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“Chelle?”
“I believe you. Enzo, I don’t know why, but I know I’m safe from you.”
“From me, not with me.”
“I can’t think of a more dangerous man than the ones in Maks’s family or probably the ones in yours. But I don’t fear you. What might happen if I’m within firing range is frightening, but I also know that if it’s within your control — which I think you like to have a lot of — I’ll be safe.”
“I want to ask you out. Would you say yes?”
“I gave you my number and told you I’d like to do some number crunching. I’m pretty sure I was asking for something.”
God. I have never blushed as much as I have tonight. Zombies. I’m blaming it on them.
“Do you regret saying that?”
I tilt my head as I study him. Is he trying to get out of this?
“Chelle, I don’t regret coming over here. I don’t regret flirting with you.”
“Do you read everyone’s mind, or am I just that obvious?”
“You’re not obvious in the least. At least, not when you don’t want to be. I think you’re letting me know what you’re thinking, even if you aren’t saying it out loud. If you wanted to keep it to yourself, you would.”
I watch him for a moment before I nod. The blushing I can’t help. But I know I have the same inscrutable expression I used to wear in court and what I use now for contract negotiations. I may work for charities, but I give nothing away.
“I suspect you are just like that, too.”
Now we stare at each other. Are we both trying to read each other’s mind? Right now, I’m coming up blank. Can he tell what I’m thinking?
“I am. Would you like to get a cup of coffee?”
“At this hour?”
I laugh and shake my head before I answer my own question.
“I don’t like coffee, but if I did, that much caffeine would keep me awake until tomorrow afternoon.”
I see him retreat even if his expression doesn’t change.
“But I would like a hot chai. Do you want an espresso?”
He grins, and it’s like a choir of angels started singing.
“No. I don’t like them. A spoon shouldn’t be able to stand up in coffee. But a chai sounds nice. There’s a place across the street.”
He points to a little coffee shop I’ve driven past but never been inside. We’re in Queens, near where Laura and Christina live with their husbands. I live in Manhattan. It’s late, but not so late that driving thirty minutes home would be an inconvenience. I step away from the car, and he pushes the door shut. I lock it and drop my keys in my purse. I have the strongest urge to hold his hand. I don’t. I slip them into my jacket pockets. I want — need — to know about him.
“How’d you get into accounting?”
He smiles again. He seems so easygoing. It’s disconcerting to get to know these men. The ones in the mafia. You’d never guess one moment they're offing people, and the next, they're just regular guys who are dads and uncles and single, desirable men whose bones I want to jump.
“I studied Computer Science in undergrad. I like numbers and puzzles. Math always came easily to me, so accounting was in the stars since I was a kid. The computer science is just an interest of mine since I like video games. I don’t play many anymore, but I did when I was younger.”
I want to ask something, but I hold back. I’m worried I’d be prying.
“Chelle, what do you want to ask?”
“I’m not so sure I like how well you read me. It’s disconcerting.”
