Hero

2

There are two things that get me through my workday—meeting Frida for lunch and staring at Calvin Parish. Currently, I’m doing the latter. The office is my dreamland and Calvin, my star. At the moment, he’s sexy-prowling toward my desk, irradiated by ribbons of sunshine as he passes by each window.

“Cataline,” Mr. Hale hisses.

I jump, and my chair groans as I whip around to the cracked door. “Yes?”

“I’m not here,” he says before disappearing back into his office, locking the door after him.

My fantasy disintegrates. Calvin is striding in my direction, and since the sky is currently overcast, any sparkling sunshine was merely a figment of my imagination.

“Mr. Hale isn’t in right now,” I say barely in time.

Calvin grunts, sparing me no glance as he continues forward.

Fear propels me out of my seat to block the door. I splay my arms across it just as he reaches for the handle.

“I need to leave this for him,” he says to a spot above my head. He slices a Manila envelope in front of my face. His body heat practically fuses my back with the door. I’m spellbound by him, his scent, the proximity of him, all the while seeking out his eyes. Just as I open my mouth, his gaze drops. His glasses slide a millimeter as his head tilts, and for one vibration of a second, our eyes connect. Even behind the glass shield, I see the worldliness in him—a soul that seems equal parts calm and stormy. I have no breath, though my lungs burn for it. His glance is so quick that it ricochets off me, but it leaves me heady nonetheless. “Do you mind?” he asks, anger edging his voice.

“I’ll see that he gets it, Mr. Parish.”

“He’s not in?” Calvin asks. “You’re sure?”

His hand dashes by me, brushing my waist to turn the handle. The lock breaks with a loud snap, and the door swings open.

Mr. Hale’s voice comes from behind me. “Mr. Parish. Can I help you?”

I shrink down as Calvin glares over my shoulder and then at me, this time holding my gaze. “No. I’ll just leave this with your secretary.”

“Executive assistant,” I correct automatically.

“Mouthy for someone who just lied to the man who holds her fate in his hands.”

“Fate?” I repeat.

“Your job.” He says job as though I’m the most incompetent person he’s ever encountered. He pivots away, tossing the envelope on my desk without a backward glance.

My muscles liquefy, a belated reaction to being within inches of the subject of my frequent daydreams. His scent lingers in my nostrils, intoxicating my already whirring mind. Or perhaps it’s just the memory of him? My urges morph between laughing and crying with each rapid heartbeat.

I might’ve stood there all day if not for Mr. Hale’s barking. “Miss Ford. Come in and shut the door.”

My shoulders square before I turn around and seal myself in his angry bubble.

“What the hell was that?”

“He wouldn’t listen to me.”

“He waltzes in here all the time unannounced. Just because he owns the company doesn’t mean he can do whatever he damn well pleases.”

“Actually, I think it does.”

“Then I guess I don’t need an assistant, do I? If you’re not there to take my messages or to prevent people from treating my office like their own, maybe I should just manage the desk myself.”

I cross my arms behind my back because my hands involuntarily curl into fists. “Yes, sir. You’re right. I won’t let it happen again.”

I meet Frida downstairs for lunch, gasping for lungfuls of air like they’re my last. Smog suffocates, and the sky has been clouded grey for a week, but I’m thirsty for all of it after the stifling fortieth floor.

“Let’s eat somewhere new,” Frida says. “I’m tired of Armando’s.”

“But I really like Armando’s.”

She takes my hand and pulls me in the opposite direction. “Didn’t you move to the big city to experience new things? Get away from suburbia and that awful excuse for a family?”

I hurry to keep up. “They aren’t as bad as you make them out to be.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she says. “Putting a roof over your head and making sure you didn’t starve to death wasn’t doing you a favor.”

My sideways glance is reproachful, but she doesn’t see it. “You’re exaggerating. Things could’ve been much worse. The Andersons were a gracious foster family.”

She snorts. “Graciousness cannot replace love.”

“I wasn’t their own,” I say.

