I have a love-hate relationship with window shopping. Immersing oneself in the plethora of high-end clothing lines thrills the fashionista in me, but unaffordability leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Designer shoes are my kryptonite. Peep-toe stilettos and lace-up high heels are close favourites. Batignolles triumph, though. Whenever I hit retail stores, I touch them with covetous fingertips. I even tried a pair on once, the iconic, red-bottomed shoes that can be admired but never bought, and promised myself that if I won the lottery, I would purchase such fine-crafted footwear.
Purpled, red or blue, I pondered, flicking through the rails of sale-priced formalwear. I have fluctuated between the puff sleeve mini dress and the satin wrap dress for ten minutes. Thanks to insignificant funds, I can only buy one, not two, and the shoes are a definite no unless I break into savings, which is a terrible idea. I should spend the awarded compensation money wisely.
I am unemployed and expected to spend thriftily, so the red satin dress, which looked expensive yet had the discounted price of ten quid, went into the basket.
"What about this?" Chloe held the black high-rise skirt to her waist as she marvelled at her reflection in the standing mirror. "It's only eight pounds." Before I could complement the look, she tossed it in the basket alongside lingerie and strapless bras. "I need to eat. Happy hour?"
Paid purchases in hand, we strolled through the shopping centre, searching for a restaurant. Tapas Revolution happened. Fritura mixta, Patatas Bravas, Bruschetta de Pollo, Paella Valenciana and sparkling sangria served in a glass flute.
Chloe chewed cooked chicken. "So, the coffee shop encounter flunked."
I dipped the bread in sherry balsamic. "Going to Club 11 also flunked."
"What's phase three?" she asked, and I jerked one shoulder. "Oh, come on, Hon. You can't give up that easily."
"Chloe, I have quite literally stalked this man for months, and it's gotten me nowhere. I executed the coffee trick. I caught his eye in the club. Each time, he sent me packing. He's not interested. If I continue to pester, he will file a restraining order against me."
"Well, what did he say to you inside the cleaning cupboard?"
"Not much," I half-lied, reliving the moment his hands toured my thighs and his lips teased the side of my neck. "He berated me for sneaking into the club and told me to leave."
She refilled our glasses with sparkling sangria. "It's Thursday."
I am aware.
"Which means it is Friday tomorrow."
Yes, I am aware.
"Which means Liam will be at the coffee shop in the morning."
"Chloe," I said, and she smiled impishly. "Get to the point."
"You can't chuck the towel in." She forked green beans and red peppers around the plate. "If you cannot convince Liam to hire you, how do you plan to uncover the truth behind Kathy's disappearance? I know. You can stay in bed all day and wait for the phone to ring, or you can sit by the front door in the hope she comes home. Maybe you can go back to the police station and inveigle the detectives to launch a missing person case."
I sat mutely.
"Or you can get your arse to the coffee shop tomorrow and land the job. I don't think there are other options. Liam's the last person to have seen your sister. He knows something."
I sipped sangria. "What if he's clueless to her whereabouts, though?"
"Highly doubtful. But, for argument's sake, let's say he is unaware of her disappearance. How many people work for that man?"
I shrugged.
"Hundreds. And Club 11 is their port of call. Someone knows something, whether it be security, cleaners or the bar staff. If not them, then the people she worked alongside day and night."
I had never given thought to the dancers. "Kathy never mentioned friends." That's not to say there weren't any. "Okay, what's the new game plan?"
Chloe unfolded a napkin to wipe her hands. "Go to the coffee shop tomorrow. And for the love of God, do not come home without the job."
"I love your optimism." I sucked spicy sauce off my thumb. "What If he kicks me to the curb again?"
Her defined eyebrows furrowed. "Then, I am out of options."
***
I fell into the coffee shop ten minutes before Liam's due to arrive, ordered myself a tall latte and settled in my favourite booth at the back of the room. I placed the broken laptop on the table, the notepad and pens and pretended to look busy. When he entered the building, I would hide unease and feign shock. I mean, what are the chances of stumbling into each other again?
What a small world!
Liam was not born yesterday, Alexa.
Tone it down a little.
Hello, Mr Warren.
Fancy seeing you here.
May I buy you a coffee? Croissant? Fruit?
