Dangerous Desires

by Tia Siren

  His body collapsed over mine, the weight welcome and comfortable. He held me on his side as he kissed me; softer this time, like he was trying to tell me something I couldn’t decipher. I kissed him back deeply, knowing that the longer I stayed with him…the more I fell for him.

  It was scary to think, but it was true. Somehow it didn’t matter that I didn’t quite believe him or whatever, I just knew it was getting too real. I told myself to roll out of this bed right now and keep it casual, but I couldn’t.

  I wanted…

  I wanted to stay.

  13

  Eli

  She laid in my bed curled up next to me but looking at me with curious eyes. She knew something was going on. Somehow I had to tell her without compromising my mission.

  This was why I didn’t get close to people; it was how you got caught.

  I left the bed and got dressed in simple pajamas, and then looked at the art again.

  “Why do you think there’s no signature?” I asked her as she drew the sheet around her body.

  “Invisible ink maybe? Some artists now don’t want to leave their mark visible on the work. They want the art to be front and center.”

  “Or?”

  “Or what?” She sat up, pulling the sheet tighter around her.

  “Or it’s a fake.” I said and watched her expression carefully.

  “No, no way, Julian picked these out himself. He would never put us at risk.”

  “You know fakes can make just as much money, and most people would never know the difference.” I had a feeling Julian wasn’t innocent in this.

  “Julian would know,” she added, clearly annoyed by my implication.

  “Yes, he would.” I moved closer to the bed. I needed to know if she was involved, if she wasn’t then I would figure out how to keep her out of this mess. How to keep her safe.

  “I don’t like what you’re saying. Why are you really here Eli?”

  I sighed, running my hands through my hair. “To determine what’s real.”

  “Is this real?” She asked, motioning to the space between us.

  “Yes.” I was sure of that. Whatever I had with her was worth putting my whole career on the line for. She was worth it.

  “Then…” she paused, chewing her lower lip. She grabbed her phone from her clutch and started scanning through it. “Here,” she said finally passing me her phone. “All of our shipments, what’s supposed to be coming, going. Prices, identification numbers. All of it. If anything is off about this painting, or any others, it would be in there. I don’t think you’ll find anything, but if you do, I need to know. I am just starting this beautiful career. I can’t be implicated in some smuggling ring. I’ll be ostracized from the community for sure.”

  I took her phone delicately in my hands and starting going through spreadsheet after spreadsheet. Line by line I was getting a better understanding of her world. Her eyes remained wide as I sat on the edge of the bed and kept looking.

  “Who are you, really?”

  “A person who cares about your safety.” There was no way she was involved. She wouldn’t have given up all her secrets this easily. Finally I started to see some patterns, especially recently. And then there was this painting. The identification number ended in a two, and nothing else had so far.

  “Why does this end in a two?” I pointed it out to her,

  “Julian chose it himself. Meaning he tagged it. It’s supposed to be a complete original, directly from the artist, not in our regular system. A commissioned painting.”

  “Is that this painting?”

  “No, it’s one I sold last month. I remember because it was my biggest sale ever, twenty-five thousand. The artist lives in a monastery in Korea, has an amazing story.”

  “Does this one also end in a two?”

  She nodded, realization sweeping over her. They weren’t commissioned, these were the fakes. She had sold a smuggled painting to a completely unassuming patron for twenty-five grand.

  “Am I going to go to jail? Are you FBI? I didn’t know anything, I swear!”

  I moved closer to her as tears welled in her beautiful eyes. “I know you didn’t, and I’m not FBI, though I’m sure they’re going to get involved. I need you to go to work and get your laptop, and bring everything to me. We’re going to fix this, I promise.”

  She didn’t move, still crying silently.

  “Kennedy, you can trust me.”

  She nodded and got dressed.

  “What am I going to do? This was my career, my job!”

  “We’ll figure it out, somehow.” I took her hands in mine and kissed her cheek softly. I would figure it out, and protect her. Forever.

  Epilogue

  Kennedy

  It has been nearly a year since Julian turned on the person above him and was released into Witness Protection. I, on the other hand, left the country with Eli as soon as the FBI had taken my statements. I didn’t even have to testify. Apparently, when multiple countries were apprehending the same terrorist group, the regular process didn’t work. Instead there were SWAT teams, and Eli taking out some warehouse in Queens where fake artwork was being made. I had always been aware that counterfeit art was a profitable business, but I had no idea it could supply terrorists with the money they needed to put together horrible plans.

  I opened my umbrella and walked out in the rain to the car waiting for me. Eli’s instructions had been simple; wear a green dress and leave your hair down, and the car will be there at 7pm.

  So I waited, and of course the car showed up, and here I was, getting in and then weaving our way through London. I loved it here and shortly after moving I found a gallery where I could purchase and sell art as a curator.

  I still wasn’t positive what Eli did for a living. He certainly was secretive, but that was ok. He took me out to nice dinners, art shows, the opera, whatever I wanted and I kept our flat feeling lived in when he was away. Luckily since we had come to London that was usually only a couple weeks at a time. I had guessed he was a spy of some sort, maybe a MI6 operative, or maybe I was just letting my imagination of having my very own James Bond run away with me.

