Page 43 of Truth
“Another,” I grunt out to the bartender, watching him pour my glass with the amber liquid. Taking my glass, I make my way through the club and downstairs to the bedroom I first brought her. There’s something about it that makes me stand still and not enter. I don’t know why, but I can’t go in. I stumble back and connect with someone behind me, the liquor taking effect.
“Whoa, King, hey. Sorry, I thought I would check on you since you drank all the whiskey.”
Righting myself, I smile at Sarah and laugh. “You’re a shitty observer. I’m drinking scotch.” Clinking my finger to my glass, I smirk. “I’m fine. I’m going to stay here for the night. No need to worry.”
“Right, well, you seem fine. So…” She turns to walk away and then turns back around. “This is about that girl? Isn’t it?”Goddammit with everyone.
“This is most definitely about a woman. One I won’t be having a conversation about.” My tone is anything but wavering.
“Right, but…” Sarah chews her lip and then blurts out, “You should write down what you wish you could say to her. I had a shrink tell me to do that once. Then you might feel better and stop almost killing employees and basically being a tyrant.” Her overstep has her worried; I can see it in her eyes.
“Only because you are you, this conversation is ending without me becoming a tyrant. That’s your only get-out-of-jail-free card. Understand?”
“Absolutely.” Taking a few steps backward, she nods her head and turns around to make her way back upstairs. “There’s notecards in the room.”
Shaking my head at her bravado, I down the rest of my drink and look back to the damn door.
Grabbing the handle, I let myself into the room with my key and close the door behind me. I walk over to sitting area and sink down into the cool leather chair, letting out a breath of frustration. My hand dangles off the side of the arm of the chair as I rest my eyes, heavy from the liquor. I must have fallen asleep momentarily because my body jumps as my hand touches the unexpected surface of the end table. Sitting up, I rake my hands through my hair and twist my head in the direction of where my hand hit. My eyes lock on the notecard and pen. I’m not sure why I feel compelled; she’ll never know the depth of my feelings. How could she when she’s never felt what it’s like to have your heart ripped out the first time you decide to give it?
I don’t know what to write, but I’ll try anything to rid her from my mind, so I put down the only words I can.
Morning comes too soon, but at least I was able to sleep in this Saturday morning. I stretch like a cat on my couch, then plop my feet down on the hardwood floors and push myself to stand, acclimating to being awake. I’m not a morning person. I’m more of a “don’t speak until after my coffee” kind of person. The only exception was when I spent the night with King; he definitely had something better to offer me than coffee.
Making my way to the kitchen, I flow into my routine and breeze about, making breakfast for myself. The knock at my door causes me to jump, and I drop an egg on the floor.
“Shit! Coming, hold on.” I wipe up most of the yolk and chuck it into the sink, wiping my hands as I make my way to the front door. Staring out the peephole, I see a man in a black suit holding a small white box.
“Can I help you?” I say through the door. A girl can never be too careful.
“Delivery for Drew Matthews.”
“Thank you, but you can leave it at the front,” I call out, turning my head from the peephole.
“Sorry, ma’am, but Mr. King’s request was specific. I am to deliver this to you personally.”What the hell?
Fumbling with the door, I swing it open. “Mr. King?” Smoothing my hair out of my face, I’m failing miserably at playing it cool.
“Yes, ma’am. He was very clear with his request.”
“Okay, thank you,” I say, reaching out to accept the gift.
“Good day.” The gentleman turns and walks away down the hallway, and I realize I’m still standing in the doorway watching him retreat.
Closing my door, I look down at the square box. “Oh my god,” I whisper to myself as I set the box on the table. Then a thought occurs to me: What if it’s from Luca? Could be from the other Mr. King. Nope, no way. This is from my King. I pull the top off the box, and sitting in velvet is a skeleton key. The kind that King gives as membership to Church.
I grab for the note and rip it open, greedy for his words.
Fuck. He’s looking for retribution, but this is my opening. This time I won’t leave until he understands. It’s fitting for it to be back at Church. The crackling from the pan reminds me that I was in the middle of cooking eggs. I run back to the pan and chuck it in the sink, then try to slow my breathing. I’m breathless from that damn note. It took four damn words to have my entire body light up like a Christmas tree.Be prepared to beg.
Breakfast is a disaster, so I call an emergency meeting at the café down the street. Gretchen walks in looking gorgeous, holding up her hands as if to say “What’s going on?”
“Sit down. I already ordered your bagel.”
“What is wrong with you? You look like a fancy homeless person. Are you wearing sweats under a negligee?” She looks at me like I’m deranged. She may be right.
“Will you focus? I didn’t have time to change.”
“Why? Are you on the lam?” she laughs.
