Sins & Secrets Page 8

  “What’s up?” I ask her, pretending to sort through files stacked on my desk, like I’m actual doing something instead of staring off into empty space, thinking about a guy I may have loved but will never ever know for sure.

  She gives me a fake smile, the one she uses on me everyday. There’s a smudge of pink lipstick on her teeth and a flake of what looks like lettuce. “Danny wants to see you in his office,” she says.

  I arch my brow as I set the folders aside. “What for?”

  She shrugs, rolling her eyes, but then catches her blunder and plasters the grin back on her face. “He didn’t say why. Just that he needed to see you.”

  I set a stack of files aside. “Maybe he’s finally going to give me those extra hours I’ve been asking for.”

  “Maybe… or maybe he’s cutting them back. He has been talking about letting a few people go,” she replies and I can hear the hope in her voice, like she’s crossing her fingers that the reason. “But don’t worry. I’m sure there’s a ton of other jobs out there for you.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe it’s the extra hours thing,” I say. I’ve been wanting more hours at both of my jobs to make more money so I can move again of I need to. It happens every so often. Things get sketchy and I have to bail. But moving cost money, especially when I have to pay in cash for everything and pay in full since I refuse to give out my real name and let people do background checks. Getting this job was just pure luck and it’s nice to bring in extra income. My other job was much easier to get, the whole business as sketchy as my father’s job. Between both jobs, I’ve managed to stash away some cash but I’m going to need more.

  “Well, I guess you’ll find out.” Marla’s struggling to keep a cheery tone and a snide tone is slipping through.

  I keep my sweet smile on as I stand up and adjust my skirt to a more appropriate work-length, which causes her to scowl. “Is something wrong?” I ask, smoothing my shoulder length black hair into place. I used to have streaks of color in it, but decided to dye it in an attempt to blend in with society more.

  Her lips turn upward, but the hatred burns in her eyes. “You look super cute today.”

  “Thanks.” I give her a smile, which only seems to annoy her more, but honestly I’ve got more shit to worry about than whether or not Marla likes me. So I head for Danni’s office. The door is open, so I rap my hand on the doorframe. “Knock, knock, knock,” I say and Danni glances up at me from the computer, startled.

  “Lola, please come in..” Danni says, motioning for me to enter. He’s a nice guy and boss, about sixty years old and is married to the nicest women I ever met, Mary Lou. I’ve kind of broken my rules by getting to know them. When I’d ran off, I’d made a promise not to get to know anyone enough to get attached, not only to keep my identity a secret but also to protect them just in case I was found. “Have a seat.”

  I sit down in the chair and cross my legs. “Marla said you wanted to see me about something.”

  He nods, grabbing a cookie off a plate that’s on his desk. “Want one? They’re chocolate chip.”

  “Sure.” I take one from the plate. Biting into it, my taste buds enter heaven. “Jesus, these are good. Did Mary make them?”

  He nods, setting the half-eaten cookie down on the plate. “They’re amazing, aren’t they? It’s her specialty—cookies. Can’t cook a damn thing except for the sweet stuff.”

  I lick some chocolate off my lip. “Well, tell her they taste divine.”

  He nods, folding his arms on the table, his light mood shifting to serious. “I will. And it’ll mean a lot to her, coming from you. She’s fond of you, you know.” There’s an underlying meaning in his tone, but I can figure out what he’s trying to say.

  “I’m very fond of her too,” I say, but I’m starting to get uneasy from his shift in mood. “So… what did you want to talk about?”

  He doesn’t answer right away, just stares at me with reluctance, worry, uneasiness. “Lola, how ling have you been working for me?”

  “A little over a month about.” I try to remain calm—no use getting all worked up until I know what’s up. But it’s still hard when he’s looking at me like he’s about to fall apart.

  “And things have been going good for you here in Glensdale?”

  I nod, wondering where he’s going with this. “Yeah, things have been going fine.”

  He wavers, looking torn, then blows out a breath. “Lola… I know…”

  A ripple of fear shoots up my spine. He knows? About what? There are so many secrets in my life anymore and most of them are bad and have the potential to get me fired. “Know what?”

  He sighs then reaches for a piece of paper tucked in one of the folders. Without saying a word, he extends his arm across the desk toward me and sets the paper down in front of me.

  I pick it up and read it aloud. “One of your employees is working down at The Dusky Inn.” I frown. Shit. Who the hell told him? “Okay, but what does it have to do with me?” I figure playing dumb is best, since it doesn’t say my name on it.

  He blows out a stressed breath. “Turn it over.”

  I do what he says, preparing myself for the worse. “Lola Bennington has a lot of secrets. You should look into her.” My hand is desperate to tremble, fear trying to get the best of me, but I refuse to let it—refuse to show weakness. The one good thing about it is that it doesn’t say my real name, which means it couldn’t be anyone from my past, right? But then why does my gut seem to say otherwise. And why the hell does the handwriting look so damn familiar. “Where did you get this?” My voice sounds strained and I clear my throat.

