Chapter 10
TEN
Ella
I don’t want to keep things from you, so just so you know, I got another message about Tommy , I write in a text to Sebastian and Kingston. I’ve already told the police, and they’re looking into it .
I stare at my phone until it goes dark from disuse. There’s no response from either of them, and my stomach is in knots. I hope they aren’t mad at me. But I did what I’m supposed to—I told them about it.
While I frown at my phone, willing a response from one of the guys, it lights up with a text.
Natasha: I miss you, girl. Hang out ?
I text her back, Are you free tonight ?
Heck yeah. Just a sec—I’m calling you because I’m too lazy to text.
As soon as it rings, I answer my phone. “Hey, stranger. I miss you, too.”
“I can’t wait to see you!” Natasha says in a bubbly voice. Her happiness is infectious. “Okay, so how are you, though? You sounded kind of down just now.”
“Ugh. Don’t ask.”
“Uh…I’m asking.”
“I’m worried about my stupid brother again,” I say. “But let’s not talk about that—I want to hear about you and what you’re up to. How’s Gabe?”
“He’s good,” she says. “So, tonight. Time and place?”
We agree to meet at eight at a modestly-priced dumpling restaurant in Bellefleur. I text my guards. It’ll be Squid and Roman with me tonight. If it weren’t for them, no way would I set a foot in Bellefleur without my daddies in town.
Eight p.m. arrives before I know it, and I’m hugging Natasha in front of the restaurant while tantalizing scents from the kitchen fill my nose.
“It feels like it’s been an age,” I say.
“It hasn’t been that long,” she says, pulling back to look critically at me. “Are you really okay, though? After…everything Joel put you through?”
I nod. “Yeah. Nightmares sometimes, but the guys are almost always there. They’re both out of town now, but I’m doing okay.”
“If you want company, any time, you just call me,” she says as we step inside the restaurant.
Squid and Roman come in behind us and go over to sit at the bar.
One of them faces me at all times, but by now I’ve gotten used to it—I hardly notice them anymore.
Natasha and I stuff ourselves on dumplings and I get all the details of her relationship with Gabe.
He sounds like a good guy, and I’m happy for her.
I give her a few more details about what went down with Joel, but I don’t want to focus on that, so we talk more about Kingston and Sebastian.
Natasha has all sorts of questions about how I manage to nurture relationships with them both at the same time.
“Isn’t it a lot to balance?” she asks.
I’d never thought of it as being a balancing act. “Not really,” I say. “I want to do things with both of them and make sure neither feels left out, but they’ve never acted jealous of the other.”
They play games, though, like the way one will try to fuck me in bed at night and see how long we can go without waking the other guy up. But I’m not going to tell Natasha about that.
She laughs. “You should see your face—you’re blushing. I’d love to know what you’re thinking about.”
“Dirty things,” I say. “No way am I saying it out loud.”
“Fair enough.” She fans herself. “The life you must live, whew!”
She’s not wrong. Six months ago, I never would have imagined any of this. Being in a relationship with two great men? No way.
The dumpling house is closing, so we gather our things and head outside. Traffic moves past on Caro Boulevard, headlights blinding, bass tones blaring.
“Where next?” Natasha says. “I’m not ready to go home yet if you aren’t.”
“I can stay out. The only guy waiting for me tonight is Sebastian’s cat.”
“Hmm. We could go to Bartleby’s and fuck with Nicholas-don’t-call-me-Nick.” Natasha holds her hand up for a high-five, which I give her.
“Let’s do it.”
* * *
Kingston
The dinner with my fellow presenters at the symposium goes late.
At least the food was good. I wish we had this same upscale Chinese restaurant in San Esteban; Ella would love it.
I check for more messages from Ella, but the one she sent about her brother is the only one.
I can’t imagine how this thing must be weighing on her, and I wish I were there to help support her.
“Thanks for dinner, Maurie,” I say to the older man who helped organize the symposium and hosted dinner tonight.
“Anytime, Kingston.” He shakes my hand. “Glad you could pry yourself from San Esteban this week. See you tomorrow?”
“I’ll be there.”
I say a quick farewell to the other lingering guests and then head outside.
A wave of heat rises up from the street and sidewalk.
Fuck. I immediately begin to sweat in my suit jacket.
It amazes me that even at ten p.m., Sacramento is still hot as balls.
It’s got to be ninety degrees out here. How do people live like this?
I can’t wait to get back to SE. It can get hot there, too, but at least we occasionally get a cooling breeze rolling over from the coast. And it cools down at night.
While I wait for my ride, I pull out my phone and check email. A message from Kristin waits in my inbox. Hey. All’s well here. The Ruberetta accounts are up to speed, finally. Stop worrying—I have this under control.
I email back a thank-you, then text Grant Ramanathan.
Everything all right there?
He responds immediately, but I feel bad because it’s technically after work hours. All was fine when I left the office. She’s doing a good job .
Sorry to bother you so late .
It’s okay. You’re worried, I get it. I know you had some concerns about Kristin at the start, but she’s just as driven as you. I think Ruberetta is even starting to like her .
Exhaling with relief, I write back, Thanks, Grant. I appreciate your input .
This weight of worry and responsibility I’ve been carrying is starting to ease.
Maybe I really will be able to step back, let Kristin take the lead on the company.
I’d still work at the office, of course—I love my company and what I’ve built.
