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Dante
We reached the garage level of my office building. I put the passed-out woman in the passenger seat of my car.
She moaned.
I shut the door and got behind the wheel, pulling out of the parking lot as fast as I could. I turned my to look at her as I entered the jam-packed freeway of traffic. She stirred for a few seconds before slipping back into unconsciousness.
Thank god. I gritted my teeth and pushed my foot down harder on the gas.
Charlotte Everhart.
I’d been there during her initial interview; had watched Jason Clark bombard her with questions. I doubt if anyone else had been able to, but I had smelled her desperation for the job that day. In my line of work, you developed a bloodhound’s nose for desperation. You had to. It could mean the difference between life and death.
She’d hidden her desperation like a pro, even though she’d struck me as very young and way too inexperienced. Yet, she’d sat there and answered every question with a calm professionalism someone twice her age didn’t possess.
Cranky Clark hadn’t be able to trip her up. And he’d tried. I had practically swallowed my tongue laughing as I watched him break a sweat trying.
It didn’t surprise me that she’d gotten the job. I had introduced myself to her all over again on her first day working for the company. I welcomed her to the team, did all the things a good boss should do. Maybe more. Guiltily more. Patting her on the shoulder to feel if her skin was as smooth as it looked, and idling in her way to prolong the conversation.
Once or twice, I’d even made excuses to go see Clark – who I went out of my way to avoid ordinarily – so I could converse with her again.
If Clark hadn’t been one of the top web security experts in the country, I would have sacked his ass a long time ago. He went through administrative assistants like a street whore went through condoms. And that cost me money.
I had given serious thought about finding her another position in the company, but if anybody could handle him, Charlotte Everhart could. And it didn’t hurt that I was attracted to her, even though I had a personal rule of never mixing business with pleasure. It didn’t mean that I couldn’t look though.
Having someone spirited like Ms. Everhart around was a bonus, even if I didn’t get to enjoy it regularly myself. In spite of her spunkiness, there was an innocent hopelessness about her. I knew that feeling, and it drew me to her even more. A little thing that gave me joy. In my world, you had to take little pills of happiness wherever you found them. And Charlotte Everhart was a heaping dose of happy for me.
I peeked over at her limp form again, then cut across the district at an angle, heading for the skyscrapers in the near distance. They shimmered silver in the dark of the sky, glowing with lights that guided the heart like a beacon.
Almost home.
Everyone who moved to San Diego wanted to end up in one of those vast towers, the modern equivalent of a castle. And, living in one was every bit as good as it sounded.
I parked in my spot, which was secluded in a special section of the underground garage, and got out. I eased Charlotte out of her seat and brought her to the elevator. Within moments, the elevator doors opened. Home, finally.
Charlotte stirred in my arms and made a small sound.
My heart raced, but outwardly I remained calm. I was finally home. “Hold on,” I said, putting her down gingerly.
“Where...?”
She shuffled her feet and had almost managed to find her footing by the time I got her to my couch.
“Sit here,” I said, lowering her down. She wobbled in my arms and then collapsed against the cushions.
I left her there and strode into the kitchen for a glass of water. When I came back, she was sitting up straight and looking around. Admiration flashed through me. Her eyes were wide and she had her arms clasped around herself, trying to stop herself from shaking. She was clearly taking in her surroundings, trying valiantly to put the puzzle pieces of how she got here together.
“Here,” I said, holding out the glass of water to her. “Drink. It’ll help clear your head.”
Charlotte accepted the glass. Her soft fingers rubbed against mine. She clasped it with both of her still-trembling hands, holding it close to her chest. “What is it?”
“Water.”
She studied the contents. “You aren’t trying to drug me, are you?” she asked, her brows drawn together in confusion.
“No,” I half-smiled.
“There’s a nail polish that changes color when exposed to date rape drugs,” she said, holding up the glass to look at it. She dipped a finger in the water. Her nails were a delicate shade of purple.
“The color didn’t change,” I pointed out.
“Actually, that particular product is only a concept right now,” she said, her lips curving into the cutest bow. “Since you didn’t freak out, I guess this water is probably safe.”
“I assure you, you’re safe,” I said, smiling at her street smarts.
She took a sip, and then a deeper drink.
I tried to stop staring at her lips. That curve; so unique.
“But that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m safe with you. What happened to me? Where are we?” she asked as she held the glass close to her chest.
“At my place,” I said. “I brought you here because you were involved in an altercation at the office. Do you remember anything?”
“Why didn’t you call an ambulance?” she said, feeling her bruised middle. She had trouble swallowing. Her hand went to the throat, which was tender. Her memory started to return. “The man who attacked you, then me ... I’ve seen him before.”
I ignored her question about calling anyone. “Where? When?”
Charlotte narrowed her eyes as she gazed at me. They were hazel, a shade of amber-green that reflected light in an almost feline manner. “Why?”
“Where did you see this man before?” I insisted.
