He offers me a slight nod.
“Is there something else you wanted to discuss, perhaps about business? If not, I have things to do.”
“No.”
I walk out. I have no idea what he wanted to tell me about my life and don’t care. Whatever that bitch did to make him wince doesn’t concern me. He can deal with her shit.
When I pass Lynn, I motion her into my office.
“Well?” she asks.
“He started talking about me straightening up, but I cut him off, reminding him he lost that right. Then he tried to bring up the step-cunt, but I cut him off again and that was it.”
“Hmm. That’s a curiosity, isn’t it?”
“Not for me. I don’t want to know anything about her, but that’s all he wanted.”
“Next time he calls, I’m going to tell him to come to your office instead.”
“That’s fine, but don’t feel the need to put yourself in a tough position on my behalf.”
“What? You don’t think I can handle it?”
Lynn is a master at handling people. She could tame a damn lion if it came to that and I tell her so. But I’ll never ask her to do my dirty work, especially where my father is concerned.
She waves a hand. “That’s not dirty work. I think it would be fun to put the bastard in his place. You’re like my son and he’s shit on you.”
“Dammit, why couldn’t he have married you?” I hold out my arms to hug her.
“Because I would’ve beat his ass to a pulp. Besides, I kinda like my husband.”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot about him.”
She punches me in the arm. “You’re a fucking mess. Now get back to work. Jack from security called. He said it was urgent.”
“Thanks, Lynn.” And then an idea strikes me. “Hey, where do you and Larry like to eat?”
“Larry likes to eat at home. He hates getting dressed up. You know that.”
“I didn’t ask where you liked to go … I asked where you liked to eat. There’s a difference.”
She gives me the name of a restaurant.
“Don’t plan on cooking tonight. Expect a delivery around seven. Just let me know what you want.”
“Thanks, boss.”
She deserves much more than a fucking dinner. I remind myself to make sure she gets a huge quarterly bonus. Lynn keeps the office running for me and I wouldn’t know what to do without her.
I immediately call Jack and his news sets me on edge.
“What do you mean she came home in a police car?”
“Mr. Beckham, all I can tell you is the guy we had watching her place reported back to me that she came home in a police car.”
“Then I want you to find out exactly why that is. And don’t call me back until you know the answer.” He doesn’t have an opportunity to respond before I end the call.
What the goddamn fuck! Vivi comes home in a police car and they don’t even think to question why? Was she injured? Or in trouble? I’m on the verge of going over there myself when Weston calls. What the hell is going on today?
“Dude, what’s up?”
“Nothing,” I practically yell at him.
“Whoa, is someone having a rough morning?”
“Shit. Sorry.” I scrub my face and sigh. “Had a meeting with my dad,” I semi-lie. I’ve never lied to Weston before and it doesn’t sit well with me. It actually disturbs me more than I care to admit.
“Sorry, man. You want me to call back at a better time?”
“Nah. Let’s talk now.” This may be exactly what I need to get my mind off Vivi.
I have the financials back for A Special Place and I explain it all to him. A couple of investors have suggested we set up a few more restaurants in other locations to see how they go. I told them there were already restaurants located in emerging markets in the southeast such as Charlotte, Charleston, and Birmingham and they were doing extremely well. “After I told them that, they were all in.”
“Did they give you a time frame?” he asks.
“I’m thinking we’ll have contracts to sign by Christmas. It’s time to buy some property, dude.”
Weston laughs. “Like I have time for that, but I’ll manage.”
“You can’t put Special on it?”
“Not for this. This is my area of expertise. She’ll come in for the outfitting.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“When you coming back to Atlanta?” he asks.
“When we have the final contracts all ready to go. Why?”
“Just asking.”
“I’ll let you know when I hear definites.”
“Okay. We’ll make it happen. There may be land buying trips in our future.”
