Chapter Two
Hiding in the back room, I pretend to repair a beaded gown and glare at the clock’s minute hand ticking off the seconds. At precisely ten o’clock the brass bell above the shop door jingles.
“Daisy,” Aunt Mae calls. “Mr. Blackwood is here.”
I hate how happy my aunts are about this. All morning, they’ve been talking about how I should change into a dress, or put on makeup, or do something with my hair even though I’ve repeatedly told them this is not a date. Neither of them is buying what I’m selling.
“Roy, please call me Roy.”
I hear his deep voice before rounding the corner. My aunts smile up at him like tweens at a Bieber concert.
Mae frowns at my attire. “There’s our Daisy.”
I don’t need to dress up for Mr. Lethal. As if he’ll even notice my shorts, Converse sneakers, and Mangler polo shirt. Of course, he’s dressed like a Wall Street banker in a dark-blue suit with a white shirt and a silver tie.
“Ladies.” Roy nods to my aunts and opens the door for me.
He sets a brisk pace as we walk along Federal Street, or maybe it’s a leisurely stroll for him since his legs seem twice as long as mine. I jolt when he rests his hand ever-so-slightly on the small of my back. Curiously, the heat emanating from his fingers sends tendrils of warmth up my spine, easing my anxiety.
“Look.” I launch into the speech I’ve practiced all morning. “I know the guy at the trailer must be important, but it doesn’t matter because I don’t know who he is. And it wasn’t a big deal. And you’re his bodyguard and want to protect his reputation. I get it. But it’s not necessary, because I’m not going to say anything.” I keep my eyes on the sidewalk ahead. “You can go back and tell him I won’t cause any trouble. So this meeting isn’t necessary.”
He snorts. “Why would you think I'm his bodyguard?”
Why wouldn’t I? He’s ginormous, fast, and his hawkish eyes always seem to be searching for prey.
“I’m sure you’re busy. Let’s just forget about this.” I try to stop and turn, but his hand gently propels me forward, so I peek through my thick hair to gauge his receptiveness to my plan. Eyes straight ahead, jaw clenched, not looking one bit interested in deviating from our meeting.
He stops in front of Federal Street Café. When he removes his hand from my back, I sway slightly as he opens the gate. “I hope this is acceptable.”
I eat here at least twice a week. “Fine,” I mumble in defeat.
“Mr. Blackwood, so nice to see you again.” Connie and her megawatt smile greet us at the door.
Like many of the businesses in Middleburg, the café was once a home and retains the same floor plan with only the necessary modifications. Connie leads us across the front room—I assume it was once the living room—to a far table by the bay window overlooking the inner courtyard. I notice the glances Roy receives as we make our way to our table. The women follow him with their eyes, and the men show irritation at being suddenly ignored by their companions.
Connie places menus on the table like she’s a model at a Detroit car show. “Will this do?”
He gives a noncommittal nod and pulls out a chair for me. I’m always unsure how this works. Do I half sit and pull it forward? Do I sit and let him push it forward? Either way, I’d hate to scratch the old hardwood floors with the chair legs and decide to be a woman of the twenty-first century. For the first time since meeting Roy, I take charge of the situation.
“I got it.” I position the chair and slide into it.
Connie’s smile drops. “I’ll get your coffee.”
Roy smirks and takes the chair across from me.
Instead of reading the menu I spy on Mr. Lethal while he’s engrossed in the breakfast options. He’s relaxed, comfortable in a suit. Yesterday, he had a two-day stubble. Today, he’s freshly shaved. There’s something familiar about him. Not the specifics of his face, but more his size and voice that triggers recognition. Why can’t I remember? His silver cufflinks catch my eye. Of course, they’re engraved with his initials. I lean closer. He’s opted for the first, last—larger than the other letters, and middle-name arrangement. The R and B I know are for Roy Blackwood. The Z has me stumped.
“A glimmer of a smile, Miss Aldridge?”
Oh shit! How long has he been watching me?
He continues, “It suits you.”
Connie’s back with her blond hair freshly combed and her lips accentuated in a darker shade of red. While pouring coffee, she smiles at Roy like she’s won the lottery.
