Chapter Twelve
“Emmi, what aren’t you telling me about this guy?”
Tucked into a corner booth at a restaurant in SoHo, Emmi had believed she’d be safe with Leslie, a friend she’d known since middle school. Now, not so much. She could not, under any circumstances, reveal the truth about Digger. Thinking she could seek out Leslie’s advice without giving away too much had proven to be the stupidest plan ever.
“Nothing. He’s a family friend that I’ve never been interested in until now. I just want to know if you think that’s because Sam is gone, or if it’s only the sex, or what the hell is going on with me.”
Leslie drained her glass of iced tea and signaled for their server, who looked at them like they were an unwelcome interruption to his chit-chat with a curly-headed blond guy. “Look, I’ve only seen you with Sam. Maybe if I met this guy? I don’t know.”
What harm could that do? Should she text Digger and ask if he was free for lunch? While the server went to get iced tea to refill Leslie’s glass, Emmi sent a quick text. It had been three days since he’d left the house the morning after the roads were cleared, and she’d received no fewer than two dozen text messages from him. All short but sweet, with funny emoji to accompany the words.
While she was flattered by the attention, he had also given her time and space. He’d left that morning after telling her that he would give her a few days to think about everything, but to plan on having dinner at his place this coming Friday. And he’d made sure to tell her she’d be spending the night. Possibly the entire weekend.
“Who did you just text?”
Leslie’s question pulled Emmi from her thoughts. “Digger.”
“Why?”
“To see if he can join us so you can meet him. It’ll be hours before we get our damn food, anyway.” This restaurant wasn’t known for quick service.
“Christ, I didn’t mean now.”
“Why not? I’m having dinner at his place Friday. I need to know before then.”
Leslie raised her brows. “He’s cooking for you?”
“He didn’t say. Might just be ordering something.”
“Well, if he cooks it, he’s a keeper in my book. Shit. If you don’t want him, let me have a go at it.”
Right. Under different circumstances, Emmi would have been fine with that. But Leslie hadn’t heard Digger talk about their destiny, or how he’d never wanted any woman but her. This would be a perfect litmus test for her own feelings. See if she had any clearer answers while they were with a long-time friend instead of her parents. She already knew how they felt.
Her phone pinged with an incoming text.
“What does it say?”
Emmi grinned. “He’s on his way.”
“Holy fuck.” Leslie drained half her glass of iced tea. “Does he have a brother, or a cousin, by any chance?”
It was a good thing Emmi had chosen not to take a sip of her own drink because she’d have choked on it from laughing. She texted Digger the link to the menu and asked him if they could order for him, because the food took forever to arrive.
After a moment, he texted her back and told what he wanted, so they flagged down their disagreeable server once more and gave him Digger’s order. He didn’t look thrilled that they were expecting a third, and made a silly show out of having to set another place. She decided to try to thaw the ice, since they’d be here a while.
“Did you have a nice Christmas and New Year’s?”
He looked surprised that anyone had bothered asking. “No, not really. My boyfriend dumped me.”
“I’m very sorry. What about the guy you were talking to a moment ago?’
“Not a chance. He’s taken. He was just being polite.”
“That sucks. I was recently dumped, too. He took off for California about a month ago. I was with him for twelve years.”
“And I was home alone on New Year’s Eve,” said Leslie. “Couldn’t even muster up the energy to walk to Times Square.”
“Why California?” asked the server.
“To join a fucking band.”
“He gave you up for a band?”
“Yep.”
“Why didn’t you go with him?”
“I’m in law school. Not giving that up for dreams that aren’t mine.”
“Good for you! So who’s coming to join you for lunch?” His eyes lit up. “A new boyfriend, possibly?”
“He believes he is, yes. I’m not sure, which is why I want my friend here to meet him.”
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll watch, too, and let you know what I think.”
“Thanks.”
After he left to take care of another table, Leslie gave her an astonished glance. “How the hell do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Read people like that?”
“I didn’t read him. I just figured I’d ask a polite, fairly neutral question, and see where it led.”
When Digger arrived, he looked absolutely delighted to see her. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes danced with mischief. As soon as he took his seat, he leaned over and kissed Emmi, right on the lips, stopping just short of shoving his tongue inside. Heat spread up her neck and covered her face, but not from embarrassment. Maybe Leslie was right? Even if he didn’t cook for her on Friday, Digger was a keeper.
“Hi, I’m Daniel Basile, but everyone calls me Digger.” He extended his hand toward Leslie and gave her a huge smile.
Leslie stared at him like she’d never seen a man before. She shook his hand and mumbled her name, but if Emmi hadn’t known it to begin with, she wouldn’t have been able to understand her. Safe to say her friend was bowled over by Digger.
“Now ask him why they call him ‘Digger’.”
“What?” Leslie laughed her nervous laugh. “Oh, Yeah. Okay. Why do they call you that?”
“Christ,” said Emmi. “Get a grip.”
Leslie laughed again while her face turned a deep shade of red.
“They call me that because I like to dig holes.” He winked at Emmi, and she suddenly wished they were alone because she was fucking horny as hell.
“But seriously, I’ve had the nickname since I was ten. It was the first time my grandfather let me drive his backhoe. He was with me, of course, but I got to dig a really big hole to bury a dead cow on his land.”
“So, the hole digging is true,” said Emmi. She’d never heard this story before, which meant her parents didn’t know it. He was sharing things with her from his childhood that he hadn’t told anyone else.
“Yes, I suppose it is. Although I haven’t operated a backhoe in a long time.”
“What do you do for a living, Digger?”
“I’m a personal assistant.”
Emmi put her hands in her lap and dug her nails into her palms. The lie had tumbled out of his mouth as easily as if he’d told Leslie the sky was blue. She forced a neutral expression to her face, but could do nothing about the way her bottom lip trembled slightly.
“To who?”
He kills people for a living.
“Multiple people. Mostly CEOs who need sensitive issues handled quietly.”
“That sounds mysterious.”
He’s a hired hitman for the Mob!
His laugh was easy and relaxed. “Not at all. It’s quite routine.”
Their appetizers finally arrived, including the one Digger had ordered. Their server gave Emmi a discreet thumbs-up that she smiled at only for show. Sure, on the surface, Digger was the perfect catch. Handsome, charming, easygoing, and he made his job sound like he got paid a lot of money to run errands for executives.
This had been too easy, and Emmi should have seen it coming. Leslie would tell her to forget Sam and go for it. No doubt about it. Her friend could barely hang onto her fork as she laughed at all Digger’s jokes and asked him endless personal questions. He fielded them like a pro, making the ruse even more apparent.
This was what her life would be like if she was with him. The same as it was now. She avoided answering too many questions about her family, but when forced to, she lied. She held secrets in her heart that would get her killed if she revealed them to the wrong people. She knew things about the world of organized crime that would give most people she knew outside that world nightmares.
So then, what would be so different if she gave Digger what he wanted? The fact that she’d busted her ass in law school with the express purpose of making her way out of this lifestyle, that’s what. And, the fact that great sex wasn’t enough to sustain a long-term relationship.
What if she’d been looking at this dilemma half-assed backward the entire time? It’s not as if she had to kill anyone. What if this wasn’t really a dilemma at all, but merely her convoluted way of using her relationship with Sam as a way out of the lifestyle? A way she was no longer sure she wanted to take?
How in the hell had her mother reconciled this? Her family wasn’t involved in this world. She must have known what her father did for a living before she married him.
Emmi had never asked her because she had assumed she’d be given clichéd answers, but maybe she was wrong? Perhaps the person she should be talking to about this was the one who’d been right there all along?