Watching Ames (XO Surveillance Book 1), page 7
The woman in front of me had already moved up while I hadn’t been looking, so unless the money had flown backwards, it had come from the man behind me. He looked like a businessman, all sharp lines, with a finely-tailored suit covering a body that was likely molded by hand by a personal trainer. I always hated speaking with these types; their condescending tone and mansplaining grated my nerves, and even though I was tempted to keep the money solely to avoid speaking to him, I turned around anyway.
“Excuse me,” I reached out a hand and rested it on the forearm of the man. He had been clean-shaven, with shorter hair then, short on the sides and sticking up straight when compared to the slightly-unruly waves he sported now. More so, he was more closed off when we had first met; no almost-smiles or jokes making him seem friendly. He didn’t look like the smiling type but rather like one of the busy businessmen who came through, ordered a coffee - black - and then returned to their corner offices to yell at assistants and underlings all day. His gaze was focused on his cell phone as he typed out a message, eyes only flicking up when my palm touched his jacket. “I think you dropped this.”
Surprise lit up his eyes before he reached out to take the bill from me. He assessed me for a moment, tucking the money back in his front pocket without a second look, as if the money was inconsequential for him. “Thanks.”
I rolled my eyes at his surprise, calling him out on it. “You don’t have to look so surprised.”
At that, I was rewarded with a quirk of his lips, a hint of a grin on a face that didn’t seem like it smiled often, if ever. “Not many people would have returned money that nobody was looking for.”
“I’m a regular here. Couldn’t get caught stealing or I’d have to start all over somewhere else.”
“A regular, huh? You must have the inside scoop on what’s best, then. What would you recommend?”
I laughed, walking a few steps backward to catch up with the line that I could see had moved up out of the corner of my eye. “Not sure you’d appreciate my recommendation. I’m sure you like your coffee strong and bitter.”
The same beginnings of a smile caused the edges of his lips to tremble, and I felt a deep sense of satisfaction at the sight. He leaned a little closer, face close enough that I could see the gold in the brown of his eyes and smell the woodsy scent of his aftershave, whispering, “Actually, I usually crave sweet things.” He had given me a wink, one that sent warmth spreading through my chest and a flush to my cheeks.
I opened my mouth to respond, unsure what to say, just as the barista called out “next,” saving me from having to respond. I spun around on a heel, almost falling over in my haste, fighting the flutter of excited nerves that were swarming in my stomach.
I caught myself against the counter just in time, grabbing the already prepared coffee from the barista and tapping my credit card on the machine to pay. I had just enough mind left to jerk a thumb over my shoulder and mutter, “He’ll have my usual, too” before footing it out the door.
Alex couldn’t be my admirer; we had interacted months ago. It wouldn’t make sense for him to meet me once and then follow up with a series of gifts almost half a year later. The medium-sized city wasn’t big enough to lose yourself in; running into each other at a sold-out concert and then at a popular café wasn’t out of the realm of possibility but rather a feasible coincidence. A sliver of disappointment snaked through my belly at the thought, unbidden and unwanted, and I quickly shoved it away.
I smacked myself lightly on the forehead, embarrassed that I hadn’t remembered his face the night of the concert. “Why didn’t you say anything? You said it was nice to meet me!”
Thinking back to it now, the memory stood out in stark contrast, one that had distracted me the rest of the day. But I remembered at the end of the day getting a call from Bex’s lawyer - the original, incompetent one - talking about a plea deal that would land Bex over ten years in jail. We’d argued about taking the deal off and on for weeks, until a well-respected lawyer offered to take Bex’s case pro bono, and all the chaos overwhelmed any positive interaction during those weeks, including the short flirtation of a handsome stranger.
“Well, as you can imagine, it doesn’t do great things for a man’s ego to not be remembered by a beautiful woman.” He raised a brow at this, the smooth skin of his forehead wrinkling with the motion, and I couldn’t help but wonder again at how I forgot his face, regardless of Bex’s arrest and subsequent trial. “And besides, we hadn’t formally met before the concert.”
I reached out a hand with a laugh, knowing that I was taken and shouldn’t be feeling an obscene amount of electricity zip through my fingers as he slipped his hand into mine. But that didn’t stop me from feeling it as I told him, “Ames Fitzgerald, nice to meet you. Again. For the third time.”
“Alex Ortiz, likewise.” He pumped my hand a few times in a practiced motion, smoothing his tie as he leaned back in his seat, still facing me.
“You work in business?” I guessed, gesturing at his suit and the computer laid out in front of him. Even as I guessed it, I knew I wasn’t quite right, something about the way he looked in his suit providing a slightly savage edge to the authoritative energy he gave off. I suddenly recalled a string of romance books I had read months ago, about a group of brothers in the mob.
Alex didn’t match their physical descriptions - they were all pale and blue-eyed - but something about the danger in his eyes and the way he dressed reminded me of how they were described. He exuded power; not the old-money way Peter and his colleagues gave off, but real power, dangerous power. Not the power reserved for passing laws to elevate their own status at the expense of others. Rather, Alex felt like he had the power to ruin my life or give me everything I ever wanted. I almost expected him to say he worked in “import/export” and smothered a laugh at the thought.