  He sighs, reclining back in his chair with a look on his face that I assume a father would give his daughter if he found out the same thing—utter disappointed. “It was left on my doorstep the other day.”

  “Of your house?” I ask, surprised. They left it at his house? Who the hell could it be then? Marla? An obvious choice, since she’s the one person here that truly hates me to do this sort of thing and I’m sure knows where Danni lives. And I’ve seen her handwriting enough that it could be the reason why the scrawling on the note has familiarity.

  Other than Marla, there are only a few other people I cross paths with and most are people who work at The Dusky Inn or are clients. Would one of them do this to me?

  “It was left on my doorstep… Mary found it actually, but don’t worry. She didn’t quite put together what it really meant.” He seems so dishearten about. “Look Lola, are you in some kind of trouble? Because if you are… maybe Mary and I could help.”

  “It depends on what you mean by trouble,” I mutter, examining the handwriting. If I could see something Marla wrote, then maybe I could match it up with her’s and case solve.

  “Financial trouble.” He appears to be really perplexed. “What other trouble could there be?”

  Oh sweet Danni, the fact that you can ask that question shows just how naïve you are. “I’m fine,” I assure him. “I was just doing it as a side job… you know, to save up so I can hopefully one day get my own place.” I fold up the piece of paper and keep a hold of it. “Look, I didn’t want to tell anyone that I worked there because I assumed they’d think less of me, but I promise. I just work as a secretary. You can even call there and ask.”

  He seems undecided, but I know he likes me enough that he’ll more than likely believe me. People tend to believe what they want to. Like the person and you believe the good things. Hate them and you love to believe the bad.

  He starts to relax, sitting up in his chair. “Alright, sorry I made accusations,” he apologizes for something he technically didn’t do. “I just worry about you and when I read this well… The Dusky Inn has a reputation… a really bad one.”

  Obviously. It’s basically a whorehouse. “I know it does. Trust me. And I hate working there,” Lie. I don’t hate it as much as I should because it helps me with my self-induced numbness, “But I really want a house. The apartments in this town are all small, rundown, and
overpriced.” I hate lying to him, but do what I got to do to survive. If we starting going into the real reason, then we’ll have to start going into the real Lola and that’d be opening Pandora’s Box.

  He contemplates what I said with wariness. “Would extra hours here help at all? I know you’ve been asking for them and if it would help get you out of there, I’m sure I could scrounge up some extra stuff for you to do.”

  “That would be very helpful,” I tell him, loathing myself more than I already do. Not only because I’m lying about quitting at The Dusky Inn, but also because I know that one day I’m just going to have to take off without saying good-bye and leave Danni and Mary Lou wondering a lot of things about me. It makes me feel like such a bad person, but then again, that’s who I am anymore. A person who ruins and destroys things.

  Destroys people.

  We chat for a little bit longer then I leave Danni’s office, stopping by the vending machine to buy two Cokes. Then I stroll toward Marla’s desk, ready to interrogate and get to the bottom of the note. Marla seems like she’ll be easy to break too, if she did it.

  She’s reading through some papers when I approach her so I catch her off guard and her frown slips through. “Oh, hey Lola.” Her smile is stiff. “How’d the meeting with Danni go?”

  “Super.” I take a seat in the chair in front of her desk and then set one of the Coke’s down in front of her while I open the other. “He gave me extra hours and I thought I’d stop by and celebrate with you.”

  She gives the can of soda I just gave her a dirty look. “Why?” She picks up the drink. “I mean, thanks I guess.”

  “No problem.” I pop the tab on my drink and sit back in the chair, totally in my element at the moment. If it’s one thing I learned from my old life, it’s how to break people down, crack them open, get the truth out of them. “So, how are things going with Chase?”

  “Good, I guess.” She takes a sip of her soda. “We’ve been talking about moving in together.”

  “That’s great,” I say without taking my eyes off her. Break her down. Break her down. “That he loves you that much.”

  “Yeah, sure. I guess.” She pauses, getting uneasy. “How do you know about Chase? I mean, that I was dating him? You and I don’t talk that much.”

  I shrug as I open the soda and take a sip. “Lana was telling me out your relationship and how super cute you two are. Way cuter than when the two of them dated.” Lana is probably the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. Long brown hair, skin like honey, perfect lips, perfect body. Plus, she’s super nice and sweet. I serious have a girl crush on her, which makes me feel bad for using her my play, but she’s also nice enough to forgive me when this is all said and done.

  “Wait. Lana dated Chase?” Marla looks horrified at the thought of sweet, perfect Lana dating her Chase. “Neither of them mentioned this to me.”

  “Oh.” I place my hand over my mouth. “I’m so sorry. I thought you knew.”

  Her eyes flare with anger. “Will you excuse me for a moment.” She rises from her chair and storms off toward the break room.

