Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
Erika
A s I sifted through my closet, searching for the perfect outfit, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was Lincoln. I hesitated, staring at the screen for a moment before letting the call go to voicemail. Tonight wasn’t about him; it was about Victor.
Victor was a fellow agent in the New Jersey office of Farley Associates. We’d met three months ago at a mixer in Manhattan, where his slicked-back black hair, thick trimmed eyebrows, and dark scruff had caught my attention. He was handsome, no doubt, and we’d hit it off well enough. But tonight, I needed to figure out if he was more than just a pleasant distraction.
Settling on a long burgundy jersey wrap dress with a cowl neck, I paired it with black boots, the soft fabric hugging my curves in all the right places. Satisfied, I grabbed my coat and headed out, still pondering Lincoln’s call. I couldn’t afford to give Victor mixed signals, not until I knew where I stood.
When I arrived at Roma Steakhouse, I spotted Victor at the bar, swirling the ice in his drink with a casual finger. He looked sharp, just as I suspected, in a pair of black jeans, a dress shirt open at the collar, and a gray sports jacket. His attempt to impress hadn’t gone unnoticed.
Victor’s smile lit up as he saw me approaching. Rising from his chair, he leaned in to plant a kiss on my cheek. I caught a whiff of his cologne—a mix of baby powder and menthol—that made me wrinkle my nose. That was new. I didn’t remember him wearing it the last time we met.
“Erika, how are you?” Victor greeted, his voice smooth, though his cologne was jarring.
“I’m fine,” I replied, taking the seat next to him. The black leather stool felt cool against my skin as I crossed my legs, noticing the subtle glances from men around the bar. Their eyes lingered a bit too long, and I couldn’t help but feel the familiar thrill of being noticed. At twenty-seven, I was used to it—being told I lit up a room the moment I walked in. Judging by their reactions, tonight was no different.
“Would you like a drink?” Victor offered, his hand already signaling the bartender. “Our table isn’t ready yet.”
“A glass of red wine would be nice,” I said, keeping my tone light as I watched the bartender pour the dark liquid into a glass.
Victor’s eyes never left mine as he handed me the drink, his fingers brushing against mine in a way that felt deliberate. “You look stunning tonight,” he said, his gaze slipping down to admire the dress. “Burgundy suits you.”
“Thank you,” I replied, taking a sip of the wine. It was rich, with just the right amount of tartness. “You look quite dashing yourself.”
“I try,” he chuckled, but there was a hint of something more in his voice, a confidence that bordered on arrogance.
I couldn’t deny that Victor was charming, but something about him felt slightly off tonight. Maybe it was the cologne, or the way he kept watching me like he was waiting for something—something I wasn’t sure I was ready to give.
As we sat there, exchanging small talk, I felt my mind drifting back to Lincoln’s call. He was relentless, always pushing, always chasing, but he intrigued me in ways Victor didn’t. With Victor, there was comfort—a safe bet. But with Lincoln, there was fire, a dangerous pull that I wasn’t sure I could resist.
The bartender slid a martini down the bar to a woman a few seats away, and I watched as she took it without looking up, her focus elsewhere. It reminded me of how I was feeling—distracted, torn between what was right in front of me and what could be waiting if I just reached for it.
“So,” Victor said, pulling me back to the present. “What’s been keeping you busy?”
“Oh, the usual,” I replied, forcing a smile. “Clients, showings… life.”
“Anything exciting on the horizon?”
“Maybe,” I said, the word hanging between us like a question I wasn’t ready to answer.
Victor smiled, but his eyes seemed to search mine for something more. I wasn’t sure if he found it, but the night was young, and I still had time to figure out what, or who, I really wanted.
By the time our dinner arrived, I was bored to tears. Victor’s voice droned on, each word laced with self-importance as he cut into his New York strip steak. “I’m having my summer home on Long Beach Island renovated. I can afford it now since I’m doing so well,” he boasted, a smug smile tugging at his lips.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, maintaining a polite expression instead. The entire evening had been an endless monologue about Victor and his exploits. Not once had he paused to ask about me, and I wondered how I had missed this side of him months earlier. Was it the mixer’s dim lighting, or had I been blinded by his initial charm?
“That’s nice,” I said, taking a large gulp of my wine. It was my third glass, and I was dangerously close to asking for a fourth. The more he talked, the more I realized how little chemistry we had. His outgoing front must have been a ruse to trap women on dates because, beneath it all, Victor was nothing more than a self-indulgent bore. I prided myself on being a good judge of character, but tonight, I’d clearly been off my game.
“You’re not very talkative tonight,” Victor finally remarked, his brows furrowing as if he’d just now noticed I was sitting across from him. “Is there something wrong?”
