by Jesse Joren
"Horrible at what?"
"Flirting. When are you going to stop underestimating your appeal? You act like no one ever gave you his number before."
"No one has. So sue me."
"Get used to it," she said, picking up her oversized Michael Kors bag, "because it's going to happen again."
"Sure." My voice sounded bitter. "I lost some weight and now I'm acceptable."
"Will you stop with that tired bullshit? It's not the weight. It's because you're not hiding anymore."
Funny how Hex said almost the same thing. It was a mistake to think of him now. That was for later, when I was alone and staring out at the city lights until morning.
Natalie was watching me. Whatever she saw made little frown lines bunch between her eyes, escalating my guilt. She had enough going on in her life without worrying about me.
"Tonight," she said, "you're going to tell me what really happened when you disappeared."
Chapter Six
It was only a few minutes to get back to the office. A harsh female voice assaulted us as we exited the elevator that led to our offices.
"That was quite a long lunch. I've been looking for you everywhere, Eva," was the greeting that Stella St. Clair threw at us.
I glanced at the clock. Natalie and I had been gone for sixty-two minutes. Maybe sixty-three.
St. Clair and Associates occupied the top three floors of this sleek, modern building, with rumors of expansion soon. They were the best law firm in Atlanta, with every up-and-coming legal expert eager to join their ranks.
The pay and perks were generous, but Stella was an unfortunate part of the benefits package. Some jobs offer hazard pay, but she sort of like getting the hazard part without compensation.
As a senior partner attorney and sister to Phillip St. Clair, she had a lot of power. Everyone respected Phillip as brilliant, compassionate, and tough as nails when needed. He was also hot as hell and fluttered a lot of pulses around the office.
Stella was also tall, blonde, and gorgeous, but there all family resemblance ceased. Her sharp mind and sharper tongue were used as weapons to beat down every girl in the office. Most guys never even realized all the shade she threw our way.
Natalie was the exception. After one or two clashes where she got the worst end of the deal, Stella walked a wide path around my best friend on most days.
I was a much better target for Ms. St. Clair's trademarked brand of nastiness. Since my return and promotion by Phillip, I was always under the microscope of her cold blue eyes.
She didn't try to hide that she thought I should still be answering phones. Hex had paid a huge sum to the firm during the charade that he had hired me as his assistant, but neither that nor my shiny new degree made her like me any better.
"Come with me," she said, turning her back to Natalie. "We need to have a little chat."
As she spun on her heel, Natalie gave me a stern look from under her dark brows. Don't get pushed around, she mouthed.
I gave a thumbs-up with confidence I didn't feel as I followed Stella's stiff, designer–clad back down the hallway.
"Shut the door," she said as she went behind the desk and motioned me to the chair in front of it.
Her office was magnificent. The massive black desk matched her chair with its throne-like proportions. The low guest chair was probably designed to give visitors the feeling that they were cowering before Her Highness.
She studied me in cool appraisal.
"Let's not waste time," she said. "Phillip insisted that we give you a chance in the analyst position. If you're going to continue in that role, there are some things you need to understand."
Her long fingers twitched at her chunky statement necklace.
"We have deadlines, Eva. Business has to get done, or we won't have a firm. Our clients spend millions with us each year. That's a lot of money."
The slow, exaggerated tone of her voice implied that I was more than a little stupid. I had no idea what crime I'd committed, but that little speech made me feel both angry and defensive.
Stand up for yourself. Don't buy into her bitch routine.
"Well?" She checked her Patek Philippe with an impatient flick of her wrist, letting me know that I was wasting her Valuable Time.
"What deadline have I missed?" I asked.
My calendar was my Bible, and I knew there was nothing past due. If anything, the long hours I worked to avoid thinking of Hex had put me ahead of schedule.
How awesome would it be to catch Stella in a mistake and rub her carefully made-up nose in it? In a completely professional way, of course.
"The analysis on the Wellburn case," she said, lingering over every syllable. "They're one of our best clients."
Relief flooded me, along with the delicious feeling of having the upper hand for once.
"It's done, but not due until Friday. Or did I read your emails wrong about that?"
She sighed and shook her head.
"This is exactly what I mean about your inexperience. A deadline is a bare minimum. I should already have that report."
Dealing with Stella was like fighting a mist. We both knew that she was being an unreasonable bitch, but it didn't erase the feeling that I'd screwed up my first big assignment.
That's exactly how she wants you to feel.
"So you want reports a week before the deadline?" I asked.
"That's not what I'm saying," she said. "You need to do a better job of anticipating. Business is about finding that edge without me having to tell you."
My face got hot. She was talking to me like I was ten years old.
"Are there any other secret rules I need to know, Stella?"
She stiffened to just this side of rigor mortis. "I don't appreciate your tone. Don't forget that this firm pays your salary."
Like you'd ever let me forget.
"Another thing," she said. "Lunch is sixty minutes. Perhaps you should email me when you're leaving each day, so I can help with your time management."
