Chapter 5 The Red Hand
THE RED HAND
EMERY
There are two types of people in the world. Ones that slow down when the red hand at the crosswalk flashes, and ones that speed up. That take the risk. That believe they can make it to the other side in time and unscathed. I want to be the latter. I want to—
“Woah!” Tom latches onto my jacket and pulls me back to the curb. “Careful!” A black SUV with tinted windows turns the corner, splashing fresh rainfall on the tips of my shoes. He frowns at me, shaking his head. “The light’s red, Em. Didn’t you see?”
“It was yellow,” I mutter, the water penetrating my shoes and soaking my toes. At least something’s wet. I glance down at his hand, which is still gripping my arm. “You can let go now.”
Tom sighs. “You need to be more careful, Em. Drivers these days can’t concentrate on the road. I read this op-ed last week that critiqued the built-in screens in new cars, arguing that it adds an extra layer of distraction. The guys in AnonCo were saying that…”
Tom drones on about the hazards of vehicular technology and his little hacker club for the rest of the walk to Thousand Words Book Store.
Does he come with an off switch? Or a mute button?
I inwardly scold myself. No, that’s stupid.
Tom is passionate. It’s one of the many things I like about him.
Hah. Sure. So passionate. He’s a regular old Casanova. Not that type of passion. No shit.
“After you.” Tom opens the door to the bookstore, the security system chiming as we enter. He removes his scarf, inhaling the scent of stories and fables. “Ahh… Never gets old. So, where should we start today? I heard there’s an excellent new spy thriller by—”
“Why don’t we browse separately for a bit?” I suggest with a soft smile. “Ten minutes or so?”
“Sure,” he says, eyeing the fiction section. “You know where to find me.”
Tom likes to read about extraordinary people doing extraordinary things.
A suave spy who saves the world from a nuclear attack.
A fallen knight who restores peace to a sparring kingdom.
A chancellor of a faraway planet ending decades of famine.
It’s all fantasy. He gets a kick from putting himself in their victorious shoes.
It’s because he’s not extraordinary. He’ll never do anything that changes history.
He’ll never experience what it feels like to accomplish the impossible. He’s ordinary.
Like me.
My gaze skims the covers of biographies.
At least some of these people started out as ordinary.
They simply became extraordinary. Whether through circumstance or sheer willpower, the people on these shelves did something.
They had a goal. They had a vision. They had a reason to wake up in the morning.
Maybe these are also fantasies. Works of fiction.
Everyone can’t be special. Someone has to be the baseline.
The norm. We make others shine. That’s our job.
Our goal. Our purpose, I suppose. Jesus Christ, you’re depressing.
Time to double the meds, babe. Reality is depressing. Can’t be upset with facts.
“Do you need a recommendation, mami?”
His smoky voice cuts through my thoughts, and I’m momentarily taken back to Lux.
Oh shit. My stomach drops. It can’t be. Is that who I think it is?
Hot damn. Should’ve stayed and chatted, huh?
Controlling my breathing, I pretend I don’t hear him as I continue reading the titles.
Go away. Take a hint and go the fuck away.
Fuck that. Stay for as long as you want.
“This one was excellent.” The warmth from his body radiates onto my skin as he hovers behind me, far too close to keep pretending he’s not here.
I swallow, fighting the urge to inhale the scent of his oaky cologne that I dreamt of all night long.
Yeah, we did. He chuckles under his breath as I refuse to acknowledge him. “Are we suddenly shy?”
There’s only one way out of this.
“Sorry…” I whisper, hoping Tom has his nose deep in a book on the other side of the store. I twist my neck a smidge, casting him a rehearsed side-eye. I blink. “Do I know you?”
Damon’s chest rises as he stares at me, studies me, tries to decipher me.
“Is that how we’re doing this?” He licks his lips, leaning against the shelf.
“You know exactly who I am, Miss Jones.” The man did his research.
That’s hot. Dread washes over me. He knows who I am?
! No. He can’t. He can’t know. A sly grin curls his lips.
“Don’t look so scared, Miss Jones.” He leans down. “I seldom bite.”
“I…” Closing my eyes, I level my budding anxiety. “I think you’ve got the wrong person.”
“Really?” Damon cocks his head to the side, giving me a once-over.
“Because I don’t.” He runs a finger down my peacoat, gaze flitting down to my mid-length skirt.
He quirks a brow. “I mean, I did have to do a double-take because this whole…ensemble threw me off but,” he smiles knowingly, “it’s you. ”
I shake my head, refusing to let my two worlds collide. “You’re mistaken, sir.”
“Sir? Already?” He smirks. “You’re ahead of schedule.”
Oh, he’s a dirty little fuck, isn’t he?
“Excuse me?” I ask, crossing my arms.
He chuckles, looking over his shoulder toward the back of the store. “I take it that’s your boyfriend back there?” He turns his attention back to me. “You worried he’ll find out what you do on Fridays?”
He’s not going to back down, is he? He probably spent all night looking for me.
That would explain the dark circles under his eyes, and the fact he’s wearing the same shirt.
We’re memorable. What can I say? Clearly.
This was always a possibility. I knew it could happen.
I knew that one day, a desperate man with far too much money and resources would try to cross the line.
Would try to mold two realities together.
They’re separate for a reason. And I intend to keep them that way.
“What do you want from me?” I ask, tone firm and cold.
“Ouch.” Damon grabs his chest. “What makes you think I want something?”
I roll my eyes. “Cut the shit, Mr. Cavanaugh. What do you want?”
He smiles. “See? It is you.”
Oh, he’s feisty. I like him.
“I’m going to leave now, and you better not follow me.” I attempt to pass him, but he holds out his arm. I glare up at him. “This is harassment.”