“Thank you.” His eyes are firmly fixed on the front door.
“Daisy, I had no idea you knew Mr. Blackwood.” She’s fishing. I know there’ll be a text from her after we leave.
I nudge my cup toward her. “Movie costume business.” When it’s filled, I cradle the warm cup between my hands.
“Oh.” Her lips form a perfect circle. “We’ve had scads of business since Mr. Blackwood made this his regular place.” She lightly touches his shoulder, and I notice his jaw tighten. “We do appreciate all the business you’ve brought in. Why, we had a huge party last night.” Connie’s settling in for a long one. Aunt Mae says she could talk the legs off a table. “And everyone was all worried about the movie people coming to town.”
I cringe at the compliment wrapped in an insult and notice Mr. Lethal’s hand form a fist on the table. Were his knuckles scraped and bruised yesterday?
“Connie,” I interrupt. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
“Oh, sure.” She flutters her eyelashes at Roy. “You know how I am. Meeting all the new people.” She steps closer to Roy. “So glamorous compared to...” She nods her head toward the rest of the patrons.
Roy clears his throat. “Miss Aldridge?”
“The usual.” I give Connie a warm smile she doesn’t notice as her attention has already returned to Roy.
“I’ll have two hunter’s omelets, breakfast potatoes, and four slices of toast with butter on the side,” he says. “Is the orange juice freshly squeezed?”
She giggles and slightly bends at the waist, showcasing her cleavage. “Squeezed those juicy oranges myself.”
Connie is all but taking off her bra and waving it like a matador. In a way, Roy does remind me of a bull. I bite my lip to keep from laughing.
He hands her both our menus. “A large glass.”
“Right away.” And she sashays off.
“Why are you biting your lip?”
Does he see everything? “Why are your knuckles bruised?” I counter.
He leans back, stressing the wooden structure of the chair, and relaxes his giant paw of a hand until it’s flat against the pressed, white linen. “There are times when punishment requires a blunt approach.”
“You beat someone?” Jason? Did he hit Jason? God, I hope so.
“Tit for tat, Miss Aldridge.” He glances at my lips.
Connie’s a kind person, always upbeat even if she’s having a bad day. He should be nicer to her. I sit up straight and cross my legs. “You probably think we’re all a bunch of rubes, being from Los Angeles and all.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I have clients here.”
“Why were you rude to Connie?”
“Is she a friend of yours?”
I capture an errant curl and tuck it behind my ear. “We graduated in the same high school class. She was a cheerleader. We didn’t talk much.”
“You look younger.” He taps his index finger on the table. “You see such things as beneath you?”
“Cheerleading?” I shake my head. “No, I meant she was popular.”
He nods and scans the room. “My intention wasn’t to be rude. This is a place of business. I tip Connie well. I think I’ve been quite generous to her.”
I scoot forward in my chair and whisper, “But you know she likes you, right?”
A glint of amusement flashes across his green eyes. “I’m well aware, Miss Aldridge.”
“Just Daisy. Miss Aldridge is one of my aunts.” Women probably flirt with him all the time. “Have we met before?”
His only response is to continue tapping his finger on the table.
“You acted like you knew me.” Well, I think he did. But what the hell do I know? I had been close to passing out.
“Did I?” His eyes scan the room.
“Maybe you’ve seen me around town or something.” He straightens his tie, which was perfectly fine. “There’s no way I’d forget meeting you.” He cuts his eyes back to me. “’Cause you’re massive. Not fat.” I quickly add. “I mean you’ve got a lot of muscle, and are tall, like treetop tall, and handsome. I’m sure you know that though, and...” Where’s a sinkhole when you need one?
A slight smile plays across his lips like he’s accustomed to people saying idiotic things in his presence.
I sip my coffee and spy the sugar packets tucked inside a teacup sitting inches from Roy’s hand. It’s stupid, but I’m uneasy about reaching for it. As if he knows what I’m thinking, his fingers push it toward me. Thank you, I almost say, but he’s not even paying attention to me, his face a mask I cannot read.
