Chapter 3
Chapter three
Small Step Forward
It was the scream that tore Reiko from the nightmare. The scream, and the searing agony that triggered it.
The world was still dark outside, because she could never wake from any nightmare to the bright, comforting light of morning sunshine.
Reiko sucked in ragged breaths as she settled her feet flatly on the floor, comforter tossed aside, and folded an arm around her middle.
No matter how many times she had that nightmare, it never failed to leave her trembling.
It didn’t matter how old it was. It didn’t matter whose fault it was.
It didn’t matter how quickly the remembered pain faded back to the depths of her memory once she awoke.
Her mind had been torturing her that way for over half her life.
She twisted her fingers into the fabric of her cotton nightshirt. Of course, she felt no tell-tale hot, wet stickiness. The shirt was dry and intact, as it should have been. As it always was.
Because that happened years ago.
Reiko tried to steady her breathing as she looked over at the LED display on her phone’s screen to verify the time. Familiar disappointment churned in her stomach at the readout that mocked her. It was approaching four in the morning.
Far too early to be up. Far too late for her to hope to get any more sleep.
That meant it was time to do what she always did on the nights her old nightmares interrupted her rest.
She changed into yoga pants and a lightweight top, grabbed her phone, and meandered across the hall into what had probably been envisioned as a secondary bedroom.
She never had guests, though, nor any need for an in-home office.
For those reasons, Reiko had indulged and purchased herself an exercise bike.
It wasn’t a brand-name, top-of-the-line model by any means, but it did the job.
Meditation had never done much for her, and she’d rejected religion mostly out of spite as soon as she’d had the freedom.
She didn’t regret that choice, but it was also true that her time with her bike had become something akin to sacred to her.
When she was peddling, she was almost proud of herself.
She could think about what she was working toward—shrinking those seemingly permanent areas of flab around her gut and thighs—rather than everything else.
The bike didn’t make snide comments if she missed a day.
The bike didn’t give her judgmental looks if she hopped on at ungodly hours.
The bike had no opinion whatsoever of the scar that marred her lower abdomen.
And absolutely best of all, the bike never asked probing questions—about her life as it was, or as it had once been.
It simply existed, and allowed her to exist alongside it.
Reiko didn’t even bother queuing up a playlist or popping in her earbuds. She just set the phone close enough to keep an eye on and started peddling. She pumped her legs, quickly building up steam, until she was forced to focus on keeping her breathing somewhat steady.
It was a great way to clear her mind.
She didn’t need the echoes of her younger self’s wailing sobs haunting her for another moment of her life.
She didn’t need remembered lectures whispering through her mind.
She absolutely did not need to find her head filling with visions of smiling blue eyes, or kissable lips lifted in a playful smile. She pumped her legs harder as the memory of his fleeting touch, those same lips grazing her ear, followed the visual. Her sleep-deprived brain was a traitor.
Reiko dug her blunt nails into the worn padding on the grip as she peddled for all she was worth.
She’d lost her fight with steady breathing and was panting as if she’d just run an uphill marathon with no prep time by the time she finally accepted she had hit her limit.
Her whole body was tired, and she would gladly have collapsed back into bed right then and there.
Except she was covered in sweat.
By the time she finished her shower, her appetite had woken up and she decided food sounded better than lazing about in bed. She certainly had plenty of time to make herself a healthier breakfast in the hopes of capitalizing on the hard workout, so she opted to take advantage.
She’d almost forgotten about the beautiful flowers and the visitor from the night before who’d delivered them, and finding herself standing in front of the table again had her heart doing another stupid dance.
She had no business feeling anything of the sort where Santino Guerra was concerned, no matter what he’d said, and she knew it. The man was just a natural-born flirt.
But he’d done a nice job with the flowers. And she supposed she appreciated at least his effort with the apology, as twisted as it was.
Maybe wealthy people had a harder time with boundaries?
As she understood it, he’d been born to money and the privilege that generally came with it.
