“I guess not.” I say with an unintentional quiver in my voice.
Roman turns his head, looks at me and squints again. It’s like his eyes are a bullshit meter.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
I take a deep breath and just spit it out. Chances are my mom told Juliette or Joseph most of what she knows anyway.
“I didn’t have a fight with my ex. We were both attacked in my apartment. That’s why there’s a hole in the wall.”
Roman quickly swerves the Range Rover over to the shoulder of the road. I can hear bits of gravel popping as we roll over them.
“What happened?” He asks with an eerie but deadly like calm.
“Why are you stopping?” I ask nervously.
“Talk.” He hooks my chin with his pointer finger. “And I mean everything Duchess.”
Every time he calls me that I can’t breathe.
I lean my body into the passenger side door as I speak, wishing I could burrow myself even further. The fresh air from the window I cracked is whipping stray hairs around my face and they’re sticking to my lips. I’d do just about anything right now to change the subject, but I know it’s not going to happen. I can see that about him already. The steely determination across his face. He’s waiting patiently for my story, and he’s made it clear that he doesn’t like to ask for things twice.
“My boyfriend was over … Ethan. We were fooling around in my bedroom when we heard a loud crash in the front of my apartment.”
I turn to look at Roman’s face. He motions for me to continue.
“There were men in the house.”
“How many?”
“Three.”
“How do you know there were three for sure?”
“Because two had guns drawn on Ethan and one knocked me out. My head made the hole in the wall.”
Roman grips the steering wheel tightly while drawing deep breaths, and I stop talking.
There’s an awkward silence between us now.
We’re still sitting on the shoulder of the road and Roman hasn’t looked my way or spoken to me in over six minutes. I know it’s been exactly six, because I’ve been paying close attention to the time on my phone. I don’t know him that well, but his body language suggests that keeping quiet and giving him time to process what I said then let him calm down is the right approach.
“Is that why you’re at my father’s house?” He asks finally breaking the silence.
“Yes. I couldn’t stay in that apartment anymore. I justâ”
“And where is … Ethan?” He asks with disdain on his lips, although I don’t know why. I haven’t even told him about the drugs yet.
“His parents told me that he is in rehab in Arizona.”
“So this was drug related?”
“I think so, but I didn’t know he did drugs.” I say in my defense. “Ethan is a swimmer and an athlete. He always told me that he’d never do drugs.”
“Do you love him?”
“What?! No.” That was a weird question.
“Is he still your boyfriend?”
You would think that I’d have an emphatic answer of a “hell no” to that question, but it isn’t that simple. I haven’t spoken to Ethan since the incident. He hasn’t called, texted, or even written me a frackin’ letter. Even most of his friends are avoiding me. It’s almost as if they blame me for what happened, when it’s totally obvious that Ethan got knee deep into something that he brought to my doorstep. Not the other way around.
“Ummâ”
Roman raises an eyebrow at that response but moves on.
“And so what did the men want from him? Money or drugs?”
“Drugs I think. They said Ethan had something that belonged to them.”
“Do you remember exactly what they said Duchess?”
“The two with the guns didn’t say anything. The one who knocked me out did all the talking. He said that Ethan was lying, that he was high on his shit right now.”
“Did you say anything to them?”
“Not one word. He hit me when Ethan said he didn’t know what they were talking about.”
“And then you woke up and everyone was gone?”
“Yes.” This sounds even worse when I talk about it.
“Ethan went to Penn with you?”
“Yes.”
“Is he from here?”
“No, he’s from Maryland, but why? What are you going to do Roman?” I start panicking a little. “I just want to put this whole thing behind me. Joseph should have never asked you to do this. It’s my business andâ”
“There’s no way in hell Joseph knows about this. Trust me. He thinks all I’m doing is taking you to pick up the rest of your things. He knows something happened to you for you to leave your apartment so abruptly, but nothing like this. If you’re worried that your parents told him what happened, they didn’t, and they didn’t tell Juliette. That’s if your parents even know.”
“They sort of know.”
“Sort of?”
“They don’t know about Ethan or the drugs. They just know I was attacked in my home. I guess they decided not to tell Joseph.”
“Are you protecting that asshole?” He asks coldly.
“No. That’s not it at all. I just wish you would let me handle it Roman.”
“You’re family now, so your business is my business. Remember that. And what the fuck are you so worried about anyway? I told you, handling shit is what I do for a living, and I do it well.”
He steers the car back on the road … pissed off.
“You feel me?” He asks.
I nod. Roman is saying all the right things, all very assuring things, but I worry that he’s looking at me in a new light. I’m not sure why his opinion even matters to me, but it does. Maybe he thinks differently of me now. Maybe he feels sorry for me. Maybe he realizes that I’m dumber than a doornail, because let’s be honest, only an idiot would miss the fact that her boyfriend was a frackin’ drug addict?
“Is that it?” He points to the management office of my old building while he unknowingly pulls into a parking space directly in front of my old apartment.