I finished chewing a bite of filet mignon, swallowing the meat down before replying. “I’m just tired. I had a long day with several showings,” I lied, forcing a weary smile.
“I guess a nightcap is out of the question?” he asked, his tone laced with disappointment.
I nodded, biting my tongue to keep from saying something I’d regret. Are we even on the same date?
“I need to freshen up,” I excused myself, pushing back from the table and heading for the bathroom. Once inside the lounge area, I sank onto a plush couch and pulled out my phone, scrolling through my recent calls. Lincoln’s name was still there, a glaring reminder of the evening I could have had instead. Without overthinking, I pressed his contact and held my breath as the line rang.
“Erika,” Lincoln answered, his voice a low, familiar rumble that sent a shiver down my spine. My stomach tightened, and further down, my core clenched in response.
“Where are you?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
“At a bar. I couldn’t wait for you to call back,” he admitted, the noise of background chatter and music filtering through the phone.
“It’s noisy there,” I noted, straining to hear him.
“Karaoke night,” he explained. “Where are you?”
“Out on the worst date I’ve had in a long time,” I confessed, unable to keep the frustration from my voice.
Lincoln clicked his tongue in mock sympathy. “You should’ve gone out with me.”
“It’s only 9 p.m.,” I said, glancing at the time on my phone. “We can still go out.”
“And ruin your good time?” he teased.
It wasn’t a good time, and I regretted calling Victor. He was trying to extend the date and if I didn’t agree, he would more than likely try to talk me into a nightcap. I wasn’t interested.
“You’re really enjoying my misery, aren’t you?” I shot back, but there was a playful edge to my tone.
“What restaurant?” he asked, his voice turning serious.
“Roma Steakhouse,” I replied.
“They make a good porterhouse. I might just stop by for dinner,” he mused.
My heart fluttered, and I felt my face heat up. “When?”
“Now. Southwest eggrolls aren’t as filling as steak,” he said, the soundscape around him shifting. I heard the blare of a horn and realized he was on the move.
“Are you outside?” I asked, a smile tugging at my lips despite the situation.
“I’m hailing a cab,” Lincoln replied, his voice briefly muffled as he spoke to someone else. When he came back on the line, he added, “I told the driver to hurry.”
“What will you say when you arrive?” I asked, curiosity piqued.
“To your date? I’ll simply tell him he’s dominating my fiancée’s time.”
“Fiancée?” I repeated, caught off guard.
“What would you rather I say?” he asked, a hint of mischief in his tone.
“Whatever will get him to leave me alone,” I said, leaning back against the couch.
“Should I make a scene?” he offered, clearly enjoying the prospect.
“If you want to eat your porterhouse, I suggest you keep it civil, or they’ll throw us all out,” I warned, glancing around the lounge to make sure no one was listening.
“Then I can take you home,” he said, the suggestion dripping with innuendo.
“Always thinking about ways to get me into bed,” I retorted, my voice a bit louder than intended. A woman nearby gave me a dirty look, prompting me to stand and move to the hallway for privacy.
“I have to go back,” I said reluctantly, not wanting to return to Victor but knowing I had to.
“Is he bigger than me?” Lincoln asked, his voice laced with playful challenge.
“Not even close,” I assured him. “Are you expecting a fight?”
“I’m sizing up the competition,” he replied, a grin evident in his voice.
“I don’t think you need to worry,” I said, a smile tugging at my lips.
“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” he promised.
“Thank God,” I murmured under my breath.
“Excuse me?” he asked, teasing.
“Nothing. See you soon,” I said, hanging up and bracing myself for the awkward conversation that awaited me at the table.
I slipped my phone back into my black clutch, trying to calm the nervous flutter in my chest as I made my way back to the table. Victor was still engrossed in his steak, meticulously cutting into the last few bites when I sat down. His gaze flicked up, a question in his eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his tone neutral, as if he barely cared about the answer.
“Fine,” I replied curtly, forcing a smile.
Victor took my answer as permission to dive back into his monologue about beach parties and the admiration of his summer neighbors. I nodded absently, picking at my half-eaten filet mignon and wishing the evening would speed up.
Ten minutes later, a low, gravelly voice growled into my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “Where the fuck is your ring?”
I jerked my head up, my heart racing as I fought to keep a grin from spreading across my face. Victor’s dark eyes widened in confusion as he stared up at Lincoln, who was standing beside me, fists clenched, and jaw set in a hard line.
“I... we’re on a break,” I stammered, trying to keep up the ruse.
“That doesn’t mean you date other men,” Lincoln hissed, leaning in closer. “We’re supposed to be married in a few months.”
