The Deal

by Holly Hart

  Jack glances up, as though I meant it literally.

  “I shouldn’t have....” I’m not sure what to apologize for: mentioning his service at all? Implying he’d somehow failed upon his return? Stirring up memories that might be more than painful? I drop my gaze, embarrassed.

  He taps on my knuckles to get my attention. I look up to find him smirking. “You have no idea how to apologize.”

  “And you do?”

  “More than you.” His knee jogs mine under the table, and it’s back—that teasing, slightly competitive edge. He takes my hand in both of his and looks me straight in the eye. “Sorry I rattled your cage. There’s something about you that makes it easy to forget we’ve just met.” His smile is warm and sincere. I start to relax.

  “Well, I—”

  That smile widens into a triumphant grin. “See? That’s how it’s done.”

  “Oh, my God!” I kick him hard, aiming straight for his ankle. He keeps laughing, undeterred.

  For the first time, it occurs to me there are things I might miss about him when this is done.

  22

  Jack

  Angry. She thought I was angry.

  This is bad. Ten years, I’ve been in control. I know everything. Foresee everything. Keep it all in line. I have no vices to trip me up. I don’t drink, don’t smoke, don’t raise my voice. No reason I should be slipping now. If I do....

  There’s no if I do. Can’t be. When the center doesn’t hold, chaos is quick to follow. But if I’m the sun, this is a minor flare. Not a planet-engulfing storm. I’m frustrated. Overworked. And my schedule’s been off. I’ll send Stella away for a couple of days, cobble my routine back together, and it’ll all snap to order.

  I lean back and picture the blue lake. It used to mean something different to me: the smothering weight of painkillers choking me to sleep. But I’m safe on the pier now, watching those same imaginary waters swallow everything else. Magnus, Erik, Starkey—The way he looked at me...Did he believe me? Does he now?

  I let that sink, too, picturing a graveyard at the bottom of the lake—the machines of war, twisted and rusted. Crumbling away.

  Stella said something about water in that story I read over her shoulder. I toy with that, wondering what it means to her.

  She thought I was angry. With her.

  It’s not you. It’s the past nipping at my heels.

  I scoff. Can’t say that. Just need to drown it all down.

  I dig out my watch. Twenty-three hundred hours. Perfect. I pick up my phone. Tap out a text. It takes Starkey nine seconds to send back “Affirmative.”

  Feeling better at last, I close my eyes and amuse myself with the construction of a pretend lake house, to go with my pretend lake.

  23

  Stella

  Starkey barges in first thing—he’s in and rifling through my closet before I’ve gotten through my “Come in.”

  “Sure. Make yourself at home.”

  He runs his hand along the shelf. “Where’s your duffel?”

  “Under the bed. What are you—”

  “Get it. Pack for three days in East Hampton.”

  “What’s the rush? Where’s—hey!” He’s unplugging my laptop, sliding it into its pouch.

  “You’ll want this, right?”

  “Yeah, but hold on! Jack never said anything about the Hamptons. Are we—?”

  “Jack’s not coming.” Starkey drops my phone into my purse. “He has a busy few days ahead. Thought you might appreciate something to do while he’s otherwise engaged. There’s stables, a boat—great sailing, out there.”

  Sailing, right. Well, there are a few end-of-season parties I wouldn’t mind going to, but a quaint Hamptons getaway with Starkey? Talk about awkward!

  I snatch back my purse before he can take it into his head to go mining for snacks. “Fine. Give me ten minutes. I’ll meet you at the door.”

  He hovers in the doorway for a moment, regarding me suspiciously, but finally goes. I hurry to collect my toothbrush, my curlers, and various odds and ends, not wanting to think about how close Starkey just came to discovering my notes. My purse was in his hands. Open.

  Could it be he already knows? He might’ve been taunting me, letting me think I’d gotten away with it, only to...to.... Is this where we drive out to the country, and he comes back alone, frown lines etched a little deeper?

  I pack for a full three days, anyway: day clothes, evening wear, even a swimsuit.