“What do you like to do?” he asks, focusing his intense gaze on me.
“Um, do…I like books, a lot, and movies. Oh, and I jog, more cross country really, like whenever I’m anxious or worried, and…” Can I sound any more pitiful?
“I imagine you have a boyfriend. Attend a lot of parties in town and socialize.”
Is he making fun of me? “No, not my thing.” I don’t know why, but I need to make myself seem more worthy of his attention. “I’m going out tonight with a friend, to the Red Horse Tavern.”
“A date?”
Why does he keep asking that? “I don’t date.”
Before he can say anything, Connie arrives. Her arm lined with plates. She carefully removes each one and places it on the table.
He glares at my food. “You’re joking.”
What’s he got against cinnamon rolls? “They’re good here.”
“That won’t do.” He sets his eyes on Connie like he’s aiming a gun. “Bring her some eggs.”
She wilts under his disapproval.
“I don’t like eggs.” I sit up straight and place my hands on the table.
He whips his eyes to me. “You’re eating a decent breakfast.”
Connie seems unaware her mouth is gaping as she watches our exchange.
Who does he think he is? “Rude, much?” I tilt my chin up. “Mister, I’ll have a heart attack for breakfast.”
“Hmph.” He rakes his hand through his hair. “Milk. Do you like milk?”
Is he serious? “Yeah, sure.”
“A large glass,” he orders. “At least you’ll get some protein.”
Connie scurries off and returns in minutes, placing a glass of milk on the table, and immediately disappears.
“Eat.” He points his fork at my offensive roll.
I cross my arms over my chest.
He stretches his thick neck from side-to-side. “We obviously have differing opinions as to what constitutes food.” He leans his forearms on the table, his smile with just the right amount of charm.
I’m sure he’s used this smile a thousand times before to divest women of whatever is impeding his desire.
“Detente?” He asks and adds in a little sexiness by lifting his eyebrow ever so slightly.
Connie’s probably dreamed of being on the receiving end of such a smile from Roy. He’s expecting me to smile back at him and melt in my chair and… Well, I’m not doing it. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my traitorous lips from returning his smile and busy myself by placing my napkin on my lap and cutting my roll with a knife and fork.
He lets out a slight snort and tucks into his food.
Who can resist the mix of cinnamon and butter? I guess Mr. Lethal, who’s finished the first omelet and cut into the next one.
When his plates are clean and his napkin placed on the table, he leans back and gives me his full attention. “How was your roll?”
“Bliss,” I purr with delight, meeting his eyes defiantly and wiping a bit of icing off my lip.
He taps his finger by my full glass of milk, but doesn’t remark on it. “I’m not Jason King’s bodyguard. My company was hired by the studio to provide security.”
Oh, this is his business tone. So what tone was he using before? “Why were you there?” I toss my hands up. “Nope, no, don’t care. None of my business. Remember, nothing happened.”
“You misunderstand my intentions.” With his right hand, he inches the glass of milk closer to me. “I want you to press charges against Jason King.”
“What?” I sit ramrod straight. “Impossible.”
“He deserves to be punished. He assaulted you yesterday. Might have done much worse—”
“I can take care of myself.” A dark memory lifts its ugly head. Can you? “I had the situation under control.”
“I know what you thought—that I’d want to cover this up, pay you off, or keep you from the police.”
Pay me off. What type of a person does he think I am? “Wait…that was the Jason King?”
“The one and only.”
“He’s short.” I knew the man was an actor and seemed vaguely familiar but never thought it was Jason King.
“That he is.”
Jason has starred in a string of spy pictures where he saves the world from terrorists and mass destruction and megalomaniacs. The man in the trailer was not the urbane character he plays, but small and mean and a deviant asshole of gigantic proportions.
“He’s also a junkie blasted out of his mind most the time.” Too quick for me to protest, he takes my hand, engulfing it in his large one. “I’ll go with you to the police. I’ll testify on your behalf.”
“No. You’re making too much out of this.” He squeezes my hand tighter. “Nothing happened. I walked into the wrong trailer. That’s all.”
