The Experiment

by Holly Hart

  Can’t decide if I’d want him loud or restrained, riding it out stoically or groaning with every twitch of my hips. His voice is like silk, soft and deep, with just the right note of authority. A boardroom-to-bedroom voice. I bite my own lip at the thought of him ordering me to my knees. He wouldn’t even raise his voice, just...just...drop it an octave, thick with lust, and I’d turn to jelly at his feet.

  He had to be dressed that way, waiting for the elevator. I’ve always had a weakness for men in suits—the clean lines, the sharp edges. The tie.... He might as well have showed up in gift wrap. If he knew how bad I wanted to grab him by the lapels and pull him in—hit the emergency stop and make him forget that bruise blackening his cheek....

  Shouldn’t do this. Shouldn’t even think it. My hand drifts lower, loosening buttons one after another.

  Can’t keep myself from picturing it: Brandon towering over me, shirt rumpled, eyes narrowed, hair in disarray. He’d act offended, at first. Push me against the wall. Demand an explanation, even as he tears at my shirt, reducing it to tatters. I’d hiss some reply, something desperate and hungry, barely even words. Push him to his knees and grind myself to climax on his tongue, right there where anyone could catch us....

  I’m actually panting, head rattling against the door. Not sure when my hand found its way under my skirt, but I’m close already. It’s been so long, so long since I’ve been touched, and what I wouldn’t give for a big, strong hand over mine, guiding my pleasure and holding me in place—a hard body pinning me to the floor; a thick cock making me squirm. What I wouldn’t do....

  My hips buck and I inhale sharply, biting my lip on a cry that would definitely carry into the hall. I clap my free hand over my mouth, toes slowly uncurling as I ride out the aftershocks. I’m boneless all over, warm and sated. Wishing he could spoon me through the glow. Through the entire night.

  I pick myself up off the floor, embarrassed. One hug, and I’m ready to spread my legs. For all I know, he’s married. Guys that good-looking don’t stay single long. And even if he’s not, my life won’t be worth living if Wayne finds me with the man who kicked his ass.

  I wander into the kitchenette and start the coffee machine. The TV’s already on, cycling through the news: a rash of home invasions along Riverside Drive; a goat that snuck into a strip club; some plane that plowed into a cattle ranch. I snort at the footage of three confused bossies nosing around the skeleton of a plane.

  “The Cessna Citation X+, owned by Shaw Multimedia, lost both hydraulic systems shortly after takeoff, according to a mayday call by pilot Russell Schmidt. Fifteen minutes later, a motorist captured the doomed flight’s final moments.”

  I spend way too much time on these tiny commuter jets to be watching this, but I can’t look away. I watch, fascinated, as the Cessna comes in for what looks like it’s going to be a bumpy landing, only to bank sharply to one side. It does a sickening barrel roll, wobbles like it might right itself, and tilts into a spiral. One wing clips the dirt, and the fuselage flies apart. I look away as it vanishes in a cloud of dust and flames.

  My coffee’s ready, anyway. The anchor’s still droning on, but I don’t care about Shaw Multimedia, or how much they paid for their flying coffin. And I don’t want to know how many were on board.

  By the time I’m tucked up in bed, there’s an infomercial playing. I watch distractedly. It’s pathetic, but I kind of want what they’re selling: a weighted, heated blanket that’s supposed to feel like a warm hug. I actually reach for my phone, but my house is currently earning its keep as an AirBnB. I’d need to have it sent to Wayne’s office. He’d open it, and the ribbing would never end.

  I fall asleep clutching a pillow to my chest.

  Chapter Eight

  Brandon

  “You probably shouldn’t watch the news.”

  I’m inclined to agree. Caught a glimpse this morning, flipping between channels, and almost choked on my toast. That sparking hunk of metal flying into the desert, turning end over end—that was me. My seat must’ve ripped loose on impact. If it hadn’t—

  “You still there?”

  “Yeah. Sorry—just... I saw it already. The video.”

