Neanderthal seeks Human (Knitting in the City)

by Penny Reid

  I didn’t allow my gaze to linger on his backside as he walked away (even though I wanted to). Instead I lifted my eyes to Steven’s and he winked at me. His small gesture served to calm my nerves and I forced my hands to relax on the case of the iPad.

  “You did really great.” Carlos was the first to speak, his tone was quiet. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to be respectful of Quinn’s telephone call or if he just didn’t want to be overheard.

  “Thanks.” I gave him a tight lipped smile, “Is he always like this? On trips?”

  Steven nodded, “It can be pretty brutal. But, you know, he’s the Boss. He gets the job done and so must all of we.”

  Olivia leaned over the aisle, “I don’t mind. I think he’s brilliant.”

  Steven muttered something under his breath but I couldn’t hear it. I frowned at him and he mouthed: “I’ll tell you later.”

  “Looks like we’re almost there.” Carlos absentmindedly remarked as he glanced out the window.

  As if on cue the attendant appeared and told us all to buckle up. We were about to land. As I buckled my seat belt I noted that Quinn was taking a seat in one of the four-seat clusters at the back of the plane and hadn’t yet ended his call. His eyes briefly met mine and I thought I saw him smile- one of his whisper, barely there smiles. Then he looked away and frowned- one of his serious, fiercely irritated frowns.

  The plane began its descent and I was still firmly seated on my dramacoaster of uncertainty.

  Just… great.

  ~*~

  As soon as I stepped off the plane and into the dry heat of the Las Vegas private airport I was immediately struck by how colorful and colorless the landscape was. The desert was rich hues of browns, reds and oranges but nothing else. It was heat and sand and fire and gasoline and cigarettes. I was abruptly thirsty.

  Everyone else was already down the ramp as I had opted to hide in the bathroom until I was certain everyone was gone. A little apart from the airplane were two black limos. Steven, Carlos and Olivia handed off their bags to one driver and Quinn was standing next to the second limo, engaged in a conversation on his cell phone. I pulled my roller bag after me down the ramp and headed toward Steven and the first limo; however, before I could hand off my bag, I heard Quinn’s voice from behind me.

  “Ms. Morris- you’ll be riding with me.”

  I turned just my head toward him and hesitated, having some difficulty comprehending that I wasn’t going to be taking limo #2 with Steven and Carlos and Olivia; I would be taking limo #1 with Mr. Sullivan Boss McHotpants.

  Steven reached forward, squeezing my hand and keeping me in place for a brief moment, his voice was low enough to ensure the comment was unheard by others, “Oh Janie, he’s going to subject you to the silent twenty minute car ride from hell. After the meeting this afternoon we’ll order room service and have a sleep over, we can commiserate and you cry on my shoulder.”

  I lifted my eyebrows in alarm, remembering Steven’s story about riding alone with Quinn, wondering if, now that it was established he was my boss, Quinn would stop speaking to me. He seemed so different on the plane, distant and aloof. I imagined we would sit silently in the limo while his expression vacillated between stoic and apathetic.

  My stomach suddenly hurt.

  Driver #1 reached me to take my bag and I slowly followed. Quinn was still on his phone pacing back and forth behind the limo when I reached the open passenger door. I slipped into the dark car; it took my eyes several seconds to adjust. This was the second time I’d been in a limo; the first time was on my worst day ever. I wondered what Vincent, my driver, was up to at this moment.

  This limo was significantly larger than the first one. Black leather clad benches stretched in long lines on either side of the car’s perimeter. What looked like a fully stocked bar sat just under the privacy window toward the front. The inside had that new car smell plus the thick earthy scent of fine leather.

  In lieu of sitting in bench facing forward I opted for one of the side seats. I didn’t particularly want to sit next to Quinn. I felt distance in proximity might make the imminent car ride from hell a bit more bearable.

  Abruptly Quinn entered the car on the same side I had. The door closed behind him and he glanced to his right, paused, then surveyed the rest of the interior. His eyes rested on me almost immediately; I did not return his gaze but rather felt his stare as I concentrated on the crystal decanters at the front of the cabin.

