by Liz K. Lorde
"Anything else you needed to discuss?" Honestly the attraction that I felt for him, as enticing as it was, kind of scared me. "I'm in the middle of something right now." Relationships were something that I couldn't do. That was taken from me.
"There is, actually. What are you in the middle of?" Right now? Battling the intoxicating sound of your voice.
"Reading," was all I could manage, heat spreading down my throat.
"Highly descriptive," his tongue dripped of sarcasm. "You make trading stock and approving shipping regulations sound like I'm doing nothing at all."
"You know just because you're charming doesn't mean you get to be an asshole. I didn't see a single bookshelf in that mansion of yours."
Michael rumbled an amused laugh from his chest. "I do read."
"You've probably never been to a library in your life." I sat up in my bed, and JB lazily loped over to my side, as if trying to listen on our conversation. "Name one book you've read," I challenged, approaching a state of genuine curiosity, barely noticing the smile on my face.
"I don't play those kinds of games," he grumbled, "besides, I'd rather be reading you." His words came out in a warm, dark seduction, like he flipped some switch.
Fire gathered in my belly, spilled lower and lower in the span of awestruck seconds. "You're a man used to getting what he wants, Mr. Smoak."
"Jane," he started, "spare me the formality. If anyone knew that I was talking with someone tasked with sabotaging my company--"
"So why are you then?" That lustful heat turned to anger and hurt. It felt condescending.
"Because I can't stop thinking about you," he said it like this was something he couldn't even fathom.
"You mean your dick."
"Tell me you haven't been thinking about me," he was authoritative now, and all the more pulling. "That night, this morning, it was powerful, Jane. I've fucked more than any man should, but your beauty pricked me and I'm here right now, bleeding. If you say there's no attraction, I'll hang up," he said it like a sworn oath. "But I want to hear you say it, Jane."
Now the words really wouldn't come. My head was fuzzy and it felt like the room was threatening to spin. My mouth opened and breathing felt impossible, as though each inhale might send needles through me. Christ almighty, is this for real? Is this what it feels like to be sought?
"Jane," his rough, royal voice said my name like a prophet on his knees, waiting desperate for an answer.
"I--" hot water was starting to fill my eyes. The last and only meaningful relationship I've ever had was back in college. There was no way in hell I could do this. "I need to go, Michael. I'm sorry."
"No," he commanded, "I can hear how badly you want to say yes. Don't deprive yourself of this. You're painfully beautiful and I want you. I'm not afraid to admit that, so why are you?" There was a pause. "Don't push me aside. Or do," he corrected with renewed resolve, "I've had to rise to every challenge in my life. You'll just be my Everest."
"Is that what I am, Michael?" I had a feeling that I was misinterpreting his language, but the dark and staggering waves of emotion crashed against me. This was a powerful, powerful man. One that, as he put it, has fucked more women than any man should. Why wouldn't I just be another notch on his post?
"No, no. That's not what I mean, just-- Jane would you answer me? I won't ask again," he warned, "there isn't a bone in my body that begs." Except for the one between your legs.
"Find one," I said, "or at least one that lets you be humble. I'm going to leave early-- I can't do this with you. I can't even think right now." I tapped my phone and ended the call, pulling in a deep breath. There wasn't any plans to go out, but I felt like I needed to make some sort of excuse. What I felt, what I was feeling? It wasn't normal for me. It was intense and gripping and seven shades of frightening.
***
Having decided that I didn't want to be alone tonight, I'd invited Bethany and Sayla over for a nightcap. JB was laying at the foot of my bed when his left ear went up; his head followed soon after and then there was a knock.
"Jainyy!" Sayla was always coming up with nicknames. This one seemed to stick the most. "Open up before I find a little captain in me." I could tell from her voice that she wasn't the one who drove here. She had a problem that was an open secret, but with everything going on in here life I certainly wasn't one to judge.
"If you break my door down," I warned, just as me and JB sprang out from the bed.
Bethany gave that high-pitched chuckle I'd always known her for. "I've got her restrained, chickadee."