That was ironic, considering that Stella was infamous for all-day appointments and half-day lunches. Her sanctimonious tone fell somewhere between resolving world hunger and drafting a peace treaty, all in a single morning.
Who was she trying to kid? The only place she wanted to help me was right out of my job.
"I think I can manage alone," I said, struggling to keep my voice even. "Are we done?"
"Almost." Her eyes dropped to my conservative, dark-blue blouse and plain black pencil skirt. "You might need to reconsider your clothes."
She leaned back into the plushness of her chair. Her expression was filled with fake helpfulness.
"I know you've struggled with weight issues. A stylist might help you learn to dress without so much emphasis on some parts of your body. Just a suggestion."
Tell her to turn this job sideways and shove it. Have some pride.
Pride was exactly why Stella could get away with this, at least for now. No matter how well Hex had set me up at the Ritz, I needed to make my own way.
Atlanta's job market was good, but I was barely into a complete career change. Even if Phillip referred me, there were too many ropes I needed to learn before leaving.
It wouldn't take that long, maybe a few months. Until then I was stuck with Stella, the human papercut.
"That's all," she said, turning away and picking up her phone. "Think about what I've said. Close the door on your way out."
It took all of my willpower not to slam it as hard as I could. I almost ran down the hallway, trying to avoid everyone until my expression was back to normal.
My office was the smallest at the firm, barely large enough for a small desk and a single guest chair. When Phillip promoted me, he'd mentioned the medium-sized office next to Natalie before he left on a business trip.
Stella had other ideas. She waited until he was out of the country to re-arrange things so a miniscule space could be mine.
"It wouldn't be fair for the least experienced perso
n to have a larger office," had been her pious reason.
Natalie urged me to complain, but I actually liked my office. It might be tiny, but it was cozy and faced the south, meaning it had soft sunlight and a surprisingly good city view.
It was also at the opposite end of the hallway from Stella. In my book, that was better than a cash bonus.
Once I was settled in my chair, I leaned back and closed my eyes for a moment. An image of Hex rose in my mind, tantalizing and vibrant and all too real.
Why had he come back, only to leave again? This limbo was killing me.
Down the hallway I heard the unmistakable drumbeat of Stella's Jimmy Choos coming toward my little sanctuary. Some piece of nastiness left undone, some cutting remark left unsaid?
My temples began to throb with a killer headache.
Suddenly I was glad that Natalie was coming over tonight. I couldn't tell her all of my secrets, but not being alone for one more night would be a relief.
Chapter Seven
Twelve hours later, it was two o'clock in the morning. I was more than a little drunk, and I had told Natalie almost everything.
"That's when you showed up here with Roxy," I finished, "and that's what was in that message I wouldn't let you read."
My voice was hoarse from talking and unsteady from booze. I drained the last drops from my glass and reached for more.
Natalie snatched the margarita pitcher away from me. "Enough, or I'll have to hold your hair."
"Aren't you the one who showed up talking about wine and truth?" A slight hiccup robbed my words of their cleverness.
"I can handle truth," she said, "but I can't handle puke. Besides, I may need years of therapy to deal with this story."
No argument there. I'd spilled my guts for hours, sparing only the most intimate details. She could fill in the blanks without me humiliating myself further.
In my defense, she had to ply me with almost a full pitcher of strong margaritas before I started to talk. Then, like the good attorney she was, she let me blab on and on while she listened.
"Well? Aren't you going to say anything?" I demanded.
"Plenty. You had sex with him without protection in that cabin. Is there any chance that you're —"
"No. I had my period last week, and I had my doctor put me on birth control shots."
"Thank God. The last thing you need right now is a baby surprise. I want to see this designer closet of yours."
I led her to the massive master bedroom closet, stuffed with every type of designer clothing. It would literally take me a year to wear everything in there once.
Natalie was a clothes connoisseur, the thrifty type who managed to look like a million bucks while spending twenty. She began sifting through the racks with a practiced hand.
"I guess Hex didn't trust me to dress my new self," I said, leaning against the doorframe. "When I get a little money saved, I'm buying my own stuff and sending this to charity."
She paused while examining a red silk dress. She gave me a searching look and opened her mouth as if to say something. Instead, she turned back to the dress.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing."
"You can't do that. What were you going to say?"
"You might not like it."
"When has that ever stopped you?"
She grinned.
"I get the independence thing," she said, "but it would be silly to get rid of this. These are classic lines and styles, and the quality is kick-ass. Some of these pieces will last forever."
That was the last thing I expected from her. Once I'd accompanied her all over Atlanta for two days as she tracked down the owner of a wallet that contained three dollars and some family photos.
"It's the principle," she had said as we burned two tanks of gas that neither of us could afford at the time.
Now here she was telling me to accept a fortune in clothes from a guy who had kidnapped me.
I sat on the hardwood floor of the closet. Natalie joined me, leaning back against a built-in cabinet full of expensive underwear.
"Are you messing with me because I'm drunk?" I asked.
"I saw how he looked at you that day on Skype," she said. "He'd be hard to resist. Part of me wants you to move away, change your name, and get him out of your life."
