by Zoe Chant
“Luke Covas. Octavia Mateo’s plus one.” He left it at that.
The man next to him tutted and muttered something under his breath that Luke did not catch since it was a language he didn’t recognize.
“Ah, yes, the American Cris was talking about. Do you know everyone here?”
“Not at all, I’m afraid,” he said with what he hoped was a charming smile.
“Well then, I’m Mrs. Ybarra, to your left is Mr. Benavidez. Next to him are Mr. and Mrs. Esquivel, and Ms. Rosado rounds out our number.”
“Pleasure to meet you all,” Luke said with a polite nod round the table, and mentally blessing the reappearance of the waiters with the second course, short circuiting the need for further conversation.
“Game, or lobster, sir?” asked the waiter as he came up on Luke’s right.
“Game, please,” Luke said, not wanting to risk tangling with shelled crustaceans in front of this audience that seemed inordinately interested in what he was doing. He refused to reflect badly on Octavia.
While they were waiting for their meals to arrive, no one had told Mr. Benavidez that his conversation would be unwelcome. He turned round in his seat to look at Luke.
“So, Mr. Covas, what do you do?” he asked.
Luke already knew that he didn’t like Benavidez, but he couldn’t get away with not answering. “I’m a firefighter.”
Benavidez sniffed, but Ms. Rosado seemed to be impressed. “That must be dangerous,” she said breathily.
“It has its moments,” he agreed, as the waiters appeared again.
“Rescuing cats from trees, cutting children from railings, that sort of thing?” Benavidez said, his tone almost designed to irritate.
“Have you dealt with an angry cat before?” Luke asked Benavidez, trying to stay polite. “It’s like handling a tiny ball of spiky fury.”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t know.”
“I could tell,” Luke muttered quietly, and was fairly sure that he heard Beatrice make a disapproving noise.
The plate set in front of him was just as ornate as the soup bowl, and this time, fragrant steam was rising from the game birds and the vegetables. It was a nice touch, Luke thought, that the birds were surrounded by vegetables carved into the shapes of other animals. He picked up the orange rabbit, and bit into it. Carrot.
He looked up to find the entire table staring at him.
“You eat the garnish?” Mrs. Esquivel asked in horrified tones.
“Yes?” Luke said.
Benavidez shook his head pityingly, but didn’t say anything.
Luke was more than a little confused, and looked up at Octavia, just in time to catch her looking at him. She smiled at him, and managed to ask how he was doing with a quirk of an eyebrow. He shrugged, and tried to surreptitiously wave the half eaten piece of carrot in her direction. She nodded, rolled her eyes, and stuck her tongue out in the direction of his tablemates. He turned a laugh into a hasty cough, and focused his attention on his plate again.
It was fiddly enough work, dismembering the game bird with a knife and fork, but he managed it even if it wasn’t the most elegant piece of work. The bones were so small though that he suspected he had missed a few when clearing it.
The meat was tender and seemed to dissolve in the mouth, the potatoes creamy and an excellent accompaniment, if his uneducated palate could judge. Beatrice Ybarra had picked the wine, and the rest of the table seemed to approve, judging by their murmurs. It tasted much like any other wine to Luke, but he sipped sparingly anyway.
His plate was almost clean when he bit down on a mouthful of bird and felt something crunch against his teeth. With a gentle probing of his tongue he found the splintered end of a bone, and discretely raised his napkin to his lips to remove the offending item. When he set the napkin down again, he felt the eyes of the whole table on him again. Mrs. Esquival murmured something to her husband, and while Luke only caught a few words, it was enough. Ignorant, was he?
He set his knife and his fork onto the plate with a decisive click, and pushed his chair back from the table.
“Please excuse me,” he said, and stepped quickly away from the table, but not quickly enough to miss hearing the sniggers of laughter from Benavidez and Mr. Esquival. On his way out, he passed Nicodemus, who looked at him pityingly, mixed with smugness.
