Illusions: A prequel novella to Mirage (5 page)

“Good-bye,” I hiss while shooting imaginary daggers at her. I can still hear her laughing by the time she reaches her desk moments later.

***

The office phone rings just as I’m about to leave for the day.

“This is Victoria Powell.”

“Finally,” a familiar voice says, “I got in touch with you.”

“Oh, hey, Daddy. How are you?”

I rely on very few people. Ivy is one, my good friend, Jackson, is another, and then there’s my dad. Since my mother died, he’s really the only family that I have. In reality, he was the only family I ever had, even before my mother’s untimely death. I’m his baby; he would do anything for me, and I know that. I wonder what he would think of me if he knew what his daughter really did for a living. It’s something I ask myself all the time; it keeps me up at night because the answer absolutely terrifies me. If there’s anybody in the world that I don’t want to let down or disappoint, it’s him.

“I’m good. Just wondering when my daughter got too busy to take her old man's calls.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy, it’s just been crazy these last few weeks. I was going to call you, I swear.”

“Sounds like you’re working too hard.”

“It’s just a busy time of the year, but that’s no excuse. How about I drop by to see you one day next week?”

“I’d like that.”

“Me, too. I miss you. I promise I’ll do better with making time to see you.”

“It’s okay, you know. I get that you have a life, and it’s not your job to take care of me. I’m just saying a phone call wouldn’t hurt every once in a while.”

“You’re right.”

“I’ll let you go, then. Talk soon?”

“Talk soon.”

I disconnect the call and sit for a while, trying to shake the feeling of sadness that has permeated the air around me. Talking to my dad,
having
my dad, should make me happy, but the guilt I feel about lying to him gets me every single time. Maybe that’s why I conveniently forget to pick up the telephone to call him at times. I know it may not seem like it, but I hate to lie. Even if it’s a lie of omission, it makes me feel terrible.

I’ve created a world based on a web of lies that is so intricate it could destroy me at any given moment. I won’t allow it to destroy me, though. I’ve become a master illusionist. My entire existence is a façade that I control; people see only what I allow them to see. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t exhausting. It is, but it’s the price I’ve paid for success, for filling my bank account with more money than I ever dreamed of while I was growing up.

It’s not like we were ever poor. My dad worked hard his whole life to give me everything I needed. He provided for me, loved me, and did more as a single dad than some of my friends with two-parent households got. I didn’t want to struggle. I didn’t want to break my back or turn out desperate for money like my mother did. So I ensured that I would never have to worry about money again, but at this juncture in my life, maybe retirement isn’t such a bad idea.

I turn off the lights and lock up the office. I make my way to the car waiting out front for me only then to remember that I’d promised to have dinner with Nathan tonight. Nathan baffles me; no one has ever been as persistent about getting to know me before. I’ve only known him for a few days, hardly enough time to make a judgment about him, but I like how he pushes me. I like that he’s taken enough of an interest in me to be borderline annoying about it and even a little relentless. I’m not used to that kind of behavior from men; I’m used to the ones who give up easily, kind of like Collin when I told him that I was fine with him leaving. If he cared as much as he said he did, then wouldn’t he have fought? Or maybe he just realized that he would be fighting a losing battle.

“Good evening, Miss Powell.”

“Where to?”

There’s no time for me to go home and change, so against my better judgment, I opt to go straight to the restaurant to meet Nathan. “Trattoria.”

He pulls onto the road, and I sit back and stare out the window. The sun is starting to set in the city, and I watch as the buildings and skyscrapers pass by. I watch the people as they rush down the sidewalks and wonder what their story is. Are they hurrying home from a hard day’s work? Do they have someone waiting for them? Are they thinking about a lost love or searching in hopes of finding their soul mate? I make up their stories in my mind because, for some reason, it makes me feel less lonely.

The car comes to a stop, lifting my spell. As the car door opens, my heart skips a beat at the sight of Nathan standing just outside the restaurant's entrance. An easy smile takes shape on his mouth, and instinctively, I reciprocate with a smile of my own. He takes long strides forward and takes hold of my hand just as I exit the car. With a slight tug, he pulls me forward and into a warm embrace. I’m not sure what to do. I stand there frigidly for a moment, feeling awkward and unsure.

