Episode 5
Episode 5
Swindled By a Little Girl
RHODES
“Dad, ugh. Hold my backpack,” Emily griped for the hundredth time that day.
I ground down on my teeth as I stopped in the middle of the Las Vegas airport, where I was already pushing her carry-on and my own.
She held out her arm, her backpack dangling from her hand. “It’s getting stuck in my hair.” Her shoulders were slumped, a scowl firmly in place on her face, per usual.
“You can handle your own backpack, Em. We still need to get your suitcase, even though I told you to pack light for this leg of our trip.”
She rolled her eyes. “Mom never goes anywhere without at least two suitcases. And she looks perfect. I want to be just like her.” She curled her lip into what I liked to call her Elvis snarl. She brought out the snarl every time she wanted to wound me. I allowed it, mostly because her anger with me was in fact my fault. I was the one who’d divorced her mother and made her life miserable. According to her. And Emily took every chance she could to shove that fact in my face.
I inhaled fully and allowed the breath to slowly seep out of my nostrils. I reached out and took her backpack and tossed it on top of her carry-on. “There. Happy?”
“Whatever.” She crossed her arms over her chest and pushed past me, walking ahead.
Lord give me the strength to get through the summer with my teenager.
I had it all planned out. First, we’d start in Las Vegas where I would show her the Strip and take her on a helicopter tour over the Grand Canyon. I saw it for the first time with my parents when I was maybe ten. It was one of the most memorable family trips we’d had. My brother was still alive then and things were different.
Simpler.
Happier.
After we lost him, everything changed.
“Dad, what the heck? You’re staring into space again. I’ll meet you at baggage claim.” Emily sighed dramatically, turned around with a flip of her long blonde hair, and continued on, leaving me behind. My instinct was to chase her down, but she was almost 14 years old, and had been traveling since being in the womb. With the careers her mother and I kept, she knew airports better than playgrounds.
At least we’d have company during the first part of our stay, I reminded myself. We were meeting up with Alana and Christophe Toussaint, people who Emily happened to like. And I wanted Emily to be around a woman like Alana. She was always kind, poised, and incredibly put together. She had a way about her that Emily had always gravitated toward like a duck to water. Probably because her own female example spent most of her time unclothed and partying, living the life of a lingerie supermodel.
Portia was the best and worst decision I’d ever made. If I hadn’t married her, I wouldn’t have Emily. The downside, however, was that Portia wasn’t the faithful type and had made that painfully clear in year one of our marriage when she cheated on me multiple times. I kept taking her back, believed her tales of woe. I suffered through five years of an unhappy marriage in the hope I could keep Emily from having to grow up in two separate households. I would listen to Portia’s sob stories about wanting to stay a family. Hear all her excuses about how she accidently ended up on some man’s cock while I was taking care of our toddler and running an architectural empire, and I’d cave.
All of it was lies. It had always been lies and half-truths with Portia, and I feared she’d been rubbing off on our daughter as of late. Hopefully a little one-on-one time with her old man would bring things into perspective.
Besides, the Toussaints were good people, and Emily needed to be around mature adults who were successful. They were longtime friends of mine and the first clients I’d designed a home for after I opened my business. The same business that went from working out of a small, 900-square foot space in downtown Los Angeles while I pinched pennies into a billion-dollar business, including the skyscraper that I designed and owned alongside many other profitable architectural ventures.
I was also planning on meeting up with the owner of my most recent hotel build, Joel Castellanos. The Alexandra had been a passion project for both of us, and now that it was fully operational, I wanted to show it to Emily. Not that my thirteen-year-old daughter would be impressed with anything I created. Very few things brought a smile to her face, but I hoped this summer together could bring us back to a healthy and happy father/child relationship.
Just as I turned around, I slammed directly into someone. A flurry of dark hair and soft skin pressed against me. While I tried to catch my balance, the person who hit me started to fall. My legs crashed into one of the suitcases as I wrapped my arms around the small body, flattening her to my chest as we both went down.
My hip hit the shiny airport floor painfully and I rolled to my back breaking the fall of the small woman who landed right on top of me.
“Oomph!” she breathed, her dark hair a curtain over my face as her forehead conked mine. “Shit!” she yelped.
All I could see were a pair of dazzling, warm-brown eyes as I blinked several times to gather my composure. Our breath mingled together, sawing in and out—hers smelling of mint, mine of coffee. We both took in air as though we’d been hit by a truck. My heart beat double time and my hip screamed and throbbed painfully where I’d landed on it.
“Good God. Are you okay?” I asked while I tightened the arm that was wrapped low around her small waist, before I tunneled my fingers through the thick, wavy hair at the back of her head. “Miss, you alright?” I stared into her dreamy gaze as she shook her head. “No? You’re not okay?”
She frowned and put her hand to her forehead, the other one firmly planted on my chest over my heart. Her small frame was straddling my much larger one, her knees on either side of my hips. I used my core to push up into a seated position as she looked at me awkwardly, her mouth slightly opened.
The girl was beyond beautiful.
And when I say girl , I meant it. She couldn’t have been more than early twenties, but her face was so uniquely shaped, I wanted to stare at her for eons. Press my lips to her perfect mouth and taste that minty scent directly from the source.
What the fuck? I had no idea where those thoughts came from. I was old enough to be this woman’s father. Probably.
I cupped her high, rounded cheek and dipped my face closer so I could stare into her mesmerizing eyes to determine if she was indeed okay. At least that’s what I told myself.
