by Sotia Lazu
Chapter Nine
Mike’s shift had been over for an hour, the restaurant was closed, and he still waited by the front entrance.
Like a lost puppy, waiting for its owner.
It drove him mad that Ana made him feel this way. Correction—that he felt this way. It wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t the one who got his hopes high.
But after last night…
Their coupling had been as fierce as ever, but she’d seemed more present. She’d held his gaze as he thrust inside her, until her eyes slid shut with her release. He’d seen her very core, and she was as into him as her was into her.
So why wasn’t she here?
Did he scare her away?
He rounded the block, to see if she was by the kitchen entrance. Not that she’d be waiting there. If she wanted to see him, she’d find him. Plus, he’d already checked a couple times.
She wasn’t coming.
And he was an idiot. She was probably at his place, wondering why he wouldn’t answer the door. That was why people had cell phones, damn it. He should have asked for her number again.
Part of him wasn’t surprised not to find her waiting outside his building. He lay awake until sunrise, hoping the doorbell would ring and she’d be there, to fill his apartment and his heart with her unique essence.
Ana never showed.
A ringing woke him up, but it was his phone. Some guy asking if he was interested in a new cable-TV offer. Mike bit back some choice words and ended the call.
His sour mood followed him to his shift and splashed all over his performance.
“Table 12 returned the Puttanesca. Too spicy.” Derek all but dropped the plate on the bench.
“It’s meant to be spicy.” Mike tossed the food in the trash.
“But not like it’s been spewed out of hell—which is how they described it.”
Mike shrugged. “Lightweights. If they don’t like my recipe, have Grant do it.”
“Someone’s in a bad mood.”
Mike looked at the blond busboy on the other side of the kitchen pass. “What was that?’
“I said you seem to be in a bad mood. Cooking is all about love. If you’re pissed off, the food’s no good.”
Mike had never seen him before, but the way the guy’s blue eyes glittered was familiar. Mike should tell him to shut the fuck up and mind his own business, but he had some time to kill while Grant remade a perfectly fine dish. “Maybe I shouldn’t be cooking today, then.”
“It’s about a woman, isn’t it?” The guy folded his arms on the pass and rested his chin on them. “Is she amazing?”
Derek snorted. “She must be, if he’s such a mess.”
“Don’t you have a restaurant to run?” Mike asked.
“Tuesday night, man. Dead,” Derek said.
Mike turned to the busboy. “Yeah, she’s fucking amazing, and she’s gone AWOL on me.”
“What did you do to her?”
“Nothing. We clicked. She’s got her issues, and she won’t talk to me about it.” Why was Mike explaining himself to a stranger?
The busboy straightened and slapped one hand on the countertop. “Don’t give up, man. If it’s true love, it’s fated.”
Who the fuck said anything about love?
“Should I skip the red pepper flakes all together?” Grant asked.
Mike turned to tell him to do whatever the hell he wanted, but a hint of blue made him spin back to where the busboy stood. The guy was no longer there, and Derek stared wide-eyed at the space he’d occupied.
“Did you hire a magician or something?” Mike asked.
Derek shook his head. “Wasn’t my hire. Thought you knew him. Gonna check the cash register. The fuck is going on? Anyone can walk in from the street and pretend to work here?” He left in a huff, while Mike tried to make sense of what happened.
The blue eyes. The sparkles. If it’s true love, it’s fated.
Maybe Ana wasn’t the one losing it.
* * * *
“Want a ride home?” Derek asked.
Everyone else had already left, but Mike had stayed behind, to prep for tomorrow. He hated being off his game. Hated more that it was because of a woman. “Nah. I’ll walk.”
“It’s chilly outside.” Derek pulled the door shut after him and locked.
“I know, Ma. I’ve got my jacket.”
Derek shrugged. “Suit yourself. Maybe the cold night air will flush the asshole vibe out of your system.”
