Christian scoffs. “Yeah. He’s very… particular.”
“Christian,” I say and turn to him. “Look, dude. I don’t like you, you don’t like me, but if we’re gonna work on this together, we need to work as a team. We’re far from home and kind of stuck together in this. I’m not going into anything with someone I don’t know can fucking control himself. Why don’t you tell me what happened to you?”
His already dark eyes turn pitch black as he looks at me. Nothing rattles me, but even I feel a twist of unease at the desolate void in his gaze.
“Give me something,” I say.
He exhales through his nose and turns to the window. “I did something I shouldn’t have done. I hurt someone. I mean, it’s what I do, but this was—different.”
I’m confused. “You have killed people for a living since you were in your teens. What the fuck did you do to put your panties in a twist? No one recognizes you anymore. You’re a loose cannon. Everybody’s fucking afraid of you. What was so different?”
His lips are curled in an expression of distaste as he looks back at me. “I took someone’s trust and turned it against her. I did this to a tiny, defenseless, intelligent, brave and compassionate girl. I unleashed the full force of my inner beast, let whatever demon there’s inside me loose, lost all control, made all the wrong choices. She’d have been better off if I’d killed her because I took all the light from her. There’s more, but that’s my burden to carry.”
I’m honestly stunned. I work with the worst of the worst. Salvatore himself is as cruel as they come, but Christian has always been so controlled, so unfazed by everything. I’d never expected this from him.
From the looks of it, neither had he.
“Why didn’t you just kill her, and save you both the grief?”
“It happened. Now you know. Let’s move on. And Eric, I know exactly what I’m doing when I’m on a job.”
I nod slowly. I believe him. It’s good he came clean, though, now I know I can trust him. I start the engine and pull out. “Tomorrow, I’ll pay them a visit. We’ll probably act by the end of the week.”
Christian nods and we drive in silence until I drop him off by his hotel. He hops out, but lingers, then he leans in. “Salvatore knows, and my family, but apart from that, I trust this stays between you and me.”
“Of course.” I have no reason to run with gossip. It’s not how I roll. “I’ll call you.”
He slams the door closed and I stare at the dust and dirt on the dashboard before I rev the engine and head home. I had no idea that man had a conscience. At thirty-five, I’m apparently not too old to be surprised.
My temporarily rented apartment on the twenty-first floor, with the whole city by my feet, isn’t overly large, but it’s got what I need. I toss the keys on the side table, toe off my shoes, and head for the kitchen to pour a large whisky. Pushing the black leather recliner to the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the ocean, I let Rolling Stones flood the room and close my eyes.
Tomorrow, I’ll scope out the premises, have a little word with the weasels who think they can get away with hiding parts of what they earn, and see what we’re gonna do about it.
Chapter 3
Anna
“The delivery was so easy. Little Toby started sucking immediately and I have so much milk. It’s incredible. I donate to the preemie ward. Like gallons, you know. I’m like a Momma Cow.”
Everybody laughs and admires the pictures of a wrinkly little infant on the small screen of Gabriella’s phone. I pull my lips into a stiff smile and coo with the others around the coffee table as they pass the phone between them. Of course I’m happy for my colleague, but I struggle to match the others’ enthusiasm.
Gabriella returned from parental leave today and has yet to make herself useful. She goes on and on about milk stains, the color of poop, her wonderful husband who is now home with the baby, and blah-blah.
I tune out and glance over to the other side of the room. Cocking my head, I frown as I study the two men sitting there. Mr. Darrell has aged visibly these last few months, overweight, balding, kind eyes that have a haunted look, whereas Mr. Myles is tall, thin and twitchy. Myles doesn’t speak much to anyone. Darrell is the face of the firm and the one who handles everything. I’m not sure what Myles does at all, actually. He always greets me kindly, though, saluting me when we meet in the corridors.
The never-ending baby talk is suddenly choking me. A mere five minutes into my coffee break, and I’ve had it. I dart up, almost run to grab my bag and flee the office without looking at the, no doubt surprised, faces of my workmates. They already think I’m crazy anyways, the odd one out, the quiet, and always awkwardly dressed girl. It hardly makes any difference.
