Rearranging Fate, page 14
“That’s right.”
“You get free grub with that?”
“Bob doesn’t let any of his staff go hungry.”
She jerks a shoulder. “That’s cool. Damian doesn’t want me to work, or I’d be hitting up this Bob for a job.”
“Your job is to go to school,” reminds Damian firmly. “Get good grades. You don’t need to work.”
“But I want to work. All my friends have jobs.”
It’s my turn to swivel between them.
“We’ve talked about this, Elle. The discussion was closed.”
“You talked about it. I’m reopening the dicuss-”
“Here we are.” Sissy slants me an irritated look, letting me know I’m a waste of space in her eyes, before setting the hot drinks on the table. “The pies will be right out. Bob needs to see you in the office.”
The last part was said with superiority to me.
“Excuse me,” I mutter, feeling eyes burning a hole on me as I venture to the back room.
Bob is half sitting, half leaning against the old metal desk with a lost, faraway expression. I thought he might have zoned out, but he grimly tells me to shut the door as soon as I see him.
Sweat dots his upper lip, and his apron is askew like he’s been yanking at it out of frustration. His meaty hands are clasping the edge of the desk as though he’s afraid he might slide into a puddle mess if he doesn’t. Normally robust shoulders droop as much as his belly.
Abrupt dread churns in my stomach.
Something’s off.
He’s got eyes for a phantom spot on the tarnished linoleum. This has to be bad for Bob not to be able to look at me.
“A friend of mine works for Immigration and Customs Enforcement,” he begins, knowing I prefer the straightforward approach. “Someone-we don’t know who-reported ya as an undocumented worker, Cara. One account doesn’t usually warrant a raid, but I was advised that, to be on the safe side, we oughta have ya lay low for a while.”
Just like that, the precarious ground beneath me grinds to ashes.
A powerful lump seizes my throat. “For how long?”
Slowly, painfully, he shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
I force-swallow the tears demanding their way out. “Where will I go?”
As soon as the terrified words were out, I wanted to take them back. It’s not Bob’s concern. He’s got enough to worry about, and I can’t bring down a formidable government agency on his little diner.
“Stay with Mrs. Fernandez for now,” he says to the worn floor. “Not many people know ya live there.”
The small nod is all I can conjure up for Bob. Betrayal gnaws at me, a vicious, unreasonable venom, even if I know in my gut it’s not fair to blame him. He’s only ever tried to help me be normal.
My fingers are trembling so fiercely I try three times to untie the apron around me before it loosens. Setting it aside, it feels like a part of me is fading. Crippling me. Stupid, really. It’s just my uniform.
An identity, one I embraced all my adult life when there was nothing I could claim. Love’s was the only place where I felt I belonged.
“Thank you, Bob.” Don’t cry. I have to stop, inhale deeply. “Thank you for taking a chance on me. You were...” Once more I need a minute. Need to suck in shaky air for strength, beyond caring now that I’m sobbing. He needs to know, and I need to say it. “You’ve been like a father to me.”
“Goddamn it, girl.” He’s meeting my gaze now, and I’m shocked to find it swimming. “You’re coming back.”
We both know that’s not going to happen.
I’m numb. That must be it because I don’t remember putting on my jacket or pushing out of Love’s, possibly for the final time. The last image imprinted in my mind before I realize I’m trekking down the cold alley is Bob’s heavy arms around me, blindly attempting to reassure us both that everything will be okay.
The lively, upbeat holiday decorations mock me as I round out of the backstreet to the sidewalk. Icy air spears my flesh to my bones. I shiver in my secondhand outerwear, terrified and wondering, glumly, if this is just the beginning of the end.
No one will hire me. I have a couple of grands put away, but that will go fast if I don’t get another job soon.
Damian promised he would help me reestablish my identity. I have to trust him to keep his word and that it would work. I have no other choice.
I won’t go back to St. Christopher.
Instinctively, my gaze veers to the diner window. Damian is digging into the pie with his sister, perfectly relaxed and content.
So normal.
At the cozy sight, my heart squeezes with helpless envy.
18
~ Damian ~
“I couldn’t figure why you brought me here at first. This isn’t exactly a place where you would normally take me.” Elle’s cheeks puff out as she considers me, then picks up her fork with enthusiasm. “She’s pretty. Older than she looks,” she acknowledges casually as she stuffs her mouth with a hearty bite. “She doesn’t seem into you though. You must be losing your touch.” The mischievous, teasing glint in her eyes tells another story.
I point my fork at her smirk before poking it into my plate. “Don’t you worry about me.”
“When it comes to you and women, I don’t worry.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“’Cuz you’ll bomb every time.” The fork is set aside momentarily for the oversized cup. “On the serious? Are you sure you want to go through with this baby thing? It’s a big decision.”
My sister wouldn’t be the first to voice concerns. “I’ve never been more certain about anything. Whether or not Cara is the one to make it happen, it remains to be seen. I hope she is. Me? I’m one-hundred percent committed.”
“You’re, like, really hooked on her, aren’t you?” Cheekily, she purses her lips. “You’ve been staring at that kitchen door ever since she went through it fifteen minutes ago.”
