckled. Tony was clearly not the chatty type. She appreciated his attempt to make her comfortable. “No. I’m not a crappa latte kind of girl.”

  He gave a huff of laughter and patted her hand resting on the table. “OK. A standard cappuccino it is. I’ll go order it now, but I won’t be able to wait around. I need to check the exit point and make sure my boys are all right.”

  “Not a problem.” She raised the note in her hand.

  “Don’t worry, sugar, Mitch already gave me a big enough bonus to take care of it. I’m starting to think he might actually like you.”

  Her heart clenched and she had no clue why. Maybe it had something to do with other people noticing his interest when she physically couldn’t see it, or that she feared he would lose interest in her within any given heartbeat. Either way, her chest did funny things at the mere thought of Mitchell.

  “I’ll get them to bring the coffee to your table and ask them to keep an eye on you.”

  “Thank you.”

  He left without another word.

  She drummed her fingers on the table, played with the salt shakers, fiddled with her hair. Time dragged. Keen vision had always been her strong suit. Not only for clarity, she had the ability to behold things differently than other people. She found beauty in the blandest of settings. Her mother claimed it was the reason Alana’s photos sold so well.

  Losing her vision cut her to the core. She wanted to see the buildings, the skyline, the hills. She itched to capture moments in time with her camera and perfect them with special effects on her computer.

  Instead of allowing the melancholy to take hold, she focused on her other senses. Freshly ground coffee clogged the air and her lungs craved every breath. At home, she lived on the store bought stuff. It was drinkable, but never held the delicious scent that currently filled the room.

  The noise no longer unsettled her. An elderly couple chatted in whispers to her left, their voices holding the fragility of age. Eager women near the front of the store laughed, not minding that their conversation was easily overheard.

  “A cappuccino with two sugars?” A female voice came from beside her.

  “Yes, thank you.” She heard the clatter of the saucer, the tinkle of the teaspoon, and then the footsteps as the woman retreated.

  Alana felt for her cup and palmed the warm crockery in her hands. As she raised the mug to her lips, a shiver ran down her spine. Were people staring at her? Talking about her? She ignored the paranoia and took a sip of coffee. The hot liquid burned her tongue and scorched the back of her throat, and yet, she savored every second of it. The taste was rich and creamy with a dash of sweet perfection. She didn’t need double, caramel, mocha, decaf or whatever Tony called it. Plain and simple was divine.

  Time dripped by. At the end of her drink, she reached for the cell phone in her pocket, then thought better of it. No point going in search of a clock if she couldn’t see. With a sigh she started to fiddle. Mitchell couldn’t be too much longer.

  “Excuse me.” The feminine voice came from the table to her left. Alana ignored it. “I’m sorry miss, but my husband and I were just discussing how you look a lot like someone we used to know.”

  A person’s shadow moved closer to her table and Alana sensed the words were directed at her.

  “Are you from around here, dear?” It was the elderly woman who had sat at the nearby table.

  “No, sorry. My mom lived here a long time ago, but this is my first visit to Richmond.” She shook her head in dismissal and lifted her coffee cup to her lips, even though it was empty.

  There was a pause, a few whispered words.

  “I don’t mean to pester you, but what is your mother’s name.”

  Alana smiled through the discomfort of not being able to make eye contact and kept her gaze lowered. “Susan Shelton.”

  A chair scraped along the floor and a man close by cleared his throat.

  She waited for a reply, stroking the sides of her coffee mug. The likelihood of anyone here knowing her mother was slim, yet her name seemed to be a conversation stopper.

  “And how old are you, child?” The man’s voice came now, fragile and filled with hints of anticipation.

  “Umm.” She frowned, and unease covered her skin. “I’m…twenty-seven.”

  She heard a gasp and a heady sense of foreboding clogged her throat. “Why do you ask?”

  Another chair scraped. One more darkened shadow approached her table, suffocating her, making her claustrophobic.

  “Child, I think you’re our granddaughter.”

  * * *

  Mitch sat in one of the plush chairs in the radio station’s boardroom, dodging questions about Alana as they waited to be taken into the studio. He glared at Blake, trying to think up the best retribution for the way he kept adding fuel to the fire.

  “If she’s blind, what the hell have you been doing with her for the last twelve hours?” Ryan asked.

  “Praying,” Blake replied with a chuckle.

  Sean, Mason, Ryan, and even Leah focused on him with matching expressions of disbelief.

  “Praying?” Leah’s eyes widened.

  “Yeah,” Blake added. “They had the bedroom door closed and Alana kept calling out to God and Jesus and any other spiritual leader who’d listen.”

  Snorts of laughter filled the room.

  Mitch remained seated, arms crossed over his chest, eyebrows raised. The smart-ass comments wouldn’t end for a while.

  “I’m not sure what Mitch was doing, but their religion sounds like a lot of fun.”

  “I bet it beats jerking off to the porn stash on your laptop,” Mitch shot back.

  Blake smirked. “Now that you mention it, her moans of enthusiasm were a great soundtrack to my whack job.”

  “You’re an ass.” Mitch snarled and glanced away, trying to suppress his laughter. The fucker always had a comeback.

