It’s difficult to remember that when I see him walking in. He’s always dressed up, no matter where he goes. Suit, with or without a tie, it doesn’t matter. Carmine’s wingtip shoes, dark blue slacks and suit jacket underneath his sleek black peacoat with the collar popped ever so slightly is almost a uniform. Despite being late, he looks like he means business regardless of when and where he shows up.
My plain grey v-neck, jeans, and leather jacket make us an interesting pair as he slips his coat off and slides into the booth.
I can’t take my eyes off his neck and shoulders. They’re slender, and his neck is flushed with the energy his body is using to warm him up in the cold weather.
“You look like shit,” he mumbles. “You can’t dress a little better?”
“You’re late,” I tell him. My eyes finally trail up his face to his eyes. “You can’t manage your fuckin’ time better?” I raise a brow.
He narrows his eyes at me and takes off his gloves and puts them beside him on his coat. “I had unexpected business to attend to,” Carmine tells me.
I lean back in my seat and sip my coffee. “You’re the one who asked to meet me, Carmine,” I remind him. “You haven’t said shit to me in two days, barely left your house. What were you doing? Was the important business takin’ a shower?”
He scoffs. “Like you don’t know. I know you’ve been keeping surveillance on me.”
I look to the side for a moment. There aren’t many people in here, most of them at the front sitting at the bar counter. Still, I know that anyone could be listening.
“Sure, but not in your bedroom,” I reply. I stir in more cream to my coffee and take another sip. “Unless, you’d like that?”
Carmine’s face flushes at his cheeks and nose, I’m sure of it, but he brushes the comment and question off.
“Whatever. It’s two in the morning, let’s just get to what we’re here for,” he says. “You think the Carvels pose a danger even with Jackson gone?”
I pause for a second, about to tell him yes even though the plan has suddenly changed from protecting him to sabotaging him. The waitress comes back over at this exact moment, and I’m grateful it.
“Here’s your fries. Anything else? Decaf or regular?” she asks both of us.
“Decaf,” Carmine tells her. “That’s all.”
“Tsk. Up so late and not even eating anything. Let me know if you change your mind. I’ll be back with that decaf,” she tells us.
By the time she’s gone, I know what my answer is.
“I’ve been thinking about it, and actually, I’m not sure. If they don’t find out about you and Jackson, there shouldn’t be any issue. I doubt Victoria is going to attempt to start something. She would have to admit that she lied to Jackson in the first damn place, right?” I choose my words carefully as I pick up a fry.
The waitress returns to pour Carmine’s coffee, then leaves again to tend someone at the front.
“I suppose. Jackson going missing though, surely, they’ll tie it to me even with Victoria not telling them the entire truth. We don’t know that she won’t.” Carmine pours very little cream in his coffee and adds a tablespoon of sugar. When he lifts it to sip at it, he doesn’t seem pleased, but doesn’t say anything. I note this in my head for some reason. As if it’ll be useful later.
“You’re right, we don’t,” I agree. “We could though. I can talk to her. Make sure that she doesn’t say anything and helps keep the peace.”
Carmine squints at me.
I chew slowly on several fries, my mouth watering. I watch Carmine look down at my fries for a moment, seeming distracted.
“You can have some,” I push the plate toward the middle.
“I’m fine.” He shakes his head.
I shrug and grab a few more, shoving them in my mouth.
Carmine sighs and looks away from me, away from the table. His eyes are less cold than usual. Melted and filled with emotion. Frustration perhaps. Tired bags under those eyes tell me he’s barely been sleeping—or maybe sleeping too much. I guess probably the latter. Too much drunken sleep.
“What’s going on, Car?” I ask him quietly.
He blinks and looks at me slightly surprised. “Nothing. I’m just not sure how you talking with Victoria Carvel is going to help things.”
“Nah, not that. I get that. We’ll worry about it later. I mean, why do you look like hell keeled over every time I’ve seen you?” I ask him, leaning in a little bit closer.
