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I watch as Graham ends the call and starts another one.
“Guess who is back on the radar?” he asks the second mystery person. “Yeah, he saw her.” There is a long pause. “No.” Graham looks back at me and tries to smile. I reciprocate. “I couldn’t go through with it.”
I listen intently as his tone changes to even lower.
“I can’t change the past, dammit. I know what—”
I strain my ear to make out more of Graham’s conversation. He moves farther away when he can tell I am staring. Luckily the sound of an incoming text changes my focus.
Claire: There too! Some symphony thing. Not my jam. Meeting ex-wife. They have a kid together. Awkward! Meet up with you after for a drink? My treat!
I type out a quick “sure” and continue to channel my eavesdropping in Graham’s direction. His pacing on the pristine floors causes my mind to play tricks, imagining a trough being created from his incessant pattern of digging. Something bad has him rattled and although I am curious, I am in no position to press him. I debate with myself on whether or not to text Dominic but decide against it—trying to highlight my flexibility as an asset. Maybe he is testing me. After all, he didn’t even send me a warning text. I can prove to myself and to him that I can be easygoing.
Angie: Do you know much about Mark Tanner? He was at the mansion.
I wait for Claire to feed me information. She has a keen sixth sense when it comes to weeding out the bullshit and discovering the true character of a person. Her warning about Graham is not forgotten, and I have been on guard since getting in the car. Something tells me that Graham keeps his private life private—which ultimately leads to creative speculation.
Claire: Business mogul sexpot with shitload of dough. Hand in pharmaceutical sales? Gotta go, getting angry eyes.
I snap my flip phone shut and decide that I could use a freshen-up. I should not be surprised at the fanciness of the restroom. The floors are polished and shiny. The air is scented with a sweet vanilla fragrance. The individual toilet stalls are the size of my entire bathroom suite at home. After I finish and flush, I rinse my hands and take a look in the mirror. My cheeks are rosy. My eyes look rested and alive. Maybe all these rapid changes over the past week have done me some good. It is easy to fall into a comfortable rut and resist change.
When I exit, I see the same redheaded woman from the elevator and notice for the first time that she is wearing a gold identity bracelet. She is an agency girl. I say “hello” but am greeted with silence as she disappears into the restroom. I know she heard me.
I open my handbag and fish out my phone to distract me. I take a quick selfie even though the quality is grainy from the lack of pixels.
The air shifts in the room and warmth coats my skin. I reach for my shawl and tug it around my exposed arms. I feel his presence before I hear his words.
“You should upgrade,” he whispers against the back of my neck. His warm breath causes me to shiver. I resist the urge to lean back into him.
“Clothes, phones, or dates?” I retort, turning to look him in the eyes.
“Definitely just the antique device you call a phone,” Graham laughs, straightening his posture.
He takes his phone from his jacket pocket and opens up the camera app. Switching it to the front view, he extends his arm to take a picture of the two of us. I squeeze in closer and smile as he captures the image. I look up at him, expecting an explanation as to why he decided to take a picture of us.
Graham’s blue orbs stare down at me. I am enchanted for a second, hypnotized by the intensity they broadcast. I turn off my outdated cell and slip it back into the handbag. I see the trio of condoms and quickly snap it shut. They are taunting me. Nothing is going to happen on this date that will warrant their usage.
“Surely by now you’re ready to eat.”
I give him a half smile. “Yeah, I think I am.”
Graham takes my hand in his, pulling me gently toward the restaurant. I flatten my dress with the other hand, more from nerves rather than from wrinkles. Ungracefully, I follow beside him down the corridor to the entrance of El Pastel, praying not to stumble or have another purse mishap.
I can tell by Graham’s eyes alone that he is stressed. Something has him rattled.
“Are you going to lie and tell me everything is okay?” I ask.
He looks down at me and studies my expression. It’s as if he is not looking at me but through me.
His brows crease and his eyes darken. “You know how I told you I was trouble?”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“Now’s a good chance to walk away,” he says.
It feels like a test. As if this whole evening is some sort of training session to see if I am good under pressure.
“And miss all the fun? I think I’ll stay.”