“Hey there, sweetheart. Do you need medical attention?” I ran my thumb over the swell of her cheekbone. Her eyes were wide set with long, black lashes framing them. She reminded me of a fawn, all docile and sweet innocence. Her skin was the color of a toasted walnut that paired magnificently with her eyes and the thick, rich brown hair that tumbled all over her shoulders and back. Her lips were that of a cherub, perfectly pink and bare, no lipstick or gloss to be seen.
The question I asked seemed to snap her out of whatever spell she’d been under. I watched her brows furrow with confusion.
“Um, I’m sorry, mister, I didn’t mean to run into you like that. I-I wasn’t paying attention, I’m…” She pushed against my chest to stand, seemed to fumble, and then tucked her hands behind her back as I stood. I reached my hands out, curling them around her small hips to help steady her. She looked at the mess around us and then up at the people who had stopped to gawk.
“You guys okay?” an airport employee asked, carrying a mop and pushing a bucket on wheels.
“Fine, right?” I focused on the young woman who nodded avidly. I turned around to the employee. “We’re good. Thank you,” I said with a smile.
When I turned back around, the woman was already halfway down the corridor heading toward baggage claim.
“Hey! Wait up!” I grabbed the small suitcases and the backpack and rolled them as I ran to follow her.
Either she didn’t hear me, or she pretended not to. Still, I was in great shape. I may have been almost twenty years this woman’s senior, but I was fit as a fiddle and worked out regularly. Catching up was not a problem, even while dragging two suitcases and a backpack.
I nudged her in the arm as I reached her. She acted as though she’d been punched in the shoulder with how fast she jumped to the side to avoid my touch.
“Oh, it’s you.” Her voice was raspy, sounding almost fearful.
“Yeah, me. You know, the guy you just mowed down.” I chuckled. “I asked you a question back there,” I reiterated.
“You did?” She seemed to play dumb.
“You know I did. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Oh. Perfectly fine. Just a bump on the um, forehead.” She reached up and rubbed at hers. “You okay?”
“I’m shocked you care, seeing how fast you disappeared.” I chuckled, amused at this woman’s odd behavior.
She crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed them together while glancing at me from the side of her eyes. “Mmm-hmm well, you know, that was embarrassing.”
“Accidents happen. No harm, no foul.” I smiled.
“Is that a sports saying?” she asked, but her gaze kept tracking the people and businesses around us.
“Not really,” I answered feeling as old as dirt. “Are you looking for someone?”
She frowned, bit into her bottom lip, and kept looking around. “No. Are you following me?” she blurted.
“We’re headed the same way. Baggage, ground transportation?” I lifted my chin toward the sign that we were about to walk under.
“Oh, yeah. Right. Cool.”
“Do you know where you’re going?” I set down one of the cases and grabbed her arm. “Are you sure you’re okay? That conk to the head was sharp, but I didn’t think it was that bad. You seem like you’re lost or looking for someone.”
She shook her head. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. Really. Flying makes me nervous,” she randomly stated.
I scanned her up and down, noting that she wasn’t carrying anything with her.
Strange.
“No suitcase or purse. Where you headed?” I asked, even more curious about this young woman.
Her entire face pinched together at my question, but her gaze continued to roam. Maybe she was hiding from someone.
“Why are you asking so many questions?” she snapped. “Look, I said I was sorry. Please leave me alone or I’ll call for, uh… security .” Her eyes widened as she looked me dead in the face and lied about calling for security. Then she bolted around me and speed-walked away.
“Weird.” I let out a frustrated breath then followed the signs for baggage claim.
Emily was standing by the appropriate carousel, cell phone pressed to her ear.
“Gawd, it’s already the worst trip in the entire world and we haven’t even left the airport. Why can’t I come to the Maldives where you’re shooting? I’ll be good. Stay out of the way. I promise!” I heard my daughter plead with who I assumed was her mother. What was worse was that Portia didn’t want Emily with her. Since our divorce, it was rare that she’d take Emily on any trip. Half the time she skipped her weekends with her daughter and those were court mandated every other week if she was in town. But Portia always found a reason to be “out of town” when it was her turn to have Emily.
“But Mom, Pablo likes me, right? Wait, you’re not with Pablo anymore? But I thought you were getting married…”
I rolled my eyes. Portia was always about to marry someone she dated, but if she did, that would mean she would stop getting those ridiculously large alimony checks she didn’t deserve, right alongside the child support checks she blew on herself. Besides, the boy toys she played with were young, dumb, and full of cum. They didn’t want to get married. They wanted to bang a supermodel, get seen by the paparazzi on her arm, get some press, then move on to the next best thing. Usually a much younger, more successful woman, or a modeling/acting gig. Whichever came first.
The carousel started up and the bags slowly made their appearance.
“Honey, keep an eye out for your suitcase while I see if our driver is outside.” The Alexandra was sending a car. They always did for VIPs.
I stepped out of the airport and reached inside my jacket pocket to pull out my cell phone to check the reservation, but it wasn’t there. I patted down my chest and shoved my hand into both inner pockets of my suit jacket.
Both my wallet and my cell phone were gone. Just disappeared.
Could I have dropped them in the fall earlier? Maybe if I retraced my steps, I’d find them.
“Fuck!” I checked all of my pockets again, finding absolutely nothing.
There was no way that during the fall, my wallet and my phone could have slipped out of the inside, very deep, jacket pockets. Something that had never happened before.
And then I remembered how strangely the young woman acted after she’d run into me, then tried to escape without notice. How she took a while lying on me, her hands pressed to my chest.
“Fucking hell,” I laughed bitterly.
I’d been swindled by a little girl.
That beautiful, tiny young woman was a pickpocket.