Chapter 20: Nom de Guerre

I was glowering from the kitchen, watching my oblivious pet steal my pillow on the ground. I had to wonder how long I was going to live in an unpacked wasteland. It still hadn't even been a week, and I was already tired of sleeping on a pile of blankets next to the bed that didn't belong to me.

I still couldn't believe that this was my life. In a matter of months, I've been the personification of "one step forward, two steps back".

An old novelty Disney cup from my childhood was clutched in my hand. Looking down into it, I could see that my dessert wine was running low and I swallowed the last swig of it before snatching the rest of the bottle. I shouldn't be wasting my money on wine and spirits, but at a time like this, I needed a bit of both to get through my days.

"Fuck it," I mumbled, taking a swig straight from the bottle.

My momma's words had resonated with me since that morning, but they were having a difficult time trying to stick. I go to work, and I can't be myself. Then I come home, and I can't escape into myself either. There was no one to talk to who I felt comfortable enough to share what insanity was going on in my life anymore, and I can't seem to view this as anything but self sabotage.

Like usual.

But for some reason, I felt different when I was around Mr. Leoné. I wasn't sure if it was confidence or unpurified anger that was driving me to act. The more I tipped the neck of the bottle, the more I kept thinking about the look on his face from the French restaurant. He looked so blank in the face. In fact, I'm not sure if he had looked at me after I told him what I was feeling, and I know for sure that he didn't look at me at all on our ride back because I was staring at him the entire time.

Everything was a good sign; he finally got my drift. He gets that I know what he's doing and yet I'm still working for him...

And the logic train always crashes and burns right here.

I glanced at the time. It was just after 7PM. It wouldn't be another twelve hours until I had to care about any of this crap again, so I was going to revel in that slight peace and be half-obliterated if I had to be.

Wobbling from the kitchen, I neared my bed– or rubble of sheets– and loomed over my sleeping cat. If only I could switch places with her and sleep peacefully while giving zero fucks about everything but snacks, meals, and a shit box that someone else cleans for me.

Then suddenly it clicked.

"I'm gonna binge watch Intervention!" I cheered proudly. "Or Swamp People..."

But before I could make a confirmation, I turned toward the sound of latches retracting in the distance. Confused, I twisted my face and walked into the line of sight of the door. I must have been incredibly drunk because I was nowhere near the door when it opened by itself.

Maybe I need to lay off the nectar for a minute...

Or it was opened by someone that just wasn't me.

"Who's there?!" I snapped, feeling the fright tingle through my body.

I didn't intend to start sobering up this quickly, but I was on my way when I saw the future landlord yanking the key from the handle before doing his best not to slam the door behind him.

"Do you live here?!" I screeched. "Get the hell out of my apartment!"

It was then that I noticed that he hadn't set his eyes on me since he intruded. They were looking at the floor when he began, "Not until I say something, Ms. Young."

"I don't care! You could have called. I mean... I wouldn't have picked up or would have purposely hung up on you every time, but at least you would have had the decency to be rejected more gracefully," I shrugged.

He flicked his tongue over his lower lip as he looked off to the side, thinking of the next thing to say to me. It wasn't hard to tell that his frustrations were different than usual. They were obviously lacking confidence, and I was glad they did.

I'm over this invasive bullshit.

It didn't matter what he needed to say to me, he needed to figure out a different way to conjure them up in his aggressive brain and have a carrier pigeon send that shit to me or something. Anything but this annoying shit.

Every second that was passing by was pissing me off, so now that I knew how to crack the code of getting this idiot to get out of my sight, I called, "Ezra!"

As I had assumed, his full attention was on me. Those green eyes were wide open and fixated on my flaming stance.

"Go home, Ezra," I growled.

"What are you doing?!" he suddenly barked.

Startled by his change in attitude, I stood straight and swallowed hard. With a few abrupt steps to his left, he had stomped into my little kitchen and yanked open the refrigerator.

There's nothing in there.

When he slammed that closed, he lifted the lid of the trashcan and stared into the also empty container. Done making his conclusions, he stormed out from the kitchen and stopped inches in front of me.

Somehow, I was suddenly the one who couldn't look anyone in the eye.

"Give them to me," he lowly demanded, but I held the cup and bottle closer and shamefully shook my head.

"Ada... give me the bottle, now," he insisted with more heat.

I rolled my eyes to him and pushed the practically empty bottle to him. He briefly examined it before snatching my cup from me too.

