Wicked Intentions

by Linda Verji

  “Eight o’clock then. Sabine’s.”

  A date with a nice guy like Wayne wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to her, she thought as she waited for the elevator. Unbidden, an image of Nathan clouded her thoughts. She started to shove it to the back of her mind then hastily reeled it back in. Damn it! She still owed the man money.

  Obviously explaining that the FBI had frozen her accounts was out of the question. The man already knew she’d been in prison; she didn’t need to make him even more suspicious of her. As much as she wanted to avoid any contact, not talking him was also not an option. Shakira liked to handle her responsibilities. She dialed his number just as the elevator came to a grinding halt and its steel doors opened up.

  He picked up on the third ring. “We need to talk.”

  Had he read her mind? Thrown, Shakira could only say, “Okay,” as she stepped into the elevator.

  “Let me take you to lunch,” he suggested. They needed to talk - but lunch? Before she could protest he added, “Where are you? I can pick you up.”

  “No, no. You don’t need to,” she protested. The elevator stopped at level five picking up two more people. She suggested to Nathan, “Let me meet you.”

  “Is 44 Club okay?” he asked, naming a restaurant Shakira had only seen but never been to.

  “That’s okay,” she acquiesced. “I’m close to it so I’ll just wait for you.”

  She stopped at the ATM and withdrew the rest of her money – just in case the government got any more ideas. Tucking one thousand dollars into one envelope and then the remaining two hundred into her wallet next to the balance left over from Saturday’s withdrawal, she headed to the restaurant.

  Sleek luxury cars stopped in front of the building that housed 44 Club dropping off expensively clad businessmen and women. As soon as she stepped into the restaurant, Shakira realized exactly why she’d never been there. 44 Club was not a place you came to eat. It was a place you came to throw away money.

  The smell of exotic food and money mingled to create an intoxicating scent that seeped into her blood and welcomed her into the large airy space. The warm shades of the red and white décor embraced her as did the soft instrumental music playing in the background in accompaniment to the quiet conversations of its exclusive clientele.

  Shakira was so glad she’d chosen to dress up today. Armored in her silk blouse, pencil skirt and red-bottom heels, she felt like she almost belonged. A smiling server in a snow white shirt and pants met her at the entrance. “Welcome to 44 Club.”

  He led her past several linen clad tables arranged artfully across the expanse of the restaurant and occupied by other clients. Oh my God, is that Pierce Brosnan? Shakira quickly tapped down on the immediate thrill and forced her gaze back to the server. This was not the place to fan-girl. He guided her to an open table and placed a menu in front of her before leaving her to make her choice.

  So exclusive was 44 Club that the menu didn’t even come with prices.

  “How much is a glass of juice?” Shakira asked the server when he came back for her order. She almost had an aneurism when he stated the price. “I’ll have water. A small water!”

  Taking advantage of her first free minutes of the day and the free wi-fi, she opened her laptop and logged into her account with one of her favorite freelancer online marketplaces. Even when she was working at McPherson’s, she’d always had a back up plan in case things went south. She’d kept her freelancer account active by taking smaller accounting jobs over the weekend. Now that she was jobless, she’d need to take larger jobs until she found something offline.

  She was engrossed in her applications when she felt the hairs at the back of her neck stand up. Startled, she lifted her head only to see him making his way towards her. The thrill of awareness was immediate as was the perking up of her body. All her senses came alive. Her pulse began to beat a faster rhythm, her nipples perked up and inner thighs moistened almost as if in readiness for him.

  She was wrong.

  One night had definitely not been enough to soothe her hormones.

  They’d just reserved all their actions for one man.

  Nathan.

  She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. She’d seen him naked, half-naked, in casual clothes - yet her response to him in a suit was just as strong. Her eyes cruised up his body hungrily eating up the way the grey fabric molded his thighs with every step he took and caressed his broad shoulders. Her tongue peeked past her lips as she focused on the open collar of his black shirt, loving the flash of his strong throat. Finally her gaze rose to meet his just as he reached her table.

