“Getting to, it seems,” he says softly.
I nudge him with my elbow and smile up at him. He isn’t much taller than me, but the control and power he exudes, it feels like he’s as tall as these buildings.
The line continues into the main room and down hallways inside the building, but at least it’s warmer in here. Eventually, someone takes our tickets—I try to steal a glance at them, but I can’t make them out.
“Come on,” Harmon says, putting his hand on my lower back and guiding me toward a busy bar. I try not to think too much into it—it’s a simple gesture, nothing more. So we don’t get lost since there are so many people here. It only makes sense.
We go to the bar. He orders us drinks, and then we make our way down a few more halls, through a curtain, and step out into a goddamn theater. I’m pretty sure this is a big deal. Like a bigthing. Not only by the vibe and look of everything… but this is Harmon Stone. He doesn’t do little.
“Is this…”
“A Broadway show,” he says. “Yes.” He ushers me through the aisle and to our seats that gives us a clear view of the stage. “It isn’t the show I wanted, but I couldn’t get tickets for that on time. This one isn’t terrible.”
“What is it?” I ask eagerly.
“Chicago.”
I hold his gaze. “That means absolutely nothing to me, but I bet it will be amazing.”
He chuckles.
The show starts and I am enthralled. I can’t pull my gaze away from the stage. When my drink is empty, Harmon gets me another one, but I hardly notice he’s gone until he’s whispering “excuse me” to get by and back to his seat.
This performance is intense, and the moment it ends, I want to sit through it again. I’ve never been to anything like this before. I don’t think there’s another experience like this.
When I get to my feet, my head is dizzy, and I wonder how many drinks I had.
“How did you like the show?” Harmon asks, his hand once again on my back as he guides me through the aisle toward the door and through the crowd.
“It was… amazing. I don’t know what else to say about it. I loved it.”
“I’m so happy to hear it. Now, we’re going to get food.”
“God, that sounds so good.”
We make our way onto the street, the city alive as much now as it was hours ago. We walk only a few blocks before Harmon leads me into a building and to an elevator that brings us to the top floor. When we step out, it’s into a dark but sexy restaurant, a pink neon sign lit up with the number 72. There are splashes of pink here and there in the decor, but not enough that it looks cheesy or cheap. You can tell this place is expensive, not only because it’s on the top floor of this building, but because you canfeelit.
“Good evening, sirs,” the host greets. He’s a handsome guy with dark hair, eyes, and short-cropped hair. “Do you have reservations?”
“Harmon Stone.”
“Ah, Mr. Stone. Mr. DeMassi wanted me to give you his sincerest apologies. He had to leave immediately to deal with an issue at his new establishment in Chicago.”
“That’s unfortunate, but it’s alright. Please let him know that I hope everything is going fine, and if I can help with anything, I’d be glad to do so.”
“Of course. Right this way.”
The host leads us to a table in the far back corner where we will be alone.
“You one of those people who knows someone everywhere?” I ask as we pick up our menus.
“When you’re in my line of work, it’s hard not to.”
“There are no prices on this menu,” I comment as I look it over.
“Because they don’t matter. Order what you want,” he says distractedly as he looks over the wine list.
“I don’t know what half of these things are,” I hiss, leaning over the table.