Spy Games

by Cassandra Dee

  But Mr. Evans was done. His eyes were flat, that voice brutal.

  “Like I said, get out,” he snapped.

  My chin jerked up.

  “Right now? Like this?” I gasped, gesturing to the silky robe molding my curves. “At least let me get dressed and grab my things.”

  But Mr. Evans was prepared.

  “No. Get out,” he said again, this time his voice devoid of all emotion. “You’re a fucking liar. Here’s your passport. There’s a golf cart waiting on the tarmac. We’re leaving in about five,” he said, glancing at his watch before looking back at me. “Correction. I’m leaving in five. You’re getting the fuck out of my life.”

  I gasped. I was being kicked off the plane just like that? But as if in answer, the engines hummed to life then, the seatbelt sign flashing on.

  “Get out,” Mr. Evans said cruelly then, harsh streaks of color decorating his cheekbones. “You’re a lowlife, and it was my mistake getting involved. Get the fuck off my plane.”

  I couldn’t take anymore. The humiliation was complete, all these baseless accusations hurled at me like daggers to the heart. And yet the billionaire wouldn’t explain. He wouldn’t elucidate on what exactly I’d done wrong, much less which secrets I’d allegedly passed onto a competitor.

  But sometimes, you reach the end of the rope, and there’s nowhere to go. So holding my head up high, I pulled the silky robe around my curvy figure.

  “Just give me a minute to put on some shoes,” came my stilted voice. “And I’ll be out of your hair.”

  “Good,” the billionaire grunted, refusing to look at me. “The sooner the better.”

  My heart shattered then, a physical pain radiating in my chest. But I couldn’t let him see. Because this was so unfair. Thorn was accusing me of all these unjust things, and refusing to listen to my pleas. It spoke ill of the billionaire because he should have given me an opportunity to explain, or at least try and figure things out.

  But we were past that point. The plane had already rumbled to life, the seatbelt sign now an intense glare above my head. The dark man wanted me gone, and there were no two ways about it. What the boss wants is what he gets, and the only thing to do was to obey.

  So grabbing my purse and slipping on a pair of sneakers, I pulled the silk robe tight around my curves, stepping onto the staircase that led to the tarmac. The sun in Florida was so bright that my eyes squinted, heat practically rising from the black asphalt.

  But in fact, I saw nothing. Tears blinded my vision, my hand shaking as it gripped the rail, descending step by step onto the heated blacktop. And as soon as I set foot on solid land, an airport maintenance man pushed the gleaming metal staircase out of the way, gesturing for me to move back.

  “Plane’s taking off,” he said, waving his arms. “Best get out of the way.”

  With trembling knees, I walked towards the terminal although it seemed a mile away. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t keep walking without turning back, so after taking about twenty paces, my form swiveled, eyes searching the Bombadier. Was Thorn at a window? Was he gesturing for me to come back to make amends? Was this all a giant mistake?

  But no. The jet backed up and then turned gracefully, looping in a U towards the runway. There was no dark head at the porthole, no sudden screech of the brakes. Like a giant machine, the sleek plane hummed mightily to life, its engines blasting with a roar. And then the bird rolled down the runway, faster, faster, faster until they were up in the sky, the white form growing smaller into the sky until it was nothing but a glint among the clouds.

  And with that, I bent over and threw up right there on the tarmac, dressed in nothing but a silky robe and sneakers. Violently, my stomach heaved, all air leaving my lungs as breakfast erupted from my throat, acidic and harsh. Because my dream had collapsed. Within five minutes, I’d gone from a woman at the top of the world, to an ant crushed beneath the heel of the king. I’d been reminded of my lowly status all too easily, and now, what did I have? Nothing but my passport in hand … and the memories of a life that was now gone.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Holly

  Three months later …

  Nothing’s been the same since I left Elite Air. The world is gray, and it feels like the sun never comes out. My vision is blurry, people looking the same to me, like ghosts wafting through my consciousness.

  Because without Thorn Evans, my world collapsed. I had nowhere to go, nowhere to turn without the billionaire by my side. Unbidden, my mind goes back to that last day.

