Page 23 of A Murderous Crow
I wasn’t asking, but I was being accommodating. I wanted her to meet me at eight, but I could do nine.
I prefer to park my own car. I’ll be there at 9, regardless.
“Ooo, the kitten has teeth,” I remarked to myself. “Put those claws away with me, sweetheart.”
I love how you think I was asking. Valet the car under the reservation for Prescott. I’ll see you at nine.
I tossed my phone back on my desk and breathed deep, letting it out slowly. I did love these little games. She could either do as I ask or suffer the consequences. It was on her – although it honestly didn’t matter that much to me whether or not she parked her own damn car. It was a fun little test to see how she would be, and I was sure I could come up with a fun little punishment if she didn’t want to obey. Something light enough to establish the boundary but heavy-handed enough to delight me.
My palm positively tingled at the thought of it making contact with her supple ass. Suddenly, Friday couldn’t get here fast enough for me. Pity it was only Wednesday.
Friday dawnedas it ever did, and the slog of paperwork and other real-estate-related business had been a real drag, but now the moment was upon me.
I sat in the private dining room in a not often used upstairs portion of The Olde Pink House and waited, surprisingly, not so patiently, for my prey to arrive.
I checked my watch.Seven minutes to the appointed hour.Frustratingly, irritation thrashed my heart as though she were already late, and I couldn’t identify if it was my own impatience or something akin to nervousness.
While I sat and tried to pick apart my own Gordian Knot of feelings, working to solve a puzzle I hadn’t even known existed, a runner entered the room and handed me a scrap of card.
I smiled to myself as he hastily exited, and I tucked it away in my inner pocket. She had done as I’d asked and had valeted her car. I took out my phone and texted the prospect to bring it to my place.
I was tearing a page directly from Synister’s playbook on handling my first dalliance with Savannah, much the way he handled things with Mini-Syn – by at least buying her dinner first. What’s more, I had a little gift for her… hopefully enough to buy me at least a little goodwill.
I glanced at the box beside my plate. It was navy and wrapped in a white ribbon with silver edging.
It wasn’t much longer before I heard the smart clack of heels marching resolutely behind our host for the evening, the manager of The Olde Pink House. The door to this little private dining room opened up, and he ushered Savannah through, who did not disappoint in her attire.
She was dressed to the nines in some designer halter dress, the skirt flowy and fluttering on the breeze she generated as she walked.
Her heels were high and did great things for her legs. The outfit suited her. The dress was dove gray, printed with magnolia blossoms and foliage.
Her hair was half pinned up and curled to perfection, her makeup light and understated. She was beautiful in what appeared to be innocence, but given that she’d entered into this contract with me by way of her continued silence throughout the week and her presence here, I knew that I’d peeled at least a few layers of that innocence away.
I stood and held out a hand gallantly. She reached out and took it. I brushed my lips across her knuckles and told her the truth. “You look lovely.”
“Thank you,” she said stiffly, as the manager pulled out her chair for her at the ninety-degree angle from which my place was set. I wanted something a little more intimate than a table between us.
She took her seat, and he helped tuck her beneath her place setting.
I took my seat as well, as she unfolded her napkin and laid it upon her lap.
“Thank you for coming,” I said as soon as the door whooshed shut behind the manager, closing us into the candlelit space.
“As if I had a choice?” She arched one eyebrow and looked at me plaintively with solemn blue eyes.
“I’ve brought you something,” I told her. “A gesture of goodwill, if you will.” I handed over the jeweler’s box, and she took it.
“Really now?” she asked, and her curiosity was so obviously piqued.
She pulled the sash of the ribbon, and it unraveled elegantly. She lifted the two pieces of the cardboard box apart and set the top aside, turning the velveteen box out of the bottom. I took the liberty of taking the ruins of the ribbon from her and the bottom of the box as well, tucking the ribbon into my pocket for safekeeping, and setting the bottom part of the box aside without taking my eyes off her.
She cracked the lid of the box she held in her hands, and it folded open and back from the glittering gold within. She gasped and looked from the old watch to me, her eyes filling with tears.
“I thought I’d never see it again,” she said.
“I took the liberty of having it cleaned and fine-tuned at the best place for it in town. I could tell by the engraving on the back that it held quite a bit of sentimentality. What does it mean and who was it from?”
It had been a burning question of mine. I reached out, took the watch from her trembling fingers, and she held out her delicate wrist so that I could clasp it for her.
