Six
Ishould have felt weird, but because Cristo didn’t, eating with five men keeping watch over him, I stopped thinking about it.
Two of the men, Paz and Adan, I already knew, and though I was not introduced to the others, I got nods of greeting.
Normally, they didn’t acknowledge anyone, Cristo told me, but since I had saved his little brother, apparently, I was in a different league from everyone else.
True to his word, the restaurant, Corazon, was small and intimate, and the proprietress came to our table to ask him what he would like. It turned out that Cristo had given her the loan to start her business, and even more than that, they were friends.
“Tell me all about yourself,” he told me, sipping his beer from the bottle, leaning his cheek on his fist, his eyes gentle on me.
“What do you want to know?”
“Tell me how you and your policeman met.”
So, I told him about how the simple, totally-nothing errand—picking up my friend’s dog—had become the pivotal moment of my life.
I told him about how I had been kidnapped and shot and how Sam had been gone for three years and how he had come back.
I talked and did voices and laughed because it was funny in retrospect.
“What?” I asked when I noticed how big his eyes were.
“Jesus Christ, Angel,” he said flatly, staring at me.
“It’s no big deal.”
“Oh, no, it kind of is.”
And it kind of was, but I was years away from everything that had happened at this point, and distance made it more like a movie than anything else. But the way he was looking at me—studying my face, his tender expression, the concern in his eyes—was very nice.
“Hey, I know this really good pie place for after,” I suggested.
“Absolutely.”
I ate like a pig, which charmed the owner completely, and thanked her for my dinner and hugged her and told her that the poc chuc and picadillo were two of my favorite dishes and that her rice and the mollette were to die for.
“You knew what you were eating?” Cristo smiled at me when she was gone.
“Course,” I said, squinting at him. “I cook some too, you know.”
He nodded. “Really? You cook?”
“Yes, I cook.”
Quick grunt from him. “So, do you—”
“Cris.”
We both looked up at Paz, and his eyes were facing forward, intent on something else.
Following his gaze, I saw Sam and Agent Calhoun, again in their drug-dealer clothes, crossing the floor with two other men.
I stopped breathing. Paz and Adan moved in closer, flanking Cristo and me as they stopped a few feet from us.
“May we join you for dinner, Mr. Liron?” one of the men I didn’t know asked.
“Actually, we’re already done,” Cristo said, leaning back, draping his arm over the back of my chair. “But please, join us for a drink before we leave to get dessert.”
“Excellent.” He smiled tightly, turning to look at the others and gesturing at the empty seats at the table.
Since I felt like I would fly apart, I concentrated on the air moving in and out of my lungs. Sam moved around the table fast, taking a seat beside me, sitting so that when he did, his knee bumped mine under the table.
“I don’t know your friend,” the man who had asked to join us said, smiling at me.
“This is Jory Harcourt. Jory, this is Adrian Miller of—”
“Harcourt.” He squinted at me.
“Yep.” I took a breath. “Related to Dane, who won’t design a house for you.”
“Why won’t he design a house for him?” the man beside him asked me.
“His reasons are his own.”
“What’s your guess?” he asked me, eyes narrowed.
“I’m sure I have no idea.”
He pointed at me. “I don’t like your tone, Mr. Harcourt.”
I shrugged. “I can’t help that.”
“I think maybe you’d better change it before I change it for you.”
I scoffed, smirking at him. Better people than him had tried, and whether he knew it or not, the man who loved me was sitting on my left with his knee against mine. When Sam was close to me, I was bulletproof.
“You need to put a muzzle on your bitch,” the guy told Cristo.
“And you need to not disrespect me at my own table.”
I had no idea Cristo’s voice could get so cold, so hard, and so vicious.
Instinctively, I put my hand on his forearm. He covered it with his own.
“Jory has nothing to do with us, and I was going to keep things light and not speak in front of him, but now you’ve gone and threatened him, and to show you I won’t stand for that, I’m going to tell you that our deal is off, Mr. Miller,” he said, glancing at the other man. “I’m going to do business with—”
“Wait,” I said, interrupting him, seeing Mr. Miller’s face and watching all the color drain from the guy who had been insulting me. “Please.”
Cristo turned to me.
“It’s okay. Maybe he feels about Mr. Miller the way I feel about Dane.” I peered over at him. “How can I fault him for loyalty?”
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out; his brows just furrowed as he stared at me.
My focus was back on Cristo. “It’s fine, okay?”
The warmth seeped back into his eyes, the gold spreading until they were once again honey brown. “Fine,” he said as he glared at the man. “Don’t threaten anyone at my table ever again, Dorian—you understand?”
