Текст книги "Reveal"
Автор книги: Elle Brooks
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
IT’S SATURDAY NIGHT.
Carnival night.
The club is filled to capacity, and it’s still pretty early. The girls haven’t done their first performance yet, and I don’t often stick around after making sure everyone is present and doing what they’re supposed to. Knowing that Tweet is down here changing into one of the showgirl costumes has me planted to my seat at the bar.
Zane, Jordan, and Josh are all amped up, serving drinks in quick succession while engaging in friendly banter, their charm turned up to full capacity. There are women vying for their attention leaning up against the counter top, and the guys are reveling in it. Most of the men use our table service; they like the girls that are serving them, and it means that Zane can shamelessly flirt with their wives while they are ogling the staff. It’s a win-win.
“You want a drink, Cal?” Zane calls over the din of the room. He’s giving me a knowing smile. The one that says I know why you’re still down here. I shake my head no. The contortionist has finished his set and the twin redhead fire-eaters are making their way out to the back. Carnival night always goes down well. It’s theatrical and over the top, nothing short of dazzling. Later in the evening, Sarah will perform a solo piece dressed in her belly dancing costume and wielding a ten-foot yellow python named Monty.
I check my watch and all that’s left is for Annie to introduce the first act. Annie may be tiny, but her presence is anything but. She commands everyone’s attention the way a ringmaster would at the circus. I listen as she warms the crowd up and announces the girls on stage. I’m waiting patiently as the house lights go down; everything stills for a brief moment, the band begins the opening bars and bam! The stage floods with color as the girls file out in one long chorus line.
I notice Tweet right away, even behind all the feather fans being paraded. She’s nestled between Lauren and Rae, three girls in on the left. My eyes zero in on her like the compass of a needle, and she’s true north. I know I shouldn’t be doing this, watching and indulging in this perverse little fantasy. I can’t make myself go upstairs, though. She’s all I’ve thought about today, the way her legs felt wrapped around me on my bike. The heat of her chest pressed tightly against my back. I need to shake this new infatuation. It can’t go anywhere; I know this, so why torture myself?
“Checking up on the new girl, are we?”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes and take a drink from my almost empty glass.
“She mentioned you took her home earlier.” Zane wiggles his eyebrows and smirks.
“Zane, you know me better than that. I don’t mess around with the staff. I dropped her at her apartment; that’s it.”
“Whatever you say, but I don’t see you offering to take any of the other girls home.”
I don’t dignify him with a response. Mainly because I don’t have one. He’s right; I’ve never offered to take anyone home before today. I’m usually much better at not blurring the lines. I guess the thing about Robyn that’s bothering me the most is that I want to blur the lines with her. I want to smudge them so badly that they’re not even lines anymore.
I finish my drink, slam the glass hard on the bar and make my way upstairs. This is getting beyond a joke. I head straight for my bathroom and take a cold shower, praying it will shock some sense into me. When I get out, I flip on my music loud as a distraction. Once I’m dressed, I open up my Mac and begin going through the accounts. My bookkeeping skills are on par with my ability to not let my mind wander to the new brunette downstairs. I’m pretty sure they’re not balancing right, and I need to figure out why.
By the time I’ve spent what feels like an eternity searching for anomalies and turned up nothing, I’m beyond frustrated. I came up here to calm down, and all I’ve done is successfully wind myself up tighter. I feel like a coiled spring. The heavy bass of my music is beginning to give me a headache, and I switch it off, hoping for peace. I can still hear music drifting up from downstairs. It’s past closing, so I decide to go see what’s happening. The girls are all gone except for Annie and Tweet sitting at a table, talking animatedly. Zane’s wiping down the bar as Jordan loads the glass machine, singing along to the radio they have blasting. Zane looks up and smirks when he notices me.
“Ah, the bossman returns.”
He isn’t saying it to anyone in particular, but Annie and Tweet both look up and smile.