  “Good riddance,” the alpha spat, pure hatred in those gleaming blue eyes. “You’re a fucking spy.”

  My heart shattered, knees trembling. Because what in the world was he talking about? But head held high, I marched off the plane without a second look, only to collapse on the tarmac below.

  But what to do after that? I was a girl with nothing, her heart torn from her chest, the air tight in my lungs. I had my passport in one hand, a silky robe pulled about my form, and a pair of neon-colored sneakers on my feet. How would I move on?

  Fortunately, airport security let me call my one and only friend. Katrina.

  “What?” the blonde gasped. “He did what? What an asshole?”

  “Please,” came my tearful reply. “Can you wire some money for a ticket?”

  “Where are you?” she asked firmly. “We need to get you out of there asap. That guy is such a fucking asshole. And for no reason too!”

  I nodded gratefully. My mind was fuzzy, recent events occupying all of my brain space. How had we come down to this? How was this possible? After all, just twenty minutes earlier I’d been contemplating a life of laughter and love with the billionaire. Yet in two seconds, I’d been booted out of his life, gone for good.

  But what did you expect? came the voice in my head. You were never equals. That was just magical thinking on your part. You got carried away, ensconced in the lap of luxury because Thorn treated you well. But there was never an ounce of reality in the scenario.

  And tears welled in my eyes again. Because it was true, I’d mistaken myself for the princess in a fairy tale. And like a real-life prince, Mr. Evans had appeared, making my problems disappear. Money was no longer an issue. The prospect of bankruptcy was gone, and my mom’s medication was suddenly affordable given my salary at Elite Air.

  But that didn’t mean that life was simple. Just because you have money doesn’t mean that problems go away. All it means is that you have a different set of problems, things that make your head swim in ways that were previously unimaginable. And right now was an example.

  Tears streamed down my cheeks again as I stood with a phone pressed against my ear.

  “I’m in Boca Raton, Florida,” came my sad whisper. “Can you send me a ticket?”

  “Of course,” replied Katrina stoutly. “I’ll get you out of there in no time. Just hang tight, Holly, don’t worry. You’ll be back in Queens before the blink of an eye.”

  True to her word, a ticket magically appeared for me at the counter, courtesy of my friend. And wearing a pair of donated sweats courtesy of the airport staff, I got onto a commercial flight and was transported home.

  But that didn’t mean my problems were over. I was too ashamed to face my mom, so I moved in with Katrina temporarily, crammed into her tiny flat. It’s awkward for sure. She lives in three hundred square feet, so we’re sardines piled on top of one another. But fortunately, Kat is gone most times at her boyfriend’s place, so it’s just me in this tiny, airless apartment.

  And today was no exception. I looked out onto the street, dingy cabs passing by, the honk of horns and passerby scurrying below. What lay beyond this street? What was around the corner? And sadly, I couldn’t say because it’s been three months since I got back, and yet I’ve barely ventured outside. That’s right, I’ve been sequestered in Kat’s apartment, the depression like a gray cloud that won’t lift. My limbs are heavy, brain foggy with hurt. I’d do anything to numb the pain, but alcohol and drugs have neve
r had any effect on my constitution.

  So here I was again, staring out the window, my mind a fuzzy mess occasionally penetrated by a sharp stab of pain. It was literally physical sometimes, my stomach would clench, the searing white-hot heat seizing my chest and forcing me to bend over. Thorn, my brain cried. Thorn, Thorn, don’t leave me.

  But it’s too late for that. I haven’t heard from the billionaire ever since that fateful day. Total silence. Incommunicado. Just like a piece of trash tossed into the wind, I was nothing. Forgotten garbage, just another girl among a long list.

  Because he must have done this before. Elite Air exists to serve the billionaire’s whims, and my guess was that Thorn was on the phone with Helena the minute I stepped off the jet. He probably had another girl on order at the next stop, perky and ready to do his bidding. That’s how easy it was.

