by M. S. Parker
“She’s my heart, so you’ll have to find your own.” He sat down next to me and took my hand.
For a moment, I was too flustered to breathe. He’d made statements to me about how much he cared about me, but he'd never said anything so casually, as if such a declaration was common knowledge.
I shot him a look, but he was studying Kowalski, completely unaware he’d just shaken the bedrock of my world. My hand shook as I reached for my wine and took a sip.
“I heard you got a hold of a name,” Kowalski said.
Dominic nodded and passed over the sheet of paper. It was looking ragged, as though he’d handled it a great deal since yesterday.
The investigator read the name, lips pursed. It seemed to me that he took a lot of time reading that one, single name. Like he read it maybe five times over—or five hundred times. Finally, after what seemed like several minutes, he folded the slip of paper and held it up for Dominic’s perusal. “May I keep this?”
Dominic shrugged.
He nodded and tucked it inside his jacket. “Does that man's name mean anything to you?”
“No.” Dominic shook his head.
I leaned forward, drawing the investigator’s gaze my way. “Should it?”
He shifted his attention to me, those shrewd, professor’s eyes landing on my face with interest. “Well, that would depend.” He spread his hands wide and said, “It’s been a long time. News didn’t travel then the way it did now, but people in certain areas heard.”
“Heard what?”
We both spoke at the same time, leaning forward.
Kowalski pondered his response, appearing to give it a great deal of thought. Then, softly, he said, “There was a series of reports some years back. I’d just gotten my detective’s shield, was working in vice. So I didn’t hear everything. But it was a big scandal. Some twenty, twenty-five years ago. It all started with a woman. I’d have to look up her name, track down the cops involved…but she claimed she’d been pregnant, that she’d heard the baby crying. Then her mother told her the baby was born dead. She doesn’t remember the next few days, says she thought she was drugged. She woke up in her parent’s private villa in Italy. Took her two months to get back home.” He paused, shook his head. “Big scandal. She went to the cops, fussed something awful because nobody believed her.”
“Believed what?”
Kowalski smiled, but it was a tight smile. “That she believed her baby had been stolen. There was enough suspicion though, on the police department’s side that they investigated…and a whole house of cards came tumbling down. They never could find the head man.” He leaned forward, his eyes pinning Dominic. “Can you guess his name?”
6
Aleena
Dominic's face was grim as he made his way through the kitchen and I could see him struggling with the news he'd gotten last night. It was in the way he focused on his coffee, his bagel, on anything and everything but me.
He wasn’t trying to ignore me, I knew, but he was upset and when he was like that, he got restless. He paced as he ate, constantly moving and not talking. Not even looking at me.
I knew it was how he coped with things, but I still wished he wouldn’t do that. I wanted him to let me in, to let me help him. Those were the kinds of things that we were still working on though and, for the moment, all I could do was be patient.
Still, there were things we needed to discuss that had nothing to do with Kowalski's news.
“I’m finalizing the plans with Annette for the house,” I said, breaking the silence.
He nodded. “I saw them.” Finally, a partial smile, albeit an absent one. “You put color in there, Aleena.”
“Do you have a problem with color?” I asked mildly.
His head jerked around to look at me, his eyes wide. “I didn't mean—”
I laughed. “I know you didn't. I just wanted to see if I could get your attention.”
His eyes narrowed, but there was humor in them now. I felt some of the tension in my shoulders ease.
“You always have my attention.” He took a step towards me. “Even if it doesn't seem like it, you're never far from my mind.”
I shivered, then swallowed hard. I needed to get the conversation back on track before we ended up in the bedroom. Not that I didn't want that, but we needed to talk about the house. “Do you like it? The plans for the house, I mean.”
“Yeah.” He nodded slowly as though he hadn’t given it much thought. “Actually, I do. I think I like it quite a bit.”
“Good. I'll tell Annette to go ahead with it.”