I pace the elevator on the way down and cross the lobby in a few quick strides, nodding at the guard. Starbucks is right around the corner. A latte, some strangers I’ll never have to see again. Much more manageable.
Absentmindedly ordering my favorite beverage, I scan the menu, but decide against anything else.
“Cinnamon Latte? You’re kidding, right?”
“Huh?” Spinning on my heels, I locate the source of the voice and find myself looking at a chest, with a white, well-ironed shirt, a gray tie adorned with a discreet geometrical pattern disappearing into a neatly buttoned black vest, and an expensive-looking black suit completing the look. My gaze follows the tie upward, to a squared jaw with a hint of dark-blond stubble and a little dimple in the center of the chin. I raise my head and stare at full lips that twist into a smile, a slightly crooked nose and then eyes—light-green eyes—so intense they make me forget where I am. I swallow hard.
“I believe they expect you to pay for that abomination.” He lets go of my gaze and nods at something behind me.
I shake my head to rid myself of the spell and look in the direction he indicates, only now aware of the impatient girl behind the counter.
“Miss, five dollars, forty-five cents, please.” Her brown eyes plead with me as they flicker to the long line of people waiting for their turn. Friday morning at a Starbucks on one of the busiest streets in downtown LA, and I’m blocking everybody’s forward momentum.
“Oh, yes. Sorry.” Mortified, I glance at him again as I fumble with my bag, find the wallet, pull out my credit card and pay. I take a few steps to the side and wait for my latte to arrive while I keep stealing glances at the stunning man as he places his order. Our eyes meet once more and my heart flutters, but then he’s handed a cup of black coffee and disappears out of sight, deeper into the venue, without looking at me again.
I shift, tired from running all morning on high heels.
The name written on my paper cup says ‘ANY’ with clunky capital letters. Who’s called ‘Any’? I swear they make those ‘mistakes’ on purpose. How hard can it be to write ‘Anna’? Rolling my eyes, I hitch the straps of my bag up higher on my shoulder, grab the cup and venture off to find a seat. I only have about fifteen minutes before I need to be back at the office and wasting precious time by going to Starbucks was perhaps stupid, but I needed a breather. Listening to Gabriella gushing about her baby, and her fantastic life was grating. And painful. I’ll never have that.
Squeezing in between an oversized bag and a rather oversized human, I sink down on a couch. I like having my back against a wall. It makes me feel safer somehow. My nearest neighbor glares and drops her bag by her feet instead. I sigh. This morning started well enough. I was in a pretty good mood actually, and slept well for once, but now it seems to be spiraling downward. I brush some crumbs off the table, and sip on my latte, enjoying the Christmas-y taste. Nothing wrong with cinnamon three days before Christmas.
“Is this seat taken?” a smooth baritone says from above. I’m scrolling through the social media updates on my phone and jolt with surprise, my heart galloping. In front of me stands the model-like man from before. I swallow hard. His attention is like a beam of light directed at me, and me alone. I’m still trying to get my l
ips to cooperate when he sits on the chair in front of me. In the corner of my eye I notice the girl next to me perk up. I hide a smile. I suspect her jaw dropped at the sight of him too.
“How’s it tasting, then?” He grins and nods at my cup.
“Ehm… it’s good. You should try it.” I raise it between us, smile and take a large swallow, enjoying the warm liquid as it makes its way to my stomach.
His eyes narrow. “You’re shitting me. You’re only doing that to mock me and my simple taste.”
I nod at his cup. “Why go to Starbucks if you only buy regular coffee? It’s like going to Saks to buy Crocs.”
“My coffee isn’t Cr—” He huffs. “It’s premium quality. From special beans—” He throws up his hands in a mock-surrender gesture and leans back, putting his hands behind his neck. “I guess it’s too sophisticated for some people. It’s an acquired taste.”
“Are we arguing coffee?” I ask, tearing my gaze away from his well-shaped chest.
