I nod. Sara knows about my mob connections. She's a friend of the family, so to speak. She's gotten a couple of gigs because she knows the right people, but I try to keep her out of the darker parts of my life.
I want to talk to her about Bond, but I can't tell her exactly what's happening. Until things are certain and I have a ring on my finger, I can't really tell anyone about this. At least not all of it.
“So, you'll never believe this. I met a guy last night at the piano bar.”
Sara's eyes light up. “Cara, you little minx! Tell me all about him.”
The other patrons look over, but then look back at their newspapers and coffee. I grin at her and make a Shh sign. “What do you want to know?”
“Was he rich?”
Of course that would be the first question Sara would ask. “Yes, I think he was rich.”
“Was he tall, dark, and handsome?”
I thought back to meeting Bond. He was at least six feet tall, definitely a good looking man, and those eyes were dark enough to steal my soul. I nod my head. “There's just one thing.”
“There's always a catch.”
“He's not a good dresser.”
Sara laughs. “Deal breaker. You can have him. I won't steal him away from you.”
I wanted to tell her more. I wanted to get an opinion of what I should do, but I don't want to put Sara at risk with information she shouldn't have.
“I'll need that in writing,” I tease, changing my mind about telling her more.
“You got it. Let's order,” Sara says. “I have to meet my client in three hours and I am not going on an empty stomach.”
It's early December, but the tight jeans and sweater I pick out should keep me warm enough. Today is supposed to have sunshine. It looks quite a bit like Sara's outfit from earlier. I smile at the way the jeans and sweater hug my own curves. Working with what Mama gave you, I thought.
My thoughts flash back to my mom for a moment, and I quickly push the darkness that often follows from my mind. Today is all about fun, all about the now, and I shouldn't be thinking about the past at all. I take one last look in the mirror, wink at myself, then stroll out the door.
The piano bar never picks up until later in the evening, so it's practically deserted. However, there is one man sitting at the far side of the bar, nursing a drink.
For a moment, my breath is taken away again. Even from this distance, his dark brown eyes seem to pierce into my soul. He smiles, a wry, crooked smile that seems to show off just how handsome and confident he is.
He waves at me and I walk over to him. Again, his eyes wander up and down my body, making no move to disguise himself. It's an attractive quality, to be honest. He knows what he wants. As I get closer, I see he's wearing an expensive suit jacket and pants over a white, button up shirt. It's definitely nicer than what he was wearing last night.
“Hey there, Vesper” he says.
“Hey there, Bond,” I reply. I wave my hand up and down his body. “I feel like I may have under-dressed for this. You're all dressed up now.”
He chuckles. “It's all part of being a spy,” he says. He gestures to the bar stool next to him, and I sit down. He orders me the same drink I was drinking yesterday.
“How was your day at work?” he asks.
“Work?” I say, forgetting that was my excuse for leaving so early last night. “Oh. Work. Stressful, but fine,” I say, recovering quickly.
“Great. What did you say you do again?”
I draw in a deep breath. “I didn't,” I say. I don't want to get caught in a lie, just in case he knows something about retail or whatever. I don't dare say anything about mattresses.
There's a pause between us. “Fair enough,” he says when he finally figures out that I'm not talking.
“How about yourself?” I ask.
He makes a tsk tsk sound. “I'll tell you, if you tell me,” he says.