Chapter 29
Chapter twenty-nine
Where Is Everyone?
Sophia
I arrive at the address Arty gave me. I’m surprised we’re meeting in Hell’s Kitchen.
From what I’ve heard, most of the regular haunts are in the Upper West Side or Upper East Side, but I can see the appeal of this place.
A quick Google in the Uber on the way over told me this is an exclusive club that prides itself on offering its guests privacy, and it gives off those vibes.
Fairy floss pink strip lighting casts a soft glow on the sign where La Rosa is spelled out in gold letters on a lipstick-red background.
The frontage has semi-blacked out windows, so you can see the silhouette of the people inside but can’t see their faces.
It’s cold out, so I open the door and head straight in.
As soon as I enter, a girl with a sleek black bob, dressed in leather pants, a corseted bustier, and patent black high heels greets me.
She takes my coat and asks my name before leading me through the space towards the gold-paneled booths at the back.
Her bright red lips and nails match the red carpet and velvet lounges and banquets.
It feels alluring and a little bit risqué.
A place I’d ordinarily love if I were with the girls or on a date.
However, it seems an odd choice for a group of strangers to meet.
I tamp down the sinking feeling in my stomach, by reminding myself it’s just one drink and then I’m going home.
As we get closer to the booth in the very back corner, I see Arty’s slick blond hair and note that he’s the only one here.
I go to turn around and leave the exact same way I came, but Arty looks up from his phone and gives me a big smile.
He stands to his feet, openly trailing his eyes over my body, darting his tongue out to lick his lips like a wild beast lying in wait for its prey.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why did I agree to this again!
“Hello, Arty,” I greet him, holding out my hand for him to shake. Instead, he takes it and pulls me in closer so he can place a kiss on my cheek, intentionally grazing his chest against mine. “Sophia, darling. I’m so glad you could make it.”
His lips on my skin feels foreign. I have the urge to scrub off the stain of his kiss, unlike the tender one Marco placed there almost two weeks ago. I still feel it like an invisible tattoo.
I make a point of looking around the booth before taking a seat. “Where are the others?”
“I’m so sorry, but they all got tied up with their cases last minute.” He tilts his head and turns his mouth down to make a faux sad face. “On the bright side, you were already on your way, so I thought we may as well just enjoy a drink and get to know one another better.”
I mustn’t do a very good job at hiding my annoyance at his admission because he tacks on, “Besides, we’re co-chairing the Law Gala together, so no time like the present to start planning next steps.”
I force a smile and nod at him. “Sounds good.” Two words to replace ones that sound distinctly more like “fuck you” ringing in my ears and sitting right on the tip of my tongue.
“What can I get you to drink?” he asks brightly, keeping up the charade like we both don’t know he’s tricked me into a date with him. A stiff drink may in fact be exactly what I need to get through it.
“You don’t need to do that. I can get my own.”
He leans back in the booth, an arrogant smirk lazily spreading over his face. Objectively speaking, he’s handsome. But behind the gentlemanly facade is an inherent ugliness that thrives on his own sense of self-importance.
“Sophia, darling. I am a partner in my father’s firm with additional lucrative businesses of my own.
I make millions every year. I will not even entertain the idea of you buying your own drink.
I could buy this whole bar if I wanted to.
” Leaning forward, he covers my hand with his and gives it a light squeeze.
The lingering sensation feels like what I imagine dipping my hand into a bucket of fish guts would feel like—fleshy, cold and clammy.
Nothing even close to the strong, warm, and calloused hands of the man whose touch lingers on my body like a phantom.
In this moment, I wish more than ever to feel Marco’s grounding presence.
Arty’s pompous voice brings me back to the present.
“Besides, what would your father think if he found out the man he’s given his blessing to court his daughter made her pay for her own drink. ”
The memory of that summer hits like a bolt of lightning.
His smarmy tone and conceited talk of the amount of money he earns.
Not to mention the frightening way he seemed to switch from friendly to foreboding in an instant.
I slowly and deliberately slide my hand out from under his, tamping down the urge to punch him in the face.
I refuse to let him intimidate me, so I play his game instead.
“Fair enough; you get the drinks. I’ll put my drink money to good use towards my designer wardrobe.
We all know looking the part is important in this business. ”
He takes that as an invitation to rake his eyes over my chest, zeroing in on the hint of cleavage peeking from under the cream silk shirt I’m wearing. I don’t cower.
“I’ll take a Negroni, thank you.”
He stands and walks to my side of the booth.
Bracing himself on the end to the table, he gets right up close and looks up at me from under his brows.
“Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he taunts with a low chuckle.
Bile rises in my throat. Something in the way those words rolled off his tongue felt sinister.
It’s warm in here, but the hairs on my arms prickle.
Standing, he snaps back into Mr. Congeniality and states brightly, “I’ll be right back with our drinks. ”
I am counting down the seconds until I can put an end to this not-so-meet-cute.
Arty returns with our drinks and informs me he also put in an order of some small plates for us to graze on.