  “Seriously, Mitch, I hope you didn’t seduce the girl when she’s in such a vulnerable position.” Leah made it sound so sleazy. “She’ll have a great story to spin to the media once the fun and games are over. It could turn into a PR nightmare.”

  Alana wasn’t the attention seeking type, but he’d been wrong before.

  Tony stalked past the windows of the boardroom and opened the door, breaking the fixation on Mitch’s love life.

  “How is she?” he asked before Tony said a word.

  Mason groaned and Mitch ignored it. He wouldn’t hide his worry over her wellbeing. He cared for her and had to admit he enjoyed her vulnerability and the way she relied on him. Her image still hadn’t left his mind, her smile, her dimples, her gorgeous light green eyes. He couldn’t wait to get downstairs to see her again.

  “She was fine when I left her ten minutes ago.” Tony shrugged. “I ordered her a coffee and she seemed happy to sit there and wait.”

  Mitch nodded in thanks.

  “There were three guys down there checking her out, I’m sure they’ll keep her company if she gets lonely.”

  Mitch pushed forward in his chair and sat up straight. “What?” He gripped the table, poised to push to his feet when Tony’s face brightened with a smirk.

  “You really like her, don’t you?” Mason asked with a chuckle. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun.”

  Mitch didn’t agree. They’d all gone through it before. Ryan used to do the puppy love thing with his wife Julie. Sean still held resentment from the last woman who broke his heart and Mitch was pretty sure the reason Blake spent a lot of time on the laptop was because of a woman too.

  He didn’t bother answering. They would only twist his words into s
omething they found humorous. Unfortunately, it was their ritual, the way they bonded, and Mitch supposed he deserved a little payback for the years of shit he’d given.

  A knock came at the door and Jenny Jay, the local radio host, poked her head inside the room. “You guys ready?”

  Leah moved beside him as he pushed from his chair. “I’m going to check on Alana while you guys do your thing. I’ll try and convince her to come back up with me, that way we can leave straight after the interview and avoid any fan drama.”

  “Thanks.” He ran both hands through his hair and breathed deep. “Let’s get this shit over with.”

  The members of Reckless Beat followed Jenny down the hall and entered the small studio room while the bodyguards waited in the reception area. They’d done the radio gig so many times before that when Jenny ran through her spiel on how things would run on air, Mitch zoned out.

  His attitude didn’t change once they were live. Mason always handled the majority of the questions. Being the lead singer, he was the one the fans loved the most. The rest of them would indicate with hand gestures if they wanted to answer something specific, and they kept Leah happy as long as they spoke at least once.

  Today, Mitch hoped his “hello” to the listeners would suffice.

  “So, Mitchell—” He cringed when Jenny Jay said his name. “—the newspaper tells of another heroic scene. Apparently you came to the rescue of one of your fans last night. How does it feel to be back in the spotlight saving another beautiful woman?”

  He gave an uncomfortable laugh, uncomfortable because he had no idea what the hell to say. He hadn’t seen the newspaper and could only imagine the way the assholes would’ve distorted the truth.

  “Umm, good...I suppose.” There, he’d done his quota.

  “I’ve been told you spent the night taking care of the female in question, rushing her to get medical attention in the early hours of the morning. Is this another case of not being able to turn down a woman in need?”

  Blake snorted softly beside him, and Mitch wanted to do the same. That damn interview would haunt him for the rest of his life.

  “I think the majority of people would react the same way to a woman in need. Alana was powerless to stop her injuries and unable to take care of herself afterward. I merely did the right thing.” He gave a firm nod, happy with his answer.

  Jenny Jay smiled back at him before turning her next question to Ryan and the rumors of his failing marriage.

  Halla-fucking-lujah. For once he hadn’t dug the hole deeper for himself.

  Blake leaned toward him and covered the mic in front of them. “Boy is Leah gonna be pissed you didn’t milk that PR opportunity for all it’s worth.”

  Mitch nudged his best friends shoulder away and ignored the comment. Leah still owed him for the last PR nightmare. He didn’t care about their manager’s reaction anyway. His attention rested on how he would persuade Alana to spend another night with him.

  A knot formed in his chest and he rubbed it away. He needed to hold her a little longer, to memorize her features and hopefully score a little more prayer time too. Only problem—he didn’t think she would be easy to convince.

  “Child, I think you’re our granddaughter.”

  A hand came to rest on top of Alana’s, and she flinched. “I’m sorry, but you’re mistaken.” She slid her hand out from underneath the weight. “My grandparents have passed away.”

  The elderly woman released a soft sob.

  “Shh, shh.” The man consoled. “What’s your name, child?”

  Alana frowned and glanced over her shoulder in the hope a waitress would rescue her. She felt sorry for the elderly couple. They must be lonely.

  “Alana,” she replied, rubbing the tiredness from her eyes.

  “What about your father, Alana?” The woman’s voice broke.

  She tensed. Time for the conversation to end. She grasped for the corner of the table with both hands and pushed herself to stand. She didn’t know where she was going, or how she would get there, but she couldn’t stay. “I’m sorry. I’m not the woman you’re looking for. Now, if you would please excuse—”

  The man grabbed her wrist. “Your father is our son.”

