by Kilby Blades
He smiled and shook his head. “If I’d had a choice I would have picked Vic as partner. However, I believe it may be time to reevaluate other members of the staff.” With one brow arched, his gaze pinned mine.
“Did you practice that look in the mirror, boss? ’Cause it needs work.”
“I’ve discovered storefront windows are most gratifying. The window dressers run in terror.”
Most people found Damien Granger intimidating, mostly due to the deliciously deep toned British accent, his large physical presence, and his keen intelligence. Having grown up in a rough area of Boston, I’d gotten over the whole alpha-boss thing in about ten minutes. The elderly lady who’d owned the neighborhood deli would have beaten Damien in a stare down without breaking a sweat.
Damien turned to leave, but I was having none of that. “There’s more. Victor drools on his desk when he sleeps. If you don’t want this particular pregnant woman to toss her cookies all over the expensive oriental carpet, someone else will have to clean it.”
“Try to aim for the trash can.”
I continued to glare. “Still waiting for my coffee.”
“Pregnant women aren’t supposed to drink coffee.”
“I have orders not to make my decaf until your lazy partner brews his special blend.”
“Purchase another pot for the office. I believe the club budget will sustain the expense.”
“Ha, ha.” Damien Granger had enough money to buy a small country. Not only was he half owner of The Gate Club and City Block Realty, but he also ran a fine art acquisitions business for high-end art collectors. None of that included the money and property he’d inherited or the successful investments he’d made along the way.
“Why not get one of those pod contraptions?”
My hands shot up, palms facing forward. “Please. I have my standards.”
“Knowing Marley as I do, I believe your standards could be called into question.” Damien, Victor, their friend Blake, and Marley attended private school together.
“Marley is no longer a concern.” I hadn’t seen him in six months and all my efforts to get information had fallen flat.
“No word from the Mindful Wanderer?”
“I’d rather not talk about him.” I handed Damien a stack of messages. “Have fun with the mayor. She’s as pissed as a snake in a pit full of elephants.”
“Thank you, Rachel. Your way with words always astounds me.”
I let my Boston accent out of its cage. “Ya might wanna think about droppin’ the snooty accent. Weren’t cha born here in Frisco?”
“I spent half my life in England.” He leaned closer. “And Cassandra enjoys it.” He winked.
I held up my hand. “TMI. Go clean up your partner’s drool so I can make my coffee.”
“I’m here, I’m here.” Victor stumbled into my office, which also served as the all-day break room for the three of us. His longish dark hair hung in his face, somehow still looking styled and rock star appropriate. “Why don’t you drink tea?” he grumbled, scratching his stubble.
“I do drink tea. Herbal tea. Just not in the morning.”
Victor yawned. He was very pretty. And tall, although not as broad across the shoulders as his best buddy. And he had a smile that could wet a dozen pairs of panties a minute. Just a guess.
“Herbal tea is not actually tea. It’s tisane,” Damien offered up.
“If it says tea on the box, it’s tea,” I argued.
“I suppose you think soy milk comes from the udder of the soy, a rare creature found ambling about the Pyrenees?”
“I don’t know how Cassie puts up with your arrogant ass.”
His grin was brilliant. “Neither do I, Ms. Abercrombie. Neither do I.” He grabbed up a stack of paper towels.
“What are you doing?”
“I believe I’m on drool duty, correct?”
He’d finally gotten me to smile, a game we’d played ever since Marley left for his stint in The World Organization for Peace and Tranquility, or TWOPT, a group similar to the Peace Corps. Kinda. “Well, get to it. Don’t want the saliva eating through his blotter. He loves spicy food.”
“Jeez. I slept on the couch. Is it gonna be one of those days?” He waved the coffee scoop in the air and the grounds sprayed onto the carpet.
“You can count on it,” Damien answered for me, shaking his head in Victor’s direction.