  “Do you want something to drink?” He asked.

  I shook my head; even though I was thirsty I was having difficulty swallowing. Instead I folded and refolded my hands on my lap then over my knees. The car engine started and the limo began to move. I glanced out the window directly in front of me but the glass was so dark it significantly dulled the landscape beyond.

  Several long moments passed in silence and, for once, I welcomed my mind’s wanderlust. I counted the lights along the wood panel of the ceiling and tried to imagine the robot on the manufacturing assembly line responsible for such detail work. I liked the idea of robots and hoped I would live to see robots become assimilated into households like pets or companions. Rover would become Robo-rover and the elderly might own a Robo-panion.

  Quinn’s voice was quiet as he interrupted my musings, “What are you thinking about?”

  I cleared my throat and shrugged, answering honestly before I could think to stop myself, “Robots.”

  “Robots.” He mimicked; I heard him shift on the bench then move to the seat directly across from me. Our knees and ankles touched. “What are you thinking about Robots?”

  My heart skipped then galloped at his closeness. I shrugged again, focusing my attention on the blue silk of his tie. It looked dark purple in the dim cabin. Despite my best intentions and attempts at self-control, the physical contact of our legs made my stomach erupt in an angry wasp nest of nerves. I remained silent because I found my mouth no longer functioned.

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees; his hands were clasped, hovering above my thighs. “Janie,” his voice sounded tightly controlled, as though he were struggling to keep his temper in check, “Why haven’t you returned my calls?”

  I lifted my gaze to his, surprised by the use of my first name. I swallowed, “I- Mr. Sullivan-”

  “Don’t do that.” He half groaned, half growled and covered my hands with his.

  I studied him for a moment, a thick knot was in my throat and the wasp nest was swirling furiously in my stomach, incited by his touch, but I finally managed to choke out, “I’m not sure what you want me to say.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me, just a slight outward indication of frustration; but then they flickered to my lips, “Why did you turn off your cell phone?”

  I ground my teeth; the buzzing wasps were turning into an angry Africanized bee colony. Their feelings of hostility began to spread through me, my body humming with aggravated resentment. I was surprised by how angry I was when I responded; “Why didn’t you tell me that you were the Boss?”

  His gaze met mine again, pinned me in place, “I did.”

  I stiffened, pulling my hands from his and gripping the seat on either side of my legs, “Oh, was I asleep for this conversation?”

  He frowned, “Are you angry with me?”

  I blinked at him, maybe three times, possibly four, in stunned confusion, “I- I’m not-” I stuttered then finally managed, “I’m not angry with you.”

  “Well then you do a good impression of angry.”

  “Mr. Sullivan-”

  “Don’t call me that.” He interrupted me again but his voice was softer, “Don’t call me that unless you want to.”

  “I do want to.”

  My statement was met with silence; his expression was hard, frustrated, determined. He openly watched me for what seemed like several minutes. I tried but couldn’t quite meet his gaze. My anxiety increased with each passing second and, therefore, my mind began darting in every direction. The car rolle
d along and I thought to myself that it must have extremely good shocks as it felt like we were gliding. I imagined the car on ice skates gliding across a frozen lake, being pushed by robots.

  Finally, very quietly, he said, “Why?”

  “Because-” I swallowed, my chest felt impossibly tight, “because I have a habit of saying some wildly inappropriate things- as you know. And you are not just my boss, you are the second ‘B’ in ‘B and B’, which is Betty and the Boss. I can recall at least seventeen things that I’ve said to you that I should never say to the Boss. And, if I keep calling you-” I took a deep breath, my fingers dug into the leather seat, “-keep calling you Quinn then I’ll say at least seventeen more- if not thirty four more, or two hundred and eighty nine more.”

  “Then you should most definitely keep calling me Quinn.”

  I sighed and eyed him warily.

  Suddenly he leaned further forward and gently lifted one of my hands from the bench. His thumb moved in slow motion over the back of my knuckles as he held it between both of his palms. “Look. I’ve really enjoyed all of the seventeen wildly inappropriate remarks you’ve made and, if you recall, I’ve said at least seventeen myself.”

