by Cassie Cross
“I have mace, and there is surveillance on this property,” I say without even turning around. Both of these things are true, although what good they’ll do me? I have no idea. My heart his pounding, fear and adrenaline rushing through my veins. “So think long and hard about what you’re going to do before you do it.”
I can see what looks like a smile in the glass door pane.
“I’m not here to hurt you. But it is in your best interests to speak to me. And you’re going to do what I tell you.”
I figure maybe this is a reporter trying a new tactic to get me to talk to him, when I haven’t been willing to talk to anyone else.
“I don’t have any comments on my parents’ case. Nothing you say to me is going to change that.”
Then, another chilling thought comes over me. What if this isn’t someone who wants me to comment on the case, what if it’s someone they stole from? What if it’s someone here to collect on their debt? Yet again, in the span of two minutes, I’m left wondering what in the hell I was thinking turning down that security detail. It seemed like a ridiculous notion at the time, and I had wanted to seem independent and unaffected, but everything about that seems incredibly stupid now, faced with this crippling fear.
“Turn around,” he says with authority. “We’re standing in public, Marisa. I’m not going to hurt you here.”
Meaning…maybe he would hurt me if we were somewhere else. Can’t let myself think about that, though. It’s not going to get me through this confrontation.
I look to my left, and to my right, hoping that Ben had a change of heart, or just wanted to come back for another kiss, but sadly, there’s no sign of him. Or anyone else, for that matter. Great.
“What do you want?”
“I want you to do something for me.”
I let out an unladylike snort. “No.”
“Trust me,” he says, his voice low. “When you see this, you’ll do it.”
It’s dangerous and stupid, but my curiosity gets the better of me, and I turn around. I’m hit with a spark of familiarity from him, but he’s difficult to recognize under the baseball cap and sunglasses he’s wearing. But he’s definitely young - he can’t be much older than I am, and despite the disguise, he’s nicely dressed. He doesn’t look like an investigative reporter, so I’m not sure what he could possibly want. Nothing good, though, that’s for sure.
“What is it that you want from me?” I ask.
“Take a look,” he says, handing me a large, thick envelope.
Without giving it much thought, I gently take the envelope from him, almost painfully curious about what’s inside. I’ve never been served before, but I don’t think this is how it goes. This must be something else.
“You’ve been seeing Ben Williams again.”
The “again” strikes me as odd, but given the whole situation at the moment, I’m not going to call him out on that. I’m guessing he was the one in the car with the camera pointed at us when we left the diner? God, I wish I had the sense to take down the vehicle’s license plate number.
I suppose it doesn’t really matter that he knows.
“I haven’t been keeping that a secret.” There hasn’t been much of a secret to keep, and we haven’t even seen that much of each other, really. Unless this man has been watching my home.
“I want something from him, and you’re going to get it for me.”
I laugh at his gall. “No, I’m not.”
“Open that envelope.” He nods at my hands.
I do as he says, out of nothing more than panicked curiosity. My fingers tremble as I pull up the prongs keeping it fastened, then I look inside and see the edges of what has to be photo paper. Shit. A feeling of dread washes over me as I reach inside and pull them out.
Tears spring to my eyes when I see what is on them. Picture after picture that I’m having difficulty even holding onto; all the strength in my body drains a little more with every snapshot I look at. It’s a violation. It’s disgusting, and illegal, and…
“How did you even get these?” I ask, voice trembling.
Picture after picture of my sister, naked and having sex with some man whose face I can’t even make out. Was he in on this? My stomach rolls as I put the pictures back in the envelope. I’ve seen enough.
“Bodyguards can’t protect her from a telephoto lens, Marisa.”
“You son of a bitch,” I say. I consider slapping him, but my arms won’t move. I’m just…frozen.
He gives me this evil grin, like he can read my mind. “You don’t want to mess with the person who has a digital file of those pictures.”
“What are you going to do with them?” I try to keep my voice steady, because I don’t want this man to know how scared I am, but I fail spectacularly.
He shrugs. “That depends on what you’re willing to do for me.”
“Who are you?”
“That’s not really any of your concern,” he says with a laugh. “It’s definitely not relevant to this transaction.”
“What’s the transaction?” I ask, desperation coloring my voice. “Do you want money?” This asshole can have every last cent in my bank account if he agrees not to release these pictures.
“No,” he says, long and drawn out. “All the money in the world couldn’t get you out of this. I want something that money can’t buy. Not yet, at least.”
“What is it?” I ask, rapidly losing my patience.
“Your boyfriend Mister Williams is developing a software that I am incredibly interested in. So interested, in fact, that I’m going to release these pictures of your sister to every website, every tabloid, if you don’t get it for me.”
I don’t think this man even knows what he’s asking. I don’t know the first thing about computers, and I know for a fact that I couldn’t get into Ben’s computer to get this software even if I did. And it’s not like I can just ask him for it.
“How am I supposed to do that?”
He shrugs. “That’s not my concern. I’ve left a thumb drive and a card with my information on it in that folder. You have a week, Miss Blake.”
