The Origin (5 page)

“Hey!” Jocko said as Daniel walked away. “What about you? How do you do it?”

Daniel turned back and shrugged then divulged exactly what he knew. “I don’t know.”

“So how are things?” Stephen
Sommers
, the Chase bank manager, asked as he and Daniel unlocked the bank doors for the day. “I saw you talking to Olivia King yesterday. You two know each other?”

“Went to high school together.” Daniel’s fingers worked on the locks quickly as he was not in the mood for chitchat, not unlike most mornings.

“Oh?” Stephen turned on the lights, each fluorescent light bulb flickering on in quick succession, illuminating the long, narrow bank. “Was she rich back then too?”

“Rich?” He tried to hide his curiosity. He didn’t know dancers made enough money to be considered wealthy by bank managers.

“Yeah, she’s Richard King’s daughter. Didn’t you know?”

Daniel gave up the pretense. “Who is that?”

“Who’s Richard King,” Stephen echoed with a chuckle. “He’s only the CEO of King Industries.”

“The pharmaceutical company?”

“The very one. As well as health,
biologicals
and scientific research. The man practically owns the medical market. His only daughter, Olivia King, is set to inherit the whole empire.”

“So what the hell was she doing here?”

Stephen shrugged. “She wanted access to an old account.”

Daniel whistled between his teeth, unable to reconcile the image of a spoiled rich brat with the friendly, honest woman he’d had dinner with last night. Olivia, the only daughter of a
bazillionnaire
? No wonder she had seemed so poised, so sure of herself; the woman was quite literally American royalty.

As the day wore on and nothing of interest happened, Daniel’s thoughts kept wandering over to Olivia’s perfectly proportioned lips. He had wanted to kiss her last night at the doorway, had actually come close to giving in to the impulse, but was afraid that if he ever did, his head would come apart and he’d find it impossible to hide his true nature.

So what? Would it be so terrible if she knew you had powers?
a resentful voice said in his head.
Would it be so terrible to share your life with someone else? Doesn’t saving all those people at least make you worthy of being loved?

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. What the hell was he thinking? They had only had one date. Why was he all of a sudden thinking of love? What made her so different from other women to warrant a starring role in his daydreams? She was just one woman among many, after all. Beautiful, but nothing special.

Olivia King cannot be permitted to remain in my life
, he thought resolutely.
If she stays, she will be my undoing.

* * * * *

“Okay, so I gave you the customary three days,” Daniel’s Undoing said as soon as he picked up his cell phone. She had just emerged from costume fittings, and after finding no messages or missed calls from a particular former jock, had called him out of sheer impatience.

“What three days?” the gravelly voice said on the other line. She couldn’t help herself; she had to smile. Catching him off-guard was just too much fun.

“You know, when guys don’t call a girl for three days to prove that they’re in control?” she said with a hint of mockery in her voice. As a veteran of the dating game, she knew and often ridiculed all of the rules. “Well, it’s the fourth day now and I’m wondering where my phone call is.”

She heard a soft chuckle out of him and pictured the corner of his lips curling into a grin – which was a rare event in itself – and a long dimple appearing on his scruffy right cheek.

“How do you know I’m not just blowing you off?” he said.

She paused. “Are you?” For a moment she wondered if she’d interpreted all of his signs inaccurately; he had seemed so into her. She remembered the way his grey eyes had followed her every move, how he had looked at her as though she was the only person in the room, and decided that she could not have read him wrong. There was no mistaking
that
look.

Daniel paused for a long time before he said, “I don’t know. I just can’t have a relationship right now. Being involved with someone is just… it’s complicated.”

“Are you already with someone?”

“No.”

“Are you married?”

“No.”

“Are you gay?”

“No.”

Olivia hesitated, realizing that he obviously found fault in her and she’d be damned if she pursued a guy to convince him she was worthy of his time. There was only so much her healthy ego could bear. “Ah. Okay then. In that case, it has been nice catching up with you. Good luck with everything.”

As soon as she hung up, she felt the disappointment settling into her chest. She had been upfront with him from the beginning, hoping to sidestep all of the idiotic games that entailed dating in New York. After being involved with many men, most of whom had either been moody actors or temperamental dancers, she’d finally had enough of the drama. She had hoped that Daniel would be the change she needed, and oh, how it stung to be wrong.

The silver phone in her palm began to vibrate and she answered it with trepidation. “Hello?”

“It’s just that, I’ve been alone for a long time,” Daniel said, his words slow and reluctant. “The way things are right now, by myself, it’s simple and uncomplicated.”

“Uncomplicated?” She sighed with impatience. “I don’t know why you keep saying that word. I’m just trying to get to know you. But I’m not about to beg you to date me. If you’re not into me, just say so and let’s get on with our separate lives.”

She felt free once she was done talking. She had released the words to the universe, hoping that by doing the complete opposite of what she had learned in the dating world, she had somehow triggered a cosmic change in her life.

“And for the record, dating me will not signal the end of your life as you know it,” she said wryly. “I’m a dancer, not the harbinger of doom.”

* * * * *

Daniel looked at himself in the mirror and felt his stomach muscles clenching from nerves. Olivia had been blunt, had told him exactly what she expected. He liked knowing what she wanted from him (even if he himself didn’t know), for as much as he wished they had never crossed paths, he inexplicably couldn’t stay away.

