Public (Private Book 2)

by Xavier Neal

  “He shouldn’t be such a giant pussy,” I snip dumping the bucket of sardines into Steven’s holding pool where he’s impatiently waiting.

  Calen, my closest colleague and best friend, chuckles, “Need I remind you, not everyone loves Steven as much as you do.”

  My eyes peer down into the segregated body of water he’s currently being kept in. As if understanding the conversation, he glances up with what I swear is a sweet smirk of gratitude.

  “I understand not everyone is up to my level of amazing.” After moving away from the edge, I turn to completely face Calen. “That however was not the subject of the conversation.”

  He laughs while watching me place the bucket with the others that need to be cleaned. “Steven deserves to be loved and cared for just like all the other creatures here. It doesn’t matter if maybe he looks a little scarier than others-”

  “He rammed his face into the glass trying to attack a child!”

  “He wanted to eat her toy!” I correct with a sharp point of my finger. “Those stupid neon colored squid toys were a terrible decision.”

  Calen slides his hands into his khaki shorts pockets. “Kids love them. The bright colors and all that shit.”

  “Yeah they love ‘em right up until Steven gets excited thinking it’s food.”

  My best friend bobs his head back and forth seeing my valid point.

  “Those stupid toys are the reason he has to not only be segregated, but nurtured until his injury is healed.”

  His eyebrows slide down. “You’re blaming children for his injury.”

  “No, I’m blaming the piece of shit marketing department.”

  A wave of nausea unexpectedly rolls through me. I turn my head to the side and release a dry heave.

  I never should’ve let Calen pick lunch. He never orders anything good! I thought it’d be a safe bet with sandwiches. Clearly, I was wrong.

  My stomach clenches again in agreement.

  What the fuck did they put in mine?! It was just supposed to be chicken salad and mayo! See. This is why I should stick to PB and J. No one can poison that.

  The joke immediately reminds me of how my mother was actually being poisoned a little over a year ago. Anger surges up my spine the same way it always does when I think about it.

  If it were up to me, Raggedy Insane wouldn’t have been locked up in a foreign country. She would’ve been chopped into little bits and fed to Steven as a ‘thank you for being loyal’ treat. I know my mother, her boyfriend, and Wes all thought it was the right decision, which is the only reason my plan was overruled. Democracy is a bitch.

  “You okay?” Calen’s voice takes a hint of curiosity.

  I swallow the rising lump of vomit. “Fine….Last time we eat sandwiches from somewhere that isn’t Mo Mo’s Diner though. Pretty sure I’m about to be throwing up from both ends.”

  His cut face cringes. “That…that’s an image I could’ve done without.”

  A victorious smirk crosses my lips seconds prior to being called over the room’s intercom. “Winters and Connelly report to the R&R office.”

  My head dips backwards at the same time I whine, “I don’t want to….”

  Calen chuckles again, grabs for my hand, and tugs me along. “Come on, Shark Whisperer. We have work to do.”

  And I love what I do. While I initially thought it was shit I was passed on the job I was interning for, I’m thankful it happened. Being on the rescue and recovery crew is the most amazing thing that could’ve ever happened to me outside of boning America’s favorite billionaire. I get to travel, which he hates, I get to help injured ocean and sea creatures, which I love, and that degree I worked tirelessly for now serves an actual purpose rather than to just remind me of the debt I accumulated. Plus having a real best friend for once in my life is a kick ass bonus.

  “Seriously, what the fuck could she possibly want now? We were with her all fucking morning outlining the details of our reports on Gus and Jilly’s adoptions and then spent like two hours updating her on Fluffles’ delayed adjustment.”

  Yes. I named a baby emperor penguin Fluffles. It feels so fucking good to have that kinda power. And it’s hysterical watching grown ass men have to say it with a straight face.

  “Could be about breeding?” Calen tosses out during our stroll down the hall. “I mean, I know we don’t deal directly with that department, but we’re both aware some of the endangered creatures get passed on to other institutes for captive breeding once they’ve finished healing. You think that’s what this is about? Perhaps they’re ready to breed Steven? Move him on?”

  The idea of parting with what was my first best friend outside of my future husband, churns my stomach again.

  It’s pathetic to some people, but I spend hours talking to that damn shark. He probably knows more about me than Wes, which is acceptable since he can’t spill the information. Losing him, even if it were for a greater purpose, would be like losing a piece of me. I’m absolutely in no mood to lose any more of myself. Being overshadowed by the big, bad billionaire’s return to fame is fucking enough.

  When I don’t answer, Callen continues chatting, “Don’t you want Steven to breed? Have a mate?”

  I gag. “Mate? What are you a girl?”

  The laugh is loud and echoes down the vacant halls.

  We should’ve been gone hours ago, but I wanted to be the one to personally feed and watch Steven for a bit. Calen, like the good friend he is, volunteered to stay behind for extra company.