“Relax, Victoria. It’s just a hug,” he whispers in my ear, sending a surge of heat down my spine. His words have the desired effect, though, allowing me to relax into him and wrap my arms around him, resting my hands on his back.

“That’s better.”

“Hello, Nathan,” I murmur, pulling away ever so slightly and looking up into his eyes.

“Hi.” His eyes glimmer with a just a hint of humor. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“Me, too.”

He gives my hand a squeeze. “Come on, our table should be ready.”

We walk hand in hand into the trendy restaurant and follow the hostess to our waiting table. I’m impressed that Nathan took the initiative to make a reservation. Most of the men in my past would have left a detail like that up to me. The fact that he thought to do this was a nice surprise. Like any true gentleman, he pulls a chair out for me and waits for me to sit before taking his own seat.

“How have you been?”

I smile, picking up the menu and giving it a quick glance. “I’ve been good. You?”

“Fine. Why have you avoided me the last few days?”

And there it is. I’ve only known him for a few days, but already, I can tell that Nathan isn’t the type of person to hold back. If he has something to say, he has no qualms about just saying it.

“I wouldn’t say that I’ve
avoided
you.”

“Really? What would you say?”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Too busy to answer your phone or respond to a text?”

“Yes.”

“You’re so full of shit.”

“I beg your pardon? You did not just say that to me.”

“I did so say it to you. I’m not the kind of guy to sugarcoat things for you.”

“Fascinating,” I say with a tad more sarcasm than I intended. Our server chooses that moment to interrupt, giving me a slight reprieve from Nathan’s intensity. I can feel his eyes on me as I speak to her, giving her my order with precise detail. Once she’s gone, I reach for my water and take a healthy sip. His gaze never falters. I don’t know if it’s just his natural tendency to give all of his attention or if he’s doing it to unnerve me, but it’s definitely doing the latter.

“So, if you think I’m avoiding you, then why do you keep pursuing me?”

“Because you want me to.”

“Wow. How do you figure that?”

“I can tell by how hard you fight it, but there’s something there, this spark that’s just a little too intriguing for you to completely walk away from so eventually you give in and reply to a text or agree to a dinner you’re not so sure you should be on.”

“You have me all figured out, don’t you?”

“No, but I hope to.”

“What exactly do you envision happening here, Nathan? I think maybe we have two different views on what this is.”

“All right, hit me. What’s your view?”

“I see two people who are worlds apart, two people on very different paths, sharing a one-time meal.”

“Where are those people?”

“They’re you and me.”

“No, that’s not you and me. As far as I see it, you and I are just getting started. We are getting to know each other, and if I have it my way, we’ll get to know each other intimately at some point in the near future.”

“You’re delusional.”

“I’m a realist. You want to hide behind a wall, hide what you really want, because it might make your perfect world a little bit too messy. You’re worried about what my intentions are and about the age difference, which really shouldn’t matter at all.”

“I’m leaving.” I grab my bag, pushing my chair back and coming to a stand.

“Victoria. Sit. Down.”

“No.”

“Sit. Down. We’re just having a conversation. You can’t just walk away from someone because you didn’t like what they had to say.”

“I can do whatever I want.”

“Please, finish dinner with me. I’ll back off for now.”

“For now?”

“Come on, Tori, your food will be out any minute.”

I glare at him while he merely glances at me with what looks like a healthy dose of admiration.
No, I’m not going to let you walk all over me, Nathan.
“All right, fine,” I say, reclaiming my vacant chair. “But don’t say anything else that could be construed as asinine.”

“That might be hard, but I’ll definitely try.”

“And my name is Victoria, not Tori.”

“Got it.” He takes a drink of his wine just as our dinner is brought out.

“So, how was work today?”

“It was good; busy which is always good in my line of work.”

“Where is this spa of yours located?”

“East twenty-eighth between Madison and Park, but I’m opening another location soon.”

“Madison and Park?” he questions his eyebrows arched in surprise. “That screams money.”

“It’s just like any other day spa,” I smile and let out an involuntary giggle, “although it might be slightly more expensive than your average spa.”

