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“I unnerved you,” he says, sounding almost pleased at the notion.
Thatshouldunnerve me, but there’s something calming about the man’s voice. There’s a confidence, a capableness I pick up even without ever having met him. “How doyoutypically respond when people give you an answer you don’t like?” I ask.
His answer is simple. “I don’t accept answers I don’t like.”
Smiling faintly, I say, “That’s a bit unrealistic, isn’t it? We all have to hear answers we don’t like sometimes. That’s life.”
“For some people, maybe.”
“For everyone. Nobody can win all the time.”
When he speaks again, there’s something almost fond in his tone. “I very much look forward to meeting you, Miss Meadows.”
I glance down at the dirty sidewalk beneath my nude heels. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
“Yes,” he says, as if waiting for me to explain why it’s relevant.
I smile faintly. “That hardly seems fair.”
“Do you expect life to be fair?”
I shrug. “I don’t expect it, but it would be nice, wouldn’t it?”
“Not for me,” he says wryly.
Ignoring the implication that he might live on the wrong side of Karma, I say, “You’re really not going to tell me your name?”
“I’ll tell you my name when we meet in person. My driver’s nearby, he should be there in a few minutes.”
“Where is he taking me?”
“He’s bringing you to me.”
His words shouldn’t send a shiver down my spine. Or maybe they should, I don’t know. I’ve never had a man say something like that to me before.
“And where are you?” I ask.
“Purgatory,” he answers.
I frown, unsure whether he’s being cute or naming a real place I’m just unaware of. “Paying for your sins?”
“No, I haven’t sinned yet. Not tonight, anyway.”
“If you’re already in purgatory, you better not,” I advise. “You’ll never make it to heaven that way.”
“Oh, I’m never going to Heaven, regardless of how long I spend in Purgatory. I’m in Hell, that’s where you’ll be meeting me. You won’t be able to enter without an invitation, so I’ll send one of my men outside to escort you in. What are you wearing?”
I glance down at the outfit I put together before heading out tonight. “Um… a white silk blouse and a metallic pink skirt. What exactly is Purgatory?”
“A club,” he answers.
“And you have… men?”
The line falls quiet. For a moment, I wait, hoping he’ll speak again—and not even really sure why I hope that. I guess I like talking to him, even if he is a mysterious stranger.
“We’ll get better acquainted once you’re in my territory, Miss Meadows. In the meantime, you should probably text your friend to let her know you won’t be coming back inside. Don’t tell her where you’re going.”
That’s a sketchy request, but it doesn’t feel like a request at all—it’s an order.