Back in the entrance, Luke bunched his hands into fists, and resisted the urge to dent the plaster. He turned around when a soft hand touched his arm to find Octavia there. He wrapped his arms around her, and buried his face in her hair, breathing in the sweet scent that was uniquely her. His jaguar calmed, and Luke realized just how uncomfortable his inner cat had been.
“What’s wrong?” Octavia asked.
“Everything. Nothing,” Luke replied.
“Can’t be both,” she said logically.
“Don’t worry about me, sweet,” he said. “Finish your business deal. I’ll wait for you back at your apartment.”
Octavia sighed. “If I have to listen to Mr. Ybarra for another minute, I will stab him with my fork. Or maul him, just a little.”
Luke brightened. “Could I get away with that?”
“Benavidez?”
“Benavidez. And the rest.”
“What did they do?” she bristled, and Luke found that rather endearing.
“I’m not cultured enough to run in their circles, and they’re not shy about telling me so,” he said. “It’s petty and small, and I have no idea why it’s getting to me so much.”
“Idiots, the lot of them,” Octavia declared. “You’re worth ten of them, and twenty of Benavidez.”
“They don’t think so. Not that I care what they think about me, but it doesn’t look good for you.”
“Fuck ‘em,” Octavia said cheerfully. Luke laughed, half shocked by the unexpected profanity. “You know what, I don’t care about this dinner anymore. Let Nico glad handle the idiots.”
“Oh?” Luke asked, hopefully.
“If they can’t treat you in a civilized manner as my guest, then I don’t want to deal with them. You only came because I asked you to, after all. How does going back to my place sound to you?”
Luke kissed her deeply. “Absolutely wonderful,” he said honestly.
***
Luke felt nerves boiling in his stomach, making him feel as if he had swallowed a horde of butterflies. He tried to keep his expression calm as he looked from the printed directions in his hand to the building in front of his. His jaguar was ill at ease. It didn’t like Cancun, didn’t like the atmosphere. No wonder Octavia had her quiet retreat in the countryside.
He was here as a spur of the moment thing, a surprise visit. After the disaster that had been the dinner party, Luke wanted to make it up to Octavia. She had been called into work, and, while he was supposed to be playing tourist, he found that he didn’t want to be apart from her. He wanted her to show him the sights and the sounds. Maybe she could make his inner jaguar calm.
Before his head could try and dissuade him even more, he listened to his heart, and stepped through the doors.
The cold air of the air conditioning hit him as the thick glass doors slid shut behind him. Icy fingers trailed over the nape of his neck, matching the cool polite smile of the receptionist.
The atrium was empty, impersonal, all glass and metal, certainly not like Octavia. Coldly formal, Luke decided. He wasn’t going to let that stop him, and approached the desk.
“Can I help you?” the receptionist asked.
“Luke Covas, here to see Octavia Mateo,” he said calmly.
She scrutinized something on her screen before looking back at him. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No.”
“I’d afraid that Ms. Mateo is very busy, and rarely sees anyone with an appointment.”
“She’ll see me,” Luke projected confidence he wasn’t truly sure he was feeling.
The receptionist was too well trained and professional to make any skeptical noises, but her eyes betrayed
her. “And what is this regarding?”
“Personal business,” he said flatly.
He watched the receptionist weighing things in her mind, and offered her a smile as she reached for the phone and dialled a number.
“Mr. Mateo, there is a Mr. Covas here to see Ms. Mateo. Yes, Covas. He says it is on personal business. Yes sir. Yes, sir. No sir.”
Luke tried not to growl at the game of twenty questions. As the receptionist hung up, her smile didn’t reach her eyes “Mr. Mateo will be with you shortly,” she said.
“I didn’t ask to see Mr. Mateo. I am here to see Octavia,” he said, as his jaguar stirred.
“Ms. Mateo is unavailable.”
“You mean she’s not here?”
“She is unavailable.”
