Inferno: Part 1 Page 3

  Before I get to my drink, the blonde from last night interrupts, trying to mark her territory.

  “Hi Bryce! I had so much fun last night and was thinking we could make some more memories tonight?” She tries to wedge herself in between me and the other woman, which is when I have to stand up.

  “I already made other plans,” I say coldly.

  She looks at the woman behind her and flips from flirty to crazy in three seconds.

  “What the hell, Bryce? Is this what you do for fun? A new woman every night? I bet you don’t even know my name, do you?” Her face is full of anger and I swear if she could spew venom she would.

  One of the bouncers is making his way over. The other woman is frozen in shock, so I grab her hand.

  “Let’s go,” I say leading her away.

  She is still aghast at the scene Blondie makes, but follows me robotically, if only to get away from the psychotic stalker. The crowd parts for us, but as I turn around, the blonde is being physically restrained as she thrashes against the bouncer. He has an arm around her middle, but she still manages to reach down and grab her shoe, which she launches at me. This doesn’t happen too often, but it’s not the first time.

  Bad aim. She misses, bouncing the shoe off an empty table, but the whole scene is draining. This girl has no problem spreading her legs for a man she just met and knows next-to-nothing about, but the degrading part is that I don’t sleep with her again? It makes no sense.

  Coach is by the door as we leave, shaking his head. “That’s some bullshit.”

  I shrug, just wanting to put distance between my date for the night and the blonde. The bouncers will hold her for a few minutes. I don’t bother with calling the limo; instead we just head straight for the penthouse, walking the few feet it takes.

  We’re alone in the elevator, and tonight’s entertainment finally speaks.

  “Does that happen a lot?” I study her gray eyes that peek out underneath a reddish-brown bob, and see doubt in that stare.

  “More than I’d like,” I respond.

  I never lie to the women I fuck. No strings and expect nothing more than one night. I tell every single one of them that. Doesn’t matter though, I could say it until I’m blue in the face. They all think they’ll be the one that changes me.

  We both sigh, and when I offer her a drink, she nods. In tandem, we take a big slug from the cut crystal snuffers and are silent for a moment.

  “Just to avoid any confusion—this isn’t a long-standing invitation. I’m not your boyfriend. I won’t buy you flowers. This isn’t the start of some epic romance. I don’t remember your name and honestly, I don’t care what it is.”

  She watches me during the whole speech, then digs in her purse, pulling out a cigarette. She lights it and inhales deeply, thinking over what I’ve said. When she exhales, the words have come to her and she looks me square in the eye.

  “I don’t care what your name is either. I’m here for one thing.” She lets out a laugh. “Rather presumptuous for you to think otherwise.”

  Her hand shakes as she holds the cigarette. It could be a bluff. They all say it’s casual, no expectations, they can handle it. Every time that falls apart. Every. Single. Time.

  It starts out light-hearted. Exchanging glances, flirting, sharing drinks. The limo ride is a novelty, the penthouse is like a hotel—someplace very different from everyday life where you only visit, never stay. But somehow they begin to picture themselves as a permanent fixture. It always happens. And it spells disaster.

  I leave her smoking on the couch while I step into the kitchen and call Sam.

  “I need a cab for my visitor up here,” I tell him.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Sam says.

  Less than five minutes later Sam is at the door, slightly sweaty from hurrying to arrange things. I pick up her coat and hand it to her, signaling that our arrangement is off. She can’t manage to look disappointed, and when Sam waves his hand for her to go through the door, she doesn’t argue.

  Sam watches as she passes by him and then turns his attention back to me. “By the way, here is the application for that brunette. She wants the waitressing job.”

  I’m curious, but don’t want to read it in front of him.

  “Hire her,” I say it a little too quickly which Sam reacts to with a confused expression.

  “Okay. Also…your brother showed up after you left tonight.”

  I run my hand through my hair, shake my head slightly and then say, “Find out where he staying.”

  Sam nods, never questioning or hesitating. He turns to usher the girl onto the elevator, and I’m left alone with my imagination.

  Why is Phillip back in town? He only visits during the holidays, especially the ones involving gifts. Otherwise, he’s impossible to reach. Why is he home now?

  I lean over the island for a minute, resting my forearms against the cool white marble. Then I reach under the island, and pull a bottle of pinot from the wine fridge.

  As I sip it directly from the bottle my mind races, trying to reason why he’s in town. It must be his terrible performance at Dartmouth.

  Phillip went to another state, saying it would keep him out of trouble, but he was so bored he ended up missing school to find entertainment. Mother came down hard, not just about his performance but comparing my record to his, asking why he couldn’t measure up. Hopefully he’s not coming to me for a bail-out.

  The stress is building between my shoulders—with my brother’s mysterious appearance and the blonde’s public tantrum it can’t be helped. Wine can’t dull the tension, so I hope to sleep it off.

  And then my mind drifts to the brunette. There was something in those eyes…

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Mila

  My hair will not cooperate and I know I need to look my best to get good tips. Finally, I just settle on a simple ponytail. Before I can decide whether I should attempt make-up, there’s a knock at the door.

  I crack the door and peek to see who it is, but the landlord’s face is red, so I open the door without delay.

