But not only was she in her fucking underwear, she was sitting there having coffee with his antiquities manager, who was supposed to have still been in fucking London!
Seeing her standing there in front of Jake, and seeing that assholes eyes look down at Paislee’s perfect fucking ass for even an instant, had him seeing red. As far as he was concerned, he was a fucking saint for not killing the man where he’d stood.
The images that crossed his mind once they’d been alone had forced the reaction he’d had to her. And it was mild compared to what he’d wanted which was to bend her over his desk and fuck her senseless until she wouldn’t even think of another man for the rest of her life.
“Morning, Sir,” Jess greeted him as he stepped into his building.
“Morning, Jess, what’s on my schedule for today.” He continued his walk to the elevator, and she followed.
“You have a lunch meeting with Mr. Gentry at noon, and a conference call with an archeologist out of Rome at two.”
“Great, thank you.” He offered her a forced smile as the doors closed between them and he began the rise to his office.
He took a deep breath, there was no telling how pissed off Paislee was going to be after this morning, and since it had been a mistake, a fucking hot one, he added to himself, he had no intention of revisiting their kiss.
The elevator dinged, and the doors opened on the fifteenth floor. Paislee was sitting on the couch, legs folded underneath of her, reading a book. She didn’t even bother to look up at him, so he set his things down at his desk.
“Morning,” he greeted.
“Morning,” she responded tightly. Great, so she was pissed. This would make for a fun day.
He opened the folder Jake had brought up and looked over his notes. He was going to need to meet with his employee sooner or later, and he supposed getting it over early would be best.
And maybe if Jake was up here again, Paislee would stop seething, because he knew that’s what she was doing.
He lifted the receiver, and watching her face closely, called down to his secretary. “Send Mr. Parish to my office.”
Paislee didn’t move an inch, and he’d wondered if she had even heard him.
Five minutes of silence passed until the elevator sounded. Jake stepped out, looking like a frightened gazelle about to be pounced on by a lion. Good, you better not fucking touch what’s mine again. He thought to himself.
“Jess said you wished to speak with me?”
“Yes.”
“Morning, Jake!” Paislee greeted him happily, and Timothy’s jaw tightened.
“Please sit,” he instructed, and Jake took a seat across from the desk.
“I’m so sorry about this morning, Mr. McGinley, it won’t happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t,” he warned. “Now.” He opened the folder. “Tell me about London.”
“It went well, the curator was pleased that the chalices were legitimate, and they want to send someone over for the auction next month.”
“Good, do we have any items they’re particularly interested in?”
Jake shook his head. “No Sir, none that they mentioned to me anyway.”
“Okay, thank you. Go to the fourth floor and begin setting things aside for the auction. I labeled the items I want to incorporate next month, as well as the ones that are ready to be shipped back to the owners.”
“Yes, Sir.” Jake got to his feet and started to head towards the elevator.
“Jake, hang on!” Paislee called and ran over to him. “To answer your earlier question, I would love to have dinner with you tonight.”
Timothy bit back the murderous rage building inside of him as he glared at Paislee’s back. Did she really think she could win this game?
“Okay, great. I’ll see you later.” Jake stumbled towards the elevator and disappeared while Paislee hummed as she walked back to the couch.
“What the hell was that?” Timothy demanded.
She looked up at him innocently. “What was what?”
He nearly flipped his desk over in anger. “Never fucking mind.” He responded and waited not so patiently for the elevator to return. He needed to put some distance between them before he went through with his earlier plan involving her and his desk.
Paislee waited until he was gone before she got to her feet and tossed the book she’d been pretending to read on to the couch. How dare he! How dare he! Treat her like he owned her!
She wasn’t a fool, she knew that kiss this morning had been his way of controlling her. His own personal way of marking her as his. Well fuck that and fuck him. She would not be controlled by another man ever again.
Besides, she liked Jake. He was cute, and kind, and NOT some condescending, arrogant dick with his own agenda. He wasn’t in any way tied to Malcolm, and for once it might be nice to go on a date and not have to worry about anything else.
But then why did she feel so guilty, she wondered. If she knew all of this, coupled with the fact Timothy had treated her like he had every single day since she’d met him, even after their kiss, why couldn’t she get the asshole out of her head?
“Ugh,” she groaned and fell backward onto the couch. If she was honest with herself, she had no inclination to take things past friendship with Jake, but if it bothered Timothy to think she did, she couldn’t see the harm in that.
Chapter 10
Timothy stalked down to Ashton’s office. The security guard was the closest thing Timothy had to an actual friend, and what he needed right now was someone to keep him from killing Jake Parish. Because at the moment, that was exactly what he wanted to do. How dense was that kid anyways? Apparently, basic intelligence does not go hand in hand with being book smart.
“Everything alright boss?” Ashton looked up from his computer when the door slammed.
“Just fucking peachy.”
“Parish?”
Timothy nodded and took a seat at the desk.
“Want me to have him escorted from the premises?”
“No, I can’t do that.” Timothy ran his hands through his hair and then leaned back and tried to relax. “Although seeing Paislee's pissed off face would be rather humorous at the moment.”
