by Nicole Snow
Consider rule number two officially amended: I will fuck where I eat, as long as it's Bekah on the menu.
I'm about to get these damned pants off, but before I get my fingers on the belt buckle, I hear the worst sound in the world. “Well, well, well, so it is you. Mr. Fuck and Run Shaw himself. Thought I saw you come swaggering in.” A woman's voice, strained in high-pitched, whiney surprise.
I spin around, my eyes bugging out of my head, rage flooding my veins. Apparently, I can buy a lot, but simple privacy is beyond my reach.
It's Mina. Paler and scarier than I remember, her bangs cut short and black, a perfect match for the skin-tight dress barely containing her cantaloupe sized tits. Fake, I found out quickly, one fine night.
“Grant?” Bekah flashes me a wounded look.
T-minus two seconds before the crazy bitch pushes through the curtain she's holding open, and crashes into us. “You despicable little hussy! You're nothing to even look at, and here you are with your tongue shoved down the throat of a man who's too good for you. My man! Why her, Grant? Tell me, now!”
Berserk. No other word describes how she flies between us, pushing her way into the middle, screaming so loud half the club must've heard the commotion by now.
Bad business optics are the least of my worries. There's also the worst blue balls in the world I'm nursing, and the urge to knock her out cold when she does the unthinkable.
She slaps Bekah. My girl tumbles backward, stunned, horrified by the drunken lunatic screaming in her face.
“How fucking much did he pay you, hooker? How much?!”
“Hooker? I'm his assistant! Stop!” Bekah holds her hand up.
Mina pauses, but not because she's decided to listen to reason. The assistant thing hits her right between the eyes. I never give her a chance to recover, grabbing both her wrists, tugging her into me, away from Bekah, who's scrambling to her feet.
“You've had your fun, sticking your psycho nose where it doesn't belong.” I bare my teeth, twisting her head so she looks at me. “Leave, Mina. I gave you the club pass to find a new man, not to come here and spy on me.”
“I want you. Want to be more than just another girl you dropped as soon as you got bored.”
I've dealt with more than a few scorned women over the years. Normally, I show sympathy for their tears, their outbursts, when they throw themselves at my feet. They always swear they're the one, we're meant to be, and Lord, they'll prove it, if I just give them another chance.
It's a sad, sorry sight. I hate having to drag them out, or hail a cab and have them ferried away.
This is different. It's not another drunken, desperate late night confession. Mina just pissed me off royal. My eyes are glued to the only woman here who matters. Bekah isn't paralyzed by shock anymore. She's looking at me, her arms crossed, her jade eyes angry, aimed in my direction.
“Who is she?” she says, each word dripping venom.
“My very crazy, very short-term assistant,” I say, cringing as I remember the first, and until now, only time I ever came close to breaching my second rule. Technically, she wasn't an employee when we hooked up.
I never made a move until after her temp contract ran out. After she left the office. After she spent weeks walking over reports to my desk, always making sure she bent down low to give me a clear sight of everything in her low cut, totally inappropriate blouses.
I'm only human. It didn't count. Neither did those underwhelming, comically oversized tits, more like having my dick between two airbags than anything real.
“There's a reason I needed a new intern,” I say. “Last one didn't work out too well. We did it once, and only once, a couple weeks after she left Neolithic. Months passed. I moved on. I forgot. Sent her packing with extra severance and a club pass, hoping she'd find another sucker to text a hundred and thirty seven times before I blocked her number. Nina filled me in on more crazy brewing in my voicemail. I went no contact. Never looked back, Bekah, not even once.”
“I waited for you!” Mina bawls, twisting in my arms. I tighten my grip. “Every week. Every night. Hoping you'd finally show up here...”
“You wasted your time. We're over. Never even got off the ground.”
Bekah starts walking. She's heard enough. Damn it, I don't have a third hand to grab her, and I can't risk letting go of this crazy bitch before security gets here.
“Bekah, wait!”
She stops in front of us, just at the edge of the booth, and raises her right hand. My eyebrows fly up when she slaps Mina across the cheek. It's a resounding clap. “Whoa, hold up, this isn't how we do this, moscato. Let me call security and I'll –“
She shuts me up with an equally quick, blistering slap across my cheek. Stings like a bastard, but it's not half as bad as seeing the tears brimming in the soft green eyes I lit just minutes ago.
“Don't bother. I'm out. I'm not going to play your game and wind up just as burned. Maybe worse. We both know what's on the line.”
I do, and it makes me feel like the biggest asshole in the world. This can't go up in smoke. “Bekah!”
I call her name three more times before it's clear she isn't turning around. When the waitress shows up a second later and almost drops her tray when she sees what's happened, I don't bother waiting for her to fetch the bouncers.
