Delusive (2 page)

“Dad,” I called softly. “Please don’t cry. You’re breaking my heart.”

“It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?” he rasped, waving me off with a sad smile. “I was always the one to say you should never show anyone how you really feel inside. I guess I don’t ever want you to wind up like me.” He dismissed me with a wave of his hand. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

Knowing he wouldn’t be fine—he never would be—my need to maintain my optimistic mood was erased. With a sigh, I headed out of the door and toward my car.

I started up my fifteen-year-old Cavalier, purchased shortly after we’d arrived in California. Parked on someone’s lawn, with the asking price chalked on the window, the car was one of the first things I encountered when I entered the state. Once my father and I settled into town, I called the owner right away and used what little was left of my cash to purchase it.

Making my way to the mall, I drove past the well-manicured lush green lawns and cookie cutter brick houses. The neighborhood was eerily quiet. The first night I had spent here, I had a terrible time figuring out how to sleep. Eventually, I made a playlist of street noises, and listening to it did the trick.

I ARRIVED AT the sprawling shopping center—a partial outdoor mall—with less than one minute to get to work before I’d be considered late. Several restaurants and coffee shops decorated the park directly across from the frontage road to the west of the mall. With so many businesses located in one place, it made me think the parking situation would be a nightmare during holidays and weekends.
 

I set my gaze upward, observing the bright day with very few clouds in the pale blue sky. I looked back at the various restaurants in the plaza across from the mall determining which one I’d visit for my lunch break.
 

“Hanley!” The effusive, screechy voice of the assistant manager, Skylar, echoed throughout the park. Leaned up against the brick wall, not far from the large circular water fountain, she smoked a cigarette. She was dressed in a skintight pencil skirt and a sheer black shirt opened at the collar, showcasing the lace accents of her leopard print bra and ample cleavage. She looked more stunning in person than she did on the video chat. Her shoulder-length lilac-hued hair was styled down in curly waves. Her alabaster skin was perfectly made up with bright fuchsia lipstick and winged-out liner accenting her azure eyes. Colorful tattoos lined her arms and her décolletage, giving her a beautiful edge. Flashing a grin at me, she put out her cigarette underneath her heel. Checking for traffic on the access road, she made her way toward me.

I waved at her and slowed down my stride, allowing her to catch up to me.

A loud roar of an engine and the squeal of tires prevented me from walking across the lane alongside the quad. The large hunk of metal, bumped my legs and made me stumble to the ground. My skirt flew up, and with my knees bared, the gravel scraped a layer of skin off them. I looked up at the wide grill, marked in the center with an “SS.” I didn’t need to see the car to know the make and model. My mother had a Chevy Nova just like it.
 

Skylar ran to my rescue, nearly tripping in her four and half inch red suede stilettos. She grabbed my forearm and helped me to stand. “Are you okay?

Nodding, I dusted myself off and stood.

“Watch where you are going, dickwad!” she yelled at the two men in the front seat of the classic muscle car. The passenger flipped her off and rolled down the window. He stuck his head out of the window, shouting, “Move your fat asses out of the way.”

Skylar and I gasped at the same time. She hastily slipped her hand from mine and strode over to the passenger’s side. As she began cursing at him in rapid fire English, I was almost certain she began to speak in another dialect I couldn’t discern the origin of.

I lifted my skirt and eyed the damage. Shaking my head, I tried to adjust the hem and hide the evidence that I was wounded, but my skirt was far too short to succeed in covering up the scrape. The blood from my wound trickled down my dark brown knees. “Just fucking great,” I muttered with a sigh.

“Interesting language,” said a deep voice with just a hint of raspiness and an intoxicating amount of sultriness.
 

The fragranced notes of his cologne tickled my nose and screamed of a man who knew when, how, and where to spend his money. Just behind me, I felt a heated aura dance, calling me to turn around.

