by Kandee Reyna
“I’ll get those reservations made for this evening,” There was a pause before she spoke again, “Sir, I’d already RSVP’d declining your attendance to the gala. You made it clear that was a standing order.”
“Reverse it. Call whomever you need to, but I’ll be attending… plus one.” The speaker was silent for a few moments before she responded.
“Right away, Sir.”
I pulled out my phone and opened a text message to Renee.
Me: I’ll be picking you up this evening around six. Dress for dinner at the Hamilton Inn.
It was just after eleven in the morning, and I knew her first class had started about an hour ago. Not expecting a reply right away, I make a few phone calls about getting Perfect Distraction, the strip club that was destroyed, back up and running to avoid losing more profit than I already had Saturday night.
“Vinny. I’ve talked to some contractors who’ll be out this week to fix everything. You should be ready to go by Friday. Let the girls know. Also, let them know security will be increased, so they don’t have to be afraid to work.”
“Will do boss. Listen, maybe we should just consider giving them what they want, ya know?” His thick New York-Italian accent was twisted with the fear of Saturday night. “There’s no reasoning with these guys and all.”
“You leave that part to me, Vinny.”
“Boss, I’m not sayin’ I don’t have any balls or nothin’, just that these guys don’t play.” A message pinged in my ear and I pull the phone away for a second to see who it is.
“Neither do I Vinny. Call the girls.” I end the call and open the text Renee sent.
Renee: Hmm… What if I already have plans?
Me: Cancel them.
Renee: You’re bossy.
Me: Always.
Renee: I’m not sure if I can make it, I’d already had a date planned.
What the fuck? Everything around me is suddenly veiled in a sheet of red. Did we talk about exclusivity? I thought it was pretty fucking obvious either way. This is why I
don’t do relationships. These feelings of rage and jealousy are foreign and unwelcome.
Renee: His name is Ben.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I stand up and walk over to the window that looks out over downtown Syracuse.
Renee: He’s great. It’s odd that he never comes over without his friend Jerry, though. But, the two of them are really great together, if you know what I mean.
I pause, looking down at my phone. Relief washes over me and a smile spreads across my face. Renee Moran is unlike any woman I’ve ever met in my entire life. She’s toying with me— and has done a great job.
Me: I’ll be by at six. Consider switching ice cream brands. I don’t share.
My phone rings and Max’s name lights up the screen. “Max.”
“Hey, bro. Caught some guys sniffing around down here in the parking garage. They ran off before I could get my hands on them, but they left a note on your windshield. We checked the Tahoe, doesn’t look like they tampered with anything, just left the message.”
“The Russians?”
“More than likely, yes.”
“Fuck. These dudes just don’t quit. What’d the message say?”
“What a beautiful woman you have. Keep her close if you want to keep her.” He reads.
“What, who is?”
“That was all it said.”
“Have someone deliver it up here to me.” I hear him exhale on the other end of the line. Asking for the note is equivalent to me questioning his job to Max. I trust him with my life, but if this is about Renee, I’m not going to chance missing anything.
“Will do. Think they’re talking about Renee?”
“I can only assume.” A cold chill runs down my spine. “Send someone to her. I want them on her at all times unless she’s with me. Tell them to keep their distance though, the last thing we need is her trying to figure out what’s going on. There’s no need to involve her in this.”
“Sounds good. I have someone on their way to you with the note now, and I’ll dispatch Dylan to keep an eye on her.”
“Not Dylan. Find someone else.” Dylan’s worked with Max for a few years and has a new flavor-of-the-month like clock-work every four weeks. With his floppy blond hair and ocean blue eyes, he could charm a salesman into buying his own product and I don’t want him anywhere near Renee.
Max laughs into the phone, “I don’t have any women on my team, Lo, but I’ll send Anthony instead.”
“Good.” Anthony was an older gentleman who was married with a shit-ton of kids and loyal as a dog. “Call me if you’ve got anything new.”
