“I’m sorry. So what happened to the vineyard?”
Goddamit, Johnny. Why I can’t I get through a single day without you rearing your ugly-ass head?
I decide to keep my answer short and blunt. “I had to sell it to cover some of my ex-husband’s debt.” I lift the wine to my lips and fiddle with the edge of my napkin. Over my glass, his face darkens, like a storm rolling in over sea.
And suddenly, I can see it. He’s more than a broad, imposing figure. He has the danger to back it up. The shiver down my spine makes way for a question. “Why do they call you Atlas?”
He leans away from me, his arm stretched over the backrest. Again, a man with power is always relaxed in affluent surroundings. This place must be the equivalent of McDonalds to him. “Who calls me Atlas?”
“It was on your business card. And I’ve heard some of the staff call you Atlas behind your back…” I take a slug of wine to cut myself off. Hopefully, I haven’t got any of them in trouble.
“I’m known for my ability to hunt debtors down. Whether they’re in Romania or Rome, I’ll find their location. I’m like a human Atlas. It’s stupid, I suppose. I’ve just got used to it over the years. Even my brother calls me it sometimes.” He shrugs dismissively, as if he’s not too fond of the name himself. But his reply makes me think of another question. And before I can stop myself, it’s already leaving my lips.
“But you couldn’t find Johnny.”
Anger flashes across his eyes, but he composes himself pretty quickly. “Not yet, no. But fuck,” he mutters, more to himself than to me, “when I do…”
“I’m sorry,” I interrupt, twisting my new rings around my finger. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
Donnacha opens his mouth, but the vibrating from my new Chanel purse diverts both of our attention. “Sorry,” I stammer, struggling with the clasp. “I should have turned it off—”
“No,” he drawls, “Answer it.”
“Probably another debt collector,” I mutter, staring at the word ‘withheld’ on my cracked cellphone screen. I mouth ‘sorry’ and step away from the table, into the shadows of the restaurant.
“Hello?” I all but whisper.
“Miss Washington?”
A voice too friendly to be wanting money off me. “Yes?”
“It’s Mr. Baldwin here. Sorry for calling on a weekend.”
My heart sinks three floors below ground level. Great. I couldn’t just have one evening without my dire life situation looming over my head, could I?
“Hi, Mr. Baldwin,” I say through clenched teeth. “Not at all. How can I help?”
“Well, Miss Washington, I’m just calling to confirm that we received the check. Congratulations, I’m delighted that you’ll be able to stay on at PACE.”
“Huh? I mean — excuse me?”
“The check. We received it this afternoon. Every semester, for all four years of school. Of course, the deadline is Monday first-thing, so I just wanted to reassure you that you’re fully cleared to start school again.”
It’s like someone has snatched my voice box right from my throat. I have no words. And even if I did, I don’t think they’d be the type of words the Vice President of my nursing course would want to hear.
“I…”
“I don’t know how you pulled it off, Miss Washington. It’s also very rare that we receive payment for the entire degree in full. But I’m very happy you did. You’re a very promising student.”
A ‘thank you’ is all I can manage. My fingers reach out to steady me against the nearest wall. There has to be a mistake—
Donnacha.
One look in his direction confirms it. His intense gaze bores into my soul, his small smirk marking him as the guilty party.
Three strides and I’m back at the bench, supporting my weight against the table with my palms. The prestige of my surroundings aren’t important anymore. There’s only one thing that I care about:
“Why?” I gasp.
“Why what?” he asks innocently.
“You paid for my school.”
He dismisses my surprise with a swift flick of his wrist. “I saw you crying. I saw the letter in the trash. I put two and two together and—”
“—wrote me a check for…” I start adding up the numbers in my head but the digits are making me dizzy.
“You didn’t have to,” I say, numb, melting back onto the bench.
“I did.” Goosebumps rise along my arms and the back of my neck as Donnacha reaches across the table to slip his hand over mine. It feels warm this time, and I want to feel it all over my body. “You deserve to be happy, Violet. And I’m going to make sure that you are.”
19
Violet
My feet haven’t touched the ground since we left the restaurant.
He unraveled over dinner like a bobbin: Growing up on a farm in Ireland; his relationship with Lianne the housekeeper;what it’s like having a daughter. I gently tugged on his yarn to hear more about him.
He brushed over the darker parts of his life story. His parent’s death, his divorce, his day-to-day tasks at his job. By the time his lips touched my hand in the hallway of the penthouse and I thanked him for his generosity once more, he was a half-finished puzzle.
Which is better than no puzzle at all.
I don’t even have time to punch my work card before Felix is making a beeline for me across the kitchen. “Show it to me,” he demands, snatching my hand and raising it to eye-level.
“Felix,” I laugh, but I don’t pull away. Instead, I swell with pride as he mutters an expletive under his breath. Something about expensive and enormous.
“It’s official,” he purrs, once he’s done drooling over my new diamonds. “You’ve got the best sugar daddy of them all.”
I tug on his apron and roll my eyes. “He’s not a sugar daddy! He’s just…”
Hot air escapes my body and I crumble against the counter like a deflated balloon. Felix’s face goes from expectant to cheeky in a nanosecond. “Oh my god, you’re falling for him.”
“No!” I snap, puffing out my chest and trying my best to look disgusted. “It’s purely business. I’m helping him, he’s… helping me. It’s just a pleasant surprise that he’s a lot nicer than I thought.”
He purses his lips. “Did you fuck him?”
“Jesus Christ, Felix, no!” But I don’t know why I’m acting so shocked. I spent all last night staring at my bedroom ceiling fantasizing about him. About his large hands tracing the contours of my body; his thick beard brushing against my inner thighs…
I shake the thought out of my brain. Stop it, Violet, I scream internally. He’s paying off your debts, paying your way through school, and you’ve got a real nice Chanel bag out of this arrangement. Please, for the love of God, don’t push it.
“If you say so, girl,” he teases, bringing me in for a brief hug before heading towards the dining room. “You’ve got two-and-a-half more months of this, you lucky bitch!” He calls.