"Can I at least finish that?" I scoffed.

"Why did you do this?" he growled.

I put my hands up and joked, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to offend you by not only drinking cheap wine, but also having the unmitigated gall to drink it from a plastic cup and not a proper glass."

"You're drunk," he combatted with annoyance.

"And you're in my damn apartment," I quipped. "I think I win... Ezra."

"Stop saying my name," he muttered, before turning away to strut to the kitchen.

"Oh, so you do want me to just call you Mr. Leoné," I noted with a quick brow flash. "Kinky, I guess."

I heard another deep sigh, before he repeated, "Stop, Ada."

Throwing the back of my hand to my forehead I put on my best debutante expression, "I'm so so sorry, Mr. Leoné. I just figured I ought to know what you want me to call you in bed."

"What?" he hissed.

I drunkenly tipped my head and glared at him. "Okay, since you want to act so innocent..."

Prancing over to the bed, I dropped my ass on it for the first time and kicked my legs up to my side. Ruffling my hair a bit and tugging my tee down one shoulder, I asked, "Do you want me here, Mr. Leoné?"

But before he could answer, I slicked my hair as much as it would allow me and pulled it to one side, asking again, "Or do you want me here... Ezra?"

Green eyes were looking over me more closely after the second proposition.

Shyly, he questioned, "What are you doing?"

I honestly answered,"Making it easier for you to take what you want, since the last time you welcomed yourself into my apartment you stole a kiss and waved your power over my head."

He put his hands on his hips and sunk his attention to the ground, "Ada, I–"

"I don't want to hear it," I broke in. "I don't care about your feelings."

Even from afar and with a lowered head, it was easy to see his face instantly tighten at my relentless confession.

"You should eat," he randomly muttered.

"I don't give a fuck what you think I should do either!" I snapped.

He lifted his head and narrowed his eyes. "I said you should eat."

"And I said you should get the hell up out of my apartment a long time ago, but alas you continue to conclude that you are incapable of following directions. Seriously, why did you come here? To fuck? If that's the case, I'll have to uncork that fresh wine bottle in the kitchen before considering doing anything with you," I finished in a slur.

Once again, his eyes were large as he gawked at me. The crimson I was used to was bringing some familiarity back into the air. Strangely, his discomfort seemed to be the only way I could feel comfortable in my own place.

But he was unknowingly warding my tactics at the same time. What I said was true, but he was looking at me like I just lost my mind.

He was getting to me. All of him– his silence, his stance, his stare.

Stop staring at me.

After more dreadful seconds, I got my wish as he tore his attention away from me and surveyed around at my apartment. My boxes were still piled around and he took a little longer as he allowed his eyes to linger over my floor- bed-situation.

I always used to pride myself on being able to read people, but I was raging on the inside as I watched him– wanting so badly to know what him rubbing his chin and raking his fingers through his hair with frustration meant this time.

"You really should go," I said under my breath.

A relaxed voice from the man in front of me was unusual. "Is that what you want, Ms. Young?"

Back to "Ms. Young" again, are we?

My eyes narrowed into slits, matching his, as I affirmed, "Absolutely."

"As you wish," he returned, his manner hollowed.

I could feel my angry expressions sinking. The air felt stuffy, and I was starting to sweat.

Why are you looking at me this way?

Maybe I drank too much, considering the way my skin had me feeling like I was on fire. I wasn't scared of him, but my fists were tight. Methodically, he took one step back, and my focus was stuck on him while he continued to stare with leveled eyes at my hands I had balled up.

Carefully, I came to my feet and swallowed the knot in my throat. He didn't even bother to hide that he was looking over what he could see of my figure in an unflattering triple extra large tee.

I ambled past him and to my door tired of wasting anymore of a Monday night. For some reason, I had to concentrate on taking grip of the knob before finally turning it. One the door was ajar, I gave him a swift glance before looking out and taking a whiff of the water-damaged walls in the hallway.

If I bit down any harder on my lip, it was going to bleed. Watching him pace out of my apartment was exactly what I wanted, yet I couldn't make myself watch him disappear into the elevator.

He's gone, either way.

I shut my door and secured the top latch this time. I hesitated for a moment in front of the panel, listening for anything beyond my door. After the faint ring of the elevator, I took in a sharp breath; and, without wasting another second, I snatched up the cork opener and manhandled that fresh bottle on the counter. I'm allowed to drink in my own damn apartment.

So why am I shaking?