“You got it.”
We hang up about the time my assistant knocks, bringing in the envelope Max has sent up. I look at the simple white cardstock. There’s nothing exceptional about it, other than the fact that it’s expensive paper to waste on such a simple message, but I get it. They don’t even need to say anything more. I’ve never spent time with a woman until now. Any other bitch they may have seen me fucking in the past wouldn’t have done a thing to force my hand. Even from afar, they knew Renee was special.
A private number lights up my phone, making my blood boil. My line is secure, and I pay damn good money to have my number kept secret and my calls screened. Private numbers don’t just show up on my phone. I know who it is without a name to tell me.
“Dmitry.” I answer before it goes to voicemail.
“Mr. Turner,” His Russian accent is thick, but suppressed by his years of ruining lives in America. “I’m assuming you got my message.”
I lean back in my chair, propping my feet up on my desk in front of me. “Mmhmm, wasn’t much of a message, Dmitry. Care to explain?”
He chuckles lightly, “Oh, Milo,” I hate the way he uses my full name like we’re old friends, “Can’t a man let another know he finds his new conquest just as attractive as he?” This mother fucker. Conquest? Renee is not some territory I’ve staked my flag in.
“No, not in this situation. She’s not a conquest. What do you want, Dmitry?”
Dmitry clucks his tongue, “Always so brash Milo. You know, we could be friends if only…”
I cut him off, “No, Dmitry, we could never be friends.” I reply, sounding bored.
He sighs into the phone, not allowing his cool demeanor to crack, but I know better. Dmitry Tarasovich is a cold-blooded killer who could murder someone and join his family at the dinner table before the blood finished seeping from the wound of his fallen. “A relationship would be more beneficial for both of us, Milo. You and I both know it. With no one in your corner you don’t have enough protection against me and my men.” The smug bastard.
“Is that a threat Dmitry? You and I both know my money and resources are immense, I will put up a fight. I’m not backing down from this. Find a different city.”
“I’m not going to feed you some bullshit about threats and promises, Milo. I think my reputation speaks for itself. I’m a reasonable man, though. We can work this out. We can draw up lines, you sell me the properties I want, and keep the others. Or, you can sell me fifty percent stock of all the business you have in the downtown areas, and we’ll make a profitable partnership of this. Either way, you’re a rich man, who’ll end up even richer.” I can see him now, biting down on his cigar like he’s just fed me a deal I can’t refuse.
“No.”
“Shame. It’s such a shame. I thought you were smarter than that, Milo.”
“Go fuck yourself Dmitry.” I ground out before ending the call.
I hurl the lamp on my desk across the room and it slams against the wall, shattering the silver coated glass into a spray of glitter across the plush white carpeting of my office. Trish practically falls in the door, “Jesus, Milo. What was that?”
“Get out and put Max on the line and then leave a message on the number I have on file for Rey Garza.” She opens her mouth and I already know what she’s going to ask. “He won’t answe
r. Ask him to give me a call here at the office when he gets a chance.”
“Yes, Mr. Turner.” She replaces the formality, losing my first name, realizing my mood is equivalent to the sound of the exploding glass.
I stare into the expansive space of my office, switching the blocks of the Rubix cube in my mind. How do I find a way out of this mess and keep Renee blissfully unaware of the seedy underbelly in the city she calls home? Thoughts creep into my mind of her leaving. She’s not made for this life, that much I’m sure of. I need to tread carefully, or she’ll slip through my fingers before I’ve got a firm grasp.