Roman is dressed in a slightly loose vintage ringer tee and worn jeans with a different pair of black hard bottomed boots on. His tats are very much visible today, and his height and width make him appear even more formidable. His shirt softly hugs his solid edges, and I gaze in amazement at what I already know is a six-pack rippling underneath. With a core that strong, I can’t help but daydream about how easily it must be for him to lift a woman up and flip her over.
Good grief, I have issues.
“The black door.” I instruct. “Use the knocker. The bell doesn’t work.”
I move to open the passenger side door but Roman shuts me down with four simple words in an I’m not bullshitting tone of voice.
“Stay in the car.”
I don’t argue. I can feel the hostility rolling off of him like a dark thundercloud. I’m not even sure why he’s so angry. The apartment manager didn’t have anything to do with what happened, but I’m still worried because the apartment manager is an asshole, and Roman doesn’t seem like he has a lot of patience for assholes.
Roman reaches inside the compartment area between the two front seats and pulls out a bag of plain M&M’s. He rips the bag open, shakes a few in his palm, then tosses a few of the hard-shelled candies one by one in his mouth as he exits the car.
“Be right back,” he says confidently.
He doesn’t use the knocker, but uses one of his massive fists to pound on the door three times. My old apartment manager Owen answers the door with irritation across his face. His normal look.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m here to collect Elizabeth Hill’s security deposit and the rest of her things. She has a couple of boxes in the basement.”
“And you are?”
“The person who is here to collect Elizabeth Hill’s security deposit and the re
st of her things.”
“Funny, but she needs to do it. I can’t turn anything over to you legally. I don’t know who the hell you are.”
“Are you a lawyer?” Roman snidely asks.
“Are you?” Owen stiffens but Roman’s body language remains the same. Relaxed.
“Are you a cop?”
“ARE YOU? Listen I don’t have time for this.” Owen scans the area and spots me sitting in the car biting my nails.
“Oh Miss Hill.” He drawls my last name out. “I highly suggest you forget about getting that security deposit back after the state you left my unit in.”
“No, I highly suggest you shut the fuck up and go get what I asked for. I don’t want to ask again.”
I motion to get out of the car to try and talk some sense into Owen, but I stop when Roman speaks to me again. He doesn’t even turn around when he says it. He doesn’t need to.
“Stay in the car Elizabeth.”
So I stay put.
He pops another few candies in his mouth and speaks with a deadly calm to Owen as if he’s holding on to his last bit of restraint.
“My cousin is in that car. You see her right? She is here for her security deposit of … what is it Elizabeth?” He calls out.
“Nine hundred and fifty dollars.” I answer meekly.
“Damn! Now that’s a high ass security deposit. What is this the Trump Towers? Okay, so I’ll need you to get nine hundred and fifty dollars cash and her remaining boxes. She doesn’t need to get out of the car to sign anything, or talk to you, or whatever the fuck. That’s why I’m here. Hand everything over to me in the next five minutes and we’ll be square. You don’t want to cooperate then we’re going to have a major problem, because I didn’t drive all the way the hell over here to leave empty handed.”
Roman cracks his neck.
“You feel me dickhead?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ELIZABETH
TODAY IS TURNING INTO A full blown crash course in Roman 101. I’ve learned that five minutes in Roman’s world, really means exactly that. It was five minutes on the dot when Owen handed over my security deposit in cash and the key to the storage garage. I was shocked that he even had that much money on hand. Who does that? Oh wait … I used to (baha!). Anyway, after he handed over the cash and the key, he went inside his apartment without another word and locked the door.
After Roman and I loaded my four plastic containers of treasures (photos, journals, sweaters and other trinkets) in the back of his Rover, we decide to stop for lunch. I suggest that we eat at Brown’s Diner. One of Philadelphia’s legendary last remaining family-owned diners and one of my favorite places on earth.
“You’ve eaten here before I take it?” He asks noticing my excitement.
“All the time. Best five dollar lunch in the area.”
“What the hell can you get for five dollars?”
“Don’t be such a snob rich boy. You’re about to have the best turkey burger and fries EVER.” I smile. “My treat. Since I’m rich now too.”
I fan a little of my money in his face when I notice an incoming text on my phone.
Roman chuckles and pauses before he asks his next question.
“Who’s that moneybags?”
“It’s Owen.”
Roman’s face turns icy.
“What the fuck does he want?”
“For me and my crazy ass cousin to never come around there again or he’ll call the police.”
“Is that right.”
I laugh. “Well you’ve got to admit. You were kind of over the top with him.”
“I was fixing a very fucked up situation. He was trying to keep your money and you were allowing him to speak to you like a piece of shit.”
I gasp in mock shock. “Tell me how you really feel.”
“I really feel like you have horrible taste in landlords and definitely in men.”
“I guess so. My last boyfriend was apparently a druggie, and I think I came pretty damn close to making out with my cousin in front of our entire family.” I chortle a little at my attempt at a joke.
Roman is stock still.
I’m guessing he doesn’t think my joke was that funny.
“So what else is on the agenda for today?” I ask hoping to steer the conversation in another direction.
“I need to make a stop, then we’re going home to change, and then out to The Lotus.”
