by Liz K. Lorde
“He didn’t inform you?” Joshua’s face gave no secrets away.
I narrowed my eyes at him, “I get this feeling that you’re not going to let me know where we’re going.”
“Correct.”
“Does he have a fetish for surprises or something,” I openly mused.
“Suspense and the love for theatrics was drilled into him at a young age, Master Chatworth.”
“How could I ever believe that,” I replied dryly. We moved down the long, cream-colored hallway. There were black spiral patterns on the expensive tile flooring, the patterns ending in intricate flourishes when they reached the walls, becoming more and more grand towards the end of the corridor. There was a great set of double, ivory white doors, engraved with two stylistic figures of a man and a woman engaged in a dance.
This had to be a private ballroom.
Which means... my stomach tightened at the thought. God, he’s not going to try and get me to dance is he. I shot a look at Joshua, and he offered me but only a slight upturned lip.
“After you, Master Chatworth.” He opened the doors for me, revealing a spacious ballroom with a golden ceiling and sleek white marble flooring. Inside of it, was Michael, dressed in a pristine black vest and tucked in dark purple tie. He had a small, gray square control in his hands that fit comfortably in his palm.
“Jane,” Michael greeted. “You look good enough to eat.” I knew the meaning behind his not-so-clever words.
“You may have all the money in the world,” I teased, stepping inside, “but I’ll never be on the menu.” Joshua closed the doors behind me, and I closed the distance between Michael and myself.
He subtly pressed a finger against the button, and the surround sound speakers and sub-woofers mounted into the walls pulsed to life. It was so loud that the vibrations filled my bones; A private waltz for us, of harp, piano and cello. “That’s a crying shame,” he teased, “perhaps just a taste?”
I put a hand up to my mouth, feeling my face redden in delight. “Just a taste,” I offered him my hand, “but fair warning?”
“Not necessary.”
“I’m really, really bad at this.”
Michael grabbed my hand with a gentleman's force, curling his immaculate fingers perfectly against mine. “Do you want to know a secret?”
“Let’s be honest,” I laughed, taking one more step forward to him, the heart of his body mingling with mine. “I don’t think anyone ever says ‘no’ to those sort of questions.”
Michael ignored that comment. “I was flunked by my instructors when I first started. Father hated that fact, mind you. Trust me, you’ll learn.” We shared a smile then, the warmth cloaking us both. “If you can understand the basics, you’ll look passable in front of an audience.” He unhooked his fingers from my hand.
I shook my head in a ‘no’: “The only audience that we’re having is you and me.”
“For tonight, yes.”
“Michael,” I searched his eyes to look for an answer. “I don’t know if I can be okay with that.”
He chuckled. “When I’m done with you, you’ll be wanting to show off. You’re over-thinking this, Jane. All of it,” his voice dropped to a sotto, “just let your instincts take over.” He placed a firm hand beneath the pit of my arm, and took my right hand in his own. “Hook your fingers through,” he insisted.
“Like this?”
“Just like that,” he crooned, “raise your arm higher. To the top of your head, and keep your other hand firm on my shoulder.” In that moment I wanted to drown in his enchanting eyes. I still wasn’t sure if I’d be able to do this. “Now when I move forward, you move back a pace.” Michael stepped forward, and I clumsily moved back as he instructed. “Not a horrible start,” he praised, “now to the left,” he strafed one pace to the left, and I followed suit. “Now you step forward,” we moved in tandem on the last part, making simple square formations. We did this three or for times, sharing smiles and stories about how much of a perfectionist Michael’s instructor was. He cocked his head charmingly to the side, pausing our practice for a short spell. “You’re getting it.”
“You’re leading me,” I replied.
“But you do a good job following,” he darkly purred. “If we don’t do these lessons--”
“Horse riding, learning proper cutlery etiquette. Now dancing?” I gave him a Cheshire grin, “what other standards does your family have, I wonder.”