I wonder if Vivi would get along with Special. What the hell am I thinking? Vivi doesn’t even get along with me! It would be a cold day in hell before I got her to agree to go on a trip with me. I can’t even get the woman to fucking call me. It would be fun, though, if I could.
After we end the call, my momentary distraction is gone and I’m back to wondering what the hell happened to Vivi. I wish Jack would call. It’s not even ten and I’m acting like a caged bull.
Lynn walks in and hands over some papers for me to sign and I jump when she slaps them on my desk. She notices how edgy I am.
“What’s wrong now? You were fine a few minutes ago.”
“It’s nothing.”
By the look she gives me, I know she doesn’t believe me.
“Oh, here’s my order for our dinner, and thanks again.”
She leaves, glancing over her shoulder one last time before she walks out.
The thing with Vivi is driving me nuts. If someone hurt her, they’re dead. Maybe it’s that fucking building she lives in. She needs to move, but dammit, she won’t fucking talk to me. I can’t even help her and I’m fully capable of it. I sent her those damn coats to keep her from shivering in this freezing weather, but she wouldn’t have anything to do with them. What the fuck am I supposed to do?
By lunch, I’ve worked myself up to the point I have to go home to smoke a blunt and calm my ass down. It’s after two when I return. Lynn examines me with lifted brows. I shrug, choosing to ignore her.
Finally, Jack calls.
“She was taken to the police department because she was attacked.”
“What?” I shout.
“Calm down, Mr. Beckham. She’s fine, as far as we can tell.”
“As far as you can tell? Please elaborate on that.”
“Our informant tells us she went to work in midtown …”
“Wait. Did you say midtown?”
“Yes, sir. It’s the office of Joe Delvecchio, the owner of Java Beans & More.”
“Yes, yes, I know. Go on.”
“Apparently, they had an altercation whereby Vivi accused him of attacking her and attempted rape, but he claims she attacked him. She was then taken to the hospital and was discovered to have suffered a broken rib,” Jack explains to me. By now I’m ready to climb out of my skin.
“Fuck, fucker.” The motherfucker hurt her. He’s going to pay.
“She is fine and the police have filed charges against Mr. Delvecchio.”
“Jack, I want her tailed at all times. Don’t let anything like this happen again. You understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“One more thing. I need the address of Mr. Delvecchio.”
I hang up the phone and notice my fist is clenching and unclenching. I suppose it’s in anticipation of what I’m going to do to Joe Delvecchio when I see him. That greasy motherfucker has it coming. Vivi will be the last woman he tries to assault.
There’s one thing I hate and that’s a bully. But a man who bullies a woman for sexual favors, a man who tries to force her, is lower than dog shit in my book.
When I’m done with him, Joe Delvecchio is going to wish he’d never met Vivi Renard.
Chapter 7
Vivi
It takes about a week before I can inhale w
ithout piercing pain shooting into my chest. Vince called when he heard what happened. Of course, it was because the police stopped by the shop and wanted to talk to him and Jackie, along with all the other employees. They even called Jenny. Everyone corroborated my story, putting Joe up a shit creek without a paddle. Vince checks up on me quite a bit now.
“I told you the man was dangerous. Thank God he didn’t rape you,” Vince says.
A violent shudder rips through me. “Don’t remind me. I’ve never been so scared before.”
“I’m so sorry that happened to you. But at least you’re safe now.”
Looking around my apartment, I’m not so sure about that. “Yeah,” I say, though my voice is weak.
“You okay?”
“I’ll be fine. I just need to get another job.” Too bad my rib is still pretty sore.
“Well, take care of yourself. Don’t forget, if you need anything, give me a call.”
“Thanks, Vince. Hey, is the coffee shop still open?”
“Nah, they all closed. I think he’s going to sell them.”
“Damn. I wish I could buy them.”
Vince laughs. “Me too. See ya, Vivi.”
