Moving my mouse to the top, I click the images tab even though I know I shouldn’t. I don’t need to be reminded of how good-looking he is. Plus, what if I find some with women? I can’t imagine him with another female. Is that crazy? I know it is. I shouldn’t be thinking that I have any sort of claim over him or who he associates with. Hell, I don’t even know the man. He’s sent me a few gifts—nothing more.
The pictures don’t compare anywhere close to the real thing, that’s for sure. There’s one though where he caught whoever was behind the camera watching them and that fierce gaze is so potent it almost feels as if he’s staring at me through the screen. There’s another of him in a leather jacket. It seems sort of out of place with all the others of him dressed to the nines and then seeing him in a suit yesterday. It’s like his body belongs in a suit, commanding attention and respect.
Right clicking the mouse, I hit ‘print’ on the leather jacket photo, shaking my head at myself for doing it. I want to see him up close dressed like that. He’d almost seem more human, maybe easier to approach. Would I have treated him differently at the restaurant had he been dressed like that instead? Possibly. He’s got the whole James Dean bad boy vibe going on and it’s beyond hot.
Once it’s done printing, I fold the five-by-seven-sized photo and stuff it into my bag. I don’t want anyone seeing it on my desk; they may put two and two together to realize who the gifts are from. Earning the eye of a criminal isn’t exactly good for promotional possibilities at work. I like my position here, and I’m not one to turn down a potential raise in the future if it were offered.
I should call Kaleigh. No, I’ll text her and see if she wants to meet for lunch. I may blab about the purse over the phone right now, so it’s safer to hide behind a quick message. If she finds out about the bag or the flowers, she’ll freak and most likely never leave her house again. I’d see her on an episode of Hoarders or something and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself knowing I played a part in it.
Me: Hey, want to meet for lunch today?
Kaleigh: Yes, is the sandwich shop on 25th ok?
Me: Why so far away?
Kaleigh: I’m helping with a new listing.
Me: Okay, see you soon.
She’s a secretary for a real estate agency and sometimes they drag her along if they think there’ll be extra paperwork involved. I don’t know how she does it. That job has more paperwork than mine does. I’d pull out my hair working over there.
Setting the box with the new purse on the floor beside my desk where no one can see it, I get to work on making my business calls. After touching base with eleven clients and taking a coffee break, it’s time to catch a cab to lunch. To be honest, I’m kind of happy about not walking today. It’s probably silly, but I’m paranoid now. I can’t help but wonder if he’ll show up at my office or somewhere else.
Climbing into the cab, I greet the older Indian man, “Hi. Vino’s on twenty-fifth , please.” He doesn’t answer, just gives me a short nod and then we’re on our way.
Being late this morning, I was so distracted that I hurried to work but after this other gift and the Google search, I’m somewhat anxious to be alone on the street. It’s absurd, I know. He’s buying me nice things, so I doubt he wants to hurt me, but it’s still nerve-racking to know that at some point I’m going to have to speak to him.
I wonder if Thaddaeus is watching me or having someone else do it for him? That would be too crazy, too soon. I need to relax; I’m acting paranoid and that’s not like me. Am I being ridiculous about all of this? Maybe just a bit, I need to reel it in.
Keisha’s right. I should be coming up with a decent way to thank him. Perhaps offer to have dinner with him if I get the chance to? Pretty presumptuous to think he wants to eat with me. He most likely just wants to fuck and then disappear. Weird, but I didn’t get that vibe from him. It seemed like something stronger, something a little more than just the sexual chemistry all piled up into five explosive minutes of me not even having the guts to meet his gaze. The tension was so dense in that brief time, we may combust the next time we come face-to-face.
Another thing riding in the back of my mind about him watching me is if he’ll notice that I’m not using the bag he sent. Surely, he wouldn’t expect me to carry something that expensive around on the street. But then what would he know about being safe? According to the articles, he’s one of the criminals that I do my best to watch out for daily.