Ashton let out a laugh. “I suppose it would be.” His face grew serious. “I was going to come get you, we found the brother.”
Timothy straightened. “Where?”
“He was last seen in a house on the other side of town, I have the address.”
“When?”
“I called around and a neighbor who apparently lives across the street from ‘that house,’ which is how she put it, said she saw a man matching his description stumbling into it last night.”
“Let’s go.”
“You got it, boss.”
Timothy followed Ashton downstairs and into an SUV waiting at the curb. After making a phone call to the best addict recovery center in Boston, he called Paislee.
“Hello?”
“It’s Timothy. I’m running errands, and I will be back after my lunch meeting.”
“Fine.” The line went dead, he cursed and tossed the phone into the seat beside him.
The drive was shorter than Timothy had thought it would be, and they stepped out onto the street in front of a house that had seen much better days. The white paint was cracking and peeling, and the chain link fence that surrounded the piece of property was doing very little to keep anyone out. Weeds and grass were overgrown and had completely taken over the sidewalk. Ashton and Timothy made their way up to the rickety porch. Ashton knocked, but when no one answered, he opened the already unlocked door, and they stepped inside.
The scents of urine and vomit assaulted their senses the second they crossed the threshold. He scrunched his nose and did his best to breath as shallow as possible. This is just fucking delightful, he thought to himself as they made their way into what he assumed was supposed to be an entry room but was now lined with people passed out covered in their own excrement.
<
br /> Groans from the occupants that were scattered all over the floor filled his ears, and he averted his eyes. He had no time for the dying, they weren’t why he was here. He had one goal, one man he was here for.
The hallway ended in a living area where torn, and sagging sofas lined the walls.
“Boss.” Ashton nodded towards a form on a couch. Even from here Timothy could see the resemblance to the photo he’d seen in Paislee’s apartment.
This man was gaunt, pale, and looked one pill away from death, but his bright red hair gave him away.
“Zeke.” Timothy stopped in front of the couch, and the man sat up. To Timothy, this man looked very much like a lost teenager, and he bit back the bile that rose in his throat at the stench wafting up off him. He had no pity for a man who would sell his little sister to feed a drug habit. Because even if Paislee didn’t necessarily see it that way, he did.
“Yeah, who the fuck are you.”
Timothy reached down and ripped the punk up from the couch to slam him into a wall.
“Hey, man!”
Without looking, Timothy pulled the gun from his waist and trained it on the two men who walked in with their firearms out.
“You’re going to want to drop those,” he warned.
“Put them down.” Ashton walked over and kicked the guns away as the men complied. They were too fucking high not to.
“What the hell do you want?” Zeke slurred.
“You’re coming with me.”
“Fuck no, man.”
“You don’t have a choice.” Timothy drug him out of the house full of the soon to be deceased. Away from the urine and vomit covered floors and walls. Away from the stench of death from those who had died but the others were too high to notice.
When they stepped outside, Timothy and Ashton both took deep breaths, and Timothy tossed Zeke to the car sitting in front of the house.
Ashton opened the door. “Get in,” he said gruffly, and Zeke, eyes wide backed away.
“Uh-uh. I ain't going nowhere with you two.”
“You don’t have a choice,” Timothy repeated and lifted him to his feet again to ram him against the car.
“Wh-wh-what do you want from me?”
“I’m taking you to a place where you are going to get clean and stop being a fucking pathetic waste of oxygen.”
“You can’t make me go nowhere with you.” He tried to run, and Timothy slammed him back against the car, so Ashton could pat him down.
“I am a friend of your sister, you remember her? The girl you sold as a fucking twelve-year-old?”
The eyes so like his sisters widened and Timothy saw the sadness reflected even through his dulled senses.
That was what he needed to see to keep him from just shooting the asshole. He actually did care for his sister.
“You know Paislee?”
“Yeah.”
“You stole her!” he screamed and to his credit tried to fight back. Timothy pressed his gun against the druggies chest.
“No, I didn’t. She is no longer in the care of your old boss. Now that I have your attention you better listen closely. You are going to rehab, you are going to get clean, and if you refuse or I hear that you have been anything but a recovering addict I will put a fucking bullet in your brain, so your sister doesn’t ever see you like this again. You will do this for her Zeke. You fucking owe her.”
Tears fell down Zeke's freckled cheeks, and he nodded. “I will, I will. Please tell her I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want him to take her. I tried to save her.”
Timothy let him go, and Zeke fell to the ground in tears. He turned away and bit back the fresh anger. Except this time, it wasn’t aimed at the addict on the ground but rather at the murderer who had taken advantage of siblings who hadn’t known any better.
“Get him out of here,” he told Ashton’s second, Ty. “Stay with him and let me know if he tries anything.”
“You got it, boss.” Ty pulled away.
“What are we doing about everyone in there?”
“Call the police and leave an anonymous tip,” he said and walked back to his car. Ashton climbed in, and they pulled away from the curb.
Zeke would try to get clean, and Timothy honestly hoped he was able to stay that way. He watched the trees and houses they passed and shook his head.