She squeezes my hand in hers. “Here we go. Taco Shack. Still Mexican for you, and something different for me.”

The wait is longer than Armando’s, and it’s twenty minutes before we’re finally making our way to a booth in the corner. Mouth open wide, I lean in to take a bite of my chicken taco. Before I can, I meet a pair of clear blue eyes across the restaurant. They’re openly staring, which turns my cheeks warm, but I can’t look away. It’s a moment before I notice the vibrant tattoos that sleeve his arms. Sculpted arms, actually, that strain the sleeves of a button-down shirt the same golden-khaki color of his hair. Another man nudges him while balancing a tray of food.

Frida’s words snip the moment in half like scissors. “I’ve been thinking about our conversation a couple weeks ago. You know, where you admitted you needed a good lay?”

I scoff. “Might want to take it easy on the pot. Your memory seems to be failing you.” I take a mouthful of taco.

“I worry about you,” she says. “You’ve been in this city for years, and I’m your only real friend. Your last date was, like, six months ago.”

I roll my eyes at my taco as I chew. “Feigning an emergency and ditching me with a co-worker is not a date.”

She smiles proudly. “But it is sort of brilliant.”

“You don’t need to worry,” I say, ignoring her. “I just do things differently. Dating for the purpose of dating doesn’t appeal to me.”

“Your confidence is low, and your standards are high,” she continues. “You’re making excuses so you don’t have to put yourself out there.”

I bristle and drop my taco into its basket. “That’s not true. I am ready for a relationship, I just haven’t met anyone decent.”

“What about Cal—”

“Shut up,” I say, ducking my head and scanning the room. “What if someone from my office is here?”

“That’s it,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m setting you up with this guy from work who—”

I straighten my shoulders when I spot the blond man weaving his way through the tables, a tray in one hand and a soda cup in the other. “Hey,” I call to him, shooting Frida a triumphant glance. “Looking for a table?”

Frida follows my gaze and mutters, “Holy fucking bad boy.”

His blond hair is long enough to slick into perfect obedience, contrasting the chaotic colors that paint his tanned olive skin. Liquid blue eyes are soft, kind even, as they meet mine, but there’s something unsettling in the slow spread of his smile. Before I can decide how to feel about it, he’s nearing the table with his friend close behind.

“Nowhere to sit,” he says.

I nod, sliding deeper into the booth and gesturing next to me. “Lunch rush. Sit with us.”

Frida finally shuts her gaping mouth and smiles at the other man. “Please,” she invites. “We know what it’s like to spend half the lunch hour waiting for a table.”

“This is Juan,” says the man with mesmerizing blue eyes, nodding across the table. “And I’m Guy.”

I wipe my hands on a napkin to take his outstretched one. “Cataline.”

“Cataline.” He smiles as if the name itself is inherently amusing. “I don’t believe I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing a Cataline. Do you work around here?”

I nod, swallowing my mouthful. “A media company nearby. How about you?”

“Finance,” he says, adjusting the knot of his invisible tie. They both belly laugh over the hum of the crowd. “I’m kidding. We deal in body parts.”

“Body parts?” I exclaim.

“Yeah, the auto industry. Fenders, radiators, bumpers—boring shit like that.”

“Do you eat here often?” Frida asks while I stare at him.

“First time,” Guy says, winking at me. “Something on the menu caught my eye.”

Frida is watching my every move, so I hold Guy’s gaze, despite the heat creeping up my neck. “You seem a little out of place,” I say.

“Cat,” Frida admonishes.

“It’s cool,” Juan says. “She’s right. We’ve got business in the area.”

“You’re not from around here, Cataline, are you?” Guy asks.

“I grew up a couple hours away, actually.”

He leans back against the booth, studying me. “What brought you to New Rhone?”

I gesture toward the large window behind Juan and Frida. “I love this place. My whole life I’ve watched it from the outside, wishing . . .” I shrug. “I don’t know. Who wouldn’t want to be here?”

