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“It was, but I was never going to be part of my family’s world, so I knew I had to cut ties. It was a clean cut.”
“No family holiday meals?”
“None,” I say. “I kept in touch with my older brother and his family, but that was it.”
“That’s rough,” she says. “I couldn’t imagine it. I’m so close to my parents. Iwasso close, I mean. It’s hard to remember my parents are gone.” She shrugs, a wistful expression on her face.
“What happened to your parents?” I ask, curious to know more.
“They were killed in a crash on the Interstate while on vacation,” she says and sighs. “My stepdad worked for the FBI Organized Crime division.”
I know at that moment that I have to hide my real identity from her, for if she knew who I really was, she’d walk right out the door.
We talk for another hour with me giving as few details about myself and my family as I can manage. I talk about the security business, and she seems interested.
Then, when the coffee and cake is done and she glances at her watch, we leave the café. I walk her to the subway once more and we stand beside the stairs, me with my hands in my pockets and her with hers behind her back. Both of us are wondering what will happen next. I’m hoping beyond hope that she decides to come with me to my penthouse apartment and fucks my brains out. She might be wondering whether I’ll kiss her goodnight.
“Well, I’m glad we met,” I say finally. “I’d like to see you again. You have my number. Call me.”
“I will.” She smiles up at me, a dimple in the corner of her smile giving her a mischievous look. At that moment, I can’t resist, and bend down, cupping her face with my hands, and kiss her warmly. Her arms slip around my neck, surprising me with the passion of her response, and she kisses me back deeply.
I run my hands down her back, pulling her against my body so she can feel my response, and how hard I am at her kiss. She almost groans into my mouth, and I can feel her desire.
“Come home with me,” I manage, my voice thick with lust. “I don’t live too far away…”
I can see her cheeks are red, and I know that she wants me, but is cautious. She knows nothing about my current life except what I told her.
Which was mostly true, but which also hides an awful lot. Too much.
She ends the embrace then waves quickly before taking the subway stairs, disappearing into the station. I leave, thinking I’ll probably never see her again, and sure that although she has my cell number, there’s no way she’ll call.
To my surprise, she texts me the following Monday.
NATALIA: Hey, there’s a great deli around the corner from where I live. I’ve got the afternoon off if you’d like to meet me and have a sandwich and a walk along the waterfront. I have a late shift but would be happy to see you for lunch.
Of course, I text her right back.
HARRISON: Tell me a time and place and I’ll be there.
NATALIA: You can just drop everything and meet some woman at the drop of a hat?
HARRISON: When you’re the boss, it’s amazing what the boss will OK…
She sends me the address of Cox’s Deli in the Upper West Side and a time.
I make sure to be there. Luckily, my schedule allows me the flexibility that most people with regular jobs don’t have. I merely check in with my second in command and tell him I’ll be taking the rest of the afternoon off and that I’ll be in the next morning, bright and early.
Then, I go to meet her, unsure of what will happen between us, but more hopeful than ever.
Cox’s Deli is a small deli located in an old warehouse district along the waterfront.
Natalia is waiting, dressed in sandals and a black sundress with large pink roses. The black of her dress accentuates her dark hair and voluptuous body. In contrast, I’m wearing my sober slate grey suit and white shirt, with a tie because I’ve had a meeting with a client in the morning.
“You look like you just stepped out of Wall Street,” she says when she sees me.
“More or less,” I reply, loosening my tie and then removing it completely, tucking it into my pocket. I unfasten the first button and mess up my hair. “Do I look more casual now?”
“Perfect,” she says with a smile.
