Trust Me

by Isabel Jolie

  I adjust my position in the seat and pull my skirt down a bit. “Well, I used to love going to Grand Cafe Orient for lunch or coffee. When it’s warm, I’d love to sit outside and people watch a bit on their upstairs balcony. There’s a place called the American Bar that I went to quite a few times. I had a friend who used to hang out with Tom Waits there. How cool is that?” I grin at him as I sip my drink.

  “Did you ever meet him?”

  “Nah. I’m not sure he even still lived in Prague when I lived there. But I used to like to sit at the bar, or in one of the corner booths, and think about Tom Waits hanging out there. Just kinda cool.”

  “Coffee shops and bars are your favorite places in Prague?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

  “A favorite place speaks to your soul. Or, at least, that’s true of my favorite places. And a placed packed with tourists isn’t going to be my favorite place.”

  The sunset catches my attention. Pinks and peaches color the sky above glittering city lights. It’s gorgeous. I point it out. He agrees and visibly relaxes, setting a forearm on the table and leaning forward, closer to me. “Is it true what they say about the expat experience?” I tilt my head, questioning what he means, and he explains. “A character and confidence building experience?”

  “Yes. Definitely. I’m much more confident now. I had to do so much by myself. Some of that might have more to do with working in a smaller, less bureaucratic company than being in another country, though.”

  “I hear you. When we started out, it was a skeleton crew. Everyone wore many hats, and we accomplished so much so quickly. Now I’m blown away by how many people it takes to change a lightbulb. I miss those early days. Maybe that’s why I’m starting up this VC group now.” He sips his wine and sets it down, rubbing his fingers along the glass base. “Favorite museum?”

  “In Prague? Or anywhere?”

  “Anywhere,” he responds playfully while holding his arms out wide to indicate the world.

  I laugh and think. “Museum of Natural History. Right here in NYC. All my nannies used to take me there. I love art. Tate Modern. But my favorite memories are at the Museum of Natural History. You?”

  He slides closer, placing both elbows on the table. “Can’t say I’ve ever been a huge museum guy. But I like the architecture at the Guggenheim. No, my favorite places—you know, the places that speak to my soul,” he winks at me as he says this, “are outside.” He sits back in his chair again, stretches out his legs, and smiles.

  I cock my head and ask, “And yet here you are in the concrete jungle?”

  He smiles. “For now. But I get away quite a bit. That’s why I rushed to have this date tonight. I leave tomorrow for a week. Business in San Fran, weekend in Texas. When I get back, though, I’d like to see you again.”

  “Are you ending our date already?” I ask in a teasing tone.

  “Not at all. I’m not ready for this date to end. But I go after what I want, and I want time with you. So, I guess you could say I’m workin’ the fields with a plan for tomorrow.” He adds the last part with a strong hint of southern twang that makes me smile.

  “Well, you can stop working so hard. I’d love to go out with you again.” I’m not sure where those words come from, but I know it’s the truth. Scary and a tad frightening, but it’s true.

  He clasps my hand, his other hand on his bourbon. He lifts my fingers to his lips, sending electric tendrils through me. Goosebumps form all along my arm. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

  Dinner arrives along with a bottle of pinot. After the waitress leaves, Sam lifts his glass to toast. “To new beginnings.” We clink glasses, eyes on each other. The moment feels intense. I fidget with the napkin on my lap.

  “You said you like living in the concrete jungle for now. Are you planning on moving?”

  “Nah. At this point, it’s not just me. We have over fifteen hundred employees. Relocating would be an enormous strain on their families. New York is the financial center. It makes sense to be here. I have freedom. I can leave.” He takes a sip of wine and continues, taking me in. “Now, one day when I have a family of my own, I might need to reevaluate, but for now, I’m good here.”

  The cavalier mention of a family of his own throws me, maybe because I don’t allow myself to think along those lines since it might not happen for me. Finding someone good isn’t easy, and my own parents are a clear example of what happens when a bad choice is made. I can’t think of any other questions to ask him, so I sip my wine and eat. I ordered grilled swordfish, and it’s delicious, and I tell him so. We taste each other’s food. He ordered the charred octopus. It’s delicious too, but I feel a bit smug because I out-ordered him, and as if he can read my mind, he tells me I did. We dig into business a bit, but he pulls us right back out of it.

