Chapter 5

            Two African American men approached her. The man was bald, and he had a mustache and a goatee that framed his face perfectly. He was a few inches taller than her, and he had an average frame. He gave her a polite, yet small smile. She and Damien had shaken hands with the man behind him a few minutes earlier. He had introduced himself as Hugo Mitchell. He had told them about his grandmother who died of cancer, and he and his cousin came from New York to attend the event. They were entrepreneurs and philanthropists. Hugo was a good name for the man because he was huge in height and weight. He had a round afro that looked like it has been freshly cut for the occasion. Both of their tuxes fitted them to a tee.

            “Mrs. Miles,” Hugo began. “This is my cousin. Carter Mitchell.”

            “Layla Miles,” she said with a smile and extended her hand to him.

            Carter’s grin widened as he took her hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Miles.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it.

            It surprised her, but she appreciated a gentleman. However, she did not appreciate him undressing her with his eyes – even though it made a jolt of excitement run through her veins. “Your cousin tells me you two came from New York for the event. I know news of the auction had reached Virginia, but I had no idea anyone from New England would attend.”

            “Oh, yes. You see, Hugo and I have devoted all of our charitable resources to fighting cancer. Our grandmother had it. She fought it off the first time, but when it came back, she was too old to defeat it again. Her death really affected us,” Carter explained.

            “Yes, Hugo told me about your grandmother. When did she die?”

            “Two years ago,” Carter answered. “My only regret was that I couldn’t fulfill one of her final wishes.”

            “Oh? What was that?” she asked.

            “For her to see my fiancée again . . . well, my ex-fiancée. Grandma was crazy about my Lana. I tried to find her, but it was like she disappeared into thin air,” Carter said as he stared into her eyes.

            “Oh, that’s terrible. Did you ever call the police?”

            “Oh no,” Carter said quickly. Then he paused for a moment, like he was studying her. “I . . . came home one day, and she was gone . . . along with her things. I guess she changed her mind about marrying me and couldn’t tell me face to face.”

            “Oh, I’m sorry.”

            “Thank you, but I think things will start looking up in the love department real soon.”

            “I’m sure it will. You’re an attractive man,” Layla said. She wasn’t just saying that to be polite either.

            “Thank you, and may I say you are a beautiful woman. Your husband is a lucky man.”

            She giggled. “Well, thank you.”

            “We better go into the ballroom and find our seats. I came a long way for the food and the auction. I don’t want to miss anything,” Carter said.

            “Of course, and the food should be excellent. The best caterer in the city donated his services.”

            “How generous of him. I hope to see you again soon, Mrs. Miles.”

            “I hope so, Mr. Mitchell.”

****

            Carter and Hugo Mitchell slowly walked into the ballroom. The oval tables were decorated with white tablecloths and crystal water and wine glasses. They looked for their table number.

            “She’s never been that good of an actress,” Carter said. “You were right, Hugo. She has no idea who we were.”

            “I told ya,” Hugo stated.

            “What do you think happened?” Carter asked as he glanced around at the tables as they walked.

            “I don’t know. When I talked to her the first time, she was with her husband. I asked her if either one of them had lived in New York. They said no. I asked them how they met. The husband answered that question. He said they met at a coffee shop in DC.”

            “DC?” Carter repeated with confusion.

            “Yeah, she didn’t say a word. She just smiled and nodded as the guy was telling me their love story. Apparently, it was love at first sight.”

            “Pssh, maybe from his end, but the woman I knew wouldn’t fall for a loser like that,” Carter sneered.

            “How do you know he’s a loser? He’s obviously well respected, and he’s a doctor. He’s got to be loaded. Did you see the jewelry she was wearing?”

            They found their table and sat down. “Yeah, but I can tell how that guy carries himself that he is off. However, this is the best thing that could happen. Deep down, you know I never really wanted her dead.”

            “I know,” Hugo said.

            “And since she has no memory of us, she can’t squeal to the cops or the FBI,” Carter said.

            “That’s even better,” Hugo stated.