  Neil makes a tutting sound. “Don’t think about it. You’re okay. That’s all that matters.” He goes quiet for a moment. “What’d you do, roll yourself in bubble wrap? I mean, how are you alive? Watching that plane fly apart... Whit, if you told me a cockroach walked out in one piece, I wouldn’t believe you.”

  I gulp water to rid my mouth of a sudden sourness. Those last moments are a blur: noise and movement, glass on my neck. Andy cussing me out. The sun and the moon in the same sky—too much sky. The last thing I’d ever see—I remember thinking that. Not during the crash, but after. In a dream, or a memory.

  “Anyway.” I swallow again. My throat still hurts, probably from the smoke. “What’ve you got for me?”

  “Not a lot, so far.” Neil sighs. “Everything’s ticking along pretty good, which, I mean—that’s what you want to hear, right?—but it makes my job harder, from a troubleshooting point of view.” His chair squeaks as he leans back. I know that squeak. He’s at my desk. “No malware on your computer. No bugs around your office.”

  “Enjoying my squeaky chair?”

  He laughs. “One star. Would not buy again.” He jiggles around to make it squeal. “Honestly, everything’s depressingly normal. Except...nah. It’s probably nothing.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  “Well, Anderson and Miller—they’ve been meeting the department heads.”

  Okay...? “So, doing their jobs?”

  “Yeah, but listen—I went over the minutes, and they’re sparse as hell.” I hear rustling in the background. “Take this one: Boland acquisition wrapup—hires and layoffs; blah, blah, blah. File system update. They spent an hour going over a merger from last year and how to use Dropbox?”

  “You’re thinking a coup? On the floor, during business hours?”

  “How better to avoid suspicion?”

  I massage my forehead, scrolling through the files. Yep: those were some boring-ass meetings. “Send me the rest of them.”

  “Sorry—the rest of what?”

  “The rest of those minutes. Six—no, eight months of them. I need to compare.”

  “Oh. Sure thing.” My chair squeaks again: Neil’s on the move. I close my eyes, feeling my motivation drain away. Neil’s going on about the accident, how my office was full of flowers by morning. Gardenias, because I wore one in my lapel that one time. I don’t want to think about it. An office full of flowers: that would’ve been my memorial? A vision flashes before my eyes, sharp as reality: my replacement on a conference call, glancing at the custodian just long enough to gesture at a drift of brown petals under the sideboard. Remembered, replaced, and vacuumed off the floor.

  I interrupt him. “Tell everyone... Let ‘em know it’s business as usual. Everything running on time. And if there’s anything needing my immediate attention—”

  “Of course. I’ll let you know.”

  “And whoever’s investigating—the NTSB, I guess—”

  “I’ll send them your way.”

  I hang up, more unsettled than I want to admit. The idea of business ticking along without me—it should be a testament to the strength of what I’ve built. Instead, I feel...superfluous. Like someone could step into my shoes like I stepped into my father’s, and in a few weeks, a few days....

  A pigeon flumps down on the railing, puffing out its chest. I swivel away to avoid its birdy disapproval, and it flutters to the next window.

  “I’m going,” I tell it. It fluffs its wings at me.

  There’s a short-circuiting bulb in the hallway. I’m standing under it, debating whether to reach up and tap the fixture, when Lily pops out of her room. “Oh, hey!” She looks me up and down. “Bit overdressed for Sunday breakfast, aren’t you?”

  Suppose I am. I pluck at my sleeve. “This is borrowed. My real clothes were
in the car.”

  “Oh... That makes more sense.”

  “More sense than what?”

  “Well, I mean, you’re an engineer, right? I know engineers. My uncle’s one. They dress like Office Depot managers.” She falls into step beside me.

  “Actually, I’m....” This is where I come clean. I’m Brandon Shaw. I’m in advertising. I guess you could say I lie for a living, but let me be honest with you. “I’m in town for a conference. Dressing it up some.” I shut my mouth to staunch the flow of bullshit. It’s a little horrifying, how easy it comes.

  “Wow. You must be, like, the keynote speaker, or something.”

  “I—”

  “Crap!” She grabs me by the arm and tugs me into the stairwell. I trip and stub my wounded toe, but something in the way she’s looking at me keeps me from yelling out.