“Then sue me.” It’s a dare. A challenge. He’s testing boundaries. I don’t like this. Not at all. I do. He glows with amusement. “I personally wouldn’t mind spending hours in court with you.”
Give him a taste, Emery.
“Is that what you want, mister Cavanaugh?” I ask, dropping my voice into a flirty octave as I bite my lip. That’s my girl. “To spend some quality time with me?”
His gaze hardens. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” I pout, feathering my fingers up his chiseled chest. “Isn’t this what you want, sir?” I raise myself on my tiptoes and whisper into his ear. “You want to fuck me, right, mister?”
“Enough.” Damon snakes his hand around my arm and pushes me back with constrained force. “I don’t like games, Miss Jones.”
“Then stop playing them,” I hiss, morphing back as I tug myself out of his grip.
Boo! Why’d you stop?! “While I think it’s flattering that I made such a strong impression on you.
So strong, in fact, that you’ve followed me to a bookstore in a different state.
I think we both know that I will not give you what you want. ”
And why not? Play with him. I know you want to…
“I don’t want to fuck you, Miss Jones,” he says, scooping up a strand of my hair. He twirls it, as if, with enough twists, he’ll somehow unravel a mystical secret. His forehead creases with mild frustration before he flicks his dark eyes up at me. “At least not yet.”
Look at the poor guy.
“Not ever.” I swat his hand away. “Listen, I don’t know how you found me, but this will be the last time we speak outside of the club, understood?”
I’d be lying if I said our brief encounter at Lux didn’t leave me intrigued about who he is, where he’s been, and why no one has seen him in two years.
Out of all the pathetic men who try to woo me with their prestige and wealth, Damon’s the only one I felt genuine sympathy for.
Despite his self-assured exterior, I can see a lonely man.
Maybe all he wants to do is talk. To confess.
But I’m not a therapist or a fucking priest. And I don’t intend to become a vault for the privileged.
I have enough demons of my own to keep quiet.
“Oh, Miss Jones.” He clicks his tongue, looking at me like I’m a na?ve little girl.
“It’s endearing that you think you make the rules.
” He lifts his hand to my cheek, his tone raspy and raw as he says, “I will get to know you. It’s only a matter of time.
” Heat shoots to my core as he sweeps his thumb across my bottom lip.
Man’s got moves. Holy hell. He smirks. “I can see it in your eyes, Emery. You’re just as curious as I am. ”
“Curiosity killed the cat, Damon,” I whisper, breath ragged from his controlling touch. “Plus…” Lick his fucking thumb. Do it. No! I shake my head. “You don’t even know me.”
“That’s the problem,” he says, gaze flicking over my shoulder. Damon’s jaw tightens. “Your boyfriend is looking for you.” He drops his hand. “One hour, Miss Jones. That’s all I ask. One hour with you.” Conflict muddles his eyes. “That should be enough time.”
“Enough time for what?” I ask, confused. “What do you want from me?”
Pain flashes across his face. “The truth.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “The truth? About what?”
“You,” he says, nodding. I’d kill to hear his thoughts. “I don’t like riddles.”
“I’m not a riddle,” I protest, offended and vulnerable. “I don’t—”
“But you are,” he whispers softly. “And I intend to solve you.”
“What?”
My heart rattles when I hear Tom call out, “Em! There you are!” Damon glares at Tom, and I shoot him a pleading stare.
Shit! Don’t say anything, please! Tom blinks a couple of times before his eyes widen to a fanboy degree.
“No way!” He holds out his hand. “Babe, do you know who this is?! This is Damon Cavanaugh! You know, from Cavanaugh Industries!” Damon reluctantly shakes Tom’s hand.
“We use your iCEF program at work all the time.” He lowers his voice.
“Oh, and I am so sorry about what happened to your family. That must’ve been so—”
“Thank you,” Damon cuts him off, body stiffening. “I should get going.”
“Of course,” Tom says, giddy to be in the presence of a tech God. He frowns. “What brings you to this neck of the woods anyhow?”
“I enjoy the quiet,” Damon says, maintaining a diplomatic demeanor. I think we’re safe for now. Safe. Yay. How fun. “It was a pleasure meeting you…?”
“Tom. Tom Warner.” He glances at me. “This is Emery. My girlfriend.” Damon tries his best to remain neutral, but his lip twitches, and I can’t help but smile. “Did you guys just meet or?”
“Yes,” I say quickly. “It appears he’s an avid reader of nonfiction.”
“Really?” Tom recoils playfully. “I can’t stand it. Give me a high fantasy any day.” He elbows me. “Right, babe?”
“Mhmm,” I hum. “Fantasy all the way.”
“I’ve never liked fantasies,” Damon says, talking only to me. Looking only at me. Almost through me. Like I’m plastic. Like I’m transparent. “I prefer real.” He pauses. “Authentic.”
“Real’s often boring,” I note as Damon’s phone rings. He ignores it. “Fantasy’s far more exciting.”
Damon smirks. “Maybe you’re reading the wrong type of books, Emery.” His phone rings again, and he grunts at the caller ID. “Well, it was a pleasure meeting you. Until next time.”
“Have a good day, Mr. Cavanaugh!” Tom calls out after Damon as he leaves, and I’m embarrassed for the both of us. “That was so weird! I just read that it’s been a couple of years since anyone’s seen him in public. I wonder where he’s been all this time.”
I look over my shoulder and watch him climb into a black SUV. “Me too.”
“What’d you say?” Tom asks.
“I said no clue.” I lace my fingers through Tom’s. “Show me that new spy thriller you were talking about.”
“You’ll love it! It’s about—”
Someone extraordinary.