Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
MIRA
F or all the years I’ve lived in Chicago, I’ve only been in the historical Palmer House Hotel only a few times. It’s a beautiful hotel with an impressive lobby, and a place I would have gone to in my youth if I was looking for a rich guy to hook up with. Though meeting men in hotels is a surefire way to accidentally end up being the other woman.
I make a detour to the bathroom so I can take a few selfies to send to my friends. I don’t give them details of what is said between clients and me, of course, but they always know where I am, who I’m meeting, and are able to track my location.
Finding the best light to stand under, I take a few pictures and then send them in the group chat. Kat replies first, as her phone is pretty much glued to her hand.
Kat: Damn girl! Looking good. You’ll make anyone flirt with you. Kinda not fair LOL
Zara: haha true. And ewww…I saw your ex and his mistress today.
Me: Yuck. I’m so sorry. You know, you may be entitled to compensation.
Kat: LOL
Zara: Dude, I need it. They looked at me and his eyes widened in fear. It’s been two years and the loser is still terrified of me.
Elsie: You did key his car…
Zara: And I should have slashed his tires.
Me: Hahaha you know I love you!
Elsie: Oh, I did see that your former monster-in-law left you another one-star review as a comment on TikTok. Dummy made a username but forgot that it shows her real name on her account.
We all send a bunch of laughing emojis and I just shake my head. It’s been over two years since I filed for divorce. Six months since the divorce became final. And my former mother-in-law is still on a mission to ruin me. It’s sad, really, and I truly feel sorry for her. We were close, she knew her son was abusive and tried so hard to get him help.
But he didn’t and after five years of being a punching bag—literally and figuratively—I left. And it was like a flip was switched and she went from telling me that she was worried for my safety to replacing all photos of me in her house with pics of her son and the woman he cheated on me with.
And that is exactly why I got a degree in psychology in the first place. Wild, wacky behavior that most people cannot understand fascinates me. So much of what people do is out of fear and sadness. It’s easier to be angry and to make someone the villain than to admit the truth, and that’s exactly what she did.
Which is fine with me. If she needs to make me the bad guy, if she needs to obsessively screen record all my reels and take pictures of me in public if we happen to cross paths, then so be it. It doesn’t actually hurt me, though her mission to report and bring down my business had me worried for a hot minute…until I realized that even nasty comments boost my visibility.
Me: Wish me luck…or not. Maybe this guy isn’t a piece of shit.
Kat: HE’S A MAN! Ofc he’s a piece of shit.
Elsie: There’s a chance he’s loyal…
Zara: Go back to your romance novels, E. That’s where the good men live.
Elsie: *eye roll* I’m already tucked in bed reading about Lucas King, my favorite vampire husband.
Kat: Just keep us informed so we know you’re safe.
Me: Always. ILY guys 3
I quickly use the bathroom, make sure my hair is good, straighten out my dress, which is short and tight and emerald green—not my usual choice of color, but it stands out and matches my eyes, as the sales woman pointed out more than once. Then I head back to the lobby, running my eyes over the bar to look for Matt Baker.
Whitney sent over a few photos of them together to go off of. He’s a pretty average looking man, a little overweight, but was dressed well in expensive suits. He told her he worked “in finance” but she didn’t know the details. I couldn’t find a single thing about this guy online, making me wonder if he’s a catfish. Whitni is a gorgeous woman who used to professionally model and is now the head of an expensive clothing line. She’s been sleeping with him, making me wonder if he’s just stringing her along so he can bang a pretty woman. Wouldn’t be the first or last man alive to do that. Still, I took what little I was able to find out and will use it to work my magic.
He’s not at the bar yet, so I take a seat in the lobby and spend a few minutes scrolling through my phone like any other thirty-something-year old woman would do. I get a little distracted watching TikTok reels and look up every few minutes until I see a man that matches Matt’s description go to the bar. He’s wearing another designer suit with a matching Gucci belt. His style is a little flashy, and I take that into consideration. People who have to show off their wealth usually have big insecurities, or they’re not really as rich as they want you to think.
I reach into my bag and pull out my digital voice recorder. “Subject is in sight and just sat down at the bar.” Carefully, I put the voice recorder in the front pocket of my purse so that it’ll pick up our conversation without being noticed.
Slowly getting up, I watch him get his phone from his pocket as soon as he sits down, needing something to do so he’s not totally alone. I continue to do my best analysis as I walk over, sitting two stools down from him. The bar isn’t that busy yet. People do come in who aren’t staying here, but not around eight-thirty on a Tuesday night.
He orders a whiskey—top shelf and neat—and I tell the bartender that I’m waiting for someone so I’ll just have water for now. Matt looks my way a few times and I smile politely and look around, keeping up my act that I’m waiting for a date.
“I think I’m being stood up,” I say after ten minutes go by.
“Sorry to hear that,” Matt replies and finishes his whiskey. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“Ummm….” I smile and shake my head. “What the hell, why not?” I scoot down next to him. “Thanks. Maybe my night won’t be so bad after all.”
“Here’s to hoping. You look like a white wine kinda girl.”
“How’d you know?” I flash a big smile, internally groaning. I hardly ever drink and if I’m going to sip on something, I don’t want it to be wine. The vibes coming off this guy already are giving me the biggest ick. What does Whitni see in him?
He orders me a glass of wine and moves his stool closer, making small talk. I keep my purse in my lap so the convo can get picked up on the recorder. It doesn’t take long to confirm Whitni’s suspicions. Matt is a total loser who thinks his shit don’t stink. Within ten minutes, he’s trying to get me to “get out of here” with him.
“Well,” I start, leaning back with the hopes my body language will clue him in that I’m not leaving here with him. Something tells me I could hand him a piece of paper stating such and he’d just tear it up, not respecting me at all. “Thank you for the drink. I’m so embarrassed I got stood up but the night wasn’t so bad after all.”
“Hey, maybe it worked out after all.” He flashes a smile and even though he’s not all that good looking of a man, he has a charm about him—and he knows it. “Do you want the rest of the bottle?” He motions to the expensive white wine behind the counter. “You can take it home or we can take it upstairs and continue this conversation.”
I look down, tucking my brunette hair behind my ear in a way that makes me appear modest and shy. “I have a rule.”
“A rule?” He widens his legs and moves closer, putting my knees between his thighs. I resist the urge to gag, though this would be a great photo to show Whitni.
“Yes. A rule.” I look back up and smile, meeting his eyes. “I don’t even let someone kiss me until at least the second date. We can’t even consider this a first.”
“Oh, we can’t?” He laughs and even though he gives me bad vibes, I can see how someone like Whitni could get sucked in. She’s a successful woman and for some reason, successful women seem to get fooled by losers like this.
“You didn’t ask me out.”
“Well, Mya,” he says. “Give me your number then.”
“I have a better idea.” I pick up my phone and open a text. “Send yourself a message so I have yours.”
His fingers sweep over my skin—a little too intentionally—as he takes my phone. He fires off a text and his phone vibrates inside his suit jacket pocket. He grabs my wrist as I go to put my phone back in my purse.
“You interest me,” he says quietly, making me lean in so I can hear him. “I will see you again, Mya.”
“We’ll see,” I say back, careful in my movements so I convey fake attraction. The bartender comes over to close out the tab and reach for my purse, though I have no intention of paying.
“I got this,” Matt says and hands the bartender a credit card. I smile and thank him, noticing the name on the credit card that he just handed the bartender. It doesn’t say Matt or even Matthew Baker. It’s a different name entirely, and it’s familiar for some reason but I can’t place it.
Lorenzo Moretti.