Dark green eyes set between dense black eyelashes met my round, brown ones and smiled at me. A well-groomed, thick, dark brow—that angled up at the arch and curved downward—lifted up in speculation.
 

“What’s so interesting about it?” I questioned him.

His brow furrowed, creating faint lines in the tan skin on his forehead. His bitable lips seemed to struggle with a smile, revealing dimples in the center of his cheeks. To my five-ten height—more so in heels—he nearly towered over me. From his perfectly tapered haircut, taming almost black hair into a perfectly sleek but messy style, to his black-on-black suit, sans tie, the guy was obviously a gigolo, or someone with too much money to play around with.

Taking note of the sharp look he gave me, I crossed my arms and frowned. “You’re judging me for cursing when you almost killed me?”

"I don't mind a few ‘fucks’ every now and again. Some occasions call for it. Other occasions call for a lot of fucks. However, the word isn’t befitting of a woman who looks the way you do." His smile was unrestrained, showcasing just how deep his dimples were and completely knocked away what little was left of my anger.
 

Dimples. The feature served as kryptonite to my stoicism. There was more to his smile than what’s considered to be a facial muscle deformity. It was incomparable to anything I’d seen before. Without it, he seemed intimidating and brooding. With it, he appeared to be a charismatic man who had the ability to melt the most frigid person to have ever existed.
 

“You almost ran me over. Fuck was necessary." I glimpsed at his friend arguing with Skylar while he remained in the passenger seat. Skylar appeared on the verge of kicking the door in.

The man in front of me extended his hand up in the air, snapping his fingers loud enough to echo. It was effortless and smooth, and when he did it, he never took his eyes off me. His action quieted the man in the passenger seat right away. Nevertheless, it did not quiet Skylar. “I apologize for the accident. I was…preoccupied.”

I turned my gaze back to the gentleman in front of me, who seemed visibly pleased he’d recaptured my undivided attention. “Oh!” I slapped my hand on my forehead, finally making sense of what I didn’t understand. “He’s your partner?” I pointed to the man in the passenger seat a little too excitedly. I immediately dropped my hand, tempering my smile. “You really shouldn’t give—or I guess in your case, receive—head while you’re driving; it’s dangerous. I’m okay now, but what if you had hit a kid? How would you explain that to the police?”

“What?” His voice heightened just a little and his eyes widened. My question and his reaction created a tangible tension between us. He threw his head back, showcasing his prominent jawline, and laughed, diminishing my sudden discomfort. “That’s not what I meant.” The piercing gaze made me feel like I was the only one in the galaxy as it settled back on me. “I’m not gay. Neither is my friend. I meant I was preoccupied with staring at you.”

I dropped my chin, shaking my head. I continued to shake my head while stepping backward. In another life, I would’ve forgiven him and been the one to ask him out, but my circumstances were less than ideal for a relationship at this point. “I’m sure you’re a really nice guy, but I can’t. I’m sorry. I really have to go.” Walking to the passenger side of the car, I grabbed Skylar shortly after she’d kicked up her foot, cursed her skirt for being restrictive, hiked up her skirt, and kicked the car door.

When the passenger decided to get out of the car, we both quickened our pace to escape inside the mall. We looked less than cute while doing so thanks to our very high heels.

“Oh shit!” She clutched her heart, suddenly looking flushed. “I can’t believe
I
did that. Do you know whose car that was? I didn’t know until I saw him after I dented his car. Oh, he’s going sue me out of house and home. Not like it’s much, but he’ll do it just be an even bigger asshole than he already is. What do I do?”

With our arms remaining linked, we walked at a steadier pace down the corridor. She consistently slapped her hand across her forehead while muttering to herself.

“Who was that guy?” I looked behind us, reeling over the whole ordeal. “Is he a prostitute?”

She giggled. “He looks like the type, huh? No. His family is a bit of a celebrity around here. His father was some big-time racecar driver turned entrepreneur. Does the name Cari Properties mean anything to you? This mall is one of many controlled and owned by his father’s firm. The architectural firm who did this place? The guy you met owns it. Elias Cari is his name, and Elias Cari Architects is the name of the business.”

