"Yes, we told you so earlier," he responds, keeping his answer short, as I expected he would.
"Okay." I open my menu, trying to focus on the list of options, but nothing looks appealing, as I'm not a huge fan of sushi. "I'll have whatever you’re having." My cop-out answer to having no idea what I'd be ordering anyway.
When the waitress returns, Everett places an order in what sounds like Japanese, and I add on the tempura vegetables for safe measure since I'm starving.
As the waitress collects our menus, Everett's phone buzzes from on top of the table, and I naturally glance over with curiosity, but I’m not surprised to see a dark screen hiding whatever had popped up. Figures.
He glances up in thought before nodding his head and typing something into his phone.
"Everything okay?" I ask.
"It's Axel."
"That was fast. Is he already done with his meeting?"
"I guess so, but it has been a while since we left him. It took us almost an hour to get through traffic while making our way over to this restaurant." I suppose I didn't account for the travel time, but he's right. Then of course, we've been having an awkward conversation for the past thirty minutes on top of it all.
"He'll be joining us as soon as he can make his way here. He probably has a jet for that too," Everett mutters the last part.
"I'm really sorry, Everett. I hope I didn't do anything to lead you on or—”
"Honestly, it's fine. Axel's probably reeling you in for himself anyway."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask.
"Never mind." Everett hasn't been the type to become angered easily but it seems like he's on the cusp of losing his shit right now.
"Everett, I'm not going to beat around the bush here; I'm getting frustrated and annoyed. I have no idea what the hell you two are doing, what kind of business you are truly running, or why you even wanted me to work with you in the first place, but I need some answers, and I need them now."
"What do you want to know, Harley?"
"How about starting at the beginning."
Everett takes his jacket off and I can't help but wonder if he's feeling the heat from the conversation too.
"Look, it's just not my place, okay?" he says.
"How not? How is it you have no problem sitting here, putting the smooth moves on me, and yet you can't give me answers? Or maybe, you'd only give me answers if I played into your come-on.”
"That's a low blow," he snaps.
"So is this," I retort. "I've officially had it with you two, and I want to go home. I'd rather be homeless on the street than put up with the secrets and the whole torturing bit. I'm over it."
"Harley, just relax a minute," Everett says. His demeanor completely changes as if I said some magic words to change his attitude.
"No, I'm leaving. I'll find a way home, or maybe I'll just roam these streets for a while here."
I slide out of the booth and try my damnedest not to trip in these goddamn, unnecessary heels. Thankfully, I manage to make it outside in one piece and look in both directions without an idea of where to go. Here's a new one—a homeless woman in what must be a three-thousand-dollar dress.
A right turn leads me to a corner, and while balancing on my toes, I jog up a set of steps, finding more streets webbing off the other side of the platform I’m on. I know it's only a matter of time before Everett is back in my tracks, so I need to move quickly.
The short streets I take seem to put a good distance between the restaurant and me, but I can hear a faint shouting of my name in the distance. There are so many buildings that it seems like everything in this city echoes.
Without any other ideas for hiding, I duck into a shady-looking bar, finding it moderately full. At least there are enough people in here that I won't be easily spotted.
22
Axel
The traffic is as bad now as it was on the way to dinner, making it harder than necessary for me to find my way to the upscale Japanese restaurant Everett took Isabelle to. I should have just told him we fucked. Maybe that would have put a kink in his plan.
I walk into the restaurant with a pit in my stomach, caused by several reasons as this point. However, it appears it's only going to grow larger as I come to find that they aren't here.
Just as I'm walking out of the restaurant, I dial Everett's number, letting the phone ring a few times before my blood starts to sizzle. Where the hell are they?
I open the tracking app on my phone, and I find Everett a few blocks away in the middle of some alley. Great. All I wanted to do was go jogging in a suit tonight.
The GPS tracker keeps changing direction, which happens a lot in this city as well as downtown Boston too. The streets are too close together, and the GPS’ can’t keep up. I’m not going on a wild chase tonight. Come on, Everett. I dial him again and listen to the six rings before his voicemail picks up. Now, I just have the desire to toss my phone across the street. Why the hell is he doing this?
I send him a text with the last bit of hope I have that he’ll respond.
Me: Where the hell are you?
An alert pops up beneath my message, flagging my text as "delivered,” then quickly changes to "read.” I’m going to kill him when I reach him.
After walking down at least two dozen side streets, my anger is turning into concern as I realize Everett wouldn't be playing games with me, not like this. I continue to call him, getting no answer, and the GPS on my phone is still going haywire. I don’t even have a clue if he's in a vehicle or on foot.
I've circled around the same area so many times, I don't know which direction I've already gone in. Up ahead on the next block, which looks like a dead-end alley, I see a woman in a cocktail dress walking out of a bar—a bar with a neon sign, hanging above the door.
As large as this city is, I can’t help but have an ounce of hope it might be Isabelle. I don't know how many women would be going in or out of a bar like that, dressed the way she’s dressed.
I'm quiet as I come up behind her, and nervous as I place my hand on her cold shoulder. She whips around, startled to see me.
"Where is he?" I ask her.
"Who?" Isabelle responds without missing a beat.
"Everett," I hiss.
"No clue," she says in a way that tells me she doesn't give a shit that Everett is out looking for her and that's the reason he hasn't answered any of my goddamn calls.
"What happened?" I ask her.
"Before or after he slickly put a move on me?"
It's unfortunate that we're walking past a dumpster because it's the first thing I can smash my fist up against, leaving a dent within the blue metal and blood dripping down the side of my hand. "Jesus, Axel, he didn't hurt me or anything."
She's looking at me as if I went too far. I have gone too far. I've been to the farthest place in hell a person can probably go, yet here I am, still getting lost along the way.
"I don't want to be a part of this," Isabelle says. "I don't know what the real reason for you wanting to work with me is, but it's not going to work out. It's causing me more stress than I was already dealing with, and—I just need to go."
My mind is like a barren desert with nothing but dust circling around with nowhere to go. I get her frustration. I've lived it, but those explanations aren't going to make her stay. I have no explanation to make her stay, aside from the truth I can't exactly share with her.
"I watched my dad shoot my mother in the head," I tell her. As the words gum up my throat, I realize I've never said them out loud before. I never had to admit to anyone what I saw at six years old.