  Unlike most men I meet, Calen has never given me a sexual glance. He’s never hit on me. He’s never even attempted to look down my top, which considering what a nice rack I have is almost an insult. It’s not like he’s an ugo. Dirty blonde hair, bright green eyes, and built like a professional swimmer. He basically looks like an old school Malibu Ken doll. When we started working together, our friendship, surprisingly enough, was instant. He was hired about a month after me, and Raquel immediately paired us as partners swearing we would be a good fit. We are. At times we share one ocean wave length, needing no words to communicate in what are deemed as potentially hazardous settings and at others, we’re the only thing preventing an angry mob from drowning us. I’m a bit arrogant and totally accept that shit. He’s a bit egoistical and totally lives in fucking denial about it. The checks and balance system we have developed reminds me a lot of the one I have with J.T., except Calen isn’t squeamish watching an orca enjoy its lunch.

  “Yes, ideally, I would like to get Steven laid.” Our eyes meet as we round the corner. “But I don’t want it to mean he has to leave our institute. Call me selfish.”

  “Extremely.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Calen teasingly shakes his head. “Your fiancé would shit a gold brick.”

  Ugh. All the money jokes about Wes seem to never stop coming. Last week I almost threatened Vanessa’s boyfriend with a fancy steak knife during dinner at the penthouse. It’s like, we get it. He has so much money that his money has money. Doesn’t mean it should be the basis for every joke. Come on. Be creative. Pick on his lack of knowledge about crucial things like, how Patrick Stewart played Jean-Luc Picard not Captain Kirk.

  “Then again, if you gave me the gold brick, maybe I could finally pay down my student loans.” His hand lands on the office door at the same time he mutters, “Heaven knows I really could use the help….”

  A sliver of guilt knocks into anger.

  That used to be my problem too. Just a year ago I wasn’t always sure how my rent was going to get paid yet now I have to throw a fucking tantrum in order to be the one who pays the goddamn light bill. And as if paying for us to have a two story penthouse, me a brand new car, and our wedding wasn’t enough, Wes paid off all my debt. Students loans. Credit cards. My car, which my mother co-signed for. All of it. He had the nerve to call it a “present”. We spent about two hours arguing then two hours making up and then two hours discussing his control issues and my preference for gifts to be the ty
pe that come with receipts. While he gave me a bullshit explanation about marrying me means marrying my debt and he can’t have debt to his name, I know it was his less than subtle way of trying to help give me the fresh start he wants me to have. To build our life together without the confines of the one before him. It was totally sweet in a Bruce Wayne kind of way, but breaking him of this mentality that I am secretly some feeble minded ditz who needs him to toss on his cape the moment I walk out the house is almost like having a second full time job. I barely keep my sanity with one.

  We enter our boss’ office together, immediately given an index finger to instruct us to wait until her call ends.

  Calen’s green eyes shoot me a firm warning not to get sarcastic since it’s apparently obvious I want to.

  Everyone hates their boss in some fashion. Typically it’s because they don’t praise them enough or it’s the complete opposite and they get too much attention in the form of micromanaging. Me? I’m totally okay with her giving all of her spare energy to Calen. Keeps me less of a target for being scolded about my foul mouth or turning my work outfit into an accidental wet t-shirt contest. My biggest problem with her is being summoned and then forced to wait for twenty five minutes while she finishes whatever it was she was doing before she beckoned me. It’s fucking rude. And I know it’s nothing more than some weird power trip thing.

  Raquel hums her final answer and hangs up the phone. Her brown eyes land on us, and I swear there is a hint of remorse in them.

  What’d she do? Order a hit on a dolphin?

  She directs her question at me. “How is Steven today?”

  “Better.”

  Keeping my answers short and sweet prevents me from unnecessarily mouthing off, something that’s not always easy with Mother Pretentious. Who fucking cares if she has a master’s when she clearly can’t do more than a secretary’s job of answering phones and signing paperwork? Bet she hasn’t dipped a toe into the water since they gave her this job.

  “Good.” The curt nod is followed with her folding her pale hands on her desk. “This morning a female scalloped hammerhead was rescued close to the coast from an attempted finning. She has suffered what I’m told are minor injuries, but was brought back to the rescue and research division of K&T. They’ll be assessing her again this evening, however, if her injuries are as minor as they seem, they would like to hold her for breeding.”

  Hearing Calen’s earlier prediction from her lips stifles my breathing.

  “We will be sending a member from that department down to K&T this weekend for our personal evaluations, but I would also like the two of you to go with her, for a second opinion.” Raquel’s eyes once more swing to me. “You know Steven better than anyone else in the institute. While most don’t believe personality carries much weight in the division of breeding outside the human category, we all know that’s not true. I would like you to observe the female’s behavior. Decide whether or not Steven would thrive in the atmosphere of K&T.”