“Oh, that reminds me,” Robyn begins, “I didn’t get my bag from your bike when you dropped me off earlier. There’s nothing important in it, just a bunch of sweaty rehearsal gear, but I’m sure you don’t want it in there. Could I grab it before I leave?”
Annie immediately throws me a suspicious look. She’s known me for a long time, and also knows that I don’t like to let anyone near my bike.
“Sure, I’d forgotten all about it. Are you ready to leave now? I’ll go get it.”
“Yeah, thanks. I’ll come with you.” She leaps up and signals to Annie she’ll be right back. We walk in silence as she follows me out, and I can feel the others watching as we leave. Assholes.
I push open the door and step out into the cool night air. I take a deep breath; for some reason I find it harder to breathe when she’s around. I walk over to my bike to retrieve her bag when she slips, her legs disappearing from under her and kicking me hard in the ankle as she goes down.
“Shit! Are you alright?” I ask, rubbing the spot she kicked and offering her my hand.
“Well, that wasn’t embarrassing!” She laughs. “I’m not even drunk.”
“It’s slippery out here when it rains. You sure you’re okay?” I pull her up, and now we’re face-to-face and far too close for comfort. The air around us feels charged. Neither of us is speaking, just staring at each other. It’s intense, and I don’t know what I’m expecting to happen right this second, but I feel like I should maybe warn her about maintaining a good working relationship. What I really want to say is that if she doesn’t look away right now and break this spell, I can’t be held responsible for my actions. A man only has so much willpower.
She’s looking at me flustered and blushing. My head’s clouding, and now I can’t think of a good enough reason not to lean in and kiss her anymore.
The thunder of my pulse is vibrating in my ears, and everything somehow slows. I lean forward only a fraction, testing the waters, looking for a sign that maybe I’ve got this wrong, and she’s not attracted to me. She doesn’t move; I’ll take that as a good sign. My eyes fall to her lips as the tip of her tongue quickly darts out and wets them. Another good sign. I’m giving her plenty of time to move away and she’s standing fast. My resolve shatters and I give way to what I want over what is sensible, moving forward until my face is even closer. Her breath hitches and I’m sure mine’s stopped altogether…we’re so close—then suddenly, we’re not.
Annie barrels through the door, killing the moment, and we jump back like two kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar. I should be thankful that she interrupted us, relieved that she’s saved me from making a mistake and breaking my own rules. But I’m not. In truth, I’m cursing her shitty timing.
“You ready to go, Robyn? I’ll give you a ride.”
“Sure, yeah…um, night Callum.”
I don’t have the chance to say good night back, she practically bolts back through the club and away from me. I’m left wondering what would have happened if Annie hadn’t disturbed us. Would she have let me kiss her? I look down and notice that her bag is still here, and even though I’m fully aware that it’s a terrible fucking idea, I still decide to get on my bike and deliver it to her.
I DON’T CHECK the peephole. I always check it—but this time I don’t. It’s funny how that happens. The first time you break tradition you think it’s fine, what bad could possibly come of it? That’s when the shit hits the fan. It’s like a swift kick to the stomach from the universe itself. A not-so-subtle reminder of why you always check the peephole before opening the door. There’s a solid reason behind it, and that’s what awaits me on the other side as I fling the door open in a single reckless act.
I’m expecting Annie to be standing in front of me. She dropped me off moments ago; she must have forgotten something. Only it’s not Annie. My heart sinks in my chest, and my greeting dies on my lips, the words suspended and unspoken. Mr. Carter smiles a sinister smile, sidestepping through the door and into my apartment.
“You have something for me.”
It’s a statement, there’s no question in it because there was never any room for negotiation. He’d told me he’d be here to collect and he is. And I’m not ready. I don’t have the full amount together yet.
He’s waiting for me to answer, but I’m too busy trying to formulate my next move. “I’ll just…can you wait? I have it here, I…”
The mumbling is a surefire giveaway that I’m not in a position to give him what he came for. I rummage in the drawer of the dresser I have by the door, pulling out a wad of cash and then taking the tips I made tonight from my back pocket and adding them to it. I thrust the money at him, wide-eyed and anxious because I know I’m still short.