  The drive doesn’t feel like a ride to the gallows. Starkey puts on the radio, some oldies station. He drums his fingers to the beat, even hums along once in a while. By the time the city’s dwindling in the distance, I’m pretty sure he’s not going to shoot me. It’s still weird that Jack didn’t come, didn’t bid me goodbye, but who says he was even home? He could’ve been called away in the night. Had an early meeting. A conference call.

  “Hey. Did you bring a tux?”

  Starkey nods. “I have clothes there.”

  “Good. There’s a party tonight. You can escort me.”

  He beetles his brows. “Whose party?”

  “Bruno Eisenheim’s.” Like it’s any of his business. “Old friend from college. Come on—you’ll be right there. What could go wrong?”

  “Eisenheim.... An ex?”

  Sort of. “Hardly.”

  Starkey roots around in the glove compartment, frowning when he finds it empty. “Home by two; no straying out of my sight.”

  “We can get dinner first,” I offer. I doubt this is how he pictured his Monday, either. “There’s a decent Italian place, or—”

  “Lobster.”

  “Or...lobster.” I’m not big on seafood, but this isn’t the hill I want to die on.

  I feel instantly better, stepping into the extravagant mess that is Bruno’s party. I’m not sure whether he’s going for a Gatsby theme, or Louis XIV, but if the message is “Check out Daddy’s money!” it’s coming through loud and clear. Even with Starkey glued to my heels, no one’s looking my way. Everyone’s half in the bag, and it’s not even half past nine.

  Bruno himself emerges from the crowd, hooking an arm around my waist. “Stella! Didn’t think you were coming! Tried to text, but... Did you get a new phone or something?”

  “Something like that.”

  He tilts his head back, staring at the chandelier. “Love when the lights go all....” He lets go of my waist and trails his fingers in front of my face. “Magic.”

  “Magic....” I laugh. “How much have you had to drink?”

  “Not enough.” He plucks two flutes of champagne from a nearby tray, and hands one to me. It slops over my hand. “We’re doing the hot tub thing later. When the no-names leave. You should join.”

  “Right... Keep it bubbly for me.” I peer over his shoulder. “Oh, look—someone more interesting than you!” I duck past him, eager to put some bodies between us. He’s fun in small doses, but he’s not who I came to see.

  “Nice friends you have.”

  “Don’t be smug.” I thrust my champagne at Starkey. “Here. Loosen up.”

  He lets it slip through his grasp. “Oops. Butterfingers.”

  “You know who you remind me of? This donkey at my uncle’s farm. You’d feed it a carrot; it’d headbutt you. And then it would look at you like—yeah. Like you’re doing, right now: eyebrows up, teeth out. Big old shiteating grin.”

  “Donkeys don’t have eyebrows.”

  “Pretty pleased with yourself, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I shrug him off and dive into the crowd. A lot of familiar faces... But one in particular stands out. “Linda!” I wave, rising on tiptoe as a knot of partiers drifts between us. “Hey, Linda!” Her head swivels my way, but some overgrown fratboy steps into my path.

  “Stella? That you?” Linda’s casting about, trying to find me.

  I go to sidestep the jerk, but he dodges in the same direction. Like that wasn’t on purpose. I wave again, over his shoulde
r. “Yeah—over here. Behind young Adam Sandler.”

  “Aw, that’s not nice.” The guy hiccups. He’s right in my face, holding his arms out to keep me from brushing past.

  Starkey steps forward, which is exactly the opposite of what I need. I turn and walk away, forcing him to follow. “Don’t—don’t...just don’t! This isn’t—”

  “Stella!” Linda bounces up on my other side. “Hey! Who’s your date?”

  “Him?” Finally, a chance for payback. “Oh, that’s my granddad. He’s got Alzheimer’s. And a colostomy bag.”

  “Not going well, huh?” She looks Starkey up and down. “Hey! Maybe you should take a hint.” She waggles her fingers at him in a bye-bye gesture. He falls back a few steps, but stays close. “Seriously, though, where’ve you been? I’ve been calling you. I found out some—”

  Shit! I elbow her, maybe a little harder than necessary. “Not in front of....” I glance over my shoulder. So does she.

  “Eww—he’s still there! Seriously, where’d you find him?”