But I won’t have to babysit it constantly if someone else capable takes the reins.
Then I could spend more time enjoying Ella, listening to her sing, worshipping her body, loving her.
* * *
Ella
Natasha and I are halfway to Bartleby’s when I notice a sign on a dingy doorway.
Lo-Cal’s. The name sounds familiar, although I know for a fact I haven’t ever been inside the place.
The sidewalk around it smells like urine, and a huge man stands next to the door.
He’s wearing sunglasses, so I can’t see whether he’s even aware of us as we walk past, but I have a feeling he’s just as watchful as my two guards.
He looks like the kind of guy who’s waiting to crack someone open if he can’t pay up?—
With that thought, it hits me: Lo-Cal’s. It’s Tommy’s “bar” that he’s mentioned in passing, which, now that I’m looking at it, is probably more of an underground gambling club.
He’s probably in there right now, losing more money.
To him, every new hand is a chance to dig himself out of the hole he’s dug.
I hurry past the place with Natasha’s arm linked in mine, eager to get away.
Not a block from Lo-Cal’s, we pass the all-night diner where Joel and I argued that one time.
I glance inside, wondering whether the Ella of back then would’ve had any clue of what would come from that failed relationship.
Could the past version of me have even contemplated that Joel would turn into a violent kidnapper?
I shake my head. Nope. It wouldn’t have even entered my brain, and if it had, I wouldn’t have believed it possible.
“You all right?” Natasha asks.
“Yeah. Just some nasty old feelings about the place.”
Through the large windows along the outside of the diner, I see a woman with vibrant, curly red hair walking between the tables, balancing a tray of drinks. Her stomach protrudes outward—she’s pregnant.
“Wait a second,” I say. “I’ve seen her before.”
Natasha looks into the window. “Who is she?”
“I can’t remember—wait. I saw her at Tommy’s apartment complex.” She’d been walking past when I was going up to see Tommy.
“Small world,” Natasha says.
I don’t believe in small worlds or coincidences anymore.
Less than a block away, we passed Tommy’s gambling club, and now here’s a woman I’ve seen at his same apartment building, which is halfway across San Esteban in the Old Thirty-Three district.
San Esteban is not a small enough city for that to make sense, is it?
Although strange coincidences do happen. This is bizarre, though.
“Natasha, do you mind if we have a drink here instead of at Bartleby’s?”
“You mean our petty revenge on Nicholas-don’t-call-me-Nick will have to wait?” she asks with a grin.
“If you can handle the delay,” I say.
“Does this have to do with your mystery mama in there?”
“Yep.”
Shrugging, she says, “Well, I do love a mystery.”
We go in and grab a booth. The red-haired woman seems to be the only server on the floor tonight, other than a man standing behind the long counter. As Squid and Roman get seats at the counter, the redhead approaches our table with a friendly, professional smile. Her name tag reads Gianna .
She asks, “Can I get some drinks started for you two?”
“Decaf coffee for me,” Natasha says.
“I’ll have some tea,” I say. I want to ask her if she knows Tommy, but what if I’m wrong? How weird would that be? Is she going to think I’m some kind of stalker? So instead of asking what I really want to know, I add, “Herbal tea, if you have it.”
“Sure thing,” Gianna says.
She walks away, and Natasha points at me. “Okay, spill. What is up?”
“Just a weird-ass hunch,” I say. “And I need to work up the nerve to ask her about it.”
“Think of how sad I’ll be if I put off my petty revenge only for you to lose your nerve over this,” Natasha says, winking.
“I’d feel terribly guilty,” I agree.
“Okay, well, here she comes, so work up whatever nerve you need. Don’t disappoint your bestie, Ella.”
Bestie . I grin back at Natasha. The Ella of the past never thought she would have a bestie.
The Ella of the past was alone, allowing her brother to walk all over her, ruled by bills she could never pay, and slowly watching her musical dreams die.
Then everything changed—and befriending Natasha was a part of it.
Meeting Kingston and Sebastian is the best thing that ever happened to me, but it’s good to know I was already on the upswing with people like Natasha and Mrs. Dali coming into my orbit.
Gianna comes back to our table. Her greenish-blue eyes look tired, but she smiles at us anyway as she sets down our drinks. “What else can I get you two?”
Natasha orders a slice of apple pie, so I do the same.
“Will that be all?” Gianna asks.
I nod. “Yep.”
Natasha kicks me under the table.
“Actually, I have a question for you?” I say, sounding uncertain.
Gianna gives me a tired smile. “Thirty-six weeks. I’m about to pop.”
“Huh?”
“That’s how far along I am.” She rubs her hand over the curve of her belly, which stretches out her apron. “Everybody wants to know. I’m not offended by the question, it’s okay.”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “Um, no, that’s not what I wanted to ask.”
“Oh, what is it, then?”
“Well, this might sound weird,” I say, “but do you know Thomas Marchand?”
“No.” She turns away quickly, but I don’t miss her eyes widening in fear and surprise. She quickly walks toward the counter. “I’ll have someone else bring you your pie.”
“Wait—I’m his sister,” I say.
She turns around and does a double-take. A few more steps and she’s back at the side of our table, staring at me. “You’re Ella?”
“You do know him,” I say, falling back against the sticky vinyl cushion.
Natasha’s mouth is open in shock and she looks between me and Gianna.
With a bitter laugh, Gianna cradles her stomach. “Yeah. I know Tommy too well.”