Harley's POV
You can often tell whether a date is going to work out within the first couple of minutes. However, I think this date was going well - until it wasn't.
Samuel something-or-other had been prepared. He was mostly clean-looking and had made an effort to dress to the occasion. He held the door open for me, made sure to find us a couple of stools at the bar so I wouldn't feel uncomfortable, and came prepared to ask me about myself - the whole deal. But after an hour or so, Samuel got a bit too comfortable with our situation.
I now know that Samuel has one dog and two cats, lived with his grandmother up until recently, has had three girlfriends in the past, loves Dungeons & Dragons and bigger women, and is studying to become a web designer. Which, the grandmother thing isn't a terrible situation, because, let's face it, half the men my age are in a similar boat. The attraction to bigger women helps, too, given my current situation. But this isn't information I need to know right away. It's only been around twenty minutes and he hasn't stopped talking.
"I hope to become one of those big-time guys, you know? Maybe start my own design company," he says as he finishes his long-winded response to "How have you been lately?".
I smile at him and take a long sip of my water through my straw. I've kept a careful eye on it since I got it in case Samuel here was only talking to distract me. Flicking my long hair over my shoulder, I set my cup down close to me. "That sounds like quite the plan you've got."
Samuel grins and takes a drink of his club soda. "Enough about me, though. I forgot to ask, how do you feel about your job?"
"I'm actually in between jobs right now." I tuck my feet under the footrest on my stool. "But I occasionally get called into a couple of mental health facilities to translate at appointments."
"That sounds... interesting," Samuel says. I can't tell if he's genuinely interested or is only saying it to make me happy.
I shrug and offer him a slight smile. "It pays the bills, and sometimes I'm not entirely sure I should be directly translating what the patients have said."
That gets a laugh from Samuel, but instead of a normal, somewhat quiet chuckle, he cackles. Very, very loudly.
"Ah-heh," I say in a meek attempt at a laugh. I don't mind his laugh, but the way people around us got quiet for a second was a little embarrassing. My phone lights up, and I glance down at it, hoping that someone has texted me with even the slightest of emergencies that can get me out of this situation. No such luck.
A woman walks past us and eyes Samuel and me discreetly then turns to say something to her partner.
Samuel's eyes lock on the couple. "Ugh, I hate it when men dress like women. His voice gives him away."
My lip twitches and I fight back a look of disgust. Did he really just sit here and say that like it's okay? Like it's something he says every day and people actually agree with him?
He turns his attention away from the couple, who obviously heard him but chose not to say anything. "Anyway, I love your sense of style. That dress looks amazing on you."
I force a smile and smooth my hands over the silky surface of my dress. This is one of my favorite dresses because it hugs my hips nicely but is ruched so it hides my stomach without me having to wear shapewear. "Thank you."
"So, how about we get out of here? I can walk you home if you'd like?" Samuel waves at the bartender, who puts up a finger as he speaks with another customer.
I blink a couple of times, caught off-guard by his sudden change in conversation. I tap my phone to check the time. It's only been eight minutes since I checked the time last. That means our date has lasted less than a half an hour.
"I think I'll just call a cab," I say, grabbing my jacket off the backrest, grateful he was the first to mention leaving.
Samuel reaches a hand across the table to rest it on mine. "You sure? It wouldn't be a problem."
The hairs on my arms stand up, and I'm even more uncomfortable than I was before. "Oh, no, really it's -"
"Oh, my God, I'm so glad I found you." A man comes up behind us, a panicked look on his face. I expect him to grab Samuel's arm and try to pull him away, but his focus is on me instead.
Samuel's bushy eyebrows knit together. "Do you know this guy?"
Before I can respond, the man says, "I'm her cousin." He looks down at me and nudges my arm. "Grandmother is in the hospital. Your friends said you would be here. We have to go."
"That seems urgent," Samuel says. "You should probably go. I can give you a call tomorrow?"
"Uh..." I look at the stranger, who gives me a look as if saying just play along. "Yeah, you're right. But I'll give you a call. Don't worry about it."
Samuel nods and puts a hand up as I reach into my purse to grab my wallet. "I got it."
"Okay. Thank you so much," I say as I follow the stranger toward the front of the bar. He looks harmless enough and way more put-together than Samuel back there.
Says every girl who ever gets kidnapped.
"Why'd you step in back there?" I ask as I stop outside the nightclub door. "And who are you?"
"Just an innocent onlooker who thought you might need some help. That guy gave off weird vibes the whole time." The 'th' sound blends together as the man speaks, almost as if he's saying 'deh.' It's a slight accent that I can't place as he shrugs and pulls a cigar and a lighter out of his pocket. Red lights up his face as the cigar catches and lets out a puff of smoke into the rain falling just outside of the awning.
"You were watching the whole time?"
He stops and looks at me. "Well, not the whole time. But for a while. Especially after I overheard what he said about that woman."
"Why?" If he was listening for that long, what stopped him from intervening sooner?
"Because I saw something I like. And I had a feeling something would go wrong on that date of yours. I was right."