His family had already established a name for themselves in the St. Louis area, and their influence had only expanded as he’d grown up.
It was hardly his fault his elders were ambitious.
Reiko gave herself a shake, stepped as wide around her dining table as she could, and continued into the kitchen. I’ll appreciate the flowers. That much is okay. But that was where she would draw the line.
She made herself a nice, small breakfast, paired with a cup of coffee to give her a boost, and didn’t touch her laptop until the meal was eaten and dishes washed.
Once she was seated on her sofa, she hauled the device to her lap and told herself it was time to get to proverbial work perusing for new job postings.
Her phone hadn’t indicated any emails, so she didn’t seem to have any responses on her pending applications, but she’d check those, too.
It was still early in the day; businesses would still be getting going.
If she was lucky, she’d catch a brand-new posting and snag herself a job by day’s end.
That had been the hope. Somehow, after checking one site, she wound up on YouTube and the next thing she knew her phone was vibrating at her side with an incoming text.
Reiko snapped the lid of the laptop shut, both startled and irritated at the intrusion. And herself. Though if she were honest, she recognized that even going to YouTube had been a self-destructive psychological defense mechanism. Recognizing the tactic did not make her less agitated about it.
She snatched up her phone and frowned when she realized the text that had jarred her back to reality was from an unknown number. But given that she had a few pending applications floating in the wild, she opened it anyway.
Good morning, beautiful Reiko. Don’t be afraid to call if you miss me.
There was a second text immediately beneath that, so close together they shared the same timestamp.
Save this number. Don’t be shy.
Reiko stared at her phone until the screen went dark again.
It had occurred to her that Guerra might have looked up her phone number via her employee records, but she hadn’t really expected him to text her.
In truth, she hadn’t honestly expected to hear from him again at all.
He’d issued his apology, she’d accepted.
She’d even promised not to sue. Sure, he’d failed to get her to dinner or whatever he’d really been after, but a man like him couldn’t possibly have a genuine interest in her.
That had to have been a fleeting, offer-of-opportunity type thing. She’d snubbed it. It was her loss.
Yet here he was, the very next morning, texting her.
Not just texting me. He texted me “good morning.” Did that mean something?
There was no way.
She drew a deep breath and attempted to think it through, to think it over from a more rational angle.
Santino Guerra was the second-generation head of a family-owned, multi-million-dollar company.
Rumor had it that in the near decade since he’d taken an active role, the company’s value had skyrocketed.
Reiko had never bothered researching most of that, but in her tenure she herself had witnessed a respectable growth.
That was the reflection she needed to finally understand, to finally glean insight into Guerra’s most probable goal.
She would have been lying to herself to deny the flicker of disappointment that followed, and her gaze strayed to the pretty chrysanthemums on her table. They’d already started to open up. Stupid tears stung her eyes for a single second. I know better.
At least she’d turned down dinner.
“Remember your place if you don’t want this to happen again.” Her father’s cruel, hateful words snarled at her in the back of her mind. The split lip had healed, but the hurt in her chest remained. It likely always would.
Reiko leaned her head back and closed her eyes until her emotions were settled again.
If that memory was plaguing her, then she hadn’t properly worn herself out on the bike.
It’d be best to go for a second ride after lunch.
In the meantime, though, she needed to nip her strange and stupidly humiliating new dilemma in the bud.
Then she really needed to get back to job hunting.
She opened her new text thread, not bothering to actually save Guerra’s number, and typed out a lengthy but careful reply.
At this point I have to assume you have an interest in my father’s company, so let me save you some time.
You’re wasting your energy on me. I have no connections there.
Any attempt to use me to ingratiate yourself, or otherwise get ‘in’, would fail.
I don’t say that to insult or challenge you.
The simple truth is, my father wouldn’t bat an eye if he learned I’d been brutally murdered.
So, if that is your goal, you need a different tactic. Good day, Mr. Guerra.