“Crap. Now I lost count.” Victor dumped the coffee back in the container and put the scoop on the counter. “You’ve become a freakin’ tyrant, Rach.” He curled his fingers into claws, made a funny face, then pulled the hand-held vacuum out of the cabinet and cleaned up his mess.
“You try being eight months pregnant!” I shouted over the noise.
“An impossibility, I’m afraid.” The two men smiled at each other.
“Oh, shut up. At least I don’t have dangly bits to deal with.”
Damien sighed, pretending to be hurt by my comment. “Our dangly bits should not be discussed in a workplace environment.”
“Just wait until Cassie and Sloan are pregnant. I’m gonna give them all kinds of tips for ways to torture you.”
They weren’t laughing now. Victor got busy making coffee.
“Perhaps a raise…” Damien began.
I laughed. “How about adding free day care to the club?”
“You’re one of ten female employees. Most of the others are past child bearing age.”
“I’ll speak to Sloane about it.” Victor’s wife was planning another protest to force the club owners—these two—to accept female members. Damien and Victor had been dragging their heels. “After all, she has Victor wrapped around her apron strings, right?”
“What? Did you tell her that?” Victor scowled at his friend.
“Pay no attention to the pregnant secretary.”
“You and Cassie are coming with Chinese tonight, right?” This had become a regular Thursday event since Marley left.
“Would we ever miss an evening with you, the future hellion, and food from Wat Foy?”
“I could eat a spring roll or two right now.” I’d been running late and had only managed a health bar.
“Coffee’s going. Wait, did you skip breakfast again? I’ll run to the cafe and get you a couple of bananas or a yogurt.” Victor turned toward the hallway.
My heart did a little flip. I had the best bosses in the world. Their wives had even thrown me a baby shower. “You bought me a case of yogurt from the big box store last week. I’m fine. Really. And thanks for letting me continue to work. Sitting around at home drives me nuts.”
I’d left out the word, alone.
When Marley had proposed and left on his adventure, my bosses and their wives had stepped in to help. Thursday was Chinese food night with Cassie and Damien. On Saturdays, Victor and Sloane arrived with a delicious meal from Sloane’s restaurant, even when they were going out together later that night. I was always invited to Sloane’s parents’ house for the Mangia Monday feast where the entire Gabrielli-Hanley clan, along with the Grangers, got together to eat the best home cooked Italian food west of the Rockies.
These food-eating orgies with friends were the highlights of my week. Not what I’d envisioned for my life before my move from Boston three years ago to the apartment in Mill Valley, but the succubus I carried around was grateful, and so was I.
“Strawberry or blueberry?” Victor had his head in the fridge, giving me a very nice view of the rest of him.
I wasn’t dead. Just missing my man. “One of each, please.”
As usual, my thoughts were drawn to a nameless village on the Amazon River. Marley and I had been together for more than two years, yet he’d given me one week’s notice after I’d accepted his proposal, explaining that he’d never had a chance to give something back to the world. To make a difference. To save a life. To teach a life-altering skill.
Marley was a successful grant writer who worked with not-for-profits. He was handy at fixing th
ings around the apartment, but how often did they need curtains hung in the Amazon jungle?
But Marley had a beautiful soul, a yin to my yang. From our first meeting at the club, we’d fit together like hot chocolate fudge and vanilla ice cream. I even understood why he’d wanted to go. He’d grown up wealthy, and unlike the rest of his family, believed he had a duty to the world that needed to be addressed before he could settle down. He’d signed on for two stretches of twelve weeks each in South America, all the while spouting on and on about how he adored me and wanted to marry and spend his life with me and no one else.
He’d sworn to keep in touch, but the only correspondence I’d received was on ragged scraps of paper stuffed inside dirty envelopes.
Marley didn’t know that I was pregnant. I’d suspected before he left, but I couldn’t ruin his dreams by sounding all needy and shit. Truth was, I’d been afraid. Afraid he’d still have gone, and that would have hurt so much worse.