  Fresh tears came to my eyes, and I stood up with a jolt. Fuck this life. Misery was my constant companion, and I wandered over to the bedside table, seeing nothing. Plopping down on the mattress, my shoulders slumped, defeat emanating from every pore. I was nothing. Less than dust to the billionaire, and the knowledge tore through my soul like a bloody knife once again.

  But as a wrenching sob erupted from my chest, my eyes landed on the half-open drawer. The inside was a mess for sure. But this time, something caught my eye. It was a crumpled receipt for a flight from Boca.

  Oh right. Katrina had purchased my ticket for me since I’d been kicked off the plane with nothing but passport in hand. She’d sprung for the flight, and here was the proof. Six hundred and forty-two dollars for a one-way flight from Boca back to JFK.

  But curiously, the ticket was paid for by a company called ABC Enterprises. Weird. Was that Katrina? Couldn’t be, my friend didn’t have a job. She spent most of her time with some boyfriend or another, dependent on their wallets to pay the rent on this tiny place. So who was ABC?

  And at that moment, the front door slammed, my buddy waltzing in. Long blonde hair floated behind Kat, her make-up absolutely perfect, dressed in a winter jacket that had to cost four figures.

  “Hey Holly,” she sang. “I’m baaack! Look what Nick got me!” she giggled, holding up a bulging shopping bag. “I swear, the personal shoppers at Saks are so jealous because he buys me anything I want,” my buddy sang, licking her lips with glee. “Everyone wants to be me!”

  I nodded numbly.

  “Welcome back,” was my low mumble. I hadn’t seen Kat in a week, but that was okay. It was better to be on my own, lost in depression. I didn’t want anyone to see me in this state, anyways.

  But my friend came into the bedroom then, her expression concerned.

  “Oh Holly,” she said sympathetically, looking over my uncombed hair and morose expression. “You’ve got to pull yourself out of this slump. It’s crazy. Have you been eating? Have you gone outside? You look like a ghost, pale and lifeless.”

  I smiled wanly.

  “I’ve been sitting by the window, so there was some sunshine,” came my half-hearted reply. “It’s not so bad.”

  “Not so bad!” Kat pooh-poohed. “Please, you’re wasting away right in front of my eyes. Here,” she said, putting down her coat and purse. “Let me make you some toast at least.”

  But before Kat could waltz back to the tiny utility kitchen, I held up the receipt for my flight.

  “Kat, who paid for my ticket?” I asked hesitantly. “It says here that ABC Enterprises purchased my return flight. That isn’t you, is it?”

  Katrina laughed lightly.

  “Of course that isn’t me,” she said. “Your flight was expensive, I don’t have money like that.”

  I nodded.

  “So who is ABC then?” I asked slowly. “Was it your family? But they don’t have a corporation, do they?”

  Kat shook her head.

  “Of course not,” she said with exasperation. “My fam is lucky if they have meat on the table for dinner at nights. No, when you called I asked my boyfriend to pay for your ticket. It’s nothing to him,” she bragged. “Six hundred dollars is chump change for Nicholas.”

  My head spun.

  “Is this a new guy?” was my query. “Or is it the same one I met way back when?”

  Katrina’s eyes lit up.

  “The same,” she bragged. “From the Firehouse, remember? We went there together months ago, and you met him? He’s so loving,” she purred. “Nick buys me anything I want.”

  I nodded, but my mind churned. Because slowly, the parts were falling into place.

  “What does Nick do?” I asked slowly. “Is he in banking? Construction? Media?”

  Kat waved her hand airily.

  “A little of this, a little of that. Why?” she asked curiously, fixing me with a stare. “What does it matter? He paid for your ticket, so you feel grateful.”

  My head nodded slowly.

  “I am grateful,” were my words. “But what does your boyfriend do Katrina? And does he know Thorn Evans?”

  Katrina shrugged, totally unconcerned.

  “Honestly, I have no idea what Nick does for a living. That’s the beauty of life,” she trilled. “He makes the money and I spend it. But Nick is a bigwig,” she said, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “He gets invites to every event, and I’m sure he knows Thorn,” she boasted proudly. “After all, billionaires always know other billionaires. There aren’t that many in the city.”

