I had all the designer stuff taken away, well, most of it. She still needs some evening dresses. In their place, the racks are stuffed with more casual clothes, still good brands, but not the best designer labels money can buy.
“Better. Thank you,” Melissa says, picking out every pink item and shoving each into my arms. “No pink though.”
I take the hangers, curious about this peculiarity, but she turns away, her attention back on the clothes.
“You’re welcome.” My phone buzzes. I drop the clothes she handed me on the bed and step out to take it. It’s a file from Jack with more details on Sean Boyd and I’m starting to figure out why Melissa accepted my offer. What some of those reasons are that she thinks I know nothing about.
She’s been leaving breadcrumbs almost like she wants me to figure it out and I can’t shake one comment in particular. The one that there are worse men than me out there.
I leave her there to get dressed and pour myself a whiskey in the living room. I read the file and it’s not specifically about Melissa, this one. More about what a dick Sean Boyd is.
“Get me financials on the shop too. Wrinkles in Time,” I text. I heard what the woman said about donations to the shelter. That shop can’t be taking in enough for her to live on and donate regularly.
“I’ll have that for you tomorrow,” Jack replies.
I’m just tucking my phone back into my pocket when I see a message pop up about a voice mail. I check my missed calls. When I see the number and realize who it is, I ignore the voice mail.
My brother can fucking wait.
Fifteen minutes later, Melissa appears wearing the deep crimson dress I laid out for her. The silk hugs her close displaying just enough skin to leave you wanting. The color is perfect with her olive coloring and tonight, with her long hair loose down her back, she’s magnificent.
She’s slipping on the matching four-inch sandals and has a small clutch tucked under one arm.
“How do women wear these?” she asks as she gets the second one on and walks toward me.
I don’t think she has any idea how she looks.
“You’re beautiful,” I tell her, unable to drag my eyes from her.
She stands in front of me. “Thanks,” she says. “Again, I feel mostly naked.”
I finish my drink and put the glass down before pushing the button for the elevator. “And like last time, everyone will be wishing you were when they see you. One thing,” I say, and reach into my pocket to take out her driver’s license. A better forgery.
“You made me a new one?”
I nod. “Yours was crap.”
She looks at it, reaches out her hand to take it, but I snatch it away.
“I want to know why you need this,” I tell her.
She looks suspiciously at me. “No personal effects. Terms, remember?”
She’s using my own rule against me.
I concede, holding out the fake license to her. I’ll find out. I always do.
Cautiously, she takes it and slips it into her clutch.
“One day you’ll tell me, Melissa.”
“Why are you so curious?”
“Because you make me curious.”
“I’m not that interesting,” she says.
“I think there’s more to you than you let on.”
She studies me, her eyes searching mine as if trying to glean what I know. But just as she won’t tell, neither will I.
The elevator arrives and, with a hand at her lower back, I guide her inside, take my key out of the slot and tuck it into my pocket then push the button for the lobby.
“Why are you taking me with you?” she asks as she watches the city and I watch her.
“It’s more fun than going alone.”
“Why go at all?” She turns to me. “I don’t get the feeling you’re looking forward to it.”
“I’m not. But I need to talk to a couple of people.”
We get to the lobby where Axel is waiting beside the elevator. He’s on a call but when he sees us, he nods, and disconnects.
We walk out to the waiting sedan and I open the back door for Melissa. Once she’s in, I sit in the passenger seat beside Axel.
“How’s your brother?” I ask him.
Ever since the other night when one of the men at the quarterly draw caught his attention, he’s been talking to his brother almost daily and I want to know what’s up. Axel is my most trusted man. With Hugo living on the east coast, I don’t want to take a chance on losing him.
“Good. Same.” He looks over his shoulder as we head out of the parking lot and merge with traffic. “I may need to head east in a few weeks.”
“How long?”
“A month at most.” He keeps his eyes on the road.
I see the red of a new tattoo creeping up along the collar of his shirt.