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“Nothing, which gave me little leverage. Alex, between you and him, I’m in the dark…” she shrugged.
Her mention of thedarkwas evoking. Again, I thought of Gemma, of our time at The Met, of her vulnerabilities. I’d pluck those insecurities out from her like dirty thorns, reminding her she wasn’t some burdened rock, but instead, mypiedra preciosa, my precious gemstone.
I once said it was in the dark where I found her, but sometimes I wondered if what happened was actually something far crueler. Did I find her, or did I drag her into it? I accepted her, but could she do the same for me? I wasn’t sure if Gemma and I could survive the truth; both from The Pierre Hotel and the past I tried to hide in California.
“I’ll have to make the message clearer to Miguel…” I decided out loud.
“I’m a good lawyer, so you know that I’m here to tell you to be on your bestfuckingbehavior,” she advised sharply.
My impulsive track record had made her equal parts rich as it did stressed.
“I always play nice,” I responded, hiding the need to snarl, to get on a plane and go to L.A. and get rid of Miguel myself.
“Alex…” Lina said. “As your legal counsel, I’m here to remind you that anything you share with me is confidential. Attorney client privilege is something I don’t take lightly. Now, I’m going to be straight with you. No bullshit. No fucking around.” She hesitated, “Is there anything you want to tell me about your past? Anything I need to know or be prepared for?”
Yes.I wanted to say, butnowas all anyone would ever get.
“My past is pretty.” I grinned unconvincingly, but she accepted it with the roll of her eyes.
“If you say so. You’re set to leave now,” she motioned with her hand. “Just stay out of the way of the other attorney’s business. Tonight was a fucking headache.”
“What other attorney?” I blew out a final puff of smoke, dropping the cigarette into Sergeant Fields coffee cup.
“Please, save the act,” she sighed. “The attorney defending the husband and family that is suing you because of The Pierre Hotel?”
I cocked my head, I wanted to laugh because of how alarmed she appeared to be. “Who exactly? I’m in the dark…” I repeated her words, lost to who she was talking about.
“Your friend out there? Gemma?” she asked, assuring her name. “She’s roommates with our opposing counsel, and I don't say that lightly.” At first I cared little about what she said, focused on the fact that Gemma was out there waiting for me. I couldn’t imagine how she felt, how little sleep she had, or how much she worried. It made me sick; it made me think of the person who caused this to happen.
“The boy?” I asked to clarify. The supposed best friend that Gemma clung onto, the man who landed me in jail.
“He is definitely not a boy…” Lina shook her head, “He’s a man, and a big fucking problem of one too. If there ever was a threat to this case, it’s him and his reputation. The guy wins, Alex, probably charges more than I ever could.” She propped open the door, allowing the morning sun to seep into the sterile blue light of the room where I was held. “That pretty girl out there is waiting for you, but she’s probably about to go back home to the biggest lawyer that New York has ever seen.”
“What’s his name?” I massaged the knuckle of my hand, tracing the tattoo once more.
“Parker…” she stopped me from leaving, “Parker Ellis Jones…”
I repeated his name to myself, remembering every word Gemma ever said of him. I was in his house, I was in his closet with Gemma in my hands, twisting the band of her panties along my fingers unbeknownst to him.
I smiled and reconsidered a previous thought.
In my lifetime, I had already broken seven different types of bones. Four ribs, one toe, and two in my hand from a punch to the face of a man I hardly cared to talk about: Miguel out in L.A.
Now… I wondered what it would be like to break an eighth.
Chapter2
Gemma
As much as I wanted a hot green tea, the thought of displacing the sweet cherry taste I’d absorbed from Alejandro’s lips was a discouraging idea. It was bold: masculine like tobacco tended to be, but light enough to lie across my tongue. He kissed me hours ago in a moment that felt so monumental it bordered on catastrophic. The feeling I earned, the feeling I’d been holding onto since I entered this building, wasn’t caused by the staggering height from where we first kissed, but instead, from the fact that I’d allowed myself to be vulnerable.
Alejandro showed me what it was like to be him, to feel the contradicting and maddening sense that formed the man I still barely knew. He was both freed and shackled, floating and sinking, desperate to show me how badly I was needed, how I, the poor girl from Bushwick, gave him hope again.
Everything he did had purpose; therefore, he saw purpose within me. From the flowers on my dresses, to the way I crossed my legs, and stroked my neck. There was no hiding from his narrow attention, and if I had any chance of knowing this man, then I’d have to be as observant as him, because before Alejandro was arrested, before our night tumbled into a spiraling disaster, he requested, or rather demanded, a response to a non-question I was unprepared for:tell me you belong to me.
And while I briefly fell asleep in the lobby of this old police station, while I dreamed of him, I answered his request in a million different ways:yes, of course, take me!Each answer was better than the last, each more desperate and excited, but marked with an ugly asterisk of inevitable concerns. He wasn’t from New York; he wasn’t a clean-cut version of safety and predictability. He was possibly the very bad boy that my own mother would love to have, and that made me incredibly nervous.
“Here you go, hun.” A receptionist who kept me company all night brought over the very same green tea I contemplated on even drinking. “It’s very hot, so be careful. We have no more sugar, and I can’t imagine creamer tasting nice for this type of tea.”