Suddenly, I felt sick to my stomach.

“Usually, girls go all gaga when they know he comes from money." She scrutinized me. "You look like I told you he was a monster who ate babies. Bad past with a beautiful and rich asshole?”

“You could say that,” I replied, unwilling to divulge the details.
 

The attraction was instant and would have to be abated. His father was the reason I was here, and Elias was supposed to be a tool for a particular purpose. My trepidation became stifling, making it difficult to breathe.
 

I’d caught Elias’s attention before I was ready to receive it. I only hoped his mild interest in me was transient.

Once we reached the store, I helped Skylar open.
 

La Dentelle was an exclusive boutique chain that only built brick and mortar stores in affluent areas. I had never visited a single store, having never really been one who liked pricey lingerie. As an employee, I would pretend to be the store’s greatest fan. The materials used for the garments were luxurious and not ones that could be easily thrown away after a year or two of use. From what I could see from the way they were artistically displayed on the shelves and racks, they were definitely beautiful pieces. I was told during my post-interview to wear them to work, and somehow find a way to showcase one of the bras while wearing them, but I couldn’t talk myself into paying for one of the cheapest pieces they had in stock; a bra priced at nearly eighty-dollars. They recently launched a beauty line with products equally as expensive as the lingerie.

Skylar promptly escorted me to the counter and tended to my scraped knee. I looked around the store, noting the French-provincial theme in the furnishings and decorations.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Skylar said, bandaging me up. After she was done, she scanned the store with pride. “It reminds me of when I went to Paris and stayed at this bed and breakfast place.”

“I’ve never been. How was Paris?” I asked cheerfully.

“Gorgeous. I’ve been there so many times, I’m bored with it. But you should go.” She looked in the mirror and turned around to palm her round behind. “He was right. My ass looks just as ginormous as my tits.”

“Skylar,” I groaned, disappointed that she would allow an insignificant man’s insults to affect her. “You have a body many women secretly envy and most men would ogle. He was just a jerk.”
 

She winked at me in the mirror. “Flirt.”

I leaned over the counter, putting my chin on my palm, watching her run her hands over the steep curves of her form.

She gasped and marched up to me. “I can see down your shirt! Why are you wearing that cheap bra and not a La Dentelle bra?”

Standing up straight, I fluttered my eyelashes and cast my guilty gaze to the white faux marble effect on the concrete floor. “I couldn’t afford it.”

She squinted at me. “I knew you were faking your love for the brand in the interview. You think what everyone else does. They think it’s an overpriced underwear store full of clown-faced bitches.”

Stunned at her acidic tirade, I gawked at her. “I didn’t mean to offend you—”

“Hanley, I’m just kidding.” She grinned broadly, easing my worry. “I thought the same thing when I first worked here, but we’re the highest paid non-department store workers in the entire mall. You’ll forget all about your modesty and show off your tits soon enough.” She examined my breasts, her attention darting to each one as though visibly weighing them. “What are you? A thirty-six between a C and a D? I can make you a double D.”

“How did you know that?” I asked, covering up my breasts with my hands to protect them from her X-ray vision.

“Eventually you’ll have an eye for it, too. I’ve seen so many women’s tits Hugh Hefner would be jealous.” She marched around the store and pulled out a golden lace brocade bustier from the wooden rack, resembling a wall unit for a walk-in closet. “Put this on underneath your button-up. Make sure it can be seen.”

“I can’t afford it.”

“You get a thirty-five percent discount.” From behind me, she grabbed my hips and pushed me along. “Go. Try it on. There’s no one in the store and there won’t be anyone for a while.”

I took the garment into one of the dressing rooms at the back of the store.
 

After I wrestled with removing my bra, I pulled on the bustier, having trouble with the clasps.