Chapter 8 #2
I haven’t figured out her schedule yet. It’s not like I can ask Gianni without raising questions I’m not prepared to answer. And the last thing I need is for my current distraction to become public knowledge.
Still, I catch myself scanning every doorway. Constantly alert for signs of pink hair, blue eyes, and fair skin. I’ve become trained on that quiet, cautious way she moves, as if the world is something that might attack if she lets her guard down.
Cassidy.
Of all the women in the world, why her? This mysterious woman who reminds me of cotton candy on legs.
I’ve spent time with models, actresses, and heiresses.
All of the interactions superficial. Work events that required a plus one, or a rare night of gratuitous enjoyment with someone who was equally disinterested in romantic entanglements.
But none of them has ever stayed with me the way she does.
None have ever made me feel so off-kilter.
I estimate she’s about five-eight, a lean athletic build but not to the point it overshadows her softness.
She has the kind of body that suggests she stays in shape because she wants to, not because she’s showing off.
Fair skin and big blue eyes that should be bright and carefree, yet there’s always something lurking behind them.
Is it vigilance? Everything about her screams that she’s prepared to run.
Then there are the scars. They’re faint.
Almost invisible beneath her makeup. Most people would never notice them.
But I do. I’ve trained myself to see details others miss.
Repetitive movements and little inconsistencies that call out to me.
The subtle tells that reveal what someone is trying to hide.
And Cassidy is hiding something. I’d bet my life on it.
It’s not in a deceptive way. It’s fear. Which makes it worse.
Dancing with her should have been harmless. God knows I’ve done it a thousand times before. Music, lights, a beautiful woman in my arms. Any other time, it would merely be a carefree moment among friends. A memory that fades as soon as the song ends.
But she didn’t fade. Thoughts of Cassidy stayed long after Pitbull stopped singing. Her wide, doe-eyed expression lingered in my thoughts. In my dreams. In the back of my mind, while I pretended to work today, failing spectacularly at it.
My office is distracting for a number of reasons.
Mainly the constant beehive of activity and the ever-present intrusion of my unconventional coworkers.
Yet my home is worse. The silence is riotous.
Too much quiet to allow for focused thinking.
Too much room for ghosts. For all of the things I’m exhausted from examining day after day, year after year.
So I come here.
I almost missed her at first. She flutters about quietly. Unlike her flashy coworkers, Cassidy moves as if she doesn’t want to be noticed. Intriguing, given she works in a gentleman’s club where every girl hired is chosen for her ability to turn heads.
Her pink and blonde locks are tied up in two long ponytails, wearing a lavender dress with silver heels. This ensemble wasn’t chosen for seduction or attention.
She’s simply being her.
Cassidy has a quirky style I haven’t quite been able to label. It’s a mix of Harley Quinn and a unicorn. I rub my fingertips over my stubble. The colorful pink tail of my little sister’s favorite toy flashes in my mind’s eye, causing my chest to squeeze. My Little Pony?
An ornate etched highball glass containing amber liquid appears beside my laptop. “Hi.” I don’t even realize she’s there until I hear it. One word. It’s soft, timid. Like she’s afraid of startling me.
My head snaps up. For half a second, my brain simply stops working.
Up close, she’s even more distracting. The strands of bold pink in her blonde hair really do make it look like cotton candy.
It’s a ridiculous thought, but my mouth actually goes dry imagining the taste of her.
My gaze flicks up from her lush lips to her beckoning eyes.
They are too blue. Too earnest and innocent for a depraved place like this.
“Hi,” I finally force out.
Smooth, Wilde. Real smooth.
She hesitates, then tilts her head slightly. The pink tip of one ponytail trails over her shoulder to her perky breast. I swallow hard, trying to keep from dragging my tongue over my lower lip. “If you’re working, would you prefer a hot cup of coffee instead of scotch?”
I blink. How long has she been standing here? Watching me stare at code like it might confess its secrets if I glare hard enough?
“When I’m working on something challenging,” she adds quickly, “coffee sharpens my focus.”
The corner of my mouth lifts despite myself. Is it finally hearing the sound of her voice? The fact she’s talking to me at all? Or just the absurdity of how much space she’s taken up in my thoughts?
“Yes,” I reply. “I’d like that. Thank you.”
Her bright smile is instant. It feels genuine. And hits me harder than it should. She turns and walks away, and suddenly the room feels more chaotic than before. I lick my lips, pushing down what feels like sand in my throat.
So much for coming here to limit distractions.
I lean back in my chair, exhaling slowly, watching that phenomenal ass sway until she disappears into the dining area. What the hell am I doing? I don’t let people in.
Not anymore.
My life is hidden behind thick protective walls, constructed to keep everything compartmentalized and controlled.
The kind of work I do doesn’t leave room for attachments.
Anyone close to me becomes a liability. A weakness standing in the way of getting the job done.
But I’m well aware that’s only a minor part of this equation.
And yet, I intentionally came here early.
Just to see her.
Closing my eyes, I replay her sweet, soft voice in my head, dragging my thumb back and forth across my lower lip. I can’t help but wonder what she’s working on that requires her focus. What she does when she’s not working here?
And what made her afraid of the world?
Then my thoughts turn more tangible. Considering what she might look like when she is relaxed. When her laugh is genuine and carefree. Not forced as if she’s paid to perform for the high-priced membership of this club.
My mind harkens back to seeing her once through the back window of Gianni’s office, weeks ago.
I’d been working on sensitive intel for his cousin, Matteo.
I should’ve been focused on dark web chatter, credible threats from a mafioso family that doesn’t forgive or forget.
I’m committed to doing whatever I can to protect Matteo, his brother, Luca, and Gianni from their estranged crime family.
It’s another reason why I spend so much time here.
But I couldn’t concentrate. It’s as if I was pulled to the window by an invisible, magnetic force.
Cassidy was outside, in workout clothes, walking the private grounds like she was trying to convince herself she belonged there.
I continued to stand there, hands in my pockets, taking her in as she made several laps around the fenced area, constantly looking around as if she was on guard, ready to flee.
Then she got into a beat-up car, drove it around the parking lot a few times, parked again, and came back inside.
Why was she here so early before her assigned shift?
Does she do odd jobs here in addition to working as a server?
And what’s with that odd little walk around the grounds.
I could see it if she had to take a pet out to do his business.
But there are much nicer places, even nearby, to walk or run than this gated area behind the club.
Then there was the weird business with her car.
I couldn’t help scratching my head after taking in that scene.
At the time, I’d thought it was strange. Now I just think it’s her. Nothing about this woman feels normal. And that’s exactly the problem.
Because she is the very last person I need to be thinking about.