Am I that obvious? “I was hoping for a refill.”
She snorts and jerks her chin toward a table out of my view. “Our waitress is over there, eye-gobbling you from afar. I think she left a trail on the floor.”
I lift my own cup, not wanting to be reminded of the server who was so callously disrespectful to the future mother of my child. The loathsome act wasn’t apparent. If I didn’t happen to be ogling Cara, I wouldn’t have caught the waitress-Sissy, as she’s constantly, annoyingly reminding me-deliberately, spitefully lobbing the utensils to the floor at Cara. This is the last time I’m sitting at one of her tables.
Taking my time, I sip at the lukewarm drink. “I am mouthwatering.”
“I meant from her panties.”
My instant scowl chokes on green tea. Elle’s comfortable laughter has her falling back against the vinyl bench.
“That coming from my sister was too disturbing to comment,” I say when I can finally manage, clearing my throat. “I don’t even want to think about what’s going through your mind. Or what goes on at that student housing of yours.”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. I’m not eight anymore. And stop acting like a father. You’re not one yet, and you’re definitely not mine.”
There’s no need to remind her Alan Delevan wouldn’t have the time to care about her mind or where she lives. That goes without saying.
I take a sip of the cooling tea. “All right, finish up. It’s getting late, and it’s a school night.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she grumbles but plows into her dessert anyway. “This is really good. The cafeteria food is okay, but this is way better than anything they got.”
As Elle goes on to share with quite the passion about food, her friends and food, her friends with other friends, food and clothes, and on and on, something pulls my gaze out the window. A lone silhouette drags by, a petite figure huddling in a puffy jacket. It’s dark out, but I’m able to catch glimpses of piled-up blonde hair under the blinking holiday lights.
I’m out of the booth before I have time to think.
“Where are you going?”
“Be right back,” I call out in response to Elle’s startled question even as I’m tramping away, throwing out a hand to shove open the café door. “Cara.”
She’s ten feet away, her head tucked low, hands stuffed inside the jacket pockets while she visibly shivers. At my call, she jerks to a stop and quickly swipes her face before reluctantly glancing up. A small family carrying store bags part around her.
“Hi.”
Sensing her need to ignore them, I choose not to comment on her damp cheeks. “Are you done for the day?”
For some reason, that makes her lip quiver. She nods but can’t manage a sound.
It must’ve been that fucking server. I swear, if she got Cara in trouble... there goes that girl’s fucking tip.
I take a step closer. “May I take you home?”
At that, she shakes her head, dislodging a tear. “Subway.”
“It’s late. Let me give you a ride. Please,” I add when she looks ready to refuse me again.
Red, green, orange, and blue lights twinkle, highlighting her in soft, multi-color flashes.
“What about your sister?” The words hardly penetrate through the urban clamors around us.
“She doesn’t live far from here. If you don’t mind, we can drop her off first.”
The glance away was brief as though she didn’t want to be caught debating. “What if... what if I don’t want to go home?”
“I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.” No hesitation. No pondering needed.
She takes her time, but she finally nods.
“My car is this way. Let me get you situated, then I need to take care of the check.”
I make quick work of depositing her with Pete lest she changes her mind. Silently, I communicate to my driver not to let her out of his sight. I’m whipping out my wallet before I’m completely through the café’s front door.
“I thought you stiffed me with the bill,” Elle jokes as soon as she sees me. She frowns when she takes in my stony features. “What’s the matter?”
“Cara’s waiting in the car. Something’s upset her.”
I take care of business, and in less than ten minutes of leaving Cara, Elle and I are making our way to the car.
“Hey, bro? Maybe Lo can come get me,” Elle suggests when we’re outside. “Cara doesn’t know me, and I doubt she’d want to cry on a stranger’s shoulder. This would be a good opportunity to show her what a great, caring guy you are. You know, sensitive and all that? Chicks eat that shit up.”
“I’m not abandoning you.”
“Lo is five minutes away. You can wait until he gets here, if you want.” She stalls me with a hand on my forearm. “Admit it, it’s a good plan, and I have a feeling you need all the help you can get.”
I cut her a sardonic look. “Thanks for the pep talk and the confidence booster.”
“Dude, please. You know I’m right. Cara doesn’t seem like girls her age. I mean, she’s only a few years older than me, but there’s a vibe about her. She looks young, but her soul is, like, totally 80’s. She’s not even going to let you tap that without you working for it.”
Elle doesn’t know about Cara’s background, but considering she’s surrounded by women in that age group on a daily basis, she should know better than me.
I’m shaking my head as I extract my phone to text her guard. “Again, I don’t want to know what goes on in that university of yours.”
She grins. “You just work on kneading the dough to put that bun in the oven, but don’t forget to warm it up first.”
WITH NO KNOWN DESTINATION, Pete spends twenty minutes leisurely cruising the streets with streetlights and bright holiday radiances breaching the night. It’s not late by city standards, but the humming energy is noticeably breaking. The discreet driver doesn’t appear to mind the lack of direction.
And I don’t mind the peaceful silence from the woman seated next to me, dejectedly ruminating while staring out the window as though the white fluff beginning to fall holds the answers to her many secrets.