  Once she’s out of sight, I grab a few papers from her desk and compare her handwriting to the note Danni gave me. It’s not even close and I immediately get this sense of uneasiness. I know the handwriting but why? Who’s could it possibly be? I was really hoping it was Marla. I can handle Marla, even if she knew everything, because she’s be easy to break down. But now that I know it’s not her opens a whole lot of doors and a whole lot of worry. Anyone could be the person that wrote it, including someone from my old life. What if my secrets have fallen into the wrong hands?

  What if I’ve finally been caught?

  Chapter 3

  Lola

  For the last two years, I’ve had nightmares about the night I shot and killed a man with a tattoo of 99 and the name Denny. I never did find out who the guy was or who Denny was, but in my mind Denny was the guy’s son, which means I killed a father. I sometimes think maybe I should be dead myself. That I deserve to be caught and tortured for what I’ve done. But it’s more naturally to survive so instead of facing what I’ve caused, I run and let the pain silently eat away at me. I’m a pro anymore with dealing with the nightmares anymore. When I wake up, drenched in sweat, my hands warm with the memory of blood painted on them, I barely so much as gasp, barely feel a thing. The same goes for whenever I think about Layton. I won’t let myself feel anything for him—feel anything at all—because I know the moment I let the guilt, remorse, and vast sense of losing the love of my life spill through, I’ll drowned in the emotion. So I’ve learned over the last couple of years that there are certain things that help me remain cold and detached inside, like working myself to the bone. If I’m having a bad day, I work the crap out of myself, until I’m so tired that it’s too exhausting to be worried. Unfortunately, that’s not the case today because the note is getting to me.

  I’m really off my game, unable to get past it and the fear of who wrote it. I can barely concentrate—barely get anything done, almost as bad as the few months after I found out Layton was dead. Even when Marla comes back and chews me out for lying to her about her boyfriend, I can barely conjure up a good lie. My thoughts are elsewhere.

  It’s time to run again. Move again. Disappear. The notes said secrets. What if they know more about me than just my nighttime job? What if it’s one of the Dellefontes? What if I’m found? Even if I try to run now, they’ll find me or catch me before I can even escape.

  Fortunately through the chaos in my head, I do manage to keep it together on the outside, even when I go straight to my second job at The Dusky Inn. I’m as cool and collected as I chat with my boss Nyjah while he gives me a rundown of my client tonight and then he starts onto tomorrow’s client, listing off what he asked for. Nyjah is a pretty decent guy, considering what he does. He’s young, twenty-seven, and runs the business mainly because his dad, Reagan makes him. Honestly, he seems like he hates the job most of the time and I wonder why he doesn’t leave. His dad’s an ass, always yelling at everything that moves, and bailing out is possible—I should know.

  “He didn’t ask for sex?” I question warily after I get the lowdown on tonight’s “date.” “Really?” They always ask for sex, although some don’t go through with it in the end.

  “It happens sometimes, just not a lot.” Nyjah shrugs, kicking his feet up on the desk, His jeans are frayed and his shirt’s unbutton, revealing his colorful, detailed, tattoos covering his chest. There’s always been one in particular that’s caught my attention—one on his neck. It looks like a family crest, a triangle with a strange symbol inside that looks like the roman numeral ten. Back home a lot of people I know have tattoos of their family crests, but I haven’t seen any since I left Boston. When I asked Nyjah, he said it had to do with his past and his mother, but didn’t go into details. Afterward, I’d done a search on their last name—Peirton—just to make sure they weren’t mobster.

  “It still seems a little weird,” I tell him, picking at my fiery red nail polish. I’m in my nighttime attire, my earrings in place now, lining up the lobe, like silver and diamond artwork along with a few studs on my eyebrows. My black hair is down and wildly wavy, my lips are stained red, my eyes like smoke, and I have a dress on that barely covers up my ass and boots that go up to my thighs. And strapped to my thigh, underneath my dress, is a gun

  Nijah arches his brow as he lowers his feet to the floor and sits up in his chair. “Considering some of the fetishes mentioned by some of the clients we get in here, I’m a little puzzled why you’re acting so weird about this.”

  I sigh and shake off the edge. “Sorry. I’m just having a… weird day.”

  “Anything you want to talk about?” he asks with concern. “You know I’m here for you—always will be.”

  I almost laugh since Danni said almost the exact same thing to me just a few hours earlier which makes me feel the slightest bit guilty. Like Mary and Danni, I think I’ve crossed a line with Ny
jah too. But he’s a tough enough guy that I’m sure it won’t crush his heart when I take off—well, if I take off. It’s kind of in the air right now, depending on how the thing with the note goes and who wrote it.

  “Nah, I just need to work past it, but thanks for the offer.” I give him the best smile I can muster.

  It seems like he wants to say more, his crystal blue eyes boring into me. “Maybe you should take tonight off… Get some rest. We could hang out here. Order in some food. Whatever you want.”

  “Are you asking me out on a date?” My tone is playful because I know it’s not what he’s doing, at least that’s what I originally thought until he looks at me with a very intent, serious expression.

  “If that’s what you want,” he says, maintaining my gaze. “Then yeah, we can do the whole date thing.”