Page 99 of G.O.D.S Omnibus

“Were you? Because if that were true, they would be here.”

Turning to face him, my palm connects with his face before I can stop it. “You’re an asshole,” I snap, grabbing my bag and walking away.

Throwing the door to the gym open, I storm off towards the car park. Where is Colt? He has my bag with my change of clothes for dinner with Mr Z.

A sleek black car pulls up beside me and a man gets out. “Mr Z sent me to pick you up.”

“I have to find my friend—he has my clothes.”

“No need, miss. There is a new outfit in the back for you to get changed into. I’ll wait out here until you are done.”

I nod, knowing there is no point arguing with a man who is just doing his job. Since Colt has vanished, I have no other options besides the ones in my duffle bag, which are not appropriate dinner outfits.

The driver takes my duffle and throws it in the boot of the sedan, then pulls out two boxes and hands them to me.

I turn on my heel and head back inside the gym, crossing my fingers that I don’t come across Chester again. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see he has moved on to a boxing bag with his back to me. Crossing the space quickly, I scurry into the changing rooms and am relieved to find them empty.

As I strip down to my underwear, I realise I’m going to have to go bra free, at least until I get back to the car and retrieve mine. I open the first box and pull out a dress; it’s a beautiful forest green that will fall just above my knee. Shimmying my way into it, I tie the belt off at the side. There’s no need for a bra in this dress, and I’m relieved that I don’t have to ask the driver for my bag back.How awkward would that have been? Excuse me, sir, I need my bra. Cringe!

I open the shoe box next and slip on the nude heels inside. I have to give it to Mr Z—this is a nice outfit. Though I’m sure his receptionist picked it out. The question remains... why go through all of this for me?

Once I finish washing my face and using the hand dryer to dry the sweat from my hair, I’m ready to go. Critics wouldn’t say I’m Australia’s next top model without my makeup—which is also in Colt’s car—but I’ll do for the night.

Heading back outside, I find the driver still waiting beside the car, so I hand him the boxes and he places them into the boot. Holding the door for me, he waits until I take a seat, then shuts me inside. He rounds to the driver’s side, and once we are both buckled, he takes off smoothly down the road. As we head into the city, I watch as the scenery blurs, and after about thirty minutes, we pull up to the curb of a restaurant.

The driver—whose name I forgot to get—slides out and comes around to open my door.

With a nod of thanks, I head up the walkway, taking in the building. It has a beautiful red-and-brown brick outside, framed by green foliage and white flowers which contrast the brick nicely. The front is lit up by a neon sign announcing the name of the restaurant:Matinii’s

This place seems super fancy. Definitely not somewhere I would eat by myself.

I’m greeted at the door by the maître d’. “Welcome to Matinii’s.”

“Thank you, I’m meeting my um... Mr Z.”

“Yes, right this way, Miss Jolie.”

I follow the impeccably dressed man through the room to a two-seat table in the back. Mr Z stands upon our arrival and smiles. The maître d’ leaves us immediately, going back to greeting other guests.

Mr Z comes around the table and pulls out my chair. “This place is nice,” I say as I take a seat.

“It is,” he agrees, fixing his suit jacket, then returning to his own seat across from me.

Before we can continue our conversation, a server comes to take our order. I pick up the menu and find the chicken selections, because let’s face it, you can never go wrong with a chicken dish.

Mr Z tells the server his order, and then he turns to me. “And for you, miss?”

“I’ll have the roasted chicken with asiago polenta and truffled mushrooms.”

“And to drink?”

“Just a Sprite for me, please.”

He nods and heads away from our table. I’m not exactly sure what polenta is, but I like chicken and mushrooms, so my choice should be safe and hopefully delicious.

I take a minute to look over at Mr Z. His dark-brown hair is cut short on the sides and a little longer on top. Perfectly styled, as it always seems to be. His blue-green eyes—exactly like mine—are cold, like the man has no happiness in his life. The suit he’s wearing is most likely the best money can buy, and by how it fits him, I can hazard a guess that it was tailor made. Looking at him now, I don’t see how I missed us looking so much alike, especially now that my hair is dark.I’m definitely his daughter.

“I know you have questions.” Mr Z says, breaking the silence.

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