by C. L. Stone
Beyond it was a raised floor, just one step up but enough to make it feel like a separate space. The dark-wood, four-poster bed was there in the center, as if on stage. The bed was a sharp contrast to the white. In fact, the entire room was black and white. The black furniture, the white walls, the white curtains.
It made a difference when we were standing in the room, and our skin and clothes were the only sources of color. It made his light blue eyes all the more striking, and every shade of color seemed to jump out visually.
When he walked across the carpet, he curled his toes into the plush thickness, and I longed to take my shoes off to do the same. No wonder he walked barefoot.
To the right of the living room area was a short hallway with two large closet doors, one closed. The open one revealed a space as big as my old apartment, with displays for shoes, hanging coats and suits, and even a dressing dummy in the center, wearing an exquisite Bironi Vanquish.
I was so distracted by the Bironi that I didn’t look at anything else. I gasped, blinking at how it was lit up by under lighting, giving a shine to the gray-tone, rare Vanquish fabric.
Ace paused, glanced in at the closet at what I was looking at and then laughed and shrugged. “Erm, I’ve never worn it.” He closed the door to his closet.
I blinked at the closed door, still picturing it. “You could buy a car with how much that suit costs.”
“I’d rather have a car.” He tugged me by the elbow. “Not that I need another one. The suit is a gift from my dad.”
“You should at least try it on. It’s a waste to let it sit on a mannequin.”
He didn’t answer me and instead opened the door to the bathroom. I shouldn’t have been surprised by it, since the one for the guest bedroom upstairs was rather luxurious. This one was double the size of that one, and the tub...The tub was magnificent, marble, a large oval standing tub that mimicked old fashioned claw foot style, but made with modern sleekness. Along one wall were two matching basin sinks on top of gray marble. There was an open standing shower on the other side, with a shelf littered with various hair products and soaps. An armchair sat in the corner off to one side of the tub, mostly made from a dark wood but the cushion material was so shiny that I imagined was waterproof. In the very center of the room, there was a large, furry, white rug on top of gray slate tile.
Ace leapt from the carpet in the bedroom to the rug in the bathroom, and then turned to look at me. He stretched out his arm, his hand open. “The tile can be cold.”
Instinctively, I reached for his hand. He grasped it and tugged, a little too soon, but I was still wearing the shoes so it didn’t quite matter if I touched the tile. I steadied myself, my toes able to sense the fuzziness of the carpet from around the sandal and again I felt the urge to take my shoes off here.
“What does it take to refit the bathrooms?” I asked. “I mean from the historical societies?”
“That I don’t move the walls,” he said. He stuffed his hands into his front pockets. “Is this enough space to do...whatever?”
“Yes,” I said. I was pretty sure I could fit a bed in here and make this an apartment.
He lingered, scanning the bathroom and the mirror that ran behind the dual sinks for the length of the bathroom. He rolled his shoulders back, standing straight to look at his own image, sucking in and patting his stomach.
I avoided my reflection by looking at him. I was the same as this morning—as red as tomatoes. I didn’t want the reminder. The burning of my skin was reminder enough.
After, he went to a linen closet. He opened it, showing me the rows of plush bath sheets and other items. “Plenty of towels. Don’t worry about getting coloring on anything. Soma always overbuys, so there’s plenty.”
“What about the rug?” I asked. I nudged the fur with a toe. “Should we roll it out?”
He shrugged. “If it gets in the way.”
“It’d be a shame to ruin it. I’ll try to be careful.”
He smirked. “You’re always worried about ruining my stuff. Do you do that to your own things? Destroy them?”
“It’s different if it’s your own.”
His eyes met mine, the blue nearly sparkling under the light of the bathroom. “Then treat this like your own.”
My insides squirmed. I went to the counter, putting the box of blond coloring I’d selected on it. I opened the container and pulled out the instruction sheet. I hadn’t colored my own hair since my high school days. I could have, but I usually wanted expert advice and skill. “Ace?”
