Mister Know It All: A Hero Club Novel

by Amélie S. Duncan

  I pulled on the back of them, hoping they’d come unglued but to no avail.

  Ford let out a low whistle, reminding me he jogged behind me.

  “Stop staring at my butt,” I called over my shoulder.

  “I can’t. Its bouncing has me mesmerized.”

  I didn’t answer and wiped the sweat pouring down from my forehead. I dug into my fanny pack for my small emergency water. Empty.

  “Are you okay?” Ford called out from behind me.

  Whoa! My hands shot forward, and I wobbled on my feet. Glancing down, I missed the crack in the pavement. “Um, yeah. I’m fine.”

  Ford jogged up to my side. “Shit. We’re stopping.”

  Before I could protest, he took my arm and moved us to the grass off the path and over to a shaded spot beneath a tree.

  I turned my back to him and wiped my face on the bottom of my damp shirt. Then rolled my neck. “I’m fine. Let’s go,” I rasped.

  Ford moved in front of me and scrutinized. His jaw clenched. “No, you’re not fine. Wait here.”

  He sprinted ahead but returned quickly with a plastic bag and took out bottled water. “Drink and pour the rest over your skin.”

  I poured it over my hair, neck, and face, then gulped down the rest as Ford glared at me.

  “You were supposed to tell someone if you got too hot,” he complained and handed me a mini popsicle.

  “I just needed water. Seriously, I’m fine,” I told him, as I ate the popsicle. It cooled me down some, but he also insisted on giving me the rest of his water.

  I stood and stretched my arms. “I’m better, so let’s go.”

  “Not yet. Just sit there for a while longer,” he demanded. “Your health isn’t something to gamble with.”

  My gaze shifted to the runners passing us. “I feel better now. I can finish the race.”

  His eyes flicked over me again. “I see that, but I’m not risking your health. I’ll end this run for you if I see any more signs of heat exhaustion.”

  I was not too fond of his strong-arming, but he was thoughtful. He noticed and cared.

  He bent down next to me when I took out a tube of sunscreen. “I’ll put it on for you.” He lifted my hair higher and rubbed the cream on my neck, back, and arms. My skin tingled from his touch. After he too put on sunscreen, he said, “We run together and stop when you need. Okay?”

  “An offer I can’t refuse?” I half joked.

  “Only offer you’ll get, Ms. Bisset.”

  “Fine,” I relented. Mostly because he’d tell Soraya, and I didn’t want her to think I behaved irresponsibly. Besides, he seemed to genuinely care about my well-being.

  His legs were longer, and he could have gone a lot faster, but he modified his stride and ran alongside me. I wasn’t tired, and the popsicle break gave me a sugar rush of energy. Ford and I not only caught up with some of the group but we were also on pace to finish with them.

  The path veered to an outcrop of rocks on an incline with a sculpture of a cat perching on a rock, Cat Hill.

  My breath quickened, trying to fill my lungs with oxygen as I forced my legs to push harder. At the top, I could see the Metropolitan Museum of Art I’d planned to visit.

  The next part of the path was downhill and passed near the Central Park Zoo. Ford detoured with me to take a photo of the Central Park Zoo’s sea lions. (He took a photo of me looking at the lions.)

  I beamed and twirled in the circle, my hands outstretched toward the sky. “New York City is so amazing.”

  “In your eyes, Jasmine, it is,” he said softly.

  We’d passed a few co-workers who’d given up running and were walking, and soon we were running together alone.

  “Rest up. We’re coming to Harlem Hill,” he said.

  The incline was steeper than Cat Hill. I huffed and puffed with Ford encouraging me with every step and stopped at the crest to catch my breath, but the downward run was quick, and we reached the landmark I checked online called Bow Bridge, a beautiful cast-iron over the lake and rejoined the crowds in the park, the finish line in sight.

  My heart pumped happier as we passed joggers and maneuvered around bicyclists and strollers.

  I spun in a circle, and suddenly, Ford had my waist, pulling me off the path just as a horse and carriage came speeding past.

  I gasped and clutched my chest over my hammering heart. “You saved my life.”

