by Nova Rain
“Thank you, Mr. Gordon,” Chris patted his pilot on the shoulder as the helicopter touched down. “There’s a limo waiting for you on the main road. Go get some rest.”
“Rest?” I pitched my voice higher. “Aren’t we flying back to New York tonight?”
“Follow me.” Once again, his cunning smile reappeared when he hopped off.
“Chris, I’m serious,” I uttered, unable to keep my discomfort out of my voice. “Aren’t we going back to the city tonight?”
“No,” his response was sharp, the moment I exited the helicopter. “We’re in Vermont, Rosanna. In case you didn’t notice, New York is quite a long way from here. Our pilot is human. What if he falls asleep during the flight?”
“Okay, I understand that, but…” I paused. “Wait, what? We’re in Vermont?”
“Where else would you find that view?” He asked, gesturing to the snowy trees around the property. “Anyway…” He said on an exhale, vapors from his breath shooting out of his mouth. “I’ve been thinking about your financial status since I learned what you studied in college. At first, it crossed my mind to pay off your debt, but that would seem like charity, which I know you hate. Then, I considered buying ‘Eleganza’ for you. You’re too proud to accept it as a gift, so, I was going to suggest something else. You would run it. You’d do that long enough to pay me back. After that, you could just go ahead and sell it. But…” He faltered. “You’ve been in this business far too long, hun. I don’t mind; honestly, I don’t. I just want you to do something a lot more dignified than run a strip club. You’re better than that.”
“I appreciate the kind words, but did we have to fly all the way to Vermont for you to tell me these things?” I wondered, my face twisting into a mixed expression of curiosity and surprise.
“I had my people ask around when I found out about your college education,” He informed me, his lips curling into a smile. “Major pharmaceuticals are always trying to develop new drugs through research. One of them, Phoenix Pharma, is starting a new project next month on the regeneration of human brain cells. I mentioned your name to them. They want someone more experienced than you, but they’re happy to hire you as a member of their research team. They pay really well. I don’t know any more details; you’ll have to talk to them. We’re looking at their new facilities. I know they don’t look so great right now, but…”
I didn’t allow him to finish his short speech. The waves of bliss that coursed through my system sent my arms around his neck. I pulled him in, my eyes locked with his. In an instant, our mouths met in what seemed like a kiss made in heaven. Tender, full of gentleness and absolutely no sense of urgency. Sweet sensation was oozing out of my body. Its source had a name: Chris Fullerton. This time, what pinned me up against him wasn’t desire. It ran far deeper than a carnal feeling. It was actual love, like the love he had just shown me. He had done something no other could—or would—do.
Help me realize my dream.
It had been stored away in a dark corner of my brain, lying dormant, waiting for the right circumstances. And that long wait hadn’t been in vain. I ran my fingers up the sides of his neck and brought them forward to press my thumbs into his cheekbones.
“I really don’t know what to say,” I whispered, feeling moisture gather in my eyes.
“Say you’ll take the job,” he spoke in a gentle tone, his forehead rubbing against mine.
I gave a quick laugh. “Of course, I’ll take the job. Oh…” I gasped, understanding that this would pose a problem for our relationship. “Chris, Vermont is hundreds of miles from New York. How are we going to keep seeing each other?”
“It’s been on my mind, too,” he confessed, tipping his head down. “We’ll make it work. I’ve got the means to go back and forth to New York quite fast,” he added, throwing a swift glance over at the helicopter.
“Chris, we set off from Manhattan at eleven thirty-five, and arrived here at two. That’s almost two and-a-half hours,” I pointed out. “That sounds like a lot to me.”
“I’d do it, even if it took me twice as much to see you,” he emphasized, his sexy smile reappearing.
“You’ll get tired of going back and forth eventually,” I presumed, hanging my head, a breeze blowing through my hair.
“Look at me,” he urged, using his index finger to tip my chin up. “No one’s going to get tired. And the last thing I want is for our relationship to hold you back. Forget the stripper. Forget the waitress. It’s time you did something worth the effort.”
“My friends are going to be so mad at me…” I muttered, the kindness in his eyes making my heart flutter in my chest. “I’ll never hear the end of it from my mother, either.”
“Is that a ‘yes’?” He asked, his voice picking up speed.
“Yes.” I nodded, smiling at the same time. “I’ll take the job.”
“Wonderful,” Chris commented and snaked his arms around my waist. “I can’t wait to see you in a lab coat. I bet you’ll look unbelievably hot.”
“Always a mess,” I teased, feeling the soft fabric of his coat against my cheek.
“Let’s go check out the place,” he suggested, easing back. “Also, remind me to give you their address tomorrow, so you can talk specifics with them.”
I nodded assent as he wrapped his fingers around my wrist. Still wearing that blissful smile, I followed him across the property. Three footsteps helped me realize why he had insisted on me wearing boots. Their thick heels were sticking to the ground because of the slush. Heels or even flats were not suited for this sort of slippery terrain. In truth, Chris would have had to carry me inside. Otherwise, I would have been risking a nasty fall.