  “Shakira.” Even the way he rolled her name on his tongue was enough to send her heart skipping a beat. Shakira was in no condition to resist him when he bent his head and placed his lips on her softly before straightening up.

  “Hey.” She was shocked that her voice wasn’t the least bit shaky and that she didn’t reach for him and pull him down for an extended kiss.

  “Have your ordered yet?”

  Shakira shook her head wordlessly and Nathan gestured for a server. What was it about the man that had her behaving like a mute when she wasn’t panting like a horny walrus?

  Get a grip, Shakira! Don’t you understand the concept of one-night stand? She could almost hear London berating her. Giving herself a mental slap, she shook off the entrancement Nathan’s arrival had charmed her into. By the time the server turned to her to get her lunch order, she had her wits back.

  “Just get me what he’s having,” she requested as she shut her laptop and slipped it back into her bag. When she turned back to Nathan, his eyes were on her and they were narrowed in – anger? She immediately launched into an explanation, “I promise I’m going to get you the money I just-”

  He interrupted, “You left without a word.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I woke up to a cold bed and fifteen hundred dollars on the coffee table.” A muscle jumped in his cheek as his piercing gaze skimmed her face, her throat and breasts and left a trail of tingles. “What was that about?”

  “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  “No, I wanted to see the beautiful woman I invited to my bed last night next to me.” Though his voice barely rose, his eyes flared with passion. “I wanted to get a chance to make her breakfast and thank her for a wonderful night.”

  Even though they were not meant as compliments, his words were like the sounds of a well-played violin to a music aficionado. She couldn’t help feeling flattered that he thought she was beautiful. Her lips widening in a soft smile she said, “Then you should’ve called.”

  “After you ran out on me,” quirking an eyebrow, he asked, “would you have picked up my call?”

  “Of course,” Shakira said though the skeptical devil inside her jeered ‘yeah right’. Reaching for his hand across the table, she said, “I’m sorry.”

  His eyes slipped to her hand over his. Even that small touch was enough to spark Shakira’s nerves and she wanted to pull away. She kept her hand on his soothing one finger over his skin.

  His expression eased and sighing deeply, he turned his hand under hers and squeezed her fingers lightly. “Next time, at least wait up for me.”

  Next time? Shakira didn’t get a chance to refute the statement because their meal arrived at just that moment. She’d thought that after their one-night disaster any conversation between them would be awkward. She’d underestimated the man.

  The lunch was far from uncomfortable. Nathan was practiced in the art of making a woman feel good. He kept the easy conversation swirling around them subtly delving into her life but not so much that she felt like he was intruding. Despite the fact that beautiful women trooped by them – some even stopping to greet him- his eyes never strayed away from her. He made her feel as if everything she said was laced in platinum and covered in gold.

  Eyes lit in interest he exclaimed, “I can’t believe you grew up here!”

  “I’m a New Yorker
born and bred,” Shakira said as she set her half full glass of juice on the table. “What about you?”

  “From around,” he dismissed before he asked, “What was it like growing up here?”

  Shakira was aware that Nathan had skillfully evaded her question but the way he was teasing the back of her hand with his finger and the intoxication of having all his attention on her scuttled her thoughts and she found herself saying, “I guess it just depends on where you were born. I grew up in The Bronx so I can’t really tell you about what it’s like in Manhattan.”

  “Tell me about The Bronx.”

  And she did. She left out all the horrors of raising herself and instead regaled him with stories about the interesting – and sometimes sketchy – characters who’d colored her growing up. By the time she tucked into her last bite of the delicious coconut cream pie, she was satiated from both good conversation and good food.

  It was only while he led her out of the restaurant with his hand on the base of her spine that she remembered why she’d even wanted to see him. It felt crass to bring up money issues after their ‘date’ but she didn’t have a choice.