  “I love that I can talk to you about business, but this is our first date. Let’s try to keep it work-free.” He smiles and taps his knuckles on the table. “To re-cap. Prague. It seems you lived there like any normal city. Your favorite places were coffee shops and bars, and you spent a lot of time traveling on business. Which, you and I both agree, business travel is different than traveling to explore.” He pauses. “Did I get all that right?”

  “Yes, you did. Very nice job.”

  “Now, why Prague?”

  I sigh out loud and stare at the dark, curly hair scattered on his muscular forearms for a minute, trying to collect my thoughts. “I can’t really say.” I shrug. “I don’t have a good reason. It’s kind of a crazy story.”

  He grins. “I like crazy stories.”

  “Well, I had a bad day one day and called my uncle. He had just had lunch with a friend who was looking for someone to fill a spot in Prague. My uncle has always wanted me to see more of the world, and before the end of the day, I had the job.”

  His finger taps the side of his wine glass as he looks at me thoughtfully. He holds up his index finger and says, “Two things I wanna know. One, more about that bad day. I have this feeling you’re leaving something out.”

  “You are astute.” I chew on the corner of my lower lip. This is an embarrassing story, not something I’m eager to share. but there’s no harm in being open. His reaction might be telling. “I walked in on my boyfriend with someone else.” He looks a tad surprised, but motions for me to continue. “She was giving him a blow job. In the office.”

  He swirls his drink contemplatively. The lights cast a glow in the amber liquid, forming a hypnotic swirl of gold. “So, you’re a runner.”

  “What?” I ask in confusion.

  “When things get tough, you run. Like a skittish wild horse.” I sit up straighter in my chair and put my wine glass down. He immediately attempts to placate me. “It’s okay. No problem. Just good to know you better. And know that upfront.”

  “I wouldn’t say I’m like a wild horse.” I roll my eyes at his comparison.

  “That’s fine. We can agree to disagree.” He gives a lopsided smile. “Tell me about your uncle. What’s he do? He an important part of your life?”

  “I was completely justified in leaving my ex. He was cheating on me.”

  “I know. I know. I know.”

  I’m seething inside, but with each calm repeat of “I know,” the anger dissipates.

  He continues. “I didn’t mean to insinuate you should have stayed with him. I was referencing the move to Prague. Now, your uncle. Important to you?”

  I exhale and let the runner comment go. “Yeah, he is. I don’t see him that often now. But when I was a kid, he was always looking out for me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My parents kind of had their own lives.” I try to word my explanation so I don’t drum up sympathy. “They both had consuming careers. Nannies pretty much raised me. Later, boarding school. My uncle stepped in a lot when I was growing up. I always felt like he was checking in on me, making sure I was okay.”

  “Sounds like a good man.”

  We continue to talk thro
ugh dinner. I share a bit more about my parents, and he gushes about his parents, brothers, and the ranch back home.

  After the waiter takes away our plates, Sam looks down at his watch and grimaces. “Man, I had tickets to the show they put on here. But it’s already started. I lost track of time.”

  “That’s okay. I’d rather sit here and talk to you.”

  He tilts his head, questioning. “Are you sure? I wanted to have a memorable first date. The show here is supposed to be amazing.”

  The wine makes me bolder, and I take his hand. “I’m sure. I couldn’t think of a way I’d rather spend tonight than getting to know you. If we were watching a show, we couldn’t talk.”

  He brushes his lips across my knuckles. As he holds my hand, he studies me, a tender smile playing across his lips. He reaches out and runs his fingers through my hair and sighs.

  “What?”

  “You know our children will have blue eyes?”

  His question isn’t what I’m expecting at all, and I laugh. He’s smiling, but there’s a seriousness to his posture and expression, so I bite. “Because we both have blue eyes?”

  With a shit-eating grin, he responds, “Yes, ma’am. If you ever cheat on me, it better be with a blue-eyed man.”

  I sit up straight and look him directly in the eye. “I’m not a cheater.”

  He nods, drops the grin, and looks me directly in the eye. “Neither am I.”

  My heart stutters. Can I trust him? This gorgeous Page Six playboy? Wouldn’t all men claim to never cheat?

  A jazz band has been playing for about the last thirty minutes in the back corner of the patio. Sam stands and pulls me to him. “Dance with me.”

  I look around the patio and don’t see anywhere to dance. It’s a romantic rooftop restaurant. There’s no dance floor. “Where?”

