by Emma Renshaw
Harper, I scold. Focus. Finally locating my keys hidden in a pocket of my purse, I look down, trying to find the right one while putting the others between my shaking fingers. James’ words enter my mind, use anything you have.
A throat clearing grabs my attention, making me look up at the driver. The back door of the limo is open, showing nothing but blackness. I can’t see anyone inside. My wary eyes find the driver again. His eyes are hidden behind black sunglasses, a single, thick brow is arched over one eye. He motions toward the open limo door.
“You are Harper, right?” the driver asks in a deep, grumbling, heavily accented voice.
I scan around, even more apprehensive than I was before. If this is for Rafael’s meeting with the tenants, why am I the only one here? Why is no one else getting in this creepy limo with me?
“How do you know my name?” I try to sound strong, but my voice trembles on the last word.
“Mr. Bazán sent me to pick you up.”
“Can’t you tell me where to go and I’ll find my own way?”
“Are Mr. Bazan’s accommodations not up to your standards?” The driver asks in a mocking tone, his eyes scanning me from head to toe.
“It’s not that,” I try to say, but he turns his back to me while sliding a phone out of his pocket. The door is still open, daring me to get inside. The back of the car feels just as dangerous as the man who sent it.
The driver is speaking low in Spanish, still turned away from me. A vibration in my purse has me sinking my hand back inside, looking for another lost item in the giant bag. I gasp when I read the message from an unknown number on the screen.
Unknown: Get in the car, muñeca.
No, thanks, Rafael. I think I’ll stay right here. I glare at the driver, knowing the person on the other end of his call is Rafael. The driver hangs up the phone, turning back toward me. When he sees my glare, he smirks, placing his hand on the door, waiting for me, taunting me to step inside. Not today, bucko. Not today.
Rafael: I still have not signed a contract stating I will honor your lease agreement with the previous owner. Get in the car.
I resist the urge to stomp my foot and scream. I angrily hit my screen, typing out my message.
Harper: Is that a threat?
Rafael: Simply stating the reality of the situation.
Rafael: You will soon learn that I am not always a patient man. Get in. I have your contract with me.
I turn my head to look back at my store. This store is everything that I have. I opened it with the inheritance my parents left me. In so many ways, this is the only place I still feel tied to them. Every possession that was once theirs doesn’t hold the same value as this store. Harper’s Avenue has been my dream since I was a little girl. My father taught me how to write a business plan while my mother taught me to express myself through my own style. This store is the marriage of what they both gave me. Business savvy and style. I close my eyes, willing myself to turn and get in the limo. If I have to dance with the devil to keep my store, I’ll do it.
I toss my hair over my shoulder and march toward the limo, keeping my chin up, not looking at the driver, showing the confidence I found deep within me. I stop right before I sink into the car and turn toward the driver still holding the door. He’s facing forward, not looking at me, but I see his lips twitching. I glare at the side of his face again, before saying, “Just so you know, you’re on my shit list.”
3
Harper
When the limo pulls into a grungy and dimly lit alley behind a strip of buildings, I shove my hand between the seats, looking for something I can defend myself with. I’m really regretting not having pepper spray in my purse right now. Each thud of the driver’s footsteps coming closer sends my heartrate skyrocketing. Tears start burning my eyes as the panic completely sets in. I still haven’t found anything to hit the driver with when the door opens.
This is it. I’m going to die. I’m going to die in a back alley and I’m not even wearing great shoes.
The door at my back is too close to the alley wall to open, so I can’t escape that way. My spine is pressed against the seat, ready for what’s going to come next. Who brings someone to a fucking alley?
When I don’t exit the car, the driver leans down and peers inside. “What are you doing?”
“I’m not going to let you kill me,” I sneer.
“Dios mio,” he mutters, brushing a hand down his face. He continues speaking in Spanish to himself while pinching the bridge of his nose. His jaw is clenched when his eyes land back on mine. “I am not going to kill you. Get out of the car. Mr. Bazán is waiting for you.”
I slowly step out of the car, looking around and crinkling my nose. There are dumpsters next to the door marked back exit. “Why can’t we go through the front?”
“Mr. Bazán likes privacy,” he responds dryly.
The back entrance leads us to a dark hallway with unmarked doors. I dig my fingernails into the palm of my hand, counting to ten. The soft click of my heels and the driver’s shoes are the only noises echoing around us. He stops at the end of the hallway as a man appears from the shadows. Before I finish gasping and turning to run in the other direction, the driver grabs my arm. He doesn’t even cast a glance my way as he speaks to the other man in Spanish. As the driver releases me, the man from the shadows opens the door to a small room with a few black velvet chairs adorned with gold feet. A crystal chandelier lights the space in a soft glow.
Before I can take in any more details of the ornate room, the driver pulls aside a black velvet curtain, ushering me through into another room. Where am I? The room is sectioned off with booths, couches, and heavy, velvet curtains. The driver stops next to a section shielded by curtains, and I halt next to him. The sunglasses haven’t been removed from his face, but I can feel him rolling his eyes at me when he sighs. He holds back the curtain with one hand and motions me through with the other. Not ready to break my stare and see what’s on the other side of the curtain, I stand there, refusing to move.