At least there doesn’t seem to be more tears. Briefly, I catch Pete’s questioning gaze in the rearview mirror, but I merely shake my head.
Not giving it a second’s hesitation, I reach over the few inches between us for her stiff fingers. She doesn’t fling my hand away or try to gouge my eyes out with her keys, so I mark that under the win column.
“Are you comfortable?” I murmur. The calm dimness calls for whispered words.
She doesn’t deviate from the window. “Yes.”
When she doesn’t offer anything further, I ask, “Where would you like to go?”
“Your place.”
The sedan lurches before jolting abruptly to a steady pace.
I steal a second, two, watching her avoid my searching gaze and the flush creeping up her neck, and slash over to meet Pete’s sheepish gaze in the mirror with a perceptible nod.
Like the car, my chest is suddenly quaking, a tightness binding my airwaves. The hand beneath mine is cold yet restless, twitching as though unsure what it wants to do.
Pete’s throat rumbles. “By the way, Miss Elle is safely home.”
Good. “Remind Lo to make sure she’s turning in for the night.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And to lock up.”
“Of course.”
“Your sister is an adult.” The voice flits through the car, quiet but firm. Cara hasn’t moved, but she’s obviously following the brief exchange. “Why do you treat her like a child?”
She obviously had a bad day, I have to remind myself. I won’t point out my relationship with my only sibling is none of her concern. “She’s nineteen,” I say instead. “Barely an adult, and one that’s been spoiled all of her life.”
Slowly, her head swivels to me. Exquisite but guarded gray eyes meet mine. “Whose fault is that?”
So, she wants to start a debate. A fight, even. Would that yank her out of her desolation? A distraction to keep from dark thoughts?
I won’t take the bait. “We should be home in about ten minutes.”
“This isn’t the house where you took me to, is it?”
“No.” I’m grateful she didn’t say kidnapped. “This is the home where I stay when I’m in the city.”
“How many residences do you have?”
“Enough to be comfortable.”
“One is comfortable. Two is a luxury. More than that? It’s ridiculously excessive.”
Her lips are gorgeous. Inviting in its pale pink softness. I watch the words form on them, moving to release each sound, and can’t find any annoyance from her mild verdict.
“Perhaps,” I agree easily, deliberately tearing my eyes away from sweet temptation.
She won’t be appeased. “How rich are you?” she pushes.
Shifting with awkwardness, Pete’s gaze slants to the mirror and just as quickly averts. He looks like he’d rather be getting a blunt prostate exam.
Oddly enough, her line of questioning doesn’t bother me in the lest. From anyone else, I might call out the ill-mannered prying, but not with Cara. “Rich enough for ridiculous excess, as you called it.”
“Which means you’re one of those.”
“One of those?” For some reason, I find her disgusted tone humorous. “Those being a handsome, financially secure man?”
“Those being the shallow, apathetic who can’t be bothered with someone you deem less than you. Which is, unquestionably, everyone who’s not you.”
That earns her a chuckle.
I don’t miss her delicate quiver at my unexpected reaction. “You seem to believe you know me.”
“I know your type.”
With that, she returns her gaze to the window.
“Excellent.” I divert my gaze to the opposite window. “I’ll enjoy changing your mind.”
“Mr. Damian?” Pete interrupts. “We’ve just been notified by the building you have a guest waiting for you at the penthouse.”
I frown at that announcement. There are only two people who are permitted entry to my home while I’m not there. I just had dinner with one of them, and Ivan has a hot date. “Who?”
“Your father.”
19
~ Cara ~
I wince at the taut grip Damian has on my hand. The intensity emitting off the man is palpable, fistfuls of apprehension or anger or frustration. It can be any of those things and more. His large strides eat up the marble floor of the regal building and straight into the classy elevator with its subdue glamour and reflective doors, not giving me a chance to secretly admire the massive and wondrously decorated tree in the lobby. There’s no chance to take in or appreciate the posh charm, the glittery yet tasteful holiday decor. I don’t think he realizes he still has my hand and that I’m scrambling to keep up with his openly aggressive pace. At the sight of that fierceness, the doorman had instantly leaped back in fear.
The shiver that racks through me isn’t from dread. It’s something I wouldn’t begin to know how to identify.
Our reflection bounces back at me in the private car. I peer at the imposing man next to me, the grim, harsh expression one I’ve not seen on him. He’s been this way since the driver relayed the clearly detested message.
“You don’t get along with your father,” I observe out loud.
The dim lighting turns his eyes mostly blue. “You are to go straight upstairs. Pick a room-I don’t care which-and lock yourself in until I come for you.”
“Why?”
“This isn’t the time for questions or to test me.”
After he learned of his guest, not for a second did I expect Damian to bring me here. He might want to do things with me, sweaty, achy things that men do to women as they groan in rushed pleasure. There were plenty of those on the streets. To my astonishment, I want that too. The defiant, there’s-nothing-left-to-lose mood that’s blanketing my hopes. Why shouldn’t I do things with this ravishing man? For once, I want to hurl caution and planning far away and do what I want. What has all the careful living gotten me?