  He stands and pushes a few of the bushes away, creating a space for us to dance in our own private area. Bright twinkling lights adorn all the limbs and branches. In this one private secret area, we dance. Or rather, he holds me close, and we barely move, pressed against each other and swaying to the rich, soulful music. I breathe him in. Cedar. Forest. We sway together as the saxophonist, trumpet, and piano man find their groove.

  We dance that way for a couple of songs, and then the band announces they are wrapping up for the night. Sam leans down and kisses me beneath the canopy of twinkling lights. His arms pull me close as the kiss deepens. He tastes like bourbon, something that must be taken in moderation. My sex pulses. First date jitters are now gone, replaced by something else. Need. My fingers run through his hair while his hands roam my back and over the curve of my ass. He grasps my hips, and steps back, creating distance. We’re both breathing heavily. He gives a slight shake of his head, then places my hand in the crook of his arm to lead me out.

  As we step onto the sidewalk, the familiar black Tesla awaits. The driver, like the last two times, remains in the car. Sam guides me to the passenger door.

  Anticipation makes me speechless. He could ask me to his house. It’s only 11:00 p.m. Not too late for a nightcap. Or he could send me home like he did before.

  He pulls me in for a deep, possessive kiss. My arms wrap around his neck, and I finally get to run my fingers through his hair. He deepens the kiss. His firm, hard body presses me against the car. He moans, or maybe it’s me, but all I want is him. He strokes my back down to my ass and pulls me closer to him. I raise my leg to wrap it around him to try to bring us closer, an attempt to bring friction where I so desperately need it.

  Someone on the sidewalk cackles, “Get a room.” The sound breaks the moment. I don’t care that we’re on a sidewalk, in public, with people walking by, but Sam takes a step back. His arms are straight, and he’s using them to hold me back from him, as if he’s pushing me away. His eyes are dark. Keeping his distance from me, as if I’ll burn him, he opens the passenger door for me to enter the car.

  “I get back Sunday. A week from today. Can I make dinner for you?”

  “You want to cook?”

  “Don’t worry about who’s cooking. Will you come to my place for dinner on Sunday?”

  “I’d love to.” I sit in the car, and he leans in to give me a soft kiss before closing the door. I roll the window down as soon as the door closes. He’s standing on the sidewalk, waiting for us to drive away. “Why don’t you ride with me? Or let us drop you off at your home so you don’t have to walk?”

  He leans against the window frame and bends down, so his face is close to mine. “Darlin’, I’m trying to be good. Take this slowly. And unless we say goodnight right now—and I mean right now—all hope of me being good will get thrown out the window.” He presses his lips to my forehead, backs away, and taps the roof twice as a signal to the driver. “Until Sunday.” And he blows me a kiss.

  For the second time, Sam sends me away with a warmth permeating my entire being. Have I ever felt this happy after a date? I don’t think so. The city lights coalesce outside the window as the car speeds uptown. I close my eyes to savor these emotions. Yes, I’ll probably find out he’s a total playboy, but right now, I want to revel in my euphoria.

  Chapter 8

  Sam

  I stand on the sidewalk as my driver pulls away to take Olivia home. I watch until the car reaches the end of the street and turns onto the avenue. Putting Olivia in that car took a world of willpower. All night, visions of those long legs wrapped around me floated through my head. Her thin sweater draped over the curve of her breasts. The outline of a low-cut lace bra showed through. Damn. The woman exudes sex, and I’d bet she has no clue.

  I turn toward Tenth Avenue. I’m nine blocks from my apartment. I see available cabs on the avenue, but I need the walk to calm down. In my current frame of mind, I might be tempted to jack off to my Olivia fantasies in the back of the cab.

  As I round the corner from 27th Street to Tenth Avenue, I see a tall guy about fifteen feet behind me in a dark suit. He’s following me. I’ve had full security for almost two years now. I’m still not used to it, and it still puts me on edge.

  Out of habit, I pull out my phone and text while I walk.

  Me: Bill, can you do a full background check on Olivia Grayson?

  It’s after eleven at night on a Sunday. I don’t expect a response. I continue to thumb through my texts, noticing a few I missed when I was with Olivia.

  Mom: I’m thinking of throwing a small barbecue for family and friends Saturday. Would you like for me to invite Sandra?

  I reply immediately.

  Me: No.

  The next text I choose to read is from my brother Ollie.

  Oliver: Mom’s inviting Sandra over.

  Me: No, she’s not.

  He responds almost immediately.

  Oliver: