“Some champagne,” he offered her. “Or maybe a champagne cocktail. Charlie can fix one of those, can’t you, Charlie?”
Charlie pressed the tip of her tongue to the inside of her lip and said huskily, “Like you never tasted.”
Princess scowled. “I’ll have tequila, salt, and a slice of lemon.” Charlie nodded. Princess pointed to the table in the dark, far corner. “I’ll take it over there,” she added, and he watched the sway of her hips as she headed for the corner.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Charlie said briskly. “I’ll bring it to you.”
When Pierce told Princess, “I’ll join you,” Charlie’s face dimmed by about fifty watts.
Over her shoulder, Princess said, “In that case, bring a bottle. With a couple of lemons and a knife.”
They sat, she on the padded bench, in the corner like she had in the car. He took a chair and leaned on the table. “Did you eat?” he asked her. “Do you want something?”
Her head moved once: no. Charlie brought the tequila bottle on a tray with two shot glasses, slices of lemon, and a pile of salt on a plate. She poured two shots. Pierce’s eyes didn’t leave Princess as he thanked Charlie.
As soon as Charlie left, Princess made a fist, licked the side with her thumb, dropped some salt on in a little pile, and licked it straight off. Then she bit into a slice of lemon and sunk the shot.
Without looking up, she poured another and did the same again.
Her voice was steady but thin. “Was he really… I mean, did he do those things?”
“You mean—”
“Don’t say his name, okay?”
Pierce paused. “Yes, he did. There was plenty of evidence for a conviction. There wasn’t any doubt. The police just never found him.”
“But you did.” She was still looking down.
“That was easy. I was looking in the other direction.”
“What do you mean?”
“I found him because I needed the rights on that property, so then I wanted to know who he was and where he came from. Any time I’m making a serious deal—any kind of a deal, really—I want to know everything there is to know about the guy on the other side of the table.”
“Like Dale Horner?”
“Pretty much.”
“You didn’t need to be so generous to him, though.”
“To Dale? I wasn’t generous at all. That’s what I mean about doing the research on the other party. Nothing less would have made him want to sell.”
“The school fees, I get that. You didn’t have to lease the land back to him though, did you?”
Pierce grinned. “You bet I did. He thinks he’s getting a great deal there, but I’m getting the land cared for and looked after for free.” He took his shot, with the salt and lemon.
So, she had followed all of that through. Even after the events of the morning, she kept all of that straight in her head. She was sharp, no doubt about it.
“Well,” he said, pouring shots in both glasses, “I’m glad you came down. I was wondering if you might be in need of a little distraction. Something in the way of recreation.”
Now she looked up. Her eyes were dark and liquid and her voice was absolutely level. She put her hand over his. “If you’re thinking about entertainment, Mr. Agostini, I suggest you get back to Charlie. She’s so hot for you that if she got out of her pants too fast, it would give her the bends.”
Pierce Agostini had never wanted a woman so much in all of his life as he wanted Princess right then.
Princess awoke in the fluffy clouds of the hotel bed. The light slid unwelcome into her sleepy eyes from the too-bright window, through the empty champagne bottle on the bedside table and the two stained glasses.
Drowsy, she reached out, her arms stretched to the far pillow. Nobody there?
Princess sat bolt upright. What happened last night? She jumped out of the bed, looking frantically around the room. It was a mess.
They drank tequila, then what…? Oh, no. No, please, no. Half her mind was wide awake and wired. The other half wanted to duck back into the soft, dark mist.
A picture formed in her foggy recollection. Of him. Pierce. Looking down at her. His lips were curled in a leer and he was breathing hard. His eyes ablaze. No, no, it can't be true.
What the hell had she done last night?
She remembered going down to the hotel bar. Finding Agostini there and drinking tequila. Then they moved on to slammers.
No, no, no, they must be fragments of some godawful dream leaking into her hungover head. They must be. She rushed into the bathroom, leaned on the sink and looked into the bathroom mirror. As she peered, searching her own eyes, with a start she imagined his face behind her, over her shoulder.
A gleam in his eyes and that leer on his face. His hair wet. His top lip curled.
She turned the shower on full, trying to fill her head with the noise. Stepped in. It was freezing. “Oh.” She stepped back out and remembered a sound.
Everywhere she looked, everything she did brought up another memory, another fragment.