“Outside. This morning near the office. He smiled at me. I thought he looked familiar. Who is he?”
“That’s not important.” Maybe she didn’t catch that we were brothers.
“Like hell it isn’t! He almost choked the life out of me,” she snapped, wincing at the sudden stab of pain – from which part of her body she wasn’t sure.
She set the glass of water down on the coffee table with a thump. “You have to tell me what’s going on. CEOs don’t get attacked in their offices. That just doesn’t happen unless some shady shit is going down. Otherwise, you would have brought me to a hospital and called the cops instead of taking me to your hideaway-in-the-sky,” she observed, her mind pushing her physical pain aside to decipher the danger she was in. For she knew she was in danger. She just didn’t know how much, or from whom.
I observed the deepening purplish-red coloring on her neck. It was so slender, it’s amazing Stefan hadn’t broken it with the obvious force he’d used. He couldn’t reconcile that a man who had the same blood as he did in his veins could do something like that to a woman. She was right. She deserved to know the truth. Her literal neck was on the line, even though I hated being cornered into an explanation I was neither ready, nor wanted, to give. Before I could screw up the courage to tell her the truth, she continued her guessing game.
“I want to call the police,” she said.
“I can’t let you do that,” I said.
“Why?” she countered.
“Unfortunately, I can’t tell you that either,” I answered. “Why don’t you just relax.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?! Somebody just tried to choke the literal life out of me. You won’t let me call the police. And I’m willing to bet dollars to doughnuts that I’m not free to leave either. So tell me again exactly how I’m supposed to relax.”
“I see your dilemma,” I said calmly, hoping it would keep her calm.
“I’d call it a tad bit more than a dilemma,” she said sarcastically. “Why don’t you start explaining some shit.”
“There’s no need for that kind of language, Ms. Everhart.”
“There’s no need for your level of bullshit, Mr. Grimaldi,” she fired back.
Spunk! This young woman had spunk in spades. I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling.
“Touche,” I said.
“Don’t touche me. Tell me the truth. What the hell is going on,” she said softly, so softly I almost didn’t hear her. “Or is it that you can’t tell the truth? You obviously don’t want attention from the authorities. Does it have something to do with the potential IPO. You can’t afford a scandal right now. Is that it?”
“You’re very perceptive. But no. That’s not it. It’s not in me to worry about stuff like that.”
“Really. Kissing tens of millions of dollars away just like that,” she said, snapping her fingers. “It’s not ‘in you?’ It would be in every fiber of my being if I had that kind of money on the line. So if that’s not it, then what is it? Are you some kind of convicted felon on the run? In a witness protection program? Running from a past life? What exactly is it? And don’t tell me nothing because I can smell bullshit a mile away.”
“Once again, very astute observations, but no,” I said, ignoring the last part of her rant. I had already figured that part out. She was way more astute than anyone her age should be. I wondered what her story was.
“Then there’s only one thing left that makes any sense,” she said slowly. “I didn’t wanna say it, but based on what I heard and saw today, I’m inclined to think there’s more than a little truth to them. I’m gonna ask you direct: are you part of the mob?”
God, the brains on this woman!
“I am not,” I said, picking up the glass she’d emptied and heading for the kitchen.
“You’re lying,” she said flatly, rushing on. “My gut doesn’t lie. You’re in something up to your eyeballs. And apparently, now so am I. Both of us are in deep shit, but only one of us knows why. If the situation were reversed, wouldn’t you want a fighting chance?”
She made it very hard to argue with her using logic like that. “Charlotte...”
“Charlie,” she interrupted. “Nobody calls me Charlotte except for my mother. And seeing as both of our necks are on the line, we might as well get cozy with each other, don’tcha think?”
“Then call me Dante.”
“Ok Dante,” she said, as if she was trying the name on for size. “What fucking gives?”
“And please, let’s clean up the language,” I said. “Someone who looks like you should not be talking like that.”
“Someone who looks like me also shouldn’t have to fight a grown-ass, two-ton man either. My language reflects my situation, so deal with it.”
I chuckled.
“I don’t see any god damned thing funny about this situation, so if you wan tot let me in on the joke, I’m all fucking ears.”
“Ok, now you’re just trying to try my patience with that language.”
“If only ... if only you were as concerned about telling me the truth as you are about my potty mouth,” she threw at me.
“Very well Charlie. You really want to know the truth?”
“I asked, didn’t I? And this,” she said, pointing to her neck, “kind of gives me the right to know don’t you think?”
The bruises were starting to turn a deep, bluish purple. My guilt got the better of me.
“I'm sorry about that. This. All of it.”
“All of what?” she pressed.
“I’m not part of the mob, Charlie. I am the mob,” I said, grabbing the back of a chair and leaning onto it.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“What do you think it means?” I asked, trying not to sound as impatient as I felt. “You asked me to be honest with you, and I am. So there’s your fighting chance. Honest enough?”