Damien pushed my tissue box closer. “Without you here, we’d be wading through drool, knocking over stacks of papers to get into our offices, and losing track of our most important clients.” He waved around the messages I’d given him. “You have a job as long as you want it.”
“We’ll never accept your resignation, so don’t even think about it.” Victor presented me with a spoon, the two containers of yogurt on a plate and a mug of decaf next to it. “I made your coffee first. I’m usually half asleep when I write those stupid notes. Ignore them. You have all of us on speed dial, right?” Victor asked for the tenth time that week.
I wiped my eyes and nodded.
“If he’s anything like you, that tiny hellion is going to be something special,” Damien said.
“It’s a girl.” Victor grunted in derision. “Sloane is positive.”
“Cassie swears she’s carrying a boy.”
“Care to place some money on that?”
“Get out of my office!” I shook my spoon in the air and they scooted.
“Excuse me.”
Something was jabbing me repeatedly in the shoulder. “Wha... What?”
“You were snoring, Mr. Winchester. Passengers have complained.”
I blinked and turned toward the flight attendant, a guy who really rocked the uniform. I could never pull that off. “Sorry. I haven’t slept this well in six months.”
“You were working abroad?”
“That was the original idea.” I shrugged.
“Can I get you anything?”
“Coffee?”
“Of course.”
I checked my watch. I’d had a three hour layover in Miami and was four hours into my flight to Oakland. I stood and stretched, then settled into my seat again. In two hours, Rachel would be back in my arms. That is, if she heard my message. She hadn’t answered her cell when I’d called. Her voicemail had kicked in.
Rachel here. If you’re too lazy to leave a message, take a hike and don’t bother calling back.
I’d laughed, the sound of her voice a balm to my beat up spirit. I’d left a message and called right back, but still no answer.
In Oakland, I waited around at the airport for half an hour, but it was late and the U.S. Embassy had booked me a room for two nights. I decided to let her sleep and try again tomorrow. I tossed and turned in the enormous hotel bed. I was too used to sleeping on a blanket on a wooden floor.
TWOPT had assigned us a back country village named Casalando and our guide had delivered us exactly as planned. The villagers had greeted us with smiles, looking healthier than I’d imagined. The supplies had arrived on schedule, and we’d begun to build out a communal house, which would also serve as an activity center for the villagers.
When the house was almost finished, Orlando Cortez and his rebel crew had barged in shouting threats and waving guns in the air. They’d forced my group of carpenters to finish the building, surprising everyone by speaking in perfect English. My father had trained me to build from the first day I could hold a wrench, but that wasn’t the main reason the organization had sent us here. As well as providing medical care and decent housing, we’d arrived with two yoga instructors, two massage specialists, a meditation guru and a fitness trainer, TWOPT being of the mindset that villagers everywhere would benefit from the improvement of the spirit as well as the body.
By the time the three ready-to-assemble hot tubs had arrived, our group had figured out TWOPT was a world class scam. They were providing free labor to the highest bidder. Orlando and his crew had used previous TWOPT members to build a small town and now we were there to turn it into a private resort.
They forced us to fashion our own jail, a house with two rooms, four holes they’d called windows, and several buckets, some empty, some filled with water. In the morning they’d bring us a pot of rice and beans and two tortillas each while they barbecued meat in a nearby pit. After our meal, we’d head off to our various jobs and villagers would arrive to deal with the buckets. At night they’d leave a basket with bananas and mangos, sometimes including a bit of their leftover meat.
Our guards enjoyed regaling us with made up horror stories of what they would do to a TWOPT volunteer who didn’t cooperate. We realized early on we were lucky to have blankets, food, water and shelter from the heavy rains. We cooperated.
When our twenty-four weeks were up, TWOPT jeeps arrived to transport us to the airport. The Americans among us insisted on being taken to the U.S. Embassy, promising the driver he’d be paid well.
He was detained for questioning.