"You better," I called back, peering through the eye-hole in my door out of habit before unlocking the chain.
Sayla excitedly broke free from Bethany. She had a fifth of partially drank Morgan's spiced rum in her hand. With a big dumb smile on Sayla's face, she wrapped a single arm around the back of my neck and shoulder, shaking and squeezing me aggressively. "You're lookin' flustered," she announced, kissing the crown of my head quickly before breaking off and hugging JB, calling out his name with much of the same excitement. Good to see you too, Sayla.
Bethany shut the door behind her, giving me a quick 'hey' and her usual timid, but affectionate, hug.
I happily returned the hug, "Thanks for coming, Beth."
"Any time, you know that. Besides Sayla wouldn't stop bugging me after work anyway. Misery loves company and all that."
Sayla, still hugging my dog - who looked like he was trying to escape the human Alcatraz - turned her head to look back at us. "Ears," she said, "I have them, okay?"
We giggled at that, and spent the next hour gathered around my straight-from-the-pawnshop TV watching Burn Notice. During the commercials, Beth would sneak away to do any dishes that had collected in the sink, prompting Sayla to wax on and on about how drinking was for fun, and work was for work. We listened to this for quite some time while simultaneously competing for best tag-team dishwashers in North America. That was something that Sayla was extremely good at. Usually. Compartmentalizing her life, dividing her focus into neat segments. Most of the time I was envious of her talent in reporting - she never struggled to read her lines or come up with something on the fly.
We each took a swig of Sayla's passed around bottle, the sting and warmth coating both mouth and throat, settling down deep in my belly, making my blood turn thick with that familiar fire. Beth took another swig and she wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand, passing the liquor to Sayla. Beth gave a drunk, amused laugh. "What's going on with Frank?" She poised the question to Sayla innocently enough, but we all knew it was a sore subject.
Still, in all of her drunken energy, Sayla happily obliged in talking about the one thing she never did. The men that she screwed. "Ah, fuck you know, I'm thinking he's deep inside one of his skanks as we speak." The two were never good for each other, even from day one. Bar and club hook-ups were what she was good at. She tilted her chin upwards, a smirk on her burgundy lips, "but I'd rather be hanging with my girls anyway. Waste enough energy--" she punctuated her sentence with a hiccup, "chasing off his floozies anyway."
"You should dump him already. Good men are out there, you know," Beth said with a remarkably straight face. We all then shared a knowing look and shared a deep, connecting laugh. If good men existed, we were looking in all the wrong places.
JB huffed out air from his black and wet nose, looking between us. Looking, that was something I wasn't used to. I also wasn't used to hearing a rich and powerful man like Michael try and seduce me. I hated to admit it, the attraction that my body felt for him. Hated that it felt impossible to act on it because of my past.
"Jane?" Bethany flicked at her phone, her eyes looking at me. "You okay?"
I grabbed the bottle from Sayla as she ambled to her feet. "For sure, for sure," I repeated. Great, you're not going to the Oscars this year.
Sayla walked over to the bulky, black and old boom-box that was resting on the top of my modest bookshelf. She threw her head back over her shoulder, her long
auburn flowing with her. Her next words were sing-song. "Liar, liar."
Beth rolled her eyes casually while Sayla fiddled with the stereo. "And my therapist tells me that I should open up more," Beth reflected.
That sparked something in me. "Have you ever had someone take over your therapist's clients before?" I narrowed my eyes, letting my head dip towards the left, loving the hell out of being mildly relaxed for once. "I mean, like, temporarily."
Beth chortled. "Well. No, why? You're not seeing uhm--" Beth looked towards the ceiling, snapping her fingers.
"Fields," I whispered playfully.
"Fields!" She bursted, locking eyes with me in false triumph, "man I'm good."
"I'm still seeing her," I started, watching and listening as Sayla aimlessly went through the stations. Does she need a hand or something? "Or I will be soon, I guess. This guy came in and took over all of her cases. He told me that she was going through a sabbatical."
"That's weird," Beth's brows rose, and her face tightened. "Is that what's got you acting all hush-hush?"