  “Mila, you’re three months behind on rent. I need a payment,” he barks at me.

  “I know, Mr. Welsh. I’m really sorry, but I’ll have a partial payment after tonight. I got a job and I’ll bring you everything I make.” I’m hoping he understands the desperation in my voice.

  “It’s not enough. You’ve had three months and I need payment in full—now!” He’s really angry, I’ve never seen him like this.

  “Please, I know it’s not perfect, but I’m in school and I just got this job. I promise, I will work as much as it takes to get back on track. Can I just have more time?”

  “I can’t. This is my livelihood. When you don’t pay, that income is gone. I have a family.” He looks at me through furrowed brows and his glance implies that he’s not going to be understanding.

  He turns on his heel and stalks towards the entrance of the building, and I beg for just two more days to his back, but he doesn’t stop. Without even a glance in my direction, he shuts the door.

  My stomach is in knots but I have to get ready for work. It’s the only chance I have of making things right.

  I finish getting ready for my shift and choke down every single sob that wants to boil its way to the surface.

  When I step outside, I’m glad I didn’t waste much more time on my hair. It’s raining, and even with the umbrella, I can feel the frizz coming.

  A few steps away from Inferno a gust of wind blows my umbrella inside out, and I hear a snap. One side is collapsed in, and funnels the rain directly onto my head. I run for the door, but it’s locked.

  Just my luck.

  The windows are cloudy, but I don’t see anyone inside or any lights on when a hand grabs me from behind.

  “Ahhh!” I scream, before realizing it’s my new boss. I look like a drowned rat, and he pulls me under the umbrella with him. Not a single hair on his head is out of place. It’s not fair.

  H
e doesn’t move to open the door, but looks me up and down.

  “Only your first day working for me and you’re already wet?” he laughs.

  I frown, hoping to discourage him, but this seems to have the opposite effect.

  “Come up to my place and take off those wet clothes,” Bryce says.

  “Excuse me?” I make sure the expression on my face matches the amount of disgust I feel. “I’m not some skank you picked up in the bar; I just need a job. But my job is serving clients, not you.” My face is heated and I’m sure my cheeks are crimson.

  He forces the umbrella into my hand and then takes a step into the torrent of rain, holding his hands up near his shoulders and begins to back away.

  “That never even crossed my mind. I’m sorry—it came out wrong. I just meant you might want to clean up before your first night. I have extra uniforms,” he insists.

  Oh God, I just called my boss a pervert. My mind switches to damage control.

  “Come back under the umbrella—now we’re both soaked,” I manage to blurt out.

  He looks contrite, and steps back under. I motion for him to lead the way, and he takes the umbrella in one hand, loops his arm around my shoulder, and we walk into the fancy hotel just a few numbers up from the Inferno. Guess my boss is also kind of my neighbor. How I didn’t know that is beyond me.

  His towels are unlike anything I’ve experienced, even in a hotel. I don’t know how they’re so soft, and they smell like lemongrass.

  By the time I come back to the living room he has the fireplace going and has laid out dry clothes for me. He’s sitting on the couch, like a lion lying in wait, so I walk around the living room.

  Not many pictures have made the cut, so I assume they’re important. There are a few pictures at an amusement park, and although the boys are dressed the same their faces are slightly different. One is Bryce, but the other boy looks almost identical.

  “Do you have a twin?” I’m not sure the world can handle two of him.

  “You’re the first one to be even remotely close,” he nods in surprise. “Not a twin, but brother. That was our trip to Coney Island.” He gets up from the couch, coming by my side as I continue to examine the photos.

  “I’ve always wanted to go there—was it great?” I ask.

  “One of my favorite memories,” he shakes his head as if he’s reminiscing.

  Another picture is more recent, him with a distinguished older woman. Her hair is less shiny than Bryce’s, but the resemblance is clear.

  “Your mother?”

  He nods.

  “She’s so pretty. And elegant,” I say.

  “Enough about me. You’ve seen my seventh grade photos and I know almost nothing about you.”

  He gently leads me over to the couch, and we sit. For a few moments we’re silent, and I know he expects me to share my life’s story, but I’m nervous.

  “What about your family,” he asks gently. “What’s your mom like?”

  I pause, not sure how to answer at first. Something in his warm eyes makes me lower my guard.

  “She was beautiful. And kind. She would always leave notes in my lunch, just telling me I was special or how much she loved me.”

  I have to stop talking for a minute, because the memory of her still makes my throat tight. My eyes sting with tears but I hold them back. “She passed away when I was in the eleventh grade.”

  “I’m so sorry.” He reaches out for my hand and just holds it. No dramatics, no excessive questions about my feelings. Just that simple gesture. And I begin to open up.

  “Thank you. Anyway, she passed away, so it’s just my dad and me. He is such a huge part of why I’m going to Columbia—he always encouraged me and pushed me. We talk most days. And he calls me his little acorn.”

  I blush, but Bryce beams.

  “I can see it. You’re so tiny, and with your gorgeous brown hair.”

  I roll my eyes, and decide it’s his turn to spill the beans.

  “What about you?” I ask.

