Chapter 3

December 2016

March had come and gone, and with it the first month of Matilda living at the Continental. Her time had been passing easily. She had managed to pick up a few easy jobs, and in the months that followed, more and more people had begun learning her name. By December, she had a respectable amount of cash and gold in her accounts. It was cold outside, New York lit up in anticipation of the coming holiday, snow blanketing the city sidewalks. On that Saturday night, however, Matilda sat with Winston, cozy and warm, enjoying a lager at the Continental Club.

"So, you're leaving my fine establishment soon then?" Winston asked, a note of sadness to his tone.

Matilda smiled, taking a sip from her glass. "If I don't leave soon, I never will." She reasoned, setting the glass on the table. Her finger ran gently up the side of the glass as she continued, "You do your job well. I've enjoyed calling this place home. But I think I'll start looking at flats in the city soon." Matilda took another sip of her pint. "I'll be able to leave after New Year's, I think."

"But you will visit?" Winston asked, swirling his martini.

"Of course. I wouldn't stay anywhere else while I'm working." Matilda teased with a tongue touched grin.

Winston smiled and took a sip of his own drink. In the nine months she had spent at the hotel, they had developed a closeness he could only have dreamed about. They had spent a while straining around the awkwardness their relationship had experienced. A product of not spending as much time with her, the last thirteen or so years. A product of the guilt he still carried around, and the shame of not telling her. But she now saw him in the fatherly light she had once cast him in as a little girl. Though the subject of her father never came up, Winston was happy to leave that topic lie while they could. He was happy to have family around once more, to have his daughter home.

A subject that did come up with regularity, once every other month or so, was John Wick. Winston took special note whenever Mr. Wick was staying at the Continental and noticed Matilda had as well. Whenever he was booked in, his daughter was in the club more often on the weekends. Though the two had never interacted, to his knowledge, he couldn't help but feel that John was the reason she was more sociable. She would bring the subject up innocuously, asking what contract might have brought him to the hotel this time. But she would stare if he passed, looking at him with amber eyes through long lashes. She had no trouble spotting him in the darkened club, following his movements. Like a jungle cat stalking her prey.

To his surprise, Winston found that John was much the same as Matilda. John moved as if he was aware of where she was, of where her eyes were trained. He stared when he knew her eyes would be elsewhere, not paying any attention to Winston. The few times he had caught John's eye, the younger man had had the decency to look ashamed, but Winston always just smiled. They had no idea that they were so aware of each other. After only one meeting in an elevator, nine months ago, they looked like two besotted but starving lovers. It was warming, and painful, and Winston didn't know quite what to make of it except that if Matilda left this hotel without talking to John, he'd lose his damn mind.

"Well, my dear, I'm glad to hear your compliments. The hotel will be sad to see you go of course." He paused to take another sip of his martini. "I'll be sad to see you go. I've enjoyed having a companion…and you've grown into such a capable and smart young woman. I'm very proud of you." He reached across the table to take one of her hands in his. "I don't think I've said that yet." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

She shook her head gently, trying to shake the tears that threatened to spill. "You're too sweet, really. Thank you." She smiled at him, happiness blooming warmly in her chest. Mixed with the warmth of the drink, she was beginning to relax. "I appreciate that." She finished her lager, and set the glass off to the side, crossing her fingers on the table in front of her. "Would you be willing to help me comb through the classifieds on Monday? I don't have a job lined up for a couple of days. I'd appreciate the help, and the company."

Winston rose a brow. "You want me to go through newspaper ads, trying to find my daughter an apartment, in New York City?" He scoffed. "Darling, I have one of the best real estate agents on speed dial. I'll give him a call, tell him to clear his schedule."

Matilda laughed, clear and short. "You really don't have to do that. How hard could it be to find a flat in New York?"

He stared at over his half-rimmed glasses. "I want you to think about what you just said, and then get back to me." Winston took the last sip of his martini and set the glass aside. As he flicked his eyes towards the bar, he saw John Wick entering the club.

"Darling, would you be so kind as to get me another?" he asked Matilda.

She nodded her head sweetly, smiling. "If I must." She grabbed their glasses and stood from the table. She gave him an affectionate kiss on the cheek before turning on her heel and heading towards the bar.

Winston smiled in the dark light and opened his ledger. He hoped she wouldn't come back to him at all tonight and would instead find something more interesting to do with her evening.

Matilda weaved her way through the crowded dance floor and strutted up to an open spot at the bar, setting their empty glasses down on the bar top. She found a very familiar presence to her left and turned to smile at John Wick. Or more accurately, his back. He was facing away from her, his right arm leaning on the bar. She licked her lips and plucked up her courage.

"Good evening, Mr. Wick."

He turned, and looked momentarily taken aback, before he schooled his expression into one of cool indifference. It was betrayed by the flickering candlelight, and she saw the flash of pink that colored his cheeks.

"Good evening, Miss Baier." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "How are you this evening?"

Matilda tilted her head up to look at the taller man. "Well, that depends." She drawled. "Are you going to buy me a drink?" She queried bravely.

There was just something about John Wick that she couldn't ignore, try as hard as she might. It was a bad idea to become entangled with him. She was sure of that. Because of her, because of him, she was uncertain. Odds were good that both were true. But she wanted to roll the dice anyway. Maybe they would get lucky, and it could be a no string encounter that would leave them both satisfied. Or they could get luckier and come to the agreement that staying at the hotel at the same time meant being together when they both had a reservation. The only other outcome she could see was she and John having a lovely evening and then parting ways. After her last two years with Lauren, and the heartache that London had become, she wasn't sure she was looking for serious.