The silence came back, but it was less tense. After a few minutes, he sat down and I breathed an internal sigh of relief.
He gave me a thoughtful look over his coffee. “I looked at my schedule this morning.”
I choked on my coffee. I coughed, grabbing a napkin to keep from dribbling coffee onto my good blouse. Eyes watering, I stared at him as I tried to restore the flow of oxygen to my brain. I tried to speak, but could only manage a croaking sound. I shook my head and grabbed my water, downing half of it. Dominic was watching me, the look on his face torn between amusement and concern.
Once I could breathe again, I managed to get out actual words. “I’m sorry. I could have sworn you said that you looked at your schedule.”
He snorted and rolled his eyes. “Very funny. I do know how to look at it.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, opened them, then did it again, playing it up in the hopes of keeping the good mood, even if it was at my own expense. “I wonder if pinching myself might work.” Leaning forward, I stared at him hard and asked, “Who are you?”
His lips curved into that wicked grin that had my stomach, and other lower places, tightening.
“You keep that up and I won’t tell you about the plans I had for tonight.”
The low, smoky sound of his voice immediately erased any humor I felt. “Plans?”
“Yes.” He lowered his coffee and braced his elbows on the surface of the table. “I made plans. Which would explain why I’d checked my schedule.”
He cocked a brow, all but daring me to comment.
I held up a hand. “I’m all ears, Dominic.”
“I was thinking we could go out tonight. For a short time, at least.” He lifted a shoulder lazily, adjusted the shining cufflinks and glanced at the clock. “We have the interview with that magazine…” He paused, a distracted look on his face.
I supplied the name of the magazine and he nodded.
Come on, come on…
He seemed to sense my impatience and I could all but see him dragging it out…check the cufflinks again…smooth down the drape of his shirt. Finally, he leaned back. “Would you like to go to Olympus tonight?”
My breath lodged in my lungs, super heating until it took everything I had just to keep my breathing normal. Curling my hands around the edge of the table that sat between us, I swallowed.
“Sure.”
He could have been asking me out for coffee, a latte, a quick bite to eat at the corner deli.
But Olympus was a lot more than that. A lot more.
Casually, I reached for one of the bagels. I needed to do something. As I smeared cream cheese across it, I asked, “What should I wear?”
“That’s up to you.” He pushed back from the table. “Some people wear club clothes. Others are comfortable in jeans.”
I frowned. “I doubt I’d be comfortable in either. So…it’s basically whatever works for me, huh?”
“Yes.” He came around to stand behind me, stroked a hand down my hair. He kissed my shoulder and then, quick as that, he was gone.
There were times when having an expanded bank account came in handy. Even with the extra money, for the most part, I'd stuck to the same sort of clothing styles I’d always worn, even if I did scale it up a little bit now and then. That didn’t, however, include the business attire I had to wear for work. That was a different thing entirely and I had to accept that old adage that
clothes made the man. Or, in my case, the woman.
But this wasn’t a business thing. This was a me thing.
And I wasn't going to make it about labels. I wanted it to be about style, and for me, that meant one-of-a kind designs. I didn’t really have the finances that allowed for shopping like this on a regular basis, but I did have enough to indulge for special occasions and if a trip to Olympus didn't qualify, then what did?
I rushed through everything I needed to do, getting it all done by one. I’d skipped lunch and had one of Dominic's drivers meet me at the door. I used them because Dominic wanted me to, but I refused to think of them as anything other than Dominic's drivers.
As I walked out, I was ready, credit card in hand and determined to find something that would absolutely blow Dominic’s mind. I wanted to put a crack in his cool public demeanor. More than that though, I wanted to make him think about nothing but me for the night, wanted to make it so that the first thing he thought of when he needed release was me and not that damn club. And I wanted him to stop worrying about the investigation and what Kowalski might unearth, and what his mother had told him and all the ugliness we were going to find.
