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There it was. The guess that something happened. Something illicit.
“He owns half my store, Carmela,” I said.
“Oh. Right,” she sounded disappointed.
“We might be able to work something out, though,” I said. “We started talking about things, and honestly, a lot of his ideas are good. Like, really good. I thought that maybe we could make an effective team if we did it right. And maybe we can work out some kind of arrangement where I will run things on the floor level, and he can handle the big financial stuff and we can slowly work our way back to me owning it again. I still want my store back, you know? I just don’t foresee him selling anything soon, and I don’t know how that will all work out.”
“Well, keep plugging away at it,” she said. “Victor is a good man. He will work with you. You two will figure something out that will make both of you happy, I’m sure.”
The phone beeped in my ear, and I pulled it away to see what it was. It was another call. One from Victor himself.
“Hey, Carmela, can I call you back later?” I asked. “I’ve got a call on the other line, and I should take it.”
“Is it Victor?” she asked, a hint of delight in her voice.
“Yes,” I said.
“Couldn’t get enough last night, I bet,” she said. “Bye, hon.”
I decided not to dignify the first part of that with a response.
“Bye,” I said.
I clicked the button and put the phone to my ear, exhaling slowly. I didn’t understand why I was so nervous. It was just a phone call. Not even a video one. He couldn’t see me with my no makeup and leopard print pajamas and wet hair. For all heknew, I wandered around my house in heels and an apron all the time.
For some reason, I had a feeling he thought exactly that at least once.
“Hello?” I asked.
“Melanie.” Victor’s voice came through on the other end. “Good morning. Hope I didn’t call too early.”
What was it with people thinking I slept in forever? Did I wear a sign that said ‘lazy slob’ on my apron and no one had told me?
“No, you’re fine,” I said. “What can I do for you, Victor?”
“Good, good,” he said. “Well, I’ve been thinking a lot about last night. We had a really good conversation. I thought maybe we could keep that conversation going today before the ideas all run away. Would you like to come over for lunch to finish up and jot some ideas down for posterity?”
“To your place?” I asked.
I didn’t know if apprehension was the right word, but there was something that was making me feel a little strange about going to his house. It wasn’t danger or anything like that. I just felt like going through his front door and putting myself within distance of his bed was… tempting fate. Last night had been pretty intense. I knew how I felt when I left and how hard I had to push myself to actually go. If I was already there, would I have that willpower again?
Worse, was I misreading all the signals and then I could make a fool of myself by throwing myself at him at his home, only to find out that I was wrong all along? It was possible.
“Yeah,” he said casually. “My treat on lunch. I told you I make a mean pancake, but I omitted my sandwich making skills. I make damn fine sandwiches.”
“Well, how can a girl turn down sandwiches?” I asked. “I’ll be over there in just a little bit.”
“Cool, I’ll see you when you get here,” he said.
As I hung up, I made a beeline for my bedroom. Leopard print pajamas wasn’t going to work, but now I had to figure out what would.
This one should be easier, though, I thought.This one is strictly business. Sure, it’s in his apartment, near his bed and around all his stuff. But it was still just business. Just two people talking about their investments and how to make them better. If I got that through my head, then being at his place was no different than a coffee shop or a restaurant. It was just lunch at a business partner’s home.
Nothing more.
13
VICTOR