She slumped into the chair with his jacket draped over the back. His jacket! She leapt up like she’d been scalded.
~
The cold shower cleared Princess’ head some, but the pictures in her head stayed with her like phantoms. Unable to face going down to breakfast, she called down to room service.
It felt like hours that she had to wait without coffee. More than once, she wished she could just go down and face whoever was in the dining room, but still she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
Finally, there was a knock at the door, and she sprang to open it. Immaculate in his suit, Calhoun filled the doorway. She said, “Oh, it’s you.”
“Well, I can’t help but sense your disappointment, but I’ll try not to take it too hard.”
“I’m sorry, Calhoun. I’m just waiting for my coffee and I thought you were the waiter.”
“No need to rub it in.” There was no trace of a smile on his face, but his eyes twinkled. “Anyway, would you not just go downstairs? There’s any amount of fresh coffee. Pots and pots of it.”
“You want to come in?”
“It’s kind of you to ask, but that’s all right. No, I’ve come just to tell you that we’ll be driving back, just the two of us. Mr. Agostini has taken off with Callaghan and they’re taking a plane back out of the local airport.”
Her heart felt like it sprang a leak and it must have shown on her face. He said, “I’m sorry to be bringing you such glum news.”
He was turning to leave when she caught sight of a handsome waiter pushing a trolley draped with a linen tablecloth. Calhoun said, “You can find me in the lobby whenever you’re ready.”
“Calhoun, wait. You don’t understand. Come in and have a cup of coffee.”
“I’ve had me coffee. Thanks, all the same.”
But she said, “Please. Come and sit with me while I have mine.”
He followed the waiter into her room. Princess still thought Calhoun’s suit made him look like he worked in a restaurant. He sat on the couch. “It’s all right, Princess. I’m not offended.
The waiter took the covers off her waffles and bacon and poured her a cup of coffee. He said, “Would you like another cup for your guest?”
“No,” Calhoun said. “Really. You take the coffee. You need it.”
“Do I look that bad?”
Calhoun stood. Princess held up her hand. “Wait…”
“I’m just taking care of your man here.” Calhoun fished out a wallet from inside his coat and handed the waiter a bill. The waiter made a bow and left.
Princess sipped at her coffee. It was too hot and too bitter, but she needed it.
“Mr. Agostini said that you might need some shopping. Change of clothes and whatnot. Since we stayed over unexpectedly. I’m to take you to the shops in town, if you’d like.”
Princess was confused. Was this some horrible way of Agostini’s to pay her for last
night, offering “some shopping?” He surely couldn’t be as crass as that. Or perhaps Agostini was genuinely being considerate.
It felt dangerous to even let herself think that way. If she imagined tender feelings from him, she might open up similar emotions of her own, and that would be too dangerous. She needed to stay focused.
Okay, maybe she wasn’t totally focused last night. All the more reason to get back on track now and keep her thoughts straight.
“And what if I try to escape?”
“You don’t want to be doing that. You know that you don’t.”
“Do you know how long Agostini intends to keep me hostage like this?”
Calhoun looked around the rumpled hotel suite and at the silver breakfast tray. “There’s a lot of people might get in line to be held hostage in conditions like this.”
Her cheeks prickled. “Doesn’t matter what the circumstances are, how nice a room I might be in—I’m being held against my will. I don’t have a choice. I’m not a free agent.”
“Well, you mostly are, you know. So long as you don’t try to leave my care, there isn’t all that much that I’d have to stop you from doing.”
“What about going home?”
“We maybe could stop by there on the way back. I’d have to ask Mr. Agostini.”
“But I couldn’t stay.”
“Well, if you made a point of it, I’d have to ask Mr. Agostini, but I wouldn’t expect so. You’re being ‘held,’ as you say, in pretty relaxed conditions, but I think the point of it is that your father’s going to be cooperative while Mr. Agostini keeps a hold of you.”
He smiled. “If we were to let you go back and be captive at home, as it were, then old Mr. Grace might be forgiven for maybe losing sight of the fact that Pierce Agostini was holding something over him. Do you see? Did I make too much of a stew out of that?”
“No, I understand you perfectly. So, I’m not free.”
“No, in the strictest sense of it, it’s true that you’re not free and you are being held a hostage. And at this moment, it’s me who’s doing the holding. Will we go shopping now?”