  “Whoa! What...?”

  “Ssh—ssh!” She backs me into the corner, huddling so close I can feel her hair on my neck. It’d be hot, if she wasn’t vibrating with tension in my arms. She turns to peer through the window. Moments later, Wayne strides by, headed for the elevator. He’s whistling.

  “Don’t think he saw us.”

  Lily takes an unsteady breath, stepping back. “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to manhandle you.”

  “You’re really scared of him.”

  “No.” She draws herself up, hands tightening into fists. Everything about her screams fight-or-flight, from the way she keeps glancing over her shoulder to the forward tilt of her body, poised on the balls of her feet. One loud noise, and she’d take off running. “We should get out of here.”

  “Where are we going?”

  A faint flush colors her cheeks. “Sorry—I didn’t mean together. Unless you want to grab hands and run out of here like a couple of kids cutting class?”

  That almost sounds like a challenge. On impulse, I snatch up her hand, flattening myself to the wall. “All right, but stick close. They’ve got eyes everywhere.”

  Lily shuffles back, suspicious. “Who?”

  “Rogue CIA agents, here to go through our contacts. Read our e-mails. Raid our porn folders.”

  “Get us high on LSD?” She’s smiling. Actually getting into it.

  “Exactly.”

  We creep down the stairs like spies, hugging the wall. I spin her around at the landing, reeling her in before she can stumble into the railing. My knees pop and protest, but it’s worth it for her delighted laugh.

  “They’ll never take us alive.” I make a show of helping her down the stairs, walking backwards, both her hands in mine. “We’ll live under bridges. Eat fish we catch with our bare hands. Huddle close, when it gets to be winter.”

  “Tell ghost stories around garbage fires.”

  “Roast baked beans and pretend they’re marshmallows.”

  “Build a shelter from milk crates and egg cartons.”

  “And one day—one beautiful day, when we’ve saved enough sidewalk pennies—we’ll take the bus all the way south, across the border, and reinvent ourselves as beach bums.” I hold out my arms and she jumps down. I catch her neatly and set her on her feet, lowering my head so she can’t see me flinch. “I’ll build you a cabin on the beach. With windows on every side, so the ocean breeze kisses you awake. And a porch where we can hang seashell bracelets.”

  “Seashell bracelets?”

  “To sell to tourists. Necklaces, too.”

  “We’ll be rich!”

  I take the lead at the ground floor, cracking open the door. Wayne’s in the lobby, bugging the desk clerk. That’s a bad scene waiting to happen. I let go of the handle. “Too late! It’s a Men In Black convention out there. Ray Bans and curly ear things as far as the eye can see!”

  “What do we do?”

  “To the fire door!” I take her hand again, leading her into the bright morning sun. We race around the side of the building and across the grounds, keeping to the trees. I’m ready to collapse by the time we reach the water’s edge, but I fling myself flat in the grass like it’s all part of the game. “Think we’re safe!”

  Lily kneels beside me, one hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”

  I nod, not trusting myself to open my mouth without getting sick.

  “That was nice of you. Pretending it wasn’t Wayne in the lobby.” She leans back on her elbows, watching the river go by. “We should rent a boat later.”

  A slow warmth spreads in my chest, as I realize she just offered to spend the day with me—or the afternoon, at least. I’d been bracing myself for the inevitable excuse, the gentle take care of yourself, but this is promising. With my voice still strangled in a ball of nausea, I squeeze her hand to let her know I’m in.

  Chapter Nine

  Lily

  It’s peaceful on the lake. There are turtles and ducks, and some great black-winged monstrosities Brandon swears are cormorants. We stopped paddling a while ago, and the current’s toying with us, edging us farther from shore. Brandon’s leaned up on the side of the boat, sunlogged and sleepy.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  He opens his eyes, squinting against the sun. “My last summer break after college.” A distant smile touches his lips. “Good times.” The noonday light’s dancing on his hair, picking out rich mahogany tones. I blink, banishing the fantasy of burying my fingers in it.

  “Sounds nice.”

