Chasing Frost

by Isabel Jolie

  “So, you really did just move to New York?”

  I nod and back up a step, holding his hand. “Come on, let me show you.”

  Chase insists on getting a cab. It’s not a far ride, but it’d be a long walk. I direct the cab to let us off at the corner of Reade and Church.

  Chase peers around. “I’m not sure I like your hood.”

  I shrug. “Didn’t pick it for the hood.”

  Church street is all business. It’s a fairly major thoroughfare. He follows me as I dart along Reade Street. Reade Street is a narrow side street with limited parking. Stores line the lower level with apartments above. All the apartments feature a red brick facade and standard rectangular windows. One whole side of the building across from mine is covered in metal scaffolding. Horns beep, and sirens can be heard in the distance.

  When we reach my apartment, I open my briefcase and dig deep down into the interior pocket for my key ring. I unlock the door, and he follows me inside and up two flights of stairs.

  “It’s not much, but it’s home,” I say as I push my apartment door open. There’s a stale stench in the air, and I search for the thermostat to check what setting I left it on.

  Unopened boxes are stacked in my den. My kitchen, if one can call it that, lines a part of the wall on one side. A narrow hall leads to the back where there is a sleeping area and a bathroom. It’s technically a studio apartment, but I selected it because it has the feel of a one-bedroom.

  “This place is claustrophobic.” Chase says, unimpressed.

  “I tend to agree with you. Would you believe I’m paying almost three thousand a month in rent for this place?” It’s truly insane how expensive things are here.

  “Why did you pick this place?” He’s full of derision.

  “I did what anyone does when moving to a new city. I looked for apartments close to work. I can walk to work from here. It’s clean. I mean, when it comes to studios, they’re all equally box-like with little to offer.”

  “This is a studio?” He asks as he bysteps a tall stack of boxes to venture to the end of my apartment.

  A mattress rests on the floor of the sleeping area. I had to sell my old bedroom set, as it wouldn’t fit here.

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-nine.”

  “It’s not bad for someone in their late twenties, but I’d encourage you to hunt for something better when your lease is up.”

  “Hey, we can’t all live in palatial apartments like you.”

  “Your FBI cover pad was way nicer than this.”

  “Yeah, I’m aware. Thanks.”

  He smirks then collapses onto one side of my sofa.

  “So, we’re here so I can get to know the real you. You gonna open up some boxes and show me something? Because looking around this crap hole, what I see is someone who is so absorbed by work she hasn’t unpacked the first box, hasn’t even hung a shower curtain in the bathroom, has a pair of plain sheets thrown on a mattress, and doesn’t have a single personal photograph or anything at all out to make this feel like a home. Is that who you are?”

  “Your place isn’t that much better. I don’t think you spend much time on that firm, uncomfortable sofa. And you have to hunt for personal effects in your place.”

  He smirks. “Yeah, Carla took over designing my place. I let her go with it. I’ll grant you I’ve been jonesing to make it a bit more liveable, more me.”

  “Who is Carla? An ex?” I sit on the sofa near him.

  “Not an ex.” I get the uncomfortable sense he’s reflecting on Carla as he answers, “We did get to know each other while she was working on my project. I’d say it was more of a fling.”

  “Hmmm. So, how much is the rent on a place like yours?”

  “I own. But it could rent for around ten K a month. Renting’s just throwing away your money.” He sounds judgmental.

  “That’s right. You own properties and rent them out. How’d you decide which one you wanted to live in?”

  “I liked the area. But this isn’t getting to know Chase time. This is getting to know Sadie time. Whatcha got?”

  I’m not sure what to show him. Sometimes I’m not even sure I know myself. I make my way through the boxes until I locate the one box marked “personal.” I open it and lug it over to the floor space in front of the sofa. I show him photos of my sister, my mom and dad.

  “Your sister looks like you.”

  I agree with his assessment. “She always worries about me. I don’t do a good enough job keeping in touch with her.”

  “Time difference. It must be tough.”

  I nod. “She knows about you. I did tell her.”