“She’ll be the death of me,” he muttered as he patted on a small amount of cologne on his jaw, then pulled on the grey
v-neck
sweater that showed off his muscles. He supposed he’d been lucky, as he hadn’t had to work out since his football days in high school. Somehow, despite how much he ate and how little he actually lifted weights, his muscles had remained firm. His pectorals were still well defined, and his six-pack was cut as though he regularly trained to be a Spartan. The
Perma
-Muscles that women (and men) lusted after was one of the few side effects of his abnormality that he could definitely live with.

It was seven-thirty by the time Daniel rose from the bar stool and canceled his table reservation with the hostess of Morton’s Steakhouse. After an hour of waiting, he finally came to terms with the fact that Olivia was a no-show, a move that he would be the first to admit he deserved. Now he, too, knew what it felt like to be jerked around.

As he walked out of the restaurant, the cold wind slapped his face, reminding him that winter had definitely taken up residence in New York City. Pretty soon the snow would follow and, along with the twinkling lights and the incessant holiday songs, would serve as a constant reminder that he had nobody to spend the holiday season with yet again. Not that he cared or anything.

It’s better this way
, he thought bitterly, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
I would have had to buy her a gift otherwise. And no power in the world can help me in that department.

Once, in seventh grade, he’d bought his girlfriend a birthday gift consisting of a gardening magazine and a card, which he’d signed quickly in front of her, using the girl’s own pen. She had not been too impressed. Unfortunately, the years had not refined his gift-giving skills. If anything, he might have gotten worse.

“Daniel!”

He spun around, searching for a familiar face among the crowd of pedestrians. A moment later, he was startled to find Olivia standing in front of him, panting and out of breath. “I’m so sorry!” she said, her breath coming out in rapid, foggy wisps. “Opening night’s in four days, so rehearsals ran late. I couldn’t get out.”

He glanced down at the black leggings sticking out of her fuzzy boots, then up at her hair, which was still up in a bun, and realized that she hadn’t even changed out of her dance clothes. She looked less put together than her pristine normal self, which served to help her case.

“You could have called.”

“I couldn’t. Maggie makes us leave our phones off during rehearsals.” She looked at him in earnest and touched his arm. “I really am sorry.”

“Who’s Maggie now?”

“She’s the Ballet Master.”

Daniel sighed. “Come on, I’ll take you home.” He placed a hand on the curve of her back and urged her to walk. “What are you rehearsing anyway?”

“Swan Lake,” she said, her face lighting up. “I’ll be dancing as Odette.”

“Oh, who’s dancing as the swan then?”

“Odette
is
a swan,” she said, trying to suppress a grin.

He was about to confess that he knew nothing of ballet aside from the tutus and the pink slippers, when his stomach chose that very moment to rumble loudly above the New York din.

“You didn’t eat?” Olivia said in surprise. When he shook his head, she grasped his hand and pulled him to the hot dog stand at the corner, mumbling something about a ruined diet. “Three, please.”

“What’ll it be?” the vendor said, waving his large tongs around.

“One plain and…” She turned to Daniel, who said, “Everything on the rest.”

A few minutes later, they were back on their way with steaming hotdogs in their possession.

“I wouldn’t have pictured you for a sidewalk hot dog kind of girl,” Daniel said, polishing off his first hotdog in three bites. “Sidewalk caviar and truffles maybe, but not a mystery-meat sandwich.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged and swallowed. “Just that you can afford whatever you want and, here you are, eating dollar hotdogs.”

“How do you know?” Her almond eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“The bank manager might have mentioned something…” he said, hoping Stephen would not get in trouble from his admission. “About you being one of the richest people in the country.”

She sighed. “That would be my father, not me. Besides, I live off of my own money. I pulled that silver spoon out of my ass a long time ago.”

Daniel grinned at the visual, suddenly unable to think of anything but her ass.

“Does that change things?” she said, breaking through his
x-rated
thoughts. “Is that why you thought I’d be complicated?”

“Huh? Oh, no. No. I didn’t say you were complicated, I just said I like my life uncomplicated.”

“That sounds very close to the same thing.”

He grinned. “But it isn’t.”

“That is what my therapist would call splitting hairs, my friend.”

“You have a therapist?” He hoped his voice didn’t betray his shock. She had always seemed so composed and rational, that the very idea of her needing any type of mental help struck him as ludicrous. If anyone needed a shrink from this odd pairing, it most definitely was not Olivia King.

She laughed. “Of course. Every sane New Yorker has one.”

“What’s wrong… I mean, why do you need one?”

Olivia sobered, regretting the decision to mention her therapist. Most everyone she knew had seen a psychiatrist at least once in his or her life, but she’d almost forgotten that Daniel was relatively new to the frenzy of New York City.

Fantastic, now he thinks I’m unbalanced.

She sighed, realizing the truth was the only option of avoiding looking like a psycho. “I started seeing one after my mother’s… death. And I kept going because it’s beneficial for my career to be as healthy as possible, mentally and physically,” she said, and added quickly, “I see a physical therapist and masseuse too, once a week. Seeing Dr.
Vogele
is more of a tune-up now, rather than an engine overhaul.”

His lips twitched, and she knew he appreciated the analogy. “When was the last time you saw her,
er
, him?” he said.

“Her. Doctor Kara
Vogele
. And last week.” She looked up at Daniel and knew what he was itching to ask but couldn’t bring himself to say. “And yes, I have talked about you.”