“Try being their son,” he gruffed, his hand circling my hip lightly, making my heart beat faster. Why his touch had to feel so good, I couldn’t know. But with every one that he gave me, no matter how subtle, I found myself aching.
“I’m good, thanks.” Michael started showing me how to quarter-turn for each movement. We practiced and danced throughout the night, the music pumping, swelling and coming to their respective crescendos. I made a lot of mistakes along the way, getting tripped up over myself and moving out of time. But each step brought us closer to something - something that maybe we were already aware of, but didn’t want to admit. Or, I knew that I couldn’t at least; to me there never was a future.
Even if it felt like there was a flicker of it right in front of me.
When we were both nearing the point of exhaustion, our faces hurt from laughing at my previous stumbles and struggles. Guilt crept into me slowly, and before long, I couldn’t withstand the building pressure; I had to tell Michael. “Hey,” I said weakly.
He locked his gaze with mine. “Hm?”
“I had a visit from someone. A few days back.”
“Ligotti’s gang?” Michael inquired.
“The man himself,” I revealed, a terrible rush tickling at my body. “That day you came over, he got to me before you did. He wants me to keep feeding information on you, and everything that you’re doing.” It felt like a knife was wrenching through my gut. Was I afraid of him hating me?
“Christ Jane,” his tone was biting. “When were you planning on telling me this?” He asked, turning me hard to the right in a forceful maneuver on the downbeat.
“I didn’t know how,” I blurted, trying to keep up with his more frantic movements. “These are dark waters for me. Not exactly an every day sort of thing.”
“I knew something was wrong,” he cursed beneath his breath, his face still remaining an enigmatic anger. The one that would roil like the seas, crash against the waves and consume the rocky shores. “Romero didn’t get in touch with me. The company that I bought out insisted it was IEL.”
I gave him a confused look.
“Immediate Emergency Leave. No check-ins, no notice. They’re given a set time per year for that stuff; except usually someone is on assignment to cover.”
“It didn’t seem like they were in a life or death situation,” I told him, mentally musing that everything was a life or death situation. Ligotti promised that he himself hadn’t touched them. “You haven’t heard from them since?”
“No, I haven’t.” His tone was cold, and it sank through me with a harsh chill. “What did you tell him?” He asked like a sword might thrust at one’s throat. “I need to know every detail, Jane.” He turned me once more, this time with more ferocity. “These people extort the rich, pretend to care about the poor. I can’t trust you if you don’t speak with me.” I knew that last part was painfully true.
Still, it wasn’t the full impression that I got from Ligotti’s gang; but I didn’t have the heart to go against him right now. “I’m not going to work for him,” I insisted. There’s still some things I wanted to ask Michael about the whole situation, but the cold tension that his eyes put on me stitched my mouth shut. “You make me feel like I can trust you,” for some reason that came out. From a place deep inside of me.
“You have to tell me these things,” Michael said. “There’s nobody else but you for this position,” he continued. “And if there’s no trust between us...”
Then there is no us. “I know,” I told him. “I know. But you have to keep me safe i
n this, if I tell him the wrong thing. I mean.” I had to stifle the need to curse. “There’s no telling what a man like that might be capable of.”
“I’ll keep a closer eye on you, but you need to tell me the second that it happens,” Michael ordered, while I silently abode to his will. “You know typically people shake their hands when they make a deal.”
“I’m not typical,” I remarked.
“You’re right,” he purred, making my insides become pricked with joy and a surreal lightness. “With family friends I’d give them a hug.”
“Family friend doesn’t describe us,” not even close. The heat between us became palpable once more, and my nipples woke to the electricity that Michael so freely gave me.
“Fake lover doesn’t have the same ring to it,” Michael whispered, pulling me closer to him so that I could feel his hard muscles press up against my breasts. Again, I wanted to curse because I could already tell my nipples were soon to stiffen. Cold shower? Yeah, I’d rather be bathing in ice. “Eventually we’ll have to kiss,” he admitted, and I knew that much was true, but it scared me all the same. “I can’t expect the press to believe we’re a thing with witty words and arms around shoulders.”
