FOUR – MASON LACHLAN

MIRA

FIVE YEARS LATER

"...and in other news, business man and CEO of LACHLAN GROUP OF COMPANIES, Mason Lachlan, has expressed his wish to buy the New York's diamond mine facilities and convert it into a private helipad lounge…"

"Shut that thing off, Vanessa."

"No, no, no! This is the best part. The news man is about to roll a picture of Mason Lachlan."

I shake my head.

"And?"

She shoots me a dirty look over her shoulder.

"He's by far the hottest man in the entire world. I'm sure you know that."

I roll my eyes at Vanessa's antics and collapse on the sofa beside her.

"Why on Earth would a sane human being convert an entire diamond mine into a helipad lounge?"

It honestly doesn't make any sense to me.

Vanessa's eyes are still glued to the TV. She barely pays me any attention.

"The kind that is worth a bazillion Dollars, darling. Mason's a billionaire. He can afford it."

My eyes flit over the tiny room in search of the remote. If I do not shut that thing off anytime soon, Vanessa might end up staring at Mason Lachlan's face the entire day.

That's ten different shades of gross in my books, plus a total waste of time.

"We have an operation tonight, Vanessa. We have to lay the ground work."

She still doesn't move…or unglue her eyes from the TV.

"We've gone over the base plan like a thousand times, girl. I could rob that vault with my eyes closed, but I believe I will not survive the day if I miss my morning dose of Mason's face on TV today."

Is she serious?

"Vanessa, you twenty seven year old baby!" I yell, exasperated.

She just laughs.

Vanessa and I have come far during the past five years…or rather, she has. I'm still stuck in the same position, trying to discover myself.

After we escaped from Scuderi's clutches, I took Vanessa home with me because she had no family, only to discover that my parent's store had been gutted by fire the same day I left.

Momma and Papa died in the fire while trying to save the store, but luckily, Anna was at home during the incidence.

There was nothing left for me in Palm Creek, so I left. Anna, Vanessa and I picked a random city on the map to start afresh. We needed to forget the darkness of our pasts and move on, so we chose New York.

Today, Vanessa has made a name for herself in the fashion world. She is currently one of the top runways models for Victoria's Secret, and Anna and I are super proud of her.

And me? Let's just say I haven't been able to find myself yet.

I changed my looks according to my mood and the darkness of my grief. Now, instead of my natural, shoulder length, curly red hair, I sport black, waist length straight hair and a nose piercing.

Momma loved my hair, so changing it was hard for me. I cried at the salon for ten minutes straight.

But it was also the sign of a new beginning. It meant I was ready to bury the past…well, some of it.

Vanessa had discovered that Scuderi ran an underground brothel where young girls were sometimes forced to sleep with men against their will, and mostly for paltry sums. After we escaped that hell hole, we made a vow.

Vanessa and I vowed to make the life of rich crime barons like Scuderi miserable.

And how do we do that?

We operate under the shadows as midnight prowlers, then steal precious, expensive items from crime lords all over the city. We sell these items to museums and donate the money to women shelters.

Amongst the crime lords, we are referred to as their worst nightmare because we're almost as difficult to catch as the legendary Pablo Escobar.

Our operations are carried out with thorough research and help from inside men who ensure that we go in and come out without problems. Men that we ditch immediately after every operation to avoid leaving trails.

Tonight, we're embarking on another one of such missions.

"You know I have work, Vanessa. Get your fat ass off that sofa."

"Two minutes, puhleeezzee." She whines.

I narrow my eyes at her.

"Vanessa, I swear to God…"

Just then, my eyes catch the remote wedged underneath a table and I silently walk over and pick it up.

Then I press the red button and the TV screen turns blank.

"Oh. My. God. It's a disaster! The apocalypse has come to earth! The world is coming to an end!"

I fold my arms while I watch her perform her overdramatic acrobatics all over my sofa.

"I switched off the TV." I finally say.

She freezes, turning to me with wide eyes.

"You what?"

I simply stare down at her and she throws her hands in the air with a look of disgust.

"Mira, you fiend! How could you?"

"We have work to do, Vanessa."

"But Mason Lachlan was just about to come on TV. New York's very own god!"

I plop back on the sofa and spread a small map over the chipped coffee table. Vanessa scoots over and we gaze at the map together for a while.

"When are you going to move outta this dump, Mira?"

I do not bother looking up. We've been over this a billion times.

"Whenever I am able to afford something better."

She heaves a sigh.

"But you can afford something better. Or better still, you and Anna can come live with me."

Vanessa owns a beautiful townhouse in Beverly hills, on the same street with Steve Harvey. She's also a proud owner of many other cute apartments scattered around the city. Let's just say her modelling career has been profitable.

"You know I have to save up for Anna's college. I didn't go to college. I do not want that life for my baby sister. And you are also aware that I will not accept your offer. I'm grateful. You're the best. But no, thank you."

"I swear, that Italian pride. Well, I'm never gonna stop trying, sis."

For the next half hour before I am due for work, Vanessa and I pore over the map to Pablo Fabiano's underground vault.

Our mission tonight is a difficult one. Fabiano's vault is one of the most heavily guarded vaults we've ever planned to raid.

About fifty men stand guard all over the vault grounds alone.

We will have to tread carefully.

The mission is to steal the Jamaican Blue Jade. The world's third most expensive gem.

Word has it that Pablo plans to sell the diamond to a wealthy aristocrat tommorow morning. Meaning we will have to strike by midnight.

Hopefully, this operation goes as smoothly as our previous ones.