  Either way, we were happy. We were independent people, living this beautiful life together.

  “We’re here, miss. I’ll get the door for you.”

  I looked out through the rain to see a brownstone in front of me. It looked unassuming, but I knew better. Eli always surprised me.

  I walked through the rain into the building and was just putting away my umbrella as he approached.

  “Hello love,” he said with a smirk.

  “Hi. What are we doing here?”

  He took my hand and chills went up my spine. “Remember how I said I knew someone that had an original Degas?”

  My mouth dropped open. “Yes!”

  “Well, this is their place. They’re away for the week and told me I was welcome to show you anytime.”

  We walked downstairs and entered a private in-home gallery. The whole room was black except for the exquisite artwork on the walls.

  “Different from where we met?”

  “A bit,” I laughed, thinking of the white cavernous space in Brooklyn where we had all our firsts.

  “I like being in the dark… with you.”

  He wrapped his arm around my waist as I inspected the pieces, one by one until finally reaching the Degas. Tears prickled the back of my eyes. I was so overcome with emotion. The brushstrokes, the purpose, the lighting, just right.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “So are you.”

  We stood there in silence, in awe of the artwork and each other. I loved Eli, even though I didn’t know every part of him. That only increased my desire for him.

  Eli was the piece that had been missing from my gallery for so long. And now, the collection of my heart was finally complete.

  Second Chance Sheriff

  Juliana Conners

  1

  Kelia

  I’m
doing a happy dance in my office when Jack Schneider has to walk in and ruin my good time. He knocks, but only lightly and for a second, because asking for permission isn’t Jack’s style. It does give me enough time to stop mid kick before he barges his way in.

  I freeze, my black patent heel still dangling in the air. I’m hoping Jack hadn’t noticed that I was in the middle of mixing an Irish jig with a Cuban cha cha cha. I’ve never professed to be a great dancer, and for this reason I only do it in private— or what I thought was private.

  I’m standing behind my desk, since I had just been looking at my computer screen when I got the good news that made me pop up to do a happy dance. Therefore, most of the desk in front of me blocks Jack’s view of my feet.

  I relax and fake smile, glad that he doesn’t seem to notice what I was up to as his tall frame saunters closer to me. On his way, though, he catches his reflection in the glass frame of a photo on my desk— it’s one of my sister Maisy and me, shopping on the Magnificent Mile during a trip to visit relatives in Chicago— and winks at himself.

  I should have realized I had nothing to worry about. Jack Schneider only focuses on one thing, and that’s himself.

  “Hey there,” he says, sinking into the chair on the other side of my desk as if I had invited him to sit down, when I most definitely had not. “I got the email containing the news. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks,” I tell him, trying not to beam too big.

  The email that had come in, prompting my happy dance, contained an Order stating that our client has won its case. It was only a small case, for defamation, but it had been the first one I had handled at trial all on my own— even though Jack was there as second chair to advise me, since I’m still only a senior associate here at the firm, and he’s a partner.

  “I knew we had it in the bag but it was great to get confirmation,” he continues, loosening the tie around his neck and settling in as if I’d invited him to an after work happy hour in my office. Which is another thing I most definitely did not do.

  That annoys me, but the fact that he said “we” annoys me even more. Even though Jack was there at trial to assure the client that all would go well and that its expensive legal bills were going towards both a partner and an associate working on the case, I had done everything in the case myself, from preparing the discovery through delivering the closing argument to the jury.

  In fact, once during the trial, I leaned over to ask Jack a question about how I should cross-examine a witness, and he didn’t even hear me because he was texting one of the girls he’s seeing about meeting up with her after court adjourned for the day. After that, I didn’t even bother asking him questions since he obviously wasn’t even paying attention.

  But now that I’ve been successful, he’s taking all the credit. That isn’t abnormal for partners at this law firm to do— in fact, it’s par for the course here and probably at every law firm. But Jack’s ego just really gets to me.

  And it wasn’t because I slept with him. Or at least, it wasn’t just because of that, even though I completely regret it.

  “You know, Dan Buckles is already down at the Court of Appeals, filing his notice of appeal,” Jack says, raising his eyebrows at me as if proposing a challenge.

  “He is?” I ask him.

  I shake my head.

  Of course he is.

  Dan Buckles—the plaintiff in the case—was adamant that his reputation had been harmed by our client. In fact, he was convinced so strongly about it that he was willing to pay his attorney to take the matter all the way through trial despite my constant attempts to settle the worthless case for a reasonable amount of money.

  For some people, court is all about proving some principle, more so than about any monetary amount. While I understand that, those same people often don’t understand or care about what the law is, so they create a lot of unnecessary work before the judge ultimately dismisses their case.

  So, obviously, I had asked the wrong question.

  “I mean, we anticipated that,” I quickly correct myself. “But he appealed so soon? And how do you know?”

  “I know the clerk at the Court of Appeals office,” Jack says.