  “I’m just having a few problems with the bank, but I promise I’ll fix everything by the end of the week,” she said as they stood outside the restaurant.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said as his arm wrapped around her waist.

  His being such a good sport after what Eve had done to him only made Shakira feel guiltier. She found herself rifling through her bag and coming up with the envelope containing the one thousand dollars. Turning to face him she held it out, “Here, this should make another dent in my balance.”

  His brow furrowed in a frown as he stared at the white envelope, “Shakira, I told you-”

  “Please just take it,” she pleaded, resting her hand on the lapel of his jacket.

  His eyes rose to her face, their stare disconcerting in its intensity. It was almost as if he was assessing her. Finally he nodded and plucked the envelope, “If you insist.”

  “I do.”

  Before she could step away from him, he dragged her closer. His arm tightened around her waist as he lowered his head. It wasn’t a heated kiss – or even a long one but the subtle brush of his lips against hers and slight nibble of her lower lip was enough to bring up memories of their limbs tangling and his mouth teasing other parts of her body.

  Would it be so bad to replay their one-night stand just for another night?

  “Can I see you later today?” Nathan asked when he lifted his head.

  “Y-”Just in time she remembered her date with Wayne. “I’m doing something later tonight. Tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow is okay.” With a press of his lips against her forehead, they separated.

  After lunch with Nathan, she went to a cheaper café to work then met up with London who’d pronounced her officially prison-broken. ‘Two dates with two men in one day. I’m so proud of my baby’, London had declared. She then headed out to the warehouse where the rest of her things were, changed into a hot pink cocktail dress in preparation for her date with Wayne.

  Dinner with Wayne was not even twenty-five percent as exciting as lunch with Nathan had been. It wasn’t the man. He was the perfect host. He’d held out the chair for her, made nice small talk even bought her flowers after dinner – but her mind just wasn’t into it.

  She was too busy dreading how the rest of her night was going to be like.

  Wayne however seemed completely oblivious to her mood and had no problems carrying the conversation on his own.

  “Thank you for the wonderful dinner,” she said as they came to a stop in front of her car.

  “You’re welcome,” Wayne said. “Maybe we can do it again.”

  “Maybe. Goodnight.” She stretched out her hand just as Wayne leaned in for a hug. Awkward! The resultant good-bye was a cross between a half-hug, handshake and a gauche pat on the back.

  “I’ll call you to set a date,” Wayne yelled out as he waved her away.

  Whoop dee doo!

  The closer Shakira got to her old high school, the downer she got. Her stomach rumbled in protest as her mind conjured up memories of the past but she kept driving. At the gate, the guard stepped away from his post and walked toward her. Even though time had caught up with him and his hair was completely grey, Jermaine’s limp was as familiar to her as the school was. She felt a brief tinge of relief that her bet that he was still around had paid off.

  “Li’l girl is that you?” he asked as he propped his arm on the roof of the car and bent to look through the driver’s window.

  “Hi, Jermaine,”

  “What you doing here?”

  “You know.” She shrugged. She didn’t need to explain more.

  Jermaine was silent for a moment as he observed her. Finally he asked, “Your mama wit you?”

  She shook her head. Jermaine had gone to school with Eve and Eve had used his mega-sized crush on her shamelessly. Shakira felt bad for latching on to it too but with less than four hundred dollars in her purse now, she was out of options.

  “Okay.”Jermaine nodded as he straightened up. “Don’t forget to put up your reflector though. You never know who’s gonna pass by.”

  “Thanks Jermaine.”

  As soon as he opened the gates, Shakira drove in and parked at the far end of the parking lot. Eve had bought Jeanine for just nights like these and the car conveniently came with tinted windows to bar prying eyes and a blanket in the back seat. After putting up the sun reflector on the windshield, Shakira moved to the back seat.

