Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Cassius
New York City is bigger than I could have imagined.
You see it on TV and hear about it… but being here is a whole other ball park.
I’m a mix of nerves and excitement, thrilled to experience this while also terrified of so much going on.
And this is coming from someone who has visited Chicago often enough.
People are in crowds so thick you can’t walk through them.
People in costumes—giant costumes like Pikachu and Batman.
There are artists standing on corners with their work, and others making it in real time.
The spray paint art is my favorite. People are laughing and having fun, eating and drinking things I’ve never seen before.
“Where is it that we’re going?” I ask, having to speak up because it’s so loud. People walk around blasting music from speakers and trying to hand out CDs. It feels like a circus.
“I told you it’s a surprise.”
I roll my eyes for the umpteenth time tonight.
He has refused to tell me what we’re doing all day.
It could be something very boring or it could be something really cool.
I guess it doesn’t matter what it is—experiencing anything in New York and with Harmon is a treat—and knowing him it will be something good.
“Ambassador? What is this?” I look up at the giant sign of the building we’ve stopped in front of, a line of people running along the side of the building.
Harmon smirks, but that’s all the response I get.
“Oh my god, you’re stressing me out,” I complain. “Can you please tell me what this is?”
“You’ll see when we get inside. Be patient.”
“Patient? Do you even know me?”
“Getting to, it seems,” he says softly.
I nudge him with my elbow and smile up at him. He isn’t much taller than me, but the control and power he exudes, it feels like he’s as tall as these buildings.
The line continues into the main room and down hallways inside the building, but at least it’s warmer in here. Eventually, someone takes our tickets—I try to steal a glance at them, but I can’t make them out.
“Come on,” Harmon says, putting his hand on my lower back and guiding me toward a busy bar. I try not to think too much into it—it’s a simple gesture, nothing more. So we don’t get lost since there are so many people here. It only makes sense.
We go to the bar. He orders us drinks, and then we make our way down a few more halls, through a curtain, and step out into a goddamn theater. I’m pretty sure this is a big deal. Like a big thing. Not only by the vibe and look of everything… but this is Harmon Stone. He doesn’t do little.
“Is this…”
“A Broadway show,” he says. “Yes.” He ushers me through the aisle and to our seats that gives us a clear view of the stage. “It isn’t the show I wanted, but I couldn’t get tickets for that on time. This one isn’t terrible.”
“What is it?” I ask eagerly.
“Chicago.”
I hold his gaze. “That means absolutely nothing to me, but I bet it will be amazing.”
He chuckles.
The show starts and I am enthralled. I can’t pull my gaze away from the stage. When my drink is empty, Harmon gets me another one, but I hardly notice he’s gone until he’s whispering “excuse me” to get by and back to his seat.
This performance is intense, and the moment it ends, I want to sit through it again. I’ve never been to anything like this before. I don’t think there’s another experience like this.
When I get to my feet, my head is dizzy, and I wonder how many drinks I had.
“How did you like the show?” Harmon asks, his hand once again on my back as he guides me through the aisle toward the door and through the crowd.
“It was… amazing. I don’t know what else to say about it. I loved it.”
“I’m so happy to hear it. Now, we’re going to get food.”
“God, that sounds so good.”
We make our way onto the street, the city alive as much now as it was hours ago.
We walk only a few blocks before Harmon leads me into a building and to an elevator that brings us to the top floor.
When we step out, it’s into a dark but sexy restaurant, a pink neon sign lit up with the number 72.
There are splashes of pink here and there in the decor, but not enough that it looks cheesy or cheap.
You can tell this place is expensive, not only because it’s on the top floor of this building, but because you can feel it.
“Good evening, sirs,” the host greets. He’s a handsome guy with dark hair, eyes, and short-cropped hair. “Do you have reservations?”
“Harmon Stone.”
“Ah, Mr. Stone. Mr. DeMassi wanted me to give you his sincerest apologies. He had to leave immediately to deal with an issue at his new establishment in Chicago.”
“That’s unfortunate, but it’s alright. Please let him know that I hope everything is going fine, and if I can help with anything, I’d be glad to do so.”
“Of course. Right this way.”
The host leads us to a table in the far back corner where we will be alone.
“You one of those people who knows someone everywhere?” I ask as we pick up our menus.
“When you’re in my line of work, it’s hard not to.”
“There are no prices on this menu,” I comment as I look it over.
“Because they don’t matter. Order what you want,” he says distractedly as he looks over the wine list.
“I don’t know what half of these things are,” I hiss, leaning over the table.
He looks at me over his menu, his gaze softening.
“I’m sorry,” he says, putting the menu down. “I can order for us both, if you’d like?”
It’s hard to be frustrated when he looks at me like that. Like he truly is sorry and will do anything to make it better.
“Yeah, that would be great. Honestly, if you made decisions for me this entire weekend, it would be better.”
“That’s the alcohol talking.”
“Oh, but it’s not.”
His eyes narrow. “Is this a trick?”
“What the hell could I be tricking you with?”
“Fair point.”
The waiter comes over, and Harmon rambles off two meals that sound like gibberish but also orders a bottle of wine that’ll pair well with the food, apparently.
“Are you sure about this?” he asks.
“Isn’t it what you’re paying me for?”
His jaw clenches and he nods stiffly, then pulls out his phone.
The wine comes and the waiter pours us each a glass. Harmon sips his as he looks over his phone, which I’m pretty sure is just something to keep him from talking to me. So, I talk to him. I have been drinking all day…
“Have you ever been drunk?” I ask.
His eyes flick to me. “Of course.”
“When’s the last time?”
“I don’t know.”
“Come on. Think. When’s the last time you were drunk.”
“I don’t know. When I was in college?”
I almost spit the wine right out of my mouth. “What? Even me, who was poorer than dirt, was drunk all the time.”
“Yeah, well…”
I choose not to think about what he was going to add after that and focus on the fact he chose to say nothing. But I also think that I do not want this to be a boring trip. I won’t allow it.
“Let’s get drunk tonight.”
“I’m certain you’re already there,” he says, flicking his gaze to me for a quick moment.
“I am not. I’m fun when I’m drunk.”
He raises a brow.
“I am,” I argue. “But I bet you’re not,” I coax. “I bet you’re boring.”
I see the twitch in his eye. He puts his phone down. “Is that what you think?”
I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms. “Yep.”
“Hm. Too bad for you.”
He goes back to his phone, and I pout. Why is he being so difficult right now?
The food comes a short time later, and though I have no idea what I’m looking at, it’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever put in my mouth, and I am seventy-seven percent sure it’s chicken and not fish. Though, I could be wrong because I’ve never had chicken so juicy and soft before…
We’re on our second glasses of wine, the bottle finished, when the waiter takes our plates.
“Can I get you another bottle of wine?” he asks.
“Yes!” I say too excitedly.
The waiter looks to Harmon for permission. He flicks his wrist, giving him a face that says whatever he wants.
Damn right, it’s whatever I want. This is my one and only weekend to be spoiled by a rich guy. If this doesn’t work out with Harmon, maybe I should consider being an escort.
“So,” I start, leaning forward on the table. “If I order dessert, will you feed it to me?”
Okay, now that is definitely the alcohol talking.
“This is your idea of fun?”
“I’ll lick it off your cock.”
“Christ, Cassius,” he says.
“What? I’m serious.”
“Not for a second did I think you weren’t.”
“So, is that a yes?”
His eyes narrow, and when the waiter comes back, he orders the chocolate lava cake.
To go.