“Fuck you.” Mike glared before he caught the hint of a smile on Derek’s lips. “Sorry. I’m just—”
“Hating the taste of your own medicine. Got it.”
Fury crawled up Mike’s throat, choking him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” But he wouldn’t be this angry if Derek was wrong.
“I’ve seen you blow girls off time and again after a single night. The only reason this one drives you nuts is you didn’t get to show her the door first.”
“This isn’t— She hasn’t shown me the door.” Should Mike be focusing on that instead of on his friend’s opinion of him? Both made his blood boil, and he let his frustration with Ana and his anger at Derek mingle into a single, menacing entity.
He shoved his fists in the pockets of his jacket, afraid of what he might do if Derek provoked him. “Don’t act like you have your shit together. A year ago, you were mopping about your ex stealing your restaurant. Everything you have now—Arbore’s, Amanda, all of it—was a stroke of fucking luck. Don’t pretend you have all the answers. If Amanda hadn’t broken off her engagement for you, you’d be chasing after tail and taking no names, like me. Hell, that’s what you meant to do with her, at first.”
Derek narrowed his eyes. “It’s different with Amanda.”
“Because you’ve got her. She snapped you out of your self-pitying haze.”
“And you think Ana can do the same for you.” Derek studied his face, gaze filled with an understanding that wasn’t there before.
Mike snorted. “Hey, I never needed saving.” He just needed Ana.
“If you say so.” Derek shrugged. “You sure you wanna walk?”
“Yeah.” Better not to be in an enclosed space, with his current mood. Derek would say one thing, Mike would understand another, and he might end up without a job or a best buddy. “Need to stretch my legs.”
“Not like you’ve been standing all day.” Derek’s chuckle sounded fake.
Mike’s was no more genuine. “Right.” He waited till Derek was in his car, and then took off toward his place. His stride wasn’t hurried. He didn’t want to get home, only to see Ana wasn’t there again.
Was Derek right? Was Ana’s hold on Mike the fact that she kept leaving? Her face came to mind, flushed with the force of her orgasm, her eyelids half closed and her lips parted. He wanted to wake up next to that face every morning. Always.
“Fuck.” His voice echoed like a gunshot in the quiet of the small hours. He ducked his head and walked more briskly. All he needed was for someone to call the police on him.
Think. He had to think of a way to find her. He knew her first name, and she said something about a recording studio. When he’d run into her on the street, she was going for a nap. On foot. That meant she either lived or worked near the restaurant. He’d ask Derek for the footage of the twenty-four-hour security camera that covered Arbore’s front. If Ana passed by frequently, he might be able to track her down or arrange for another chance meeting.
Assuming she wasn’t outside his building now, waiting for him.
She wasn’t.
Mike didn’t feel half as devastated as the night before. He had a plan now, and if he had the balls to admit to himself that he was in love with her—and he was, damn it—he’d manage to fix whatever was keeping her away from him.
Chapter Ten
Bella thought not dreaming of Mike would make her feel better. She was wrong.
She woke up tired, but without the sweet ache between her legs or the s
atisfied tingle on her fingertips. And she was lonelier than ever.
She’d flirted with guys the night before, though nobody as handsome or interesting as the mysterious blond. It hadn’t gone past a few smiles and compliments, because she wasn’t looking for more. She wouldn’t have gone further with Mr. Hot either, if he’d pursued her.
She was done with Mike, but her heart hadn’t gotten the message. It ached for him. Her body did too. It was empty without him. Cold in his absence. Purposeless.
Was punishing his indiscretion worth all this pain? He swore he was innocent. That he was framed. It made no sense, but maybe he’d only done it the once. Should she forgive him?
No.
Leaving him had nothing to do with punishing him for sticking his dick in another woman—though taking his London restaurant might have been a little about that. It was about protecting herself from more betrayal.
Her heart and her body would have to get used to being without him. Eventually the numbness would cover the pain. Maybe, if Angie really could do magic, she could help Bella forget.