He stepped up behind me, closer than I expected, and I jumped slightly, pushing against the counter. He wasn’t being strange, but something inside of me wanted a professional separation from him.
His eyes widened. “Don’t be afraid of me. I wouldn’t hurt you.”
After finding the note, and the strangeness of all this, I didn’t want to stand too close. I sucked in a deep breath, the air cool in my lungs. “It’s not you. It’s...personal space,” I said. I took a sidestep away to create a comfortable distance. I kept my hands pressed to the marble countertop, feeling the coolness on my palms. “I’m a little jumpy after...yesterday.”
His eyebrow arched. “What happened?” His tone become deeper, reverberating with a protectiveness. “That guy who gave you a ride, did he...do anything?”
I hadn’t even thought of that guy. I breathed out slowly and waved my hand shortly. “No...”
“You can tell me if he did.” He raised his hands, showing me his palms. “Look, I know you don’t know me, and I know this is strange, but no matter what happens, you can walk out at any time or tell me if I do anything that makes you uncomfortable. I’ve no desire to hurt anyone, and I’ll help you if you let me.”
I bit my tongue to prevent myself from getting emotional over him making an effort to be nice. “I’m fine,” I said.
“You asked for me. I was just...what did you need?”
“I wanted to ask about a robe, something older that we didn’t have to worry about if it got discolored?”
He moved instantly, going back to his closet. He was gone only a minute before returning with a long, terry cloth, gray robe and presented it.
I noted the Brunello Cucinelli label. “Thank you,” I muttered and forced my teeth to tighten so I wouldn’t say anything about his choice. Did he own any plain clothing for simple, everyday use?
I had to stop second guessing his decisions. It was rude, but did he know how much such a robe even cost?
I started to surmise maybe he inherited what he had from the way he seemed to disregard the cost of anything. Maybe playboy was a more accurate description of him. Only, his mannerisms at times, the way he spoke with his odd jokes made me think he had grown up poor and come into money. The contradictions in his personality were strange to me.
I took the robe from him, draping it over the bathroom’s armchair. Thoughts zoomed a thousand miles a minute. Despite my concerns about what was going on, he was treating me very kindly, and had since the start. He hadn’t given me reason to distrust him yet, no matter what I’d found. After my ex, I wanted to cut off feeling anything about anyone for a while.
Why was it difficult to do so here? I was fighting it around him.
My lips twisted for something else to say. “Thank you...”
“You already said that,” he said.
I turned to him, meeting those blue eyes that were shiny with amusement. I took him in, the sun-kissed hair, the even tan and the masculine frame, thick arms. His country-like charm was riveting. He could have easily talked any girl on the street into what he was asking me, yet he was taking a chance with me to help me in return for a favor. “I mean for everything you’re doing. You didn’t have to.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, the smirk fading into something softer, more genuine.
Before he could reply, there were footsteps in the bedroom. Soma appeared, his arms holding bags and a small plastic container filled with supplies like plastic g
loves and the mixing bowl. He brought it all to the counter, with his tall frame having to bend over a bit to settle everything without any of it spilling over. “I left the outfit options on the bed. Did you want to approve it while I set everything up in here? Also, I’ll need a minute to go over instructions.”
“I’d suggest checking a few YouTube videos,” I said. “If going blond, we want to get it right so it doesn’t turn orange.”
He nodded, his dark eyes darting back and forth as he thought. “There’s an idea. I’m not exactly a stylist.”
“Do your best,” Ace said. He motioned to the door and then headed in that direction. “Best if I’m out of the way, I think. Unless you want me to stay...” He wriggled his eyebrows at me and the coy smirk returned. “I can possibly help with...uh...something?”
I rolled my eyes, but Soma replied before I could. “Probably best if you’re not here for this,” he said. His voice made a strange echo in the cavernous bathroom and reverberated all the harsher consonants from his accent. He looked at me. “He likes to take over, skip steps, and do things on the fly. And the jokes are distracting. He can barely get out of getting a normal haircut without driving the stylist crazy.”
