Mr. North Read online

  “It’s simple,” I say, almost apologetically. “I didn’t realize this was going to be such a formal evening.”

  Raphael smiles crookedly. “It’s not formal. And I was going to say your dress is beautiful. The color makes your eyes seem…alive .”

  Funny how I was just thinking the exact same thing about him in the anteroom. “Do I normally have dead eyes, then?” I arch an eyebrow.

  “Not at all. They just seem to be shining especially brightly this evening.”

  I drink from my wine glass, not really sure how to respond to that. Is he flirting with me? It feels like he is, but then again I’m hardly an expert on the subject these days. It’s been a long time since someone tried hitting on me; I probably wouldn’t recognize if it were happening either way. The wine is incredible—rich and full-bodied, sweet, with just the right amount of tannin to give it a solid texture on my tongue.

  “You like it?” Raphael asks.

  “Yes, it’s lovely. What is it?”

  He takes a sip himself. “A Syrah my mother bought me for my twenty-first birthday.”

  “Sounds like something you should have saved for a special occasion.”

  A strange, curious look settles over Raphael. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but his body language is guarded. Eventually, he speaks. “Thalia told me she came clean with you last night. About our history. She also said you’ve decided you won’t allow me to pay you for your time anymore.”

  “That’s correct. I also told her to ask you not to address me so formally.”

  “Thalia said you didn’t want me to call you Ms. Dreymon. I haven’t.”

  This, technically, is true. He’s being a smart ass, though, I can tell. “Just because you’re not calling Ms. Dreymon doesn’t mean you shouldn’t address me at all. You should…you should call me Beth .”

  Raphael shifts, twisting his wine glass around in his hands. This is the first time I’ve ever seen him fidget. He’s always been so relaxed until now, so still, to the point where he’s almost seemed statuesque. He clears his throat. “Why? Why do you want me to call you that?”

  “Because it’s my name. Because that’s what everyone else on the face of the planet calls me when they speak to me. Because that’s what my friends call me.”

  His hands still. “Is that what I am? Your friend?”

  “I—I hope so. I know you can’t just call someone a friend overnight, it takes time, but eventually…”

  “Eventually, you and I will move from chess opponents, to acquaintances, to friends?”

  “Yes. If that’s what you want?”

  He turns to look to his left, away from me. It’s so hard to read him when he looks away like this. Perhaps that’s why he does it—so I can’t tell what he’s thinking. Is he…is he angry ?

  “Would you prefer we remain chess opponents?” I ask.

  “Ask me again at the end of our dinner…Beth .” He tacks my name on the end after a pause that feels like it might go on forever. I like the way he says my name. The way his full lips press together at the start of the word. The way the very tip of his tongue catches between his teeth at the end. It’s sexual, somehow. Laden with suggestion. There doesn’t seem to be any intent on his part to make it sexual. He just exudes this magnetism that drives me crazy, and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore.

  “Let’s sit down and play. Dinner will be ready soon,” he says.

  I haven’t noticed the tablet sitting on the table until Raphael picks it up and hits the home button, lighting up the screen. He sits down at the head of the table, watching me, waiting for me to sit down too. I take up my place to his right, and he reaches into his pocket and takes out a coin. Not just any coin. A silver dollar.

  “Call it,” he says. “For white.”

  “Heads.”

  “All right. Heads it is.” He deftly flicks the coin, and the flash of silver spins end over end before he catches it out of the air and places it on the back of his other hand. When he takes his hand away, tails is facing up.

  “Looks like I’m white,” he says matter-of-factly. “I didn’t bring the big board in here. It would have gotten in the way. I hope you don’t mind playing on this.” He taps the tablet, and the black and white squares of a chessboard fill the screen.

  “Not at all.” Somehow playing with the tablet is less intimidating. The obsidian and copper set is beautiful and one of a kind, but it’s much easier to have a thin screen to tap on.