If I try and consult my mother for some advice, she’ll end up figuring out a way to contact Thaddaeus. Knowing her, she’d send him a marriage proposal and make it seem like it came from me. I’ve already busted her in the past setting up an online dating profile for me. The crazy woman does it with love, but it drives me nuts.
I’m so screwed; I had to be snarky when I saw him. I should’ve just kept my mouth shut like Kaleigh had said. With that thought, the cab comes to a halt in front of the sandwich shop.
“Twelve-fifty,” the tan Indian man says with a mild accent.
I give him $13.50 and smile as I climb out. It’s a shitty tip, but I have to eat and catch a cab back. Hopefully one day I’ll be able to tip better, but my budget doesn’t allow it right now. That’s one thing I hate about living in such a large city; everything is so damn expensive and you have to take a cab anywhere that’s not close by. If not, then you risk getting stuck in traffic or not being able to find a parking spot. I bet Thaddaeus tips well, if his gifts are any indication.
Entering the restaurant, Kaleigh’s easy to spot. She’s waiting for me at a tiny table near the back so I send her a small wave and make my way over, weaving through the other patrons. The place is packed, and everyone’s in a rush to eat quickly on their lunch breaks. It’s loud as they all carry on, laughing and visiting. The air’s filled with delicious scents of fresh-baked brownies, a staple at Vino’s.
“Hey lady, how did everything go with the new property today?” I ask as I sit in the empty chair across from her.
She instantly appears guilty, glancing at her hands and picking at her manicure of white polished nails. “I wasn’t exactly honest about that,” she admits reluctantly.
“What do you mean?”
“I didn’t really have work on this side of town. I um, didn’t want to stay in the neighborhood for lunch after what happened with you-know-who.”
Jesus Christ. See, episode of Hoarders in the making. “Please tell me that you’re joking.”
“No. I’m sorry, Grace; I’m not. I didn’t want to run into them again. Those guys are scary.”
“Who’s to say we won’t see them anywhere else? Especially here, you picked another Italian joint, crazy. And you owe me twelve bucks. No, make it twenty-five bucks for cab fare, both ways.” I can’t freaking believe this, I would kick those guys’ asses if it came down to her safety. She should know this.
She cringes, expelling a breath. “I’ll get your lunch today too. I’m a terrible friend.”
“You’re not a bad friend, you were just trying to keep us safe and I appreciate that. However, I would’ve liked to save my money, we could’ve ordered in to the office or something. I’m a little surprised you went this far away to avoid them too.”
“This was the first place I thought of. But that’s a good idea; maybe we can order in tomorrow or Friday.”
Nodding, I take a sip of the ice water with lemon already waiting on the table for me. “Did something happen after we left to spook you more? Did anyone contact you or send you anything?”
I can’t help but be curious. It never even crossed my mind that he could’ve sent her something too; it would make sense why she’s still tripping about seeing them. That’d be an easy way to piss off a woman too, send a gift to two women at the same time. I wouldn’t feel so bad about keeping that new purse if that’s the case.
“Oh no, nothing happened. Everything’s fine. It’s all been pretty boring actually, but last night I started watching a crime show and then I had crazy dreams. I
woke up four times because of it. Eventually I took a Benadryl so I could get some good sleep.”
“Jesus, Kaleigh, you need to watch Pitch Perfect or something to get the scary stuff out of your head. You’re lucky you didn’t oversleep or anything today.” I’m a hypocrite. I’m guilty of getting sucked into the crime shows too and now I’m freaking paranoid.
“I know, tonight I’m watching Fifty Shades. I figure if I have crazy dreams at least let them be of a man spanking me or something fun like that. Besides, everything’s been okay for you too, right?”
Now that’s a fantasy I can get on board with—Thaddaeus doling out sexual punishments on my body.