But not yet. Bella wanted to dream of the man Mike used to be one more time. One more night with him might be enough.
She hated lying to herself.
“You have an incoming call from That Fucking Pig.”
Damned HouseSsistant5000 refused to block his calls despite Angie’s fiddling with it. And it still wouldn’t change back to the female voice.
“Reject,” Bella said.
“You may want to hear him out.”
What the hell? Was she still asleep, or did the friggin’ software offer her relationship advice?
She clapped her hands. “Uninstall HouseSsistant5000.” Some problems needed radical solutions. Mike was one of them, and another night with him would solve nothing. It would only add to the pain of a decision already made.
“Uninstall HouseSsistant5000 in progress. Are you sure you don’t want to give Mike a second chance? He may be telling the truth.”
Or he might have managed to tamper with the program. He was the one who’d installed it, to begin with. Why couldn’t he leave her in peace—allow her to sweep him under the rug, drown him out, and continue her lonely existence without doubting her sanity?
Bella all but ran to the bathroom and under the shower jet. The roaring of the water masked anything else her fucked up electronic assistant had to say, but it didn’t mute her thoughts or the memory of the toast the gorgeous stranger made last night.
She slipped down the glass wall of the shower and curled into a ball. She wound herself tightly around the hollow space in her ribcage and promised to protect it at all costs. There would be no second chances. Mike wasn’t her meant to be.
She had a life to live, and she’d start by meeting with Cassandra and working on her career.
She got out of the shower, wet but not clean. She clapped her hands and grimaced at the quiet. It would take some getting used to, but she could function without a digital housekeeper. She turned on her TV and linked her phone to it, before bringing up the browser. Having to do things herself instead of relying on her electronic assistant was odd, but she’d been around before the thing was invented. It’d come back to her.
Bella looked up Cassandra Orare, not hoping for much; she didn’t know if her old manager remained in San Francisco, or was even still in business. She couldn’t believe her luck when the single result listed an address in Inner Richmond, where Cassandra’s office used to be.
Good. Awesome. She’d call Cassandra first thing in the morning. Or put it off, in lieu of more wallowing.
Bella chewed on her bottom lip. If she was going to start over, she needed to take the first step. “No time like the present.” She dialed the number on the screen and prayed Cassandra remembered her and was magnanimous enough not to hold the past against her.
“Cassandra Orare.”
Shit. The phone didn’t even ring. Cassandra should have an assistant. Why was she answering her own phone? Bella wasn’t prepared for this. And she wasn’t talking. Why wasn’t she talking? She had to say something.
“Hello?” Cassandra said. Her voice was the seductive purr Bella remembered.
“Umm… hi.” Bella wanted to smack herself for sounding like a child. “Hello, I mean. I don’t know if you remember me. I’m”—who was she?—“Anabella Matthews. You were my manager a million years ago.”
“Anabella Matthews? I don’t— Ana? Is that you?”
Relief burst a capsule of adrenaline in Bella’s veins, at the same time the name—that was Mike’s and would always be Mike’s and it fucking sliced her up and it hurt to hear—brought a sour taste to her mouth. “You do remember me. Hi.” She’d said that already.
“Of course. I forget nothing. What’s happened to you? Are you a rock star in Europe by now?”
“I wish.” Bella laughed. It scratched her throat.
“Japan?”
“No. I’m not a star anywhere.” The words cut irrationally deep. “I haven’t sung in a long while.”
“You gave up?” There was something beneath the surprise in Cassandra’s voice, and it wasn’t pleasant. Sounded too much like satisfaction.
“Yeah. Should have known better. And how are you? Still in the music industry?”
“Darling, it’s lovely to hear from you, and I’d love to catch up, but I’m with a client.”
That was polite as far as brush-offs went. “No, I completely understand. Sorry I bothered you.”
“Hush. It’s no bother. I simply can’t talk right now. How about drinks tonight? Come by my office. We’ll chat.”