Just outside the building, he shoved his leg into the snow and kicked it away from the old, metal door. Pointing the flashlight of his phone to it, he pushed the key into the lock. He placed his hands onto the rusty surface and pushed, his legs planted firmly apart.
“This son of a bitch is heavy,” Chris spoke through gritted teeth as the door groaned open. I inhaled a wave of dusty air before coughing once, and then recognizing the strong scent of sawdust.
“What was this place? A lumber factory?” I asked, sauntering further in.
“Yep. It shut down last year,” he affirmed, the flashlight revealing chunks of sawdust down the vast warehouse. “I had a videoconference with Paul Greere, Phoenix Pharma’s CEO. They’re sending a cleaning crew out tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” I said in a sweet voice, stepping around him. “This is by far the noblest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
“You can thank me by doing well for yourself on your new job,” Chris put some force in his own voice. “I’d hate to see you work as a stripper again or a waitress. They’re both beneath you.”
“I’ll do my best,” I promised, leaning forward. I was already purring with satisfaction when he welcomed me back in his arms. That night marked the end of an era, a period of time where I had to worry about money and customer tips. A new future was ahead of me. Hours and hours of work in my field, wearing proper clothes, not lingerie, stockings or anything of that sort. Starting tomorrow, Chris was going to be the only man who would see me in those.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chris
Rosanna is quitting both of her jobs.
I kept repeating the same old sentence for hours. Perhaps this was my way of trying to convince myself that this wasn’t a figment of my imagination. It was actually going to happen.
Sexy waitress? No more.
Knockout stripper? Nope. She’s done doing that, too.
However, there was a sad truth in this turn of events, a truth that both of us would have to face. It was none other than the three hundred-and-fifty miles that would separate us in the coming days. I would do my best to visit her as often as I could, but I had no illusions. I was well aware of the difficulties this distance presented. I wouldn’t be going only from Manhattan to Brooklyn or from Manhattan to New Jersey. Both of those routes w
ere tough, but this was in a league of its own. Flying up to Vermont was my one and only option. Covering those hundreds of miles in a car sounded like a bad joke. Even in my Ferrari 458, I would need at least three hours to get there, assuming I wasn’t pulled over by the police.
Despite the obvious hurdles though, I wasn’t going to back down. It was imperative for Rosanna to leave this lifestyle behind. Her life had been dominated by poverty, tiredness, and endless lap dances. It was amazing to think that she was working two jobs just to get by, but it was one hundred-percent true.
The next morning, I intended to go to the IT department on the 28th floor, to check on David’s progress on the task I had assigned to him. In spite of his promises, he had failed to contact me, which was a bit strange. Could it be that David Evans, the almighty hacker from Brooklyn had met his match? Had someone really beaten him at his own game?
Yet, as I approached my building, I discovered that my plans to visit my IT specialist that morning had to wait. Why? Because there was a sea of reporters on the sidewalks on either side of the road. It was a real circus out there. Cameras had been set up on the curb, like the media was going to cover some sort of major event. Worse still, there were two police cars on the right, parked behind one another. At the gate of the tower, I recognized a familiar, stocky figure. Detective Samuel Richards, standing amongst his fellow officers in uniform.
“Damn it…” I said to myself, turning left and into the underground parking lot. Whatever had transpired was big. My company had been using this building for the past four years, and I had never seen so many reporters gathered outside. And as if that wasn’t enough, I had no warning from the person whose job it was to notify me: Sam Rockwell. He used to handle these issues with the press, but, for some reason, he had failed to tell me anything about their presence at our building.
The ground in front of me leveling out, I strode towards the entrance. I caught a few reporters crossing the street, out of the corner of my eye. They had yet to reach me, when their colleagues approached and turned to me. In a matter of seconds, I found myself surrounded by members of the press, sticking their microphones in my face. Happily, just then, Sam emerged from behind a tall reporter in front of me.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” He shouted, spinning around to face them. “We will issue a press release later today. Now please, make way. Mr. Fullerton has a long day ahead of him.”
The ambient noise grew in volume and intensity, scarce words and phrases ringing in my ears. Some of the most common were “why,” “murder,” and “Andy Rosenstein.”
“Now would be a good time for you to let me know what the hell has happened,” I told Sammy while we drew near the cops.
“The guy they’re talking about was a reporter. He was investigating your personal life. Guess what. Rosenstein was found dead two hours ago in his apartment,” Sam’s explanation made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. If anything, it made perfect sense.
“I’d say ‘good morning,’ but it doesn’t look like it. Not for you anyway, kid.” Richards raised his voice over the noise.
“I just found out about that journalist, detective,” I stated, halting just inches from him.
“Let’s discuss this downtown,” he suggested. “Boys, we’re leaving,” he addressed his men in a firm tone, Sam pointing to the police car across the street.
“I’m still waiting to hear why you didn’t notify me of all this before I got here.” I complained, walking alongside him.
“I overslept,” he clipped out, not taking his eyes off the police car. “Don’t worry about this, Chris. We’ll be done in no time.”
