Finding North (Naïve Mistakes Series) (5 page)

The barista was Greek. Turns out "Mocca" is this "much better coffee" (according to him) that they drink over in Greece. The guy had a nice smile, sweet dimples, an unshaven face and very dark hair on his arms...

Get a hold of yourself!

His talk of Greece got me thinking of Europe. Little did I know I wouldn't be the one to bring it up. In fact, when Kayla mentioned it, I
did
spit my coffee out. And that wasn't because "Mocca" did not turn out to be nearly as good as sexy-hairy-chest Greek dude had made just it out to be.

"You're doing what?" I spewed.

"I said I'm going to Europe. End of the year. I decided last night. While on your couch."

I stared at her. Behind her was a splattering of red and black paint on a canvas which added to the horror of it. "
You
. My friend, Kayla, who said that all Europeans are about as interesting as frogs' legs (and that they eat them as well.)"

"No, I said that about the French. I mean, the eating part. Because Europeans
are
a little weird. But I'm also weird. So I'm going."

"Whatever happened to getting a job, learning to stand on your own two feet?"

"Fuck that. I don't do any standing in this town. I do a bunch of bending, on my knees, with a fucking dick up my crotch."

Wow. She really had a way of putting things. I swallowed, tried to get the image out my mind.

"Last night was a wake-up call, Leora. I need to get away from here. From these influences. I—I need to 'find myself' or whatever you rich bitches tell yourselves."

I chuckled. "You're also a rich bitch."

"Am not! How's that Mocca?"

"Disgusting. But don't change the subject."

She took her foot off the couch and sat forward, elbows on her knees, twirled the hot coffee. "I just need to get away, Leo. It's..." She put the coffee down, rubbed the shaved side of her head. "It's just too much for me here. Too many memories. Too many—"

"I know." She'd explained herself enough. It was hard enough that she had to live with it. She didn't need to explain it to her best friend like some sort of excuse, too. "You don't need to explain."

She gave a wan smile. "I'd go now but I don't wanna end up like some white trash bimbo who couldn't even get herself an education. Although, the way I'm feeling, I could give a rat's ass about that right now."

After a long while of silence, she said, "Hey, gimme that Bradley guy's number. I think I might see him again."

"Oh, um, lemme see if I have—"

"Don't fuckin bullshit me, moron. We haven't been best friends all these years for nothing."

I felt myself blush, threw her my iPhone. "It's under 'Kayla: Brad.'"

"What, so you don't make a mistake and call the fucker? Is that why my name is on there?"

"That's exactly why it's on there!"

"Look, Leo, this guy is just sex to me. You tell me if you
—"

"No, I don't!"

"Oh, sorry, Miss Mysterious Guy from the Club. How's that going for you?"

"Actually..."
—I swallowed—"He wants to hook up tomorrow."

"Sweet!"

Yeah, she wouldn't think it was so sweet if he was somehow linked up with that disgusting crowd she'd gotten herself hooked up with last night.

"You know," she continued, "Brad had some hot friends as well
—"

"I know. I saw them, remember? I had all of them in the limo
—"

"Oh, my God! You had
all of them
in the limo! Bad."

"Jeez! You're so fucking one-track minded! Down girl!"

She guffawed back into the chair, my phone to her ear while she waited for Brad to pick up...

"Oh, hi," she said into the phone. I sat back, trying to hear Brad's voice. "Yes, it's me.... Well, I just wanted to let you know that I think you are the most gorgeous, sexiest, hottest fucking guy I have ever seen in my life.... Correct. Well, I was thinking, could we meet tomorrow? Uh-huh.... No, well, I see...."

Disappointment shrouded her face. "Well, that's because you don't know what I taste like...."

OK, this was just making me uncomfortable now. It's one thing to fantasize. It's another to hear it right next to you! Takes all the glamour out of it...

"OK, well, we'll just have to play it by ear. You rub mine and I'll rub yours, know what I mean? No, no! Please, wait! I'm sorry.... OK, fine.... Look, I was just trying to play a joke on my friend. It's not Leora, it's Kayla, her best friend."

Huh?

Shock filled my face. I got the sensation of falling off a building. I spilled some hot coffee on my hand. "Shit!" Then the whole cup flew down and there was coffee all over the table and the magazines because I'd burned myself.

Kayla said, "Um, look, Conall
—"

Conall?
Fuck!

"
—Leora is having an emergency here. Just a second."