  He pauses, and I can see him formulating the words in his mind.

  “My mother…you’ve seen her—she is, as you pointed out, beautiful and elegant. But she’s not a typical ‘soccer mom.’ She means well, but she is very set in her ways. I was raised by a nanny named Marcella, but would be brought in every day for my mother to say hello and ask how I was. The older I got the more involved she became. Her greatest joy was setting me up with other eligible young women. And by eligible, I mean boring. Sweater sets, socially approved conversation topics. Can you picture me talking about the weather for thirty minutes?”

  I almost snort it makes me laugh so hard. Bryce, in khakis and a polo, sitting down to a society luncheon. It’s like putting clothes on animals—just, wrong, somehow.

  He knows what I’m thinking and nods. “Exactly. She means well, but breeding and family name are her main concerns. I’ve thwarted her attempts to marry me off enough times that she has relaxed a bit. Plus my brother provides a distraction.”

  “And your father?” I ask gently.

  “Oh, my father is basically the ATM. He and my mother married very young, but after Phillip and I were born, they made an arrangement. Dad goes where he wants, with whomever he wants. And Mom gets to buy whatever she wants.”

  “Wow.” I squeeze his hand.

  “That’s pretty much my feeling, too,” he admits. “But he’s rarely around, unless one of his girlfriends wants to attend a certain function, so less fireworks than you’d imagine.”

  We sit on his velvet couch for a while, taking in the secrets we’ve shared. I can’t explain it, but he seems more real to me than before. It could be my psychology classes talking, but based on his parent’s relationship, it seems like he chose his lifestyle to avoid that kind of arrangement.

  I break the silence first with the only thing I can think of. “Well, I’m excited to work at Inferno. So I better get dressed.”

  I escape to the bathroom, slip on the clothes he laid out and stare at myself in the mirror. This shirt is tighter and more low cut than the one I was wearing before. When I emerge, I put my hands on my hips and stare Bryce down, trying to look serious.

  “Is this the standard uniform?” I ask.

  He is on the edge of the couch, his fingers digging into the armrest.

  “When you look like that, yes,” he says.

  There’s no telling whether the smirk is intended to poke fun or mean something else entirely.

  I can’t help but laugh, and he seems relieved that I’m not angry. He insists on walking down to Inferno with me, since I’m late and he doesn’t want Sam to think I’m a terrible employee.

  We make our way down the elevator, through the lobby, and to the Inferno in what feels like merely seconds.

  When we step inside, Alexa is behind the bar drying glasses, and we head for the bar.

  She looks up and smiles when she sees me, but her face changes when she notices Bryce is right behind me. Is it because we came in together?

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  She sighs. “Nothing, just my back hurts from working four days in a row.”

  “You can take off tomorrow,” Bryce chimes in, trying to be helpful.

  Alexa looks pissed, and sighs before saying, “Thank you.”

  Thinking he has resolved the issue, Bryce cheerfully walks away. Men are so oblivious.

  I spend the next five hours serving drinks but a few times I almost trip over the bouncer. Not that I’ve been to a lot of clubs, but it seems odd for him to be tailing me instead of watching the door or the room. I ask Alexa if that’s normal, and she frowns.

  “No, no one usually gets a bouncer to trail them. Bryce probably gave you extra security.” She pauses, trying to seem casual before asking me, “So what do you think about him?”

  The question catches me off guard, so I just say I don’t think about him.

  “Well, I’ve seen you look at him a couple times. And he’s been watching you, too.
Look, I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea. Bryce isn’t the type to stay with one girl. He picks up someone new almost every night.” She emphasizes the last two words and her jaw becomes tight.

  There isn’t much for me to say except “Thanks for looking out.” I smile, trying to let Alexa know I want to be her friend, and she smiles back. It’s hard to tell if she is being friendly or feels like she’s dissuaded me from being interested in Bryce. Honestly, it’s too much stress. This job is all that is keeping me from losing my apartment and I can’t risk it over workplace drama.

  When I catch Bryce looking at me, I frown and shake my head ‘no.’ Far from being put off, he smiles. It’s not a game! I focus on my work, passing out the beers on my tray and then my phone goes off.

  My aunt is texting me to call her, ASAP. She almost never texts.

  My heart is racing, but I need to finish running the credit card for this table. Alexa says I’m done for the night after that bill, so I drop off the receipt and race back to the kitchen so I can hear.

  The phone hardly rings once before my aunt picks up.

  “Mila, sweetie, your dad isn’t doing so well. They need to operate in two days. Now, he doesn’t want you missing school, but I just want you to know I’ll be here with him. He won’t be alone.”

  “Thanks, Aunt Jill.” I try to figure out how I’ll afford a plane ticket and rent but know there’s no solution to it all. I pray silently for an instant before my aunt interrupts my thoughts. My heart feels like it could just pour out of me and form a puddle on the floor.

  “No problem. I got to go, honey, but we’ll talk soon,” Aunt Jill says.

  As soon as I hang up the phone the tears come. The most important person in my life is having surgery, and I can’t be with him. I don’t want anyone to see me crying, so I rub my face and bolt out the door, hoping no one notices.

  CHAPTER NINE