Luca (I Love the Way You Lie #1) (18 page)

I sipped my wine and smiled at the polite conversation’s going on around me. The Gansevoort Hotel was the trendiest bar in the Meat Packing District. I hemmed and hawed about coming here as it’s known for catering to NYC’s upscale elite. We were social workers—blue-collar workers. Not that I was intimidated by anyone, I just didn’t enjoy the snob-vibe this modern haunt had. The music was electrifying, though. My body swayed to the thumping bass—as did the many wall mirrors. However, unease crept its little finger up my spine.

I didn’t dare have this conversation with a soul—even though I spoke to Just Jane about it on occasion; our relationship grew into a friendship and then as colleagues—but I had a sense that I was being watched.
By whom, jackass?
I wondered. I thought long and hard about taking my medication again—I successfully stopped taking it completely two years ago, not that I was against meds per se. If you need to supplement with medication to live a full life, you do it. However, through intensive therapy, education, and work, I didn’t rely on them as heavily as I used to. My head was in a healthy space. It took years after Luca left. He was a major setback. A knot formed in my throat just thinking of him.
You’re a survivor, Allison
, I told myself. It was true; I was a survivor. I wasn’t going to let him ruin another night of my life. Not this night. It was my birthday and I promised Melissa we would have a great time. I shook off the discomfort the best I could and smiled hoping as if people couldn’t see what I was feeling.
Heartbreak.

The DJ’s box was in the far corner. I wanted to request a song, but I was one of those people that became lyrically challenged after a few cocktails. The crowd was blessed with beautiful people who were impeccably dressed. I turned, looking at my dress in the patina scalloped mirror to my left. Melissa had great taste. I did look sexy. Hell, I felt crazy-sexy-beautiful. Yes, I was going to own this night. Enjoy myself. I had many things to be thankful for. Tonight was a night of celebration.

“Smell that?” Her drunken voice was almost purring.

I sniffed. “Smell what? I don’t smell anything except gobs of Dolce and Gabbana cologne.”

She threw her arm over my shoulders. “Someone’s got a vaporizer.”

“A what?” I snapped, refusing to play into her hysterical sensory games. I was eye-rolling hard at her.

“Weed…cannabis…pot…” she yelled, cupping her mouth with her hands. I turned red as everyone started looking at us. “Ganga…herb…”

“Ssshhh already. I hear you. Fuck, I’m standing right here.” I grabbed my wine off the bar, pretending I wasn’t with her.

“Ask me how I know.” She pressed into me seductively. When she was toasted, she got super flirty with me. Not that she was a lesbian, but let’s just say…very over-friendly. Most times, I laughed it off. However, I had to wonder if she did this to attract dudes. I’d have to think on that some more later.

“Okay. Okay. How do you know?” I threw my hands up. “Tell me. I’m dying to know.”

She giggled. “Stop being dramatic,” she spat. Fuck, she needed a mint.

I reached into my clutch for a Listerine strip and popped it into her mouth. Damn, I don’t think she tasted it with all the alcohol she had.

“I can smell it, but there’s no smoke.” She waved her hands like a magician. I laughed. “They have these little pen looking things. Oh, they think they’re slick. I mean, who’s going to walk up to someone and ask…why are you smoking your pen, right?”

I nodded, just trying to appease her. I really didn’t give a fuck about smoking pens. I had real shit to fret over and drive myself crazy with.

“Like him!” She smashed my back and turned me around to face whoever
him
was.

Fuck. It was the scalding-hot-coffee-oops-fuck-me-guy with the tats. He was smoking a pen. Good fucking grief. I turned to run. “Hey, I thought that was you.” His voice was deep and gruff.

“Hi.” I smiled, trying my hardest not to choke on my tongue. He was dressed in dark straight leg jeans with a white collared shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Jesus. “This is Melissa,” I introduced them. Her jaw slacked as she eyed him like a bag of Dove chocolates during period week. I stepped in front of her. She stepped in front of me. Oh, fuck.

“So, you normally smoke pens?” Her voice was full of interest. Kill me now. Please. Just someone do it.

He smiled, taking a long pull, illuminating the blue light at the end. “Want to try?”

“Fuck yes, I wanna try. I was just saying to Allison…” she answered as he showed her how to use it. “This…” Cough. Cough. Cough. “…Is some good shit. And it’s pretty, too. Like a little microphone.” She wobbled a bit.

I rolled my eyes. She was fucking full of shit. “Umm, that’s enough.” I pulled it away from her lips and handed it back to him.

“Mother hen syndrome, huh?” he barked.

I blinked. I wasn’t a mother hen! Was I? I have no idea why, but it annoyed me.

“Totally not!” I nodded toward Melissa. “I take care of my friends. I care.” I shrugged.

He smiled warmly…or was he stoned? I couldn’t tell.

“Well, you’re in luck. It just so happens I take care of my friends, too.” He winked. What was he going on about? I didn’t see anyone with him. After looking around and seeing nada, I decided he was stoned.

“Yeah, you hear that, Allison? He takes care of his friends, too.” She laughed, slapping the wooden bar with her palm. “Scott, can you bring some shots?” she called to the bartender.

“Hey, let’s order some appetizers at least. I would hate for you to ruin your evening by getting sick,” he suggested and we both nodded. “Good, follow me.” We both grabbed our bags and drinks, following him like little puppies. Who wouldn’t follow him?

