Mr. Mysterious In Black (5 page)

Sulking like a teenager, I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. Such was most certainly out of character for me.
Oh, this man…

He looked amused again. “What do you enjoy? Your pastime?”

His gaze was so penetrating, I couldn’t help the thought that he was trying to tell me something with his eyes. What did he want me to see? The lighting in the club was inadequate to tell, anyways.

“Fashion designing, reading fiction and listening to Pink’s music.”

Turning sideward, he lapped one leg beneath the other, rested his elbow on the top edge of the banquette and seated his chin in his palm. Taking on the form of relaxation. “Interesting,” he nodded. “Do you have a profile with your designs?”

“Um, no. I’d given up the thought of making it a career. Landing a solid job in the field has proved improbable in this crammed city. Now it’s just pastime or design on demand.”

“So what have you thought about doing career-wise? Well, other than this.” He waved his hand toward the stage, then raised his eyebrow at me in the most unique way I’ve ever seen. It’s so far up and perfectly arched. That’s…hot.
Smoking hot!

Trying to focus on the conversation, I cleared my throat. “There’s nothing else that I’d
love
to do second to designing. But I just have to take whatever comes. Designing is all I know. I’d acquired my Bachelor’s in fashion designing two years ago and had thought about going for my Master’s, but after not being able get anywhere in the field…” I shrugged. Hard work doesn’t always pay off.

He didn’t censor me as I’d expect him to. Instead, he offered, “I know a designer. He owes me a great deal of favors. He has a grand fashion house here. I’ll talk with him and get you an interview. In the meantime you can start a compilation of your designs and create a profile.”

Befuddled I was at his kindness. Why would he do that? He doesn’t even know me. “Okay Mister, whoever you are, I believe in saving myself—and others’—time. And pain. People tend to lie to themselves, even when they know the truth. I don’t. You
want
something from me. What is it? Tell me and I’ll assure you if I can provide such assistance or not. The kindness and gratuity is superfluous. Trust me, it’ll save us both a lot of time if we’re aboveboard with each other.”

He did that damned thing with his eyebrow again and it made me
want
him. Badly. How the hell was I so affected by him?

Trying not to squirm, I quickly continued, “You either want a screw buddy, a relationship, someone to tether up and whip around or someone to kill in heightening of your homicidal acts.”

He blinked at me, clearly not amused. With impregnable eyes, he only stared at me. Intellect told me he was schooling his irritation.

My respiratory cycle ceased, he intimidated me to the very core. And I wasn’t a woman who feared easily. I possessed an intrepid, unyielding personality. A foolhardy, should I dare be self-deprecating.

But
this man…

He closed his eyes, inhaled slowly, then exhaled. “Just one thing,” he voiced in a quiet tone. “Only to be your friend.”

That answer was unexpected and…disappointing.

“Is that too much for you to give, Sadie? Is that time-saving enough?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

My eyes dropped to my drink on the table as I now felt awful. Maybe he was
really
just trying to be kind. Maybe. “No. That’s fine. We can be friends.”

Could I really just be friends with such a tempting man
?

“Good. So will you allow my aid in getting you the interview?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he repeated, appeased. “I’m glad you’ve gathered your wits and decided to leave this God-awful place. I feared I’d have to drag you out of here myself.” He murmured the latter more to himself than to me.

I would’ve questioned that addition, but I’d already come to the conclusion that the man was like a giant Rubik’s Cube. If we would eventually be friends, as he requested, then I’d stealthily try to decipher him myself because I didn’t trust that he would be truthful if I asked.

“It was a means to an end.”

“An explanation is not needed, Sadie. Judging is Jesus’s job, not mine. You’ve worked for less than a week and already you’re quitting. That says plenty.”

Uncurling his leg from beneath the other, he leaned forward, took a sip of his drink, then directed his gaze out to the dance floor. My eyes took the opportunity to devour him, good-looking sonuvabitch that he was. Dressed in the only shade I’d ever seen him worn, all-black.

He was quiet and pensive, prompting me to wonder what he was thinking about. He dropped his head in his hands and began rubbing his temples with his thumbs. Something was wrong. Did he remember I was still beside him?

He spoke before I could ask. “I heard you had an accident and your car was totaled. Do you have a ride home?”

Tico is such a blabber! I’m going slit his frickin’ tongue.
“Yes. My friend, Kash, always takes me home.”

He nodded, then a minute later he lifted his head to face me. His impassivity was superseded by some other expression I couldn’t quite discern. Care? Concern? Compassion? “Are you okay otherwise?’’

I nodded.

“In
every
way, you are okay?”

A nod repeated.

“Are you sure?”

Jeez
. What’s it to him? Maybe I should just leave, he was much too bewildering. And the fact that I desired him prompted me to question my sanity. I nodded again in reply and rose to my feet. “I should get going.”

His mouth opened as if to object but then he evidently resigned himself. “Yeah. Okay.”

Taking out his wallet, he withdrew seven crisp one hundred dollar bills and handed them to me.

“No. This is too much,” I rejected. I wasn’t even going to charge him.

“No. It’s not. You’ve been good company. Besides,
seven
is my favorite number at the moment.”

Huh?
“Gratis. I haven’t even given you a dance. We’ve been—”

“Please take the damn money and don’t argue with me,” he snapped.

Shell-shocked at his tone, I glowered at him, unable to speak.

He ran a hand through his hair and softened his expression. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “That’s what I want to pay. It’s not too much. In fact, it’s too little.”

“But what if I don’t want it?”

“Then I’ll find some other way to get it to you. You can either take it from
my
hands now or get conned into taking it from someone else. And it will be doubled by then.”

Someone else like
Tico
, I’m sure.