Victor’s face drained of color as he stammered, “You’re engaged?”
“Not at the moment,” I quickly retorted, trying to salvage the situation.
“The hell you aren’t,” Lincoln whispered fiercely.
Victor’s hand trembled as he reached for his wallet. “I should go.”
Before Victor could settle the bill, Lincoln cut in smoothly, “I’ll take care of the check.”
Victor barely managed a nod as he pushed back his chair, nearly stumbling in his haste to leave. Lincoln slid into the chair across from me, shoving Victor’s plate aside with a flick of his wrist. He turned and raised his hand, summoning the waiter with a commanding air.
“Take this away and bring me a porterhouse steak, medium, with a baked potato and string beans,” Lincoln ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.
The waiter, quick to obey, tapped the order into his handheld device and cleared away Victor’s plate. As he walked off, I couldn’t help the smile tugging at my lips. I took a slow sip of my wine, savoring the moment.
“How many glasses have you had, Erika?” Lincoln asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“This is the third,” I replied, lifting the glass in defiance.
“Make it your last,” he said, his voice firm.
I bristled, flicking my hair over my shoulder. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
Lincoln’s gaze swept over me, his expression critical. “I don’t like that dress on you.”
I raised an eyebrow, incredulous. “You have a lot of nerve, Elliott. Do you always order women around?”
“I order women around who I’m interested in,” he shot back, his tone unapologetic. “That dress doesn’t suit you. You’re demure and sexy—your clothing should reflect that.”
I scoffed, crossing my arms. “I wore this so Victor wouldn’t get any ideas.”
“Another jerk. Where do you meet these guys?” he asked, his tone dripping with disdain as he grabbed a roll from the basket of bread, tearing into it with his teeth.
“He’s an agent from Farley’s New Jersey office. I thought he was nice,” I replied, my voice tinged with regret.
“And how did that work out?” Lincoln challenged, his intense blue eyes locked onto mine as he chewed.
“Not well,” I admitted, taking another sip of wine to mask my embarrassment.
Before I could react, Lincoln reached over and took the glass from my hand, downing the remainder in one gulp.
“Help yourself,” I quipped sarcastically.
“Thank you,” he said with a grin.
“You’re a smug bastard,” I muttered, though there was no real bite behind the words.
“But there must be something about me that you like, because if there wasn’t, you wouldn’t have responded to my call,” Lincoln countered, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smirk.
“You’re so sure of yourself?” I challenged, my eyes narrowing.
“I am. Now eat your steak,” he ordered, his tone firm but playful.
“I told you not to tell me what to do,” I snapped back, though there was a hint of amusement in my voice.
Lincoln leaned in close, his breath warm against my ear. “There are a lot of things I’d like to tell you to do.”
I almost groaned, feeling my core clench several times. I was sure my black lace panties were now soaked with arousal. My nipples hardened, and I instinctively crossed my arms over my chest, trying to hide the evidence beneath the thin jersey fabric.
“You may never get your chance,” I taunted, my voice trembling slightly.
“We’ll see,” he replied with a confident smirk.
I leaned back in my chair, keeping my arms crossed while Lincoln casually grabbed another roll and helped himself to my water. The silence between us was thick with unspoken tension until his meal arrived. I watched as he sawed off a large piece of steak and shoved it into his mouth, his eyes never leaving mine.
“What are we doing after this?” I asked, breaking the silence.
Lincoln raised his eyebrows, swallowing his bite. “This isn’t a date, Erika. If you’d called back, I would’ve asked you out.”
“Then what is it?” I pressed, leaning forward slightly.
“Saving you from a bad decision,” he said.
I wished he saved me from the bad decision before I made it. This was a horrible date. I should’ve returned his call.
“Too late. I already spent two hours with Victor, which I’ll never get back,” I sighed, pushing my food around on the plate.
“That’s your fault,” he shot back without missing a beat.
“Keep reminding me,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.
“I will. I was the better choice,” he said with a grin.
“And you won’t let me forget,” I countered, unable to suppress a small smile.
“Tell me about yourself,” he said, leaning back and studying me with those piercing blue eyes.
“What do you want to know?” I asked, suddenly feeling a little exposed under his gaze.
He placed a dollop of butter on his potato, mixing it in before lifting a large forkful to his mouth. After chewing thoughtfully, he replied, “Everything. Where do you come from, who are your friends, what do you like to do in your spare time?”
“Will you tell me your secrets?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“They aren’t secrets. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know,” he said, lifting his finger to signal the waiter. He ordered a scotch on the rocks for himself and another glass of red wine for me.
“I thought you didn’t want me to drink anymore?” I teased, my curiosity piqued.