  “Y’know....” I wave it off. Explaining Starkey... Where would I even start?

  Linda hooks her arm through mine. “That’s all right. I have, like, a third-degree black belt in ditching douchebags.” She slinks us through the party, sliding through the narrowest of gaps. Starkey’s not so polite about it. Where she sidles, he shoves. Linda scowls. “Shit. He’s still there.”

  “I know. I....”

  “Never mind.” She walks us under an arch hung with strings of trailing lights, down a long, curving hall. The crowd’s thinner here, apart from what has to be the bathroom line. “Female emergency,” sings Linda, sweeping us to the head of the queue. There’s grumbling, but no one objects. Linda’s temper is kind of a legend.

  “Doing coke in there? Hurry it up!” Linda rattles the doorknob.

  This isn’t going to work. Starkey’s right behind us, and gaining. “Come on. Let’s just—”

  She bangs on the door. “Hey! I said emergency! Get a move on!”

  A flushed woman piles out, practically falling in my lap, followed by a laughing, stumbling man. “Right, keep your tits on! Better yet, lemme....” He eyes up Linda’s impressive rack. His date smacks his elbow.

  Before I can apologize, Linda’s yanking me into the bathroom, slamming the door. Starkey’s on it in an instant, pounding the panels.

  “Who the hell is that? What’s his fucking problem?”

  “Ssh!” I grab her by the shoulders. “Sorry—I don’t think there’s time. That guy, he’s... Never mind. What’d you find out?”

  “Open this door!”

  Linda pulls me away from the door. “It was, uh.... You sure you’re all right? There’s something about that guy—”

  “Please. Tell me.” The door’s rattling in its frame. Any second now....

  “Um, that guy Nagler? He had an affair. His wife knows, but she doesn’t know there’s a kid. Neither does he. That’s it—that’s everything. Let’s go out the window. I think—”

  “Three seconds, I’m breaking this down!”

  Three seconds—all right. “And how did you find out? About the kid?”

  “His mistress was Amanda’s nanny’s—”

  The door flies open. Starkey’s on me in an instant, seizing me by the back of the neck hard enough to double me over.

  “Stop! Get your hands off her!” Linda’s still got my arm, and for a moment, I’m caught in an awful tug of war as she tries to pull me to safety. I squirm, trying to break free of one or both of them.

  It’s Starkey who wins in the end. His fingers dig into my neck, just below the hairline, sending a bolt of agony up my scalp and down my shoulder. “Walk. Now.”

  “Stella? Should I call the—”

  “No, I’m fine. This is—” Starkey pinches me again: a clear warning. “He’s my bodyguard. I have a stalker—it’s a whole... He’s just... I wasn’t supposed to leave his sight.” He elbows me, and I start walking, ignoring the tingling in my neck and shoulder.

  “Starkey?”

  He doesn’t respond, and it’s all I can do to keep from twisting around—not to argue, but to make sure it’s really him. This isn’t the stubborn, eccentric Jeeves I know. This is someone else—someone grim and bestial, frogmarching me down the hall. He drops his hand to my waist when we enter the ballroom.

  “Smile and keep walking. Laugh if I speak to you.”

  There’s no choice. No escape. I try to catch someone’s eye—anyone’s—but Starkey’s like social kryptonite. His glare parts the crowd faster than Jack’s intimidating size. Before I know it, we’re outside, and he’s spinning me behind one of the columns holding up the grand balcony. My head hits the marble with stunning force.

  “Ah!”

  Starkey raises his hand, and I close my eyes, certain he’s going to hit me. Instead, he shoves his forearm under my chin, cutting off my airway.

  “What did she say to you?”

  I gasp for breath. Starkey lets up on the pressure.

  “Nothing—nothing!”

  He chokes me harder, forcing my head back. “Try again.”

  “You’re not... You’re not going to...kill me!”

  “There’s plenty I can do, short of lethal force.” He doesn’t look angry, just...cold. Detached. How far is he allowed to go? Could he drag me off into the woods, make me dig my own grave, make me—

  “Well?”

  “Birth control!” I blurt it out without thinking, but...yeah. That could work.

