Mr. Mysterious In Black (8 page)

I’d never seen Geo Lee before, just his designs. He was huge in the fashion industry and his name rang constantly. I’d always fancied his designs, but his products demanded an extortionate purchase. The Geo Lee heels that I was rocking at the moment were a much-appreciated birthday gift from Kelsy.

After giving my name to the gauche receptionist who was, for some reason, very discourteous, I followed instructions and was whisked to the third floor. The elevator doors opened and I sallied to the office of Mr. Geo Lee.

Indeed, I adored colors, but do I love it this much? Again, the walls and surfaces were all-white, contrasted with brightly colored squares, circles, triangles and rectangles scattered about the walls in odd positions. The ceiling was black with bright pink circle disks and neon green light glowing around the edges.

Whoa.
And I thought
I
liked colors! Compared to this guy, I was neophyte in the world of colors.

Geo Lee was like a walking cotton candy and was gayer than a rose-pink cock. Dressed in colorful sneakers, a too-tight lime-green pants and a pink T-shirt with a lime-green scarf, he had short, ashy blonde hair with streaks of purple at the front and a smirk that seemed intrinsic. Intellect told me he was no older than thirty. And I wondered idly how on earth Natalio was associated with this man.

“Miss Francé,” Geo Lee spirited in a curly voice while pointing to my shoes. “If you fawningly wore those shoes to flatter me, then guess what?”

I stared at him blankly because I didn’t know how to respond to such assumption.

“It’s working!” he laughed out. “I like being flattered. But your outfit is much too gloomy. I see Mr. Nelson is rubbing off on you.” He scowled, clearly disapproving in my choice of color.

“I was told to dress the part for an
interview
. Had I known you and I had symmetric tastes, as far as colors and textures go, then I guarantee I would’ve made quite an impression. Mostly, I wear my own designs. Singular designs in colors that the average person would
not
choose.”

He glared at me with a look that said ‘I’ve heard it all before, Missy’, probably thinking I was bluffing. Such made me glad that I’d had time to complete my profile along with physical pieces I’d made myself. My mother was once a designer’s assistant at a small company and I’ve been doing this since my eyes were at my knees. It’s the one thing I was confident about and I didn’t need compliments to be assured I was good at it. I knew my trade. Inside-out.

Geo Lee compressed his lips and stuck his hand out, demanding that I prove it. “Only for Nelson,” he grumbled. “He’s such a hard ass.”

I handed my sketches over to him and wondered to myself if
‘hard ass’
had the same connotation in the heterosexual world as it did in the homosexual world. Because the way Geo Lee said “hard ass” was as if he’s indicating that Natalio’s ass was hard to get—or hard to enter? I shook my head at the thought.

Hmm, Natalio
could
be gay. He said he didn’t do strip clubs and he only wanted to be my friend. Only gay men shy away from strip clubs and keep female
friends,
don’t they? Plus, he was freakishly good-looking.

The thought made me weary. I could be crushing on a gay man. Boy, was I a sore loser
.

I watched as Geo Lee’s eyes sparkled as he flipped through my designs and I knew then that I’d caged him.

“J
udging by that irremovable grin you bear, I’ll go ahead and assume that went well,” Natalio said, once I entered his jeep after my interview with Geo Lee.

My grin widened. “Yes, it certainly did. Assistant. I start next week,” I almost squealed. “He’s very taken by my overt love of colors and my preternatural tastes in designs.”

“Ah. I’d forgotten the dude was a freakin’ box of Crayola.” He shook his head. “So, are you okay with being his assistant?”

“Natalio, I’ll be working for
Geo Lee
. Of course I’m okay with that. Besides, I only have my Bachelor’s in fashion designing. Master holders are the ones to be demanding.”

“I can demand for you,” he offered.

“No. It’s okay, really. I’ve already jumped steps with your aid. If I’m gonna do this, I want to work and prove myself. And not just be handed some high position because I know someone who knows someone.”