Pasting on my business smile, I wave her off, as if she’s being overzealous. My teeth clamp down, biting back my urge to blab about the gifts that have been delivered to my office. Technically things have been great. No need to freak her out more and let her in on what’s been going down with me.
“I figured I was being dumb about the whole thing. I’m sorry again for not being upfront with you.”
“No worries. Let’s get some food, I’m starving.”
I’m going to Hell for being a terrible friend. I pride myself in always being honest with her, but if I tell Kaleigh about the gifts, I know she’ll completely flip out on me. She’s always the low-key, cautious one; me, not so much. Even after the Jelly Bean lesson.
It looks like I’m already lying for him and we haven’t even officially met yet. At this rate, I’m going to earn that damn bag he sent.
He who is not impatientIs not in love.
-Italian Proverb
Day number three…
The moment I stepped into my office and saw the giant basket on the middle of my desk, I decided to start numbering either the days or the gifts in whichever order they show up. Today is gift number three from him and day number three, counting our run-in at the restaurant, so that’s what I’m going with.
This time the gift is an enormous, honey colored wicker basket filled with strawberry, white chocolate chip muffins. They’re not the cheap, plastic wrapped ones you find in the shitty coffee shops either. These muffins are supersized, nearly the same size as a softball with big chunks of white chocolate that melt in your mouth.
They’re so fragrant too, like pure heaven in the edible sense. I could smell them in the hallway before I even got into my office. It’s like the baker was in this exact room, making them and the delicious scent has filled up the entire building. I’m either going to eat them until I make myself puke or else get so sick of smelling them I never want to eat them again.
Today’s cardstock had the same initials as yesterday, and again, nothing else. I even pulled out the decorative fabric the muffins were resting on. There was nothing but the beautifully woven basket, dark blue material, massive sized muffins and a gift card for the bakery, Beanery Bliss. I’m assuming maybe for coffee or more muffins and then the small note with Thaddaeus’ initials.
Damn it, he has to tell me what he wants from me already. I refuse to sleep with him to pay him back, and I cannot financially afford to give him the money that all this stuff costs, so these gestures need to stop before he sends anything else. I don’t use people and I don’t like feeling as if he’s attempting to buy me. I make my own money, granted it’s not a lot, but I can purchase my own food and my stylish, much cheaper purses.
The lunch was unexpected. The flowers were nice. The purse was over-the-top, now these muffins and a gift card. I feel absolutely spoiled and giddy inside, but this must stop.
Getting on my computer again, I pull up the White Pages program that our company subscribes to. I seriously doubt he has a home or cell number publicly listed, but it’s worth a shot. I wonder if I could call the courthouse and ask for it? That’s terrible for me to think like that, but they may be able to reach him quicker than me attempting to hunt him down.
I type in his name Thaddaeus Morelli and click the ‘search’ button. Almost instantly a listing pops up with a number beside it.
No way.
He knows where I work already, so I may as well call from my business phone and hope that the company doesn’t record any of the calls. They’d have to tell us if they were; I think anyhow. I should Google that as well and see what the Illinois laws are about listening devices. Pressing in the phone number, it starts to ring. And ring and ring and ring, and finally someone picks up.
“Uh … hello?” It’s an old man; I’d guess seventy years old or so judging by the sound of his voice. He sounds like he’d be someone’s grandpa.
“Hello, sir,” I reply, respectfully. “Is there someone there named Thaddaeus Morelli?”
“This is he,” he says in a huff as if he’s been woken up from an afternoon nap.
“I see. Is there another, perhaps younger man living there with the same name as you?”
“No, it’s just me and my Hilda here.”
“Right. Okay, thank you.”
“Uh … young lady?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Is that all you were calling for?”
“Yes, I was calling for someone else; I apologize if I disturbed you.”
“I don’t get many phone calls anymore so I don’t mind. Good luck to you on your search for your fellow.”
“Thank you, goodbye.”
“Bye,” he responds quietly and eventually hangs up.
Getting old sucks.