  He flips through photos. Most of my photos are landscape shots or shots of historically relevant locations that are popular with tourists. The ones in the box are photos I liked enough to print. He tosses them in the box.

  “Give me your phone.”

  “What?”

  “Clearly, you only printed photos you deemed worthy. Your phone will have the photos I want to see.”

  I hand him my personal cell. My photos in my Google photos file go all the way back to university. He points at a few people, asking me who they are. “After getting my MBA, I was accepted into the FBI. There aren’t many photos at all from that point forward.”

  “Any boyfriend?” he asks as he swipes, probably recognizing he’s no longer coming across human beings.

  “There was one. He was FBI, too.”

  “Let me guess. All work, just like you.”

  “Yes. But, if I’m honest—”

  “And we’re being honest here.”

  “Yes, if I’m honest, I haven’t been happy for a while. It can get lonely. I didn’t plan on going into UC, but in some ways, I’ve enjoyed this time being more of a regular person. I moved here for a change, and that’s what I got. A different life.”

  “You enjoyed life as an accountant?” He seems amused.

  “I enjoyed giving myself a life outside of work. Going to the gym, hanging out with you, that kind of stuff.”

  “You can’t tell me you didn’t go to the gym in DC.” He pointedly checks me out.

  “Of course I did. But it was the FBI gym, and it was get in, get it done, get out. Your gym is like a spa. I can see why you spend hours there hanging out and talking. It’s a social place for you.”

  “I’m a social guy.” He reaches out for my hand and tugs me closer. His fingers toy with my hair, then he slides it behind my ear. “The picture I’m getting of Sadie is of a lonely workaholic.”

  “But I want to change that.” And I do. I like being with Chase. I kick my shoes off and slide onto Chase’s lap, straddling him.

  “Sadie, I’m in for helping you.” He opens my shirt, button by button. I lift the hem of his t-shirt over his head. His heart pounds beneath my fingers. My pulse throbs against his skin.

  Ever so slowly, we undress each other. He takes his time, caressing my body, adoring me, and I take my turn on him. When he enters me, he is tender. Our lovemaking is slow and sensual and earth-shattering.

  Earth-shattering, not because of the physical, but because as he pulses inside me, and I hold him tight, it hits me with the force of a .475 A&M Magnum that I care more about this man than I do my career. And I don’t have any idea how he’s going to feel about me over time, as he gets to know the real me.

  Twenty-Nine

  Chase

  * * *

  The sheets bear a distinct coolness. Without opening my eyes, I stretch and confirm. She’s not in the bed. That’s just my luck to fall for an early riser.

  I rub my hands vigorously over my face, then squint into the bright morning light piercing my bedroom windows. How late did I sleep?

  After spending the afternoon in Sadie’s real apartment, I convinced her to pack a bag with some of her casual clothes to bring back here. She might end up using that place if she’s working some projects with late hours, but if I have any say, we’ll be spending our couple time he
re. Her apartment is a hole. I sometimes forget how compact New York City apartments can be.

  There are no sounds of another human being moving around, but the distinct smell of coffee permeates the bedroom. After slipping on some boxers and brushing my teeth, I wander into the den. Sadie’s lacing up her running shoes by the door.

  “For the record, this is not the way I like to be woken up.”

  “I didn’t mean to wake you.” She stands, and I take her in. She’s wearing black leggings and a tight, long sleeve running shirt. Her hair is pulled back to create the tiny bud of a ponytail, and she’s got white ear pods poking out of her ears. She looks delicious, and while I’d like to pull her back into the bedroom to show her exactly how I like to wake up, energy pulses around her. It’s abundantly clear she’s ready to get the day started.

  “You off for a run?”

  “Yeah, I figured I’d go for a run, then stop by my apartment to change for work.”

  “Which apartment?”

  “FBI. All my business clothes are still there, remember?”

  “Yeah.” I take two steps and pull her against me, aware she’s chomping to go, but needing to get my hands on her. “This weekend, I’ll help you clear that place out. Maybe you can keep your work clothes here?”