I felt my cheeks flush with red. "Well... no. It's got to do with that gig you were talking about."
Her eyes lit up at that, "Really? You went through with it?" Sayla settled on some alternative station, the rocking and catchy tunes of Shinedown cranking through the boom-box.
"I did. Turns out they were setting me up on a date."
Sayla turned so quick that she nearly stumbled on her own movements, balancing herself with her arms. She had a 'well that was close' face. "You went on a date. Jane. Our Jane? Lord tell me you got some action for the two of us."
I smiled genuinely, so much so that I feared I looked weird for unintentionally holding it for so long. "There was action." Sayla pumped her fist whilst Beth contrasted with an astonished gasp. JB just lazily rolled onto his side. "But not, you know... action. It was kind of a beautiful disaster."
Sayla rejoined our circle on the floor, brushing up real close to Bethany. "All the best ones are," Sayla shook her head sagely, "trust me on that."
"He was an asshole," I tilted my head slightly, remembering fleeting images of our time at the D'Agio. "But you know, not completely. It was almost... fun." I couldn't decide if I wanted to tell them the rest of the story or not, but with the rum sitting in my belly my lips probably won't stay sealed.
Bethany nodded. "So you knocked it out of the park?"
"Sort of. We ended up going back to his place," I said so casually as if he hadn't caught me in lying about who I was, and the angle in which the Mob had tried to work me. Sayla had a wicked grin of approval on her face.
"I thought you said you didn't get any," Beth pointed out.
"I didn't. I didn't e-exactly," I was starting to stumble over my words now, my mind racing back to the sight of Michael's deliciously sculpted body. "He's got this mansion in the Wester Woods. Gorgeous place, really," the elegant walls, floors and paintings filled my mind. "He gave me a tour of it and let me sleep like royalty in one of the guest rooms."
Sayla pushed at my shoulder, the chorus coming in from the boom-box. "He didn't make a pass at you? Give me this dude's name, Jainy."
"Well," I tipsily put up a finger, "the next morning I used his private bath house." That got a few whistles. "I think his butler hatched that scheme, cause he joined me and uhm, well I got a lot of very nice views, we'll say."
"If a guy came at me like that in a lavish bath, thing, I would have screwed him to next Sunday." Sayla was of course already trying to picture herself in that situation. There was a pang of heat in my chest, a foreign feeling. Was I... jealous?
Beth bit her lip lightly, "Sexy. Little bit creepy maybe. Just who was this mega-rich power mogul? Spill the beans."
It was embarrassing, I was sure they'd know who he was. He made headlines every other day it seemed. "Michael Smoak," I whispered through my fist, as though mentioning him might summon him behind me.
"No way," Sayla brought a hand to her chin. "That asshole wanted to get freaky with you?"
"Considering how erect he was--"
Bethany smiled, where as Sayla interrupted me with a fit of uncontrollable laughter. "I can't believe that playboy wants to break you in. You gotta make him work for it, please? For me? I can only imagine the blue balls I'd give that suited sex machine."
That pang returned, and a golf-ball sized need formed just behind my clit. Thinking about the steam, the water, the electricity when he approached me all bare and hard. "I don't think I could do that," I admitted, "let alone give myself to him like that."
Sayla managed to find her calm, much to my secret delight. "You don't need to. Why would you even want to? He thinks you're hot." The radio host segued us into another song, this one apparently by Red Sun Rising.
Bethany wagged her head, "Lighten up and have some fun, Jane. You haven't had any since that stick from college." She meant Simon. What she didn't know was that we never did anything outside of making out - and because all of Carter and my family was still so fresh, I kept myself intoxicated just to work up the nerve to do that. "We'll go out one of these nights," she suggested, a smirk already spreading on Sayla's face. "Find something sexy for you to wear."
"Somethin' to make his balls tighten up just looking at you," Sayla said, as if hatching some secret and nefarious scheme.
We had our share of laughs, and another hour and a half went by in the blink of an eye, leaving me wrapped tightly in my blanket, the darkness blotting out everything but my LED lights. The last thing on my mind was the beautiful, terrifying image of Michael at the dinner table we shared. Looking at me with ravenous eyes.