  The sensation of his thumb moving over the back of my hand was doing something unexpected to the middle of my body. In an effort to mask the effect, I swallowed rigidly, my lips firming into a stiff line, and said nothing. What I wanted to do was start unbuttoning my shirt and ask him to mimic that motion elsewhere.

  “I would be very disappointed if you started behaving differently around me.” His features and his tone were serious, imploring; his eyes appeared to be a dark, fiery cobalt in the dimly lit limo; but it was his thumb that was my undoing.

  I felt flustered, confused; so, my tone more accusatory than I intended, I asked the first question which came to mind, “Why did you hire me?”

  His thumb paused, just briefly, before he responded, “Because, despite what you insist to the contrary, you do have a photographic memory, you have an extremely analytical approach to business practice, you are a fantastic accountant, and your legs looked amazing in those zebra print stilettos.”

  I pulled my hand out of his grip and, for lack of knowing what to do with the trembling appendages, I crossed my arms over my chest; “You can’t say things like that. You are my boss.”

  His jaw flexed and he balled his empty hands into fists, “But I’m not just your boss, am I?”

  “You’re right; technically you’re my boss’s boss.”

  He ignored my comment, “We’re dating.”

  “Well, I don’t date my boss, so…” I closed my eyes, wanting the car ride to be over. Hoping that if I just closed my eyes maybe all the lama drama would just go away.

  I heard him sigh; it was an angry sound. His legs were still pressed against mine and I could feel the warmth of him through our layers of clothing.

  My eyes were still closed when I asked, “Why didn’t you tell me who you were?”

  “I did. More than once.”

  I released a slow breath before countering, “You know what I mean.” I lifted my lids and met his subtly seething gaze. “You knew I didn’t know, that I misunderstood. Why didn’t you correct me?”

  His eyes flashed with blinding intensity behind an irascible mask. When he spoke his tone was severe: “Would you have stayed with me, at the concert, if I’d told you? Would you have let me kiss you? Would you have gone out to dinner with me? Stayed at the park?” His eyes were narrowed and my stomach dropped to my feet when I saw his expression slide, with each word, further into a mask of indifference.

  I shook my head slowly and answered honestly, “No. No I would not. But you knew I was going to find out eventually.”

  He looked away from me and straightened his tie, smoothing his hand down the blue silk, his tone sodden with superior sarcasm, “I’d hoped, by then, it wouldn’t make a difference.”

  The car slowed and stopped. I swallowed a giant lump in my throat. I didn’t want to ask the next question but I needed to know, it was better to know; “What are you going to do now?”

  His voice and his face were devoid of emotion, he almost sounded bored, as he responded, “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, do I still have a job?”

  He flinched as though I’d slapped him, his lips parting and his dark brows lowering over eyes which seemed to be suddenly shooting fire in my direction, “What?” for a moment he looked truly stunned.

  I lifted my chin, grabbing fistfuls of my jacket at each of my sides in order to steady my hands. “Do I still have a job?”

  The car door opened and my eyes moved automatically to the light. To my escape.

  When he didn’t move or respond I reluctantly focused my attention on him again; he didn’t look quite so severe. Rather his gaze had softened considerably. If possible, the quiet understanding of his expression troubled me more than the cold stoicism he’d employed earlier. I sighed and shifted along the seat toward the door, lying to myself that I wanted to forget this car ride, forget that Quinn was ever anything but my boss.

  I exited first and walked toward the trunk, hoping to grab my bag and disappear into the large casino lobby. I might even cry. Limo #2 was maneuvering into the casino but was still some distance away.

  I felt Quinn hovering behind me, felt his hand close over my arm just above my elbow, the heat of his words on my ear and neck made me shiver despite the warmth of the Las Vegas sun.

  “I’ll find you later.”

  I turned toward him but he’d already released my arm; he was walking away, towards the hotel lobby, and away from me.

  CHAPTER 18

  I was, basically, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.