If he didn’t do something about Malcolm, it would just continue to be another family he exploited.
“Fuck,” he said aloud. It seemed he wasn’t done fighting other people’s wars after all. But this wasn’t someone else’s war anymore, was it? Malcolm had targeted him in that alley.
“You worried about this meeting?” Ashton asked him from the front seat.
“No, my guess is Malcolm wants to size me up, see if I’m still breathing for himself.”
“What game do you think he’s playing at?”
“I honestly have no fucking clue.” And that’s what bothered him the most.
* * *
Rico’s Bistro was a well-known gem in downtown Boston. It catered to the wealthy with its elaborate décor, but the food was less than worthy of the price tag that accompanied it.
It had become known as the place for business meetings you weren’t sure were going to go particularly well. Typically, it was a place you showed up to and then asked your party if they’d rather take the meeting somewhere else, say a business office, in order to finish with the details.
Timothy had no interest in going anywhere else with Malcolm Gentry.
“I’ll be right here,” Ashton said and stepped to the side of the front door where he could see the entire restaurant at all times. Timothy followed the hostess who made her way over to a table in the center of the crowded restaurant.
He wasn’t sure what to expect as far as Malcolm Gentry was concerned, their research hadn’t even uncovered a recent photo of the man they were meeting. So, when the waitress stopped at a table with a middle-aged man, Timothy was fairly shocked.
Malcolm stood and extended his hand, “Mr. McGinley, it’s so nice to finally meet you. This is my wife, Lindsay.”
“Nice to meet you both,” he greeted, and they took their seats. Malcolm’s hair was beginning to grey, while the rest was black. His eyes were brown, and his face clean-shaven. He looked like a typical businessman, nothing like the psychotic murderer Timothy knew him as.
His wife though was anything but. She was blonde, but not in a way that came natural and her full lips had not been gifted to her by God but rather injected with more plastic then should be allowed inside any one person. They were painted red, and her blood red fingernails had been trimmed to a sharp point. It was her eyes that set her apart from most businessmen’s trophy wives. They reminded him of a shark circling the water for its next meal.
“What can I say is the pleasure of this meeting today?” Timothy wondered as he tried to appear relaxed.
“Can I call you Timothy?” Malcolm asked, and Timothy nodded. “Well, I find I am absolutely fascinated by you and your work. How long have you been in the antique business?”
“A number of years.”
Malcolm smiled widely at the lack of an answer. “Well the company you have founded is impressive.”
“It was founded by my relatives but thank you.”
“Yes, your relatives that’s right. My mistake.” He smiled again and lifted a menu. “I think I’m going to have the lasagna, what about you my dear?”
“I’m going to have a chicken Caesar.”
“That sounds delicious,” Malcolm commented. “What about you Timothy?”
“Not hungry.”
“Oh, but the food here is great. You have to try something, I insist!”
“Lasagna sounds good,” Timothy said easily without lifting his menu.
Once the waiter came and took their order, Malcolm clasped his hands together and then set them on the table.
“So, tell me about yourself, Timothy. What are some of your hobbies?”
“Is this a date Malcolm? Or is there a point to this meeting?”
Malcolm laughed heartily, and Lindsay smiled. “I’m so sorry, I am just so excited to meet you!”
“And why is that?”
“I’ve been following your work; your reputation is phenomenal.” He leaned in closely, “Between you and I, I have my eye on a rather unique antique. One that is so incredibly rare I’m sure there is only one in all the world.”
His words chilled Timothy. Surely the ass hat wasn’t talking about him. “If you bring it by my office, I would be more than happy to authenticate it.”
“Well, you see, therein lies the problem.” He leaned back in his seat. “It’s not exactly in my custody at the moment. I wanted to see for myself if it were real or not.”
Timothy’s blood iced just as Lindsay reached across the table. “That is a lovely watch.” Using the tip of her manicured fingernail, she traced the outline of the watch and Timothy felt a bite on the back of his hand as her nail slipped off the watch and into his skin.
“Oh my! I’m so sorry!” She feigned shock when everyone at the table knew she’d done it on purpose.
Timothy didn’t move his hand, he saw the glee in Malcolm’s eyes as the first drop of blood welled up on the surface of Timothy’s hand, and he watched that glee fade to disappointment when the wound continued to bleed rather than heal.
“I’m so sorry about that.” Malcolm’s now un-amused eyes shifted, so he was looking at Timothy directly. “I keep telling her that those fingernails are going to hurt someone one day.”
“It’s no big issue.” Timothy lifted his hand and pressed a napkin to it. “Accidents happen.”
“Yes, it appears they do.” He turned to his wife who now looked angry, probably at the fact she had wasted time coming here to meet with a man who was supposed to be immortal. “Dear, can you please have the driver bring the car around, we need to get to our next meeting.”
“Not hungry?” Timothy asked him as easily as if they were old friends.
“I’m afraid I forgot about a prior engagement in my rush to meet with you. Perhaps we can do this again?” he asked as they stood.
Collateral Damage_A Tethered Novel Page 8