“Was that a joke?” He grins, cocking his head to the side.

“Maybe.”

“I didn’t know you were capable of joking.”

“I’m capable of a lot of things.”

“So, what, you just like to give me a hard time? Is that it?”

“I guess I do.”

“So you like me,” he declares.

“How did you work that out?”

“You know when the kids on the playground push each other around, they usually like each other. Same theory.”

“How’s your steak?” I question, trying to avoid this topic of conversation. He really is relentless in his pursuit, and I quickly realize that I have to stay on my toes around him.

“It’s been murdered and burned to perfection. Your shrimp?”

I smile at him. “You have such a way with words. My shrimp is amazing.”

The rest of our meal is finished in companionable silence, and I find that I enjoy spending time with him. Once I begin to relax and let go of all of my worries and preconceived notions, I realize that being around Nathan is easy. He’s obviously not hard on the eyes, he’s intelligent, and his sense of humor seems similar to mine.

“Want to get out of here?” he questions after we’ve finished dinner and he’s paid the check.

“And go where?”

“I don’t know. Let's go for a ride; it’s a nice night.” He comes around to my side of the table and takes my hand, gently tugging me up and out of my chair. He doesn’t give me an option, and I barely have enough time to grab my purse. He leads me outside and bypasses the car that’s idling at the curb waiting for me. We walk hand in hand around the corner and come to stop at a heap of metal that oddly resembles a motorcycle.

“You ever ride before?” he asks, handing me a helmet.

“Uhhh,
no.”

“
It’s easy, just wrap your arms around me, and hang on tight.”

“I’m not getting on that thing,” I declare with as much conviction as I can. He takes the helmet from my hands, unbuckles the straps, and places it on my head.

“It’s safe, Tori. I wouldn’t put you in any danger, I swear.”

There he goes with the Tori again after I already told him not to call me that. No one has ever called me that, and when he does it, I feel it everywhere. He finishes buckling the strap on my helmet; he takes my purse out of my hands, stores it, and mounts the bike, holding out his hand for me to take. “Come on.”

“Nathan, my car is just around the corner. Why don’t we go in that?”

“Because that would be going on a drive, and I want to go on a ride. It’s very different. Hop on, I promise you’ll be fine.”

Fuck
, I say to myself as I shake my head but take his hand anyway. I straddle the bike and Nathan tells me where to put my feet. He pulls my hands tighter around his middle, and seconds later, the bike roars to life.

“Just relax and enjoy the ride, baby,” he calls out just before pulling into traffic. Holy shit, I squash the urge to scream, but I hang on as tight as I possibly can, too tight to be comfortable for him, I’m sure, but I don’t care. Serves him right for forcing me on this death trap; who in the hell rides a motorcycle in New York City anyway? It’s an accident waiting to happen. I let my body meld to his, move with his, and before long, my nerves have calmed down and I begin to enjoy the ride. He speeds us down the highway and over the bridge leading into New Jersey. He maneuvers through the streets like he’s no stranger to these parts. He knows where he’s going, and I’m sure he’s taken this route before.

We pull off into a dirt parking lot, and he brings the bike to a stop. I take the helmet off and Nathan helps me off the bike. When I finally look around, all I see is a dilapidated shack that doubles as an ice-cream shop.

“Ice cream? Seriously? We rode forty-five minutes on your death trap for ice cream?”

“Not just any ice cream. This is the best ice cream in the world.”

“Oh, well then, this I have to see.” Our hands are connected again as he leads me across the parking lot. I glance down, liking the way my hand fits in his and how his hand envelops mine, making me feel secure and protected, even if it’s only an illusion. We order our ice cream and head back outside, sitting side by side on an old bench that might buckle under the pressure of our combined weight at any time. We enjoy the silence, enjoying the ice cream, and more importantly, enjoy each other.

I need to let go of Nathan before I become too attached to him. Everything in me is telling me that he’s dangerous, but I just don’t know why. I’m at odds with myself, a war of emotions between what I want to do and what I think I have to do. It’s not an easy place to be, but with my life being so out of the ordinary, I have to be careful. Any person who I invite in could easily hurt me given the right information.