He resigned on a sigh. “Okay, it’s your call.”

“Thank you so much for this, Natalio.”

“No prob. Are you hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Let me take you to get something to eat,” he insisted.

“Okay.” Maybe I could take a bite…o
f him.

Minutes later, Natalio was leading me to a rooftop restaurant that bragged
‘Eat N’ Tell’.
The atmosphere was casual and already I liked Natalio’s choice of chill spots. No over the top, spit and shine restaurant.

He chose a table next to the margin of the building, pulling out my chair for me to sit. Despite my fear of heights, I peered over the edge which resulted in me jolting back immediately.

“Don’t look down,” Natalio teased.

“It’s hard not to look down when I’m sitting at the edge of the roof,” I replied, waiting for my heartbeat to return to its regular rhythm.

His brows furrowed. “Do you want to sit elsewhere?”

“No, it’s okay. This is a good way to vanquish my fear of heights.”

A waiter appeared, filling our glasses with water, bidding us a good evening and handed us the menu before retreating. Sipping on my water, I disregarded the menu because I only hungered for one thing. Make that
two
things…

“Do they serve pizza here?” I asked.

“Yes. Is that what you want?”

“Pepperoni.”

Natalio closed his menu, his eyes lingering leeringly on my neck. “Would you like to share? We could order a large.”

Unable to speak past the newly formed lump in my throat, I nodded. I couldn’t help the somatic heat when he looked at me like that. Was he freaking gay or not?

“Good.” He signaled for the waiter.

When the waiter appeared, I spoke quickly before Natalio, ordering pepperoni pizza with pineapple and ham topping. Along with a bottle of Merlot. It was a test for his reaction because he always tried to be in control. But he didn’t protest. He merely smiled at me.
Ugh, so unpredictable.

Once the waiter disappeared, he asked, “You work out?”

Turning down the corners of my mouth, I shook my head.

“So how do you stay fit after eating junk like that?”

“I run…sometimes.”

“I don’t think running
sometimes
contributes to that flawless physique you have.” His eyes fell to my neck again.

“Other activities help,” I whispered.

“Oh?”

I nodded.

“Are you gonna tell me what those activities are?” he asked, doing that panty-dropping thing with his eyebrow. Did he do it on purpose, knowing the effect it had on women, or was it an unconscious habit?

To distract myself, I took a chance and stared over the roof. “Sex. Hard sex. Really,
really
hard sex.”

Keeping my eyes down at the diminutives of bustling people and trafficking vehicles, I waited for a reaction. But he didn’t reply. A minute of silence ensued and I wondered how on earth I was managing to peer down this high building without fright. Maybe it’s because I knew the expression on Natalio’s face might be more frightening?

The waiter reappeared with the wine and I waited in discomfort as he opened it and filled our glasses. Natalio’s eyes were hot on me. But I dared not to look at him, because there was a subdued tension radiating from him. What did I say wrong? Maybe he
was
gay and didn’t like the idea of a man and woman having sex? I’d pluck up the courage to ask him one day. Just not now.

The waiter retreated and Natalio remained silent still, except for the tapping of his index finger on the edge of the table.

This man had a serious problem and I was getting very tired of his weird attitudes. Hopefully the ludicrous lust that I have towards him will abate. And soon. His actions were far too mystifying.

“Do you have a problem with sex?” I blurted.

His gaze was sulfurous, his expression implacable, when he said, “It’s not the sex. It’s with whom.”

What?
That’s verification that this man was gay. I’d convinced myself that I was just over thinking things and that he actually wasn’t, and had even mistaken his politeness for lust. But this just about sums it up. He didn’t do strips clubs, he wanted to be friends with a female stranger (who’s neither old nor ugly), he had done and is owed favors by one of the gayest men I’ve ever met—who actually referred to him as a ‘hard ass’—and he abhors the idea of sex with the opposite. Oh yeah, he’s definitely gay.