I put the brakes on my mental maunder and slumped against the booth's cold leather. Lionising is ineffectual. Liam's cutthroat and straight from the shoulder. No more equivocation. He will respect me more if I go in with a direct approach. Whatever happens, I am not going down without a fight.
I glanced at the window. It's miserable today, the damp air, grey skies and ominous clouds threatening a hellacious downpour. People rushed to their destinations, whether for work or leisure, to avoid impending bad weather, and vehicles passed on in a blur.
It's twenty fast past eleven. Liam is late. He is never late. Every Friday, eleven a.m., without fail, yet he's not here.
What does that mean?
I finished the coffee and ordered another.
My eyes alternated from the window to the wall-mounted clock in anxiousness, the hand ticking away alongside the minutes.
Where the hell is this man?
Maybe Liam did not want coffee today, Alexa.
Ever wondered if the man had a life?
Perhaps he found a new coffee shop to avoid the crazy stalker woman.
That would be me.
Jesus Christ.
Blowing out a defeated sigh, I lowered my head to the table and closed my eyes. I am tired, mentally and emotionally. I felt over-emotional and exhausted. I wanted to wake up from this nightmare now. Harassing a crime lord will result in unspeakable consequences. And it's overwhelmingly taxing.
I unlocked my phone and, for the umpteenth time, read Kathy's text messages.
Kathy: Did you steal my socks?
Kathy: There is leftover carbonara in the fridge
Kathy: Okay, I might run away with the new postman. He's insanely hot.
Kathy: Fancy a movie night? I can buy popcorn on the way home.
Kathy: Are you awake? I can't sleep.
Kathy: Thank you for last night. I don't know what came over me. I have been so emotional lately.
Kathy: Hey, Sis. I have to cancel dinner. I'm sorry, but I can't get out of work. It's super busy tonight. Hell, we need the cash anyway, right?
Kathy: Tell Chloe to stop leaving her makeup around the living room. If I stand on another hairbrush, I will beat her with it.
Kathy: Don't stay up too late.
Kathy: I love you, Sis.
I sent her a text.
Me: I love you more, Kathy.
Message delivered.
Hope combusted inside my chest. I dialled her number and placed the phone to my ear. "Yeah," the guy answered, his cantankerousness leaving me in a state of nausea. "Who is this? Why are you always texting me?"
My chest ached. "Why do you have my sister's phone?"
"Your sister?" he questioned. "I don't know what you are talking about, young lady. I bought it at the pawnshop. And I got a receipt, so quit pestering me or else I will call the police."
"I'm sorry—" He killed the call, and the phone fell through my rigid fingers. Tears outlined my lashes in beads. Willing myself not to cry, I briefly shut my eyes and drew in a well-needed breath.
Clicking the top of a pen to reveal the fine nib, I scribbled down information (phone sold; number in use) and then quickly googled pawn shops within the vicinity. Three stores, I located. Three pawnbrokers and one of them accepted Kathy's property as collateral.
I texted the addresses to Chloe and gave her a quick rundown.
Chloe: I can visit the cash converter. It's two streets over from the office. I am unfamiliar with the other two, though.
Me: Thank you, Chloe.
A shadow fell over me.
I peered up from the phone, possibly with one eye open, and felt the blood evaporate from my body. Liam Warren, the handsome, debonair man, popped open the button of his suit jacket and took a seat directly opposite me. His eyes resembled crystal blue waters on a summer's day, but the dark intensity of his stare deceived his poised movements. He's angry. His expression masked yet cinched, the rigidity of his white knuckles as his fist rapt on the table, telling me to stay quiet.
"Are you expecting someone?" he asked, and I slipped the phone into my bag unobtrusively. "I don't like repeating myself."
I licked the roof of my mouth. "No."
"No?" He radiated smugness. "You watched the door with determined purposefulness. Naturally, I assumed you awaited company."
"Well..." I unclogged my throat, breaking what seemed to be a stare competition. "I was waiting for a friend, but she cancelled at the last minute."
"Really?" He wore a conceited smirk. "So, our serendipitous encounter is uncoincidental?"
I'd rather he kept his apparent empath abilities to himself. "No."
"Evasiveness makes a fool out of you and me." Haughtiness chiselled his strong jaw. "Why don't we start again? My name is Liam Warren, which, judging by your recent behaviour, you knew that already."
