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The next night, I’m waiting outside The Clementine, the luxury boutique hotel where Emilia works. It’s a little after seven, and I know she’s going home right around now. I called in and checked her schedule. I also know that last night, after I left, she went out for a run, even though the rain had picked up again. The man I had on her lost her as he wasn’t on foot, and I’m curious where she went because she was gone for over two hours. Did she meet with her brother? Does she know where that little snake is hiding and keeping his secret? I would have said no after my first meeting with her, but maybe I’m wrong.
I’ve doubled the men on her, one on foot and one by car. I’ll find out soon enough.
And right now, I don’t want to think about that because Em Larrea, as she’s known here, just walked out the side door of the hotel and is heading to her car. Seeing her again is strange, puts me off balance. At least momentarily.
She’s not your fucking ghost.
I know that. I buried that ghost years ago.
With a shake of my head, I banish those thoughts and focus on her. She’s wearing a similar outfit to what she wore the other night, a beige two-piece, close-cut suit. She removes the jacket to reveal a ruffled silk blouse beneath, and that pencil skirt is making it hard to look away as she shimmies her tight little ass past my car and toward hers. My windows are tinted, so she doesn’t see me.
I open my door as soon as she gets to her car but before she’s dug out her keys.
“Emilia.”
She stops, and I can see from how her back stiffens that she recognizes my voice.
I take a few steps, and although it’s well past seven o’clock, the sun is still too hot in the sky. She turns slowly. I’m wearing dark sunglasses, but hers are in her hand. She’s squinting up at me. Her eyes are even prettier in the sunlight with gold specks lighting up that strange shade of green. Her dark hair is up in that same tight bun as last night. I have the urge to pull it out, to see it spilling down her back and framing her pretty face.
“You always leave work so late?” I ask.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“That’s not the warmest welcome when I’ve gone out of my way to come see you.”
She wants to say something, but her gaze moves to just over my shoulder, where I hear two women talking. I glance back at the employees who are leaving. They’re younger, maybe late teens, and in uniforms. Bar staff, probably.
“This is my workplace.”
“Would you rather I wait for you at your apartment?”
“What? No. What do you want? I have a week, you said so. I told you, I don’t keep in touch with—”
“I know what I said.”
The two girls quiet as they near their car, which is parked a few spaces away. I can see Emilia is uncomfortable, but that will only help my case.
“You shouldn’t be here. They don’t know who my family is here,” she says, her voice quieter.
“Then let’s go,” I say, gesturing to my car, where Vincent is standing watch.
“Where?”
“Dinner.”
“I have plans.”
“What plans?”
“None of your business. What’s this about? Really?”
The door opens again, and someone comes running from the hotel, calling out to her. “Em! Oh, I’m glad I caught you.”
When she reaches us, she stops, as if just now realizing I’m here, and fumbles for words when she sees me.
“Sorry, I didn’t know you were with someone.”
“I’m not,” Emilia says.
“Oh.” The girl looks from her to me and back.
“What is it?” Emilia asks her.
“The file for the Ragoni engagement party. I have some updated notes, and I didn’t have a chance to get them changed out before you left. Here you go.”
She hands over a folder to Em. It is clear she is waiting for an introduction. It’s kind of funny, watching Emilia try to pretend I’m invisible.
“Thank you.” There’s an awkward pause, and I clear my throat.
“I’m Giovanni Santa Maria,” I say. “A friend of Em. I believe we spoke on the phone earlier?”
“You what?” Emilia asks.
“Katy, isn’t it?” The girl nods with a huge smile on her face. “Katy here was kind enough to give me your schedule for the week.”
I see Emilia look at the girl, see the disbelief in her eyes, but Katy’s oblivious. She’s busy staring up at me.
“Oh. Mr. Santa Maria,” she says. Her cheeks flush red, and she holds out her hand. “I’m glad I could be of help.”
I turn back to Emilia. “So, we’ll pick up your car later. Ready?”
Katy stands there and watches us as Vincent opens the back door.
Emilia hesitates, but I know she’s not going to make a big deal out of it. Not in front of the girl. A moment later, she walks over to the sedan and climbs into the back, the high slit of her skirt giving me a glimpse of one slender thigh.