~~
Calhoun checked them out of the hotel and drove her to a shiny mall. Set around the swirling white marble walkways were the usual Old Navy, Gap, River Island, and Banana Republic. On the upper floors were Armani Exchange, Gucci, and Hermes.
“A lot of ladies like Primark or maybe H&M, I believe.” Calhoun had a gleam in his eye and she knew he was kidding.
“Sure they do,” she said. On the store directory, Princess had spotted a name that she remembered from the day before. “This lady would like to start at Burberry.”
Having him follow her into the shops and then stand, waiting patiently to pay for her choices and carry the bags, brought another set of confusing sensations.
As she picked her way through dresses and underwear, Princess caught the glances of other girls shopping. The fact that Calhoun followed her, waited for her, attended her, and guarded her provoked interest. Admiration, even. For a moment, she thought, If they only knew.
Two local girls nudged each other as they watched her across the racks, two girls about her own age, girls out shopping for clothes on a regular weekday morning. She considered what Calhoun said back in the hotel. If they knew her circumstances, would they sympathize, or would they offer to trade places with her?
The first print dress that caught her eye was brighter than the one she had on. Lighter in color and more of a contrast with her Doc Martens. It was waisted with a belt and made of a lustrous silk, too.
With a couple more from the rack and two button-fronted plaid dresses, she got an approving nod from the assistant by the door to the changing cubicles. In the changing room mirror, Princess couldn’t tell if it was her or if the silk prints made her look tougher than usual. Somehow worldlier.
That took back her to wondering again about last night and her whole insides turned over. How can I not know? There must be something, some clue somewhere. She knew she had to resist panic, whatever it took. She turned to see the dress in another angle.
She had brought four dresses into the changing room and she scooped up the other three, along with her own dress she had taken off. On the way to the cash desk, she passed the rack and collected another two plaid dresses in different colors and told the clerk, “I’ll have all of these.”
The eyes of the redhead and the blonde who had watched her sparkled, and the blonde pressed her lips between her teeth as she looked from Princess to Calhoun and back.
When he’d paid and grabbed the bags, Calhoun said, “Will you be needing anything else now, Miss?”
Princess lifted her chin. “Yes, I will. First, I need to take a look in Wolford or Rigby & Peller.” The inspiration had been to shock him, but Princess felt another, deeper motive at work inside her.
Calhoun’s phone rang. From his face as he looked at it, she knew that it was Pierce calling.
Agostini called Princess in the SUV. Seeing her on the laptop screen in the backseat of his car he said, “Nice dress. From the bags, it looks like you managed to get quite a lot of shopping done.”
In the loose silk print, she looked like a country music star. Maybe the big-brimmed black hat had something to do with it. Princess was not a conventional beauty. She always seemed to have a natural look, like she didn’t use any makeup or even take too much trouble over her hair, but each time he saw her, she looked better to him.
She said, “I don’t think I made much of a dent in your finances, Mr. Agostini.”
“Not for lack of trying, from the look of it.”
Even sulky, with her arms folded, her knees crossed, and her toe kicking, Agostini wanted to grab hold of her. He couldn’t stop his mind replaying how her body felt across his thighs when they were in the Bentley, when he held her by his elevator at Park Place Pinnacle. Or when he carried her, kicking and yelling, out of Hotsteppa’s.
She could see his smile—at least, she would have if she ever once dragged her eyes from the window and looked at the screen.
Still facing the window, she said, “What time did you leave?”
“What?”
“The hotel. This morning, what time did you leave?”
“About six-thirty.” His brow darkened. “Why do you care?”
“I just wondered. I wondered why you left me, left Calhoun and me behind. In the hotel.”
He frowned. “I thought you could use the sleep. After a day like yesterday.”
“I still have your jacket.” She asked it like it was a question that ought to lead somewhere. Truly there were ways in which all women were baffling. He couldn’t think why she wouldn’t still have it.
“Did you want to hold on to it, like a keepsake or something?”
“Isn’t there something you want to say to me?” she said, still not looking at the screen.
“Sure there is. Princess.” He brightened. “I’ve got renovations underway in Hotsteppa’s, all in preparation for the big event. It’s all coming together.”
Perfectly Damaged: Luka : A bad boy mafia romance Page 28
