The Mafia's Pearl

LIZ

The first thing that I noticed about the city’s elite is that they did a lot of laughing, and most of it was forced.

The second thing I noticed was that I was remarkably out of my depth in this room. Everyone was strutting about so full and proud of themselves and their accomplishments, whereas I wanted to get a taxi to get home to my roommate because she probably ordered some spicy noodles from the Chinese restaurant down the street, and those noodles were delicious.

The noodles would have to wait, however, but it’d be great if they were less distracting. There was nothing bad about distractions, but it made it hard to say, “Hi,” to the owner of a string of energy companies when you were thinking about spicy noodles and how you wanted to get them hot even if you knew you wouldn’t.

I typed quickly, my hands moving fast on my phone’s screen. The plan was to chronicle my entire experience so that, hopefully, the information could get some newspaper or other interested. Then, I could live off the earnings for a while.

I moved around the crowd of city elites as I typed with my shoulders hunched. These were the richest and most glamorous people in the city. To even stand here with them, trying to promote my advertising agency, brought a spring to my steps. Unfortunately, it was overshadowed by the daunting images in my head that forced my gaze to the elites’ feet.

The simple, cream dress I wore did nothing to help my diminishing self-confidence, but I’d known I was outclassed with my outfit within minutes of walking in there. After staring at the first five flawless gowns, I stopped caring how bad I looked because it was evident I could never stack up. I unconsciously touched my tiny black necklace at the thought.

I bumped into someone and squawked. I turned my phone off quickly as I looked up and registered the familiar face. I gasped in horror, my heart doing a double flip.

Ares Scott? What terrible luck!

What were the chances I would bump into the single, most eligible bachelor in all of New York? Why did I bump into the very man I referenced when I talked about our string of energy companies?

“Uhm, I’m sorry. I’m— I’m so sorry,” I stammered, staring at his imperiously curved brows, which sat below a mop of dark brown hair that had been combed to a silky smooth mop. Eyes of the same dark brown statuesque coloring looked down on me.

Is it too much to ask to disappear into the ground?

“How does a ‘sorry’ help me?” he asked, his voice flat and cold.

I’d not formulated an answer in my head when he began to walk past. I turned, standing there in a sea of men and women who paid me no mind at all. My heart beat a symphony in my chest. My brain was screaming: to go or

not to go.

Waiters came past with trays of wine. I reached for one and took it from the waiter. He bowed and disappeared. I could not tell what he looked like. Only his white shirt and black suit registered in my head.

Everything in me told me to disappear from the room just like him, but it was Ares Scott! If someone like him signed with my small firm, then that would be it. I’d be set for a long time.

All the wine went down my throat in one gulp as I stared at the form of Ares disappearing into the crowd. I stared at the way he walked, his shoulders moving from side to side, and I almost lost my nerve.

This was too large a chance. I found a passing waiter pilfered another glass of wine from him, and then rushed after Ares. I won’t let him slip away! He was at the top of the list of people that I needed to meet to help build my marketing résumé.

I began walking towards him, mustering my courage as I neared. “You’re doing everything for him, and he just has to pay you to help him. He’s the one with everything to gain,” I told myself, nodding to increase my confidence.

He stopped in front of a waiter just as I got close and tapped him on the shoulder. He jerked back almost at once, and I drew back my hand as if burned. He turned around, eyes blazing with annoyance.

What is that crazy reaction? No, I couldn’t let it stop me. “Hello!” I stammered. My face flushed bright red. Everything was going south, and I did not think I could stop it.

“Who are you and what do you want?” he asked me. He was also holding a glass of wine.

“I’m Liz Anderson, and—”

“Liz Anderson,” he cut in, staring me up and down. “I don’t think I have heard that name, plus you don’t look like you’re one of them!”

One of them? What on earth does that mean? I mouthed along with the thought, only a puff of breath coming from my lips. I went redder in the face, unsure if I should feel insulted or not. “One of them?” I repeated my voice barely a whisper leaving my throat.

“You know,” he said and indicated with his hands. “One of the masses of elegantly dressed ladies out there that think that they are everything. You’re one of the normal ones out in the city with no reason to think that they are everything and yet still think that they are everything.”

I stood, staring at him with my mouth hanging open. “What?” To brazenly insult me and all women in that way!

He almost grinned. I could swear I saw it coming on, and then he stopped. His eyes turned penetratingly hard. “Yes, it is what it is. So, what do you want, Liz Anderson?” he asked, looking above me at the other end of the hall.

I did not think that I could tell him now. He did not look like he cared at all about what I wanted to say.

“Liz, do you want to have sex?”

I stared at him in shock, gasping at the forwardness. “What did you say?”

“I asked if you wanted to have sex. You know they have some incredibly large bathrooms in this building, so we could go into one of them and have it done.”

I continued to stare at him, my brain ringing with shock and my heart thumping in my chest. Am I hearing what I think I’m hearing? Does he want to have sex with me?

Me?

“Liz, you’re going to have to use your words,” he told me with a small smirk on the side of his lips.