“Cybersecurity and surveillance, actually.” I must have gaped at him because he laughed, tossing his head back so I could see the tanned skin of his neck before he threw my past words back in my face, “You don’t have to look so surprised.”
I held my hands up in mock-surrender. “You just don’t look like the computer-science-y type.” I didn’t mention that I secretly pictured him as a criminal. I gestured toward his frame, which was likely over six feet and filled out his suit more than someone I imagined typing away on their computer all day would. “Plus,” I added, “I’ve met cyber guys before, and they usually don’t look like you.”
I compared Alex’s sleek look - from his hair to his suit to his shoes - to Bex’s ex-boyfriend, the one serving 20-30 years for cybercrime and domestic terrorism. He had worn a lot of stained tees and constantly had a manic look in his eyes when he talked about the government. I then compared him to the experts that took the stand in Bex’s court case. Most of them had worn unfitted dress shirts with unmatched ties, and had made snide remarks about Bex’s inability to have any involvement due to her lack of formal coding education, though it felt more like an attack on her gender. I hadn’t had great experiences with men in the field, but none of my experiences with them matched the sexy, intense confidence radiating off Alex in waves, even just as he sat in a packed coffee shop.
He shrugged, willing to take the inadvertent compliment, and turned the question on me, “And what do you do?”
“I run a business too?” My words came out as a question, and I cringed at how unsure I sounded. I cleared my throat and tried again, firming my voice this time as I told him, “I own my own small business. I create custom ceramics for individual clients and larger businesses.”
“Impressive,” he responded, his eyes warm despite my tripping over my words. “So, I’m curious. What does that involve? I don’t think I’ve touched clay since elementary school art class.”
“Well, I work on a potter’s wheel. Essentially, I throw - you know, shape and create - the piece on the wheel, let it dry, and bake it in the kiln. After that, I can glaze it, which is like painting it, and then I’d have to bake it a last time.” I dug into my bag and pulled out a business card for the studio, holding it out for Alex to take. “I actually teach some beginners classes at this studio. It walks you through all the basics and then at the end you get to take some pieces home.”
I paused for a moment, glancing at his custom-fit suit and the messy waves of his dark hair, which looked perfectly tousled without so much as a cowlick. I thought of Peter, who wouldn’t even let me touch him with clay-stained hands when he wore his suits and realized that this perfectly-tailored man in front of me had no interest in taking an introductory pottery class.
“I’d love that,” he took the card from my hand before I could retract it, fingers brushing mine and sending another tingle straight through me. Get yourself together, Ames, I chastised myself, wiping my hand on my jeans as I tried to get my pulse back under control. “Anyway, I don’t want to keep you from your work.” He gestured to the computer I had forgotten in front of me, and I momentarily felt disappointed that he planned to leave now that he had said hello. Instead, he just settled further into his chair, opening his laptop next to mine, and a small part of me settled when I realized he planned to stay. But a larger part of me worried that I felt anything at all.
“Hey, how are your friends?” I asked as I heard the front door open, guessing it was Bex since neither Peter nor his assistant had shown their faces in my apartment since her arrival.
“They’re good; it was nice to catch up with them. Just…strange,” she trailed off, twisting her fingers through the ends of her dirty-blonde hair in a gesture she’d done since we were children when she felt anxious or annoyed.
“Strange how?” I moved to get up from the table to stand closer to her, but she waved me off, coming to sit with me instead.
“They’re starting master’s programs and getting promoted, and I was on trial for cyberterrorism earlier this year. It was already weird with them when they all went to college and I didn’t. Now, it’s like they don’t know how to act around me at all. One literally asked if I was allowed to have a cell phone. As if she didn’t realize I was found not guilty.” She rolled her eyes as her fingers completed another quick jerk through her hair and I got up from my chair, braiding it away from her face in an attempt to save her from ripping her hair out.
“Anyway, let’s change the subject. How was your day? Get any work done at the coffee shop?”
“My day was…good,” I told her, surprised when I realized it was the truth. I enjoyed speaking with Alex; after my initial nerves and the sheer level of attraction I felt for an almost-stranger, I was able to behave like a normal person. We had kept up a steady stream of friendly chatter for a few hours while we both worked side-by-side on our laptops. It was…comfortable.
It would’ve been friendly if I hadn’t thought of him later that night, when I stared at the flowers I could see from the open doorway to my room, and the dark voice calling me sweetheart and telling me to focus had taken on Alex’s dark, hungry eyes and the twist of his lips when he told me he liked sweet things. The combination had me panting in minutes, hips lifting from the bed as an orgasm rocketed through me, a cry spilling from my lips without my permission. And then I forced myself to forget that moment ever happened if I ever wanted to be able to look Alex in the eyes again.
I considered telling her about seeing Alex at Ironwood but decided to keep it to myself. Bex would encourage any outside male attention in the hopes I could be swayed away from Peter, and my bringing him up would only further pique her interest. Plus, it would require more backstory than I wanted to delve into right now, considering I never mentioned meeting him at the concert.