He inclines his head toward me and grins. “The crime rates don’t scare you?”

I shake my head. “We walk through downtown every night to get home. Never had a problem. We just steer clear of the East Side.”

His answering chuckle coats my skin with goose bumps. “Pretty girl like you ought to be more careful.”

“And there’s Hero,” Frida says.

Guy’s smile falters with a twitch. “Hero?”

“She’s sort of got a thing for our masked avenger.”

“Interesting,” Guy says.

“You see that thing on the news recently where he killed the Cartel guy?” Juan asks, his eyes darting between each of us. “That was fucked up.”

“Cataline didn’t think so. Justice being served makes her hot.” Frida looks at Guy. “Maybe over a dinner date she can tell you all about it.”

I mutter under my breath, and she scowls when I kick her shin.

“So men in masks do it for you, huh?” Guy asks.

“Don’t tease her. He’s her knight in shining armor. If you, say, ever wanted to see her again, I’d recommend playing nice.”

Guy holds his palms up and this time his laugh is lighter. “Message received.”

“We should get back or we’ll be late,” I say.

Both men stand from the booth. “Thanks for letting us crash your lunch.”

I smile at Guy. “No problem. Enjoy your meal.”

Outside the restaurant, the early-fall breeze is nothing compared to the icy look on Frida’s face. “Goddamn it. What was that?”

I squint at her. “What?”

“You’re all talk, Ford. You should’ve asked Guy out.”

I glance back through the glass doors of the restaurant, but I only see my own reflection. “I don’t know. There’s something a little off about him, don’t you think? Did you see all those tattoos?”

“They’re super hot.” She leans in and lowers her voice. “Also, I need to switch professions. He was wearing a Rolex.” She raises her eyebrows. “Go back in. Get his number.”

My teeth imprint on my bottom lip as I consider it. “Really?”

“Definitely.”

I sigh. Before I can decide, the door flies open so I have to jump out of the way.

“Sorry,” Guy says, running a hand through his hair. “I came out here to ask you on a date, not knock you down.”

His candor leaves my mouth hanging open.

“She’d love to,” Frida answers for me.

I snap my jaw shut. Guy is laughing melodically, showing off a perfect row of white teeth. The smog breaks, and the gilded undulations of his gelled hair glint under the sun’s attention. Time seems to stop as we all look at each other, appreciating the moment, and then the sun disappears again behind its black cloud.

Guy clears his throat. “I’m not in the business of forcing dinner dates on girls, no matter how pretty they are. I’d like to hear it from Cataline.”

That’s twice he’s called me pretty, and twice more than I’ve heard it in a long time. It makes me smile. I’m having a hard time deciding if he’s just what I’ve been looking for or if he’s something to run from. Frida’s voice is in my head, telling me I’m making excuses.

For no reason at all, I tilt my head back and look up. Three enormous crows are making a leisurely circle above us, evaporating behind the smog, then reappearing. Three black silhouettes of flapping wings and pin-sharp beaks. I glance over my shoulder expecting something, but nothing’s there.

Frida’s watching me with an eyebrow raised as Guy waits patiently.

“I don’t even know your last name.”

He smiles. “Fowler. Guy Fowler. So, what do you say? Can I take you out?”

Frida sighs.

“Sure,” I say finally. “I’d like that.”

“I’ll call you,” he says with a warm smile as he backs away.

“But you don’t—” I stop when he disappears into the restaurant and look at Frida. “He doesn’t have my number.”

“Hale’s going to go ballistic if you don’t move your ass.”

My entire body freezes suddenly as a chill runs down my spine. I’m motionless and braced for whatever’s behind me, but nothing happens. Frida’s already halfway down the block, so I run to catch up with her without looking back.

I’m shutting down my computer when my desk phone rings. I debate sneaking out, but it’s still two minutes to five o’clock. “Mr. Hale’s office.”

“Cataline? It’s Guy Fowler.”

Stunned, I don’t answer right away.

“You there?”

“Yes,” I say. “I’m impressed with your stalking skills.”