“You’ve had enough time to get the money. You shouldn’t be so surprised to see me. I said I’d be back, and I’m a man of my word.”
My flesh crawls as he leers at me; his repulsive perusal of my body sends a shiver bolting down my spine. He’s a tall and intimidating man, wide set and hard faced. I can smell the staleness of his breath given his proximity, and I recoil in disgust. It’s in the early hours of the morning, so he’s probably been here waiting for me to return. I hate that thought almost as much as I hate Danny right now.
“I couldn’t get the whole amount. It’s a lot of money to get my hands on in only ten days, and I’m giving you literally everything that I have,” I admit. My nerves are spilling over and getting the better of me, causing me to talk at a mile a minute.
“Not good enough!” he spits out at me.
“What do you want me to do? I’m not a magician!” I fire back. My mistake is realized immediately as his eyes harden and burn with annoyance.
“You might want to talk a little nicer to me, bitch.” His hand moves at lightning speed, his thick fat fingers wrapping around my throat. Panic crashes over me, my hands fly to him as I pull and grapple at his wrist, trying to pry his vice-like grip away. My eyes water as he squeezes tighter, letting me know my attempt to stop him is futile. I’m gasping, arms flailing and legs kicking at his, as I try drawing in oxygen. The more I manage to suck in, the more my throat constricts and the tighter his grip becomes. My lungs are burning, and my head feels like it’s about to explode with the dizzying pressure of his grip.
“I…I ca…”
“What’s that? Not so fucking feisty now, huh?” He smiles, dropping his hand in amusement.
Oxygen floods my lungs, never more welcomed or tasting so good. I stagger backward a step, before bending as I struggle to take a long steady breath. Salty tears pool on the floor below me and I hate that he’s seeing me cry.
“You’re $200 short,” he says thumbing the money. ‘What am I going to tell the boss?”
“I can get it,” I lie. “I just need one more day. Just a day, please!”
I’m bawling my eyes out, scared to death, and he looks like he’s enjoying the show. His beady eyes run the length of my body.
“We don’t give extensions,” he deadpans. “Unless you want to work it off some other way?”
His tongue runs across his thin bottom lip, and he moves forward, curling his fist around the cotton of my loose pink t-shirt, pulling me toward him.
Dread descends on me like a bucket of ice water. “Don’t fucking touch me!” I roar, pulling back hard and swatting his hands away.
I don’t have time to move as his fist flies into my gut with the force of a freight train. “You don’t learn, do you?”
I drop to the floor like a stone in a pond, heavy and fast. I’ve barely landed as he curls my hair around his fist, and I’m pulled back up. The burning in my scalp is unbearable and offsets the searing agony taking residence in my abdomen.
“Stupid little bi—”
I’m dropped back to the ground, hard. The sound of his voice has been replaced by the sound of dull, weighty thwacks. There are grunts and growls before the sound morphs into wet, sickening thumps.
I scurry across my living room floor, using the arm of the sofa to pull myself up. I turn toward the sounds emanating from the corner of the room.
Callum’s on top of Carter, raining down punches in a furious deluge and I watch in horror as he transforms into a foreboding force, delivering blow after devastating blow to the bloody mush that lies beneath him. I can hear the nauseating squelch as each strike connects and sends splatters of blood everywhere.
“STOP!”
My body heaves forward as I run toward Callum, grabbing his arm. “You’ll kill him! Stop, please stop!”
Crazed eyes crash into mine as he takes a ragged breath and straightens his stance, stepping over the bloody pile of flesh and bone spread out on my rug.
“Get your stuff together,” he barks. “You’re not staying here.”
I don’t answer; I don’t even move. I’m planted to the spot in fear.
“Now, Tweet!”