He looks at his cup, mine and back up at me. “I guess we are.” He winks. “But I’m winning. Not much to argue.”
I laugh. “Really? You’re the odd one out. Look around you. The majority has voted. The verdict’s out. Flavored coffee crushes the competition.” I make a face at him and take a long sip, exaggerating the pleasure. Then I put the cup down abruptly and look at my hands, my palms suddenly sweaty. We’re arguing coffee, and we’re also flirting. My heart stutters and I glance around us. What am I doing?
“I work here.” He nods toward the entrance, oblivious to my sudden inner turmoil. “In the building. It’s close. And speaking of, I’m sure I’ve seen you. Aren’t you with…” He snaps his fingers several times, his mouth opening and closing as he frowns and seems to look for words.
“Darrell and Myles,” I say, forcing myself back to the present. It’s like every time I speak to a man, I see a predator. I gotta stop that. Now would be a good time.
“Yes!” he exclaims. “Third floor, right?”
I laugh and hope it sounds somewhat natural and not half hysterical. “Thirteenth. Are you sure you’re thinking of me?”
“Oh yes, totally. Can’t miss those pretty brown eyes.” He winks.
I twitch and glance at my wristwatch. “Damn, I gotta head back.” I dart up, grab my bag and hoist it up on my shoulder, then I raise my cup in a salute before finishing it to the last drop. He can say whatever he wants; I love Cinnamon Latte. I love Pumpkin Latte too, at Halloween. Flavored coffee wins the competition.
He peeks at the screen of his phone. “Oh, crap. Me too.” He stands and follows me as I make my way to the door. I toss the cup in the bin and we leave together. I feel his presence a couple of steps behind me as a near-physical tug in my back. At the entrance of the office building, he puts his hand in his pocket. His face takes on a surprised look. He pats his breast and pants pockets and then stares at his empty hands. Meanwhile, I pull the access card out of my bag and swipe it.
“Forgot yours?”
“Yeah,” he answers, with an embarrassed grin, pushing his fingers through his thick hay-colored hair as he glances around us.
I start pulling the door open, but he grabs it and holds it for me. When it falls shut with a quiet thud, he extends a hand.
“I’m Eric, by the way. Eric Reed. So nice to meet you.”
His handshake is firm, but not crushing. I can’t help but notice how calloused his palm is. Somehow not a desk job hand. My heart rate picks up and I quickly pull my hand back, as if I burnt it.
“Anna.”
“Anna,” My name rolls off his tongue as if he’s making love to it, making my cheeks heat up. “That’s a pretty name.”
I frown, checking the time again. “No, it’s not. It’s incredibly bland. If you’ll excuse me.” I itch to flee, to get back to the safety of my little office.
“Of course. Maybe another coffee argument someday?” he half-shouts as I almost rush toward the elevators.
I wave my hand in the air, not turning around. As I press the up button, I dare a glance behind me, but he’s gone. I wonder why I haven’t seen him before. With his presence, and his stunning good looks, I should have. Even though I’ve sworn off men after the incident, it hasn’t made me blind.
The hours tick away as I run errands and answer phone calls. I down a Fanta and a ham and cheese sandwich over a ten-minute lunch since all hell suddenly breaks loose and everybody starts running to meet a deadline, we didn’t know we had. The owners have been on edge the last few weeks. I saw two rather grim-looking men striding past my office again yesterday. I didn’t see them well, but I think they were the same as a couple of weeks ago. Our workload has increased significantly during the same period. The office has been buzzing with rumors, one theory crazier than the other. Apparently, we have some really major client that wants to stay anonymous. It’s a mystery we all want to crack.
I’m only half present, my thoughts incoherent and sprawled. Meeting that man has opened a Pandora’s box of messed up emotions. I can’t shake the unease no matter how much I want to. It’s not him, per se, he seems nice. Really nice even. It’s my… history. I don’t want to think about it.
“Hey, Anna! Snap out of it.” Darrell waves at me from across the table. “We’ll be needing these a.s.a.p.”
I nod and exhale with relief when work forces me out of my reverie.