I forced the memories away and allowed the large hotel bed to finally work its magic around dawn. Unfortunately, I slept through the entire day, waking up at six in the evening. I tried to call Rachel again, but still no luck, so I showered, dressed in what the embassy had given me, grabbed my duffel bag and headed for our apartment. Rachel should be home from the Gate Club by now, but if not, I’d worn my apartment key on a chain around my neck the whole time I’d been gone.
It would be so great to be home.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Mom called me from Boston every day now. Driving me up the fucking wall.
Anxious maternal chatter.
“I do too exercise. I take a walk every day. The doctor told me my weight is normal.” Or in the ballpark. Maybe the bleachers.
Disparaging maternal chatter.
“That’s a really old Instagram picture.” At least a week or two. “Yeah, I know you only gained twenty pounds when you were pregnant with me and you ran on the beach. But you’re five foot one. If you’d gained forty-nine point seven pounds you would have tipped over and had to wait until the tide came in to right yourself. I’m close to six feet tall.”
Worried maternal chatter.
“Mom, really? The Marin County criminals are not targeting me because I can’t run fast. The criminals in this area steal packages off porches then try on the designer clothes in front of their gilt framed mirrors. I hope the guy who took my silk thongs is enjoying how they make his ass look.”
Maternal chatter I tuned out.
“Mmm-hmm. Uh-huh. Mmm-hmm. Uh huh. I am too listening.”
The doorbell dinged, the most wonderful sound in the world. My stomach had been growling for twenty minutes.
“No, Mom. Don’t. Oooh, hiii, Daaad.”
Concerned paternal chatter.
“No, I don’t need money. I have a great job. I don’t need a husband. No, I haven’t heard from the man who will not be named. I gotta go. The succubus is hungry. Love you both too.”
I ended the call and struggled to my feet as the doorbell rang a second time, my mouth already watering. I was gonna suck down those pot stickers like a porn star with a time limit. I unlocked the four locks Dad had insisted I install and flung open the door.
The sexiest, sleekest, most lick worthy man in the universe stared at the much larger version of me with his mouth hanging open. “Is it a gluten problem?”
It took me a few seconds for my mind to boot up. “Absofucking brill
iant greeting, Marley.” My knees wobbled. I rested a hand on the door frame.
“Baby, I didn’t mean…”
I held up a hand to shush him. “I am not your baby.”
“Didn’t you get my calls?”
“No.” I’d deleted a whole bunch of calls from unknown numbers.
“You don’t look happy to see me.” I continued to stare, trying to keep it neutral. This was not the time or place to go demonic. “I know you’re pissed off. Let me explain.”
My cheeks burned. I fisted my free hand. “Come back in another six months.”
“You can’t mean that.”
I’d hurt him with that comment and the hurt had bounced right back to hurt me. The woman who’d fallen in love with Marley wanted to throw her arms around him. Kiss him hard, Chain him to the bed. But he’d behaved like a douche and had to leave. Showing up like this without any warning made me feel vulnerable, and I’d worked extra hard during the last six months to stay strong.
“Will you let me in so we can talk?”
“No. I’m expecting my Chinese food any minute and…and…and the delivery guy’s the jealous type.”
“The jealous type?”
“We’re lovers. His skin smells like fried wontons. Mmmm.”
“What’s his name?”
Marley wasn’t budging. “Ambrose.”
His lips twitched. “Ambrose?”
“Just go. Now. Come back never.” I tried to close the door but he’d wedged his boot over the threshold.
“Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
“Unknown numbers are always telemarketers.”
“I left messages. You didn’t listen to them?”
“No! Go away.” My untrimmed nails bit into my palms. I was gonna rip him a new one if he didn’t leave.
But if he turned away, I’d fall apart.
“Give me a chance.”
Those fucking eyes.
A door down the hall started to open. “Get inside. Mrs. Norton in 5B has her nose up everyone’s ass. She’ll post a video on Facebook and my rep as a respectable member of society will be trashed.”
I tugged him into the entranceway as he grinned and dropped his bag. “When were you ever a respectable member of society?”