John looked down at the bar, smiling almost to himself, before looking back up to catch her eye. His eyes betrayed nothing, his one hand on the bar stayed still and flat. But he was roving her with his mind. Taking in every little detail of her he could see in the dim light. Talking himself into, out of, and back into her invitation. There were so many reasons he should tell her to have a pleasant evening, and just walk away. There were so many reasons to gamble the hand he'd been dealt and stay.

Taking a deep breath, he asked, "What are you having?" with a twinkle in his clear brown eyes.

"Well, I was having a rather lovely lager. I think however, I'll switch to whatever you're having." She leaned closer to him, smiling coyly. "And another for Winston of course, though I think a waitress can deliver his drink this time."

John turned to the bartender, Addy, and crisply ordered a martini for Winston, and a bourbon for himself and his new companion. Matilda took her drink in her hand and the two stepped away from the bar. She saw John carrying Winston's martini in one of his hands. She cocked a brow at him but didn't say anything.

They moved through the crowd as one, stopping only to place Winston's martini down before him.

"Why, thank you John. What a surprise since I sent my daughter to retrieve it for me." He glanced at them over his glasses, a coy smile on his lips.

Matilda dropped a quick kiss on the top of his head. "Shush you. John and I are going to sit elsewhere if you don't mind." It was as much telling him as it was asking for his permission to leave him for the evening.

"Of course, dear. I'm sure Mr. Wick will provide more stimulating company tonight." He intoned with a twinkle in his eye.

Matilda gave him a meaningful glance at his implication before she turned back to John. "Where would you like to sit?" she asked.

"Over here work?" He pointed to a booth a few seats away from Winston, towards the back of the club. She nodded her assent and the pair walked over in silence, the loud music thumping in their ears.

John stayed standing until she was seated, and then he took a seat across from her. She crossed her legs and got into a comfortable sitting position as she stared at the man across from her. She ran a finger absentmindedly down the side of her bourbon glass and was surprised and pleased to see John's eyes following.

"So, John, what are we celebrating tonight?" she asked, taking a sip of the bourbon. It had a peaty quality and was smooth as hell.

John took an uncomfortable sip of his own drink. "What we always celebrate here. A job well done."

Matilda cocked her head, taking a long look at him. "Do you like what we do?"

"I'm good at what we do. But I suppose that's not what you're asking." He looked thoughtfully past her shoulder, an almost wistful expression on his face. He took another sip of his bourbon. "I'm good at my job. I'm not sure anything else matters anymore."

She shook her head in disagreement. "Of course it matters. How you feel and what you think matters. It's never too late to get out, have a different life."

"I did." He looked down at his lap, trying to hide the haunted expression in his eyes. "I got married, had a real life outside of all this."

Matilda leaned forward, her hand resting on the table, reaching for him. "Can I ask what happened?"

"What always happens. She was sick, and then she wasn't anymore."

She watched as the man in front of her, who seconds ago had been a little awkward, but confident and sure, slumped before her in his seat. His head seemed to hang lower with every word that came out of his mouth. "I'm so sorry John. Really…I…" she struggled for words. She hadn't told anyone in New York about Lauren. Winston knew she had lost someone, but she hadn't really opened up to anyone. "I know how that feels."

John looked up to see the woman before him take her hand back, crossing her arms in front of her defensively, a half frown forming on her face. "It was why I left London actually. My partner got sick. We weren't married, but that was alright for us. We were…talking about it, before he got sick." Her face took on the expression of someone lost in memory. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, looking up to meet his eyes. "He got very sick a few years ago, and we spent everything we had to make him comfortable. I needed a job that paid well."

John nodded his head. "And whatever you were doing before wasn't cutting it."

Matilda laughed, short and shrill. "Yeah…working at the local bookshop doesn't exactly rake in the cash necessary for experimental treatments."

John's brow shot up. "Oh? You were working in a bookshop, like in Notting Hill? And you left that career…to be a hitman?"

Matilda huffed. "Hitwoman, please." She gave him an endearing smile. "You do what you must for someone you love."

John nodded in agreement. "You do. Even after they're gone." John reached a hand across the table and took one of her hands in his. "I am sorry, that you know that pain."

She put her hand over his, feeling the warmth, his calloused skin against hers. It was comforting, and it made her feel brave again. "Do you want to go upstairs?"

He blinked, and stared at her, wondering if he had heard her correctly.

"To my room I mean. If you don't, that's perfectly alright." She spoke quickly, her words coming in a rush all in one breath. "But I don't fancy being alone tonight, John."

Amber eyes looked at him through long lashes, showing him all her pain, her ache, her loneliness. He imagined how his own eyes looked. They were probably a mirror of hers; all the desperation and anguish he had felt after Helen's passing. Unable to put those emotions anywhere, he stored them inside himself, locked his heart and threw away the key. He thought he had anyway. John took his hand back from her and sat there for a moment in a contemplative silence. She sat still and waited, and watched as he slowly lifted his glass of bourbon to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers. He swallowed it all back and set it down on the table with a resounding 'thud'. John stood from the table and held out a waiting hand for her.

"Yes." His voice was warm and caressed her gently.

The uncertainty and tenderness in his gaze told her some of what she needed to know. She had no idea how this evening would go, what the outcome would be. But it wouldn't be boring, of that, she was sure. She took his hand in hers, linking their fingers. It felt like a perfect fit, and that brought a smile to her lips. She looked up at the taller man to see a smile gracing his features as well. They stood there a moment, lingering in each other's presence. Standing in the moment of bravery, of compassion, of not knowing what was going to happen.

After staring into his eyes at what felt like forever, Matilda squared her shoulders and led him by the hand, out of the club and to the elevator. Whatever happened started now. The first chapter in whatever their story looked like. Whether it was a short story, or a novel, Matilda was excited to begin and find out.