I twist and run for the bedroom on autopilot. I grab a duffle bag and begin throwing piles of clothes into it. I rush to the bathroom and sweep the contents of my shelf into the bag along with my clothes, and then tear back into the living room, zipping the bag as I go. I crash into Callum as he grabs my shoulders and slows my erratic tirade through my tiny apartment. Tears are streaming down my face, and my lungs are heaving, panic wrapped around my chest like ice, squeezing uncomfortably. I’m terrified and shaken and freaking the hell out.
“Tweet, breathe. Damn it, Robyn—look at me! Breathe.”
I focus on his words, dragging a long breath in and completely falling apart. Cal’s eyes are onyx globes; his pupils are so dilated they’ve swallowed all the color around them. He’s panting, breathing hard through his nose and flaring his nostrils. His whole face is covered in speckles of blood.
It’s frightening.
As if reading my mind his expression softens and his posture relaxes, opening up and un-tensing. The hard, grim line of his mouth smoothes into a sad smile.
“You okay, Tweet?”
I want to answer, tell him no, but I can’t make anything come out as I open my mouth. I’m shaking my head wildly, and he sighs, cussing under his breath as he pulls me into the safety of his embrace. Warm, strong arms envelope me, stifling the trembling that’s taken over my body.
“You’re okay, I’ve got you.” He speaks into the top of my head where his chin rests, and I cry harder into his chest. I can feel the gentle pressure of his hand as it slides through my hair, resting at my nape while his other rubs large circles across my back.
Groans begin to arise from the corner; the calm of the moment dissolves as the reality of the events of two minutes ago flood the room in nauseating deluges of whines and moans.
“Let’s go,” Callum says, pulling me quickly across the room and out of the apartment. I don’t argue. I cling to his arm like a life preserver and let him lead me through the hall and down the dark stairwell. We burst through the doors and out onto the sidewalk in a rushed, disorientated flurry. No words are exchanged as he takes my bag and fixes it to the back of the bike. He fastens the helmet under my chin and mounts the motorcycle. I climb behind him, circling his waist and plastering my chest to his back as I grip his thighs with my own. I squeeze my eyes tight as the bike propels forward at breakneck speed, the breeze freezing the watery remnants of this evening’s misadventure on my cheeks. I look back quickly at my building getting smaller and smaller until it disappears completely. We weave through traffic, overtaking everything in our path and leaving the asshole and my problems behind.
Even if it’s only for tonight.
I’VE BEEN GIVEN the brush-off before; this isn’t the first time. No, that particular honor goes to Ewelina Rutyna. She was a foreign exchange student I met in high school. I remember her walking into class on the first day of the school year, all long tan limbs, dark wavy hair and a European accent. She was Polish, if I remember correctly. Her voice was so sultry she made everything that poured from her lips sound insanely sexual to my sixteen-year-old ears. There was something mysterious and exotic about her, and damn did she know it.
By lunchtime, I’d decided I was in love. Her new girl status, and the fact that she had the body of a Playboy model only increased my lust. There were plenty of beautiful girls in my year group, but that was just it—they all looked like girls. They dressed in tight preppy sweaters and little plaid skirts. Ewelina looked like a woman. She rocked ripped jeans, spiked heels and a tank top so tight it looked like it was painted on. Even my teachers had a hard time looking at her face and not her chest. I’d always been popular so I didn’t have a problem finding a girl when I wanted one, and hell did I want her. By the end of the day, I’d fed her enough lines and stroked her ego sufficiently for her to agree to go out with me.
We spent a week of intense groping in the halls and racking up an inordinate amount of PDA’s to declare us the hottest couple in school. But it was short-lived. While my desire for her was building, I’d inadvertently lost some of my cockiness and appeal. She didn’t want a meek and bashful, bumbling idiot who was blinded by her sensuality. She wanted the arrogant, confident, self-assured guy that I’d presented to her the first day we’d spoken. I’d grabbed my lunch and saved her a seat at my table the fateful day she’d blown me out. Luke Atkins, the varsity quarterback, had been standing with her in line, way too close for my comfort. She walked over to my table and announced that we were done. I got the whole It’s not you it’s me speech in broken English, with half of the school there to bear witness. It turned out Luke Atkins was her next conquest. I felt sorry for him; he had no clue what he was getting himself in to.
