Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Bleu didn’t look directly at me, as if he wanted to respect my privacy by ignoring the sex written all over me.
I grabbed a cigar from the bowl and lit it, the smoke rising straight to the ceiling. I sank into the armchair with my elbow on the armrest. “You came here for a reason?”
He grabbed a cigar for himself, probably to cover the stench I brought into the room. “Very little intel I was able to gather. His crew is pretty tight.”
“But every man has a weakness. Wife. Kid. Deadly allergy…something.”
“No wife. And he has no medical records, which tells me his ties to the underworld precede his birth.”
So this guy was the real deal.
“But.”
“Ooh…I like the sound of that.”
“He has a couple daughters.”
“This just got interesting.” I rested my arm, the smoke rising to the ceiling and making my living room smell like an old chimney.
“One is with him. One he’s been estranged from for seven years. They haven’t spoken once.”
Now my interest was really piqued. “That sounds promising.”
“I’m not sure if she’ll be much use to us. If they don’t speak, can we really use her as leverage?”
“Depends on why they stopped speaking.”
Bleu answered the unspoken question. “No idea. I only came across her existence by accident. He really scrubbed her from his life, like he doesn’t want anyone to know she exists.”
I puffed another cloud of smoke from my mouth. “Where is she now?”
He handed the black folder to me. “In Paris, actually.”
“You don’t say…” I opened the folder and found a large photo. It was a young woman with deep brown hair, skin that looked like olive oil. I could taste it on my tongue as I stared. Her eyes were the color of espresso with a dollop of cream in the center. Plump lips like clouds, painted a muted pink.
“She’s a personal shopper. Has a lot of high-end clients.”
“As in, she shops for people?”
“Yes.”
I flipped the page and found another picture. It was a full-body photo, her stepping out of a café with a coffee in hand. She wore a long-sleeved dress with knee-high boots, a purse dangling in the crook of her elbow. I didn’t say this a lot, but I said it now. “Damn.”
“She has an office in the city.”
I flipped through more pictures, growing more impressed with every image. “I’ll have to stop by.”
“Should I get the team together?” he asked. “We can grab her when she leaves her office.”
“There’s a chance she’s being watched. Italian men don’t usually abandon their family. Not truly, anyway.” I closed the folder. “I’ll stop by. See what I find.”
I sat in my car across the street.
Her small office was wedged between a clothing store and a café. Through the front window, I could see men's and women’s shoes on display, along with handbags and wallets. There was clothing too. Jackets, because it was still a little chilly outside, but also some lighter stuff because of the approaching warm months.
I sat there for two hours, and from what I could tell, no one kept tabs on her.
She was entirely on her own.
I crossed the street and looked through the glass before I walked inside.
She stood at the counter, the phone pressed to her ear while she scribbled notes on a notepad. She was in a sweater that only covered one shoulder, and her hair was in loose curls over her exposed skin. When I stepped inside, a quiet bell rang overhead, and she continued to talk like she didn’t realize I was there.
“Got it.” She continued her notes. “Cynthia. Cynthia, just listen to me, alright?” she said with a note of humor in her voice. “How long have you been coming to me? A long time, right? Because you know I know what I’m doing. I know how to make a man beg. And trust me, that piece-of-shit ex-husband of yours is going to swallow his tongue when he sees you. Come in next Tuesday, and I’ll show you what I got. Bye, girl.” She hung up the phone, finished her notes, and then looked up at me.
Her vibrant mood faded once her eyes settled on me. She was like a deer caught in the headlights, unsure what to do at the sight of me. Something about my appearance clearly unnerved her. I was in my leather jacket and boots, so I didn’t exactly belong there with her designer dresses and purses.
She came around the counter and approached me, sizing me up like she was taking my measurements in her head. “Let me guess. Your wife threw you out, and this is all you have.” She wore light-colored jeans and pumps, smelling like a rose garden. She looked me up and down, her arms crossed over her chest.
“I’m not married.”
“Anymore, or…?”
Her eyes were like magnets. I couldn’t stop staring at them. They had a smoky look to them, her lashes thick and dark, perfectly complementing the natural color of her eyes. There was more to it than that, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. “Never been married.”