  Raphael makes the first move, per the coin toss. I know I ought to play sloppily, especially after what Thalia said about me letting him win, but…I don’t. I just can’t seem to force myself to throw the game the time. There’s an odd, combative tension in the air, and it’s making me want to hand his ass to him. Raphael smirks as we play, his gaze lingering over me as we each take our turns. After fifteen minutes or so, there’s a quiet rap at the open door, and I look up to see a guy standing there with two covered plates in his hands.

  “First course is ready if you are, Mr. North?” He’s maybe in his late thirties, dressed in a smart deep purple shirt and black pants. Not a waiter’s uniform. Just a well-designed outfit. His sandy hair is swept straight back, razor short on the sides, and tattoos spiral down his bare forearms.

  Raphael smiles, gesturing for the man to enter with the dishes. “Yes, thank you. Beth, this is Denny. Denny, this is Beth.” He introduces us to one another like we’re both old friends of his, not people employed in his service. Or previously, albeit briefly employed on my part. Denny puts down a plate and offers out his hand to me, grinning warmly.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Beth,” he says, pumping my arm up and down.

  “Likewise.” He seems so happy; it’s impossible not to return his enthusiastic greeting.

  “I’ve got some sorrel soup for you guys,” he says, setting down a plate before me first, and then Raphael. He removes the cloches to unveil shallow, oval shaped bowls beneath. The pale green soup inside has been artfully dashed with sour cream by the looks of things, and small sprigs of watercress. It smells absolutely delicious.

  “Thank you, Denny,” Raphael says.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Absolutely. I’ll be back in a little while with your main courses. Shout if you need me in the meantime.” He leaves the dining room, humming softly under his breath.

  “We’ll pause to eat,” Raphael says. Probably because he wants to take a second to regroup; I’ve taken six of his pieces already, and he’s only taken two of mine. He picks up the napkin from my table setting, and with a flick of the wrist he unfolds it. Sliding forward, he reaches across me, laying the cloth over my thighs. His face is closer to mine than it ought to be. Close enough that I can see the tiny knick on his jawline, just below his ear, where he’s caught himself shaving. His eyes, only two inches away, are pale and flecked with silver, like threads of silk. He smells fresh again, like citrus and clean laundry. He doesn’t turn his head to look at me, but he glances sideways, smirking just a little. “You’re holding your breath,” he observes.

  “I’m not.”

  “You’ve gone red.”

  “I’m just—it’s the wine. I always get a little rosy when I drink red wine.”

  “Mmm. Okay .” Raphael leans back, eyes lowered. He doesn’t believe me.

  “Why did you ask Thalia to have me come here?” I blurt. The question’s been burning in my mind ever since she told me the truth. A thousand potential reasons have come to mind, ranging from Raphael somehow finding out that I’m really good at chess, to the possibility that I remind Raphael of some long dead relative or something. At no point have I allowed myself to consider that he asked me to come here because he saw me in that photo and decided that he was attracted to me. But with moves like the one he just pulled with the napkin…

  Raphael picks up his spoon and points it at me. “Why do you think I did it?” He doesn’t miss a beat, doesn’t seem remotely surprised that I’m willing to bring this up, no
w that that whole Craigslist ad charade is over.

  “I don’t know. Honestly, I’ve been wondering, and I can’t think of a good enough reason that would have made you ask for me specifically.”

  Raphael dips the spoon into his soup, then slowly slides it into his mouth. He makes the simple act of eating soup the most erotic thing I’ve ever witnessed. He’s unhurried, unworried, totally at ease. I feel like I’m about to throw up. When he’s finished with his mouthful, he carefully places the spoon down beside his bowl and looks at me intently. “I used to laugh with Thalia, the way you were laughing with Thalia on Instagram. I used to be able to drink and socialize and be a goofball with her, and with Pax. I haven’t been able to in a long time, though. I was intrigued. I could tell by looking at that photo that you’d taken my place in Thalia’s life a little, and I was interested. I was interested in what kind of person you were. I wanted to meet you. I wanted to make sure you were going to be good for her.”

  What a strange thing to say. A strange thing to feel, as well. I look down into my soup bowl, thinking for a second. “If you’re so concerned about Thalia, about someone else replacing you in her circle of friends, why won’t you just spend time with her?”

  “I would if I could. But…” His brow creases with lines. “It’s not that easy.”