With that, he has the nerve to tip his hat at me. “Oh,” he says, like he’s remembered something important. “I’ll be watching you, so…watch yourself.” Then he turns and walks away.
Belatedly, I realize that I should’ve followed him, but I’m too stunned and scared to move. Eventually, and with great effort, I manage to get my door unlocked. I make it just inside, bolt the lock, then lean against the wall, and slide down to the floor, the pictures in my hands. I want to destroy them, to watch them burn, but I don’t. Maybe there’s something inside that could help me figure out who this man is, and who took these pictures.
I find the thumb drive, and pull out the business card, which contains only a phone number. On the back is the project name of the program he wants me to steal. RV-7.
I want to throw up.
What should I do? This man has obviously been watching me. Will he know if I tell Ben what happened? Do I dare risk it? How could I betray Ben after being angry at him all these years for the way that he treated me? At least I wasn’t blind to his behavior, I got what I was expecting. This? He would never expect that kind of betrayal from me. It would devastate him.
What’s worse is that these pictures being released would devastate my sister. I don’t want her to endure that, especially after everything she’s gone through. If I make one wrong move, that man could release these pictures all over the internet with the simple push of a button.
I’m too scared to ask anyone for help, and I’m too scared to sleep.
I have no idea what I’m going to do.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The next evening, Ben and I are sitting together on a bench in a quiet, empty section of Central Park watching as the sun turns the sky a fiery orange and pink.
I’ve been keeping an anxious eye out for any movement around the park. I’m trying not to look paranoid, but when someone tells you that they�
��ve been watching you, it’s kinda difficult not to be paranoid. Did he have surveillance around my house? Had he been listening to my conversations? I didn’t know what or where was safe, and I was afraid to test the limits to find out. Maybe he didn’t have any surveillance on me, and was trying to rattle me by throwing that out there.
Well…it worked.
So, I’m doing my best to enjoy the evening, without worrying too much about what happened yesterday. I’m failing miserably.
There’s a picnic basket on the ground in front of the bench that Ben and I are sitting on. Earlier, the basket was filled with some food from my favorite gourmet shop. But now, our bellies are full, and we’re drinking some fabulous wine. Ben’s arm is around me, and his fingertips are lightly tracing circles on my upper arm.
I rest my head against his shoulder and cuddle into his side, enjoying the comfortable silence that the two of us have always been able to share.
We’re both watching the runners that pass through every few minutes, the people walking their dogs, a family pushing their toddler in a stroller along the winding trails. The wind is blowing, cool, but not cold.
It’s perfect.
Well, it would be perfect if someone hadn’t blackmailed me into stealing from Ben in order to prevent pictures of my sister having sex being leaked to the world. I stayed awake all night trying to figure out what my next move would be, but I think I’m doing an excellent job of hiding that.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I’m actually startled when Ben speaks.
“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”
I raise my head. “What?”
He gives me a look that lets me know that playing this off and pretending like something isn’t wrong isn’t going to work with him.
“I know you’ve got something on your mind. Are you going to tell me what it is?”
For the thousandth time since that man showed up on my front step yesterday, I wonder if I can just tell Ben. That’s one of the nagging thoughts that kept me awake all last night. I know he’d try to help me. Hell, maybe he’d just give me the program outright. Okay, so…yeah, as a business woman myself, I know that’s a pipe dream, but with this new version of Ben, I’m not sure that option is completely off the table.
I need to figure this out, and fast. I shouldn’t even be here on this date right now, but I was worried that cancelling would tip Ben off that something was wrong, and this is one part of my life that has been going well lately. I didn’t want to mess that up.
I can’t steal from him. I can’t.
Yet, I also can’t let Corinne suffer if I make a wrong move.
“Marisa?”
His hand slides into mine, and our fingers twine together.
“If you don’t want to tell me…if it’s a trust thing, then I get it. I just want to be here for you.”
“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” I say quickly. That is absolutely the truth. I know I can trust him with this, I’m just worried about what will happen if the man who’s watching me finds out that I told Ben what’s going on. The cautious part of me wants to keep this wrapped up tight until I absolutely have to say something. “It’s just that I’m not ready to talk about it right now.”
“Is your business in trouble?” he asks, unable to let it go.
I shake my head.
“It’s…it’s not about your parents is it?” His voice is tentative.
I give him a sad smile. “No, that’s not it.”
“It isn’t anything I can help you with?”
I shake my head again. “No, I don’t think so.”
He lets out a deep breath, looking a little helpless. I can tell that he wants to ask me more questions, but he knows me well enough to know that if I haven’t answered him by now, I’m not going to answer him. I appreciate him noticing and caring, but I’m not sure what my next move should be right now. I’ve got a lot of experience with pretending like something terrible isn’t bothering me (thanks, Mom and Dad!), so I need to put on my everything-is-right-with-the-world face already.
To distract Ben from his line of questioning, and to distract myself from my increasingly panicked and depressing thoughts, I lean in and give Ben a kiss.