  A sick feeling of dread filled my stomach, nausea making it churn. But before I could get another word out, Katrina waltzed around the small room, doing an air dance.

  “Besides,” she added. “I think you should reach out to Thorn. What happened wasn’t so bad, Holly. Every couple fights. So yours was a little dramatic, sure, with you getting kicked off Elite Air and losing your job in one fell swoop. But you should get in touch. Billionaires are in short supply, you know,” she said to me reprovingly. “If you’re not on it, some other girl will be.”

  My heart contracted painfully. Of course, Thorn was highly sought after by all sorts of females. But my mind couldn’t get off its current course, the suspicion of betrayal foremost in my thoughts.

  “Kat,” I said taking a deep breath. “I know I’ve been down in the dumps recently, mooning on about Thorn this and that. But tell me,” I said seriously now. “What were you taking pictures of the plane whenever we we chatted via video? Why were you always clicking away?”

  “Oh that,” laughed Katrina, her giggle a little too high-pitched. “You know the reason. It’s because I want Nick to buy a plane too, so I figured if I showed how nice yours ways, he’d be envious and buy me one too. Keeping up with the Joneses and all that, remember?”

  My head nodded slowly, mind still clicking away.

  “But it was more than that,” came my slow words. “Even when it was just a hotel room, or when I was at Mr. Evans’s apartment, you were always taking pictures. Why? What was so interesting?”

  Katrina grew defensive then.

  “Because his place is so nice!” she insisted. “Thorn Evans lives like a king, and I wanted to show those pictures to my boyfriend.”

  “But even the hotel room?” I pushed, staring at her hard now. “Why would you need pictures of that!”

  “Okay, okay!” my buddy said, holding her hands up in the air. “You got me! Nick Ryver’s not perfect,” she admitted, rolling her eyes. “He should be treating me like a queen, but he doesn’t. Sometimes we stay in four-star hotels, or even three,” she said with a grimace. “I wanted to show him that you always got white glove treatment so that he’d do the same for me. Okay? Does that make you happy?”

  I nodded, but there was more to it than that.

  “It’s Mr. Ryver who wanted you to take those pictures, isn’t it?” I asked slowly. “He asked you to snap the photos whenever you were on video chat with me.”

  Katrina rolled her eyes once more.

  “So?” she asked belligerently. “What’s the big deal? A photo is a photo, who cares if he
asked me?”

  And with that admission, the last puzzle piece fell into place.

  “Kat,” I said slowly. “You’ve been used. I’ve been used as well, and we didn’t even know it.”

  “What do you mean?” asked my friend, exasperation in her voice. “Trust me, I haven’t been used. Mr. Ryver has bought me so many things, he even pays the rent on this apartment,” she said, shooting me a pointed glance.

  “Right,” was my acknowledgment. “But Kat, you’ve been paying a price. You just didn’t know it.”

  “Of course I have,” she huffed again. “He’s seventy years old, Holly. You think I love being with wrinkled old dues who smell like moth balls? Of course not. But most billionaires are septuagenarians. You just got lucky, my friend, Thorn Evans is one in a million.”

  I nodded again.

  “But Kat,” I said. “You’ve been used. Me too. We’re just pawns in this awful chess game between powerful men.”

  This time, confusion entered the blonde’s eyes.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she snapped. “What the hell is going on? Are you insane, Holly? Too long indoors has done a number on your brain cells.”

  But I shook my head, refuting the idea.

  “No, it’s not that,” were my slow words. “We’ve been used, Kat. You by your boyfriend, and me by your boyfriend as well, although we didn’t know it.”

  “Please,” sputtered Katrina. “You’ve only met Nick once. How in the world is he using you?”

  I took a deep breath.

  “My guess is that Thorn Evans and Nick Ryver are competitors,” I said in one go. “We have no idea how or in what respect. But they probably have their fingers in a bunch of different industries. And the minute Nick realized that you were my close friend, he began setting you up.”