I hope my mom never sounds that lonely when someone calls her. I should start bugging her more than once a week. I’m alone when I’m at home, but I have people that I talk to at work and Kaleigh, so it’s not that bad.
Well that number was a dead end. Eh, I cringe, bad term to use when it comes to Thaddaeus, according to the internet anyway.
I have no more leads so I do a quick Yellow Pages search and come up empty with that route as well. If he has a business, then it must be listed under another name. Can’t say I’m too surprised at that tidbit of information.
Since I can’t get ahold of him, I should probably eat these muffins. No sense in letting them go to waste, especially if I have to end up paying for these suckers down the road. There are enough muffins here to feed me for a week, maybe even Keisha as well.
“Keish!” I yell, grateful that the walls are thick that only she and Rose next door can hear me. “Want a muffin?”
“Hell yeah!” She appears in my doorway, smiling. “Another gift?” Her eyebrow rises as she comes to stand in front of my desk.
“Yes.”
“Mmmm and they smell so dang good, too. Wanna tell me why you don’t sound too happy about another present?”
“Because, I have no way of contacting the guy who sent it to tell him to stop sending me stuff.”
“You want him to stop? No way girl; take all the gifts you can get. Most men wouldn’t know how to spoil a woman if it hit them in the face. You’ve found a good one it looks like.”
“I’m not so sure if I’d use the term ‘good’ for him exactly.”
“Well, he can’t be all that bad if he keeps taking the time out of his day to send you these things. Flowers, purse, muffins; most men aren’t that creative or kind.”
She has a valid point. Unless, I’m right about him having one hell of a secretary and she’s doing all of the purchasing and sending for him. My head’s still spinning about his color choices also, did he really pay that close of attention to me in those few brief moments that we had?
Her words sink in a bit further, “Wait…You know about the purse?”
“Ha! I know everything; just who do you think you’re talking too?” She smirks and I giggle. Keisha’s one of the smartest people around here, and if you ever want to hear any gossip, she has dirt on everyone it seems.
“Remind me to stay on your good side.”
“Keep feeding me muffins like this and you have nothing to worry about.” She laughs.
“Deal.”
Day number four and there’s a box about five inches by five inc
hes, wrapped in light pink paper on my desk.
What the fuck.
I was expecting something to be here today and it isn’t a good thing that I was right. This has to end… and it will. Soon, right? Maybe today there’ll be a card or something with more than just initials on it. Something, anyway, let there be some kind of way to contact him.
Steaming inside over this new box, I leave the package on my desk and march back out to Keisha’s.
“Dude, another freaking gift. Did you see anyone?”
“No. Mr. Marks came in, but he wasn’t carrying anything besides his coffee.”
He’s our boss and usually the first one in to work each day besides Keisha and me. Some people think he meddles in everyone’s work, but I believe he just has to know what’s going on all the time. It is his business after all, and he’s done well with it so far.
“Well, shit.”
“Why, was it bad? Your admirer’s done really good with the others, I thought.”
“No, well, I don’t know. I haven’t opened it yet. I’m too pissed that he sent another.”
“Mr. Admirer hasn’t called or anything?”
“No, nothing.”
“Not even a text?”
“Nope.”
“It is getting kind of weird then that he hasn’t contacted you yet. Hope he’s not some psycho stalker or something. I’d hate to see you get tied up in somebody’s basement. You’re way too pale for that shit and bruises would show up on you in a heartbeat.”
Jesus of all things, she has to put that thought into my head now too. “I’ll be back,” I huff and storm into the elevator. My fingers tap against my thighs with nervous energy on the way down. My office is on the fifth floor so the ride’s fairly short.
The doors open and I rush outside, forgetting that it’s chilly today and that I should’ve thought to grab my coat. You’d think spending a few years in Chicago, I’d have my jacket glued to my hip or something by now. If anything, my blood’s thicker now and I don’t get cold as easily as I used to.
Gangster Page 3
