Fleeting Impressions | J.M.

9: a date with james

Another week rolls by, doing boring things like filling ice cream orders and counting money. And all this time, Emma never shows up to work. I guess she still associates me with the Irish psychopath. And I wouldn't blame her. They did have their first date here, I understand her worry.

After all that she is probably too scared to face me after all I knew about her. So she quit. And another young lad took her place. A black and green haired boy by the name of Chad. Slightly dark skin and an affinity for black cherry ice cream. He, just like Emma, has a tendency to have too many boyfriends. I'll have to watch this one extra careful. Though, I don't see James going for a teenager, I still wouldn't put it past him to manipulate another mind.

But Sunday comes without another incident on his end. In fact, all is quiet from him until that Sunday when he picks me up in his regular black car. This time though, I am not forced into the back seat by a gun trained at my back.

I slide into the car in a long dark blue dress, feeling the appreciative glance from James. He said dress fancy, and this was once of the only fancy things I owned.

I made the mistake of glancing over to James after the car started forward. There was no turning back now. And I should have. Because he looks good enough to eat.

His black suit fits him in the most devilish way, accentuating his lean figure and leaving a lot to the imagination. And my imagination is going wild. I slide closer and I realize that his suit is not black, but a very dark blue.

His hair is slicked back, looking darker than normal in the low lights and his hands grip his knees, face turned toward me.

"Don't you look Devine today my queen. We really do look the pair. Daddy approves," he whispers to me, trailing his fingers over my waist. I moan at the words. His predator like eyes are drinking me in and I just want him to devour me. Inhibitions fly out the window when his face is so close, ready to have our lips meet finally.

But the door opens and Moriarty snaps back up to attention. The spell is broken and I'm left sagging on the seats while he climbs out over me, standing at the door with his hand inviting me to stand.

I use his hand like an anchor, my legs are wobbly as we pass his chauffeur slash friend from the grocery store and he leads me inside.

"What's his name?" I ask in a low voice.

"Who?" James hand slithers around my waist to bring me closer.

"The one who drives you around," I take in my surroundings, posh golden swirls and fine wooden accents. The floor sparkles, hard marble clean enough to eat off of.

"That's Sebastian," he buries his face close in my hair to whisper lowly, "he's my right hand. One of my snipers."

I gulp at that. I figured he was some sort of trainer killer. My instincts weren't wrong.

Thinking of snipers reminds me of a cowering Emma. Why am I here with a kidnapper? A criminal mastermind of all people?

But then I remember all the boring men in my life. The only ones who are interesting are my brothers. I've never met a man who was smarter than me. And his intelligence is sexy.

I guess I am a regular boring girl. I fall for the bad boys just like any soppy teenage female. How revolting.

But then I look at James. His small smile of content on his face. His powerful influence over criminals. His ability to steal the Crown Jewels and still walk away unscathed. I remind myself to ask him how he accomplished that.

I've never been a sexual being before, but with James, he invokes these feelings in me that I have never felt before. Let's not forget when he referred to himself as Daddy. I shake the thought away.

"Red wine for me and the lady," he orders, never taking his eyes off me, "bring that out first. We will also have pasta puttanesca with side of bread."

I've never had a man order for me before. I've also never been on a date, but that is desires the point. Trying to find something to eat on one of those fancy menus would give me a head ache. I just want food, and thankfully, James took the lead.

"I want you to have a full stomach before we get on with our other plans of the evening. Wouldn't want my queen to go hungry," his wolffish grin is back and it only makes me excited for what is to come. What else could James have in store for tonight?

I shouldn't get ahead of myself.

"What else are we doing?" I ask, innocently. Obviously not giving away my inner sinful thoughts.

"You will see soon enough," he eyes me cryptically. A thoughtful pause stands between us and it's not awkward. But content.

"Your name, Beretta. Why did your parents name you after the Italian arms manufacturer?" James muses curiously.

I lean forward, elbows on the table, "My mother always had a knack for unusual names. My brothers actually have worse names than mine," I see a knowing smirk on his lips, but ignore it. I've never mentioned Sherlock or Mycroft to him before. "My mother wanted Beretta. I am the youngest by almost seven years. So my mother wanted me to grow up strong and independent. She gave me a name that she thought was beautiful, but also had a deadly meaning."

"I like it. A lot better than Cordelia, I would say," James takes the wine from the waiter and pours it out into a glass, handing me the blood red substance. "I do think you have the potential to be dangerous. And I agree, you are beautiful."

I stare bashfully at the liquid and take a languid sip. The tart hits me softly and the second sip I take I let it sit in on my tongue before swallowing. I have to appreciate a good red.

"Thank you, James," I respond lightly. He's not letting me forget his ultimate goal here. Make me a criminal. Though, at this rate, I'm not too opposed to the idea. A lavish life with James.

The food comes almost right after, I've only taken two more drinks of my wine before the pasta is set in front of me.

"Eat up. Then I'll have Seb take us to the tower," James turns to his food to avoid my search eyes.

The tower? What tower?