Ace winked at me, and in a swift movement, leapt once again from the rug to the bedroom’s carpet to avoid the tile and disappeared.
A second later there was a shout from the bedroom. “Em! Pick the black one!”
Soma sighed loudly and turned back to the cluttered counter. “Pick what you’d like, please.”
My curiosity got the better of me. By the time I returned to the bedroom, Ace was gone.
The bed had several garments laid out. The black one was a sweater dress cut across the shoulder. The skirt would have reached mid-thigh. Felt like a light cotton blend but there was no material tag. It was an ideal cut, and I normally would have gone for it given my pear shape. The material was light, but I thought the snugness would wreak havoc on my skin, and it meant more skin to cover with makeup at the shoulders.
There were other items like a pair of jeans with faux holes cut through to look worn, matching with a loose, casual white, destroyed-style cotton T-shirt.
The other option was a wrap dress in navy, with three-quarter sleeves. Seemed to be a rayon outer edge with a polyester blend, making a lightweight wear, breezy, almost a boho chic style but still elegant feminine and posh. Stitching was well done, edges hemmed well. When I held it up, it revealed a wrap around the neck, made to look like a comfortable collar. “Soma?”
Soma materialized behind me. “Any problems with the options? I could ask for something else.”
“No,” I said and motioned to the navy wrap dress. “This will do, and I think we could hide the redness around my legs with some stockings underneath. But I wanted to ask what place we’re going to? Should I be more casual?” I motioned to the jeans and T-shirt.
“The dress would be more suitable,” he said. “The place doesn’t require dressing up too much, but the jeans would be a little out of place. She had them sent along just for tomorrow morning.” He paused and then gazed longer at the blue. “If you wanted attention on you, the blue seems to be the best choice. Elegance demands attention, yes?”
Right. I checked the dress. “What’s the brand? Where did this come from? I don’t see a label.”
Soma blinked and slowly shook his head. His British accent thickened. “Label? This came directly from the designer. These are custom. I thought you might appreciate a local source. It was spawny that she was open at all; she had another appointment. She never keeps regular hours.”
“But where does she get them made. Do you know where the material comes from?”
“American-made materials,” he said with confidence. “Or materials sourced from Europe or Japan with high respectability. She doesn’t farm out the work. She makes every piece in house.” He smiled at the last part. “She was chuffed when I came in asking questions. I knew you’d want to know.”
I smiled, impressed. “I...wow. Who is this designer?”
“We’ve got an appointment with her tomorrow,” he said. “Gretta insisted.”
I reexamined the selections. Even the plain white T-shirt, which I had passed over as machine made, I suddenly noticed the stitching and cut as a finer quality.
“Soma...” I said quietly, and I traced my fingertips over the hem of the shirt. I’d never had clothes direct from a designer before. “I...know I didn’t ask for this, but the cost has to be astronomical.”
Soma suddenly caught my arm, just a gentle touch, enough to get me to redirect my gaze from the clothes to his face.
His dark eyes were piercing, focused. It was strange how earnest and even keel he was compared to Ace. “I understand your position, but please don’t worry about the cost. Ace is asking you the favor, so consider any of the clothing part of the reward for your assistance.” He twisted his lips a moment and then frowned. “I don’t mean to dangle it like a carrot. I simply mean we won’t be using them so they would only go to waste.”
“This is a lot for a favor,” I said.
“This is his choice,” he said. “No one thinks you to be taking advantage. You’ve asked little other than a bath and water to drink. We’ve provided the rest willingly. Think nothing of anything to follow. It is all my pleasure...and Ace’s.” Soma turned from me to head back into the bathroom. “If you’ll join me, we’ll work out what to do about the hair color. I’ll do my best, but we want time to get to a hairstylist if we need to make corrections or go find a wig alternative.”