After I hang up, I check my emails again to see if there are any hits for jobs. Excitement strikes when I notice a new unread email, but it turns to sadness when it’s from the website I listed the bracelet on. There is an offer for it very close to my asking price and I’m blown away. The email gives me all the pertinent information to contact the potential buyer. Before I lose my nerve, I quickly shoot off an email to him. I need the money and am out of options, I remind myself.
It’s almost lunch, so I root around in the fridge for something to eat, but it’s pretty bare. I grab the last apple and after it’s gone, I take a hot shower. When I’m dressed and my hair is dried, I count the cash on hand and what’s left in my checking account. It’s pitiful. There’s a total of one hundred twenty-seven dollars. Joe was supposed to pay me the day after he attacked me, which means that’s not going to happen. If a job doesn’t open up fast, I may be on the streets.
I check all the job sites again, hoping something magically appears and then apply for waitress openings. There are lots of those. The high-end restaurants won’t consider me, but the other places might. I jot down the addresses of a couple of dozen places. Then I head to Manhattan for the afternoon. My best hopes are to get hired by a couple of restaurant/bars where I can work and earn good tips. If that doesn’t work, maybe I can file for unemployment.
Thankfully, at one restaurant, I am in luck. The owner, Diana, is in and she has been looking to hire someone. My interview goes well, although she is curious why someone like me wants to be a waitress. When I explain the truth, she says she’ll hire me under two conditions: first, I have to give two weeks’ notice before I quit; and second, I have to let her know my schedule for my other jobs, when I get them. That’s certainly fair, so I agree. I’m hired me on the spot and have to report in at eleven in the morning for training. I visit a few more places with the hopes of finding an additional job, but come up empty-handed. It’s about six when I head back to Brooklyn, stopping at the grocery to pick up some items before going home.
My apartment building is fairly quiet at this time of day, mostly because the action doesn’t begin until later at night. I jog up the stairs and my key is already out as I approach the door.
I bolt the door behind me when I’m inside. As if the lock was a cue, my stomach growls loudly. I rush to the fridge to empty my load. It’s not much, but will get me by. Then I turn on my makeshift stove to heat up some water for the Ramen noodles. When college was over, I figured the days of eating these were gone. Guess I was wrong.
After dinner, I check my messages. There’s a response from the email regarding the bracelet saying he definitely wants it. He’ll be available to meet me tomorrow night. That means I’ll have to do it after work. That poses a problem. I don’t want to walk around town, carrying a bracelet worth that much money. Wearing it isn’t an option either. If someone were to see it, I’d get mugged in an instant. I get off at seven, so I can be back here afterward and meet him someplace. But there’s nowhere to meet him around here. At least, nowhere safe.
As I see it, the only choice I have is for him to meet me downstairs. He can call when he gets here. As soon as he does, I can run down, and we can make the exchange. He left me a phone number in his message, so I decide to call him.
When I give him the details, he doesn’t balk.
“My neighborhood isn’t the safest,” I add, “so it would be wise to bring a bodyguard or a really bulky friend, if you have one. I’m not exactly comfortable carrying the bracelet around, which is the reason I want you to meet me here.”
“I’ll be outside tomorrow at nine. Will that work?” he asks.
“Yes. Can you call when you get here?”
He agrees.
The next morning, I’m a bit anxious to begin my new job. When I arrive, the manager introduces me and everyone is very helpful. In no time, I pick up the best sellers on the menu, but it takes a little while to learn the program on the computer. The system seems antiquated, and in need of an update. My brain tells me there’s a better way to do this, but I keep my mouth shut. That isn’t my job description any longer. Waiting tables is.
I’m working with one of the waiters, a guy around my age named Eric Thompson, who’s showing me the ropes and giving me great pointers. There’s a lot more to remember than I anticipated. He’s patient with my errors and reminds me somewhat of Vince.
“Your first job waiting tables, huh?”
“Yeah, and it’s nerve-wracking. I’m afraid I’ll spill something on the customer,” I say.
