8
Damon
Being pretty thick-skinned as life had taught me to be, I was confused by how much it stung to be stood up by someone I barely even knew. It had never happened to me before and, in other circumstances, I might’ve easily brushed off the disappointment by supposing it had to happen sometime. As usual, however, Felicia was right—there was something about this date that I wanted more than ever before, and I wasn’t usually the dating type at all. Usually a quick fuck with a casual partner in a hotel room while I waited to scope out whoever my latest target was was enough for me. Perhaps I was deluded and, because I knew nothing of this girl and had come to her aid like a knight of old to a damsel in distress, my imagination was placing her on a pedestal and making her something she wasn’t.
Still, I would’ve liked for her to turn up so I could decide for myself.
I decided to order another beer before leaving—this girl deserved to be given more time even if I’d now given up on the date ever happening—and I was taking my first sip when out of the corner of my eye I saw a petite figure coming my way. Turning my neck to make sure, my disillusionment evaporated instantly on seeing that the new arrival was indeed Bea—or B for Blair, Bridget or whatever else she might be named. I’d soon find out.
Her navy blue dress complemented the interior decorations, as if she’d purposefully matched her outfit to the restaurant. However, even if she was dressed like she belonged here, her face told a completely different story. I’d been about to stand up and thank her for coming before starting off some casual conversation, but I could see that she was deeply troubled. With an expression that made me think of a lost fawn trying to escape a hunter, I was pleased to see that she showed some relief for having found me, but it remained obvious that she was upset.
“Hey there,” I said, standing up and encouraging her to approach the bar rather than standing at a timid distance. “Thanks for coming.”
“So sorry I’m late,” she managed, trying to catch her breath.
“No worries. Let me get you a drink.”
She gave me a shy smile and asked for a vodka and cranberry, then continued to apologize needlessly, and I grinned as I looked down at her perfect features. God, she was so fucking adorable, inside and out.
“I don’t mean to pry,” I said, feeling as if it would be insensitive to pretend everything was normal, “but I get the impression you’ve had a bad day?”
It might’ve been a clumsy comment if she was still traumatized from the night before, but my question actually succeeded in causing a sigh of relief, and it was clear she was about to confess all her troubles before we’d even received our first drinks.
“Yeah…why do we always meet when I’m in trouble?” she asked, managing a smile.
My smile grew wider. “Trouble, huh? Well, at least we’re picking up where we left off,” I said. “I hope you’re not still worried about that guy?”
“Oh, no. I was very shaken last night, as you can imagine, but I’m actually feeling a lot better about it today,” she said. “I guess having someone there for me really helped with that.”
I was slightly astonished to completely believe her. Many people would need months of counseling after such an experience, though it made me wonder what else could possibly be the problem, seeing as she was obviously still upset about something.
It also made me wonder how bad her life had been so far, that a near-death experience like last night failed to ruffle her too much.
“Oh, and I know I already said this more than once, but thanks for what you did,” she continued. “You saved my life. Really, you’re a hero.”
“It was no big deal. I was happy to help.”
“It was a big deal,” she said, folding her arms as if she were daring me to disagree.
Her newly-found assertiveness despite being flustered almost made me laugh, but I resisted while acknowledging that my imagination had scored a point over common sense—I didn’t know many people who surprised me, and it meant that this girl was failing so far in bringing me back down to earth.
“So do you want to talk about whatever’s on your mind?” I asked. “I’m sure they’ll hold the table for us as long as we’re buying drinks.”
There was a pause as she looked into my eyes from a slightly slumped position. It was obvious that she was asking herself whether spilling the beans about her personal life to someone who was still virtually a stranger was appropriate. Whatever doubts were going through her mind then found an answer, nevertheless, as she sat up straight, took a sip of her drink and held my gaze once again.
“You don’t know what you’re taking on if you’re really interested in me,” she said, picking at a nail. “I’m going to scare you off for sure.”
It seemed an absurd thing to say to a person she had first met when they were pointing a gun at someone, but I could see she was sincere, so I was keen to know exactly where she was coming from to hold such a strange perspective.
“Try me,” I challenged.
“Well, I guess my problem today stems from the fact that my father…”
“Is a powerful man; I remember you saying.”
“No, a monster. And when I say monster, I mean not so much as the way a human being can act like a monster, but the way that something greater than a man becomes monstrous.”
I pulled a confused face and could tell she knew she’d lost me, so she went on to spell it out.
“I’m the daughter, not of a man, but of a public figure…and that public figure has now morphed into a campaign. So now I’m also the daughter of a campaign for Presidency. It can be difficult.”
My heart suddenly plummeted into my stomach. I knew exactly who she was.
“Shit,” I replied, “You’re Calvin Bentley’s daughter, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” she replied, holding out her hand. “My name is Beatrice Bentley—but you can call me Bea for short.”
“Nice to officially meet you,” I replied, gently shaking her hand. “My name’s Damon, by the way.”
“Damon Bond?”
“No, Damon Wilkerson, I’m afraid. But I do like martinis,” I said with a wink.