With a noisy sigh, I slumped back in my chair. Well, maybe now I could stop being so nervous and flushed around him. Albeit, I still desired him and wished he wasn’t gay. My hopes have been crushed. I guess I’d just have to settle for lusting at what I couldn’t have.

“Are you okay?” he asked. He seemed to have dallied back from wherever he’d wandered off to in his mind.

“Oh, I’m just fine,” I said, a bit too dramatic. “Jolly good.”

“Are you sure?” He did that damned eyebrow thing again. Even with my new discoveries—or rather, assumptions—I was surprised it still had the same effect on me.

“Yep,” I replied after taking a huge gulp of my wine. It was a strenuous effort trying to conceal my irritation and disappointment.

Pizza was served.

“So, your name is Natalio Nelson?” I asked around a mouth full of pizza. Decency and coyness had evaded.

He eyed me curiously before answering. “Yes. Sounds familiar to you?”

“Nope,” I replied on another bite. “Both Devon and Geo Lee referred to you as ‘Nelson’, so I was wondering if it was your surname or an alias.

I watched as his jaw clenched at my mention of Devon. Hmm, I wondered indolently if Devon was an ex of his. Could they be bisexual? I recalled Natalio being momentarily shocked to see Devon with me, and Devon had looked like he’d been caught with his dick in a monkey’s mouth. I knew there was something weird going on with them at the bar, and Devon gave that obvious lie about being old college friends. Yeah, old
buddies
alright.

Oh what have I gotten myself this time
?
Emptying my glass of wine in one go, I immediately replenished it.

“GLFH is a thirty minutes drive from your apartment. How do you plan on getting to work?”

“Cab, bus, whatever,” I mumbled.

“Sadie, are you sure you’re okay?” his voice weaved with concern.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Just annoyed and angry that this hot hunk of a man, who I’d day dreamed about all weekend, hoisting me, and taking me in myriads of positions, was freaking gay.
No, I’m not okay!

“That will be your last glass of wine,” he commanded, his expression grave.

“Who are you to say?” I sallied.

With wide eyes, I jerked back as Natalio’s fist slammed down onto the table, evoking the cutleries into an inharmonious jiggle. “Will you stop acting like this and tell me what the hell is bothering you!”

Whoa. That was unexpected. His sapphire eyes were broodingly blazed, and I was scared out of my wits. As I glanced around the restaurant, I noticed we’d drawn unwanted attention. But Natalio’s eyes were hot on my face, I could almost feel the heat of his burning glare.

“Was that necessary?” I hissed through clenched teeth. I wouldn’t let him know that I was afraid of him. I’ve learned how to hide my fears from being with Cali D
.

Natalio gritted his teeth and glared at me. Why was this man so angry? He seemed to get ticked off at the drop of a hat. Leaning back in his chair, he uncurled his fists. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “You keep saying you’re okay, when I know you’re not. And I want to know what bothers you, all that bothers you. I will try everything in my power to fix it.”

There’s no way to fix it, Natalio
.
You can turn a straight man gay but you can’t turn a gay man straight. He’d still be demanding the woman’s ass.

“You can’t,” I told him.

He leaned in, his eyes pleading. “Tell me. Whatever it is. I’ll try my best to fix it. If I can’t, I’ll find someone for you who can.”

I snorted. “What, are you supposed to be my savior or something?”

“If you would let me. Yes.” His intense blue gaze locked on mine. The man was truly serious.

“But why? You don’t even know me.”

He stared at me a moment longer before he closed his eyes and said, “I know you more than you think, Sadie.”

“How? I don’t understand,” I said, bewildered beyond all borders.

Natalio sighed, opened his eyes, leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers through his silky, raven hair. “Please. Just let me be your friend.”

“I thought I already agreed to that.” I couldn’t understand him. Was he schizophrenic? Bipolar? Did I really want to be friends with this man? Dismantled, that’s what he was.

“Well, friends tell each other what bothers them. And you’re not communicating with me. It angers me.”

Jeez dude, you need to get your emotions in order.