"I see," I say. I examine the man in front of me. He stares down at his phone, typing something with one hand and holding his cigar with the other. He's about my age. Tall. Dressed in a suit but still managing to look casual. He seems to possess the effortless hotness that guys with lots of money, time, and egocentrism often have. But I can't bring myself to be annoyed by it.
"Look." The man puts out his cigar on the ashtray and tucks his phone into his pocket. When he turns to me, his hazel eyes meet mine. "I wasn't saying you owe me for helping you or anything. If you come here often, I'll see you."
He pulls at the collar of his suit and dusts some imaginary dust off his shoulders as a black car pulls up to the curb. "Until then."
Before I can respond, he steps into the rain and dashes toward the car. Moments later, the car departs, leaving me standing under the awning watching as the red lights disappear down the road.
My phone starts buzzing in my pocket, and the caller ID flashes with my best friend's face. "What's up, Danny?" I ask as I accept the call.
"How's the date going?" Her voice is light. Like she's hoping it went well.
"It went. Terribly, at that. You're terrible at finding dates," I say as I order an Uber through my phone. "I was honestly hoping you'd call sooner so I had a reason to leave."
"Rude. Did you?"
"Did I what?" I watch a couple of people exit the side door of the bar. One of them almost falls as her foot catches a step.
"Have a reason to leave."
My mind goes back to the man who pretended to be my cousin. I wonder why a man like him was at this bar. Especially dressed in such an expensive suit. And alone - if he was even alone.
"Harley?" Her voice echoes from the other end of the phone, bringing me back to the present.
I shake my head. "What? Sorry."
"I take it you had a pretty interesting reason."
I laugh a little. "Some guy pretended to be my cousin and said our grandmother was in the hospital. I think he might have been rich. Maybe Italian, too. He had an accent." Now that I think of it, though, his accent had been nonexistent when he first approached Samuel and me. He must be pretty good at masking it.
"Did you get his number?"
"No?" My eyebrow twitches up, though she can't see it. "Why would I get his number?"
"I don't know, let's see. Rich, possibly Italian, saved you from a bad date, probably good-looking. Totally not someone whose number you should get," she points out sarcastically. "Harley, sometimes I swear you're not the brightest."
"That's not very nice. I'm in grad school, you know."
My Uber pulls up to the curb, and I sprint toward it to get out of the rain as soon as possible.
"Schooling doesn't necessarily equal smarts, Lee," Danny points out, and I can almost imagine that goofy smirk of hers as she does. "You're very intelligent, yes. But sometimes I wonder if your common sense is there."
"You think you're funny, don't you?" I ask as I buckle my seatbelt and tell the driver my address.
"Oh, I'm hilarious."
I laugh and shake my head. "I'm on my way back to our apartment now. I'll see you in a bit, okay?"
"You better. Don't get kidnapped." Then she hangs up, and I set my phone in my lap as I stare out the window of the car.
We pass the Ricci Idealista Enterprise headquarters - where I have quite possibly the most important interview of my life tomorrow. This will be my first real job as a translator. Granted, that's if I even get the job.
They're a big real estate company with properties here in the U.S., Mexico, Italy, Germany, and the UK. They're looking to expand to Russia, and the company they plan to partner with doesn't speak much English, so this is my chance to prove my skills. I just hope I don't screw it up.
___
In the morning, looking up at the skyscraper-like building, everything starts to feel real. The glass doors seem to loom over me, even though they are transparent. A man walks through them, talking on his phone, and almost walks into me. Really? I roll my eyes toward a potted bush on the right side of the door.
Half of the guys that work here couldn't care less about anyone else around them. They just want to get paid. I curl my lip into a sneer as I watch the man jump into a sleek black car and speed down the road.
As much as I hate some of the people in Seattle, it's home now, and if I'm going to work at Ricci Idealista Enterprise, I'm going to have to get used to it. Plus, today is one of the rare-ish days that the skies are actually clear. I love the clear days. Clouds and rain make for depressing days, especially if you're trapped inside.
I push through the doors and step into the building's lobby. About twenty feet ahead of me is a desk, with a brunette man sitting at it. He types something into his computer with such ferocity that I'm afraid to approach him.
"I don't bite," he says, still typing into the computer. "How can I help you?"
"Uh, hi," I say, rubbing my arm awkwardly. He doesn't look up. "I'm here for the translator interview."
At that, he stops typing and looks up. A stray strand of hair falls out of the gelled heap on his head and into his eyes. He pushes it back up and smiles. "Harley, right? It's nice to meet you. Your interview will be in HR. Fourth floor up, four doors down on your right."
"Thank you," I say and smile back at him. "Uh... Where are the elevators?"
He laughs. "Sorry." He points to my right. "That hallway there, about halfway down. You'll see them."
"Thank you." I follow his directions and push the button to call the elevator down. As the heavy metal doors slide open with a tinny ding, my heart stops.
On the other side of the doors, the man also stops, and a wide-eyed expression crosses his face. Then his dark brows lower, and a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.