  “Come sit over here.” Brandon reaches for me. I pick my way to his end of the boat, grabbing his hand for balance. He guides me to his side and tucks me in tight. The weight of his arm settling over my shoulders feels familiar already, like something that’s always been mine. I squirm a little closer, resting my head on his chest.

  I should know something about him. More than a first name and a profession that might be made up. “You’re from Toronto, right?”

  “Vancouver.”

  “Nice. Saw a seal there, one time, just off Stamps Landing. It was chasing one of those rainbow boats.”

  “Lucky. All I ever see are clams and seagulls.” He’s tracing idle shapes on my shoulder, hearts and smiley faces. Not sure he even knows he’s doing it.

  “What’s your last name?”

  “It’s, uh...Lee.”

  I choke on a laugh. “What—seriously? Brandon Lee? Like the actor?”

  “What were my parents thinking, right?”

  “At least you don’t look like him.”

  “So, what—I’m ugly?”

  “Hideous.” I poke him in the side to show I’m joking.

  “What about you? You’re staying in a hotel, so you can’t be from here... But you’ve got the accent. I’m guessing Houston? Dallas?”

  “Carbon.” I tilt my head to catch the expected blank look. “Northwest of here. It’s a wide patch in the road—church and a trailer park; ugly little prefab bungalows. Think they might have a KFC now.”

  He hums like he’s picturing that. Next thing I know, his lips brush the top of my head. “I like your hair. The blonde part, I mean. What’s your boss got against it?”

  Somehow, even Wayne sneaking into the conversation can’t ruin the mood. I stretch my legs, enjoying the warmth at my back. “Oh, I’ve got a whole character I play—picture the devil, if she was five foot four, and a woman. Crazy makeup, nine-inch nails...big black wings. You’d never recognize me.”

  He shakes with laughter, warm breath stirring my hair. “All that at the rodeo?”

  Shit. Got a little too comfortable, there. “I mean, I take most of it off before I mount up.”

  “Guess you’d have to.” Brandon’s kind of petting me, smoothing down my hair, stroking my arms. “Can’t quite picture you as the devil, though. Not saying you couldn’t rule hell, if you wanted, but I’d say you’re more of a warrior goddess.”

  “Me?” He’s got to be joking.

  “You don’t back down from a challenge. You don’t get hung up on appearances. You ate messy tacos with me. Played CIA like that’s something people do. And you’ve got to b
e brave to hop on an angry bull. I wouldn’t do that.”

  Neither would I. I close my eyes and tip my head back, hoping he’ll kiss me somewhere else. Somewhere that’ll trap the lies inside. Pretending to be someone I’m not isn’t as fun as I thought it would be.

  “You know what I was thinking earlier?” he says instead.

  “About college?”

  “Yeah.” He does kiss me, then, soft and lingering. “There was this song, that summer, right after I graduated—it was everywhere. Sentimental as hell, but in a good way. Rip your heart out, kind of thing. Couldn’t turn on the radio without hearing it.”

  “I like a good ballad.”

  He nods, stubble rough on my cheek. “This one was about high school sweethearts—this girl and her boyfriend, last day of school. They’re lying on the hood of his car like they’ve done a million times before, watching the clouds go by.”

  My breath catches in my throat. Brightsky—he’s talking about Brightsky. My first big hit, and he doesn’t even know it.

  “He’s thinking about their future together, how it’s all going to play out: marriage, kids, rocking chairs on the porch at the end of it all. She’s thinking about this job she’s got on a cruise ship, how she’s sailing off first thing. So she’s holding his hand, never wanting the day to end, while he can’t wait for tomorrow.”

  “Think I might’ve heard that one....”

  “You’d have been, what, fourteen, when it came out?”

  “Seventeen.”

  A breeze picks up off the water, and he pulls me closer. “Anyway, it was like that for me, only in reverse. I had this girlfriend, a year behind me in school. She was staying at U of T—I was headed home, to work for my dad. We had one last summer together, eight weeks, and that was that. Neither of us wanted long distance, but... I think she thought I’d change my mind.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “Couldn’t.” He lets out a long breath. “Dad was getting older. Starting to fade. Didn’t feel right, being away. And there’s always something about home....”