I glanced once more at the clothing; the navy felt vibrant in the bedroom that was void of color. I had gotten lucky to have run into Ace. There was a tug at my heart.
I was starting to feel for them, Soma and Ace. I didn’t think it was the gifts that spoke to me, but what they said, how they were. And still, I wasn’t sure if I was venturing into dangerous territory.
They were using me for a favor. I had to remember. I was using them, with the hope to get out of a mess I had gotten myself into, in a way. Would I have helped them if I didn’t have this bad stuff hanging over my head? I was hoping the answer was yes, and again, not because of their wealth. Yet, I wasn’t sure I believed it.
I needed to know who we were up against and why Ace was wanting a distraction to get a leg up on him.
Avoid
(Ace)
When Ace returned to the hall outside his bedroom, his phone was vibrating and ringing in the office against the wood desk.
He did a half jog across the floor, nearly slipping on his bare feet as they were highly polished, and into the room to pick it up before it went to voicemail, answering before looking at the screen. “Hello.”
“This is Ace, isn’t it?” a female voice, somewhat familiar, said on the other end. The tone was dark, heavy.
Ace froze where he was, looking out into the garden, an eyebrow raised. “Who is this?”
“You didn’t think I wouldn’t find you after you left Atlanta?” she asked. “After you locked us into that bathroom? You know breaking into my phone and deleting the footage, that’s a privacy violation. The video was mine the moment I recorded it.”
Ace was ready with an argument hanging off of his lips, but paused. Her sense of privacy was screwy. He was careful to stop talking, sure the call was being recorded, but he listened just the same.
When Ace didn’t reply, the woman continued. “We got paid to do it, so you know, but now I’m just annoyed. You went too far.”
Ace ground his teeth, not wanting to get goaded but hoping to pick up any information needed. To see if this was an empty threat or if she intended to do more. She was admitting to things she would just edit out if she got him to talk. It would be pointless to defend himself. The only reason to keep her on the line was to get her to say whatever and hope she screwed up and warned him of something she might try next. Her and her friend...
“Are you there?” she asked. It dawned on him he didn’t really kno
w her name. What was it? He continued to be silent and she followed up. “Whatever. I know where you live. Call me back and give me what I want, or I’ll dig through trash until I find something good. Or I’ll make it up. I don’t even care anymore. Your call.”
There was a click, and Ace double-checked to make sure the phone call had indeed stopped.
He went to his desk, digging out a game card pack filled with playing cards. He fished out a wild card, and then used a Sharpie to write a message.
Deal with her.
He took a photo of this, and he sent it to Loïc.
Ace headed to the kitchen, and a minute later, his phone was ringing. He answered it but double-checked the number to make sure it wasn’t someone else.
Loïc spoke, a stern, deep voice. “In over your head again?”
“I’m not talking mine. I’m talking yours,” Ace said. He opened the fridge, pulling out a small tray of fruit and cheese already prepared. “The psycho from the hotel.”
Loïc’s tone dropped yet another octave, a harsh astuteness Ace was used to. “What happened?”
“She just called, probably trying to record me yelling at her. She found my private number, so she’s somewhat capable. Locking her in the bathroom wasn’t enough.” He added crackers from the pantry and took the collection with him up the back stairs, heading to the second- floor living room. “Sounds like she’s off your leash and going rogue. She may just turn this on you.”
Loïc chuckled. “Afraid?”
“No.”
“We can call everything off.”
If Ace decided to call things off, it would happen quickly. Loïc would take over directly, or he’d send someone else to handle her. Only, Ace would be out a few points. Loïc already had the lead. “I don’t know what you expect me to do. She’s just an internet stalker crazy socialite...There’s no fixing that. Nothing I’d be legally allowed to do anyway.” There were a few more choice words he wanted to throw in, but he paused mid-hallway and focused on the wall as he spoke. “Who is Psycho Girl anyway? Was that just supposed to be a prank on me or did you want me to take care of her crazy attitude?”
