Instead, I stand in the middle of the lobby, people bustling around me, take a compact mirror out of my clutch, as well as my bright pink lipstick, which matches the boisterous flowers on my dress, and I reapply. I’m capping my lipstick when a man in a dark suit and sunglasses approaches me. “Miss Campbell, please follow me.”
I don’t move, and when he realizes that, he turns back around, a confused look on his face. Well, I assume he’s confused. Can’t really tell from the sunglasses and inanimate facial expression.
“Do you expect me to just follow you, a man I’ve never met before?” I shake my head. “Think again. I’m going to need to see your boss, or whoever sent you out here to get me. And I will need his name, as well. And his cell phone number.”
Looking far too confused, the man presses his finger to his ear and asks, “Did you hear that?” It’s all very secret service-type behavior, and it’s all quite comical. This is movie-quality theatrics, not everyday. “He will be right down.”
I know what you must be thinking—Lilly, what the hell are you doing? You don’t go off with strangers. And you’re right, I shouldn’t, but there’s something you have to understand—I lost my parents when I was seventeen to a horrible boating accident. I have no family. No grandparents, no brothers and sisters, no aunts and uncles. My dad was an only child, and his parents passed away when I was five. My mom, well, she never spoke of her side of the family. So, being the strong, confident, and smart twenty-seven-year-old that I am, I’d normally tell this man to fuck off and go on with my day following Miami’s trendsetters so I can make sure I have everything in stock in the Wagon. But, the little girl inside of me, the girl who misses her parents, the girl who will cling to any piece of them, she’s the one leading the show tonight.
Cut her some slack.
Folding my arms over my chest, I nod toward Mr. Suit and ask, “So, been doing this for long? You know, fetching young women for your boss?”
Stiff, avoiding me at all costs, he doesn’t say anything, but I catch his mouth twitch in humor.
“How much do they pay you? Do you have a gun? Or do you consider your hands lethal weapons? From the looks of it, they seem like Grade-A chokers. Have you ever choked anyone? Wait, don’t answer that, I don’t want to be an accomplice in your murders.”
He continues to look around, not saying a word.
“Ah, I see what’s going on. They must dock your pay every time you say something, right? You know, I get it. You have mouths to feed, probably. How many kids do you have? Wait, wait, let me guess, that will be more fun. Hmm.” I tap my chin. “I’m going to say ten. You look like the kind of man with strong lovemaking genes. Like a workhorse in bed, pounding that semen, one right after the other, having that wife pop them out—”
“Miss Campbell,” comes the silky, English voice from earlier.
I turn to see Mr. Mysterious standing behind me, still wearing the black pants and button-up shirt from earlier, but now he has a suit coat draped over his broad shoulders, and he’s clouded in a masculine scent that reads more like fresh mountain logger than shadowy assassin. Man, this guy. He’s got to be at least six three with a jacket size no smaller than forty-six long. They build them big where he’s from.
“Well, hello, there. How lovely of you to show up.” I thumb toward Suit. “Not much of a talker, this one. Do you dock his pay for talking?”
Completely ignoring my question, he says, “I believe you have requested my phone.” He reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out his phone. He offers it to me, holding it out in his large hand.
Take a look at those fingers. Hello, lover.
“Is that really a phone, or perhaps a bomb acting like a phone? I need you to prove to me that it’s a phone.”
That anger I saw rear up earlier reappears as he taps the screen, entering a passcode so fast that I only catch two numbers: three and eight. He then turns the screen to me, showing off his black wallpaper with all his apps lined up in folders.
“Who doesn’t have a wallpaper on their phone? Seems a bit psychotic, don’t you think?”
“Miss Campbell, what I have to talk to you about is of high importance. Please take the phone and follow me.”
I take the phone and then say, “First, I need to make a phone call.”
I might be following a strange man to God knows where, but I have gained some form of self-preservation over the last few years.
I punch in Timmy’s number and then put it on speaker.