Chapter Ten
ALEX
*
Right. I was here to investigate, figure out why my powers didn't work on this girl. There had to be something in her past, some event that she didn't see as significant, that would give me the answer. I just had to pretend to be interested in a date, keep asking her questions, and I'd be able to ferret it out without too much hassle-
Paxton opened the door to greet me, and I totally lost my train of thought.
This couldn't be the same girl, I thought distantly as I stared at her, aware that my mouth was hanging open, but not having the mental capacity to close it just yet. Did she have a younger, sexier sister who lived with her? This woman who opened the door for me had the same brown hair, the same features – but they all seemed to jump out more, her eyes bigger and darker, her torso no longer shrouded by a baggy sweater but instead on full, proud display in a white top with little red dots over it, dipping low to show off a dangerous level of cleavage that pulled at my eye like gravity...
"Hi."
Nope, that was the same voice, suspicious and closed-off. With an effort, I pulled my eyes up to meet hers. Sure enough, it was still the same Paxton that I remembered from last night, on guard and looking distrustfully at me like I was a fox sneaking into her henhouse. She planted her hands on her hips (how did she find them, with that huge, incredible rack blocking her vision beneath mid-chest level?) and gave me a glare.
"Hi," I returned. Dammit, how did she already have me on the defensive? I'm calm, I'm cool, I'm collected, I told myself. I didn't put any magical power behind the words, but I tried my hardest to convince myself that they were true.
It worked, sorta. As long as I didn't look down below her neckline, I could manage to keep talking and keep my thoughts moving inside my head.
As if answering my mental call for a distraction, another head popped out from behind the doorway, peeping at me. "Is this him?" asked a familiar voice.
I recognized the other woman. She'd been the one who had been at the bar with Paxton, the one who called out Paxton's name as she left. What had her name been? I tried to remember, but the faint memories of booze overrode the even fainter memories of this woman's name.
Ah, the hell with it. I could cheat a little bit. I quickly wrote a sentence inside my head, and the woman's name floated over her head in glowing gold letters, invisible to everyone but me.
"Ah, Anna-Claire!" I greeted her, acting like yes, of course I remembered our infinitesimally brief meeting last night. "How are you doing? Did you help Paxton here get ready to come out with me?"
My memory of her name didn't faze this other woman. "I think you have me at a disadvantage," she said, stepping forward to stand beside Paxton. She was taller than Paxton, at least six inches, and she carried herself with a kind of effortless confidence. It made Paxton's stance even more obvious; a bulldog standing beside a graceful afghan hound, I thought to myself.
The thought made me chuckle. Somehow, the idea of Paxton as a bulldog – belligerent and determined, growling whenever she became frustration – seemed strangely fitting.
I accepted Anna-Claire's offered hand. "Alex Hamilton," I introduced myself.
"Anna-Claire Lewyn." She gave me a firm handshake, the kind of handshake I'd expect from a business executive. Her eyes swept over me, and I admired her self-control; I only caught the briefest flare of interest and arousal before she blinked it away. "Now, what do you have in mind for my friend Paxton, tonight?"
I shifted the focus of my smile from Anna-Claire over to my true target. Keep on the friend's good side, just like the uncle. I'd had to use a bit of mental magic mojo to get the uncle warmed up to me, but I suspected that I wouldn't need that push with the friend.
"I was thinking of dinner, drinks, and conversation," I said, cranking up the voltage on my smile as I focused on Paxton. "How's that sound?"
She kept up her frown, even in the face of my onslaught. Incredible. Most girls, under the full effect of my attractiveness, would be puddles of willing goo by this point. She had fortitude, if nothing else. "As long as you don't expect anything in return for paying for dinner," she fired back.
Anna-Claire's mouth dropped open. "Paxton!"
But I held up a hand. "No, it's fine," I insisted. I took a half-step back, turning so that she could see my glittering, spotless sports car parked right in front of her building. "Shall we get going?"
Both girls turned their attention to the car. I could see Anna-Claire casting a professional eye over the vehicle, probably pricing it down to the last cent. I saw her eyebrows rise a little, as well they should. I'd pulled up in my Maserati Quattroporte, a luxury sedan that, despite its understated lines and clean appearance, sported more than five hundred horsepower under the hood and rang up at a price well into the six figure range. The midnight blue paint job made it glitter like a night sky devoid of stars.
Paxton's frown, however, was for a different reason. "How in the world did you get a parking space in front of my building?" she asked aloud. "I've never seen a spot open up for more than thirty seconds, ever."
Dammit. That was what she noticed? I wasn't going to admit to her that I'd had to use a bit of magic, after driving around in circles for ten minutes, looking for a parking spot as I grew increasingly more and more annoyed.
"I just pulled up, and there it was," I said instead. I walked around and opened the door, holding it for her. Totally chivalrous, and not at all because I wanted the chance to get another look down her shirt. "Shall we go?"
She got in without another word, just giving me one more little suspicious glare – and covering up her chest with one hand as she slipped down into the luxury sedan's low seats, as if she could read my dirty intentions. Was she a mind reader? "I'm going to murder you at the end of this date," I thought at her, as loudly as I could inside my head.
No response. Not a mind reader – or at least possessing a remarkable sense of control, more than I suspected was possible. Just very suspicious, then. I gave Anna-Claire one last smile and wave before slipping into the driver's seat and starting up the V8 engine. I pulled away from the curb, savoring the roar of the sedan's hungry engine as I gave it a generous dose of gas from the accelerator.