  Calen asks the question on my tongue, “He’d have to relocate? We couldn’t move her here?”

  “No.” The definitive answer tightens my chest. “We all know K&T is a larger, more equipped, and higher funded institute. We may allow for breeding here, but we are not built for the longer term or constant growth of a species like they are.”

  He nods his understanding.

  I bite my tongue to keep from screaming.

  “You leave Friday,” Raquel informs quickly. “Brynley, you’re lead on this. Calen you’re there to assist. Understood?”

  “Yes,” we agree in unison.

  She forces her face into a polite grin. “Good. Brynley, you can return to closing down for the evening.” Her attention focuses on my partner. “Calen, I need a word in private with you for a moment.”

  His shoulders noticeably drop.

  Can’t blame him. She gets on my last fucking nerve, but usually leaves me to my own reclusion. Allows me to flow through my job tasks with minimal supervision. Calen on the other hand, she’s been riding like a jockey in the Kentucky Derby over the past couple of months. He says she is just concerned how we’re getting along, if everything is as solid between us as it always seems, but I get the feeling it may be a case of crush on your employee gone terribly wrong.

  After leaving Raquel’s office, cleaning up the mess I made, finishing a few pieces of paperwork, and blowing Steven goodnight kisses, I make the quick trip from the institute to our penthouse.

  The moment I step foot into the living room, Wes snaps, “Where the fuck have you been?”

  My head sarcastically whirls around the room. “I’m sorry, did we warp drive back into the 1930’s and no one tell me?”

  J.T. poorly hides his snicker from where he’s sitting on the L shaped couch.

  Wes shoots him a glare before sharply turning his face back to me. “Where, Brynley?”

  “At the corner of I Have A Fucking Job and You Are Not My Fucking Keeper.”

  The snarky retort grabs a displeased growl. “You were supposed to be home two hours ago.”

  I make my way over the dark gray living room chair right across from him. “I had shit to do, Wes. Not all of us can literally buy ourselves time. I work when I’m needed.”

  “Why didn’t you call?”

  “Bu-sy.”

  He grunts his annoyance.

  This is the type of shit I bitch to Steven about. Before the Penny incident, Wes was already obnoxiously wound tight, but post, he’s all but resorted to trying to force me to wear a GPS choker around my neck, so he can not only know where I am but have security scan the situation for threats. You know, I fucking get it. He had Benedict Bitch in his mega mansion, and it almost took away someone he loved, someone we both love, but that doesn’t mean I wanna spend the rest of my life being a prisoner to protocols. The occasional room sweep of a situation is fine, but biting my head off like a Tootsie Pop is not.

  J.T. attempts to defuse the situation by offering me a beverage. “Beer?”

  I cringe at the bottle. “Nah. My stomach’s actually not doing too hot.”

  “What’s wrong?” The change in Wes’ tone is immediate.

  My face fights to keep its guard up. “Bad sandwich for lunch.”

  “What was it?” J.T. promptly asks.

  “Chicken salad.”

  He instantly gags. “What the hell? Why would you order that? Why would you betray your allegiance to the PB&J lifestyle?”

  “It was either that or Tuna, and I already smell like bad pussy enough of the time, so I opted for chicken.”

  The laughter from the both of them successfully slides a smile onto my face.

  “So, no beer and pizza,” J.T. says, slouching down in his spot. “Not really sure how we do a Star Trek dinner without those things….”

  I give him a short shrug. “You two are more than welcome to eat my share.”

  Wes’ worried expression remains.

  At least it’s probably about my health rather than my so called tardiness.

  “Is that the Morgan brand beer?” my question seems to shake my fiancé's stiff demeanor loose.

  “Research,” J.T. teases with another sip.

  Wes rolls his eyes and lets out a heavy sigh. “It is. We’ll be releasing it with new labels at the beginning of next week, now that the merger is publically finished.”

  My body leans to the side to rest my elbow on the arm of the chair. “Congrats again, guys. This is gonna be huge for the company.”

  There’s a noticeable unease in Wes’s beautiful mismatched eyes.

  “Hey, what kept you so late anyway, Aquawoman?” J.T. casually asks between swigs.

  The newly dubbed nickname always gets a playful glare.

  Our inside jokes continuously expand. It’s obvious it irritates Wes at times, which just makes it more fun for the both of us. Our friendship, our nerdier than normal bond, is something he can’t control and struggles to conform to. Both aspects frustrate the hell out of him
and often that annoyance leads to a sexual dominance I really really enjoy. It’s another reason I keep doing it.

  “Even when you’re late getting in, I don’t usually make it this many episodes without you. Do you have any idea how uncomfortable it is quoting along alone while Wes frowns his face in confusion?”

  The two of us chuckle yet my fiancé grumps, “Why doesn’t the damn show come with some sort of…I don’t know…glossary?”