“You seem a bit uptight with your arms crossed or is that for another reason?” he challenged.
I uncrossed them, my cheeks flushing as I realized he’d noticed. “I’m not uptight,” I insisted, feeling a little defensive.
“Does that mean you’re a bitch?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement.
“Do you always say what’s on your mind?” I shot back, not sure whether to be annoyed or intrigued.
“I believe in being direct. Now, tell me something about you,” he pressed, leaning in slightly.
“You first,” I challenged, not willing to give in so easily.
“I was born in Manhattan, and I had two brothers—now just one. My brother Michael disappeared last year while on a boating trip alone,” he said, his voice tinged with a mix of sadness and bitterness.
The revelation hit me like a ton of bricks. I choked on my own tongue, coughing so hard that Lincoln stood, ready to come around the table, but I held up my hand to stop him. My thoughts raced, piecing together the connection I should’ve seen earlier.
“Are you okay?” he asked, concern flashing in his eyes as he sat back down.
“Jesus Christ, Lincoln. I never put the two together. Your brother is Michael Elliott. No wonder your name sounded familiar,” I gasped, struggling to catch my breath.
“My family was on the news several times after he disappeared,” he confirmed, his voice tight.
“You don’t understand. It’s deeper than that. I’m best friends with Morgan,” I blurted out, my heart pounding.
Now it was Lincoln’s turn to react. He grabbed his water glass and drained it, his face pale with shock.
“You know Morgan? She ruined his life. I blame her for his disappearance,” he said, his voice low and filled with anger.
“How the fuck can you blame her? She didn’t tell him to go out on that boat,” I snapped, fury rising in my chest. The urge to slap him for blaming Morgan for his brother’s disappearance was overwhelming.
“She twisted his heart. Seems to be a theme,” he spat, his eyes flashing with resentment.
“Pardon?” I asked, my voice edged with disbelief.
“You women,” Lincoln growled as the waiter discreetly dropped off his scotch and my wine, then quickly retreated. Lincoln’s eyes flashed with anger as he lifted the glass to his lips, draining the entire contents in one long gulp before slamming it back on the table.
“Us women? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I shot back, my temper flaring. I could see it in his eyes—he blamed Morgan for his brother’s disappearance, and it infuriated me. She hadn’t sent Michael out on that boat, and I knew how deeply she’d been affected after that fateful July 4th weekend. She had loved him.
“It means you know how to twist men’s hearts,” he accused, his voice cold.
“Morgan didn’t do that to Michael! This is ridiculous. I won’t let you blame her for something she didn’t do. She was in love with your brother!” I snapped, my fists clenching in my lap.
“But not enough to leave her fiancé. When’s the wedding?” he shot back, his tone biting.
I hesitated. “August.”
“She never gave him a chance,” Lincoln muttered bitterly, stabbing a fork into his green beans and shoveling them into his mouth, followed by a thick piece of steak. His eating was aggressive, fueled by anger, but my own anger was bubbling just as fiercely.
“I think I’ll go,” I said sharply, pushing my chair back from the table, ready to leave this confrontation behind.
“You certainly will not,” he commanded, his eyes narrowing. “I want to discuss this more—in private.”
“I don’t have the energy for this, Lincoln. I’m tired,” I retorted, standing up, my patience wearing thin.
“I’ll get the check,” he said abruptly, waving the waiter over with one hand while pulling out his wallet with the other. The wallet was thick with bills, and he handed the man three crisp hundred-dollar notes, barely glancing at them as he spoke. “Keep the change.”
“Let’s go,” he ordered, his voice firm.
“Don’t order me around,” I snapped, my eyes challenging his.
“Erika, don’t piss me off more than I already am,” he warned, his voice low and dangerous.
I couldn’t help but laugh, not the least bit intimidated. Lincoln might think he was scaring me, but I’d dealt with worse.
“I’d like to go home,” I insisted, turning away from the table.
“Then I’ll go with you,” he replied, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“This doesn’t even concern me. It’s about Morgan. It’s over. Michael is gone,” I said as we made our way to the coat room.
“I believe he’s alive,” Lincoln said, his voice thick with conviction.
At the coat room, Lincoln surprised me by helping me into my coat, his touch surprisingly gentle given the tension between us. But as we stepped outside into the cold mid-April night, his hand remained firm on my back, guiding me toward the curb where he hailed a cab.
Inside the cab, I gave the driver my address, and we fell into a tense silence. The anger between us seemed to dissipate, leaving us both lost in our own thoughts. When we arrived at my apartment, I didn’t stop him from following me upstairs, his presence both comforting and unsettling in the aftermath of our confrontation.