Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
LOLA
I think about buying booze, but really, I'm not a good drinker. Two drinks and I'm wasted. Besides, I turned down drinks with Ruby because I can't afford two nights out. Even if I didn't buy my drink, and Ruby had my second one last night, I still put money down as a tip.
So, buying a bottle of something means I might as well have gone out with Ruby.
Instead, I sit on my bed in the dark, sipping water, and as the streetlight filters through and a siren fills the night, I sigh and rest my chin on my knees. I let myself finally soak in the events of the day.
It is not the fact that the CEO changed, I'm aware these things happen.
I just still can't believe the new CEO is Enzo flipping Marino, and he is back in my life.
The more I think of it, and of him, the more certain I am that it is no coincidence.
Because what else would he be but an extension of his father's arm?
Enzo stirs up a storm in me.
As a kid, he was my everything: prince, friend, the boy who protected me until...
Until he didn't.
Until our parents fell out and he vanished from my life.
His father was vindictive, and I know he is still alive, so it makes sense he sent his son looking for me.
But why? To wipe me off the planet, too, I imagine. After all, I don't have money. I don't have anything to do with what Dad did for work. I wouldn't even know where to start. And even if I did, I wouldn't want to.
Maybe I should quit. Now that I know how to keep my real name off things, I could do that, couldn't I? The only people who know all my real details are HR. And that stuff is private.
If I quit, I will get something else.
I put my glass on the side table and hug my knees.
The thing is, it took so long to get this job, and I studied for it. New York is big, the perfect place to not be seen.
But he has seen me. So...
I grit my teeth.
So, nothing. I'm not going to quit.
Being unemployed with a degree I don't have much experience with is frightening, and Barwon is a good place.
I'm not letting Enzo Marino chase me away.
Besides, the idea of being unemployed again makes me want to throw up. The market is tight, and I'm untried. So, I need to stick with this job for at least six months.
My breath shudders out of me as I fight the burning pressure in my eyes.
I'm not going to cry.
I refuse to let self-pity take me.
Or grief.
As for anger? Fuck. I can't let that one out, either.
Because the truth is, the real tragedy here is I'm the thing caught between the jagged rock and the hard place.
I can't work for him because of who he is, and I can't go and get another job.
Things like waitress and barista are available, or working in a shop, but everything I think of—everything that has the possibility of paying me enough to meet my bills—needs someone better than me, worse, it needs someone with more experience than me.
And here I figured I would be dandy with my computer science degree, when it turned out that my real name slams doors, leaving me here at Barwon as Lola, with no other jobs out there.
I don't have time to waste looking for work.
Maybe... Maybe I could work and look?
I curl my toes in my sheets.
Or is the world I'm in too small to job hop?
I'm betting any market is too small to job hop, even here. And especially for me, someone with my grand old years of work experience reaching not even one.
I just wish I knew what went down.
All I know is Enzo went from hero to zero and cut contact with me. I know he has a sister. I only remember her as a baby from when he was last in my life. Their mom was dead, too.
I thought he was the best, thought we had a bond.
I was wrong.
I was...how old was I?
I can't remember my exact age, but I was something like thirteen when he vanished. His entire family vanished.
Not even a word.
While I don't know what happened between our dads—and mine refused to tell me anything other than they were now out of our lives, and to be careful of Mr. Marino as he would do anything to destroy him—I couldn't fathom how it affected Enzo.
But it did.
And after the falling out, as I got older, Dad got more haggard, more stressed, as it became clear the Marino family did what they could to ruin Dad. Ruin us.
I never understood it. I still don't. It is too Shakespearian in a way to go from closest of close to hate and revenge over things that are muddied—at least to me.
Because it is clear to me that one moment in time was the turning point for Dad, and life wasn't ever the same. And I could, if I could bear it, trace back his death to that pinnacle of the family going from close friends to enemies.
Enzo and his father are to blame.
They might as well have shot him dead themselves.
Worse, whatever paths they shut down for Dad left him with no option but to follow darker ones. And I was there.
I might not know the details or who Dad mixed with—he went out of his way to mostly keep me from that side of him—but it was clear that Dad gave up, and with only the crime-ridden paths open, he got involved in things that screwed things up even more.
Shit.
I stand by it. The Marino family might well have shot him themselves. Because I know one thing—Dad would still be alive if Enzo's dad hadn't fucked him over.
I sit up, finish my water, and then reach for my Kindle.
My phone, which I put on silent, is glowing bright, and my stupid heart starts to beat wildly.
I have already seen Ruby, and it's not like anyone else texts me.
Apart from WN.
I shouldn't be excited, especially after he didn't respond to my texts.
The word "negging" crosses my mind, but I don't think he is doing that. We aren't dating, there has been nothing said about names, let alone meeting, and he has never negged me before.
Hell.
It is him.
I devour his text.
WN
Sorry not to respond immediately with a million texts, but I have now collated all evidence, studied the photos in the name of science. All of them. And concluded they are your panties. And you indeed took them off for the entire day.
I stare at the screen, trying to come up with something flirty and clever.
But I can't.
I take a deep breath.
Me
I'm surprised you didn't ask for a DNA sample.
WN
I’m not a complete pervert. How long did you last?
Me
Into the evening. I forgot.
This isn't my usual sass that I throw at him. I would say something like I didn't realize there was a time limit, or maybe I'm a Pandora's box, or something flirty and maybe funny. Something he can bounce off, and then I can bounce off him.