***

I straighten my too short leather skirt and fold up my umbrella as I duck out of the rain. I zip the umbrella in its plastic case to avoid getting water all over the gleaming marble floors of The Delegharo Club, one of the most exclusive clubs in New York City.

I barely take two steps when a balding, middle-aged man grabs my arm and whisks me in the opposite direction.

My boss, Jason Peteman.

"G…good morning, Sir. Everything okay?"

He walks so fast, I can barely keep up in my six inch stilettos.

We finally arrive at a huge oak door and he opens it and deposits me inside the heavily paneled room. He takes a seat in the chair behind his wide desk and regards me with a stern expression.

"Yes, we have an emergency, Mira. You're late and we have a code red situation."

My eyes widen. Code red means that there was a very important board meeting with staff of the club earlier. Shit!

"Sir, I'm so sorry…"

He cuts me off with a wave of his hand.

"Save it. We have a very important client coming into the club tonight by eight. I have already informed the other staff of everything expected of them. Now, you listen carefully."

I give him my full attention. We have important, wealthy people come here every night. What kind of important client would be worthy of a staff meeting?

"You are in charge of the bar today. You are to oversee Dave and make sure the damned punk doesn't get the drink selection mixed up. Tonight has to go perfectly."

He picks up a pen and begins to drum the tip against the polished surface of the wooden table. This means he's nervous. And I have never seen Peteman nervous.

"I hope you have your act ready because you will be stripping tonight as well."

My eyes widen but I do not dare utter a word of protest.

I took on stripping barely two months ago to supplement my pay at the club, and I'm already one of the best girls for the job.

But I only strip on special nights. Double whoa. Who the hell is coming tonight?

"I'm ready anytime, sir."

He nods his approval.

"That's great. So yeah, that would be all. Remember, nothing can go wrong tonight, Mira. I know about your little Italian temper. Keep it under lock and key when my client arrives, understood?"

I visibly cringe. Everyone knows about my temper. I once slapped a Hollywood director for feeling up my arse at the table where his birthday celebration was in full swing.

Not my best moment, but again, not my fault either .

"Understood, sir."

"Great. You can leave now."

I turn to leave, then stop.

"Yes, Mira. Any problems?"

"No. Just a question."

"Well, let's hear it."

"Who's the client that's coming tonight, sir?"

He leans back in his seat.

"Mason Lachlan. New York City's most vicious billionaire."

Holy guacamole.

***

For the umpteenth time, I resist the urge to pick up my phone and inform Vanessa that the man of her dreams will be live at my workplace tonight. I'm pretty sure she would come running, even if she were to be in the midst of a very important photo shoot.

Vanessa and her antics.

Despite everything she went through five years ago, she has never given up on love, or the belief that there's a prince charming for every girl out there somewhere.

My belief in love died with my parents.

The day goes by faster than usual. Mostly because the entire club has been in a flurry of activity ever since I came in this morning. Everyone is on their toes to make sure we do not do anything to upset Mason Lachlan, the greatest.

I honestly do not see what the fuss is all about. He's just a human being anyways.

Before I know it, seven forty five rolls by and Lachlan is almost set to arrive. Everyone takes their positions, careful not to alert the other wealthy patrons of the club on any otherworldly activity.

By eight O'Clock sharp, the doormen swings the doors open and the King with his entourage are ushered in by Peteman himself.

Wow. A punctual billionaire. How surprising.

"Can you see him?" Imelda, my fellow stripper, asks with a sparkle in her eyes.

"Yes. Yes!! Oh, he's so handsome. I bet I will end up in his bed after tonight." This is coming from Miranda, a stripper as well.

Imelda gives her a dirty look.

"We'll see about that."

I almost puke from the harshly whispered exchange. For the love of God, what is so special about this man?

I stand aside and fold my hands, watching the door and waiting patiently to catch a glimpse of this strange man.

Finally, the little crowd at the door dissipates and he comes into view. Beside me, Imelda and Miranda almost swoon.

And me?

I stare at the vision before me, wide eyed and widemouthed. He looks so familiar. Why on Earth does he look so familiar?

My eyes move from his expensive boots and climb slowly upwards. His long legs are clad in black jeans. He has on a black cardigan and the zipper is pulled down all the way to reveal a spotlessly white sweat shirt underneath.

Even dressed casually, this man looks like zillion bucks!

His hair is so black, it gives off a bluish tint in the bright, overhead lights.

And his eyes….those eyes.

They are a bright, icy gray. So bright, yet so blank. They give absolutely nothing away. It is almost like staring into a blank wall.

He sports a scar on his left brow. It slightly disrupts the growth of his eyebrows, but at the same time, adds a steely sense of sexuality to his almost perfect face.

And God, is he good looking. All the girls in the restaurant are literally drooling all over him. Me included.

But why does he look so familiar?!

A co-worker calls out to me and I turn away for a while. Two seconds later, I hear Imelda say,

"Hold on. Who's the bitch that just joined him?"

I whip my head back to find that Mason has indeed been joined by another woman.

A woman so beautiful, so sleek, she almost looks fake. She links her arm through his and he leans down to kiss both her cheeks. When he looks back up, the iciness in his eyes disappear a bit, making him appear more human.

My heart clenches in jealousy as I watch them together. The woman makes it a point to touch him everywhere. His face, his hair, even his goddamn chest.

We know he's yours, woman. Stop trying so hard.

They look like the perfect, all American power couple.

Him, so handsome, so rich, so perfect. And she, as beautiful as a goddess, classy with the aristocratic elegance worthy of a rich man's partner – worthy of a man like Mason Lachlan.

But why does he make me remember a certain man? A man who ordered me to call him "my god?"