Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Remi
“I see travel and adventure in your future,” I muse, examining my client’s palm. “Perhaps related to military service.” A safe bet considering this guy’s fit build, military-tight haircut, and ramrod posture.
“Woah, you really are psychic,” he says in awe.
Not psychic, but I am good at reading people. Usually . Well, except for last night when I made out with my Mr. New Orleans’ mark. Ugh, and here I am, still thinking about that man.
“Do you know?” he asks, and I realize I’ve missed the question.
“I’m not sure, but what I’m getting is that there is someone in your life who might not be happy about your trip.” I’ve felt nervous energy from an older woman seated at a bench across from us; I’m guessing either the mama or grandmama.
“My ma. She’s worried about my deployment and what’ll happen… Do you know what’ll happen?” He eyes me hopefully.
“See this line?” I trace the palm line closest to his thumb. “This is your lifeline. You have a nice, long one, indicating longevity.” Which isn’t complete BS, as I taught myself at least the basics of palm reading. “My advice? Don’t let someone else’s fears become your own.”
If a palmist, a therapist, and a hustler walked into a bar…
My little kitchen timer buzzes, and I release his hand. “That’s our time. I hope you take away something from this reading.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
I’m like maybe three years older than this guy, tops, but that’s a Southerner and a ma’am for ya. “You’re very welcome. Take care.”
He goes to join his mama when I notice it. “Excuse me, you forgot your phone.” Sure, I could’ve swiped it, but then his mama would worry even more, and I can’t have that on my conscience.
Jogging back over, he grabs his phone from the card table. “Thank you,” he tells me sheepishly.
“Now this time, really take care,” I tell him with a smile.
I duck under the table to grab my water from my tote bag, startling when I pop back up.
Noooooo.
“Didn’t mean to scare you. I’d like a reading.” Angelo Calvani takes a seat in the client chair.
“I’m sorry, but I’m closing up shop,” I tell him, trying to disguise my voice with a thick Cajun accent.
He reaches inside his jacket, and I freeze, spotting a gun holstered by his side. He pulls out a hundred and slides it over. “For the overtime.”
I shrug, forcing my hand steady as I grab the bill and stick it in my pocket. “Your hands, sir.”
He places his hands palm-side up on the card table, and I make a show of examining them. “Do you have a particular question in mind?”
“How to find a woman.”
My eyes flutter to his, those baby blues pinning me to my chair. I play it cool, ignoring the way my heart pounds like a drum. “Have you tried a dating app?”
Not even a hint of a smile. “I suspect this particular woman tries to avoid digital footprints.”
“Perhaps this woman has her reasons,” I vaguely reply.
“I’m guessing an outstanding larceny and evading arrest warrant is one of those reasons,” he says smugly.
How the hell does he know that? Better yet, how the hell did he find me?
I jerk my hands away from his. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? What is it you want, Mr. Calvani?”
“You’re coming with me.”
I scoff, crossing my arms. “No wonder you can’t find a woman, not with that heavy-handed approach.”
“You didn’t seem to mind my heavy-handed approach at the gala.” He leans across the table, his voice laced with anger. “Or do you tongue-fuck all of your marks?”
“Oh my God, it was one freaking lapse of judgment!” He’s practically snarling at me, and I fight the urge to shirk away. “Look, I’m sorry I took your watch?—”
“No, you’re not. You’re sorry you got caught,” he corrects me.
“Fine, I’m sorry I got caught,” I amend. “But it’s not my fault.”
“It’s not your fault,” he repeats incredulously.
“No, it’s yours! Why’d you have to be all handsome and smooth and a great?—”
“Kisser?” He raises an eyebrow.
“I was going to say dancer.” But fine, the man’s a great kisser.
His lips lift into an almost smile. “Let’s go, Remi.”
“I have to pack up my things,” I say, trying to stall.
“My men will handle it,” he says, and suddenly, we’re surrounded by burly goons.
“I thought you were a businessman and philanthropist.” I swallow nervously.
Angelo tsks . “My charity only extends so far. Last time I’m going to say it: let’s go.”
He takes my hand, practically dragging me out of my chair and through the crush of tourists. “If you wanted to take me out on a date, you should’ve at least bought me flowers first. I love carnations.”
He eyes me like I’m crazy. “Nobody loves carnations.”
“I’ll have you know carnations are my favorite, you flower snob. Oooh, that vendor is selling them!” I tug at his hand to stop, but he drags me along.
“This isn’t a date.” Angelo growls.
“Obviously, because you didn’t buy me carnations,” I grumble.
A group of foreign tourists stops abruptly in front of us. “Do you need help?” I volunteer, needing a diversion to escape.
“Yes.” A man extends his map to me, but Angelo won’t release my hand from its death grip.
“Can you believe this man?” I jerk my head to Angelo. “Told me this isn’t a date, wouldn’t buy me flowers?—”
Angelo yanks me along, much to the confusion of the tourists.
“Rude.”
His jaw tics as he drags me to a waiting SUV.
The driver hops out and opens the door. “What nice manners,” I say. “Thank you.”
He spins me around, and my hands slam onto the SUV as he kicks my feet apart, patting me down. “Hey!”
“What were you saying about those nice manners?” Angelo says, his voice laced with amusement.
“Zero out of five. Would not recommend this date,” I mutter as I’m shoved in the back of the vehicle.
Angelo slides in beside me, and the driver hustles around to the front seat, and we’re off.
“If this is about your watch, I can get it for you,” I stammer. “But you’ve gotta let me go.”
“My watch is the least of your problems,” he says bluntly.
“Enlighten me on these problems.” I’m guessing the 50k I stole is problem numero uno, but I’ll wait for him to confirm that.
He doesn’t respond, and I huff.
“Seems you’re at a disadvantage, Ms. Landry.” His lips crack into the tiniest of smiles, and I beam.
“The man can smile! You should do it more often,” I tell him. “It makes you less…” I trail off because we’ve somehow scooted closer to each other.
“Intense?” He fills in for me.
“No, you’re still extremely intense, Mr. Calvani.” Not being able to help myself, I run my fingers through his short beard.
Angelo
I’m a man who prides himself on avoiding problems. And Remi Landry has problem written all over her. Even if she wasn’t involved with the attempt on my life—which I don’t know for certain—the woman has more baggage than a bellhop.
And yet I can’t help but lean into her touch.
Remi’s face is stunning without the mask, even in this ridiculous witchy-woman getup.
Creamy white skin with a few freckles dust her little button nose.
She’s let her hair down today, the golden locks cascading in soft curls down her back.
Her large hazel eyes focus on mine, a playful glint to them as she runs her nails through my beard.
She still doesn’t know who I am, and a part of me mourns the fact that I’ll have to show her.
Remi smiles at me, and just like our first encounter at the gala, I feel like I’ve been sucker punched in the stomach.
“ Capo, dove la portiamo? ” Maks asks, breaking the trance.
“ Casa per il fine settimana ,” I find myself saying.
“What does that mean? Where are we going?” Remi asks, dropping her hand.
“You have the disadvantage, remember?” I remind her with great satisfaction.