Page 6 of Doxed

My sandals sink into the velvet carpet as I step through the back door of La Lujuria.

“Mr. Vicario is waiting for you in your room,” one of the large security guys says to me as I pass.

Pausing, I turn around with my brows lowered.

“My room? But I'm not…” I look down at my cream cropped hoodie and light gray shorts. My hair isn’t done, just laying straight down my back and I’m not wearing any makeup, though my microbladed brows and lash extensions help a bit.

I see the guard’s blank stare and accept that there isn't anything he can do.

“Okay. Thank you,” I mumble and continue toward the stairs.

I slowly walk to my room on the third floor, not sure why Carlos is in my room tonight instead of down in the lounge he always occupies when he comes, and why he’s so early, usually he gets here right after the club opens, not hours before.

Two men stand outside of my door, and they tower over me as I step up to it and turn the knob.

Carlos is sitting on my bed, with his back against the headboard and his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles.

He ditched his suit jacket—laying it over the back of the chair in the room’s corner—and rolled the sleeves of his light blue button up to his elbows.

His brown shoes sit on the floor next to my bed.

He looks relaxed, with his hair a little mused and his phone in his hands as he looks up from it to watch me walk in.

I close the door behind me, watching Carlos. “I’m sorry I'm not ready,” I say as politely as I can. “I don’t show up to La Lujuria in stilettos and lingerie.”

Carlos sets his phone on the bed, shaking his head lightly and smiling softly at me. “I did not expect you to show up like that, Hermosa. I thought sitting in here would be more comfortable for you. Away from people and my guards.”

I step further into the room, dropping my bag onto the chair and then climbing onto the bed. Sitting at the end with my legs tucked beside me. “Thank you. I prefer the silence.”

“We’re a lot alike, Briar.” Carlos rests his hands in his lap and watches me.

“Is that so?” I ask, cocking my head.

He nods. “Mhmm,” he hums. “We both prefer silence, enjoy the finer things in life, are career oriented, and are very curious about each other.”

“You’re right.” I nod. “But so far, you’ve learned a lot about me, and I barely know anything about you.”

“What would you like to know, Hermosa?” Carlos’ caramel gaze assesses me, but his eyes are much warmer than when I first walked in.

“Tell me about yourself.” I set my hand down on the bed and lean against it.

Carlos takes a deep breath and nods. “I have a son and daughter—twins—that are about your age. My wife—their mother—died ten years ago, and I never remarried. I didn't have the time to meet anyone. The business keeps me busy, but I'm nearing retirement, and I have to decide who to pass it on to. Mateo or Yesenia. My company is looking to expand into Texas, hoping that brings us into the United States, but we’re having trouble finding somewhere that’s right for us there.”

I’ve moved to laying down on my stomach while Carlos spoke, resting my chin in my hands and listening. “Your company isn't in the U.S.?”

“Parts of it are already operational in the U.S., but this is a new branch that is only in Mexico currently.”

“What is the new branch?” I ask. Seeing Carlos sitting so comfortably on my white comforter, so casually, is a little jarring. I hadn’t seen him in anything less than his suit and now he looks like a normal man, not some impossibly prominent figure.

“Machinery,” he says.

“Why Texas?” I tilt my head, genuinely interested.

The corner of his lip pulls into a small smile. “It’s closer to the border, easier to transport everything.”

Nodding, we move the conversation away from his work, and into foods and places we’ve traveled.

Carlos has traveled a lot, and his daughter sounds like someone I’d get along with and his son sounds like someone I would ghost, or someone who would have fucked me and then ghosted me a few years ago when I still cared about relationships.

I just don’t see the need for it anymore.

Eventually, sure, but right now I'd rather make money, and it's a lot easier for me to do that when I don't have a jealous boyfriend at home controlling what I do.

Leaning against the elevator wall, I think over the night.

Carlos and I stayed in my room and talked for hours, a much deeper conversation than the past few nights, and we shared a lot of laughs.

I realize I enjoy talking to Carlos every night.

In fact, I look forward to it. The elevator stops on my floor and I exit, walking down the hall to my apartment.

I unlock the door and step inside, flipping on the lights in the kitchen, because it’s a little after midnight.

I drop my bag by the door, intending to leave it there until tomorrow night when I go back to work, since I used nothing in it tonight.

Again, Carlos paid me on his way out, and I came home.

I pull the water pitcher out of the refrigerator and fill up my tumbler.

Taking a drink, I look around my apartment. Something feels off.

Setting down my drink, I pick up a kitchen knife from the wood block and step over to the door that's along the wall in my kitchen. Opening it to the laundry, I look around and decide it’s empty.

I move through my living room and into my bedroom, flipping on the light and tiptoeing around my room, checking under the bed, and in the bathroom and closet. All is clear.

Letting out a breath, I take the knife back to the kitchen and carry my water to the couch to watch TV, so I don't mess up my sleep schedule. I press the panel in my living room to open the blinds so I can look out at the city lights and watch the sun rise in several hours.