“Muñeca.” Rafael’s deep, masculine voice calls from within.
Do it for the store. Do it for the store. I chant my mantra over and over in my head, biting the inside of my cheek. As I’m about to walk through into the unknown, Rafael steps forward. He takes my hand in his own, bringing it to his mouth. A shiver runs up my spine when his soft lips connect with my skin. Without taking his eyes off me, he talks to his driver in Spanish and then pulls me through the velvet curtain.
Two black velvet sofas sit across from each other. They have the same ornate, gold feet and deep seats as the chairs in the previous room. Rafael lets go of my hand, leaving me standing between the two couches as he goes to a bottle of wine resting on a bar cart in the corner of the room. A buffet is set up next to the bar cart, ready to serve. Clearing my throat, I ask, “Where are the others?”
“It is just the two of us.” The shred of amusement in his voice sets me on edge. I turn to leave without saying a word to Rafael. If he can lie to me then I can be rude to him. He has to know he can’t walk all over me. “That’s not a good idea, muñeca.”
I glare at him over my shoulder before spewing my frustration. “You lied to me. I’m not some puppet.”
“I did not lie.” He saunters closer, setting the two glasses of blood red wine on a small, gold side table before stopping right in front of me. I’m still facing the exit, but my eyes are glued to him. “Sit. Enjoy the wine and food.” He’s so close I can feel his breath on my shoulder, caressing my skin.
“You did lie,” I assert. “You said you wanted to get to know the tenants and you were having a dinner for them.”
“I did say that, and I am.” His soft tone infuriates me so much I don’t notice that he slowly turned me toward him until I’m facing him. “You are my tenant. I am hosting a dinner for you. Please, sit. I would love to get to know you, my tenant.” A slow, smug smile takes over his face as he slowly tilts his head toward the buffet of waiting food. Di
nner. My palm twitches, ready to slap the smirk off his arrogant face, but my body is swaying toward him, hypnotized by his black eyes and perplexing words.
Stepping back from Rafael allows me the space to release a shaking breath. I curl my fingers into my palm, trying to stop them from trembling. My nerves are completely frazzled. When there’s distance between the two of us, I’m able to think and breathe better. He’s like the damn Bermuda Triangle, messing up all my senses.
Unable to let the irritation go, I grab the glass of wine and take a hearty drink. Determined to put even more distance between us, I cross the room to the couch that’s farthest away and sit on the buttery velvet. If I were alone, I’d lie on it and rub myself all over the soft fabric and take a nap after a long day at the store.
Rafael surprises me when he sits next to me on the couch with two plates of food. I expected him to do the polite thing and sit on the couch across from mine, not invade my personal space again. He’s not leaning toward me, but he’s close enough to dominate my attention.
“What am I really doing here?” I can hear the trepidation in my voice I was hoping to suppress.
“I did not lie.” His voice is still infuriately calm. “My only intention is to get to know you over dinner.”
“Why?” Again, my body sways toward him and my question comes out husky.
Instead of answering me, he leans toward the side table, grabbing the bottle of wine, refilling the glass I didn’t realize I’d emptied. “The answer is simple. You fascinate me.”
“You don’t know me.”
Rafael’s lips twitch, concealing a smile. “This is why I wish to know you.”
Wine sloshes over the side of my glass as I raise my hands in the air, demanding answers. “How can I fascinate you when you don’t know me?”
A small smile appears on his lips as he shrugs. “Presentimiento. Call it intuition.”
Pouring the rest of my wine down my throat, I search my mind for a witty comeback. I want to feel like we’re on an even playing field. Who am I kidding? He’s playing major league baseball and I’m playing little league. My hand shakes as I set the again-emptied wine glass on the table. Rafael leans across me with the bottle in his hand.
“I better not.” My voice wobbles as I inhale his musky scent.
“You are not driving. You should eat.” He hasn’t moved from his position, just turned his head toward mine. Our eyes are locked and lips only an inch apart. Rafael’s breath brushes across my skin with each word.
“Inhibitions and all that,” I whisper.
His mouth curves into a seductive smile. “I think I would like your inhibitions lowered, muñeca.”
“What does that mean?” I swallow and grit my teeth to stop my eyelids from fluttering.
Rafael leans closer, putting his lips right next to my ear. His voice is husky and full of sex appeal. “Doll.”
I pull my head away and use my hand to push his hard chest. The pain rushing through me overshadows the electricity firing beneath my palm. “Don’t call me that.” I bite out each demanding word. As the pain takes over my heart, I close my eyes. After taking a calming breath, I speak again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.”
“Why not? Does it remind you of someone?”
My eyes fly open. Rafael has his head cocked with a tiny, teasing smile on his lips and a deadly gleam in his eyes.
“Why would you say that?”
He shrugs, wiping the smirk from his face. “Your reaction.”
A vision of my dad dancing with me around the kitchen as my mom cooks dinner with my sister floats through my mind.