My plan to get Paxton talking, however, fell flat as we headed to the restaurant. She didn't bite at some of my light queries, which made it impossible for me to transition to deeper questions. By the time we pulled up at the place I'd selected, I had to fight to keep my jaw from tightening into a locked frown. Was she always this short and unpleasant?
The restaurant, at least, took her by surprise. "Here?" she asked, looking up at the luxurious Italian stone façade. "Il Tesoro?"
"My favorite Italian place in the city," I responded lightly, but then stopped as I caught a glimpse of the expression on her face. "What?"
She stopped short of the entrance, crossing her arms and redoubling her glare. "Okay, just tell me. What the hell is your game, here?"
"Excuse me?"
"Your game," she repeated, marching towards me. No, not marching – stalking, I amended myself. She advanced like a bull, and I got the sense that she wouldn't mind seeing me gored on a horn and then summarily trampled. "Look, I'm not stupid."
"I never said that you were stupid-"
"But you've got your expensive car, the fancy restaurant, all the compliments - you're after something, something other than just a date," she continued, running right over my protests. "I can tell. So why don't you come clean and tell me why you're going to all this effort, and at least it will be out in the open? No more hiding behind the stupid sexy smiles and jokes."
That smile was still frozen on my face as I tried to think of how to respond. I scrolled through the options, considering and discarding each in a blink of an eye. Whatever I said really didn't matter, anyway – I doubted that she'd believe anything from my mouth, even if it was the truth.
So instead, I decided to make a play for more time. "After dinner," I said.
She blinked. "What?"
"I'll tell you after dinner, if you go along with this date and act nice." I leveled a finger at her. "And I mean nice, not just sitting silently across from me and glaring at me. Let's talk, get to know each other, find out more about each other." And I can keep digging into your past, figure out why my powers don't work on you, I added silently inside my head.
For a second, I thought she might refuse, insist instead that I drive her right back home. But after an internal battle that clearly lasted for a few seconds, she gave a reluctant nod.
"Is that a yes?" I asked in mock surprise.
"Yeah, yeah, rub it in," she groaned, but at least she started heading towards the restaurant's entrance again. "But if you don't tell me what's going on after dinner, I'll..."
"Smash my car up?" I suggested, when she seemed lost for a response.
"Just for starters. Maybe I'll run you over with it." She sounded serious, but I was pretty sure that she was joking.
Mostly sure.
Thanks to a smile, a folded twenty-dollar bill, and a little magical push, the maître d' at the entrance to Il Tesoro immediately showed us to an open table. Paxton's glare reappeared as she looked between the tuxedo-clad man and myself, but she didn't ask anything. Instead, she buried herself in the menu, holding it up almost like a shield to block her view of me.
"That doesn't seem very friendly," I commented, as I looked at the embossed logo of Il Tesoro looking back at me from her side of the table.
The menu lowered – somewhat. "Just to teach you a lesson, I'm going to order the most expensive things here," Paxton said, but at least she was talking to me.
"The lamb shank with saffron risotto?" I asked, my eyes alighting on that particular menu item. "It's quite good."
"Well then, maybe I'll order two of them, so I can bring one home for tomorrow."
I sighed. "Look, drop the angry act, okay? Just... try to be friendly, would you? Is it really so hard?"
"It is when I know that you want something from me," she answered immediately, but the glint in her eyes lessened a little. "But what do you want to talk about, then?"
I cast about for a good question. "Okay, something simple to start. If you could have any superpower, what would you pick?"
She blinked. "Really? That's your version of a simple question?"
"Yeah. Go ahead, what would you pick?"
She paused for a second, tapping her chin. I gallantly didn't notice how the motion sent a little quiver running delightfully over the exposed flesh of her chest. "Okay then. I'd pick super speed."
"Why super speed?"
"Because it lets you do so many other things!" She held up fingers, counting them off. "I'd be super-smart, because I could read a book in half a second. If I'm stuck somewhere, I could run super fast and generate heat to free myself. I could run back and forth really fast so that I look invisible, and I'd never need to deal with traffic jams because I could just jog to and from my destinations."
"Wow, you've really thought about this, haven't you?"
She smiled for a second, before she remembered that she was supposed to be acting surly. "Maybe. What about you?"
I opened my mouth, but our waiter showed up before I could answer. We ordered, Paxton deciding to go for lasagna instead of the lamb shank, and I picked out a bottle of Cabernet for the table. I waited until he'd moved off.
"I think that I'd pick the power to write my own story," I said, feeling a thrill run down my spine at even speaking these words aloud. "I could write things, and they'd come true. Wouldn't that be great?"
Paxton just shrugged. "Sounds like it could get boring."
"Haven't gotten bored yet," I thought, but I didn't say it out loud. "Well, at least we're talking!" I said instead. "Now, you ready for the next question?"
The waiter had brought us our wine, pouring it into two glasses. Paxton raised her eyebrows over the lip of her glass as she took a small sip. "Hit me."
"Okay. Most embarrassing moment. Go."
"Really?"
I grinned. "Ooh, tell me that it involves an ill-advised dare to go streaking."
"Pervert," she said, but she laughed as she did so. "No, not at all. It's probably when my uncle wanted to teach me a lesson about not drinking, so he gave me a glass of straight rotgut whiskey."
I winced. "And what, you hated it?"
"I did... but I didn't want him to know that." Her eyes twinkled as she remembered. "So I drank the whole thing right in front of him, somehow managed to not puke, and then fell down and cried for half an hour because the walls wouldn't stop spinning."
I laughed, and just like that, the ice between us was broken.