“I don’t know when I’ll be ready for that.”
Michael pressed me closer still, and awareness of his stiffness between his legs shot through me. Made me drip a clear juice from the lips between my legs. “You’re afraid of taking this jump.”
“It’s a leap,” I said breathlessly.
“Yes,” he replied, his eyes already telling me what he was about to do; my body responding to his every molecule in a dance of long-dormant lust and emotional connection. “So just,” he tilted his head, moving in closer, his lips spelling out the rest of that sentence.
My heart dared to race from my chest, and it felt like my feet were glued to the floor. I didn’t know if I should do this.
If I could do this.
But part of me wanted it. Needed it.
Before I knew it, our lips were on each other, and a sinfully delicious warmth consumed me whole. His soft tongue slipped into my mouth, moving across my own; each subtle move winding me up between my legs. The energy between us was frightening.
Destructive.
In those crystallized moments of passion, I didn’t want to bring myself out of them. Still, when we opened our eyes; the music came to it’s final close, our lips, and so too our bodies, parted. That was when the anger cloaked me. I had one rule, just one simple rule, and I’d already broken it. “I wasn’t ready for that!” I protested in such a high voice, I couldn’t believe how childish I sounded.
How childish and stupid I felt. Kissing him like that.
He adjusted his clothing in a fast manner, the anger practically wanting to shimmer off of him. Was he mad with himself, too? “Yes you were,” he argued, but not taking a step towards me. “You can’t be serious, can you?” His brows narrowed, his face moving between remorse, confusion, and quiet fury. “What happened to you, Jane.”
“Nothing,” I called back, feeling my heart turn sick. Feeling my eyes sting with the rapid tempo of my aching chest. “It’s just. I can’t,” my words came out again with insistent repetition. “You have no idea what it’s like!”
“I don’t,” Michael clipped so loudly that it made me focus strictly on him. Like the world around us was threatening to slip away; the fantasy of us burning away like ashes on a painting. “But there’s this part of me that I can’t ignore about you,” he continued. “Let me in, Jane.” His eyes were pleading with me, still smoldering with that infectious desire.
“Would you do the same for me?”
He blinked, and I thought for a second that I glimpsed him trying to swallow something away. When the words never came, I could feel my legs trembling; wanting to buckle beneath the weight of his cutting silence.
If I had my problems. My demons. Then he had his no doubt.
I started to turn from him. “You can keep your secrets, Michael. All to yourself.” Because no matter how much it hurts, I don’t want them.
I don’t.
Chapter 16
Michael
Three days. Seventy two hours. Ever since she left there’s been a clock hanging over my head, ticking, ticking, ticking. The girl was becoming poison to me. There was something to her that I couldn’t get enough of. What exactly, I wasn’t able to think on enough - because after every little annoyance I went back to missing her.
Walking along the tenth floor of Smoak headquarters, I looked down from the silver railings as I walked. All the people doing their respective jobs. Rushing between their cubicles, coming in and out of security; checking numbers through their computers, answering phones left and right. Even still, it wasn’t enough of a distraction to keep me from the thought of Jane.
I made my way down the gold and orange corridor, working my way to Conference Room C. Even before I got my door on the handle I knew that this was going to be a rough one.
I opened the door and pushed it back after stepping through, letting it shut and click behind me. Only thin shafts of light bled through the shuttered windows here; this was one of the more secluded areas of the building – barring the top most executive rooms.
The conference room was filled with the familiar high-ranking individuals employed by both myself and my father: Tim. Charles. Zoe and Dresden. Moving over to my chair, I sank in to it, eying at all the various papers requiring my full review.
Charles adjusted his blue and red tie. “Silver’s associate just made a scathing change to the terms,” he grimly explained, only making the anger boil over my bones more. Cameron Silvers was one of the most sought after clients in the whole music industry; a titan of the Rock and Pop world that could bend the markets both in, and out, of America. “Because of low production,” he glanced towards Tim, “particularly of one individual... they no longer wish to do business at the given rate.” I had half a nerve to smack the papers off of the table.