My stomach tightens at the thought of having to spend any longer than I need to in his presence.
Then I remember I have to co-chair the godforsaken Law Gala with him too.
Torturous. However, in this moment, it’s a way to steer the conversation to neutral waters.
Whipping out my phone, I open the Notes app and snap into organization mode.
If he’s going to use the Law Gala as the ruse for getting me here alone, we’re damn well going to talk Law Gala.
“We should make a preliminary list of vendors to engage and a working to-do list. I had a look at the vendors used for last year’s hugely successful Law Gala, and I think we should engage most of them again this year.
Evie is well-versed in planning the event, and Vault Security is the preferred vendor for security.
I can get them both booked immediately.”
The appetizers arrive, and I internally whoop for joy knowing I am one step closer to getting out of here.
Arty pops a large green pitted olive into his mouth and nods thoughtfully.
“Agreed. Evie is the most experienced choice for an event of this caliber. Her attention to detail is unmatched. However, I have my reservations about Vault Security.”
I arch an eyebrow at him in challenge. “Would you like to share those reservations with my father, who literally trusts Vault Security with his life?”
“Your father confided in me that he is none too happy with the company one certain partner is keeping. Honestly, it’s not a good look, Sophia.”
My hackles rise. Confided? When did Arty become my father’s confidant, and why would Marco be at the center of their discussions?
I take a sip of my drink to stop myself from unleashing the third degree on him—I’ll save that speech for my father.
Instead, I keep my expression impassive and excuse myself to use the restrooms.
My blood is boiling. Not only did this bastard trick me into drinks with him, but he has the audacity to insult me, talk shit about Marco’s character, and is trying to use my father to manipulate me into going along with his agenda.
Not a chance in hell. As I make my way towards the restrooms, I see a flash of a face in a nearby booth that looks vaguely familiar.
Brown hair, black-rimmed frames. He kinda looks like a modern-day Clark Kent. I can’t place him, but before I can ponder it any more, my phone vibrates. I pull it out of my purse to see a message from Evie. Thank you, universe.
Evie:
Are you okay?
Me:
Yes and no. I just escaped to the restrooms to plot my exit strategy.
Evie:
What does that mean? Are you safe???
Me:
Yes, I’m safe.
Me:
But the group failed to arrive for the “group drinks” Arty organized. So it became drinks for two. *angry face emoji*
Evie:
How convenient…
Evie:
Leave now, then come here for homemade Mexican bowls and a debrief. Stella is grabbing wine.
Me:
I’ll text you when I’m on my way.
I tuck my phone in my purse, use the bathroom, and reapply my lipstick. I square my shoulders and take a deep breath, mustering all the confidence I need to put an end to this drink date quickly and drama-free. I open the door and step out into the hall and straight into a hard chest.
“Oh, sorry!” The startled apology flies out of my mouth before my eyes have a chance to see the face attached the body that’s still blocking my path.
“Arty? What are you doing?”
“Just checking you’re okay. You were taking a while.”
I snort nervously. “I’m fine. There was no need to follow me.”
“What can I say. I am the protective type.”
Walking into me so I have no choice but to lean back on the door behind, he lifts one arm over my head and uses the other to swipe something near my lip with his thumb.
“You just had a bit of lipstick there. Red is my favorite. It looks ravishing on you.” A salacious smirk spreads across his face, and I can almost hear his dirty thoughts. It snaps me into action.
I swipe over the spot he just touched and look at my finger for evidence of the lipstick.
None. I need to defuse this situation.
“I think we’ve made great inroads on the planning for the Law Gala, so I’m going to head out now, Arty. If you’ll excuse me.” I gently push at his torso to get him to move out of the way, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, he lowers his face even closer.
“Surely I heard wrong. What do you mean you’re going to head out? It’s so early. I ordered us one more round to help us loosen up, get the creative juices flowing so we can plan the best Law Gala they’ve ever seen.”
“I think we can agree the next step is to engage Evie to make sure she can execute the vision,” I try to rationalize, keeping my tone light and airy.
“Besides, one drink is plenty enough for me on an empty stomach. I’m a bit of a lightweight.” I make to duck under his arm and stumble. He uses that as an excuse to grab me by the waist and pull me closer to him.
“Whoa there.” He smiles down at me, enjoying every second of making me squirm. He’s no fool. He’s sure to keep his words ambiguous enough that, on the surface, his behavior is perceived to be above board. But the overtures are predatory.
“Oh, I remember,” he drawls suggestively, making my skin crawl with the way he’s openly looking my body up and down.
“In fact, if memory serves me correctly, you still owe me a dance. What do you say, one more drink and a dance?” He grips me a little tighter, but his face remains perfectly serene.
The exact opposite to the anger churning inside me.
“Arty, I think we should call it a night. I’m tired and ready to go home now.”
Then I hear it. The rumble of the low, gravelly voice I would know anywhere. His tone is lethal, and his command slices through the air with the exacting precision of a surgeon slicing through flesh. Relief floods my body at the sound. He’s here.