18. Xavier
EIGHTEEN
XAVIER
She's not coming, you bloody fool. Why would she?
The doubt gnaws at me, sharpening my frustration, as I sit here waiting in vain.
"She'll be here. I just have to wait a little longer," I mumble to myself, as the waiter passes me by once again and gives me an annoyed glance, as I refuse to order until she arrives.
She's already more than twenty minutes late, so maybe she didn't get my flowers and card?
I pull out my phone and once more confirm that it's her shocked features from the nose down, in the delivery receipt the florist sent me.
You're so pathetic. Just look at you sitting here, discarded, waiting for even a small morsel of attention from her.
I ignore his snide comments and signal for the waiter to bring me another gin on the rocks. If she doesn't show up, I might have to get drunk off my ass just to drown his incessant crowing.
Suddenly, all the hair at the back of my neck prickles and stands on end.
I turn slowly in my seat towards the restaurant's entrance, and holy shit, there she is, and fuck me, she looks breathtaking.
She's wearing a sexy red dress, that not only accentuates her curves, but makes her pale skin glow.
Her gaze narrows in my direction before she takes steps toward my table, and I can feel every man's, and even some women's, eyes glued to her.
Instead of causing me jealousy, it fills me with pride that she's here for me.
I rise from my seat, my eyes slowly roaming over her from her black-heeled feet to the top of her brown-tressed head.
She's allowed her hair to remain down, instead of the ponytails and buns she usually wears, and the dark waves cascade down her back in a shimmering mass.
My glance rises to her face, and I almost swallow my tongue when I notice she's painted her lips to match her dress, and made her eyes all smoky.
"Good evening, Scarlett. Thank you for joining me." My voice comes out as a deep rumble to match the pounding of my heart. I have to clench my hands to keep them at my sides instead of reaching for her. She's pure temptation. A vixen right out of my dreams, and tonight it seems she's all mine.
"Thank you for the flowers and the invitation.
" She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes.
I pull out her chair, and she elegantly sits, crossing her sexy legs, and the hem of the dress rises to reveal a deep slit on the side that exposes her thigh.
I stifle my groan, and discreetly adjust myself behind her before regaining my seat, catching the man at the next table winking at me in approval.
She's fucking mine! I want to yell, grab the steak knife on the table, and slam it into his eye, but instead I sit across from Scarlett and try to control my reaction to her proximity.
"I... ah... I am genuinely sorry about earlier today. It was messy and unnecessary on my part. I know you're doing your best to catch Ashmaker." Her eyes narrow before she paints a fake, pleasant expression on her face, and I want to instantly demand she knock it off and call me out on my shit.
She licks her lips, and the action instantly has me enthralled. I'm leaning towards her across the table, and reaching for her face as if to touch it, before I even realize what I'm doing.
A loud braying laugh sounds in my head, and it has me coming to a sudden halt mid-motion as she stares at me with both concern, and what I think might be intrigue.
I quickly place my hand down on the table, and feign that I was just reaching for the menu to place it in front of her.
She clears her throat and stares at the menu, as if it might jump from the table and bite her.
"You were doing your job. I understand the pressures of one's career, and the need to get ahead. "
It's my turn to stare at her with suspicion. Why is she being so gracious? She should be telling me I'm a prick and letting me have it, but instead she's quiet and reserved.
Oh my, she's playing with you. Either that or she's dumb as shit.
My jaw clenches tightly, and I feel myself quickly losing control to the anger rising inside of me.
"Let's cut the shit, shall we, Scarlett?
I was a massive cunt to you and your... partner," I grit out.
"You can feel free to cuss me out, maybe even throw my drink in my face if you feel so inclined. "
She inclines her head and stares at me through those dark chocolate eyes, and it makes me wonder what she's truly witnessing.
Can she see right through the facade I wear like a second skin?
Does she glimpse the man and the monster underneath?
We share similar drives: to be the best at what we do.
The difference is, she thinks the best way to accomplish that is to catch killers like Ashmaker and me.
Whereas I know she would feel so much better if she just let herself be unrestrained, and followed her more primal instincts.
There's a lot to be said for staining one's hands with the blood of others; it's a very freeing state of mind.