  His arms lingered around me before letting me go. “Seems like a full-time job.”

  “I’m not usually this high maintenance.” I bit my lip.

  “I don’t mind.”

  I frowned. “I do, and I can still beat you to the finish line.”

  We took off through the park again, and I could hear Bruce Springsteen’s “Dancing in the Dark” ahead of us, letting me know we were close to the finish line.

  When we reached it, Ford grabbed my hand and held it up as we crossed to the cheers of onlookers, co-workers, and tourists. Then he scooped me off my feet and spun me around before the flash of cameras.

  “Mark the moment,” he said.

  I whimpered, and he put me back on my feet. “I look helpless, like Cinderella. I’m also sweaty.”

  “I can make you sweatier,” he teased, and I could only grin at him.

  “Ha-ha, Mr. Lingren,” I said, puffing.

  “I thought it was very appropriate, Ms. Bisset,” he said with a chuckle.

  I rolled my eyes. This man was the biggest tease, yet I probably liked his humor the best.

  “Come on, it’s time to head back, and no, I will not race you and have you leer at my ass,” I joked.

  “But what a great ass it is to leer at.”

  I laughed, and the moment felt good.

  I felt good.

  JASMINE

  Work bonding and late-night confessions

  Priscilla, Quinton, Beatrice, Marcus, and I met up at the Black Bull the next Friday, a cozy bar a couple of blocks over from the office building on 44th Street. The wine bar setup was similar to those in Boston, and I suspected everywhere else. It had exposed brick walls, rows of shelved wine bottles, and hanging contemporary pendant lighting high above. Piano music played at a level below the chatter of the after-work patrons, who occupied most of the booths and black square tables.

  Quinton found a spot at the end of the U-shaped bar and gave Priscilla and me the chairs. She immediately waved the bartender over.

  “Call the tooth fairy shots for all of us, two wine spritzers, two crazy cow martinis, and Jasmine—”

  “Sparkling water,” I said and took money from my purse.

  “Boo,” they all chimed in.

  “I have a conference to attend tomorrow,” I explained.

  “Let loose and take some aspirin when you get home. We all get car service if we do a group activity of four or more,” Quinton said and high-fived the rest of them already in on the activity loophole.

  Beatrice leaned over to my ear. “If you don’t want to get wasted, pace yourself. The drinks are strong here.”

  “Duly noted,” I told her and ordered a glass of white wine.

  Beatrice also apologized for how she handled the ID card cake debacle, as the staff referred to it now. Riding on my 5K success, she gave me her almost full free latte card from the best coffee spot near the office.

  “So, I hear Margot harassed you, Jasmine,” Marcus said.

  “She tried, but Ford helped me out,” I told them.

  “Ford Lingren?” Beatrice’s mouth dropped open, and she touched Priscilla’s arm.

  “Yep, Ford. He appears wherever she is and comes in like a knight,” Priscilla said in a muted tone.

  “It’s time for an intervention. You need to stop, Priscilla,” Quinton said. “You had one date, girl. Ford threw you back. It happens. Let it go and move on.”

  Priscilla rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Quinton.”

  Quinton turned back to me. “Now Margot, she’s an untouchable piece of work. They keep her because s
he’s a genius and will retire soon. But we low-tier folk have our ways of getting revenge.”

  They all laughed.

  “Can I get in on your plan?” I asked.

  Margot goaded me, and I wasn’t exactly sure if I wanted in on revenge, but I didn’t want to be on the outside either.

  “Better you don’t. You’re living with Graham,” Priscilla pointed out, and Quinton nodded in agreement.

  “Just watch and learn,” Beatrice said cryptically.

  The drinks came, and we all took the shots in hand.

  “Newbies give the first toast,” Marcus said.

  “To loopholes.” I raised my glass.

  “Hell yeah,” Priscilla said, gulping her drink.

  I tipped my head back and downed the brown liquid. “Yuck. That tastes like cough syrup.” I gagged.

  “Well, then you won’t need to call in sick.” Priscilla laughed and hit Marcus’s glass.

  “Sorry the IDs were a bust,” I told Quinton.