He knew that the receptionist was only doing her job, protecting Octavia from anyone just walking in, but the electric need to see Octavia was driving him, and to be denied was fuelling his anger. His jaguar was aware and awake now, pushing to protect. He had never felt his cat-self be so protective before, never so close to lashing out. He swallowed back his cat, mentally leashing it to his human will. He could not afford to be thrown out.
A chime dinged politely, and a pair of subtle elevator doors opened. Nicodemus exited, and his eyes locked with Luke’s. His jaguar growled territorially at the sight of another powerful male.
“Mr. Covas,” he said as he crossed the floor. He did not offer to shake Luke’s hand. “I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing.”
Luke folded his arms across his chest, noticing the pair of burly security guards emerging from another nondescript door.
“Just let me talk to Octavia.”
“She doesn’t want to see you.”
The cold words felt like a punch to his gut, and the apologetic smile did not reach Nicodemus’s eyes.
“Did you even tell her I was here?” Luke demanded.
“I didn’t have to,” Nicodemus replied. “She informed me of what I should tell you if you arrived. She had hoped that it wouldn’t be necessary, but obviously you weren’t aware that your presence was unwelcome to her.”
The words almost sounded like they could have come from her, and although his jaguar screamed in rage, Luke wondered if there might not be a truth there. What had they had, apart from a memorable weekend of sex? What could he have thought he could offer a billionaire, who most likely had handsome men falling at her feet. Had he been deluding himself?
His jaguar growled, a harsh, feral sound that seared across his mind, wicked claws shredding the doubts into nothingness.
Mine! It declared in a voice he had never heard from it before. She is mine!
He felt his skin prickle with the sensation of an incipient shift, baring his teeth in a snarl.
Nicodemus nodded, and two large and ungentle hands closed on his upper arms. The security guards had come up beside him and were restraining him. Nicodemus shook his head sadly.
“It is over, Mr. Covas. Octavia does not want to see you, or hear from you. She wants nothing more to do with you. Please leave now, peacefully, or I will have you arrested. Do not come back, or I will have you arrested. Try to contact Octavia again, and I will have you arrested.”
“Let her tell me that herself,” Luke spat, tensing against the hands holding him.
“No,” said Nicodemus flatly. “Goodbye, Mr. Covas.”
The two security guards escorted him to the doors and forced him out into the humidity of the street, with ruthless force. His jaguar writhed beneath his skin, hissing in a wild anger that Luke could barely control. For a split second, Luke considered simply walking away, accepting what Nicodemus had told him. But his heart overruled his head, and his inner jaguar roared its approval.
Perhaps it was true that she didn’t want to see him again, didn’t want to know him. It hadn’t seemed like her way, but then, what did he know— truly know— about her? Maybe it would be best for them both. But he needed to hear it from her own lips, hear the harsh words from her directly. It would be the only way that he would believe it.
He turned away from the road, and walked back towards the doors. No sooner had he set one foot over the threshold than the security guards were on him.
“Call for the police,” Luke heard Nicodemus order the receptionist, as one of the guards was bent double with Luke’s elbow in his stomach.
“On their way, sir,” the receptionist replied, as Luke’s nose began to bleed from the fist of the second guard.
Two against one was not the fairest of fights, and it became even less fair when two more guards entered the fray. It all turned into a bit of a blur for Luke after that, a melee of arms and legs and pain. Even when the police arrived, Luke couldn’t stop trying to fight his way to Octavia. He absolutely had to hear it from her. No one else. Only her.
He kept on fighting for as long as he could, even when the police were added to the pile of bodies trying to hold him down. Desperation kept his limbs moving— until, finally, the application of the Taser stopped him in his tracks.
***
He was still twitching when the police dumped him in what looked to be an interrogation room after frisking him and removing his phone. White walls, white ceiling, two chairs and a table. They sat him in one of the chairs, made sure that his handcuffs were fastened to the table, and left him.
Time passed. There was no clock to focus on, and the pacing of his jaguar from mental wall to mental wall was distracting. To occupy himself, he tilted his head back in his chair and began to count the ceiling tiles.