  Of course he does.

  Jack knows everyone. He heads the litigation department of one of the largest law firms in the country. So that night after the company party, when I was a little too tipsy and a lot too stupid, I’d been swept up into the aura of being around a powerful man who seemed to know everyone in all of New York City.

  It’s a natural thing to do. It happens. Yet, I really shouldn’t have let it happen with my boss. Especially because now he seems to think it will happen again, when it won’t.

  I know it could hurt the career I’ve worked so hard to achieve. And the sex wasn’t even very good.

  I’m determined to put the whole thing behind me. But from the way Jack is looking at me—eyeing me as if I’m being served up to him on a tray instead of trying to celebrate my win and then head home—I can tell he seems to have other plans.

  Great, as if my job wasn’t already complicated enough, I’ve gone and gotten myself entangled with the egotistical, narcissistic Jack Schneider. I’ve always thought there was only one thing I wish I could undo in my life, and that was breaking up with my high school boyfriend, Patrick. But now I realize I’ve just gone and given myself a second thing I wish I could undo: sleeping with my boss.

  2

  Kelia

  Jack continues to look at me like I’m a piece of meat while he answers my question. I suppose saying he is looking at me like a piece of cake would be more likely. He’s practically drooling, as if I’m made of chocolate and have ice cream on top.

  “The clerk told me that right after the Order dismissing the case was filed, Dan rushed in with his notice of appeal. So, the poor guy had it all prepared in advance, and must have been watching the court website like a hawk until the judge filed the Order.”

  Jack laughs as he says this, so hard that his head leans back towards the ceiling. I’m glad he’s focusing on something besides my chest area. But the way he’s laughing at Dan annoys me. I can’t help but imagine Dan rushing in to file his appeal, to keep his case alive.

  Jack’s kind of a dorky looking guy, who every time I’ve seen him has been in a suit and tie even though he’s a construction worker who was laid off by my client, a large general contractor. Then, he alleges, he was unable to find work anywhere else because my client had spread rumors about him that weren’t true.

  I can’t help but feel a little pity for Dan, even though his case and his stubborn refusal to settle it has been the bane of my existence for the past year or more. Apparently, he’s still hell-bent on keeping it going. But that doesn’t mean Jack has to laugh at him so hard. I decide to focus on practical matters so as not to get even angrier at my boss.

  “So, it wasn’t David Moore who filed the notice of appeal?” I ask, mentioning the attorney who had represented Dan in his case. “It was Dan himself?”

  “Yep.” Jack smiles his shit-eating grin again. “Either Dan ran out of money to pay Dave, or Dave ran out of patience to keep representing Dan beyond the appeal. I can just imagine how that conversation went down in Dave’s office as he was having the come-to-Jesus talk with nerdy Dan. ‘Dude, I’m just a slimy little solo practitioner and you’re paying me to push your silly case but even I have my limits.’”

  Jack laughs, but I just do my best to pretend to smile. The way he talks about other people annoys me. But, I guess it’s the name of the game for jerks like Jack.

  Ugh. I can’t believe I slept with him. Definitely not one of my finer moments.

  “Well,” I say, always one to look on the bright side. “I’m in for more annoyance since Dan appealed this case. But at least I might have my first chance to do an oral argument in the Court of Appeals!”

  “Hmmm, maybe,” Jack replies, squinting his eyes at me and raising his eyebrows. “It depends on how things go.”

&nb
sp; The smile on my face was genuine, unlike the fake smiles I had been giving Jack since he entered my office. But now it fades, along with all my hopes and dreams. I feel a knot in the pit of my stomach as I realize what Jack is implying.

  “What do you mean, ‘how things go?’” I ask him.

  I don’t even want to ask the question because I already know the answer. He doesn’t mean how things in the case go. It’s a slam dunk appeal to win now, since we had a solid case in district court, we won, and the plaintiff is representing himself now, without a lawyer to help him.

  And besides, I’m the best associate at the firm, well on my way to partnership, and willing to put in a lot of time and effort into the appeal, just like every case I work on. So, it’s not like he thinks I would somehow mess up an easy win. But I feel compelled to ask it, much like someone who has stumbled upon a massive car pile-up and should keep driving on their merry way, but needs to ruin their day by stopping to stare.

  “I mean we’ll see how things go between you and me,” he says, leaning forward and speaking clearly.

  This man has some balls, blackmailing me so obviously. My head knows this is textbook sexual harassment; I’ve even defended some cases involving less clear fact patterns for the firm, and I would have a hard time coming up with much of a defense for Jack here. But my stomach still churns, remembering how I had let Jack touch me, fuck me.

  Even though I had been four cocktails in and Jack—who always says he doesn’t drink because he’s too busy conquering the world and lots of women along the way—had been sober as a baby, I feel I was dumb to have done it, and I don’t want word getting around about it. And Jack knows that, because I’d told him as much the next day when I saw him again at work.

  “Let’s just forget it ever happened,” I’d begged him, but he’d just said, “We’ll see,” in much the same tone of voice he’s using now.