Chapter 4
Chapter Four
NAOMI
“You know what I love most about you?” Mac asks, sitting on her desk, her legs swinging back and forth.
“That I know over two hundred ways to kill a man.”
“Only two hundred? Nomi, don’t disappoint me.” She still calls me by the same nickname as she did when we were little kids. I both love and hate it.
“I’m sure I could come up with a strange one, like putting someone’s head in a box with hungry rats.” Mac blinks at me a few times. I don’t even understand why I seem to think differently than other people. The word “strange” is always hanging over my head.
“How do you come up with this shit?”
“I think of what would freak me out.”
“Then why didn’t you say a box of—”
“Don’t.” I cringe. I don’t even care for the S word. I have the biggest irrational fear of spiders. It is a phobia I cannot overcome. “I don’t care for where this conversation has gone.”
“You made it weird first.” I just keep shaking my head no. “Okay, I was going to say that I love how predictable you can often be with things, but just as predictable as you can be, you will sideline me with the most unpredictable things. Like right now.”
“I’m a young, single girl. I am not sure why you find this off.” This is what most females my age would be doing.
“I didn’t say it was off. The rat comment is a little out there, but I expect nothing less. So?” she asks, wanting to know why I want to do this at all.
“Well, for one, I haven’t gone out dressed up yet.” A while back, I thought I should up my skill sets. Getting in and out of places is often easier when a woman is all dolled up. Men think with their dicks, while I think of ways to use that against them.
I see the way men look at Bonte. She’s not the classic pretty that society sells you. I’d call her more seductive. Now Mac, Aunt Cosima, and her daughter Nix are what I’d call gorgeous in that classic sense.
“You have gotten good in heels.” Bonte taught me. I didn’t tell anyone, but when I put them on, I did get this sense of power, and for once, I felt feminine and pretty. “But there is more; hit me with it.”
“The wink.”
“I say we just cut those eyes out, and we’ll be done with all this.” Mac leans back on her hands to support her, still swinging her legs back and forth.
“I don’t want to cut his eyes out or kill him.” Mac’s brows rise. “Yet.” She smirks.
“He’s piqued your interest.” She nods and still smirks. “See, that math works in my head. When you get interested or caught up in something, it can consume you.”
“I can be obsessive. I’ll admit that.” I glance down, not wanting to admit the next part. “I want to see if I get hit on.”
“Are you fucking with me?”
“No, I’m going to go and smile at people.
Dance.” I nod adamantly, making me think I might be trying to convince myself too that this is a good idea.
“I might even wink.” I have no clue what I’m getting myself into, but I know I have to do this.
I need to see and pay attention to how men react to me when I’m not glaring at them.
“You are a beautiful dancer.” I took ballet for many years.
It teaches you to control every part of your body.
You use muscles that you may not even realize exist until they start to ache the next morning.
“With the dress you brought and heels, I can promise you that you will be.” Mac hops down.
“But I know you, and you’ve got ideas floating around in that interesting head of yours.
I can talk to you till I’m blue in the face, but you’ll want to see it for yourself.
” I both love and hate that Mac knows me so well.
“So we’re going out?”
“Yes, we’re going out.” A thrill courses through me. “Let’s get ready.” Mac pulls me to her room at the warehouse. All of us that are adults have them here. I don’t crash here often, if ever.
I know people think I’m not a social person, but I find comfort in knowing people are around. Even if it’s my annoying brothers running up and down the hallways at home.
The first thing she does is free my hair from the tie I had it pulled back in. She grabs a water bottle and starts spraying my curls to bring them back to life. It doesn’t take much.
I let Mac do her thing. Nix loves to play with my hair and put makeup on me, but I swear when she’s done, I look like one of those beauty pageant girls.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that; it’s just not my thing.
Mac is more sensible with my makeup. I would never admit that to Nix because it would devastate her. See, I have empathy and compassion.
“Will you do those wing things on my eyes?”
“Really?” A giant smile takes over her face, making both her dimples appear.
“Yes, I enjoy the way Bonte does her makeup.”
“She has great style.” Mac pauses, pulling back the mascara in her hand. “Have you ever thought about what your style is? Those buttoned shirts and black pants aren’t considered a style either.”
“They are functional.”
“I get that, but that’s not what I asked.”
“I can appreciate when I see things. Like I said, I enjoy what Bonte wears.”
“I love the way you word shit.” She goes back to doing my makeup. “We should go on a shopping trip.”
“That might be nice.”
“Should we do it before we go wedding dress shopping or after?” I know she’s teasing, but now my mind is wondering what kind of wedding dress I would want to wear.
“It could be one of those quick weddings you do in an office.”
“Right,” Mac laughs.
“What’s so funny?” A proper wedding should be between two people in love. This will be transactional.
“Aunt Tova.”
“You think she wants a wedding?”
“I do, and you know it too.” She shrugs. We both also know my mom would never push such a thing, but Mac is right.
Mom would want a wedding. This is something I need to think about. Would there be any real harm if I had a wedding if only to make my mom happy? She doesn’t ask for anything, and it always warms me when I see her happy.
“I’m going to do a matte lip stain on your lips.
It’s a deep plum that will complement your hair and complexion.
” She does a chef’s kiss. “It’s also called Bad Little Thing.
” I part my lips as Nix has taught me to do on the occasions that she talked me into one of her many makeovers.
I don’t put up a ton of resistance. All I have to do is sit there.
When Mac is done, she starts doing her own hair and makeup. She has her mom’s red hair. Mac has more waves to her hair than curls. She too has an interesting style, being that you never know what she might show up wearing.
One day she’s in sweats, and the next, a dress.
She told me once that she dresses for her mood.
That’s an intriguing concept. My clothes are rather boring.