“You will, eventually. It happens to everyone. When it does, do some major sucking up. And pray it happens to a guy and not a woman. They’re always worse than men.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. They hate to get their clothes messed up. Men don’t love it, but aren’t pussies about it.”
The way he says it makes me laugh. I’m carrying a tray loaded with drinks, so I tell him to stop. “Watch me dump this on someone.” I’m glancing at him and round a corner. Just as I spot another waiter coming toward me, I hear Eric’s alarmed, “Careful!”
Only it’s too late. The tray comes straight up onto my chest as six glasses of ice water and soft drinks spill down my front. I’m soaked through to my skin. I can either laugh or cry, so I choose to do the first. Eric looks on and then a huge burst of laughter roars out of the both of us.
“What the hell am I going to do?”
He’s bent down, wiping up the mess. At least I didn’t dump the drinks I’m holding on the other waiter.
“You’re going to dry off and find something to change into while I refill this order. Come on.” He grabs my dripping wet wrist and pulls me in the back. When he yells out what happened, one of the other girls says she has a shirt I can wear. My bra is so wet it’s a sponge. I head to the bathroom to do my best in drying off. Then I put the shirt on and go find Eric.
“How can I help?”
“We’re good. Follow me.” The rest of the afternoon runs pretty well. At the end of my shift, Eric says in a couple more days I should be good to work on my own. This is good news, because I can use the tips.
The train takes forever and is unusually crowded that night. I’m stressed out by the time I get home, anxious about how everything will go. The first thing I do is take a quick shower to rinse off the stickiness that’s coated my skin all afternoon. I wiped off as best I could, but there was still a residue left behind. The hot shower helps to relax me. As I’m drying off, I notice the bruises and how the purple is fading from my skin. The discoloration reminds me how lucky I am that’s all I ended up with. Once I’m dressed, I’m glad my jeans and sweatshirt cover up all what’s left of the bruises.
About a quarter before nine, I go to my closet, pull out the stuffed bear, and carefully undo the seam. I poke arou
nd in the white fluffy stuffing until I find the bracelet. Releasing the breath I was holding, I pull the thing out and inspect it, making sure all the remnants of stuffing are removed. It’d been inside the bear a long while. Then I wrap it in the velvet sleeve my mom kept it in and put it in an envelope, along with the appraisal papers. Right as I finish, my phone rings. It’s him. I wish my apartment faced the street so I could look out and see him, but it doesn’t.
“I’ll be right down,” I tell him. I throw on my coat, put the envelope in the pocket, and leave. I make quick time on the stairs and push my way out of the door to see a fancy black limo double-parked on the street. Standing next to my building is a man in a dark suit. He’s much younger than I thought he’d be and much more attractive.
“Miss Renard?”
“Yes, are you Mr. Acosta?”
He smiles and his teeth gleam under the streetlight. “Yes, I am. You have something for me?”
“Only if you have something for me in return.”
His deep chuckle makes me smile. “Would you mind very much if I see it?”
“Right here?” I look around and check our surroundings.
“It’s fine, Miss Renard. You don’t have to worry.”
“Mr. Acosta, have you noticed where we are?” He must be crazy not to be alarmed.
“Miss Renard, I have … people that won’t let any harm come to me. As I’ve said, it’s fine.”
“People?”
“You told me to bring a bodyguard.”
“I don’t see one.”
“That doesn’t mean one isn’t here,” he says.
Even though I’m leery, I slip my hand into the pocket and pull out the envelope. I open it so he can look inside. I also show him the papers.
“Very good. I know you don’t trust me, so here is the certified check you requested. I’ll let you look it over.”
It’s in an envelope and I don’t want to pull it out, so I scan it through the opening to make sure it’s legit. It seems to be in order.
“Are you satisfied? I can assure you it’s good and if you have any problems with your bank, call this man.” He scribbles a name down on the back of a card and hands it to me. “He’s with the bank from where the check is drawn. He’ll be happy to help you.”
Chasing Vivi Page 7