He laughs. “Fortunately, there’s only one major media company near Taco Shack. I won’t keep you. I wanted to tell you that I enjoyed meeting you, and I hope to take you on that date very soon.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

His voice drops suggestively low. “If it didn’t go against conventional dating rules, I’d take you out tonight.”

“Tonight?” My hand is sweating around the receiver when my eyes are drawn up from the desk. Calvin is standing rigid near the office entrance, glaring coldly in my direction, maybe even at me.

“Don’t worry,” Guy says. “I can be patient. I’ll see you again soon.”

There’s a click, but it takes me a moment to hang up. The conversation leaves me unsettled, but it’s Calvin who’s making me squirm. Lyla approaches him, waving her hands in front of him, almost blocking him from my sight. I keep staring, feeling as though I’m trying to receive whatever message he’s sending.

I faintly register an echo, a blurred-bokeh din. It’s a rude disruption to my moment with Calvin. By the time I feel for the receiver, I have no idea how long the phone’s been ringing. “Mr. Hale’s office.”

“Cat, it’s me.”

“Frida?”

“Going to happy hour, want to come?”

“It’s a work night.”

“Hey, guess what? You were right about Guy Fowler.”

“What? Why?”

“At lunch I thought the tattoo on his forearm looked familiar—a small rose. Well, just now I remembered where I’ve seen it. All the Riviera Cartel members have that—”

A finger drops in front of me, landing squarely on the phone’s hook. “Frida?” Mr. Hale asks, cocking his head. “I realize it’s after five, but do you think that allows you the luxury of personal calls?”

“No, sir. It was my roommate about something important.”

He lifts his finger, and I replace the phone in its cradle. “Your roommate?” he asks, scratching his chin with a crooked index finger. “The girl from the holiday party?”

I nod, and he grunts. “So what was it? What did she have to say?”

“I’m not sure. She didn’t finish her sentence.”

“Was it about her latest crush? Or maybe she bought a new lipstick?”

I stare at him dumbly. The word unemployed lights up in my mind, a flashing reminder of what will happen if I react how I want.

He sighs, clearly frustrated by my lack of response. “Save the girl talk for your living room, okay?” He thumbs over his shoulder at the clock. “You’re free to go.”

I take my purse from under the desk as Hale watches. On my way to the exit, my eyes go automatically to Calvin, whose back is to me. That feeling from outside the restaurant is back, a shift in the air while Guy waited for my answer. Even turned away, he draws me. The day almost calls for something as tragic as me finally approaching Calvin Parish. I swivel and push my shoulder into the office door, heading for the elevator.

Night falls all at once. Oncoming pedestrians with downcast eyes and shuffling feet force me to weave down the sidewalk. White steam ghosts from manholes, deceitful cottony clouds masking my surroundings. It becomes so unusually thick that for a moment, it’s all I see. When it dissipates, the slick streets are yellow again with the reflection of streetlamps. As I get further from downtown and closer to my apartment, people darken into silhouettes.

My heels puncture the night, a mocking clickety-clack that echoes off the concrete. I’m about to cross the street to my building when I stop mid-step. My heart flurries into a rapid beat. Our corner is oddly empty, not a person to be seen. Just this presence I’ve been feeling all day.

I fumble in my purse and whip around, pepper spray raised to attack. I heave a deep breath when nothing’s there and wipe my forehead with the back of my hand. When I call out, it ricochets off the buildings. “Hello?”

The street glistens with recent rain, and pockets of amber light spot the sidewalk. Nothing feels real. Even the sky, black and starless, seems to end beyond my sight as if I’m under a dome. I step backward and connect with a wall that wasn’t there a moment ago. Arms of steel surround me, squeezing my breath away. My scream is silenced by a damp rag and an inconceivably large hand. Something harsh and chemical fills my nostrils when I inhale. My heels thrash as I’m lifted in the air and spun around. The last thing I see before everything dissolves into black is the door to my apartment building, just outside my grasp.