Chapter Twenty-one: Renee
Lo was quiet through the entire dinner, which really pissed me off. He basically ordered me here through text and then ignored me. I avoided him Sunday, telling him I had plans when I really didn’t. I sat with Krysta eating popcorn and other junk foods while watching trash T.V. and helping her finish up the homework she’d been slacking on. He tried to pick me up later in the evening, telling me he “needed me” and I almost gave in, but I needed time away. It’d only been a week and I felt as though I could crawl under him and never resurface. The worst part of that was I couldn’t think of very many reasons why that would be bad. I refuse to be another girl who loses herself to a man; every man I’d ever been with left me wondering how in the world a girl could ever allow a man to consume them, until Lo. He invades all my thoughts and I find myself considering whether the things I do, say, and wear would please him. I’m a fucking lust-struck fool.
The answers he gave me to my questions at dinner were short and lifeless, and if I hadn’t tried to hold the conversation the entire evening we probably would have sat in silence while he continued to war with himself about whatever it was he was lost in. He excused himself from our meal twice to take a phone call. I watched him through the window as he paced the sidewalk in front of the restaurant having heated conversations. Both times he either ran his hand through his mussed hair while he spoke, or put his hand on his hip, pushing the suit jacket he’d kept unbuttoned back, revealing his well-fitting, starched white, button down and the way it hugged his sides and tucked into his belted slacks. He’d return, both times saying, “Where were we?” dropping his napkin back to his lap and taking a long drink from his tumbler of Bourbon without even making eye contact with me. I held better conversation with the waiter. He was lost in his own world the entire evening; I probably could have sent Krysta on the date and he wouldn’t have even noticed he was dining with a green-eyed blonde instead of my unruly mane of curls and watery-blue eyes.
We pull up outside of my apartment, and I reach for the handle of the town car that’d shown up earlier today after my class to drive me home. I’m frustrated and on the verge of tears, I just want to get away and inside quickly. I bite back a wave of nausea that moves through my stomach as I begin to wonder if he’s actually going to allow me to let myself out of the car and walk to my door without a word.
“You were avoiding me.” Lo’s voice is deep and padded by the sound-proof walls of the car. Laced with the danger of what’s had him distracted all night.
“What?” My hand slips from the handle and I reluctantly turn my body back to look at him. The driver steps out and shuts the door softly, coming around to stand at my side, his back to the car.
“I asked to see you last night and you refused.” His words are clipped. He’s mad at me? He ignored me all evening, and he’s mad at me?
“Well, I guess we can be even, then.”
“Even?” A “V” appears between his eyebrows, marking his confusion.
“You ignored me all night Lo!”
“I have shit I have to deal with, Renee!” His voice raises, “I told you I work a lot.”
“And that’s fine, but you didn’t even look at me! The only reason we spoke tonight is because I continued to carry the conversation even though the only responses I got from you where one-word answers. You asked to see me tonight remember? If you’re so damn busy, Lo, then you should have stayed at work and left me at home.”
“I needed to see you, Renee.”
“You could have fooled me! You didn’t even look at me the whole night!”
“Look,” He softens his voice, and grabs my hand, “I’m sorry, Angel. I’ve got some shit going on right now that fell into my lap after I texted you earlier. I didn’t want to cancel and risk not seeing you tonight, I couldn’t wait any longer.” He scrubs his hands down his face, “This is not how I saw tonight going.” His thumb rubs my lower lip, and the tears that fill my eyes threaten to spill. His eyes soften, and he kisses my forehead, “Come home with me, please? I promise I’ll turn my phone off. You’ll have my full attention; just please don’t cry.”
My eyes shift from him to the door. I should get out, go upstairs, and forget tonight. I should tell Lo to fuck off, that whatever crawled up his ass tonight and has him so lost in his head isn’t going to work for me. I’m not overly needy, but shit, I enjoy at least being acknowledged at the dinner table. “Okay.” I whisper, not trusting my ability to speak without crying.
He reaches over and rolls down the window, “Anthony, take us home.” Us, home.
Anthony walks back around the car and gets in without a word. I would one-hundred percent fail at being an employee of Milo Turner.
“Rude.” I admonish quietly, blinking away the tears that are still clouding my eyes. Lo turns to me with one eyebrow raised but says nothing.
“Why do you call me Angel?”