  Except, instead of a blinking red nose, I had a crimson blush. Quinn Sullivan made my light blink on and off. You could guide a sleigh by it, or a private jet. It was a beacon of embarrassment, mortification, pleasure, turpitude, awareness, frustration, and, yes, anger.

  At present, however, I was a normal shade of whitish-beige. I was listening with all outward attentiveness to Quinn finish up the presentation our team put together for the meeting: an overview of the security in place for Outrageous, a schematic of the new club in Vegas overlaid with identified weaknesses in current operations, a comparison of approaches to security management of the entire property, casino included, and so forth. It was a strong presentation. I knew it by heart.

  And, partly because I knew it by heart and partly because it was Quinn delivering the presentation, I didn’t hear any of it. I spent the entire half hour trying to appear attentive to the content and rather than the fine, agile movements of the speaker, the cadence of his voice, the depth of his cobalt eyes, the shape of his...

  I blinked, with purpose, and shook my head just a little in order to re-direct my thoughts. The room was dimmed for the presentation and for that I was thankful.

  The afternoon up to this point had been somewhat of a blur. After Quinn left me standing outside by limo #1, Steven, Carlos, and Olivia’s limo pulled in behind ours. Carlos didn’t seem surprised to find me there by myself and warmly folded me into their group, helping me navigate hotel check-in. Really, all I had to do was follow him into the casino, he did everything else. He even handed me my key, told me what room number was mine and how to find the elevators.

  We were then dispatched with instructions to meet back in the hotel lobby in one hour. I went to my room then did not much of anything other than frown, use the facilities, brush my teeth, look at the list of in-room TV channels, and then head back downstairs armed with my portfolio and iPad. Carlos and Olivia were sitting across from each other on large, golden, jewel encrusted settees. They weren’t talking; rather they were independently together, engrossed in the contents of their own cell phones.

  I glanced around with not a little trepidation. Neither Quinn nor Steven were present in the lobby. Carlos noticed me first and they both stood in lagged unison as I approached. That was when I saw a
third person, also standing in lagged unison but he also was still engrossed with his phone. He was normal height, a little taller than me, and had normal blondish-reddish hair and normal bluish eyes and a normal smattering of freckles- though light- over his cheeks but, strangely, not his nose.

  Introductions were made swiftly; the unknown person was the nephew of the casino owner and the manager of the new club; his name was Alex or Adrien or Adien or Allen something like that. I was introduced rather formally as Ms. Morris, Senior Fiscal Project Coordinator and manager of the account. We shook hands. He may have smiled and held my hand a little too long; he might also have winked. I wasn’t in the mood to really notice anything about him.

  Allen- or Adien or whatever his name was- was going to escort us to and give us a tour of the new club, the club for which we were to provide security, for which we’d prepared the presentation. I tried to push myself to feel at least some professional interest in the tour if not some normal inquisitiveness.

  I was informed, by Olivia on the elevator ride up, that Quinn and Steven had a separate meeting with the client to go over the private account. A meeting I wasn’t invited to attend. I spared her a waxy, unconcerned smile.

  The tour was fine. The club was fine, although it looked peculiar as it was empty of partygoers and was rather brightly lit by several west-facing windows. It didn’t look anything like Outrageous; it just appeared to be a typical nightclub; although, in its defense, they hadn’t yet finished decorating. There were several men, I assumed construction workers, coming in and out of the main space but I expended no mental energy noticing them.

  We ate lunch at a black table near one of the windows. I didn’t notice the view of the Las Vegas Strip nor the landscape of rust-capped ridges and canyons beyond.

  I drifted through these happenings, not tasting my food, speaking when spoken to, answering questions but not really asking any of my own. I was wholly uncurious which should have concerned me. But it didn’t.

  There were a few more tours- the casino floor, the lock room, a few sections of the basement. Finally, after an indeterminable amount of time and banal chit chat, we were taken to a conference room and prodded with coffee, tea, and cucumber water. The club manager left briefly while Carlos and Olivia set up for the presentation; he pulled out a thumb drive and she placed hardcopy packets in front of each of the conference table’s large leather seats.