  Her eyebrows go sky high. Too much.

  “Or at least some of them.”

  She smiles then lifts on her toes and kisses me. I’m instantly aroused, and she notices. She pushes back on me with her pretty smile in full force.

  “I’ll see you after work, mister.”

  “Looking forward to it, Ms. Frost.” I cringe. “Wait, I can’t call you Ms. Frost anymore. I love that name.”

  “Yeah, Keating doesn’t have the same ring, does it?”

  “Nah. I’m still using Frost. It’ll be our code name. An inside joke. What do you know? I’m actually dating an FBI agent. Code names for real. I’ll get you watching the superheroes, and we can brainstorm superpowers.”

  “I’ve seen superhero movies.” She bites her lip and grins, all coy and sexy. “I tend to prefer movies like James Bond and Mission Impossible.”

  “Yeah? I dig those too. So, that’s your jam, huh?”

  “Well, to some degree. Now I sit there and think that is such bullshit.”

  That cracks me up. “If that’s your take, then maybe the superheroes aren’t for you.”

  She grows serious. “Hey, be careful today. Alert. I believe you’re safe, but—”

  “Going to the office today. No reason to worry, dear.” Maybe it should bother me that my woman is all protective, and can probably kick my ass, but it really doesn’t.

  She places those soft, tempting lips on mine once more, then she’s out the door, and I watch her like a lovesick puppy until the stairwell door closes behind her. Because, of course, she’d rather take the stairs.

  I lock the deadbolt then jump in the shower. I might’ve played a better game at luring Sadie back into bed this morning, but the fact is, I’ve got a shit show waiting for me at the office today. I’m already behind schedule.

  By seven a.m., I’m flipping light switches on in reception and along the hall to my office. No one’s in yet. A slow trickle of arrivals will commence around 7:30-ish, then gradually transition to a steady flow between eight to nine.

  My message light’s flashing. I play the messages on the speaker as my computer powers up. I caught up on email last night. Sadie and I both worked on my sofa. It felt good. Going to bed with her last night definitely felt good. Something I have every intention of making our norm. Anna’s going to be blown away when I tell her I’ve got a girlfriend. Girlfriend. Damn.

  I have nineteen voice messages that entail “call me” and some version of “are you okay?” Why don’t people just text? Why do I even have voice mail? In all fairness, these messages are from BB&E colleagues who have my office extension, not my cell. Still annoying to comb through.

  Rhonda taps on my doorframe, announcing her arrival.

  “You’re in early, boss.” She places a steaming cup of coffee on my desk.

  “Yeah, it’s gonna be an interesting day. Hey, could you start listening to my voicemail? Would you mind?”

  “I already do that.”

  “I had nineteen messages this morning.”

  “Wow. That’s a lot. Normally it’s like one or two. But I normally get in here earlier than you. You know those slips of paper where I list who you need to call?”

  “Yeah. I thought those were calls you took. Huh. Great.” I slurp back my morning joe, and the warmth coats my throat.

  “Everyone’s grateful you’re okay. I’m grateful. I don’t know what I would have done.” Her eyes glisten. Fuck…she’s gonna cry.

  “Rhonda. I’m okay. Unscathed.”

  “Yeah. You know, I keep thinking, if I had taken you up on those tickets, it could have been me. Or my husband.”

  “Hey, but you didn’t go. You’re safe.”

  She nods and sniffles. “You sure you’re all right? I’m surprised you’re back. That’s got to be so much to go through.”

  “Yeah. It’s a bit surreal. Like it didn’t really happen.” She nods, understanding. I’m still numb. And I don’t want to talk about it. “What am I gonna do? Sit in my apartment all day? Besides, we’ve got a lot to deal with in the office. Someone from the executive floor is going to call today about setting up a meeting for me with the board. Make me available for whatever time they need, okay?”

  “You mean the board of directors? For BB&E?”

  “Yeah. And can you bring me last year’s original documents from Biohazard Waste, Medical Supply, and McLoughlin Charity?”