He doesn’t even hesitate, “Couldn’t think of a more fitting word.”
Well damn.
We ride the rest of the way in silence, Lo rubbing circles on the back of my hand, keeping contact with me the entire way. We pull up to his house and four different floodlights illuminate the driveway and the sides of the house. Jesus. I could get a tan out here. Anthony pulls up next to Lo’s Tahoe and waits as the garage door opens, sliding in next to another identical car. I reach for the handle, but Lo stops me. “Please wait for the door to shut.”
The door slides back into place and we’re enclosed in the windowless garage. “Now?” I ask, the question more of a challenge. I don’t understand why I couldn’t get out before the door shut, does he have a crazy neighbor?
“Yes, baby.” He gets out and reaches his hand in for me, pulling me out and against him. He buries his head into the crook of my neck and runs his hands down my body and back up again. Touching every inch, like he’s memorizing me, seeing and feeling me for the first time tonight. I melt against him; foolishly glad he’s finally noticing me. "You look beautiful tonight." His nose passes against mine, before he plants a chaste kiss on my lips and turns, leading me by the hand into the house. It’s dark inside, the only light coming from undermounted cabinet lights in the kitchen.
We make it to his room and he pulls me close again, putting his hand on the back of my neck eating any space left between us. “I’m sorry about tonight,” He whispers against my lips.
“You already said that.”
“I know, but I want to make sure you know. You don’t deserve that shit, you deserve my full attention. I’m going to make it up to you now. Make sure you know.”
“Oh, yeah? How’s that?” I ask, pulling his bottom lip into my mouth, and suckling lightly, running my tongue across the slight dip in the center.
“Tonight’s all about you.” He kisses me long and slow. “Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be back soon.”
He walks into the bathroom and I take off my heels, pushing them just under the bed before climbing up onto the plush mattress and lying back. I close my eyes and listen to the quiet sounds of Lo in the bathroom. Excitement blooms in my stomach when I feel the bed dip beside me a few minutes later. Soft kisses skate across my arm, and up my shoulder, and then my neck.
“Mm…” His lips are gentle against my skin.
He pushes one arm under my knees and the other under my shoulders, and suddenly I’m in the air, pressed against his che
st. I open my eyes and meet his gaze. It’s intense and focused on mine.
“Hi.” I smile delicately.
“Hey, Angel.” He places me on the counter, The cool marble chilling my thighs through my dress. The lights are off, but there’s candles lit around the large jacuzzi tub that’s swirling with steaming water, and oils that give the water a blue hue. Music is coming from a speaker behind me. It’s soft and slow and it takes me a minute to recognize the song, Breathe by Fleurie. The music is unhurried and sensual until the drums sound and goosebumps prick my skin as it picks up and engulfs me. “Let’s get you undressed.”
I lick my lips and nod in agreement. Lo reaches behind me, pulling down the zipper of the simple, sleeveless black dress I’m wearing, and I rest my head on his shoulder, breathing in his scent. His cologne is faint on his skin, woody and green. He gently moves his fingers across the skin of my back, and then across my shoulders as he pulls the dress forward, allowing it to drop to my waist and unclasping my bra. Pulling the black lace off and dropping it to the floor, he plants sweet kisses across my collar bone and over each of my breasts, teasingly close to my nipples. I allow my eyes to close and I hum in a mixture of approval and need, and he chuckles. He grabs my hand, holding me steady as I slide off the counter. Dropping to his knees in front of me, my hands move to his shoulders for support; the low light and heady music have me unsteady on my feet and in a trance. Pulling my dress down until it pools on the floor at my feet, he skims his fingers back up my legs until he reaches my lacey boy shorts at my hips. His tongue traces a line across my abdomen before he pulls my panties down and stands. He tangles his fingers in my hair at the nape of my neck and pulls my head back so I’m looking into his dark eyes, my mouth slightly open, my breath coming in ragged spurts.
