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My first stop is the living room. No one’s here. I move to Cain’s bedroom, but apart from his packed bag, it’s empty too. Finally, I bring myself to his office. There’s shuffling inside, and I open the door.
“I'm ready when you ar—”
“You won’t regret this, boss. Sure as shit, I’ll make you proud.” To my dismay, the speaker is the same douchebag who verbally assaulted me the day of the funeral. The tall, gangly prick is on his hands and knees praising Cain’s feet. “That son of a bitch won’t know what hit ‘im.”
I shouldn’t be as surprised as I am. Cain couldn’t outright fire the guy because he said some mean words, but seeing him here, discussing business with my man when we’re supposed to be going out jams a nail straight into my heart.
“Alyssa,” Cain says, his eyes dart nervously between me and the guy.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know anyone was in here with you,” I say, trying to close the door again.
“No, no, you don’t have to go,” Cain says. “Donny was just leaving. He stopped by unannounced to come begging for his job.”
Cain clenches his jaw and a stern expression claims his face.
“That’s right, ma’am,” Donny says. “Again, I’ve gotta say sorry for how I treated you. I was drunk, mourning the loss of my friend. I didn’t mean nothing by it.”
“It’s fine,” I say. Something isn't right about this but I won’t let it rain on the lovely evening Cain has planned.
“I’ll be ready in a second. I need to let this sorry sack of shit out first,” Cain says. His jovial tone doesn’t match the menacing look on his face. Donny seems oblivious to it, chuckling at Cain’s words.
He escorts Donny to the front door. I linger a few steps behind. The last thing I hear thesorry sack of shit,as Cain called him, say is. “We’re going to get him, boss. That fuck won’t know what hit him.”
“Hold your tongue,” Cain demands in a raspy whisper. He turns to me over his shoulder, I act oblivious, pretending I didn’t hear a thing.
“What was that about?” I ask. I have no need to know, and I’m not sure if I want to, but intrigue has taken the best of me.
Cain moves a hand to the back of his neck and squeezes.
“Nothing to ruin our night over,” a disgruntled sigh follows his words. “Let me get my things and we can get this show on the road.”
Cain disappears through the hallways of his lavish home again. He emerges a moment later with his coat hanging over one shoulder and his overnight bag slung on the other. He collects my things, carries them to his car, and sets them down in the trunk.
“Are you ready?” He pulls open the car door for me and places a soft kiss on my cheek.
“I am,” I say. He shuts the door.
Cain takes to the driver’s seat himself. Since I’ve met him, he’s had someone chauffeur me, Tony, and himself around without fault. It’s nice to see him dropping the air of pomp and circumstance for tonight.
“Then let’s get this show on the road,” Cain winks at me. He slams the engine into gear and speeds down the driveway.
He drives fast, but I don’t feel afraid. He’s in full control of this metal chariot bolting through the streets of Boston.
After a few rounds of small talk, mostly Cain checking in to see how my day went, silence grips him. His deep contemplation of whatever’s on his mind makes me nervous about how our night will go. What happened in that office and why did it have to be tonight?
“Are you okay?” I eventually ask when the silence becomes unbearable. We’ve made it into the city, swaying between traffic and cars at a more leisurely pace.
“I’m fine,” Cain turns to me briefly. “I want everything to be perfect for you.”
Relief washes away my doubts. Cain isn’t worried about what happened with Donny, Cain’s afraid that the night won’t go as expected. I rest a hand on his meaty thigh and give him a reassuring squeeze.
“As long as it’s with you, I don’t see how it wouldn’t be,” I say.
A soft smile breaks his stern façade.
We drive further on before Cain brings his Buick into a parking spot. He gets out of the car, opens my door, and helps me out of my seat. Bells ring out over the Boston harbor across the street. Late-night workers call out their orders and prepare the boats for their evening raids of the ocean. The night air is warm and smells oddly sweet for the town. A small group of men and women, all dressed in fancy suits or skimpy outfits, await their turn to enter the building ahead of us, the Topaz Hotel.
“This is quite a place for a first date,” I say inspecting the monolithic tower overlooking the Boston harbor.