He nodded quickly, and his eyes flicked back to me.
I stared back, and he couldn’t hold my gaze, glancing away after a minute.
“Jory.”
I turned to Cristo, and his smile made me smile back.
“It looks like I have business, so I’ll have Paz take you home.”
“No,” I said, putting my hands in my lap.
I moved one before I rose, sliding it up Sam’s thigh, squeezing gently, loving, as always, the hardness of the muscles.
On my feet, I realized how close our chairs were and turned sideways, dragging my groin across his arm as I wedged myself free.
“I can get home all by myself. No worries.”
Cristo rose and put a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll call you.”
“Sure.” I smiled as he gave me a quick pat before sitting back down.
“Good night.” I smiled and left the table fast.
I pulled on my peacoat and started for the door.
“Jory.”
Turning, I waited while Dorian caught up with me.
“Forgive me.”
I shrugged. “It’s okay.”
“I didn’t realize you and Cristo were just—I thought you were one of his boys.”
“No, we’re just friends.”
He nodded. “Thank you for jumping in.”
“You’re welcome.”
A quick nod, and he was gone, leaving me to look after him.
I couldn’t catch Sam’s eye because he was leaning forward at the table, talking, not looking at me at all.
It was disheartening to know that none of the man’s attention was on me.
He was the job and nothing else. Cristo noticed me lingering and gestured me to come back.
I waved once and ducked out into the rain. I didn’t want to see him anymore. I would make sure to screen his calls. His attention, his interest, his desire could quickly become addictive if I wasn’t careful.
There was an accident, so I ended up ditching the cab and taking the “L” home, getting off at the platform and walking. As I closed in on my loft, I let the pain and frustration finally roll through me.
I hated Sam Kage. I needed him desperately, and he didn’t need me at all.
The thought had been festering for weeks, and now, having seen him twice with no word left me cold and shaking.
I’d had no idea that I could feel so empty after knowing his heart.
And as much as I wanted to keep telling myself that everything was fine and that he loved me and he would just come home and we would resume our life, I knew it was crap.
Something had changed; something was very wrong and broken for him to stay away from me.
No matter what, I would not have been able to keep myself from him; the fact that he could spoke volumes.
I had to make a change before I drove myself nuts. I had to get out of the city instead of running the risk of turning a corner and seeing him and having him act like we were strangers.
I slammed through the loft when I got home and was standing by one of the windows, eating a yogurt, when there was a knock at the front door. When I opened it without checking, which I did constantly, I was surprised to find Hayes Fisher there.
“Hey.” I smiled at him, calming from just looking at him. He was from my work life, and me in work mode was different, cooler, and so I was. “What’re you doing here?”
“May I come in?”
“Sure,” I said, moving aside.
He walked in, and when I locked the door behind him and turned, he was standing there, looking sheepish, with his hands shoved down into his pockets.
“What’s wrong with you? You look like hell.”
“I didn’t want them to fire you. I wanted you to be the one supervising the job, the one I would see every day and talk—”
“Yeah, I know.” I nodded, starting on my yogurt again. “Mr. Rowe told me.”
“He told you?”
“Yeah.”
“If he—what are you eating?”
“I didn’t get dessert.”
“I’m sorry?”
I had confused him, which happened quite a bit when you weren’t used to following my fragmented train of thought.
“I was out at dinner, and I didn’t get dessert, so I wanted something sweet when I got home, but all I had was yogurt.”
“Do you want dessert?”
“Yeah.” I smiled suddenly. “Oh, you wanna get pie with me?”
“Pie?”
I nodded, grinning wide. “C’mon. It’s good.” I grabbed his hand to tug him after me. “Just lemme grab my keys, and we can—”
“Jory.” He barked out my name, yanking on my hand to stop me, making me look at him. “Were you fired because of me?”
“No.”
“Excellent. I was really worried that—”
“I was fired because Nora Talbot hates me,” I told him, chuckling, “and lied to my boss.”
“Jesus. I—”
“But it’s fine ’cause I’m gonna go work with Fal at Benchmark, but not for a month, but it was weird tonight, ya know, I think his boyfriend hates me, so I wonder how—”
“Oh my God, talking to you is like—just come with me, and I’ll take you for dessert, and we’ll sit and talk, all right?”
“But I kinda want pie,” I told him. “Can we have pie?”
“Sure,” he sighed. “Just come with me.”
“Okay.” I smiled at him.
He just stared.
“What?”