  Changing in the back seat of a car was like riding a bicycle. Once you’ve done it, you never forget how. Within moments the cocktail dress was gone replaced by a warmer sweat suit, socks and a jacket. She popped the front passenger seat backwards then clambered onto it with the blanket.

  Sleep didn’t come easy for Shakira.

  Her thoughts wouldn’t let her rest.

  She had worked so hard to get out of this life; kept her GPA high, chosen a course that wasn’t necessarily her dream career but one she knew could keep her fed, saved like an ant and bought a house so she’d never have to sleep on the subway or in a car again.

  For what?

  What was the point of working so hard when the invisible hand of God was just up there waiting to flush her dreams down the toilet? She should’ve thrown in the towel a long time ago. She should've had her fun instead of wasting her time with school. She should've gotten pregnant by some no-good thug instead of choosing to commit to Charlie who looked good on the outside but when push came to shove was just another rotten egg.

  Maybe her life would be different now.

  And if it wasn’t at least she’d know that it was all because of her decisions and not because of people like Eve and Charlie.

  Shakira buried her head underneath the thin blanket as her tears slid down her cheeks and wet the car seat.

  Look where I am now.

  CHAPTER 8

  “I don’t know what this lady is up to,” Randall Montgomery, private investigator, pronounced, “but if I were you I wouldn’t come near her with a stick.”

  Nathan didn’t respond to the statement. He was too busy studying the pictures the PI had just handed him. Even the faint sounds of thumping as workmen worked on the studio below his office weren’t enough to distract him. He shuffled through the pictures shoving each underneath the rest as he scanned them.Right at the top of the pile were images of his target’s previous day’s activities including her lunch with him. Next were images of her at the café and the warehouse.

  His pulse jumped at the image of her coming out of her storage unit dressed in a cocktail dress. Pictures didn’t do Shakira Dalton justice but she still looked delicious as hell. The hot-pink fabric started just above her breasts, hinting at the tempting bounty underneath, hugged each contour of her body wickedly before stopping mid-thigh. Resisting the urge to trace her form with his finger, he moved on to the next picture –one
of her stepping into her mother’s Honda Fit.

  Nathan hadn’t expected this intense attraction to Shakira. Granted the woman had all her parts wired right, but he’d been with other good-looking women. He’d never felt this kind of pull with any of them. One night with her had been like getting a present and then someone snatching it away just after he’d managed to tear off a piece of the wrapping paper.

  He wanted to see more.

  He wanted to pick apart everything that made Shakira tick and satiate his curiosity. Actually curiosity was an understatement for all the emotions that plagued him whenever he thought of Shakira – which was every other minute of his day. He was curious about how why and how she’d gotten entangled in Eve’s messy business, attracted to the honesty in her eyes when she’d spoken about her childhood, repelled at the thought that maybe even that glimpse of honesty was just a mirage and confused because of the pictures in his hand.

  “Who’s this?” He pointed to the image of a red-haired man seated across from Shakira at Sabine’s.

  Randall leaned towards the desk, taking the piece of grass he was poking his teeth with out for a moment to stare at the picture. “That’s Wayne Perkins.”

  “And he is…”

  “Her lawyer,” Randall clarified as he inserted the grass back in his mouth. Nathan let out breath of relief but his relief was cut short when Randall added, “But I don’t think that’s all he is.”

  “Why’d you say so?” Nathan’s voice gave no indication of the instinctive tensing of all his muscles. He was not jealous.

  “Wayne only represents celebrities. This is the first Pro Bono case he’s ever done.”

  “He defended her free of charge?”

  Randall nodded as he reached for another pile of pictures that sat on Nathan’s desk. “And look at this.” He shuffled through the images before slapping one in front of Nathan. In it Wayne was leading Shakira out of Sabine’s with a hand on her lower back. In the next picture Randall handed Nathan, Wayne was leaning forward as if to kiss her. “There may be more to those two. It may also explain where she got some of the money she paid you.”