She gave me a strained smile, then sighed. “I don’t suppose I deserve much sympathy for being the daughter of a rich and powerful man, but I’ve just had such a crappy day because of it.”
“Is the campaign not going well?”
She chewed on her lower lip for a second before answering. “The campaign has hardly even started. It’s stalled in the starting blocks, and apparently it’s all my fault.”
I raised my eyebrows. “What could you have possibly done to fuck up a Presidential campaign at such an early stage?”
“Someone took a photo of me leaving that club last night,” she said. “Do you remember what I looked like?”
I remembered, all right. She’d had messy hair from her struggle with Batista, and mascara running down her cheeks in little black rivulets from all the tears of terror she’d cried when she thought she was a lost cause.
She’d still been the most beautiful girl in the world to me.
“Yeah,” I said with a nod.
“Well, now the gossip columns think I was just completely wasted and stumbling out. Total mess.”
“Are you worried about telling your parents about that guy?”
She shook her head. “I was at first. But when they confronted me with the gossip column photos, I told them what happened. They didn’t believe me.”
“Shit.”
She nodded and went on. “I was all dressed up and ready to come out here when my parents came through the front door, sporting the kind of expression the whole of humanity should fear them having if ever it comes to President Bentley being in charge of the nuclear warheads.”
This time I couldn’t hold back a laugh. I loved that she had a good sense of humor, even though she was having a bad day, and I couldn’t help but wonder how much I’d adore her company when she was having a good one.
“Turned out that this little snap of me not looking my best has upset the whole proceedings,” she continued, not put off by the grin on my face. “All these years I’ve been nothing but a little pawn for their political games and sooner or later it was going to be my fault that it all went wrong.”
“So that’s what made you late for our date, huh?”
“You got it.”
“In that case, I’m doubly flattered that you persevered and showed up. I’ll be honest; I was getting worried that I’d been stood up.”
Her shy smile returned. “I definitely wouldn’t stand you up,” she said softly.
I grinned. “Good. Now how about we take our table and see if we can achieve a disaster-free evening?”
Bea agreed and thanked me for letting her vent about her family life, saying that she could probably eat now that it was all off her chest. I was pleased that she was happy to be seen with me, despite what another suggestive photo could do for the campaign, but little did she know I was also having to ignore a number of prominent voices in my head warning me to walk away there and then.
This won’t work. It can’t.
I didn’t follow politics very closely, but I knew enough about the Governor of Florida to know that he’d continually pushed for more severe crackdowns on all the gangs in the state. Being seen with his daughter could be very bad for me and the Caruso organization, which could in turn put Felicia at risk as well, but my brain was no longer listening to sense. Every fiber of my being wanted to remain in this girl’s company, and we proceeded to our table and began to peruse the menu as if we were any other regular couple on a date—not a mafia hitman hitting on the future President’s daughter.
Now that would make an entertaining Hollywood flick.
With the confession about the campaign woes out of the way, we were able to talk about more lighthearted matters as I endeavored to give Bea a pleasant evening to make up just a little for her last twenty-four hours. As a result, I was able to learn that she was studying at college to be a lawyer and also working at a downtown women’s legal aid office.
“My sister does something similar,” I said with an approving nod.
“What about you?” she asked, a curious expression on her face. “You said you were a security guard at the club, right?”
Her voice was filled with warm, genuine interest, and it felt wrong to lie after she’d been so honest and open with me about her own life, but I simply couldn’t tell her I was a paid killer. How the hell would that conversation even go?
“I work in security, yes, but not for the club. I work for a private company,” I said.
“Oh, cool. That must be exciting,” she said.
“I guess you could say that,” I replied.
If only she knew…
The meal seemed to pass quickly. Perhaps this was merely more proof that I was enjoying Bea’s company so much, but there was an awkward moment when it came to paying the bill when I sensed her mutual regret that the date was drawing to a close.
“I suppose I should suck it up,” she said. “Go home and apologize. I just wish they didn’t treat me like a kid—and I wish Dad didn’t get angry so much.”
“Can’t you move out?” I asked. “You’re twenty-one, after all.”
“I know, but not quite yet. I can’t afford it at the moment.”
“Why not? You have a job.”
“My position at the legal aid office is unpaid,” she explained. “When I finish law school and get a full-time job, then sure, I’ll get my own place. Until then I’m sort of stuck in limbo with my parents, because they sure as hell won’t pay for me to move out. They like having me close so they can control everything.”
Her face took on a downcast expression again, and I leaned forward, suddenly coming up with an idea for something that might cheer her up. “Tell you what,” I said. “Why not leave them to calm down for another hour? I’ve got a surprise for you if you’re interested.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Really? What kind of surprise?”
“A completely innocent one,” I said, hoping to convince her that I wasn’t turning into a sleazy prick now that I’d bought her a meal. “If you trust me that, is.”
She smiled. “Why wouldn’t I trust you of all people? You saved my life.”
“So is that a yes?”
“Yep.”
I grinned. “Well, then. Let’s get out of here...”