My lips pursed. "Yes."
The kittenish redhead appeared to place fresh coffees on the table. Liam never so much as thanked her for providing refills, nor did he spare her an appreciative glance. No, his steadfast glare speared into me.
I blindly entered a business meeting.
Liam's forearms rested on the table as his fingers threaded. "What's your name?"
"Alexa," I answered warily.
"Alexa," he whispered, the name rolling on his tongue. "Surname?"
My heart began to pitter-patter. I gave him my mother's maiden name. "Rutherford."
His head cocked. "You are lying."
Oh, shit. Get out of my head. "No, I am not."
"See, I am trying to be patient with you, Alexa." A look of vexation crossed his face. "But I do not take kindly to people who stare me in the eye and lie."
My shoulders sagged in despondency. "Haines," I said, knowing he'd recognise the surname. "Alexa Haines."
He blinked once. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"
I was tongue-tied.
Why hadn't he questioned the connection? This man had a sexual relationship with my sister yet misremembered basic details. How is such forgetfulness possible? I have given Liam way too much credit. He's not as judicious as I thought.
Liam's stare held mine. "Are you a cop?"
"What?" I snorted out loud. "No. I wish I flaunted a dutiful badge, though."
His eyes foraged again. "Well, if you're not a police officer, why is your bony arse following me?"
Ouch. I am not the curviest of women, but I am not emaciated either. "I'm not following you." Puzzlement plastered all over my face. "I am drinking coffee."
"You intentionally bumped into me the first time we met. Merely a day later, we reacquaint at my club."
How did he know my successful coffee bump was deliberate?
"Then I walk in here today to find you longing for my presence." His lip turned up in disgust. "If you are not fucking bent, then what are you? Obsessed? Stalking? Do share."
My chin hit the floor. "I am simply none of those things," I emphasised defensively. "Besides, if you know the details of my weekly activities, doesn't that make you the stalker?"
I am totally flipping deceitful roles here. I would be lying if I said I was not attracted to Liam. He's beautiful. But I am not obsessed, nor do I possess typical stalker tendencies. I am certainly starting to honour that degrading title, though. I mean, how many times can one bump into someone before it becomes questionable?
"Touché." His finger absently rotated his thumb ring. "How old are you again?"
So, our last encounter was that unmemorable to him. Noted. "Nineteen."
Liam glared in stunned stupefaction. "I am almost ten years your senior." Coughing into a curled-up fist, he cleared his throat and went for the jugular. "Your little crush on me is somewhat cute, but I will save you the hassle. I am disinterested. You see, I am a man with multitudinous predilections. A young, impressionable teenager, however, is not one of them."
"With all due respect, I am not a child, Mr Warren. Besides, I don't recall any complaints from our last encounter. You'd have fucked me in that cupboard if I so foolishly allowed it."
"I am unaccountable for someone else's delinquencies. I thought you were older," he whisper-shouts, his agitation soaring to perilous heights. "Club 11 is an over-twenty-one for a reason. Juvenile behaviour is unwelcome."
What a moot argument!
I am after a job, not a one-way ticket inside his trousers.
"Can we rewind for a second?" My fingers motioned a backward pedal. "You were right. I have followed you. And no. It's not sexual attraction, Mr Warren. I wanted a job."
An unpleasant, cricket chirping moment lingered. With deadpan humour, Liam wiped the amusement from his pinched lips. "A job?"
"I am broke," I said, which was partly true. "Someone told me that Club 11 provided remunerative employment."
"That's why you came to the club?" He appeared to be taken aback by the affirmation. "You wanted a job."
An impossible shade heated my cheeks. "Yes."
Liam paid the entrance a sharp glance. "You had an opportunity to request an interview when..." His brows tugged in confusion. "I am inclined to question your sanity, Miss Haines."
"I know," I said with a slight huff. "I made a huge song and dance when I could have just asked the first time..." His intolerant expression had me by the tongue. "Look, I'm sorry. Yes, I had plentiful opportunities to ask, but you are an intimidating man. I was nervous."
He pondered in silence. "Stand," he instructed, and I stared unblinkingly. "Miss Haines, I don't like repeating myself."
I staggered to my feet and stood by the side of the table.