I knew we would find it too. Whenever I thought about it, my gut twisted with anxiety.
But tonight wasn’t about that.
Tonight was just for us.
“Here you go, Miss Aleena.”
I glanced out the window as Vincent came to a stop. He was Dominic's secondary driver, trading off with Maxwell, the driver who'd been with Dominic since childhood. I liked both men equally, though I'd always gotten the impression that Maxwell was a bit overprotective of Dominic. I was fine with that though. As much as he took care of everyone else, Dominic needed someone to look out for him.
Biting my lip, I glanced up toward the rearview mirror to see Vincent smiling at me. He was younger than Maxwell, but still a good decade older than Dominic.
“Ah…are you sure they aren’t going to throw me out?”
He chuckled, his eyes shining and, a moment later, he was opening the door.
“You’re Mr. Snow’s lady. That’s all you need to remember,” he said, smiling at me. Then he gestured to the doors. “I called ahead. Spoke with the owner. She’s already expecting you.”
Mr. Snow’s lady.
The words made me smile, blush. They also managed to steel my spine and I drew my shoulders back as I strode toward the doors. We were in an upscale area of Manhattan. Even the traffic seemed muted there and before I was within a couple feet of the door, someone was already rushing to open the door for me.
Within the first five minutes, I had a good idea how Cinderella must have felt when her fairy godmother showed up.
I had people rushing around me, bringing out dresses that ranged from the lewd to the lovely. I wanted something in between and while I had a hard time articulating that, the saleslady—a sweet-faced woman by the name of Jeanette—had no such problem. She stood there as I went through one dress after another, tapping her candy apple red lips and then smiled, waving everybody away.
“I saw the two of you,” she said, her accent clearly French. “You and Dominic Snow at a party for his match-making business. You are…” She pursed her lips as she seemed to struggle for the word. “Hmmm. You are proper.”
I frowned.
She laughed and waved a hand. “I may not have the good words, but you will see. You wait here.”
She disappeared into the back of her store and emerged nearly twenty minutes later with two pieces of clothing in her hands. One was a black and white striped skirt, which I was ready to veto straightaway. The other was a simple, black top, strappy things falling from the top. No way. I'd look like a damned clown.
She saw the look on my face and waved aside the protests forming on my lips. “Hush!” Her brows lowered over her eyes as I opened my mouth again. “I say, hush! I know clothes.”
I clamped my lips shut and hushed.
Thirty minutes later, I had to admit it. Jeanette knew clothes.
The skirt was the tightest thing I’d ever worn. She called it a hobble skirt. The black and white stripes that I’d feared would make me look whalish actually accented my curves, from my waist to my hips on down to my knees and my legs looked like they went on for miles. She’d given me a nude and black lace body brief. It was open-ended, meaning that under it, my crotch was completely bare, but it smoothed and sleeked and whittled me down in all the right places, so I wasn't about to complain.
The thought of Dominic having easy access to my pussy made my entire body flush. The blouse, if I could call it that, was black. It fit close and went up over my neck and shoulders in a series of straps and lines.
It looked like a cage. An elegant cage, but one nonetheless. Appropriate, I thought. I stood there for almost a full minute, staring at my reflection. The final result was rather startling. And I hadn't even done my hair or make-up.
“You need shoes,” Jeanette announced.
“Hmmm,” I said. It could have been agreement or disagreement or anything in between.
She laughed and came between me and the mirror. To my surprise, she pressed a smacking kiss to my right cheek then my left. “Shoes!” she said again, her voice firm. “An ensemble as ravishing as this needs the right shoes, non?”
I smiled. “Right.”
She nodded. “Just so.”
She snapped her fingers to the two women waiting behind me and fired off something in a spate of French so rapid, I couldn’t possibly follow. They hustled me into the dressing room and hustled me out of the clothes, then they hustled out of the room with the clothes.
