“Whoa.” I stop him for a second and let what he said sink in. I can’t believe what I’m hearing, from the murder/suicide to my uncle’s behavior. The words she spoke earlier about disobeying him circle my mind.
“The rumor is she’d never met him before. I went by her apartment a couple days after her mother died.” He glances around the place and I look toward the back to see if Harlow’s walking this way. Once I see the coast is clear, I motion with my hand for him to continue. “I asked the landlord where Harlow was since there was police tape across the door. He said she never came back after that night.”
Damn, this guy’s a total stalker, but he has given me a shit ton of information—disturbing and troubling stuff on so many levels. I hope to hell it isn’t true. What I don’t get is why my uncle came to her rescue. What brought them together?
“Man, this is some shit. Thanks.” Needing this guy on my side for an hour or two while I’m alone with Harlow before James joins us, I offer him a deal. “Make yourself scarce when Harlow’s around and I’ll give you a two-hundred dollar tip.”
He stands up taller and sticks out his chest. Shit, I don’t think he’s happy. “You just want to get in her pants, don’t you?”
“I get the overprotective shit—hell, I feel it with her, too. I promise on my grandmother’s grave, I’m not going to mess with her.” I bring up my fingers in the Boy Scouts international sign of honor. He looks to the floor and shakes his head.
“We’ll see.” He glances up and grimaces. I follow where he’s looking to find Harlow walking out of the restroom.
Her blond hair bounces as she walks gracefully toward us on those damn red heels. I look up at her face and her magnetic eyes pull at me. I feel something deep for this young and beautiful woman who’s been through a living hell.
“Jonathan, go get another martini for her, and I’ll remember my promise if you keep yours.” He nods and scuttles off to the side before Harlow arrives at the table. I think he’s scared to face her now.
“Hey. He’s bringing another drink.” I stand and pull her chair out for her without a thought. I don’t think Rachel would recognize this version of me. Hell, I don’t either, but I have this strange desire to take care of her.
“Thanks, Sin.” She looks straight into my eyes and touches my arm before settling into the chair. “He always acts so weird around me. I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“He’s an idiot. Enough about him. How’s your dress?”
“Totally salvageable. Now, if it had been red wine …” She pauses and tucks a wisp of blond hair behind her ear. “Good thing it was just vodka.”
“You surprised me when you ordered the dirty martini. Seems rather strong. I would’ve pegged you as a Cosmo or wine drinker.”
“Blame it on your uncle.” I raise my brows at her comment. I’m beginning to wonder about dear Uncle James. Things so far aren’t stacking up in his favor.
“Interesting. What type of influence is he on you?” She glances down at the menu, which tells me my rhetorical question isn’t one she cares to answer. “Hungry?” I ask, hoping to keep it light. No need to push her.
“I thought I was, but now, not so much. I think I’ll just order a chicken salad.”
Jonathan returns with her drink and successfully sets it down. I almost clap. He takes our dinner orders and disappears, thankfully.
“Cheers,” I say while raising my glass of Jack and looking over the rim into her eyes.
“Cheers,” she says.
We clink glasses and she brings hers up to her red lips, kissing the edge. Much to my surprise, she doesn’t stop drinking until almost half of it is gone. She licks her lips, and I’m amazed at her performance. For one, it was sexy as fuck, but dirty martinis are basically straight vodka and she drank it down like a pro.
I take a couple sips of my Jack while she drains the rest of hers. I’ve never witnessed a woman plow through a martini like that, not even in the hard drinking bars of the West Village. I wonder whether I should be impressed or worried.
“I don’t normally drink like that, but it’s been a day.” I swallow hard as she takes the stick-skewered olives and pops them into her perfect mouth. Watching her devour this drink has me sitting on the edge of my chair, wanting an encore. If she licks her lips, I don’t know what I’ll do.
“Want another one?” She nods enthusiastically and I push the breadbasket Jonathan gave us in front of her. “Okay, but you need something in your stomach before you have more.”
“Yes, sir.” What did she say? I sit back in my chair, taken aback. She must have me confused with James and his “obey me” shit.
As I watch her chew the piece of bread, a sobering thought hits me. I’ve never cared how drunk a woman gets when we’re out. I don’t even keep tabs. Feeling responsible for another person’s welfare is uncharted territory for me and she’s not even mine.