I stared at her. She shrugged, held the phone to me as if to say:
So? You gonna take it or not?

I picked up the phone. "Um, h
—hello?"

I waited for the response from the other side as if, by some miracle, Kayla had only been screwing with me. But I heard a chuckle. Yes, a distinctly
British
chuckle.

Oh. My. God.

"Well, I assume this means we have a date tomorrow," he said, the laughter evident in his voice.

"Um..." I mouthed to Kayla frantically:
What did you do!?
Accentuating every word with my hands. She shrugged innocently, then did a gesture that could only mean one thing (similar to the finger through the loop gesture earlier... Only much worse.)

"Um, look, Mr. Williams..."
Mr.? WTF?
"I mean, Conall—"

"Leora, I don't know what your friend told you, but I was a little shocked by what she said to me. I really just want to go for coffee with you. Chat to you. I'm British. We don't do the sex on the first date thing very well in general... Well, generally speaking, I mean
— Now I'm rambling."

I knew how he felt.

"Look, Leora, coffee? That's all. Can we do that?"

"Uh, sure, actually, there's a place called
Café Mocca
on third—"

"I know the place."

"You do?"

"Yes, I bought a piece there just yesterday. Great art on those walls."

I choked. I sure as fuck hoped he bought something better than the "I'm a breast, no I'm a cab, no I'm puke" piece!

"Pick a time," he finished.

"Ten?"

"It's a date. See you then."

My hand quivered on the phone after the word "date."

I turned to face Kayla. She was sitting smug on the one-seater, legs stretched out, arms hanging to the side.

"I hate you," I said.

"No, you don't. You love me. So, he's British, eh?"

I shook my head, trying to look pissed but kinda glad she took the jump for me. Only problem is that this guy might've been involved with....

"I'm gonna wash my hands of this coffee."

"FYI, I
did
text Brad while you were blabbering away over there with Mr. Charming."

Butterflies hit my stomach,
low
. "You did?"

"Yeah, I thanked him."

"I really need to splash some water on my face. And wash my hands, I mean, and my face, and— Aw, fuck it."

-1-

The next morning.

I didn't wanna overdo it, and I also didn't want to come across looking like a skank. So I put on some brown Matisse boots and a Vigoss vest over a simple tee. To top it off I picked a baker boy hat and ruffled my hair a bit. There. I was ready. So why was I so damn nervous?

Of course, it didn't help that Kayls kept texting me about this "date" and wanting to know what I was wearing and had I left yet and what does his ass look like...

I text her back.

Leora: I'm leaving home now! Now stop texting me!

Kayla: LOL. You know our rule. Always pick up. Always answer. It's payback
.

Damn it. She was never gonna let me live down that fiasco with her and Brad. A stray thought came up again.
Umpf, oooh. You like that?

No! Not now. I splashed my face with water and walked out.

I got to
Mocca
a little too early so I asked Leroy to drive around a little. At ten-fifteen I got out and walked in.

Conall was on a one-seater, two tables back from where Kayla and I had sat yesterday, head buried in a tattered
Financial Times
. (Didn't they only publish that Monday to Saturday?) Brown shoes, very brightly polished, a grey sports coat, grey slacks. My God, I was so out of my league...
What was this: Billionaire's Romance?

I turned around.

"Ah, Leora!"

Shit
.

I turned back sheepishly. He put his paper down, his piercing blue eyes gazing straight at me... And that smile.

I melted.

Way. Out. Of. My. League. (And yet so hot...)

"Hi!" I said, sounding so fucking much like an idiotic school-girl. My hand even shot up in a stupid reflexive move to wave at him like I was fourteen or something.

He stood up. "Please, sit. What would you like to drink?"

"Oh, anything but the Mocca!"

"Oh, you don't like the Greek drink?"

I shook my head firmly. "Neither do I. I only think stuck up East Siders drink that concoction."

"
Concoction." My oh my...

"I'll have a filter coffee," I said.

Conall walked off and my eyes locked on his ass but I couldn't see much because of his damn coat! (I did, however, scan down his legs, and they seemed athletic enough...) His shoulders
were
broad, however.

I crossed my legs and started chewing my nail.

"Here you go," he said.

"Thank you." I tried to place his age. Twenty-seven? Twenty-six?