Then the floor tiles.
Then the ceiling tiles again.
He was about to start trying some mental arithmetic when the door opened again. Instead of a police officer, an interrogator, or someone of authority, it was Nicodemus who entered. Luke couldn’t help himself: his jaguar took over and he was up out of his seat and trying to get over the table when the handcuffs yanked him back. Nicodemus seemed unfazed by this attempted assault, and took the other seat.
“You will insist on doing things the difficult way, won’t you, Mr. Covas,” he stated.
Luke glared. “Let me speak with Octavia.”
“I am afraid that is not possible at all. She wants nothing more to do with you. She does not want to talk to you, and she certainly doesn’t want to risk seeing you, not after she saw the security footage of your unprovoked assault on the guards.”
“Unprovoked?” Luke said, stung.
“Yes. Unprovoked. I warned you of what would happen, Mr. Covas. You chose to ignore my warnings. You tried to see Octavia, the guards stopped you. You resisted them, and you were arrested. You refused to leave even then.”
“Why won’t she tell me this herself?” he asked, and he hated himself for the note of wistfulness in his voice that he couldn’t suppress.
Nicodemus looked surprised. “Because she’s scared of you, Mr. Covas,” he said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. “A man like you...we all know that your first recourse is to violence.”
“I would never touch Octavia!” Luke roared, once more throwing himself out of the seat, fighting the handcuffs, trying to get to Nicodemus.
Nicodemus raised his hands and laughed quietly. “And see how you prove my point, you boorish thug. But, for Octavia’s sake, I want you out of my country as soon as possible. You are not being charged for trespass. You are not being charged for assault. You are not being charged for resisting arrest. These charges are not dropped, mind you, merely... held in abeyance. You are being deported, back to the US, today. You are being banned from entering Mexico again, for no less than five years. You try to come back, you try to contact Octavia again, and the charges will come back. You will be ruined, Mr. Covas. You will be imprisoned. And you will be hurting Octavia. And for those that hurt my niece, Mr. Covas, my arm is long. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” Luke growled in one last show of defiance, as the wave of helplessness swept over him. Nicodemus had him, and the
y both knew it. He would never hear the words from Octavia now. He would never see her again.
As if twisting the knife, Nicodemus leaned in a little closer, his voice a harsh whisper. “You were never good enough for my niece, Mr. Covas. You know nothing about her lifestyle, the circles that she moves in. Your behavior at that dinner showed that you are not fit to stand at her side. There are far better partners out there for her, who understand her for what and who she is. They have money of their own, pedigree of their own, not a no-name shameless leech trying to drag himself out of the gutter by riding the coattails of someone infinitely better than he. How long before you had her pregnant and barefoot in your kitchen, wasting her beauty and her skills catering to your every mediocre whim? How long before your eyes wandered elsewhere, breaking her heart? No, Mr. Covas, I am glad that my niece has finally seen sense enough to send you packing back to where you belong.”
Each word was another hammer blow, another nail in Luke’s coffin of pain. Nicodemus was right. Luke didn’t fit into Octavia’s world. That disastrous dinner had proved it to her.
He loved her. But she didn’t love him— couldn’t love him. He’d been a fool to ever think that she could. It broke his heart, but he had to respect her choice.
***
Octavia leaned back from her computer, rubbing her forehead with her fingertips, trying to stave off the headache she felt coming. She had been reading this report for nearly two hours now, and she was still barely half way through it, and still no wiser as to the contents.
She sighed, and typed a quick note to her secretary in email, and forwarded the report. Let someone else try and make sense of this— she had had enough of straining her eyes.
She pushed her shoulders back into her leather chair, wincing as her spine creaked back into alignment. There were one hundred and one other things that she could be doing, but for the moment, she settled for staring blankly into space.
Why had Nicodemus called her in for this? It wasn’t the most pressing business, and it was wasting time that she could have been spending with Luke. He drove away the loneliness that she had thought was her constant companion.