  “You got me in with Graham. He complimented me to my boss and recommended me to do more of their outreach work after our charity race. Besides that, you’ll do better next time, darling. Feed the sugar rush.”

  “Yes. Food is the best icebreaker,” Beatrice added.

  “Oh, look at him,” Quinton said, and we all looked over at a tall thin guy with a generous amount of hair mousse and a button-down shirt and jeans smiling in our direction.

  Quinton squared his shoulders. “I’m going in.”

  “A bit early,” Priscilla complained, but Quinton strutted off.

  “I wish I had that kind of confidence,” I said, admiring him.

  “Quinton used his Cruise-r app,” Priscilla said, spilling his secrets. “That wasn’t a coincidence. He mapped his hookup.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “Yep. It’s just the meet and greet, though,” Beatrice said.

  “If someone won’t do the meet and greet, what would you do? Hypothetically speaking,” I asked.

  “Asking for a friend?” Priscilla mused.

  “Sounds like you hooked a catfish,” Marcus said.

  “Or he’s a phantom fantasy,” Beatrice said, and the three of them laughed.

  I puzzled. “What?”

  “It’s the type that gets off on the idea of dating you but won’t ever meet up with you,” she explained. “No photo profile, but he’ll give you a description of himself. “

  “He says stuff like, ‘I kiss your cheek or I hug you,’” Priscilla said. “He can chat all day long, and if you hang in long enough, he gets cybersex with you, then he disappears like a phantom. Lose him.”

  “Oh my God, that’s hysterical,” Marcus said, and they all laughed for a full minute.

  I grimaced. Rupert still sent messages, but I didn’t answer him since he ignored my attempt at pinning him down to meet. Still, I made a note to send the automatic Dear John letter to him on the app. The rest of the messages were from men complimenting my body and how they wanted to have sex with me.

  You’ll find plenty of men who want to have sex with you. Ford’s words chimed in my head. I groaned inwardly. Ford. He came to mind too often.

  Marcus and Beatrice paired off, and I was alone with Priscilla. We both turned down offers from men who approached us.

  “So, tell me what you want to know about Ford?” Priscilla asked, toying with the straw in her martini glass. “Is something going on between the two of you? I thought you were related.”

  “No, Graham’s married to my cousin.”

  She laughed. “Oh, okay, that doesn’t make you related, or it would be awkward, right? I hadn’t realized before, but it seems he has a type. Sweet, wide-eyed innocent women, no offense.”

  “None taken. Ford asked you out, so that must make you one of them too,” I pointed out and sipped my wine.

  Priscilla smiled. “Oh, yeah, so it seems.” She twisted around in her seat, and her eyes widened. “Ford’s here.”

  My neck craned as I squinted over in the direction Priscilla’s hand gestured.

  Ford stood at a table with a few other suits and women intermixed. One woman, in particular, had her head tilted back, smiling up at him. She touched his arm to gain more of his attention. But he kept talking to the man next to him. Co-workers? I wasn’t sure. But once I looked at him, it was hard to look away.

  “Hi, Ford,” Priscilla called and waved.

  His eyes lifted and landed directly on me. My heart thumped faster, and my breath caught in my throat. Something about his gaze made me feel like I was the only woman in the room. I didn’t know how else to describe it. No man ever looked at me that way.

  “He’s graced us again. It seems you are the lucky charm.”

  “I didn’t know he was coming here,” I murmured.

  Of course, Ford could socialize, just like me. But I had thought he’d tried to meet up after the race last week. Even now, he could invite us over to join them, or was he doing the work hierarchy social class stuff? I thought better of him.

  “Do you want to talk about Cecile?” Priscilla asked. “I know that’s why you agreed to come tonight.”

  I shrugged. “If you want to tell me.”

  She laughed. “You like Ford. I do too. It’s frustrating, but we can never have him. Cecile’s the muse. I mean, most of the naked photos I saw were of her. And she’s uninhibited, let me tell you.”

  “I think it was a job for her,” I replied.

  Of course, the woman Ford was holding on to was just as uninhibited as him. He walked around naked in front of others. Or to scandalize the wide-eyed clueless as Priscilla put it.