“The Lotus? Why would we go there?”
“I’m running it now.”
“You’re running it! I thought you were a business consultant.”
“I am. I consult employees on how to run their clubs among other things.”
I shake my head no. “I don’t want to go back to that nightmare on Elm Street.”
“Nothing will happen to you as long as I’m there.” He says confidently.
“And who pays you to run this club? No offense, but it doesn’t look like your type of crowd.”
“No offense taken, but it’s not your crowd either, and the owner pays me.”
I roll my eyes at his inferred insult.
“And who’s the owner?”
“A silent investor. Any more questions about my business Inspector Clouseau?”
“Nope.” I cut my sloppy turkey burger into quarters and then pop a french fry into my mouth and chew. “Pass the ketchup.”
“I don’t know how you keep your girlish figure.”
“Not used to eating with girls who eat real food I take it?”
“Are you used to it? Your girlfriend doesn’t look like she eats much.”
“Sloan?” Of course he paid attention to Sloan’s body. Every man does. Pervert.
“Yeah her. I noticed her scrawny little ass on the floor of the club that night.”
“So it was Sloan you were looking at when you found us?” I try to ask nonchalantly as I dip a fry in my small pool of ketchup.
Roman takes a large bite of his burger. Chewing it while silently observing me. He licks a bit of juice from the corner of his mouth, swallows, then smiles.
“I noticed only you the moment you entered the club Duchess.”
Our eyes lock.
“What do you mean? You saw me before the pepper spray?”
“Yep.” He says simply.
I’m not sure what to say in response to this bit of new information. I don’t know if I should say anything. We’re supposed to be having friendly conversations. Distant cousins getting to know each other. I’m pretty sure that’s what Juliette and Joseph had in mind by forcing Roman to babysit me, but I feel like almost every exchange between us is laced in subtle sexual subtext. I don’t know. Maybe it’s all in my head.
“So tell me about the stop you need to make today. Is it for your job?”
“Pretty much.”
“About the club?”
“No this is a different job. I have a client that’s being blackballed by MTV. She wants to present at the awards show, but they’re freezing her out.”
“Wow, that sounds so interesting. So what can you do about it?”
“Well, it’s my job to convince the powers that be to change their minds about her.”
“Who is it Roman? Tell me!”
“Absolutely not.” He smiles and tweaks my nose. “You wouldn’t want me to lose my job now would you?”
“I thought MTV was in New York?”
“The person I need to speak with is here for a few days.”
“And you’re going to let me tag along?” I ask excitedly.
“Not inside Duchess. You’ll sit in the car like a good girl and wait for me.” He gives me one of those signature panty-dropping smirks of his, and honestly I think my crotch is on fire … in a good way.
In the best way possible.
***
IT DOESN’T TAKE LONG FOR US to leave the diner and arrive to our next destination. We’re in front of a mammoth but beautifully designed slate concrete building with lots of glass and stainless steel on the lobby flo
or. There’s no name on the building, just an address in large, polished stainless letters, which rests above the set of double glass doors.
1907.
There’s an older man with a paunch belly standing in front of the building dressed in a maroon short coat with brass buttons who seems to stand at his post as the doorman with pride. I notice that he recognizes Roman and am surprised that he addresses my tatted up cousin with nothing but respect instead of revulsion or fear.
“Going in Mr. Masterson?”
“What’s up Tyson. I need to run upstairs for a minute. Floor 15. Also I have a young lady in the car, who I need you to keep an eye on.”
He lowers his head to look inside the car and gives me a thousand watt smile.
“Pleasure.”
“Hello.” I respond brightly.
“You’ll stay in the car?” Roman grins.
“What’s with you and making me stay in cars? Just hurry up Masterson.”
It’s the first time I’ve called him something other than his name. Not quite a nickname like the one he’s given me, but something other than Roman. I think he likes it, because he smirks as he exits the car. As the man Tyson opens the door for him, he runs back to the car and signals for me to roll down the window.
“I forgot something.” He reaches into the middle compartment and grabs a couple of M&M’s. Tosses them down his throat. “Give me fifteen minutes.”
“No worries.” I assure him.
I’m kind of enjoying hanging out with Roman today, although a part of me is itching to go home and get some work done. I really need to get back to researching more scholarships and adding them to my database. It’s important that I create the most complete list that I can, so that I’m ready for my pitch when the opportunity strikes, and the only person who I can depend on to get it done is me.
For the last four months I’ve been looking for an angel investor, so that I can finally hire a full time coder who works specifically for me and can get my application to where it needs to be. The freelancers I’ve been able to hire here and there are definitely knowledgeable, but I can only hire them when a few dollars clear up on one of my credit cards, so I don’t have someone working consistently on the coding. I feel pretty confident that once I have that last piece in place, and my beta product is excellent, I’ll have a better chance of succeeding in the highly competitive app marketplace. Maybe even get some good press. Luckily I have my smartphone and a pad and pen in my bag right now. That’s all I need to continue my research in the car, while I wait for Roman to finish his business.
Gunslinger: A Sports Romance Page 26