Liam's arms stretched across the booth's rear as he scrutinised me from head to toe. "You are an indefinite prerequisite for satisfying clientele."
What requirements are needed to be a stripper?
"Well," I gestured to my chest, "I have boobs—"
"Did you just refer to your tits as boobs?" He crushed me with one arrogant look. "It's not fucking happening, kid." Without a second's consideration, he slipped out of the booth and walked away.
"Hey, wait!" Ignoring stares from inquisitive coffee drinkers, I quickly gathered my belongings and chased him outside. "Wait!" By the parked Bentley, Bald Suit reared his shiny head. "Keep those hands to yourself, buddy, or I will take my nails to your dick." Not waiting for his reaction, I spin around and collide straight into a wall of muscle—Liam's chest, to be exact. Patting him awkwardly, I stepped back and composed myself. "Please, can we start again?"
Liam remained mute, but he's still here.
"My name is Alexa Haines. I'm sorry I referred to my tits as boobs. I am innately polite, so manners are second nature and, well, some people frown upon crudeness. I'll call my vagina a fanny if that's what makes you happy."
He scrubbed a hand down his face. "Leave," he ordered, and his men, all watching our exchange, passed each other curious glances before disappearing into the Bentley vehicles.
With his men out of ear-shot, he came closer, so close our noses touched. "Pussy," he murmured to my lips, and I peered up from beneath my eyelashes. "Say it."
"Pussy," I whispered, red-faced and mortified.
"Good. Let's try another," he added, and I dreaded the test. "Cunt."
Oh, damn. I hate vulgarity.
"You cannot say it," he mused, entertained by the evident uncomfortableness I emitted. "Did you do your research, Miss Haines? Do you know what a gentleman's club entails? You partied for one night and figured it out, huh? Club 11 is more than nightlife. It's a doorway to clandestineness. If you find lewdness and risqué behaviour contemptuously unendurable, how, pray tell, do you plan to handle a paying man's insatiableness?"
I had many questions. "Erotic dancers just collect the money from the floor, right?"
"Your naiveness humours me, Miss Haines." Liam laughed twice. "What do you do?"
My features tightened. "I don't understand the question."
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're only nineteen. Are you in college? Where do you live? I assume you reside with your parents. If you need part-time work, settle for a restaurant. Flip some burgers."
"I don't attend college." I settled my hands to my hips. "I share a flat with my best friend. And my parents are dead." My heart squeezed. "I might be young, but I live in the real world. Bills need paying. Life goes the fuck on. Flipping burgers for minimum wage will not keep a roof over my head."
His jaw locked. "No-can-do, kid."
Oh, for crying out loud. "Why not?"
"I fucking said so, that's why." He thrust a hand through his hair. "You might live in the real world, but you do not live in mine." Our eyes aligned. "And trust me, you don't want to."
Liam shouldered past me.
I was losing the will to live. "Mr Warren, I will do anything. Please reconsider."
"For fuck's sake." With long, determined strides, he came back, snagged my forearms, his ring-laden fingers tight to my skin, and wrenched me closer. "Alexa, go home," he ordered, the warning in his intolerable tone cording every muscle in my body. "Don't settle for what the streets have to offer. Get to college. Make something of yourself. You can do better."
What is that supposed to mean?
I stared stonily at him. "Why do you care which road I take?"
"Mistaking advice for earnestness is foolish." He released me with an uncaring shove. "Take the fucking hint."
My eyes welled up. "If you would—"
"I'd never hire a girl like you." His face was crimson with fury. "Go home, Miss Haines. Quit fucking hounding me."
My back pressed to the coffee shop's brick wall. Liam left and never looked back. I heard the Bentley vehicles come to life before the drivers sped down the street, though, the exhaust pipes permeating the air with thick smog-like fumes.
I stood in numbed mutism, inspecting my image, the oversized jumper, ripped jeans and unruly hair.
Of course, Liam will not take me seriously. He worked alongside beautiful women: tall, flawless, glamorised, confident women.
I am no Aphrodite, but I never thought I was dog ugly, either. Kathy, who resembled her younger sister, obtained a position at Club 11 within seconds of meeting Liam.
What did she have that I didn't?
Moreover, what did she do that I couldn't?
I had one final plan.
Let's pray I execute.
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