Page 87 of Into the Blue

She is me.

If looks could kill…

Marcell opens his door but Blue is the one to open mine. I step out of the car and take in the sight before me.

When Blue had come out of the bathroom, hairline edged up and crisp down to his beard that had been trimmed… I knew I was done for. His hair was twisted up neatly and he smelled like my legs were going to spread or maybe I needed to bend over right then and there.

It took me a little longer to realize he was in a pressed black shirt and slacks. I had never seen him in anything other than lounge wear or the tactical clothing he wore when he was working. This look… was… lethal. He looked much too good for my ovaries to take.

Standing in the mirror with him behind me, I knew I need to get a picture of the two of us. I pulled my dummy phone out of my bag and snapped a few. We looked good together.

Better than good.

We looked right–like webelonged together. It's the same thought I had in room five all those weeks ago. It felt inappropriate then and now it feels even more so.

In my heels, our height difference was a little less pronounced so he didn’t have to bend as long as he normally did. Blue’s lips pressed to my neck as his hands rested on my hips. I snapped the photo at the moment my shoulders relaxed.

Looking back at the picture, I couldn’t help but confirm—we look like we belong together.

A King and his Queen.

Chapter 26

“This is where you take me for a first date? Should I expect the Met Gala next time?”

Blue chuckles, swirling his wine that the sommelier brought us with the third course. “Just a step above Off Topz, huh?”

I nod my head, placing a tender slice of the pork into my mouth.

Dinner’s been going well. I haven’t had any French-Creole food since I have been in Louisiana, which is a tragedy in itself. La Récolte was only open on the evenings for the weekends with a reservation list that spanned months–in Clayton Terrace–color me completely impressed.

The lighting here was low, warm and intimate. The wall to ceiling window overlooked the wrap around deck that sat just above the water. There were others in this restaurant, but I couldn’t hear them and I could barely see them. For all I knew, it was just the two of us.

“Another good investment, then,” he comments.

My jaw drops for a moment before I gather my composure. Dabbing my napkin to my lips, I ask, “This is yours?”

His head tilts, “Why the surprise?”

“This is not the kind ofinvestment, I’d picture you making.”

“Fair,” he says, sitting up a little straighter. “My real estate agent was the one to suggest it. I was skeptical. Restaurants aren’t as lastin’ in this economy. Too high a turn-over. Fine dining, different story.”

I wish that I could actually talk business with him.

A formal education only offers you so much. Learning in real life and becoming successful is something else entirely. I could learn so much from this man–could show him a thing or two as well.

In another life, I could ask him the questions I truly wanted and not the ones that I must to keep my cover.

I bite my lip to refrain from doing that and he continues to tell me about a few other restaurants that he has in his portfolio.

Somewhere between the fourth and fifth course, I excuse myself to the bathroom with Lidia as my guard, thank goodness. I had almost forgotten that the guards were here. I don’t think I could do what I was planning if it had been Marcell or Benito.

I nod my head toward the exit that leads to the opposite deck and Lidia follows. She stands guard at the door so that I can get my burner phone out of my bag.

Questions on top of more questions all assault me as I finally get to dial the number I know by heart. When it clicks over, I rush out, “How did you manage to pull this off?”

“Oh, hi. How are you? I’m good, thanks for asking.”