"Again, I must apologize for my behavior on Friday night. It's just that I don't particularly enjoy loud places such as
Cringe
. I was entertaining some new clients introduced to me by my brother and, well, they, like my little brother, enjoy the nightlife."

He sipped his coffee.

"Your b—brother?"

"Yes."

"Do you two look similar?"

"Well, we should. We're twins. Although he's a little plumpier than me..." He kept on talking but I stopped listening.

"Leora?" His hand was on my forearm.
Oh, damn. Tingles...

"Um, yeah, sorry. I
phased out there for a sec." He moved his hand away. A chill ran up to my shoulder and down my back.

Soon I was gonna need some water....

"You do that a lot, don't you? I mean, faze out."

"Only lately. I don't know... A lot on my mind?" I made it look clear that I was talking bull and Mediterranean-Eyes Conall seemed to get the joke. My eyes worked him up and down once and caught on the two top buttons of his dress shirt. A tiny bit of curly hairs looked up at me. No,
called
to me!

Conall had stopped talking, presumably to let me know it was my cue (or maybe he'd figured out that all I needed to "
unphase out" was a little bit of time.)

"Um, I think I saw your brother yesterday," I said, swallowing hard. I came here for a reason. And I damn near wanted to get as much data about that sleaze-crowd as I could.

Conall's eyes went cold, rigid, as I said it.

"You...did?"

"Yeah, um, I thought it was you. We were"—I thought on my feet—"picking up a friend, um, from a party..."

"A party...with Francis?" Only it came out: 
Frawnsiss
.

"Francis?"

"Yes, that's my brother's name. Must've been one hell of a party..." OK, that tone had for sure been condescending. So maybe he didn't approve of his degenerate little brother's idea of gaiety and merrymaking (a.k.a. snorting up the candy-cane up his filthy little olfactory orifices.)

"Um, yeah, it was. My friend was there. They, um..." OK, I might as well say it. Because this fucking bozo needed to know it! And now I knew why I had come here. Because my best friend had damn near been raped and I was
fucking pissed
! And I didn't give a fuck if Mr.
Duchamp London
Sports Jacket here looked more like a model for the same brand than a fucking "Software Consultant," I wanted payback. "Yeah, um, my friend was almost
raped
at that party. You know, the girl you spoke to on the phone yesterday?"

Conall went pale. I continued. If I was gonna screw this up I might as well screw it up good. Besides, Kayla was now front and center in my mind. Her, and that phone-call, and that groaning with Brad. Only the image in my mind now was no longer Brad. It was that fat fuck. And Kayla isn't groaning. She was downright screaming.

"Yeah, and one of the men you were chatting to was also there," I said through clenched teeth. Damn I felt so fuckin bad-ass now. Bring it on, bud.

I saw Conall's fingers tense up on his cup. He put it down.

I myself was ready to leave soon.

"Are you sure?" he asked me.

"Of course I'm sure! What, you think I'm lying?" I was shaking now. And I knew I was maybe going overboard. But I was riled up.

Conall eased up. "No, Leora, not at all. But if you are sure, then I am going to call this colleague and cancel my potential half-a-million dollar deal with him, no questions asked. The contract is not signed yet. But I'd hate to throw that amount of money away for nothing. So,
are
you sure the man you was with me yesterday?"

My center (no, not
that
frickin "center"! That's such a stupid word for it. I mean, the inside of me, my chest, my middle section—my "center") went cold.

"Um, come again..."

"What didn't you understand?"

"Noth
—nothing. No, um, well...
Yes
, yes I'm sure. I'm positive. It was the red-haired guy. Lots of freckles—"

"Raymond."

"Whatever. He was there. And, the reason I know it..." I felt a little embarrassed saying this, but I wanted to get back at these fuckers! "Well, I mean, I was looking over at you guys all night because, well..." I trailed off. "Do you need any clearer explanation?" (I had been looking at them all night as I'd sipped my drink, especially Conall...)

"No, I'm sorry. I understand." Conall's face had become chiseled and severe. He sighed heavily. "Well, there's no question. I won't do business with someone who condones that sort of thing. I'm repulsed. Leora, please, I just need to step outside and make a call. I need to deal with this now. Help yourself to anything else. I'll only be a few minutes." He left some cash on the table, stepped outside.

The wind had picked up and his hair flew in sync with his hands (which were now moving about furiously as he spoke into his phone!) He ran his hand through his hair. Put the call down. Then he placed another call. Whatever it was, it was serious.... He shook his head. I didn't make out much of it, but could read from his lips at one stage:
No, Raymond. I'm sorry. No. Goodbye
. Then he turned and I couldn't see anymore.