“You don’t have to be afraid.”
Can’t he see what this would do to my aunts? To the business? And all the press attention? He can’t force me to do this. “I’m not.” I try to free my hand still trapped in his.
Instead of letting go, he rolls his hand over, so the underside of my arm is facing the ceiling. The fresh cut in the crook of my elbow is clearly visible.
He knows. My face burns. I fold in on myself. “Please,” I plead, “let go.”
“I want to help you.”
“I don’t need help.” Finally, he releases my hand, and I wrap my arms around my chest.
He dips his head, attempting to make eye contact. “It’s not healthy. Pretending it didn’t happen.” And nods towards my arm.
My eyes downcast, I murmur, “It’s not what you think.”
“I see.” His voice softens. “My mistake.”
I push back from the table and stand. “Are we done? I need to get back to work.” My shoulders roll forward, and my thick hair falls around my face, shielding it from the patrons who are no doubt confused as to why plain-old Daisy is with someone like Roy.
He steps around to my side, placing his hand on my back. “I’m sorry.” His rich voice low, so only I can hear. “I regret I didn’t get to you sooner. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It wasn’t my intention.”
How does he do it? One moment I’m struggling along the outer rings of panic, and with just a few words he pulls me back to a place of reassurance. Keeping my head down, I let him maneuver me through the restaurant and out to the street.
I turn to him. “I do appreciate what you did for me.”
“It wasn’t nearly enough.” He blinks a few times and gestures with his free hand to the sidewalk in front of us. “Tell me, you’re, what…twenty-two or thereabouts?”
It takes a moment for his question to sink in. “Thereabouts.”
“Put me out of my misery.”
What does it matter? “Don’t you know? I mean you’re Mr. Lethal.” I close my eyes for a moment in mortification and trip on the uneven pavers.
Roy steadies me and laughs. “Mr. Lethal. Haven’t been called that before.” His hand moves to the shoulder Jason grabbed, and I shrink away. He rolls his hand into a fist, his smile gone, and cracks his knuckles. “Should I punish him more?”
The New Testament part of me is stunned he would say such a thing. The Old Testament side of me wants to watch.
“Earlier, you asked why I was there. It was a personal favor to the studio head to escort their cash cow back to rehab. It’s a high-dollar film. He’s using again.” Roy clicks his teeth as he clenches his jaw.
He’s waiting for me to say something. Perhaps he thinks what he’s said explains everything; it doesn’t, at least not to me.
“I warned him to stay away from you.”
I glance at Roy’s knuckles. I want to kiss the bruises away. To thank him for standing up for me when I couldn’t. “You shouldn’t tell me this. I could sell my story to…” I scramble to recall the name of a celebrity tabloid, but nothing comes to mind.
“You won’t.” He turns and with his hand on the small of my back moves us closer to Mangler.
My assumptions about Roy were wrong, and it dawns on me he hates Jason more than I do. Which has me wondering how many horrible things the actor’s done and gotten away with? “Your company provides security?”
“For this movie, yes, we’re handling the cyber and surveillance measures, not bodyguard services.”
We’re almost back to the shop and I should be relieved, but I’m not. Instead, I search for a reason to delay.
“I’m not accustomed to asking twice.”
Not this again. “I’ve already told you I’m not pressing charges.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-one, almost. In a couple of days I’ll be twenty-one.” Two days to be exact.
His only reaction is a slight twitch of his fingers resting on my back. I’m a moment away from asking his age when we arrive back at Mangler.
“It was a pleasure.” He removes his hand from my back, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, and he leans down to whisper, “Take care of yourself, Miss Daisy Aldridge.”
I lick my lips. Is he going to kiss me? No, he backs away. I’m stunned and stuck in place, watching him get into the awaiting Suburban and disappear behind the dark, tinted windows.
Mae opens the door for me to walk inside, her eyebrows jumping with excitement. “How’d it go?”
All I can think to say is, “He didn’t like my cinnamon roll.”
“Who doesn’t like a good cinnamon roll?” she asks.
“They don’t eat that kind of thing in Los Angeles,” Stella answers.