When I left Alex after the concert and made my way downstairs, Bex had just been pulling up to the curb, citing a long line getting out of the parking deck for why she hadn’t been blowing my phone up with calls after half an hour of radio silence on my part. We drove home, exhausted, and immediately passed out for the next 10 hours.
I hadn’t had a chance to mention Alex or his help. Bex had been distracted on the drive home and didn’t ask how the phone search had gone, and I hadn’t been eager to jump in with descriptions of my interaction with who was, at the time, a handsome stranger.
It felt strange keeping this from her, but it also felt exciting to have a small part of my life that was just mine. A friend uninfluenced by my sister or my relationship. Sure, I was attracted to him, but that didn’t mean anything if I didn’t act on it. Alex and I were just platonic acquaintances who might run into each other by chance.
Chapter 9
Her
Except, the next day I set an alarm so I could grab an early coffee before my mid-morning class. I made it all the way through the line, shoulders slumping against my will when I didn't see a dark head of hair at any of the tables or peeking over the tops of the line behind me. But when I reached the front of the line, I felt a familiar presence just as his voice rang out, “Add another of her usual to that order, please.”
His deep voice rang with the slightest hint of authority, causing my fingers to tremble, small splatters of coffee falling onto my hand at the motion. Alex passed over his credit card before I could pull mine out, paying for both of our coffees and ushering me to the side while we waited for them to make another coffee for him - mine, of course, had already been ready when I reached the counter - in one smooth motion.
“Thanks for the coffee,” I saluted him with the cup, careful this time not to lose any more precious drops to shaky hands, and he laughed at the gesture. I didn’t bother trying to fight him on the few dollars; if his expensive taste in clothes was any indication, his “small” business was faring much better than my own.
“No problem,” he shrugged off my thanks, grabbing his coffee when the barista passed it to him over the counter, tapping his cup against mine in cheers before he took a sip, “After all, I owe you for turning me onto this. I was right that day, you definitely had the inside scoop on what drink to get.”
I rolled my eyes, reminding him, “My usual is literally one of the most popular drinks on the menu.” I stretched a finger to point at the menu boards behind the counter, the drink of the month - a cinnamon brown sugar oat milk latte - featured prominently.
He laughed in acknowledgement as we reached the same section of the bar we sat at the day before. We settled in, laptops side by side again, our work interspersed with random conversation and comments about people as they passed by the bank of windows in front of us. More accurately, our work was interspersed with my conversation, as most of it was one-sided, though it didn’t feel that way. Every time I glanced over at Alex mid-ramble or minutes into a long-winded story, I didn’t find him staring into space or nodding along noncommittally. He was always engaged, adding his input in a few quick words, and seemed content to listen to me chatter along.
When I mentioned Peter and Bex, he told me about a couple of his friends - Wren and Dev - that he worked with often. But his description of his friends was cut off when his phone rang for the fifth time in as many minutes. He finally answered, moving outside to take the call. He met my eyes through the glass, giving me a warm look even as I saw the sharpness of his tone in the way his lips and tongue moved as he spoke. I could see the command in the set of his jaw and it sent a sharp tingle down my spine that I brushed off when he returned inside.
The day after passed similarly, except when I walked into the shop Alex was already sitting at a table, two coffees in front of him. We chatted for a couple of hours, barely bothering to open our laptops, until I had to leave for an afternoon class. The day after that, I got a text early in the morning from Alex, who must’ve still had my number from the night of the concert.
Won’t be able to make it in for our morning coffee. Lunch?
So instead I found myself walking a few blocks from the studio to a local bistro, looking for a set of shoulders that had already become familiar in just a few days. Alex stood in line, and I placed my hand on his arm to get his attention as I walked up beside him, only noticing my clay-dust-covered fingers once I saw the fingerprints they’d left on the fabric of his suit.
“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t thinking. This is why I’m usually so strict about washing my hands after I get off work. I’ll pay to have it dry cleaned, I promise.” Tears filled my eyes, memories of Peter berating me for ruining his favorite suit in a similar fashion running through my head.
“Ames,” Alex’s strong hands on my shoulders shook me out of the memory, bringing my attention back to him as his eyes bored into mine with sincerity. He gave my shoulders a slight squeeze as he reassured me, “It’s okay. It’s just clay. It’s just a suit. It’ll wash out. And if it doesn’t,” he shrugged in an easy motion, as if the concept didn’t bother him at all, “I’ll buy a new one.”
He tucked a hair behind my ear, tugging quickly on my earlobe in a friendly gesture as he shot me a small, reassuring almost-smile. “Really, it’s okay, I promise. I wouldn’t lie to you. Let’s enjoy lunch, okay?”
And it was okay. Something about his reassurances and his promise not to lie eased my anxiety enough to allow my rocketing pulse to even out along with my breathing. By the time we reached the front of the line, Alex’s arm wrapped loosely around my shoulders, I was able to order my sandwich in a steady voice, the threat of tears long-since dissipated.