“It doesn’t remind me of anyone.” The lie burns my throat. I reach for a bite of food to distract myself from our conversation. Since the moment he walked into my store, he’s thrown me all over the place with my emotions.
“Are you sure?” A tiny, arrogant twitch of his lips is back, making me want to slap his smug face. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to hit someone in my life but this man brings out an array of emotions. I don’t respond, just begin to eat, silently trying to break the code behind everything he says. The crook of his lips turns into a practiced smile as he shrugs again. “You are pretty. Like a doll.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Just don’t call me that. Please.” I force out the last word through my teeth, trying to sound pleasant.
He slightly inclines his head in assent. “As you wish.”
My hands are still shaking, and, knowing I may regret it in the morning, I take the bottle of wine from Rafael and pour myself a new glass. His victorious chuckle rings in my ears as I take the first gulp. Earlier, I thought I needed all my mental strength to be near him, but now I think I need the buzz to stay in this room.
Rafael and I eat dinner in complete silence, but I feel his eyes watching me, taking in every detail. My gaze stays focused on the wine and dinner in front of me.
“Tell me something about yourself,” he asks after we’ve finished eating. Rafael’s fingers brush my hair over my shoulder and trail down my arm, eliciting goosebumps in their wake.
Reluctantly, I turn my head toward him, falling under the spell of his dark eyes again. “I want my store to be successful. I want that more than almost anything else.”
He stares at me and purses his lips before closing his eyes and releasing a sigh. My eyes follow him as he gets up from the couch and walks to the corner of our enclosed area. On his walk back to the couch, he looks directly into my eyes without blinking. “This is for you.”
I take the manila envelope from his hands, gripping the edges tightly. “What is it?” My voice shakes.
“Your lease agreement with my signature. I will honor your old contract.”
My body sags against the back of the couch. I can’t even bring myself to care about the wine that sloshed over the side of my glass onto the soft velvet. The envelope rips while I’m tearing the top off, not willing to completely believe him until I see for myself. The words on the page are blurring from my shaking hands and tears in my eyes, but it’s there. It’s all there. The same exact agreement with Rafael’s neat signature on the bottom. There’s a blank space for my name. Turning to face Rafael, he’s already holding an expensive pen out in front of him. My name is inked on the page before I take my next breath.
Rafael takes the contact from my hands and puts it back in the ripped envelope. “I will send you a copy via messenger in the morning. Now that business is taken care of, please let me get to know you.”
A laugh bubbles up my throat and my hand comes to rest on his arm. “Right now, at this moment, I think I’m willing to give you just about anything. Thank you.”
“If I can’t call you muñeca, what can I call you?”
“My name.” I turn my face toward him and raise an eyebrow.
“Touché.” His face casts down to the couch. Shaking his head, he rubs his hand over his mouth, hiding a smile. When he peeks at me through his long lashes, a rush of warmth moves up my neck and over my cheeks as the blush spreads over my skin. He breaks our palpable tension when he speaks. “Tell me about your family.”
Tell me about your family. It’s normal to wonder about someone’s family and past. It’s typical conversation, but I can’t ignore the way my heart breaks apart. I clear my throat and rub my hand over my thigh before balling it into a fist. Rafael’s eyes are waiting for mine when I turn my face back to his and suck in a large breath before I speak. It’s been years. Years. But, the pain of these words never gets easier. “My parents and sister passed away when I was seventeen. No family. It’s just me.”
Rafael brings his hand to my arm, rubbing gently. “How did it happen?” There’s something in his voice, but I can’t figure it out. The warm buzz from the wine is taking over, leaving everything in a slight haze.
I can’t stop the tears that spring in my eyes. “Mugging. They were murdered in downtown Dallas.”
“I’m sorry to hear of your loss.” His whispered words tug on
my fragile heart.
“Thank you,” I mutter quietly, looking back down at my lap, trying to control my pain.
“Why were you not with them?” The gentle glide of his hands on my arm coaxes me to answer his question. I don’t mull over the strange phrasing or wonder why he sounds curious that I’m not dead, too, because I’m completely lost in his gentle touch and entrancing eyes.
“Visiting someone,” I say softly. The deep-seated loathing I’ve let consume me since that day works its way into gut, filling me with shame as I watch my hands tangle in my lap.
Rafael sighs deeply. “I must confess something.”
Turning back to face him and cocking my head, I wait for him to voice his confession.
“I knew about your family.”
My mouth goes dry. I open and close it several times before I’m able to speak. “Wh–what do you mean?” I can’t stop the quiver in my voice. There’s an elephant in the room. Something obvious. Something I should know. Something I should understand, but it’s just out of reach and sitting on the tip of my tongue.
“Santiago was my father.” The soft accent I heard earlier comes out full force with that sentence. I shake my head, denying his truth. Santiago was my father’s lifelong best friend.
“Uncle Santiago didn’t have children.” He constantly showered my sister and me with gifts and love, considering us the children he never had. He was practically a second father to me. After my family was murdered he took me under his wing, made sure I was taken care of, and even paid for my college tuition. He made me leave my inheritance untouched until I graduated. The day he died was the day I truly lost all of my family, every last one of them.