Ewelina didn’t break my heart; we were only sixteen, and I’d fall in and out of lust at the drop of a hat. But she put a bolder-sized dent in my pride. One that hurt enough for me to make sure I was the one handing out the brush-offs in the future. I’ve issued so many that I can see the signs from a mile away when one is about to be delivered. I’ve always gotten in first to save face. My ability to read people is what makes me a good lawyer. I thought I was pretty hot at it, but complacency is a bitch. Just when you think you have something nailed, things become unstuck. I thought I’d read Robyn’s signals correctly. I thought our date ran as smoothly as it possibly could have. And I thought she liked me more than you would expect to like a friend. I’d assumed it was only her insecurities over her very recent ex-boyfriend holding her back.
Now I’m thinking I was wrong.
And I hate being wrong.
There’s been no response to the two texts I’ve sent her. It’s been just over a week, and the radio silence is killing me. I’m all for playing it cool, but Christ, any cooler and I’ll freeze. I’m tempted to show up at her apartment, but that reeks of desperation and I’m not that guy. I’m looking down at her number in my cell as I drink my coffee, the one I bought hoping today would be the day I accidently bumped into her again. Andrew’s on to me, I can see it in the smirk he gives me when he hands me my change each morning. People around the office have started to notice my daily Starbucks runs, too. Sophie actually asked me to pick her up a latte yesterday. We’ve somehow come full circle, and it’s me bringing her coffee now. I need to restore the balance; it’s throwing me off my game. I’m of two minds; I don’t k now whether or not to delete Robyn’s number. My thumb’s hovering over her name in indecision. Before I can think better of my actions, I’ve pressed call and brought the phone to my ear.
If she doesn’t answer, I’ll delete her number and put her behind me…maybe.
The call connects almost instantly, and I’m not expecting it. I have a mouth full of coffee when her voice fills my ears, and I smile, dribbling the contents down my chin like a toddler with no concept of how to conduct himself in a public place.
“Hey Cole, how are you?” she answers and I frantically wipe the coffee from my chin, swallow the remains hastily and burn my esophagus in the process.
“Hi, Robyn…I wasn’t expecting you to answer,” I admit.
Smooth.
“Oh, um…well, here I am. You called, I responded, that’s normally how a phone call works.”
She’s a smart ass, but it makes me like her more, not less.
“Yeah, I understand the concept, only I’d sent you a couple of messages earlier in the week with no response.”
“I know, sorry about that. I’ve been busy and hadn’t loaded any call time to my cell. I keep forgetting. I was meaning to call you back but work has been pretty full on, and it slipped my mind.”
“No need to apologize, I was wanting to thank you for a nice evening last week and hoping I could convince you to come for a drink with me later today? If you have no plans, that is.”
She takes a minute to respond, and I’m holding my breath in anticipation.
“I’m working from seven if you want to meet earlier, around five-ish. I guess that could work.”
I have back-to-back meetings ‘til six.
“Sure, sounds like a plan.”
“Okay great. Where would you like to meet?” she asks, sounding bright and happy. I love that sound.
“I thought we could have drinks in Central Park at The Loeb Boathouse, off East 72nd. I’ll pick you up?”
“Oh, no, you don’t need to do that. Besides, I won’t be at home; I’ll just meet you there.”
Her breathing sounds a little flustered, but she’s actually agreed without too much persuasion, so I’m not about to question her. “Excellent, I’m looking forward to it.”
I end the call and shoot a look over to Andrew. If his back wasn’t turned he might have noticed the huge-ass smirk I just threw his way. I scroll my contacts and look for Sophie’s number. I need her to clear my schedule for the rest of the day.