  “You’re in love with her.” I say this because I am so sure of it now. There’s no way he can possibly feel anything else for her given the way he’s speaking. Raphael’s pained expression turns to one of surprise, however. He bursts out laughing.

  “God, no. No way. Thalia is my sister. Or she might as well be. That’s definitely how I see her. She sees me the same way.”

  “Then why? Seriously, she misses you so much. I can tell by the way she speaks about you.”

  The muscles in Raphael’s throat work overtime. He frowns deeply as he studies his hands. “I was in an accident. Something terrible happened, and afterwards…everything was different. It couldn’t ever be the same again. So, no. I can’t be a part of Thalia’s life anymore. Not the way I used to. But that doesn’t mean I don’t get to be curious about what’s going on with her.”

  A deep well of sadness opens up inside me. His words when he speaks about Thalia carry such obvious affection, and obvious pain. “The accident? Was it…?”

  It doesn’t seem like Raphael wants to talk about the accident, he practically shrank back into his seat at the very mention of it, but I can’t stop myself. I don’t see why I should. I’m tired of the secrets. I’m tired of not knowing what’s going on. I’m tired of being uninformed and trying to navigate this whole situation blindly.

  Raphael looks up at me sharply. “Was it what?”

  “Was it when you crashed your car into the Waldorf?” I ask. “It was all over the news. It’s hard not to hear about these things.”

  The muscles in his jaw tense, his back straightening, like an electric current is suddenly flowing through him. “Yes,” he says simply. No further explanation offered. No words of self-defense. No apology. Just that one clipped, hard-edged word, and the steel that forms in his eyes.

  Well. Apparently he’s not going to expand on that. I’d ask further questions, try to glean more information from him, but I already know him well enough. He won’t tell me anything else. He won’t give me what I want, the stubborn bastard. Doesn’t stop him from grilling me, though.

  “Since we’re asking questions, why did you refuse to let Nate come and get you earlier?” he asks.

  I take another mouthful of my food. “I like riding the subway. I enjoy it. And I’m sure Nate has better things to be doing for you than shuttling me around the city.”

  “What do you like about the subway?” He ignores my comment about Nate altogether.

  “I like the people watching. I like how you don’t have to sit in traffic. And I like to read all of the adverts. I find them interesting.”

  “The adverts?” His voice rises at the end.

  “Yeah, what’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all. People just usually try and ignore the ads. The general populous hates feeling like they’re being tricked or brainwashed into buying something.”

  “I don’t like that part,” I tell him, swallowing down more sorrel soup. “I just like the snappy straplines and the pictures.”

  Raphael pushes his bowl away. “That’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard. There were over five hundred sex crimes reported on the subway last year.”

  “I carry mace.”

  Raphael’s brows rocket up to his hairline. “Is that true?”

  I shake my head. “No. I carried some mace a long time ago. I accidentally hit the button in my bag, though, and the fumes made me throw up. I had to toss the bag, too. It was my favorite.”

  “Is it because of Nate?” he asks. “Would you feel better if you drove yourself over here?”

  “No, I told you. Nate’s awesome. It has nothing to do with him. And besides, I’m not going to be buying a car any time soon.”

  “Because you can’t afford one, or because you don’t want one?”

  I stop eating. I raise my eyes until they meet his. We are entering very dangerous territory. “Both .”

  “Because I have cars you can borrow, Beth. It’s not a big deal.”

  I stare at him for a moment, and then I wipe my mouth with my napkin, pushing my soup bowl away as well. “Please…don’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Offer to lend me something that most people have to save for a very long time to afford. Like it’s nothing to you.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m a problem solver, Beth. Loaning you a car merely seemed like a good solution to a problem.”

  “I don’t have a problem. I told you. I like riding the subway.” Defiance rings clear in my tone. I’m daring him to say another word on the matter. Daring him to open his mouth and say something that will light the fuse on my very short temper. He doesn’t, though. He merely nods, rubbing his palm against the smooth, polished surface of the table.