"How very gracious of you." She snorts, and it's fucking adorable. "Telling me what I should feel, and how I should behave towards you. Do you make the same offer to all your dinner companions?"
The waiter comes over and interrupts us before I can respond, and I stew in my need to keep her interacting with only me. "What is your most expensive bottle of wine?" She inquires without looking in my direction.
"That would be our Chateau Margaux, madame, at just over nineteen hundred dollars a bottle." The waiter replies with excitement. Ah shit, I should have known she would make me pay for my earlier deeds one way or the other. It looks like my bank account will be taking the hit tonight.
Better that than your face, don't you think?
She raises an eyebrow in my direction, but I keep my lips sealed, refusing to contradict her.
"We'll take that, please." She opens the menu in front of her, and I watch with amusement as her long black nail trails down the offerings, and I can guess with certainty that she's about to select the most expensive items on the menu.
"I'll take the Grand Caviar Service to start, and the Kobe Wagyu Beef as my main. "
A quick glance at the menu in front of me reveals that she's ordered another thousand dollars' worth of food. Jesus fuck. It will be fine, everything will be okay, and she's worth it, I reassure myself. To be this close to her, I would pay anything, even for overpriced fish eggs.
I'm starting to really like this chick; she knows how to fuck with you.
The waiter looks at me expectantly, and I mumble with a visceral gulp to bring me the same, despite having already selected something else much cheaper in my head.
I have money, enough to get by and live comfortably, but I'm not fucking rolling in it either, at least not yet.
The journalist thing is mainly a cover story for me, and most of my income primarily comes from the dark web.
My skills, let's say, are high-priced commodities.
Once we are alone, and her attention is solely on me again, I try to clarify what I meant.
"I don't... umm... make the same offer. I...
fuck, I'm making it worse, aren't I?" Her lips quirk upwards in enjoyment, the little sadist. I'm floundering like a teenager on his first date, and right now I don't know how to fix it.
No woman has ever made me feel this awkward and self-conscious.
Everything in me wants her to fall for me, to want me just as much as I want her, and she will.
I'll make damn sure of it. She's my Spitfire, mine, not anyone else's.
You sure about that? She looked really cozy with her partner earlier. He even drove her around. They spend a lot of time alone with each other. I'll bet he fucks her real good.
SHUT THE FUCK UP! I blare inside my head, feeling my blood pressure rise right along with my body's temperature.
"Tell me about yourself, Xavier," she requests, nodding to the waiter who has reappeared with the bottle of wine that costs more than the monthly lease on my loft. He pours for both of us before slinking away like the little weasel he is, and I think about how to respond to her request.
Yeah, Xavier, go ahead and tell her how you like to clean up after murderers, and like to do a little torture, mutilation, and killing of your own. It should go over really well with the FBI agent.
"I... I grew up right here in the city," I blurt out, and want to instantly slap myself with how pathetic that sounded.
"Where did you receive your journalism degree?
" Damn, going right to the nitty-gritty.
I know for a fact that with just a few swipes through her FBI database, she'd have that information available to her.
Is she testing me to see if I deviate from my story?
I won't. I built my cover to withstand the highest scrutiny, even the FBI's.
The truth is I never went to college, and everything I know about the world is self-taught.
I've always been a sponge with a photographic memory.
"Browns. You went to the University of Maryland, correct?" Two can play at this game, Scarlett, and I guarantee that I know a lot more about you than you do about me.
"Significant other, parents, siblings," she questions while taking a sip of the expensive wine, a dark red drop remaining on her bottom lip. I watch as her tongue lashes seductively at it, and it has my cock rising to full attention and straining against my zipper.
"Are you profiling me, Scarlett, or am I auditioning for something?" I chuckle.
Yeah, a death sentence, and a one-way ticket to an electric chair.
"Interesting choice of words, Xavier. Why would I be profiling you?
Do you have something to hide?" She leans forward in her chair, giving me an amazing glimpse of her breasts in the snug bodice of her dress.
My mind misfires, all my thoughts revolving only on how delicious she probably tastes, and how she'd be moaning my name while I suck on her hard, pebbled nipples I can see clearly in the outline of the fabric.
You should get up and leave while you still can, fool. You're playing with fire here.
"I'm an open book, Scarlett. Can we say the same about you?"