I still hadn't answered him.
Chapter 9
Michael
Sipping on my Chauster's non-alcoholic beer, Tim was lining up his shot. We were on the somber rooftop of Smoak HQ, doing our usual thing and playing darts. Naturally, Tim was making quick work of his second Heineken.
"I think Veronica might be interested in me," Tim said, practicing a throwing motion with his dart and aiming it at the makeshift board we had above the entrance. "She keeps doing this thing," he punctuated his sentence by throwing the dart, hitting the outermost circle. "Like she keeps making these excuses to touch me? Something about my suit."
I threw back my head and finished my beer. Losing control was something that I couldn't afford. But it's been four days since I last spoke with Jane. So why couldn't I just stop thinking about her? I'd even had to brush off my usual late night encounters. I couldn't even fucking get hard.
"Mike?" Tim picked up another dart, then turned to face me.
"Yeah?"
"You don't seem to be listening. Like you're not here."
"I'm here," I assured him. "She wants you man, and if she doesn't, well, that's her loss."
Tim's eyes softened while he looked at me, and he breathed in the rooftop's air. It was quiet up here, so far above everything. The din of the cars and city were a distant footnote. "Something's on your mind," he said, moving past me to sit on the parapet. "Something big."
I scoffed, not joining him to try and play things off. "I see why my father's taken an interest in you," I quipped. "While I wasn't looking you got some mind reading shit."
"You know I don't even want it. I mean... the paycheck would be nice," he pondered, drinking more. "That what's burning you?"
"That's it," I claimed, not wanting to give the woman any more power over me. Not wanting to stoke those ensnaring fires. Damn her. Was I honestly wrong? Did she not have some kind of connection? I felt it that night. That morning. This wild attraction.
There was a long pause between us then, and when I turned to face Tim, I could see that he was really considering his next words. "I'm sorry," he began with heavy sorrow, "but... is it Morganna?"
Without willing it, my jaw clenched. I felt my body tense up and a traitorous heat rushed through me. "No," I offered, swallowing and wishing he hadn't mentioned her. I could still see her perfect, angelic face in my mind.
"Whoa where are you going?" Tim asked, propping off of the parapet and onto the roof's floor.
"Where I need to be," I replied, just a few feet from the door now.
"I'm getting the feeling that's not meeting with your dad," he announced loudly, trying to convince me to stay on the straight path.
Sitting down and talking with my father about marriage candidates was the last thing I wanted to do. "Negative. Besides, I've fucked all the girls he's hand picked for me anyway," I put my hand on the door's handle and turned my head to look at Tim. "Boring," I emphasized with my eyebrows raising, rushing towards someone hopelessly fascinating.
Chapter 10
Jane
Sifting through the vast virtual substance of Facebook, a post briefly caught my attention; toting that the last remaining 'Amigo' had publicly vowed revenge against the Ligotti crime family. The city had a glorifying sickness to it. Killing was the fashion in which this place thrived, and thrived it did. People had strangely become used to it. Embraced it. Fans of serial killers, gangsters, vigilantes, mavericks, hit-men, thieves. It was all discussed endlessly. Everything was an Instagram, or a tweet, or a post on Facebook, or a subreddit. And anything that wasn't? Well, the people would take to the streets whenever word came down about a blood feud; vendetta? No problem. Duel at dusk? We'll be there. Heist gone without a hitch? Everyone's got the pulse on the after-party. Sometimes even the police.
JB draped his head lackadaisically across my chest, putting some unwelcome pressure on my tit while I read. When I escaped my home in Seattle I hadn't thought that it would be so bad. It was like living in a world away from the world, and each and every day, I was becoming more and more caught in it's sickeningly gratifying grip. But the unquestionable bustle, the endless hours of open entertainment, the sheer enormity and decadence of Chaos? It was my persisting escape from the perilous past.
As if on cue, my phone vibrated at my side. My chest rushed with excitement at the thought of someone getting a hold of me. Michael Smoak.