I grabbed the clothes I'd worn to work and quickly pulled them on, feeling strangely vulnerable being completely naked even though I was in a dressing room. As I adjusted my blouse, I sagged down onto the padded, plush chair and tried to think.
Well. I had a sexy outfit. That had been easier than I'd thought. The shoes couldn’t be worse, right?
I'd been so fucking wrong.
Almost a half hour had passed and I was on the receiving end of the harsh, stony stare of Penelope Rittenour.
She didn’t bodily bar the entrance of the posh shoes store where Jeanette had sent me, but she might as well have.
“They sell shoes that would suit your needs down on 5th Avenue. Saks. Bloomingdales.” She paused, then laughed, the shrill, twittering sound grating on my nerves. “I realize you’re paid well, but I doubt someone like you can afford this establishment.”
I clenched a hand into a fist and told myself that an arrest for assault wouldn't be a good thing.
“Please excuse me,” I said, moving to walk around her.
She didn’t try to stop me, but she wasn’t done yet either. She came after me, her steps lazy, her voice apathetic. She wasn’t even talking to me now, really. She directed her words to the man she’d had carrying her bags. “Rupert, make sure you remember to get in touch with my assistant. I may have to find other arrangements,” she said. “If they just let anybody shop here, I need to look elsewhere.”
A shopkeeper came hurrying over and I automatically hunched my shoulders. The woman looked between us, from me to Penelope, giving me a once-over that stripped my confidence. When she rushed to Penelope’s side, I gauged the distance between me and the door. It would be pointless to stick around.
“Ms. Rittenour, is there anything I can do for you?” The woman had one of those simpering voices I despised.
Penelope sniffed. “I doubt it. It seems you let just anybody in nowadays, Elinor. I doubt I can continue to give you my patron—”
Something inside me snapped. “Oh, shut up!” I shouted.
Her eyes went wide and so did Elinor’s. I knew I was about to make a scene, but my blood was boiling. I was tired of her.
“Are you really going to do this?” I demanded, sketching a line between me and her, feeling humiliated and out of place which I knew was exactly what Penelope had planned. I let it feed my anger. “
Any time you see me, are you going to make sure everybody knows that I don’t belong? Are you that pissed that Dominic chose me over you?”
“Chose?” She started to laugh. “As if he would ever—”
“But he did.” I took a step toward her. “Dominic Snow would rather be with me, some nobody from Iowa, than with you and it pisses you off.”
Elinor gave a soft gasp.
Penelope shot her a desperate look. “Are you going to let this woman speak to me this way?”
Before Elinor could answer, Vincent appeared at my side. I didn't know how long he’d been there. It could have been for five seconds or five minutes, but he was there now and that was what mattered.
“Ms. Davison.” His voice was professional, as always.
I cleared my throat and fought the urge to dash the back of my hand under my nose. I wanted to cry and I wanted to scream and I wanted to hit something. But I forced myself to look at him with a placid face. “Yes, Vincent?”
He inclined his head. “Mr. Snow wanted me to escort you to Delacroix for more...superior service. They’re expecting you. It seems they let just anyone into this establishment.”
I flicked a look at Penelope and I found myself smiling. It wasn’t a pleasant smile though. Harsh and brittle around the edges, sharp enough to cut. Inclining my head, I looked over at Vincent. “We should go then. There are only a few more hours before he gets home.”
I had Cinderella’s slightly naughty shoes and her slightly naughty dress, but instead of getting myself ready for my date tonight, I was staring outside.
It had started to rain on the way home and the melancholy landscape suited my mood.
Penelope had glowered at me the entire way out of the store and I could feel her dismissive sneer even now.
It had taken me a while to get it, but now I understood.
She didn’t want Dominic. She didn’t even care about him. All she wanted was his name, and I knew that if she knew some of the things tied to his name, she’d probably be mortified, but none of that mattered to her. She was the kind of woman who was used to getting what she wanted and she hated me because I had gotten it instead.
