Beautiful Stranger
Page 72
I looked at the clock and knew it wasn’t too early to call. If I knew him at all, Johnny French hadn’t even gone to bed yet.
The phone rang once before his gravel-and-smoke voice answered with a simple “Max.”
“Mr. French, I hope it isn’t too early.”
He let out a rumbling laugh. “Haven’t gone to bed yet. What can I do for you?”
I exhaled, relieved with the sudden realization that this might actually be the best solution. “I have a situation that I believe requires your help.”
When Sara answered the phone, I could hear the smile in her voice. “It’s a Wednesday,” she said. “And not even eight in the morning. I think I like these new rules.”
“I think we’re kidding ourselves if we believe this is a rule-driven arrangement anymore,” I said.
It was a long moment before she answered, but finally she murmured, “I suppose you’re right.”
“You’re still okay about the Post?”
A small pause before, “Yeah, actually.”
“I thought about you all day yesterday.”
Again, she fell quiet and I wondered if I’d gone too far. And then she said, “That’s kind of been true for me for a while.”
I laughed. Too right. “Me, too.”
Silence filled the line and I braced myself for the possibility that she would say no to this.
“Sara, I think we should be a little more careful about where we choose to be intimate. Until now, we’ve been careful but mostly we’ve been lucky. I care more now that this doesn’t become a scandal for us.”
“I know. Me, too.”
“At the same time . . .”
“I don’t want to give it up, either.” She laughed.
“Do you trust me?”
“Of course. I’ve let you take me to a warehouse—”
“I mean really trust me, Sara. I’m planning on taking you somewhere very different.”
This time, there was no hesitation. “Yes.”
I figured a Wednesday was a good day to start. No doubt Johnny had customers every night of the week, but he warned me that Fridays and Saturdays might be overwhelming for both of us, and Wednesdays tended to be the quietest.
I’d texted that I’d pick her up at her apartment after she’d had a chance to change after work, and eat some dinner. Was I being a pu**y for not taking her out to eat, for fear she might balk at this plan if she had too much time to think it over?
Absofuckinglutely.
A brunette emerged from Sara’s building, head down as she fumbled with something in her small bag. It’d been true for a while that I had eyes only for Sara, but even I was unable to look away. The woman wore a dark blouse, skirt, high heels. Her inky hair was glossy in the streetlight overhead, and cut short—just to her chin. She looked to the right, and I saw a long, delicate neck, smooth skin, and perfect br**sts. I knew that neck, knew those curves.
“Sara?” I called. She turned and I felt my jaw drop. Holy shit.
She smiled when she saw me leaning against the car. I waved Scotty off when he emerged to open the door for her, and let her in myself.
She placed a shiny, red-tipped finger under my chin and closed my mouth. “I’m assuming you approve,” she said, grinning as she took her seat.
“That would be an understatement,” I said as I climbed in next to her and reached out, brushing a strand of dark hair away from her face. “You look f**king beautiful.”
“It’s great, right?” she asked, shaking her head a little. “Figured if we were going to be serious about this cloak-and-dagger stuff, I might as well have a little fun.” She slipped off her shoes and tucked her feet under her legs on the backseat. “So, are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
As soon as I’d recovered, I leaned in and kissed her red mouth. “We have a little bit of a drive. I’m going to tell you everything.”
She trained her patient eyes on me and I had to remind myself not to take her in the car. To work her up a little for this. Dark dance clubs were one thing, and she’d been drunk; this was something entirely different.
“One of my earlier clients was a man named Johnny French. I’m almost positive it’s an alias; he strikes me as the kind of guy who has a few different names, if you know what I mean. He came to me for help with opening a nightclub in a pretty run-down building. He’d done it before, successfully, but wanted to explore how it would work with a venture capitalist firm attached that had more legitimate connections in the marketing world.”
The phone rang once before his gravel-and-smoke voice answered with a simple “Max.”
“Mr. French, I hope it isn’t too early.”
He let out a rumbling laugh. “Haven’t gone to bed yet. What can I do for you?”
I exhaled, relieved with the sudden realization that this might actually be the best solution. “I have a situation that I believe requires your help.”
When Sara answered the phone, I could hear the smile in her voice. “It’s a Wednesday,” she said. “And not even eight in the morning. I think I like these new rules.”
“I think we’re kidding ourselves if we believe this is a rule-driven arrangement anymore,” I said.
It was a long moment before she answered, but finally she murmured, “I suppose you’re right.”
“You’re still okay about the Post?”
A small pause before, “Yeah, actually.”
“I thought about you all day yesterday.”
Again, she fell quiet and I wondered if I’d gone too far. And then she said, “That’s kind of been true for me for a while.”
I laughed. Too right. “Me, too.”
Silence filled the line and I braced myself for the possibility that she would say no to this.
“Sara, I think we should be a little more careful about where we choose to be intimate. Until now, we’ve been careful but mostly we’ve been lucky. I care more now that this doesn’t become a scandal for us.”
“I know. Me, too.”
“At the same time . . .”
“I don’t want to give it up, either.” She laughed.
“Do you trust me?”
“Of course. I’ve let you take me to a warehouse—”
“I mean really trust me, Sara. I’m planning on taking you somewhere very different.”
This time, there was no hesitation. “Yes.”
I figured a Wednesday was a good day to start. No doubt Johnny had customers every night of the week, but he warned me that Fridays and Saturdays might be overwhelming for both of us, and Wednesdays tended to be the quietest.
I’d texted that I’d pick her up at her apartment after she’d had a chance to change after work, and eat some dinner. Was I being a pu**y for not taking her out to eat, for fear she might balk at this plan if she had too much time to think it over?
Absofuckinglutely.
A brunette emerged from Sara’s building, head down as she fumbled with something in her small bag. It’d been true for a while that I had eyes only for Sara, but even I was unable to look away. The woman wore a dark blouse, skirt, high heels. Her inky hair was glossy in the streetlight overhead, and cut short—just to her chin. She looked to the right, and I saw a long, delicate neck, smooth skin, and perfect br**sts. I knew that neck, knew those curves.
“Sara?” I called. She turned and I felt my jaw drop. Holy shit.
She smiled when she saw me leaning against the car. I waved Scotty off when he emerged to open the door for her, and let her in myself.
She placed a shiny, red-tipped finger under my chin and closed my mouth. “I’m assuming you approve,” she said, grinning as she took her seat.
“That would be an understatement,” I said as I climbed in next to her and reached out, brushing a strand of dark hair away from her face. “You look f**king beautiful.”
“It’s great, right?” she asked, shaking her head a little. “Figured if we were going to be serious about this cloak-and-dagger stuff, I might as well have a little fun.” She slipped off her shoes and tucked her feet under her legs on the backseat. “So, are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
As soon as I’d recovered, I leaned in and kissed her red mouth. “We have a little bit of a drive. I’m going to tell you everything.”
She trained her patient eyes on me and I had to remind myself not to take her in the car. To work her up a little for this. Dark dance clubs were one thing, and she’d been drunk; this was something entirely different.
“One of my earlier clients was a man named Johnny French. I’m almost positive it’s an alias; he strikes me as the kind of guy who has a few different names, if you know what I mean. He came to me for help with opening a nightclub in a pretty run-down building. He’d done it before, successfully, but wanted to explore how it would work with a venture capitalist firm attached that had more legitimate connections in the marketing world.”