  “You got it, boss.” She taps the doorframe again as she leaves, then bends backward with a parting message. “I really am glad you’re okay.”

  Within minutes, Rhonda stands in my doorway. “Did you move the files?”

  “Yes, Rhonda, I decided to dust them off.”

  “No, I’m serious. All of the files are gone.”

  “What?” I spin in my chair to the file cabinets that line my back office wall. I grab the key from my desk drawer and open each one. They’re all empty. Even the drawer I use for my personal crap.

  “Can you ask other people if they had their files removed?”

  She nods. Her skin’s gone pale, and something tells me my face might match hers. I pick up my cell and call Sadie’s office line. I get voice mail. I call her personal cell and again get voice mail. I text her. My work files have been stolen.

  In under sixty seconds, she calls me back.

  “What do you mean? Was there a robbery?”

  “Nothing’s damaged. All the file cabinets are emptied out. They took everything.”

  I cross the hall to double-check all the cabinets that line the wall behind Rhonda’s cubicle. Just like she said, they’re all empty. Rhonda returns, hands on her hips, her head shaking in disbelief.

  “All the files from your team have been removed. Gone. Vanished. No one knows what happened.”

  Sadie hears her through the phone.

  “That’s so stupid for them to do that,” she tells me, annoyance pouring through. “There are so many charges we can throw at them for impeding an investigation and tampering with evidence.”

  “If you can prove who did it.”

  “Well, who else would it be? They would’ve been smarter to burn the building down. That’s a ton of paperwork to remove. Is there a security camera on the hall outside your office?”

  I scan the ceiling for a camera or a telltale black glass dome.

  “Don’t see anything. There’s security footage of the elevator and lobby, probably reception on each floor. Building security has footage of all communal areas. Parking garages too.”

  “Okay. I’m gonna go talk to our surveillance team. For all I know, they’re already tapped in, but if they’re not, we can obtain the footage. I’ll tell the team what we need them to look for. Someone had to have been moving
boxes of files out. It shouldn’t take too much work to identify who.”

  “You need me to do anything?”

  “No. Let me go update my supervisor. We’ll probably send someone over to fingerprint the cabinets. I doubt there’ll be fingerprints, but you never know.”

  When I hang up, Rhonda peers up at me. She’s curious, but she doesn’t know how far she can push it with her questions. I know her looks.

  “Was that Sydney?”

  I swallow. Sadie and I already discussed this. Her cover’s blown, so there’s no reason to lie about who she is now. “Her name’s Sadie.”

  “So, it’s true? She’s FBI? She was working here undercover?”

  “Yeah. Rumors are flying, huh?”

  She nods, eyes forced wide for effect. “Rampant. Kowabunga style. Was that really her on the YouTube video?”

  “You don’t watch much news, do you?”

  “Not broadcast, no. But Jared shared the YouTube link to everyone in our office distribution.”

  “Come with me.” I close the office door and sit down at my desk with a pen and my notepad.

  “Give me a rundown of all the rumors. The plan is to hold a company address later this afternoon. I might as well know what’s out there so I know what to cover.”

  My office line rings. It’s an internal extension and name I don’t recognize.

  Rhonda pops out to her desk to answer it. I follow her, and after speaking briefly, she covers the mouthpiece. “Ms. Bellusca wants you to come up to a PR meeting on the fifteenth floor.”

  “Sounds good. Remember, if anyone from the board calls, that’s priority. Call me. I have my cell.”

  The meeting with the PR team turns out to be more of a debriefing. They’ve been working all night on press releases and speaking instructions for client managers. They want me to review everything they’ve done, so I spend as much time listening to them as reading their work. Ms. Bellusca leads the team, and she’s cordial, but her body language tells me she’s unsure who I am and why she’s been instructed to involve me. Given I’m hardly the best choice for Interim CEO, I can’t say I blame her. I doubt the idea that she’s been instructed to involve me because of that soon-to-be-announced appointment has even crossed her mind. But we work together well.