When I was little, it was a lot of pink, bows, and tulle.
Once I was old enough to ditch it, I would steal my brother’s clothes and pick things that fit and weren’t itchy or annoyingly in my way.
I change into the black mini dress I’d been given a year ago as a gift from Nix. I probably should have checked to make sure it fit. I wiggle into it.
“It’s snug.” I huff and pull at the fabric.
“Damn, girl!” Mac stares at me, her mouth dropped open. “I mean, I knew you had a body, but holy hell. You have curves for days.”
“Is it okay?” I ask, turning in a circle to see myself in the mirror. The thing fits like a second skin except for the bottom that hits a touch above mid-thigh. It flares a little when you turn.
“Lose the bra.” I take it off because she’s right. You can see the straps. The ones on the dress are thin, and I think useless.
“Let me put the heels on. They’re not crazy ones.
A couple of inches.” I’m on the shorter side, but I have been practicing wearing them.
I thought I might need to dress up to blend in at the retreat.
Pretty girls all dolled up can get in and out of places.
Sure, my last name can too, but you don’t always want people to know who you are.
I slip them on, and Mac comes up behind me. “Lift your hair.” I do as she requests, and she slips a black choker around my neck. She rests her chin on my shoulder, both of us staring in the mirror at me. “Perfect, let’s roll.”
“Which vehicle are we taking?”
“Damn, cuz.” Damon sits up from the couch he was sprawled out on. He must have gotten here while we were getting ready. “You look good.”
“Thank you.” He fights a smile, and I want to ask why, but I don’t.
“He’s our ride.”
“He’s coming with us?”
“Nah, I’m dropping you off. No drinking and driving.” He does a mock scolding.
“I don’t drink.” Not typically. I tried it once and regretted it the next morning.
Mac puts her arm over my shoulder. “You might tonight. A drink might make you relax.” She’s not wrong.
When we arrive at the club, Mac already has a table reserved for us, and she pours us both a glass of champagne. It’s sweet and not terrible, and it is helping me relax.
“What do you think?” Mac asks from beside me, sipping on her drink, swaying her hips.
“I’ve been to a club before.”
“I know.” She rolls her eyes at me. “But never a part of the crowd. When you enter a club, you’re working.
” This is true. Eros and I are likely coming to collect.
I have been in this very club before, but I don’t think anyone would recognize me, and Mac isn’t boots on the ground very often.
She is best behind a computer. That’s where she’s the most dangerous.
My eyes move across the crowd of people.
A few people catch my eye, and I don’t mean because they are attractive.
I make a mental note of two; they are both carrying weapons, which has me wondering if they are security for the club meant to blend in or if they somehow made it past security without a pat-down.
“Stop sizing people up.” Mac elbows me in the side.
You have to size people up. I’m not a big girl.
There is only so much my body is capable of doing.
It’s not easy for me to handle a large man.
Your best skill set is being a few steps ahead and never letting them get too close.
Brute force will win when no weapons are in play.
Not that I don’t have a few on me. “That table is sizing you up.”
“Which?”
“Your two o’clock.” I begin to bounce slightly to feel the rhythm of the music before I slowly turn my head to look.
There is a group of men sitting together.
They are all in suits, or they had been.
The jackets are gone, and their long, buttoned sleeves have been rolled up.
They came from work. Only one of them still has a suit jacket on.
He and I lock eyes across the room. “Smile,” I hear Mac say, and I do. His brows lift, and he licks his lips. Gross. I turn my attention back to the dance floor and sip the champagne. The bubbles make me feel lightheaded. I’m not used to feeling this way, and I have to admit, I don’t dislike it.
“Is that a no on him?”
“He has a pixie haircut.” Mac bursts into laughter. “The coloring isn’t natural.” He also doesn’t look like he can fight. Too pretty. I think I prefer a rough-and-clean handsome; a little pretty might not be the worst thing. Paxton flashes through my mind.
“If he heard you say that, it would ruin his month.” Mac takes the now empty glass and sets it on the table. I wanted another. I don’t get a chance to voice that. She’s already got her hand around my wrist and is pulling me toward the dance floor.
It’s been a while since I have danced. I have always enjoyed it. I favored it over gymnastics. I take note that men do turn to watch us walk by. Each time I meet their eyes, their brows always rise before a smirk forms on their mouths.
“Girl.” Mac tugs me into her so we’re close, facing each other. “Keep making eye contact, and they take that as an opening to come talk to you.”
That would have been nice to know before now, but isn’t that what I wanted? To see if I could be desirable?
“Dance with me.” The song changes, and I start to move. The beat is good, letting you really work your body. I allow myself to get lost in the rhythm.
A hand lands firmly on my hip, larger than a female’s. I grab it and turn, giving a hard yank, and quickly side-step and release my hold. The man stumbles forward and falls, bumping into a few people in the process.
Mac has her lips pressed firmly together, fighting laughter.
“He grabbed me.” People shouldn’t randomly touch people without their permission.
“The fuck,” I think I hear the man on the floor say.
People keep dancing, ignoring him as he gets himself together, and I realize it’s the suit jacket from earlier.
He’s a lot shorter close up. “The hell was that?” he shouts when he finally gets to his feet, taking a step toward me.
“You didn’t have to be a cunt about it.” I match his step forward.
Yes, there are times to keep space, but there are also times to assert yourself.
The club is too crowded for him to get too out of line.
“It’s best if you go back to your table,” I tell him.
“The fuck is wrong with you?” Depends on who you ask. A hand comes down on his shoulder, making him cringe. He tries to dip out of the hold, but he can’t shake it.
All the air is strangled from my lungs when I see who it is. I thought it was going to be club security of some type, but it’s not. It’s him.