  Anger boiled her blood. He had no right to touch her.

  “My father is a rapist,” she spat and waited for the gasps.

  None came.

  “Child, please sit so we can discuss this,” he pleaded.

  Alana frowned and clung to the table as her hands trembled. Why weren’t they shocked? She shook her head, confused.

  “My grandparents are dead,” she whispered. “My father was a rapist.” Those two sentences had been repeated to her as a child, over and over and over again until finally she stopped asking about her family.

  “Our son has done some regrettable things, yes. But I assure you Alana, we are your grandparents.”

  Bile rose up her throat. “I’m sorry.” She blinked straight ahead, unable to believe. On numb legs, she pushed her chair back and maneuvered around the table, bumping into them in her effort to flee.

  “Please, Alana.” The woman choked.

  She didn’t stop. With her fingers outstretched in front of her, Alana fumbled forward, colliding with tables and chairs, causing plates to rattle and people to curse. Her vision brightened with each step, leading her to the front of the store.

  “Where’s the door?” she pleaded.

  A gentle hand landed at the small of her back, jolting her heart. “It’s a few feet ahead.” The elderly man answered.

  She jerked from his touch. They had to be con artists. They had to be. And with her sight impediment, she made for an easy target.

  “Leave me alone.” She glared over her shoulder, hoping her gaze hit its mark.

  The noise in the coffee shop lowered to hushed whispers before he spoke again. “Excuse me, sir, could you help this lady outside please?”

  Now he wanted to help her?

  Another chair scrapped along the floor.

  “No problem.” The voice was younger, more comforting than the man who’d begun to truly frighten her. Maybe her mother’s fears were justified.

  A soft hand gripped her wrist and she fought to hold back the terror at his touch. She’d never been so vulnerable or weak. Her mother had taught her to defend herself, how to attack an attacker. Yet right now, beside a man who sounded too old and frail to even break into a sweat, she was scared.

  The man led her forward. “Watch your step.” Her head tilted in his direction as they walked into the warm breeze of day.

  Cars zoomed by in the distance. The sound of women screaming Mason’s name and echoing chants of “Reckless Beat” came from her left. Heels clicked, men spoke, phones rang. Disorientation made her knees weak. Her throat dried. Instead of faltering, she tilted her lips in a smile and inclined her head to her helper. “Thank you.”

  His grip dropped from her wrist. “Not a problem.”

  Then he was gone. And she was left alone.

  She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and tried to gain her bearings. The building stood tall behind her. She could take a step back, walk herself around to another entrance and ask for help. Or she could do what she should’ve done in the first place.

  Being Mitchell Davies’ mistress wasn’t a role she should be playing. Once she found somewhere quiet to rest, she would call Kate and get out of here.

  She let the air seep from her lungs, pivoted on her toes and glanced up at the dark shadow of the wall. She inched closer to the building, taking small steps so she wouldn’t trip. Reaching out, she touched the cold glass window and trailed her fingers forward. Slowly she advanced until her hand slid off the edge and into air.

  She suppressed a squeal as her steps faltered. “Goddamn it.” Vertigo threatened to drag her to her knees, but she settled into the building, bowing her head until she caught her breath.

  Once the threat of tears and the pulse of dizziness subsided, she moved around the corner. Her p
alms grated against something rough–cement or stone, no longer glass. When the noise around her lessened, she leaned her back against the wall and slid to the ground. Her ass hit the hard cement with a jolt. She closed her eyes, rested her elbows on her knees, and covered her face to ward off the nervous breakdown.

  Her chest heaved, the constriction tightening with each breath. Something wasn’t right. Her mind kept going over the couple’s reactions. How they didn’t flinch when she mentioned the rape. How they remained adamant about the family connection.

  What if he wasn’t a con artist, and the words he spoke were true?

  She shook her head, determined to stay strong. Dropping her hands, she leaned to the side and removed her cell from her pants pocket. Kate would cheer her up. She always did. There couldn’t be much time before her friend finished work either. Then they would go home together and relax over a few cocktails like they’d planned to do since last month.

  Alana cupped the device in her hand, her heart beating harder with each second she stared at the black blur. Why hadn’t she set up the voice recognition application? She could see the dark hues of her jeans, the cream fuzz of her arm, and only a big black spot where her phone should be.

  Closing her eyes, she unlocked the screen by touch. That part was easy, she’d done it a thousand times before without thought or sight. The next step would be harder. There weren’t many contacts in her address book, but she had no way of knowing where Kate’s name sat or how far to scroll to get to it.

  She placed her finger in the bottom left corner, where the book icon would take her to the numbers stored. With a deep breath she started to slowly scroll, trying to recount each person listed and what size each icon made. When she reached the position she thought would be close, she pressed her screen, and pressed again where she thought the connect button would be.

  Raising the phone to her ear she waited.

  Nothing.

  She lowered the phone again, lifted the device right before her eyes and tried to see where she needed to press, but it was no use. Again, she blindly pressed her screen and placed it to her ear.