There it is again, that weird, cold feeling trailing along the back of my neck.
I turn in my seat. No one is there. The café isn’t even busy, so it’d be easy to point out anybody suspicious. A couple on a date, a businessman taking a lunch break, a family of three picking out cupcakes by the display window, and the barista behind the counter, but that’s it.
Am I overworked? Because the only real explanation is that I’ve accidentally fried my brain with all this fashion show preparation.
“Earth to Arin,” Lana teases. “I mean this with love, babe, but I think you need a nap.”
“I’m fine,” I insist.
“Iwanna nap,” Felicia mumbles tiredly against a bit of her chocolate chip muffin.
Miriam chuckles. “Such a cutie. It’s totally fine if you want to head home. Sit back and relax a little.”
“But the show is next week.”
“And we’re ready,” she assures. “It’s going to be marvelous, Arin. Don’t you worry. Your designs and passion for fashion will speak for themselves.”
Try as I might, I can’t take a deep enough breath. Maybe I’m feeling strange because I’m letting the pressure get to me. That has to be it. Now that my biggest dream in life is just seven days away from becoming a reality, I think my body is having some sort of physical reaction to all the excitement, stress, and general disbelief and wonderment.
And all I really want right now is a good long hug and kiss from my favorite absentee mobster.
“When is Dominic supposed to be finished with work?” I ask Johnny. He isn’t seated at our table, but the one directly beside it, sipping at an Americano.
“Not until late, Ms. Wilson.”
“Take me to him,” I say. I turn to Lana. “Will you take Felicia home?”
“Sure thing,” my friend replies.
My bodyguard, on the other hand, doesn’t seem as enthusiastic. “He’s very busy. I’m sure Signore Costello would rather not be disturbed.”
I’m not annoyed with Johnny. I’m really not. But if I’m not firm with him, then I’m genuinely worried I won’t see Dominic until New Years. “I want to see him,” I say, plucking Dominic’s all access pass off the table as I stand up from my chair. “Just to say hi. It won’t take long.”
“But—”
“But what?”
“I’ll get in trouble.”
I pat Johnny on the shoulder. “You let me take care of it, okay?”
He nods reluctantly. “As you wish, Ms. Wilson.”
Chapter 33
Arin
If I was bothered by the number of suited men outside the loan office that one day, I’mespeciallybothered today as I start toward Dominic’s new base. It looks like your run of the mill high-rise, complete with wide glass windows and a fancy revolving door, but the sheer number of people here makes my blood run cold.
Inside, it’s a maze of hallways and multiple floors. It’s quite the operation. If Dominic put this together, then it’s really no surprise why I haven’t seen him lately. It must be no small feat to achieve this level of organization and air of legitimacy. Any passerby would think this is a normal place of business, a fact I try my very best not to dwell on.
Johnny leads me to the elevator and takes me to the top floor. It’s a classy place, brightly lit with polished tile floors and cream-colored walls—a stark contrast to the dark and dingy loan shark office Dominic used to work in.
“Wait here,” Johnny tells me. “I think he’s in the middle of a meeting, but I’ll let him know you’re here. Don’t wander off.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
I linger, casually admiring the view from the fortieth floor. The people and cars look like tiny ants from way up here.