He looked wrung out.
“I’m tiring, huh?”
Slow shake of his head. “No, not at all. I’m just … c’mon,” he said, arm around my shoulders.
“Who told you where I lived?” I asked him.
“No one.”
“Then how’d you know?”
“I’m rich, Jory.” He nodded, giving me a quick smile. “I have people who find people for me.”
“That’s cool,” I said as we reached the door. “But you could’ve just called, and I would have told you.”
He squinted at me. “I know that, and I should have.”
I shrugged, letting him know it was okay.
His car was downstairs. As soon as we got in, I met the driver, and we shook hands.
I asked him where his favorite pie place was and told Alaric—that was his name—where I thought they made the best Key lime pie.
When I turned to look over my shoulder at Hayes, he had a bemused expression on his face.
“What?” I asked as I leaned back, slouching down next to him.
“No one ever talks to my driver.”
“Why not? He’s a cool guy.”
“It just would never even cross their minds.”
“Huh.”
“I don’t want pie,” he confessed.
It was weird, but people lied about wanting pie all the time, saying they wanted it when they really didn’t. Only Sam loved it as much as me.
“Okay, whaddya want, then?”
“Let me show you.”
When we reached a bar/restaurant that I knew well, I thanked Alaric for the ride and got out after Hayes. He put a hand on my shoulder and led me to the front door.
“They have good dessert here, Jory, and this way, you can have a drink too.”
I nodded, and he held the door open for me so I could enter first. At the hostess stand, Hayes asked for the manager.
I waited with him, not saying anything, just letting everything play out.
When the manager arrived, Hayes told him who he was and explained that Carlo, the day manager, and he were very close friends.
Jorge, the night manager—the man standing in front of us—didn’t really give a damn.
“Listen—”
“Sir,” Jorge cut Hayes off and used his hands to present—ta-da—the waiting area.
“I really need you to—”
“Is Blanca here?” I cut in.
Both the manager and Hayes turned to me. I smiled.
“Yes,” Jorge told me. “Mrs. Saluda, the owner, is here. And you are?”
“Could you tell her that Jory’s here?” I said, smiling at him. “I’d love to see her.”
He squinted at me, but he left.
Hayes stepped around in front of me. “How do you know the owner of Toreador?”
I loved Toreador. It was one of my favorite places to go, and more importantly, it was one of Dane’s.
“Jory!”
I turned, and there was Blanca—gorgeous, stunning model, fashionista, and owner of the fine establishment I was in.
She was also—crucially, at that moment—a very good client of an architect I shared a last name with.
Always, from the first time I’d ever met her to now, she reminded me of a young Sophia Loren.
“My darling, how are you?”
I lifted my arms, and she came and filled them, hugging me tight, kissing both cheeks—and they were real kisses, no air-kissing for Mrs. Saluda—before finally stepping back to look at me.
“You’re as beautiful as ever.”
“Rightbackatcha,” I said with a grin, taking the hand she offered me.
“How is Dane?”
The million-dollar question. “He’s good. And you? How’s Marco?”
“Excellent. He’s in Milan, buying fixtures for the roof lounge of Dicha. We should open on time in the fall. Did you receive your invitation?”
“I did, yes. Thank you.”
She smiled, squeezing my hand. “But why are you here? Dinner? Dessert?”
“Dessert, please.”
“And where—”
“In the kitchen, with you, of course.”
Her smile, really, it was like watching chocolate melt, just perfect. The way she lit up was really something.
“This is my friend, Hayes Fisher,” I said, introducing him to her. “He wants to watch you make the flan too.”
She was charmed, and he didn’t have to say a word.
I could tell the man was touched. He sat in the bustling kitchen beside me at a table that most people never saw, which was reserved for the most important patrons of Blanca’s restaurant.
She loved to cook, but no one but her family ever asked her.
For Dane, she had shared that private part of herself, and because I was with him, she had shared it with me as well.
So, I knew her secret, knew she loved to do for others, and her establishment was an extension of that.
We laughed. We had coffee with cocoa in it and cinnamon with our flan.
And she gave us tiramisu with red pepper flakes, which was amazing as well.
It was sweet and hot, and between Blanca smiling, me offering him a bite from my spoon, and the servers coming in and out, talking to us and taking swipes off our plates, I could tell Hayes was having a great time.
“Is it always like this?” he asked me.
“What?”
“Being with you? It’s crazy. Like being at the circus, bouncing all over the place.”
“How do you mean?”
“Like you’re working without a net?”
I was pretty sure it was not a compliment.