****

            The staff was moving the display cases out of the social hour space. They were going to take the items to the back of the ballroom and then wheel them out as each item was announced for bidding. Layla walked around the crowd, politely accepting everyone’s compliments on the evening. It was ten minutes before the auction in the ballroom, and she was trying to find Damien so they could take their seats. She wanted to show a united front when they entered the ballroom.

            “Excuse me, Mrs. Miles,” a male voice said.

            She turned around and saw the dark-haired white man who had chatted with her and Damien thirty minutes earlier. A man who had hair color of a light-brown wicker basket and pale-blue eyes looked at her with his lips parted like he had never seen a woman before in his life. He was an inch or so taller than her. Despite the odd way he was looking at her, she noticed that he was cute.

            “Um, Mr., um. I’m sorry. I know we just spoke moments before, but I can’t remember your name.”

            “Bruce Styles,” he said politely.

            “Yes, please forgive me. I’ve met so many new people this evening that I’m starting to lose track,” she said as she struggled not to stare at Mr. Styles’s companion.

            “I understand. I wanted to introduce you to my friend, Alec Peterson.”

            She looked at him. “It’s nice to meet you. Do you live in Tampa, too?” She did remember that Mr. Styles said he lived in Tampa.

            “Yes. It’s nice to–” He stopped and glared at her. Then he slowly leaned into her personal space. “You don’t have to speak. Just shake your head,” he whispered. “Do you know who I am?”

            She was so taken aback by the question that she answered verbally anyway. “No,” she said quickly.

            His nearly blond eyebrows rose. He was absolutely stunned.

            Her mouth dropped open. Was this man someone from her past? “Should I?”

            “I . . . I,” he stuttered.

            “Have we met before?” she asked with intensity. If she had met this man before her accident, he could tell her things that she had long forgotten.

            “My god,” he whispered as he stood straight again. “You really don’t remember.”

            Layla glanced over Mr. Peterson’s shoulder. Damien was standing at one of the ballroom doors motioning for her to come along. She put her finger in the air indicating she would be over in a minute. Mr. Peterson noticed this and looked to where she was motioning to.

             “My husband is calling me, so I don’t have much time. What I’m about to tell you . . . please be discrete about it. I don’t want to disrupt our surroundings.”

            “We understand,” Mr. Styles replied in a serious tone.

            “Four years ago, I was in a bad accident. When I woke up, I had no memory. I didn’t even know my name,” she whispered.

             “You’re kidding,” Mr. Peterson mumbled with an aghast expression.

             “I wish I were,” Layla said as she looked past his shoulder again.

              Damien was looking at her as he was tapping his watch.

              Layla nodded at him and turned her attention back to Mr. Peterson. “Look, we can’t talk about it now. Let’s exchange phone numbers,” she breathed frantically as she fumbled in her handbag for her cell.

             “Exchange numbers?” he repeated.

             “Yes,” she confirmed. And then she dropped her purse. A few things spilled out on the carpet. Luckily, her cell screen wasn’t damaged, but she was more concerned about people seeing the anxiety pills that Dr. Samuelson had prescribed to her two weeks ago. She snatched them up before Mr. Peterson knelt to help her.

             “Are you all right?” he asked with concern.

             “Yes,” she said as she quickly gathered the rest of her things off the carpet. “It’s just that I have never met anyone from my past since it happened.” She stood.

              Mr. Peterson did the same.

              “Did we know each other before I got married?”

              He was quiet for a moment. “Yes,” he answered with a conviction that was undeniable.

              “Please give me your number,” she pleaded. “We can meet in a few days and talk. I have so many questions.”

              “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m sorry, but I think it is best that you just forge ahead. And . . . be careful of who you speak to in the future,” Mr. Peterson said.

              “What does that mean?”

              He quickly walked away.

              She was about to follow him when Mr. Styles stepped in her path. “Wait. I’ll give you my card,” he said as he dug into his tux’s inner suit pocket. “We’re close friends. Give me a call when you get a chance. Maybe I can help you in some way.”

              “Thank you,” she said breathlessly.

               He nodded and walked away.