He walked back inside and heaved in a deep breath. He looked, in a way, relieved....

He sat back down, looked absently away for a little bit, then said, "It's done. Leora, I can't thank you enough for letting me know this. Is your friend OK?"

I was still a little stunned. (I was also getting more than a little fucking turned on...) But I held my composure together. I didn't want to "faze out" anymore with this guy. "Um, yeah, she's good. We got there in time."

"Well, I'm very sorry. My brother Francis is... Well, I should have know. Anyway. So, is this Kayla a friend from work, or an old school friend?"

Er,
what
?

Oh, shit. It hit me, like a frickin Boeing 747 on the runway with me underneath it: Friend from "work"? An "old school friend"?

This guy thinks I'm in my twenties!

I did what any girl in my position would do. I lied.

-2-

"Um, yes, she's an old friend...from work. I mean, she's a friend from work. But we were also friends at school. Yeah, um,
years
back, yeah."
Stop. Talking!

Conall picked up on my nervousness. "And what line of work would that be?"

Line of work. Line of work. Think. Think. Think! "Secretary. Yeah, secretary for"—thinking on my feet, nothing to do with financial software, or banks, or New York—"Bloomingdales. I mean, an executive in Bloomingdales."

"Oh, that must be fun. I thought someone who dresses like you must know about fashion." Did he just rake me up and down with his eyes? And you gotta believe it, it felt like it was his hand on my naked skin!

"Yeah, I've been there, um, a few years now.
Lots
of fashion stuff to do. It's not only 'secretarying' but a bunch of other stuff."

Secretarying?
Oh, God. I was so screwing this up.

"Well,
I'm sure it's fascinating."

Change the subject change the subject change the subject! "And you? You're into that financial software and stuff, right?"

"Um, yes, I finished up my degree at Oxford, then worked for a big software company for a few years. A friend of mine had been in the business quite long and asked me to consult on a few deals. Well, within six months I was raking in the big money and he kept me on as part of the team. I get a commission for each deal."

I didn't even ask him how much he'd lost personally as part of this sale... Besides, I was too busy counting up the numbers in my head. Oxford Degree, so that's, what, four years? Then a "few years" at this software company. Let's be generous: three years. No, two. Then six months closing deals. And how long ago had that been? So let's just say another year, at
best
! So three plus three—no, it was four... No, start again: Oxford, four—

"Leora?" He chuckled. "You looked like you were doing calculus in your head or something."

Shit, don't tell me I was moving my lips while I was working that out! (I do that, you know.)

"Um, should we get out of here?" he asked.

Oh yes please.

-2-

I texted Leroy to move along now and get outta there. I had my own ride.

We took a cab to, ahem, the frickin
Marriot
!

"Oh, you didn't get the Presidential Suite?" I asked as a slur after he let me into the "more modest" Executive Suite. I'd stayed in a few suites myself, of course. But somehow, being here, with an older man... Well, it felt different. It's different when mommy's paying for your suite. It's a whole new world when Mr. Sexy Rich Guy is escorting you into one. (Was he rich?)

The whole place smelt of "new." A bottle of unopened wine sat on the main table, two glasses next to it.
Damn. He was a frickin player!

"Have a seat," he said, gesturing to the settee. Red, of course. They wouldn't put a frigid little blue thing in the Executive Suite, now would they?

I was so out of my league here. And I knew it. (I also knew that my skin had cooled from the damp sweat which had broken out all over my body. But that wasn't because of nervousness or the temperature...)

"I'm just going to freshen up," he said.

Shouldn't that have been my line?

I did the only thing I could do. I texted Kayla!

Leora: Help! Dude is like FUCKING hot but about THIRTY!

Kayla: Nice! Have fun!

Leora: No, u don't understand! I'm freaked! I'm at his place! I think he wants to...

Kayla: Finally!

That wasn't helping much.
OK, breathe. Take it easy. Sit back...

His bathroom door opened. Freshen up indeed... His hair was wet and ruffled. "Wine?" he asked.

Wine. One glass equals one-hundred-twenty-three calories. Not to mention that I could get this guy arrested for offering me alcohol. Of course, he doesn't know that, because he thinks I'm twenty-three or whatever. "Sure, I'll have a glass," I said nervously.