  “What?”

  “My friend, she.... Could you let go? I can’t talk like this.”

  Starkey shifts his weight, just enough to let me breathe. He doesn’t take his arm off my throat.

  “She’s a doctor. I’ve never been...never been on the pill before. I wanted to know...the possible side effects.”

  “Yeah? What are they?”

  “Nausea. Dizziness. Headaches. Uh, risk of stroke, certain cancers. GI upset. Bleeding. Clots.”

  My hopes of disgusting him into submission evaporate. He stares me down, blank-faced, for what feels like hours. At last, he drops his arm. “Are you ill? Experiencing any discomfort?”

  I shake my head. “Not anymore.” That much is true.

  “Why didn’t you just Google it?”

  “Maybe I didn’t want the guy I’m fucking reading about my mid-cycle spotting.” I spit it in his face, spurred on by a surge of genuine humiliation.

  He seems to consider that. “No more parties,” he says at last.

  “As if I could show my face again, after that little display!” My teeth are chattering, ruining my righteous indignation. Starkey drapes his coat over my shoulders. “Don’t—” I go to shrug it off, but he pulls it tighter.

  “You’re going into shock. Come on.”

  No shit I’m in shock! I open my mouth to yell at him some more, but it hardly seems worth it. It’s not like he’ll yell back, or apologize, or give me any kind of satisfying response. Besides, I don’t want to cry. He might try to comfort me if I did. The idea turns my stomach.

  He shepherds me into the back seat for the ride home, laying me down and pushing my duffel under my knees. He holds my ankles still when I try to kick it away. “No. Keep your feet up. Increases blood flow to your heart.”

  I want to go home. Not back to Jack’s—not even my own apartment—but home. Oceans away. Somewhere safe.

  Starkey holds out a bottle of water. “Sip on this.”

  I take it. The seal’s already broken. I unscrew the cap and pretend to have a taste. Odds are it’s just water, but I’m not taking the chance.

  “That’s right. As much as you can.”

  I fake another sip. How’d I read him so wrong? Tired old soldier—right. And Jack—does he know? Did he greenlight this? I thought....

  “Hey. Don’t go to sleep.”

  “That’s for concussions.”

  “Yeah, well—don’t.” He pats my arm. “We can watch the rest of Mindhunter when we ge
t back.”

  I honestly can’t tell whether he’s trying to reassure me or scare me to death. I mumble something noncommittal and turn my head away, hoping he’ll get the hint. A moment later, the door thumps shut.

  24

  Jack

  Starkey reports in right on schedule, twenty-three hundred hours.

  “She isn’t upset?”

  “Not that I could tell.” I can hear waves crashing in the background. He must be out on the deck. “I took her to a party, for, ah—a Bruno Eisenheim. Some college friend.”

  “Oh? She have fun?”

  “Seemed like it. Told a couple of people I was her stalker, so that was....” He trails off.

  “You can say it.”

  “Infuriating.”

  I chuckle. “Yeah. She can be.” I like that about her, but I’m not telling Starkey that. “Anyway, tell her I’m asking for her. Oh! And take her for a sail tomorrow, if it’s nice. Someone ought to enjoy the boat.”

  “Will do, sir.” The door slides open and shut. “Will that be all?”

  “Yeah, dismissed. Over and out.” I hang up on him. Well, that’s a relief. I was worried she’d take it as a rejection: that moment at dinner, followed by an unscheduled trip. Some of them get clingy, even with the contract designed the way it is, to keep them at a distance.

  I shoot her a text, just a quick “settling in?” but she doesn’t respond, and no read notification appears. Must be in bed already.

  Putting my phone down, I turn back to my computer. Starkey’s CC’d me on a copy of Stella’s journal. I hover my mouse over it, hesitating—She might let me read it, herself, one day. It’d be flattering, knowing she was letting me in on something so intimate....

  Then again, how personal can it be, if she’s brought it here, where nothing’s private?

  Curiosity wins out. I open it up and scroll to the end. To the part about drowning. She’s changed it, since last time I looked:

  “Go on,” he said. ‘We’ve all done it.’