“Mmm,” he hums against my lips. “What was that for?”
Even with everything going on, I figure this is as good a time as any to start rewarding Ben for being a good boyfriend, if…well, if that’s what he is.
“It’s for noticing. For asking.”
The corner of his mouth quirks up into an adorable smile, and I just have to kiss that, too.
“I’m going to have to notice and ask more often.”
“That’s generally advisable, even if you don’t get kisses as a reward,” I say lightly, even though there’s an undercurrent of truth to the sentiment.
Ben re-corks the wine bottle, and puts it back in the picnic basket.
“This was a really good idea,” I tell him.
“It was yours,” he says, looking back at me with happy eyes.
“It was?” I ask, surprised. I don’t remember ever having an idea like this. I love this park, sure, but it’s more of a favorite of Ben’s, and I know I haven’t mentioned anything like this recently, at least.
“Yes,” he says, settling back against the bench, and wrapping his arm around me again. “It was the night after we had that big fight down on Broadway, remember?” He smiles a little, kind of wistful. “It was one of the few arguments we had that wasn’t…”
He trails off, and I’m curious about what he was going to say. I need him to finish that sentence. “One of the few arguments that wasn’t what?”
“Nothing,” he says. “That part isn’t important.”
“Okay. What’s the important part?”
“We got tickets to that play you wanted to wanted to see, and-”
I take a deep breath and nod, because I remember exactly what he’s talking about now. He was on his phone all night, just generally making sure that I knew that he didn’t want to be there.
“I remember.”
I left the theater in a huff at intermission, and he and I had argued about it loudly on the sidewalk, and drew some unwanted attention to ourselves. A couple of people had snapped pictures, and Ben’s parents weren’t very happy with us. Mine didn’t really seem to care, probably because they were up to no good themselves.
“That wasn’t a good night,” I say, letting him off the hook for the rest of the story.
Ben swallows so hard that I can see his Adam’s apple bobbing underneath the collar of his shirt.
“After we made up, we went back to my apartment, remember?”
I do remember the making up…that was a good night. “Yeah.”
“We made love for hours, and after, we just talked. You promised that you’d never make me go to the theater again, and we talked about what our idea of a perfect date was. You said you thought it would be romantic to have a picnic in the park.”
I smile, remembering that night. “Even youthful me was into the wooing.”
Ben looks over at me with a hint of regret in his eyes. “And back then I couldn’t be bothered to woo you. I want to make sure I do things right this time.”
“You’re doing them right,” I assure him. Now, the person who’s doing things wrong is me. The fact that I’m even considering doing what that man asked me to do is terrible on so many levels. I decided to trust Ben again after he betrayed me so many times, and here I am, enjoying a romantic picnic that he made for me, kissing him, wanting more, all the while secretly planning on doing something that will completely break his trust in me.
I don’t want to think about that, though. I’ll think about it later, when I’m home by myself, guilt-ridden about being such a shitty person, and worrying about what I’m going to do next.
Ben stands up, swipes some crumbs off of his pants, and holds his hand out to me.
A slow smile stretches my lips, and for a blissful second, I
actually forget about what had me so worried in the first place. “What are you doing?”
“Dance with me.”
“What?” I ask, with an amused laugh.
“Dance with me, Marisa.” His voice is low and gravely, but his eyes are open and earnest. So, I can’t help but do as he asks. I take his hand, and let him pull me up until my body is flush against his. His arms slide around my back, one hand venturing a little too low to be decent. I wrap my arms around his neck and rest my head against his chest, breathing in the clean, manly, Ben smell of him.
“We don’t have any music,” I whisper. My fingers stroke up the back of his neck, where they play with the hairs at the nape.
His fingers run a light circuit up and down my spine. He turns his head, his whiskers brushing my cheek, then he presses his lips against the shell of my ear.
“We don’t need any music,” he says, his warm breath making me shiver.
We start moving together in time to an imaginary beat, and I let myself melt into the warmth of Ben’s embrace.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“What do you think about this one?” Felicity asks, as she straightens out the skirt on a tall, blonde model standing in front of us. She’s lanky and gorgeous, the perfect fit for the new fall line that an up-and-coming designer signed on with me to debut on my website.
I’d hired Felicity on again as a last-minute thing after my last conversation with Corinne. She was right about Felicity: she was responsible for styling one of the top-rated shoots on my site, and I figured that it would be foolish not to use her for something like this, especially since the reception of her work was so good last time.
It was a no-brainer for me, and for the designer.
Now that she’s showing me the concept for the next sequence of photos, I’m not so sure.
“I like it, but I think we should do away with the wool dress in the next sequence, if we’re going with this here. Maybe put those printed pants on the taller model?”
Felicity steps back and gives the scene a thoughtful look, pursing her lips as she ponders my suggestion. “I like the aesthetic the way it is, and I think that keeping the dress in gives a better mix of styles, don’t you think? That way they’re not all in pants. Plus, the print on the dress works better with the background, in my opinion.”