“Who said I was worried about talking to the cops?” I wondered, my voice rising up an octave. “I’m more concerned about who killed that Rosenstein guy.”
My publicist threw a puzzled glance my way, before an officer in uniform brushed past me. Sam didn’t have an answer to that question. I had seen that look in his eyes too many times to make a mistake. He was just as confused as I was.
The drive to the police station gave me some time to swallow what had happened. Andy Rosenstein, a thirty-four-year-old reporter had been murdered. Someone had taken his life, for reasons that were still eluding me. The police had to question me, and I couldn’t blame them. I had been the subject of his investigation. Of course, in my opinion, this kind of journalism wasn’t journalism per se. It was bullshit. If there was one thing in this world that I hated, it was tabloids. Covering things like “what did this celebrity wear at the Academy Awards” was ridiculous. People had more serious problems to deal with than finding out about an actress’s outfit.
The police station reminded me of the lobby of my building, only on a smaller scale. Phones were ringing, people were talking over one another in heated conversations. Officers were taking suspects in, leading them to a holding cell in the basement. There was just one small difference. No one in Office Media Solutions was waiting to be booked.
Detective Richards himself led me and Sam to a small, dark room on the first floor. The pungent smell of mold hit my nostrils, making my stomach churn. I looked at the flaky walls around me, the cop heading to a small table across the room.
“This is below human health standards, Richards,” Sam protested. “This place stinks like hell. Why can’t we talk in your office?”
“Sit down, gentlemen,” the cop urged, ignoring him as one of his subordinates left a thick, brown envelope on the table. Shoving his fingers in, he pulled out a pack of photographs and pushed them across the table’s surface. The nasty sensation of disgust intensified within me as I glanced down at the one on top. Andy Rosenstein was lying face down, with a pair of scissors in the side of his throat. His blood had painted the metal red. A pool of it had left a large stain on the grey carpet underneath him.
“I think I’m going to throw up,” I spoke, my tone faint, averting my gaze from the picture.
“The press wants blood, Fullerton,” Richards announced, leaning his forearms on the table. “One of them is dead, because he’d been investigating you. You remember how much praise you got from them a few years back, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” I said with a nod. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“This time, they don’t want to praise you. They want to crucify you,” he explained, his stiff expression not leaving much room for doubt. “They’ll start dancing around if I go out there and tell them I arrested you.”
“Don’t cops do the same when one of their own is killed in action?” Sam interjected a question.
“Not without evidence,” Richards declared, shifting his attention to my friend. “As far as they’re concerned, he’s guilty.”
“Did you drag us here to give us your opinion about the press?” Sam asked, a touch of annoyance in his tone.
“No, you asshole!” Richards groaned, glaring over at him. “I brought you here because I had to follow protocol! And I’m saying this stuff to your boy here, because I happen to know him personally. Chris…” He paused and returned his gaze to mine. “Those vultures will be all over you once you go back out there. Everyone will want a statement. Do yourself a favor and keep your mouth shut. They’ll twist your words; I’ve seen it before.”
“What does my publicist have to say about this?” I wondered, turning my head left to face Sam.
“He’s right,” he agreed, staring down at the metal surface of the table. “The press won’t wait for any evidence to turn up. They’d love to tear you apart.”
“Alright,” Richards continued, his voice calm. “Where were you between six and eight o’clock this morning, Mr. Fullerton?”
“I wasn’t even in the city,” I answered with reluctance. “I flew to Vermont via helicopter last night with my girlfriend. I got back this morning, just after eight-thirty. I submitted both flight plans to JFK control tower myself before we took off. You should find those transmissions in the tower transcripts.”
“What about you, Rockwell?” He pos
ed the same question to Sam.
“What, I’m under suspicion here?!” He exclaimed, glancing at the cop first and then me.
“Answer the question,” Richards groaned, intensifying his stare.
“Ritz-Carlton Hotel,” Sammy murmured. “I picked up a hot blonde from ‘Dayna’s’ bar last night. Check with their receptionist. She’ll verify I was there this morning. I only left when my PA called me with the news of Rosenstein’s murder.”
“Thanks for your cooperation,” the cop gave a nod of gratitude. “I’ll let you know if I need anything else from you. You’re free to go.”
“Finally…” Sam mumbled, rising from his seat.
“Thanks for the advice,” I said to Richards, getting back up on my feet. By the time I got out of that smelly room, my friend was already past the front desk. But Sam didn’t leave me alone. He was waiting for me at the entrance, wearing an expression of worry and confusion. It didn’t take me long to learn “why.” I was well within the police station, and I could hear the noise reporters were making. Once more, they had flocked right outside, waiting to nail their “sweetheart” as they used to call me to a cross. Nevertheless, neither Sam nor I was going to grant them that favor. Alongside each other, we began to push through the loud members of the press. I did consider stopping and giving them a piece of my mind at least twice. A female journalist asked why I had a young man killed, whereas a male one asked if I felt better now that Andy Rosenstein was dead… In essence, they confirmed what Richards had warned me about. They had no problem whatsoever of accusing me of a crime.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Rosanna
