7. WILLIAM
WILLIAM
Carter is still talking about her and I have officially lost my appetite.
"She had a real eye for it," Carter says, tearing a piece of bread in half.
"Came in, walked the site, and within fifteen minutes she'd identified three things Marcus missed.
Not nitpicks. Real things. Drainage on the lower terrace, irrigation spacing, the fact that the boxwood was going to cook in August." He sets the bread down.
"She suggested creeping thyme instead. More environmentally friendly and saves us maintenance money too.
The guy from Sycamore was not pleased. At all. "
Carter doesn't get enthusiastic about people. He evaluates them. What he's doing right now, that mild forward lean, the unhurried detailing of her competencies, is the closest thing to a rave review that he can manage.
Great. Now even my most stoic friend is singing Sienna Cross’s praises.
I pick up my whisky.
Adrian laughs, low in his throat, "She's got aura."
"No." Flat. I want this conversation to end. I’m starting to get a head ache.
"What?" Adrian asks with amusement in his eyes.
"No. You're not allowed to say aura . You're thirty-six. You should not be repeating what you hear on TikTok."
He grins, wide and easy. completely without shame.
Then, completely without shame, he holds eye contact with someone sitting at the bar.
I glance over my shoulder to confirm. Dark hair.
Good posture. Expensive dress. Glass of red wine held at the right angle.
By the way she's already smiling back, they will be sharing a drink later. And for sure, something more.
I turn back.
"You were, just now, in the middle of praising a woman's aura, while eye-fucking a completely different woman across the room."
"Objection." He mocks.
"Overruled."
"I was appreciating the bar decor," Adrian says, pouring more wine into Carter's glass without being asked. "Which, I will point out, is excellent."
I actually do look around the restaurant when he says that. Every table occupied. The floor staff moving efficiently. Low amber light bouncing off glassware, the warm aroma of Mediterranean food in the air, the quiet hum of a full dining room on a Thursday night.
Terra has been open for eight months. We consistently run at capacity on most nights, having to refuse more reservations.
The MH Group is doing well. Better than well.
I let myself have that for a second.
I turn back to the table.
"Weren't you seeing that model?" Carter says, looking at Adrian over the rim of his glass. "The Spanish one. What was her name. Nina? Mia?"
"Alicia," Adrian says, too casually. He reaches for his water. "That fizzled out."
"Since when?" Carter asks.
"A while." He shrugs. Drinks his water.
I look at my friend. There's a thing about Adrian that I don't say out loud because he would hate it. He hasn’t always been like this. Wanting to live life at full speed. Experience everything it has to give before it’s too late.
Everything's a little louder, a little more, a little faster than it strictly needs to be.
I don’t say anything about it because I’m just glad that he is here with us and able to enjoy life, when the fact is, he could not be.
I sip on the remains of my whisky and let the burn help to settle me.
Carter’s enthusiasm aside, I have achieved my goal. Sienna is now in my orbit. And that’s fundamental to achieving my goal.
I lean back in the leather booth and let the conversation go on without me for a minute.
My phone buzzes in my coat pocket. And when I pull it out to check who it is, it says ID unknown.
"Hello?" On the other side a pause. Long enough that I almost hung up..
Then a woman's voice. Careful. Like she's already rehearsed the first sentence and is still not sure she's going to get it out. "William?"
"Yes." I confirm. The head ache now in full force.
She exhales. "Okay. First I want to tell you that Charlie, humm, Charlotte is okay. The doctors said she's going to be okay. I need you to understand that first."
I feel something heavy hit my chest, making it harder to breathe. "What?"
"Fuck—” the voice mumbles. Takes a deep breath in and continues. “Charlotte is at Saint Agnes Hospital. She's in surgery now, but the doctors said—"
"Wait." I demand. I need whatever this is to stop.
"She’ll be okay—" the woman keeps talking, but I’m finding it hard to follow. Charlotte. Hospital. Words that I refuse to listen to.
Around me the restaurant sound dims. I can see Adrian and Carter, leaning in, sensing that something is wrong.
"Wait. Stop. What?" I need to think. I need to make this make sense.
"She was shot." I can hear the effort to keep a controlled voice.
Shot.
The warm amber light of the restaurant goes a shade colder at its edges. My hand is tight around the phone. I can feel the casing cracking.
"Charlotte," I say. "Hospital."
Across the table Carter is already standing up. Adrian sets his water glass down and looks at me waiting for more information.
"She was shot," the woman says again, quieter. "In the shoulder. The doctors said the surgery is straightforward."
I get up and start walking to the exit. My chair drops to the floor with a too loud bang, with the speed I put into my movement.
Carter and Adrian are behind me. "I'll drive," Adrian says. "I didn't drink."
"I'm on my way. Fifteen minutes." I say to the person on the other side of the phone.
"Don't rush," the woman says. "She's in surgery. It's going to be a few hours. I'm here if anything is necessary."
I get outside and the cold air does nothing to calm me down.
Adrian is already giving the valet the car ticket with a generous tip to make him move faster.
She is going to be ok. She needs to be ok.
"Thank you," I say numbly to the phone. And then, "I appreciate you calling. I'm sorry, who am I talking to?"
The pause is longer this time.
"Sienna."