Probably it didn't matter. No matter where I went, Hex would find me if that was what he wanted.
"What do your other parts say?"
"If I thought he forced you into all this, I'd be at the police station right now, filing a restraining order."
"But?"
"If this went to trial, I'd never get a conviction. Judges and juries look at intent. Your admirer broke every rule in the book, but he never went against your wishes."
That made me bristle.
"Did you not hear me? There was only one door in and out of Walden. I used that skillet on the window, even part of that stupid bike, but the glass wouldn't break."
"After the snakebite, you had a gun. He was tied down, and you could have left. Instead you banged each other, drove across Georgia, went to a highly public dinner, and then had a repeat performance."
I had expected her to challenge Hex to a pistol duel for my honor. Now she was the cross-examiner from hell. She crawled over and sat next to me, giving me a one-armed hug.
"I love you too much to lie. That's how the law would see it. At the same time, I know he saved you. After Michael died, that whole ugly mess with Brody —"
Both of us felt my shoulders stiffen.
"We won't talk about that," she said. "Do you remember those pedicures we got just before you disappeared?"
I nodded, wondering where she was going with this.
"Did you think I bought that lame story about the cut on your ankle being from shaving? It looked deliberate. What was it?"
"An Exacto knife." I couldn't meet her eyes. "It went deeper than I expected. It took forever to stop bleeding."
Hex had noticed that same mark when he kidnapped me and stitched it shut. It healed during my captivity and was now just a white mark with a tiny lump of scar.
"I should have made you tell me right then," she said. "I was going to follow up when I got back from Denver, but you were suddenly gone on this so-called assignment. Then you showed up on Skype, and some of that dark cloud around you was gone."
"Maybe I just wasn't quite as fat as usual," I said, wishing for another pitcher of margaritas. Or maybe just straight tequila.
"We're not wasting our collective buzz talking about that shit. So what's your plan? You can't just drift around and hope he'll come back."
Sure I can.
"As soon as I have more money, I'll find another place to live. Unless you want to live with me. It's not like I don't have room. Why are you smirking?"
"I have a feeling your guy is never far from you. You might need privacy sooner than you think."
Her glance was mischievous.
"Plus, I might have a secret or two of my own. Let's get out of this department store that you call a closet and finish off the booze."
--
"I thought you'd be advising me to run for my life," I said a little while later.
We were curled up on the couch with the rest of the margaritas and pizza. Faint pink streaks in the sky announced that sunrise wasn't far off.
"On paper it sounds pretty bad," she admitted, "but I always go with my gut. I'm also impressed. Not everyone can hide from my searches."
Something had been in the back of my mind ever since Hex had disappeared. Of course she didn't find anything for Stephen D'Amitri – he was nothing more than a persona meant to comfort and deceive.
But didn't I have other clues that Natalie didn't know about yet? Ones that Hex didn't even remember giving me?
That gave me a pang of real guilt. Part of me felt bad about violating this beautiful guy's privacy. Another part argued that said beautiful guy had diverted the whole course of my life.
Didn't I deserve to know
more?
"There's something else you might search," I said. "When he was delirious from snakebite, he said some things that sounded like gibberish. Maybe they weren't."
Natalie handed me a napkin and pen from the end table. "Write it down. You never know."
The ink was red, giving the words a lurid, blurry look as I wrote. Rosine. Killen. Strathshade.
"Any idea what they mean?" she asked.
"Killen was his brother, and Rosine was a girl – " I paused. "A girl they both knew. No idea on the other one."
"I'll run them all and see what we get."
"Can you have someone else do it, so it can't be traced to you? Hex doesn't remember some of it."
"Worried about invading his privacy?" Her grin had a sardonic edge. "He won't know it's being searched, much less who's searching. He may be smart, but he doesn't own the Internet."
I couldn't stop my unease. For some reason, it felt as if these ill-gotten words were tinged with bad luck.
Natalie was watching me.
"Are you sure you want me to run these? We can tear this up, and I'll pretend I never saw them."
Superstitious much? What's next, throwing salt over your shoulder?
"Sure," I said. "What harm can it do?"
Chapter Eight
By the end of the week, my nerves were raw. Stella had been all over me like an annoying rash. I clung to the grim hope that, like most weeks, she would be gone Thursday at noon.
Not this week. Harassing me was apparently more fun than her weekly venom injections, or fang sharpening, or whatever she usually did on the days she disappeared.
Friday was especially lonely because Natalie was on a plane to Michigan for a family visit. She would have a few profanity-laden texts from me when she landed.
At noon I bolted out to a little deli on the corner for a sandwich to eat at my desk. Probably that was exactly what Stella wanted me to do, but hiding in my office was better than being stalked at the elevator.
When I came back with a ham-and-cheese panini and a coffee, I saw the shadow of someone in my visitor chair. Apparently Stella was expanding her torture to invading my lunch hour.
The coffee was unusually hot. Maybe I could spill it on her. A brisk scalding might make her a better person.