  “I guess. I mean, my clothes wouldn’t come off on film for free. But I doubt Cecile’s doing more photos after her car accident.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Is she okay?”

  “She was in a wheelchair with a brace on her leg the last time she came to the office. I don’t know if it was permanent.” Pricilla paused. “Since then, we’ve rarely seen her. That was kind of weird too. She didn’t come to Ford’s award ceremonies or announcements of new products. The first time she did, she was like a little mouse in a hole peeking out. I think we all collectively gagged, but the second time she showed up, she was loud and obnoxious. It was cringeworthy. Ford didn’t react, but you wouldn’t know with him. He’s cold as steel.”

  “Oh, that’s awful,” I muttered. Cold as steel? Not to me.

  Ford was charming, funny, bossy, and kind.

  “The heart wants what the heart wants. He didn’t give us a chance, but in a way, I’m glad he didn’t. Who wants to play second fiddle to a woman he’s obviously obsessed with?”

  Priscilla finished her martini, and her pause gave me food for thought. I’d been cheated on and cast aside before. I didn’t want to do that to myself again. My heart can’t take it.

  Quinton returned, and so did Marcus and Beatrice, who’d been dancing. We all fell into chatting about Netflix binges, new music, the latest restaurants, and the hottest secret spots in NYC free of tourists. I listened and added to the conversation, but all the time, I thought about what Priscilla told me about Ford. Had Cecile been injured? How? Why would she choose to be alone? From what I already knew about Ford, he would have done anything to help her. Could it be they were truly over?

  I got up and went to the bathroom. On my way back, a man in a sweater vest and skinny jeans stepped into my path.

  “Hello. Can I buy you a drink?” the guy slurred.

  I stiffened. “No, thanks. I’m leaving.”

  I walked forward to pass him, and his hand caught my wrist. “Wait. Slow down. I know I’m drunk, but I think you’re hot. Come on, let me take you out.”

  I yanked my wrist free. “No. Leave me alone!”

  Moving around him, I had my hand on the bathroom door when whoosh, his hands closed on my waist.

  “Let go,” I hissed, clawing at his hands, but he had a tight grip. He dragged me backward. My eyes darted around as I twisted in his arms.
The music was louder back here. No one would hear me right away, and unless someone came out of the restroom now, he would hurt me. I had to do something. Don’t panic. Just do what you learned to do.

  I jerked my head back. Crunch.

  “You bitch,” he whimpered.

  Nose? No time to check. My elbow shot back into his ribs, and I moved my fist down in a punch where his penis should be.

  He let out a cry and let go. I stumbled forward, feeling nothing behind me.

  I slipped off my heel and turned in a crouch, ready to spring, but gasped. Ford?

  His blond hair mussed, his chiseled face was godly as he threw the guy on the ground like he weighed nothing. A bouncer appeared and took over, twisting the guy’s arm behind his back.

  “She attacked me. They attacked me,” he spat.

  I slipped back on my shoe. “I want his name. I’m filing assault charges. Do you have video footage back here?”

  My eyes shifted around as I straightened my creased suit.

  “I’ll hire a lawyer. We’ll collect statements,” Ford threatened.

  The man yanked free and ran out of the bar.

  “We can still get his information,” the bouncer told me. “Just file a police report.”

  Ford came close and scanned me over from head to toe. “Are you okay?”

  “He grabbed me, but I used what I learned.”

  “Krav Maga. Come here,” he said, opening his arms.

  I went into them, and he hugged me. And God, a hug had never been so welcome. It was one thing to know the moves of Krav Maga, but that was the first time I’d ever had to use them in self-defense. Shit. I was shaking. “I’m fine now, honestly, Ford.”

  “You’re in shock. I’m taking you home.”

  “I’ll take the ride, if you ask,” I countered.

  He shook his head, grinning. “Please take a ride home from me, Ms. Bisset?”

  “Better,” I said.

  When we walked back over to my table, they all got up to see me. “Wow, that was insane. Are you okay?” Quinton asked. Marcus and Beatrice echoed similar sentiments.

  “Yes, I am. I’m calling it a night,” I announced, and no one protested.