Page 12 of Mess With Me

SASHA: I’m here. I don’t see him.

Sam responds immediately.

SAM: Thank you. He’ll be there.

My stomach tightens. Thank you? That kind of quick gratitude doesn’t sound like my larger-than-life brother.

But this whole thing hasn’t been like him. There was something off about the way he sounded so desperate for me to make this date. And honestly, that’s the only reason I’m here.

“Can I help you?” the hostess asks, startling me. The people in front of me have been seated.

“Sorry, yes.” I slip my phone back into my purse. “Actually,” I say, leaning in and giving her my friendliest smile—the one that disarms even the iciest women, “I’m not sure. I’m meeting someone here. But I don’t know what he looks like.”

The woman returned my smile when I started talking. She looks nice, if not a little overly efficient.

But now she’s gone stiff, her smile tightening. “Oh, yes. Of course. He’s expecting you.”

I frown. “I didn’t say who I was meeting.”

She laughs, almost nervously. “He told us what you looked like.”

My stomach tightens further. How would he know what I look like? I’ve never met him. Then I remember that photo in the news. Myyou’re not my chicken!Face.

I want to ask the hostess more questions, but she’s already briskly moving through the restaurant, forcing me to rush after her as she threads through the tables. She doesn’t stop at any of them. Instead, she leads me up a set of stairs to the second floor.

“Hey, uh, is this some kind of private seating area?” I ask. I should stop, but she won’t be able to hear me. “I don’t really want to be alone with someone I’ve never met.”

I’m getting more and more concerned. My heart beats a warning against my chest. “Do you know this guy?”

“It’s our VIP area,” she says, not answering my second question. Her voice is sympathetic.

We’ve emerged into a second dining area. Here, there are several tables set, but no other diners.

My stomach drops.

On the far side of the room, there’s a wide balcony dotted with giant potted plants and a half-dozen tables glowing with candles. It should feel pretty and private, but instead, it feels ominous. Over the balcony, the upper level of a two-story sushi restaurant across the street is bright and bustling with activity. God, how I wish I was there. With friends. Alone. Anything but this.

I pull out my phone, pulling up Sam’s text again.

SASHA: Sam. What the fuck is going on? Who is this guy?? I’m going to go.

No response. I’m about to turn around, all my spidey-senses on red alert.

“Miss?” the hostess calls from the middle of the floor.

Just as I turn around, a text pops up.

SAM: Don’t leave. Please. I wouldn’t ask you to do this if it weren’t life or death.

My stomach plunges.

“Miss Macklin.”

I jerk my body back around at the deep, smooth voice.

A man stands in front of the table at the far end of the balcony. How did I not see him before?

I swallow as he crosses the floor toward me.

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