“Really?” Shrill and desperate. Not the best way to enter a business relationship. Bella cleared her throat. “Sure. Is eight good for you?”
“Eight will be perfect. Do you have the address?”
“I do.” Bella tapped her screen and copied the address, to send to her GPS.
“Good. See you then. And this time we’ll make you a star.”
It might be the right time to point out she was forty-two and out of practice, but Bella wouldn’t push her luck. “Can’t wait.”
But she had to, and the day seemed to draw longer, just to spite her.
By the time she reached Cassandra’s office, she’d changed in and out of three outfits, and felt like she stank, despite two showers and tons of planet-friendly deo. She was buzzed in as soon as she identified herself, and spent the elevator ride regulating her breath, to calm her nerves.
When the metal doors opened to Cassandra’s smiling face, the knot in Bella’s stomach loosened. It’d be all right. Even if Cassandra didn’t take her on, Bella would keep fighting. A decade and a half of pampering herself and working out meant she looked years younger than she was, and her current misery had slimmed her lithe body to within showbiz parameters. She had another chance, and she wouldn’t squander this one.
“Ana. It’s like time stopped for you. You look gorgeous.” Cassandra clasped Bella's shoulders and gave her an air-kiss on each cheek.
Cassandra looked exactly the same as she had sixteen years ago—not a single line marred the skin around her intense blue eyes, and her jaw line and cheekbones were as sharp as ever—but if Bella said so now, it would sound insincere. She settled for saying, “You should talk. You’re stunning.”
Cassandra stepped back and waved away the compliment. “Great beautician. Better plastic surgeon. You wouldn’t believe the miracles you can buy these days.” She looped her arm through Bella’s and pulled her toward an open space with leather couches. “Tell me everything you've been doing since I last saw you. Start with why on earth you’d give up singing.”
Bella let out a nervous laugh. “Got married. Divorced now. You don't need to know more about that.”
“Oh, but I want to.” Cassandra motioned for her to sit, and then moved to the fully stocked bar by the bay window. “Drink?”
“White wine, if you have it.”
“I have almost everything, darling.” C
assandra’s gloomy tone didn’t match her words. She returned with two glasses of wine, handed one to Bella, and joined her on the couch. She kicked off her designer pumps, folded her long, stockinged legs under her, and said, “Last thing I remember, you were giving up what would have been an amazing career, to follow a hot guy half around the world.”
And wasn't that the root of all her troubles? “That didn’t pan out.”
“I’m amazed you expected it to. At the time, it sounded so ludicrous, I was convinced it was a lie. For years I believed a record company had bypassed me and snatched you up. When I didn’t see you climbing the charts, I realized you were probably telling the truth. I assumed you started over in London. That was where you went, no?”
“It was, but I was too busy helping my husband—boyfriend then—realize his dream, to have time for mine.” Bitter? Her? Nah…
“Typical. And now that his midlife crisis destroyed your marriage, you’re back here, to grovel for my help.”
Bella recoiled. She knew things had been too easy. Cassandra wasn’t planning on taking her on. “I’m merely evaluating my options. And you’re apparently not among them.”
“I’m sorry. That was insensitive. It still stings that I offered you the world and you turned it down for a man.”
“You’re exaggerating. I was a vocalist, not a lead singer.” And he wasn’t just a man. He was her Mr. Right, and she’d been utterly taken with his dark-brown eyes and his shaggy hair that kept falling in his face. Bella smiled, but her heart wasn't into it. She sipped on her wine, relishing the burn down her throat. It was sweet, with honey undertones. She usually went for dry, but the promise of a buzz that came with this was soothing.
“You could have been much more. You will be much more.” Cassandra leaned closer, and her eyes seemed to grow, filling Bella’s field of vision. “Tell me, what do you want?”
Mike.
A do-over.
To un-know the truth about her marriage.
Mike.
Bella bit back the first few answers that jumped to her lips, and said, “I want a career. I want to do what I love and to be good at it, and I want people to know.”