I glared at this disparate male in confusion before capitulating. What an odd man. And one who’s too handsome for his own good.

As I made to leave I realized that he hadn’t requested my number. Given his inexplicable familiarity, I considered the possibility that he already had it, but I decided not to risk the opportunity of a job interview. “You didn’t take my number.”

He looked up at me through his too-long lashes, and for the first time since I’d been here, he smiled. A disarming, I-can-make-you-cum-like-this smile.
My, my, he is such a fine specimen.

Disappointment suddenly jabbed at me. It’s been a millennium since I’ve been this attracted to anyone. But this man wanted only friendship. And on top of that he scares the living daylights out of me and confuses me to the point of brain pain.

“I’ll give you mine,” he said smoothly. He reached inside his jacket pocket for a business card and proffered it. But when I reached for it, he frowned at some unknown thought and retracted, returning the card from whence it came. “I’ll voice it.”

I shook my head at his umpteenth bewildering action for the night, took out my cell phone and transcribed the numbers to my phone as he said them. My cell phone prompted me for a name and I realized then that I’d been chattering with the man, agreeing to friendship, accepting favors, lusting, and I didn’t even know his name. “Um, I didn’t get your name.”

Smile number two was even more beguiling. He leaned forward with his palms flat on his thighs, just as he’d done earlier, fixed his eyes on mine and breathed, “Natalio.”

And I couldn’t, for the life of me, command my eyes to leave his. Why did he say his name like that? Hope-filled and promising.
This man is…I don’t know.

Once again, I couldn’t shake the thought that he was trying to tell me something with his eyes. But what? I shook my head to clear it, entered his name and saved the number. My ears were not oblivious to his heavy sigh as he leaned back on the banquette.

Unable to utter another syllable to this mystifying man, I exited the booth and strolled with purpose through the lights-flashing, music-pumping club. Resisting the urge to look back at the perplexing Mr. Mysterious in Black who wanted only to be my
friend.

I
was clothed in white. All-white. And there was a crown of Lilies upon my head. I was standing on a river bank, gazing at the cascading waterfall. The sound was heavenly and the skies above me were clear. More temperate the weather couldn’t have been. Whiter than snow were the clouds, and its bluest blue was the sky. The water splashed the river bank, asking me to trust it. So I stepped from the bank and into the river. It was soothing, and clear. Very clear. I stared at my feet in the transparent water, then wiggled my toes. Whisperingly, the water responded. It pleaded for my trust, and I yielded. I waded deeper into the cool river water, spread my arms and fell back. The river caught me, assuring me of its virtue, and sent me afloat. Away I floated, dressed in all-white, my arms spread wide…

My eyes flickered open. Wow, that has got to be the most peaceful dream I’ve ever had in my life. With a resident smile, I swung out of bed. My mood was much more favorable than yesterday’s. Glancing at my bedside clock, I noted it was almost noon.

The doorbell rang and I knew, without doubt, that it was Kelsy. On a moan, I slugged myself from the bedroom, down the hall and through the living room. My fingers had scarcely turned the doorknob when Kelsy, my dear friend, barged in.

“Hey, grumpy,” she lilted as she popped a gum bubble.

“Sup, nuisance? Where’s Tev?” I yawned, rubbing my eyes.

She plopped herself on the couch and switched on the television. “Working.”

I snorted. “Working or hustling?”

Kelsy shrugged. “Same difference.”

Excusing myself, I disappeared to the bathroom to freshen up and popped a Ginko biloba pill down my throat. It was a medication I took each day to hopefully help me with my memory. You see, my father used to be an abusive man to both my mother and I. And seven years ago, he’d whacked me in the head with a baseball bat, which had sent me into a two-day coma. I’d woken up with retrograde amnesia, not remembering anything that’d happened prior to the head injury. Although my doctor had told me that recalling events close to the injury was rare or unlikely, as years went by pieces of my memory sluggishly came back to me. Doctors say that it may not be my memory but my imagination. But don’t they all think they know everything? Even my own damn memory? What do they have to say to people who just become miraculously healed from deathly illness like cancer? My thought about doctors is simply this: they are not
God
.

I knew they were
my
memories, because people from my past had confirmed the events I recalled as true and exact. Which is how I remembered that the reason I’d been battered by my father—may the devil torture his hellacious soul—was because I’d slept out when I was only seventeen years of age. It had happened the morning after
that
night. That night that I was glad my memory refused to jog down.

I plodded back into the living room where Kelsy was sprawled on the sofa watching some crappy MTV reality show. The apartment that I shared with my absent roommate was a luxurious one and was more than I should’ve been able to afford. But my roommate, Brenda, was another rich gal like Kelsy, and her moneybag parents had bought her the place. Through mutual friendship with Kelsy, she charged me rent for less than what it’s worth.

It screamed modern, with high end furniture and appliances. My bedroom was big enough to be divided into two bedrooms for a regular-sized apartment, and my bathroom was half that size. Yep, I slept on a king-size bed, watched a fifty-inch flat-screen television and cooked in a gourmet-style kitchen. One would never believe I was up to my neck in debts with the way I dwelled. All the people around me were prosperous, except me. I was just a sponger. Funny, isn’t it?

Making my way into the kitchen, I opened the cupboards on my side, scanning the contents. Ramen Noodle would have to suffice. Eking on my paltry stipend, I’d have to top up on groceries later. I set a mug of water in the microwave to heat.

“So what’re ya plans for today?” Kelsy asked from the living area.

“Staying in and sketching. Creating a profile is in thought.”

Kelsy turned to look at me, folding her arms on the edge of the sofa and resting her chin atop. “What brought that on?”

To my surprise, I blushed.
Uh, what the heck?
“I have this, um, friend who knows some grand designer and has offered to get me a job interview.”