Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
MIRA
I should have brought a jacket. The air conditioning hasn’t been turned down since the day cooled off, and I shiver as soon as I walk into the restaurant. And if I’m being totally honest, I am a little nervous now that I know the truth about Enzo. Every single worst-case scenario went through my head on the way here and it’s impressive, really, how many ways I can imagine myself dying in only a ten minute fake Uber ride.
Fulton Market is one of my favorite places in the city. It’s close enough to my office that I can walk in comfortable shoes and appreciate the art and some good food and be back in time to see my next client. I’ve been to this particular ramen place a few times, not enough to be familiar with any of the staff, but enough to feel a tad more comfortable than going somewhere where I don’t know all the exits.
Enzo—or Matthew as he’s going by right now—is already there, seated at the table with a bottle of sakê on the table. Why do people assume everyone drinks alcohol? It’s such a scam and so bad for you, and it’s a tangent I can easily go off on while still not judging others for their choices. It was only when I decided to make some major life changes that I stopped drinking and then realized how much better I felt overall because of it and the other positive changes I brought into my life.
You can’t get mad at the wind for the mess it makes when you’re the one leaving the window open, after all.
“Mya,” Matthew says, standing up. He didn’t hit the genetic lottery, but he’s well dressed, well groomed, and has nice manners. And that can go a long way. If only more men understood that appeal. Us women don’t need a six-five, blue eyed, rich man. We just want someone kind and consistent.
And preferably not involved in organized crime.
“You look stunning.” He pulls out my chair for me.
“Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself.” I push my hair back only to remember that I need to keep my left ear covered. The little earpiece is more uncomfortable than I thought it would be, and it’s so small I was worried it might fall inside my ear and I’d have to go to the ER to get it dug out. “How are you doing tonight?”
“Better now that you’re here.”
I smile and laugh, smoothing out my dress after hooking my purse on the back of my chair. “Have you been here before?”
“I have not,” he says and picks up the menu. “What about you?”
“No.” I shake my head and flick my gaze around the restaurant. I’m seated with my back to the door, which I don’t like, and Mason isn’t here yet. He told me the plan and he assured me that this partner would already be here but I don’t see any single men at any of the tables. Is his partner a woman? No, I especially remember him saying he will already be there . “I’ve always wanted to come here though. I have friends that work nearby and are always raving about how good the ramen is. I hope this place wasn’t out of your way. I didn’t even think to ask when I suggested it.”
“No, it’s not at all. I just got a place at the Wrigley Building.”
“Nice work already,” Mason’s voice rings in my ear, startling me. The microphone was given to me inside the Uber and is clipped to my bra. I wasn’t sure how well it would pick up any sound, as it’s kinda smashed against my breasts, but apparently, it’s working well.
“Oh wow,” I say, ignoring Mason. “I’ve always admired that building but it’s a little out of my price range as a social worker.” I laugh and pick up my water.
“Hey, who knows where tonight might lead. Maybe you’ll be living up there with a certain someone in a few months' time.”
I force a smile, not gagging on the love bombing.
“Gotta play your cards right.”
Enzo is very obviously checking out my breasts and I take a breath, leaning back just a bit so I can arch my back and stick them out. Men like him are so predictable. He wants one thing and one thing only, and he’s full of himself enough to think he’s entitled to get whatever it is he wants.
I’m going to have to play my own cards right to keep him engaged enough to keep pursuing me, which can be tricky when he’s not interested in an actual relationship but rather just a piece of ass.
“Anything you don’t like?” He picks up the menu.
“Um, I don’t eat most meat,” I tell him honestly.
“Most?” He raises his eyebrows and I giggle, acting like he’s so funny for making a penis joke.
“I’ll have fish every once in a while,” I go on. “But I just feel guilty eating farm animals. I have a horse so I see things differently, perhaps.”
“Ohhh, a horse. So you’re a good rider then, huh?”
And he’s back to sex references already. Good lord this man really thinks I’m going to just jump on his dick.
“I mean, I suppose you could say so. I’ve been riding for, uh…” I pause, acting like I’m mentally counting. “…twenty-five years.”
“Then you definitely know how to ride.” He wiggles his eyebrows again and takes a big drink. If he asks me to ride him like I ride my horse then I’m drinking, too.
“Eh, maybe.” I hold up my left wrist, showing him a surgical scar. “I did fall off a few years ago and broke my wrist.”
He takes my hand and runs his finger up and down the scar. Normally, I can compartmentalize like a pro, but right now all I can think is that those hands have taken a life. Damn, it’s different sitting at a table with a cold-blooded killer and reading about them in the dark romance novels I love so much.
“Looks like it hurt.”
“Yeah,” I say and get hit with another unwelcome thought. Though this one was about the day I fell off Thor and had to call Cory. Instead of rushing to the hospital to make sure I was okay, he finished his workday, stopped for food but didn’t offer to bring me anything, and then sat in the ER with me, grumbling about how bored he was and how his back hurt in the chair. Then, right as I was being discharged, he looked at me and told me I wasn’t getting in the BMW he bought—with my money—because I was in “horse clothes”.
He left me for over an hour while he went all the way back to our place to switch cars. I had been discharged from the ER and had to sit in the busy waiting room, all drugged up and in pain, assuring a concerned nurse that, yes, my husband was coming back.
“Have you ever ridden a horse?” I ask, taking my hand back.
“I have, and I can say I’m not good at it. You’ll have to give me pointers.”
I laugh again and ask when and where he rode, thinking maybe they have a family farm somewhere that the authorities don’t know about. But he was on vacation and I think the whole story is a tall-tale anyway.
“It’s busy in here tonight,” I comment when we order food, using it as an excuse to turn around. I spot Mason, though the sight of him takes me by surprise because he’s…on a date?
I mean, he’s not really, I know, but that’s what it looks like and it’s not making the oddest feeling of jealousy rise inside of me. He’s sitting next to a pretty woman with short brown hair. They’re talking and laughing and he gives me a tiny nod when I look at him. I turn back around, not hearing something Enzo is saying.
Smiling and nodding, I realize he’s bragging about flying on a private jet to somewhere in Greece.
“Try to get more info on his apartment,” Mason’s voice comes through the earpiece again.
I will when it comes up naturally , I think. It would be weird to just bring it up now and would make Enzo think I’m eager to get back to his place. Which I’m not doing.
“That’s one place I haven’t been yet,” I say.
“Really? It’s gorgeous. Like you.”
“Awww.” I deserve a fucking Emmy for my performance tonight. “You’re too kind.”
He leans forward and takes my hands. “You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?” His eyes lock with mine and he seems genuine. I’m sure he said the same thing to whoever he ended up taking home last night. “I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”
Mason lets out a snort of laughter, and I tip my head to the side, smiling back at Enzo. Thankfully, the waitress comes to take our order before I have to respond to that ridiculous line. He orders for me, forgetting I told him just a minute or so ago that I don’t eat meat. I switch gears a bit, and instead of trying to catch him in the act of cheating, I get him to reveal things about himself that clue me into his psychological profile.
I was really good at this back in my university days. My professors said I have a certain way about me that is inviting, making people want to open up. I’m a good chameleon, quickly figuring out how to mirror whoever I’m talking about so they feel comfortable in a short amount of time. It’s manipulation at the root, but hey, it is what it is and right now I’m using it to my advantage.
Though this time, I might have done a little too good of a job making Enzo like me. Because we’re not even done with dinner yet and he’s telling me how no one has piqued his interest as much as I have. And also this time, I don’t think it’s just another love bombing phrase he’s dropping to get me hooked on him.
I think he really means it, which is going to make this breakup game my hardest one yet.