  “When I saw that photo of you and Thalia together, it was more than simple curiosity,” he says. “I looked at your face, and you didn’t remind me of a single person. No one from my family. No one from school. No one from here, or from working at North Industries. You were just…a brand new person. Someone I had no negative associations with. You had this look of pure happiness on your face. Your mouth was open, your eyes almost closed, smoke on your breath… You looked so free. You were absolutely beautiful. I felt drawn to you, and I wanted to meet you.”

  He shrugs in a complacent, unaffected way. The way a person shrugs when they talk about wanting something, not knowing what it might be like not to get it, as if the thought never even occurred to him.

  “It looks like you got your wish,” I say softly.

  “It looks like I did. The problem with me is that I’m never satisfied, though.”

  “Oh? How so?”

  Denny chooses this exact moment to return. He strolls into dining room like he hasn’t got a care in the world. “Are you both ready for me to clear some dishes and bring out your mains?” he asks.

  “Yes, thank you, Denny,” Raphael says, his voice cool. He doesn’t look at Denny; his gaze remains fixed solely on me, burning into my skin. My cheeks grow hotter and hotter with every passing second. No doubt Denny can feel the pressure in the air; you could slice through it with a knife. He’s doesn’t ask if everything’s okay, though. He simply clears our bowls, humming softly under his breath, taking our spoons and relieving us both of our napkins. Raphael’s gaze doesn’t waver. I’ve never felt so on the spot before—to have someone so blatantly staring at me in front of another person and obviously not giving a shit whether it makes me feel uncomfortable.

  “I’ll be right back,” Denny says brightly. His eyes meet mine as he leaves, and he winks at me. As soon as he’s gone, Raphael rubs a hand at the back of his neck, and says, “I’m not satisf
ied, Beth, because now I want more .”

  I’m on fire. My dress suddenly feels too tight, my ribcage unable to expand. It feels like there’s an elephant sitting on my chest. There’s no mistaking his tone right now. No way I can’t read between the lines, but I still find myself, saying,

  “More? What more is there?”

  “Don’t be obtuse, Beth. You’re a smart girl. You know perfectly well what I mean.” His eyes flash—a challenge there, daring me to deny that his words are true. I clear my throat, a cold, nervous chill racing down my spine. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone so direct before. His intensity is more than a little alarming; there’s some basic, animal part of me that’s telling me I should run from this situation. No other creature would look at another with such hunger in their eyes unless they intended on devouring it whole. And yet I can’t seem to make my body obey me. I’m rooted to my seat, every hair standing on end, prickling with some unknown sensation. I look away, making a move on the chessboard. A tactical, defensive move, as if my strategies in the game can protect me out here in the real world, too. I end up taking Raphael’s knight.

  “You’ve been pretty hostile toward me,” I say softly. “Honestly, I didn’t think you even liked me.”

  Raphael smirks. “I’m a hard person to get to know. I come across as difficult or rude sometimes. I know that. I assure you that I do like you, though.”

  “You don’t know me,” I whisper. “You don’t know a single thing about me.”

  Raphael, calm as ever, picks up the tablet and studies the game, considering his options. “When my parents died, everyone assumed I came into a fortune. The North Empire was vast, after all. My father was known internationally as a savvy, trustworthy banker. My mother’s entrepreneurial endeavors here in New York were also well known. But the truth of the matter was that when they died, they left me a mountain of crippling debt. They’d been living on credit for years.” Raphael takes a slow sip of his wine, makes a move on the tablet, then places it down on the table in front of me—a challenge. A gauntlet, thrown down. “Millions of dollars owed. Millions ,” he continues. “They lived to excess for so long that I don’t think they ever really admitted their situation even to themselves. I decided I wasn’t going to let their recklessness with money be the end of me. I vowed to repay the money owed and then some. And I did. It took me three years. Just three years. I invested what money I had myself. I created patents for technologies that were still waiting to meet their full potential. I broke my back to recoup what was lost, and I ended up making more money than my parents could ever have dreamed of accruing.” Another sip of his wine. Another pregnant pause. “Do you think I’d have managed that without doing my due diligence, Beth? I know plenty about you. You never asked me how I knew about what happened to your mother when you were a child.”