“Hey, is this guy awesome or what?” she whispered as we weaved through the crowd. My steps were careful; these weren’t shoes I was used to wearing. The last thing I wanted was to face-plant in the middle of this place.

“Shut the fuck up already. Your job is to follow.” I pointed at coffee-man’s back. “Don’t talk and walk at the same time,” I yelled at her discreetly.

“Whatever. I’m just saying…” she continued.

Good god up in heaven. I shook my head to myself, praying this wasn’t a mistake. We followed him to an elevator bank.

He pressed the button up and then turned to face us. “Rooftop.”

Melissa and I looked at one another. What have we gotten ourselves into? I started gnawing the inside of my cheek, pondering all the ways to murder two girls in New York City.

“Have you been to the rooftop bar? It’s one of the best views in Manhattan,” he said, leaning his shoulder against the wall.

“I know, that’s why I brought her here. It’s part of her surprise.” Melissa clapped and turned to me. “Surprise, Al.” She hugged me with the comfort of a straightjacket. Ugh. My god. She had no finesse.

I smiled widely despite my reservations. “Thanks, Mel, and that’s very kind of you…” What was his name? How embarrassing. I never asked.

“Archer…” he responded with a smirk. An inside joke type of smirk…half-laughing. I wanted to smack it off his face.
Something about him
, I thought.
Who are you, Archer?

“Got a last name, Archer?” Melissa chimed in while applying some lip-gloss.
Class act
, I murmured to myself. However, she passed the tube to me and I applied it sheepishly.
When in Rome
, I thought.

“Michaels,” he said as the elevator door opened.
Michaels. Michaels.
He held the door open as Melissa strolled in. While quickly adjusting the girls to make sure they were in place, a shadowy figure moved by the potted palm in the corner.

“Hey, who’s that?” I pointed.

Archer turned around, looking to where I was pointing. “Who’s who?” he asked and then briskly walked me into the elevator, cursing under his breath. What the fuck was he muttering?

I looked at Melissa. She had her compact out, touching up her eye makeup.

“Everything okay?” I asked Archer. “If you need someone to talk to. I’m a therapist,” I offered.

He laughed out loud, startling Melissa. “You are a funny girl; you know that, Allison? Thank you, but no. I’m not the guy that needs counseling.” He continued laughing with vigor, shaking his head.
Well, he’s either fucking crazy or stoned—or both
, I pondered.

The elevator opened with a ding. A doorman opened the foyer door, leading us to the infamous rooftop deck. Fuck. I thought all the pretty people were downstairs in the lobby bar. They were mediocre at best. This…this is where the beautiful people were. Women were tall, slender, and dressed to kill. Or maybe land a millionaire husband? Who knew? Men were impeccably dressed and deliciously handsome. I
smelled
something.
Wealth, security, and arrogance.

A tuxedo-donned maître d’ hurried over. “Sir, your table is ready. This way please.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. Yeah, I knew that smile. I wore it most days. Then again, look what he has to deal with. The crowd was thick with fake-ass snobs.

Our table was situated right under a palm tree with tiny white lights. A waiter moved an outdoor heater to face our table while the other minions worked feverishly placing proper flatware settings for each of us, another pouring sparkling water. A wine steward whispered something to Archer, who just nodded. Melissa beamed as if she won the lottery. After our wine was poured, a huge wood slab was placed on the table with various cheeses, meats, and accompaniments. Holy shit. Maybe we did win the lottery. I didn’t waste another second caring. I had fresh air, food, drinks, and I was off my feet.

Archer dished out rich delicacies and handed us a plate each.

“Hey, I know where I know your name.” Melissa lurched forward. Fuck, she was like Lazarus. Back from the dead. I smiled. I did adore her.

“Oh yeah, where’s that,” he said, licking his finger.

“We just received a grant from your company. You’re Alastair Capital, right?” Her eyes filled with pride. Wait a minute. Alastair?

He unfolded his napkin, flattening it over his thighs. My eyes were trained on his thighs. He quirked a quick eyebrow and turned back to Melissa. Gah. “And that would make
New York City Crisis for Women
your baby?”

“Yep, that’s us,” she offered. “What are the odds that
we
meet you here tonight?” She shook her head, taking a healthy drink of her wine.

I finished chewing the olive in my mouth. “Actually, he’s the guy I told you about. I bumped into him, scalding him with coffee. Remember?” I answered quickly, unfolding my napkin.

I wasn’t one to believe in coincidence. For every action you take creates a ripple in the universe. Synchronicity springs from the deepest source of destiny. Destiny and I were on opposing teams these last few years; no longer united in childhood fallacy. However, there was something to be said about our unconscious—unknown forces. Past, present, and future are all linked. Any movement is felt by us all. Our thoughts immortal and timing was everything. I was a firm believer. My gut told me that
my
belief was going to be triggered.

Archer’s calm demeanor never changed. But mine did. He continued his conversation with Melissa and me. However, my mojo just slipped into neutral. The harsh sounds of chains and snapping twine bounced off the walls of my mind. Once again, the puzzle pieces of my life were forever changing. Dark, cold, nervous energy ran through me, turning my stomach sour. I wanted to cry out. I was in a bar for fuck’s sake. Tiny beads of sweat dropped off my face. I used my napkin to dab my forehead. I built a new life. A whole new me… I reasoned. It was no use…my mind called. The real test has yet to begin.

Luca