At five p.m., I’m hungry and tired. I’m looking forward to sneaking out of the office and going home. All I want is to cook a load of pasta, whip up a carbonara sauce, make the nightly phone call to Dad, and watch Netflix the rest of the night.
“I need you to stay tonight. I know it’s late notice, but these need to be done like yesterday. You can handle that right, Anna?”
I look at Darrell, frowning, confused. “But you said after Christmas… I’ll have them by then.”
“We need these by tomorrow morning.”
“We’re not working tomorrow. It’s Saturday.”
“If you do them tonight, you won’t have to. It’ll only take you a couple of hours.”
I almost want to cry but force a neutral expression. Pasta and a movie have to be postponed. Instead, I’ll put together fifty samples of the thick outline to a brochure that was decided on this afternoon. Inwardly, I groan. It’s gonna take a lot more than two hours. I’m not a secretary but being a junior employee, I pretty much have to do everything I’m told. And with a pretty smile to top it off. I grin at my superior as I grit my teeth.
“Sure. No problem.”
I watch his hunched back as he walks away and disappears around the corner. He looked tired, sweat pearls beading in his receding hairline. He seems overworked. I fetch my bag. If I’m staying, I need something to eat, or I’ll faint. Grabbing a stack of documents, figuring I can begin to sort them while I eat, I head for the elevator. My stomach growls loudly as I step into the lobby, nodding at the security guard. He’s a nice man in his sixties. Beautiful caramel skin. A shaved head under a dark gray cap he never takes off. Black eyes. Always alert. Always friendly.
“Hi!”
I spin around. Stunning green eyes pierce mine and a wide smile spreads across the man’s features. My heart takes a leap up to my throat. Oh crap.
Chapter 4
Anna
“Eric,” I acknowledge and give him a curt nod. My feelings about meeting him again are a jumbled mess. Excitement, paired with a dose of anxiousness, spiced up with a pinch of attraction, and a slice of fright, all fight for space in my chest.
“Anna… was it?” He cocks his head. “Fancy seeing you again. On your way home?” He nods at the exit.
I grimace and look at the busy boulevard outside the glass doors, toward freedom. “No such luck. I have loads of work left.” I shift and correct my grip on the pile of documents. His gaze lingers on the wad of papers, or perhaps my chest, or both. I suck in a breath as a shiver rushes through me.
“Are you on the run, then?” He glances behind me, then leans forwa
rd, lowering his voice. “No one’s chasing you yet, so I think you still have time.”
He holds my gaze and I laugh nervously. “Nah, I need something to eat.” I start toward the exit, intent on fleeing, but he falls in line next to me, matching my pace.
“I’ll walk you there.”
“That’s not really necessary.” My mouth turns dry. Fifteen minutes with him this morning messed with my head the rest of the day. That’s enough excitement for this month. Please come back in January.
“Not a problem,” he says, again completely tone-deaf to my inner blabbering. “I’m supplementing myself with another coffee before I need to get back to work myself.”
I can’t very well prevent him from exercising his free will, so off we go. To Starbucks. Again. He holds the door, very gentlemanly, then he insists to pay for my wrap and carrot cake. I try to pay for my own stuff, but he’s adamant and it gets to the point of being ridiculous in front of the cashier and with people behind us sighing louder and louder.
“Have we moved from arguing coffee to arguing finances already?” he asks. “That was fast. Next up we’ll be divorcing before we’re even married.”
My cheeks heat up and I let him pay whatever he wants to pay. “Thanks, I’ll…” I motion toward the exit with a nod, my arms full of folders and paper bags. All I want is to flee back to the safety of my office, my plans for working at the cafe while I eat shattered.
He balances a cup of coffee in one hand and stuffs his wallet back into the inner pocket of his suit jacket with the other.
“Sit with me?” He gestures to an empty table, interrupting my attempt at an escape.
He doesn’t sound so cocky as he did this morning. It feels a little less threatening, and I find my will wavering. I regard him a moment and make up my mind.
“All right, but only for a short while. The longer I stay here, the later I’ll have to work.”
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