5. Elio
Elio stalked through the halls of what was supposed to be his private retreat, cut off from the rest of the world, the American woman following at his heels. The part of him that was angry, the part with his fist still clenched tight around the legal papers, was arguing the case to just leave her outside and let her try her suicide mission to swim back to the mainland. But the rest of him couldn’t live with that on his conscience. His mother would probably appear on his doorstep, as if summoned by magic, and slap him herself.
“Here,” he said, opening the door to the guest wing, the storm making the halls dark and dreary for so early in the afternoon. “You can stay here until the storm clears enough for a boat to get to the mainland.”
The woman, smiling tightly, gave him a thumbs-up, a literal thumbs-up, and stepped into the entryway to the wing with wide eyes.
“There should be drinks in the refrigerator,” Elio called, not willing to cross the threshold. “There’s a bathroom. I’d offer food, but I’ve got more important things to deal with right now.”
He raised the crumpled and slightly damp papers, and the woman scratched the back of her neck awkwardly.
“Uh, thank you,” she said, and Elio took that as a good enough point to leave her to it. He had a call to make to his lawyer, time zones be damned.
Back in his study, with the windows closed against the raging winds outside that rattled the glass in their frames, he snatched up his cell phone and collapsed into his favorite chair, scowling so hard he was probably going to give himself a headache.
“If you’re calling me at this time,” answered a groggy voice on the other end of the line, “then I’m guessing you got served some rather disappointing papers.”
“What the hell, Marc?” Elio said, immediately rising from his chair and pacing about the room, unable to help himself. “I thought you said if I kept my head down, no one was going to be able to find me here.”
“I said it was your best strategy, but unfortunately, Elio, I am not a magical genie.” The amused undertone in Marc’s voice was only making Elio more irritated by the second.
“Well, it would be better if you were, because now she has to stay here.”
“What? Who? Staying where?”
“You hear that?” Elio asked, holding the phone out to the window.
“Is that a washing machine?” Marc asked.
“It’s a storm that’s hitting the island like some sort of doomsday film. The woman who served me the papers is stuck here until it clears. You know she bribed some random fisherman to bring her out here? She pretended to be some backpacker with a part-time job delivering packages. She hid the papers in a box and annoyed me into taking it from her.”
It was lucky Marc was on a different continent because he started laughing, and Elio could have smacked him.
“It’s not funny,” Elio said, not caring how petulant he sounded. “I’m getting sued over an olive pit for grievous bodily harm. Why are you laughing?”
“Because I’m impressed,” Marc said. “Don’t blame the girl. She was just doing her job, and it sounds like she did a fine job of it too. Get her number and maybe I’ll hire her to serve cases for our firm.”
He chuckled again, immensely amused, and for some reason it was what had Elio deflating a little bit. This whole thing really was ridiculous.
“Yeah, well,” Elio said. “Now she’s staying in the guest wing until it’s safe enough for a boat to get here.”
“I do keep telling you that you need to make more friends,” Marc said, and Elio rolled his eyes. “What’s her name?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“I didn’t ask her.”
“That’s not very polite of you.”
“I was a bit distracted. And I told her where the drinks were. That’s polite.”
“Listen, kid,” Marc said with a sigh, and Elio knew he was in for a lecture. “I get the frustration, but it was gonna happen sooner or later. The only one you should be mad at is the idiot who choked on an olive like some Saturday morning cartoon. You can’t control these things as much as you might like to. You certainly can’t control the weather. So scan the paperwork, and I’ll get started on it in the morning. Have some faith in me, all right?”
“It might be a bit smudged,” Elio said, smoothing out the papers with one hand on his desk.
“Why?”
“They got a bit scrunched up, in the rain.”
Marc tsked on the other end, and Elio felt like he was four years old again, awed by all the lawyers and businessmen as he followed his dad around at the office. Well, he was the CEO now. He needed to get a grip. As much as Elio hated to admit it, Marc was right. He needed to grow up.