It is what we now do, and normally, I love it.
Normally.
Tonight, I feel anything but normal.
He takes a while to write back.
WN
A man can read a lot into forgot.
Again, he is giving me an opening.
Me
And sometimes a girl forgets.
WN
Underwear?
Me
It happens.
WN
You also sent me a peek into your bag.
Panic flutters, and I shakily swipe through the photos because what if I had a box of tampons, or a period cup, or something?
I have both, and it depends on my mood. But there are just the million and one folded photocopies that are sitting on my small kitchen counter because I forgot to shred them. And the dirty little book I'm reading.
That is my own personal bet. I could read it on my Kindle, but I think it is funny to read a smutty book on the train. It is not even a romance, it is sex under the guise of a girl who gets a happy ending with group cock.
So far, it is a little disappointing. It is frilly with just enough sex to make a girl feel naughty. If they are going to market a book like that as smut for the thinking woman and not make it a romance per se, then bring on the smut.
I'm no expert, but if it is meant to be sex, give me no-holds-barred sex.
Book form feels safer and cleaner than real life.
Me
And?
I think he is going to comment on that book.
WN
Wild Bets?
Bingo.
I half-smile, trying to throw myself into this conversation I know would normally have me hugging myself and singing, dancing in the apartment because he is my escape from real life.
But normal is turning out to be a real bitch.
When I don't respond, I get another incoming text.
WN
Your book?
Me
What about it?
WN
Tell me all about it.
A shiver runs down my spine, but all I say is, It's a book on owning the betting tables.
WN
Uh huh.
Me
Go read it yourself.
He takes a few moments, but another text comes in.
WN
Hey, what's wrong?
My throat strangles as my heart squeezes down into a little lump, and I give a half sob.
I can't tell him what is wrong. I don't know him, and he doesn't know me. It isn't fair. Just like I can't tell anyone from work that I happen to know Enzo. If I did that, it would look bad, like I'm trying to get favors or something.
And—
I stop.
Maybe what I need is to vent to someone who doesn't know me or Enzo, someone who would just listen without passing judgment.
Wrong Number is that person.
He has told me about his horrible dates, non-dates, and boring dates. He has never asked for anything more, especially when I have put on the brakes.
But this time, he asked. He can tell something is up.
Me
Sorry, it's been a shitty couple of days.
WN
As your unbiased sounding board and virtual shoulder, I'm here if you want to vent.
Hells, do I want to vent.
Me
I just found out we have a new CEO, and it's someone I know.
WN
Good or bad?
Me
Bad. He and his father destroyed my family, and I have no wish to work for him. I hate him.
WN takes a while to respond.
WN
What about changing jobs?
Me
In all honesty, my experience is nil, and it took a long time to get this one.
WN
So, you need to stay on. Are you sure he's out to get you?
Me
I don't know if he is, but I hate him. I'm ready to burst with all these horrible, negative feelings his reappearance has stirred up. How can I trust someone I hate so passionately? Someone who doesn't like me?
WN
Devil's advocate here. What if he does like you?
Me
I doubt it. But it's more than that. I don't trust him. What if the startup isn't on the up and up?
WN
So, you're questioning your whole career?
Me
I guess. I just don't know what to do.
If you had asked me last week if I would open up to a mystery man, a wrong number, in a way that feels far more intimate than sending him my panty photos, cleavage shots, and flirty exchanges, I would have said you were insane.
But for some reason, I trust him.
WN
I wouldn't quit, but I'd be wary. How about I give you the number of a PI I know?
My cheeks flame as I type,I can't afford that.
WN
You wouldn't need to pay a cent.
Me
You can't, either.
I'm not about to owe him anything.
WN
I won't. The PI owes me, so it will make everyone even. And no one's paying anything or owes anyone a thing if you say yes.
I take a breath.
Me
It's kind, but I can't.
WN
Look, Mystery Girl, I have used him, and I know him. I just think if you want to, and I think you should, have this Enzo investigated.
Me
I don't know.
WN
Maybe a look into his past will help you decide what to do. If he's dirty, move on, if he's not, then it might help you to move past everything else and put it all aside for the sake of your career.
Me
Like a background check?
WN
Exactly.
Me
Okay.
WN
I will send the details.
I wait for him to do that. And it is a good idea, but not for the reasons he is suggesting.
Maybe I can uncover what went down, and even if I can't, then I might get some dirt on Enzo and his father—dirt I can use to force him to leave or at least leave me alone.
I'm not sure I can oust a CEO.
Me
Thanks for this. I think it will be an immense help.
I pause. It is odd to be talking so intimately and honestly without knowing his name. He knows things about my life, the fact there is history with me and someone named Enzo, and I know nothing about him.
WN
No problem.
Me
Do you think this is strange?
WN
Your dilemma or...?
Me
Us. You know all kinds of things now about me, but not my name.
WN
Fair's fair. You don't know mine.
Me
Or why you hired a PI once.
WN
For a friend. What can I say? I'm a good guy.
It makes me smile.
Me
A good guy who's nameless.
WN
Then let's change that. I'm Alex.
Alex.
I smile.
It is elegant and strong. A good name.
No, Alex is a cute name. He texts like an Alex, I decide.
I take the plunge.
Me
Nice to meet you, Alex. I'm Lola.