Tim sipped on his Mega Gulp casually, darting his eyes between me and Employee. “Who are we talking about?” He asked. In my head, I imagined them all pointing red foam fingers in his general direction.
“We’re talking about you,” I was scolding him. He was one of the numerous reasons that the client fell by the wayside, but it still raked at me to be dismantling my friend. “The biggest live act since Guns and fucking Roses, and you’re all too busy scalping tickets from the cesspool arena that we call your collective brains.” Hundreds of millions of dollars vanished like a wisp of smoke in the air.
Between the anger and the duty of having to give them something to strive for, Jane cropped up once more. The smell of her hair hit me all over again like a cool breeze; a soft remedy to the sickness of this errant storm.
Tim leaned forward onto the table, playing absently with his Mega Gulp straw. “I’ve been doing all I can,” he meekly argued with me, a hint of guilt evident in his voice. “You know,” the room’s focus landed all on him, “while I start up my personal business. It’s a-- Well, it’s a learning process.”
“That’s not even close to good enough,” I berated, a fresh rush of anger tickling at the soles of feet, worming it’s way upward. “If you’re going to run this company,” just saying the words left bitter ash in my mouth. Every step I took only seemed to take me further and further away from everything that I burned for. “Don’t run it into the ground,” I rapped my hand hard against the table, making the papers on the table jump.
Zoe Barnes shot me a look. “Don’t be so hard on him,” she chided, “he was appointed for your future title for a reason. I know better than anyone.” The way she said it was a hook right to my face.
It wasn’t just the business and the Mob creeping on me that was infecting my head and heart. It was Jane; looking at me with those beautiful purple eyes, water brimming and glinting in their corners.
Getting through today was not going to be a simple task.
***
> After attending to some on site inspections across the city of Chaos - horribly tedious and meticulous work - I rolled up to my quiet estate, parking inside of the front garage.
Magdalene’s dark green Opel Cascada was still here.
Killing the engine, I shut the car door and made a purposeful stride to the garage button, moving outside as the white door folded down behind me. At the front entrance, I shoved in the master key, turning the lock and shutting the door behind me.
Letting out a long sigh, I strolled up the foyer stairs, taking a left and listening to my footsteps clack against the floor. Turning down another corridor, I already knew where I needed to go. Coming into view was Magdalene dressed in her rose wine, long sleeve, V neck Paisley blouse; complimented by a pair of pine grove, slim fit ankle pants. She was busy dusting off one of my Bulgarian vases done by Dragomir Aleksander.
She turned her head to look at me, sensing my presence. “You’re home early,” she offered politely, putting the navy blue duster to her side. There wasn’t another woman like her in my life. Caring, dutiful, always ready to listen. “How did things go?” Even though I had comfort in Mags, it was Jane that I desired so strongly.
“I lost an important client today,” I revealed to her in an automatic, gruff tone. “So no, not so good, Mags.” She smiled at me, and I returned the gesture with a smirk.
“I can already tell that you feel responsible,” she insisted, her brows moving upward. “Redwood told me the juicy details about your dance lessons.”
“That’s what they were, Mags.”
“The only dancing you do is dirty,” she threw her head back in a howl. “You can’t tell me that you didn’t try and kiss that beautiful, beautiful girl.” Her eyes went up to their upper corners briefly, “kind of reminds me of myself, when I was younger. Back when I was still a wild cat on the prowl,” I believe the term is cougar. Not that she was ugly, but I still had to repress the need to shudder. It wasn’t easy for me to see her like that, given how I grew up around her so much. “I’m sure she’s full of dreams and ambitions,” Mags face grew somber then, “the only one I’m holding on to is retiring in the Caribbean. Maybe when Peter--” she couldn’t bring herself to finish her sentence. “Well… you know. Wishful thoughts.”
