Chapter Nine
Dominic
I dice a bunch of fresh veggies for semi-homemade pasta sauce. Liza once again wants to stay in.
It bothers me a little that she’s such a hermit. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she’s embarrassed to be seen with me, but that isn’t it. She’s come by my bar a few times to surprise me, and I did manage to drag her out for tacos once.
I’m probably overthinking this.
Besides, I’m okay with what she wants. If she said, “Let’s have a date in Siberia,” I’d find a way to make it happen.
And staying in has some advantages. We can do takeout or cook together. She isn’t the best cook, but I’m pretty decent as long as I follow Mom’s recipes. Liza loves to sing in the kitchen, which never fails to put a smile on my face. She has an amazing voice, hitting each note pitch perfect.
I check frequently to see if she wants to go out someplace fancy where I can spoil her, but she always says no…and means it. Says our dates aren’t about splurging on expensive things but being with each other.
And sex. Lots and lots of hot sex, the best kind of sex.
It isn’t the best sex ever because Liza is particularly kinky—she isn’t. It isn’t because she’s overly adventurous—she isn’t. It’s her mind and soul that get to me. Our nights aren’t just filled with fucking—in between, we can talk about any and everything. The only thing we don’t go into is her family. She seems uncomfortable whenever the topic comes up.
“My dad… He has his own company,” she volunteered one time after I told her my parents died in a hit-and-run two years ago.
“What kind?”
“Not sure. I never paid attention. We aren’t really that close—he’s busy a lot. Mom was his first wife, and things didn’t end nicely.”
“Sucks. Sorry to hear that.”
“It’s okay. I think she’s happier without him, doing”—a whisper-soft sigh—“stuff.”
“What does she do?”
Liza hesitated, then finally said, “She’s a stay-at-home mom, although technically maybe not since all us kids are grown up now.” She forced a smile. “Like I said, we aren’t typical.”
Obviously not. Her family life sounds like it bites. Hell, she said her mom doesn’t want her to eat carbs, which is a shitty thing for a parent to tell a child. Liza also avoids talking about her brothers. Maybe they’re assholes like her mom. Everyone has something they don’t want to talk about, and I don’t dig, not wanting to ruin our moments together by dredging up bad memories.
Instead I draw Liza into my family of two. She and Kristen hit it off. Kristen seems to love having someone to talk to, her eyes full of mischief. There’re probably things she doesn’t want to tell me since I’m a guy, even though I’m family.
That crazy split-second pull I felt for Liza is morphing into something deeper every day—something that makes my heart nearly burst with fullness every time I think of her. Which is a lot. Like, every minute.
While cuddling on the couch after a dinner of pasta and ice cream, Liza tells me she wants to be an artist. At my request, she shows me some sketches she has in her huge tote bag. The subjects vary—fruits, trees, buildings, people on the streets. Each work captures the essence of the subjects with just pencil or charcoal, showcasing her talent and craft.
“These are amazing,” I say.
“Thanks.” She sighs. “But I’m nowhere near where I need to be.”
“Nowhere near?” I arch an eyebrow. “Let’s not be too modest.”
“No, really. Art is super, super competitive. Most painters don’t become famous until after they die.” She shrugs. “But I have a backup plan, just in case.”
“What?”
“Be an interpreter for the UN. I can speak Italian, French, Spanish, German and Japanese.
Whoa. “Six languages?”
“Well, five, really. My Japanese isn’t totally fluent.”
“Hell. If you can do more than order sushi, that’s still six.”
She blushes a little, which is cute. “I wanted to watch anime without subtitles, so I learned it. I can’t read anything, though. But I want to travel first.” As she speaks, her eyes sparkle with excitement. I can see one thought after another fleeting through those beautiful winter-gray depths. She shifts, moving closer. “How about you?”
I tell her about my future plans. How I’ve been saving and investing. How I’m betting that the market’s going to implode pretty soon. “Banks are loaning big money to people who can’t afford to pay it back. It can’t end well.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah. You interested in the market too?”
“Not really.” She clears her throat. “Overheard my family talking about it a few times.”
“I did some house flipping too since banks were willing to lend me the money I needed.” I still can’t believe they were that loose with the money. “But when it’s getting too crazy, you know it’s time to get out.”
Her eyes grow soft. “I’m sure you’ll do well.”
My chest puffs up with pride, especially since a lot of people I know think I’m insane to short now.
Under her gaze, my desire for success sharpens. Until I met her, my plan was mostly just to have a good life for myself and Kristen. My grandfather on my mother’s side has some money from a construction business, but given how much the old guy hated Dad, I don’t expect a penny from him. And frankly, I prefer it that way. I refuse to grovel to a man who thought my dad was beneath Mom for something as meaningless as the size of his bank account.
But that doesn’t mean I intend to live in this little duplex forever, or tie myself to a cubicle so I can become a soulless wage slave in return for a mediocre standard of living…provided I don’t lose my job.
With Liza thrown into my life, I crave the kind of success that’ll allow me to give her whatever she wants—travel, pretty things, beautiful experiences. She deserves everything, and I want to be the one to provide it for her.
Suddenly, she asks, “Have you thought about interning at an investment company?”
“Not really. I don’t want to move to New York.”
“There are offices in L.A.”
There is one I’m interested in, but…
“I know you’re holding back.”
I laugh. “I can’t hide anything from you.” I give her a quick kiss. “I’m interested in Omega Wealth Management.”
“Oh.” Her eyes grow big and round for a moment. “Makes sense. If you’re going to be working for someone, it might as well be one of the best, and Gavin’s, like, top five in the world.”
“Gavin?” I arch an eyebrow.
She jerks, flushing hard, then clears her throat. “Gavin Lloyd. You know, the founder of OWM.”
“You on first-name basis with the guy?”
“Well, you know…kind of. I, uh, met him a few times. At a café near his office. He always gives his first name when he orders his morning coffee.” She smiles, then hurriedly adds, “He seems really nice. You should apply.”
“They don’t take undergraduate interns.”
“Try anyway?” she says. “You never know. Besides, I heard his company pays its interns well.”
I read that in a magazine article too. He believes in paying people for the work they perform.
“Please?” She flutters her eyelashes, giving me that puppy face.
I laugh. She had me at “try anyway.” “Fine. I’ll do it.”
“Awesome.” She grins.
My mind says I’m missing something small but important, warns I needed to figure out what that is…this instant. But she shifts, straddling me and cradling my cock in the sweet spot between her legs. “Now, for good luck…”
She catches my face between her palms and kisses me. I open my mouth, licking at her tongue.
And I can’t understand why I should stop to find out what that small thing is.