“Do yourself a favor,” Marc said with a sigh, sounding like he was settling back into bed. “Go and be nice to this no-named woman. The last thing you need is her going back and telling this idiot’s lawyer what a bonehead you’ve been. The prosecution is going to use every scrap and crumb they can against you. That’s not going to look good for your case now, is it?
“Image is everything,” Elio muttered, one of his dad’s old catchphrases.
“Precisely. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to sleep.” With that, he hung up, and Elio was alone in his study, the rain and wind getting worse by the second, compelling him to close the curtains as if that would do anything to stop any damage, like a kid pulling the bed covers over their head.
Elio grabbed the thickest book he could find off the shelves, some old leather-bound thing, and set it on top of the papers to flatten them out. He could at least try and get them a little less wrinkled before he sent a copy through to New York. It definitely wasn’t to delay going to the guest wing and talking to the American woman. Definitely not. But still, Elio found himself standing in the study, arms folded staring into space for a few extra minutes as if putting off a death sentence, before slapping himself internally for being so ridiculous and stalking to the other end of the house.
What was wrong with him? He’d always been antisocial, sure. But he wasn’t going to be intimidated by someone, certainly not in his own house. Elio knocked on the guest wing door, waiting to hear footsteps from the other side but unable to hear anything over the raging storm.
The door swung open a little and the woman peered out, a can of soda in hand, and once again Elio was captivated and distracted by her different-colored eyes. It didn’t help the awkward silence they’d fallen head first into, with him just staring at her like an idiot. It stretched on enough that the woman actually cleared her throat.
“Thanks for the soda?” she said, her words coming out like a question. She even raised it a little, like a bizarre sort of toast to the awkwardness of this entire situation. Elio pulled himself together. He’d spent enough time looking like an idiot for one day. He needed some control back because right now, he felt completely out to sea without a life vest, a paddle or even a hunk of wood to float on.
“I never actually caught your name?” he said, sticking to speaking in English.
The woman swung the door open wider and held out her hand, the one not holding a drink. “Kayla,” she said.
Elio stared at her hand. Why was she being so nice? It was weird.
“I’m not poisonous,” she said, fighting off a grin, her hand still outstretched.
Elio shook it just to spite her.
“And….” Kayla said, dragging the word out.
“And what?”
“What’s your name?”
“You know my name. You served me papers.”
She started grinning, taking a sip of her drink. What was so funny? Elio was doing all this to get a handle on things, but it was failing miserably.
“It’s just usually what people do,” Kayla said with a shrug. “Mr. Morelli.”
“You can call me Elio,” he said, hating how much it sounded like pouting.
“All right.”
More awkward silence bloomed, like some sort of poisonous flower, sucking the oxygen out of the room. But Kayla seemed completely unperturbed by it. In fact, she looked like she thought this whole situation was incredibly funny.
“I’ll be making dinner soon,” Elio said in his most commanding tone, smoothing back his hair, a habit he had when he was beyond stressed. “Why don’t you join me?”
“I thought someone like you would have people to cook for you?” she said bluntly. It wasn’t even an answer to his question.
“Someone like me?”
“Someone rich enough to own an island.”
“I sent Gianna home before the storm hit.”
Kayla nodded, completely cryptic, and got Elio frustrated all over again.
“Would you like dinner or not?” he huffed, still not sure what her actual answer was.
“I would like to eat, thank you. Need any help?”
“No, you”ve helped enough for one day.”
You’re being rude again. But Kayla wasn’t exactly Little Miss Etiquette either, even despite the handshake and formal introduction.
She just raised an eyebrow at his tone and shrugged.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll be here. Quiet. Drinking soda.”
Nothing more was said. The door closed with a click, and Elio strained his ears, trying to hear any sign that the storm might be starting to pass, even just a little. No such luck. It was only getting worse, the sky as black as if it were the middle of the night.
Elio walked away from the interaction, the one he’d gone into expecting to be polite and suave and get control back, now feeling like he was somehow on the back foot again. No wonder this Kayla person was in that line of work, serving papers and sneaking around private property. She seemed to have a natural gift for getting the upper hand, no matter the situation.