Page 73 of Man Vs. Woman
Colt
“It still doesn’t makeany Goddamn sense,” I say, gritting my teeth. I run my hands through my hair, pulling out a few strains in frustration, and pound my fist down on the table. The dishes clang in disheveled harmony and a few of the customers look over at me.
I ignore them, but when the Maître D looks over at me with annoyance radiating from her, I offer her an apologetic smirk. Everyone turns back to their lunch companion, shaking their heads and whispering under their breath.
You know what? Fuck them.
Per Se has some of the most pretentious fucking customers in all of New York. I’ll never associate myself with these assholes. I might have money, and I might be a dick, but I’ll never bethem. I work too hard for my money to think the world revolves and caters to me.
And, they have no fucking idea what I’m going through and why I’m here.
No matter how many times I read over these files, none of it makes sense. Yes, I get that Hiram’s connected to some powerful and dangerous people; he does look like the archetypal villain. But why is he here? Why Clarendon Tower? And, why now?
That’s what I can’t wrap my head around. Why would an international criminal be interested in Clarendon Tower and why the fuck would he want to open a job center? Bad guys don’t just turn good. Especially those who are fucking rotten to the core, like him. Looking at his rap sheet, he has no redeeming or likable qualities. There’s nothing that makes me think he’s rehabilitated and looking for a new and improved life.
I’m hoping after today, I can get to the bottom of it.
I flip through the packet again and take a sip of my scotch.
Alright, enough. I’m going to drive myself crazy. I need to take a step back and get ready for my meeting. Maybe, with a clear mind, I can weave this fucked up tapestry together.
I bend down to collect my proposal from my briefcase, but some shouting in the distance pulls my attention to the restaurant entrance. It sounds like a woman shouting; the hair on the back of my neck rises…is that her?
Serena?
I see blonde hair whip through the air and I sit up straighter; why is she here? Our eyes meet, and, in that instant, I know, this is not a friendly visit. She stomps forward, her heels crushing the floor underneath her. I swear, each clink of her heel electrifies me.
Am I horny? Or am I scared? It’s all so damn confusing. But, why in the hell is she angry?
“What are you doing here?” I say in a quiet yet firm tone. Damn, these people have paid for more than just a meal today, a double header in fact—a meal and a first seat ticket to a show. Per Se is not known for their rowdy clientele, or a housing a two-person act, so my outburst and a women hell bent on something is a treat for them. At least they’ll have something to talk about over dinner with their husbands, instead of downing a bottle of wine and popping Xanax. I’ve dealt with these ‘ladies who lunch’ before, as clients…and other pursuits, I know my judgement isn’t off base.
“What am I doing here? Are you fucking kidding me?” She scolds me. “What are you doing here?” She throws a pile of pictures on the table beside me and they spread across the dishes, some bouncing off my drink.
My eyes dart from her to the pictures and my face scrunches in confusion.
“What are these?” I pick up a few of the photos and examine them. Reality sets in when Hiram’s face comes into focus.
They’re pictures of Hiram and me, and not on one occasion—it’s pictures of every meeting I’ve had with him. Including the one with a billion dollars.
Shit.
This is not good.
“Serena, this is not what it looks like. I promise,” I plead. The photo I’m holding crumbles in my hand. Who the fuck would do this?
Hiram, that’s who. Why did I even ask that? I’m swimming with the fucking sharks now and when they’re hungry for blood, they’ll make sure to get it. Why am I surprised?
“I can’t believe I fucking trusted you. What was this to you?
A distraction?
Something you did to keep me at bay while you plan with Hiram behind my back? You’re working with him? Aren’t you? You’re going to screw me over!” She screams.
I stand up, reaching for her shoulders. I need her to calm down, to breath…just for a second so that I can have a moment to say my piece.
“Serena, please let me explain.”
“Don’t touch me!” She points her finger at me and backs away, throwing my hands off her.