It's a struggle marching the blubbering, cursing mess in my arms over to them, but I do it anyway. Then I chase down my car and blow the club, pounding the leather wheel as I wind down the deserted streets. The cool summer rain picked up while we were in Club B.I.G., but it's no relief.
I fucked up bad.
Tomorrow, walking into the office will feel like going before a firing squad. Fifty-fifty chance I wind up with a kill shot lodged in my heart. One hundred percent chance I take some kind of bullet.
Maybe there'll be a resignation notice on my desk from Nina, telling me Bekah quit. Then a damned good chance the merger gets blown, too, if her prick father finds out what sent her fleeing Neolithic in tears.
If she stays, then it means the obsession continues, an unbroken fever with its cure out of reach, possibly forever. Every hour, every day, watching through the glass in my office as she works, pretending the wall of tension between us isn't pure hell.
Raw obsession, burning without end, until she either speaks to me again, or I decide I've had enough of this shit and throw my Eames chair right through the glass divide.
How haunted can a man be?
How unlucky?
How thoroughly, completely, inescapably fucked?
6
Running Out the Clock (Bekah)
Three days go by at home. I tell Nina I'm sick, and I don't know when I'll be in. She's very understanding, and even calls to ask after me the second day. I never pick up because there's no earthly way I can tell her I'm suffering an attack of my own stupidity.
Thankfully, dad hasn't been home much to dish out hell for skipping work. Mom is too distracted to care, barking at travel agents over the phone, planning her big Dubai excursion.
Thursday evening, Tay calls. I haven't been responding to her texts.
“Did you go and die with no obituary?” she says, as soon as I pick up. Her blunt, no-nonsense humor makes me smile.
“Sorry. I've been laid up for a few days feeling sorry for myself.”
“Oh, you mean what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-men-itis? Yeah, there's a lot of that going around.”
“You first,” I say, hoping a good disaster will cheer me up.
“Surfer dude got bored fucking. I got really pissed when he blew me off last weekend. The end. Except for the fact that he'll never see me in the caramel flavored panties I bought just for him.”
“Caramel, huh?” I wince, imagining it melting down her legs like a bad sundae topping.
“Now, you,” she says, barely giving me time to catch my breath. “What did the Bearded Idiot do?”
“It started well. Grant saved me from Monsier Creep-o. And no, I never got around to
telling him off like we planned. Don't ask. Thought I had it made. We went to his club, and started making out in his fancy VIP booth. Then his ex walked in.”
“Ohhh, juicy!”
She's relishing this. I can hear her pink fingernails rubbing together like a damned raccoon. Sighing, I decide to get on with it, knowing I've said too much to leave her hanging.
“This girl, Mina. I guess she used to work under him, his intern or assistant or whatever, months before me. Complete psycho. She hit me.”
“Hit you?”
“Yeah. Fists flying, hair pulling, crazy eyes, the whole bad comedy vibes. Except I wasn't laughing. Grant pulled her off me. I gave them both a piece of my mind, but the more I think about it, I ought to be thanking her.” I'm not sure why it's so hard to talk about this with my best friend. The stupid incident forms a shameful lump in my throat, but I push past it, dropping the big question. “Our catfight knocked some badly needed sense into me, dumb as it sounds. Made me realize I'm risking a lot with him...and for what, exactly? There's no upside to this. Especially not if he's just going to discard me, and leave me pining after him like her.”
“Bekah, you said she was his ex. You're wrong.” Tay's tone chides me, sending my eyebrows up. “Sounds like you ran smack dab into a fuck buddy.”
“Whatever. You know I'm not up on terminology when it comes to casual encounters.”
“No, and I'm not here to make excuses for Bearded Idiot. But is it really a big surprise a man like him has got a few janky skeletons in his closet?”
“You didn't see her,” I say, shaking my head. Every time I see that woman's frantic, hurt eyes in my mind, I want to throw up. “She was insane. Said she'd been coming to the club for months, hoping to catch him there.”
“So, not just a fuck toy, but a crazy one?”
I'm not helping my case. I snort frustration. “Look, maybe I overreacted a little, but not really. I'm not cut out for this like you are, Tay. Normal relationships are what I like, and there's no way this will ever be one. I can't do this. Can't go around the same block again with a man who's been down it a thousand times before with other girls. There's no fun in it when I'll lose everything if this goes bad.”
“Everything, huh? And what, pray tell, are you clinging to that's worth so much now?”
I don't say anything, biting my tongue. There are no words.
Sure, her family's rich too, or we never would've met at the same pretentious academy as girls. But her family doesn't have billions on the line. They don't oversee thousands of employees, or run companies that run investments to power jobs for countless more. She can live off her trust fund forever without worrying about causing mass unemployment if business deals go bad. Without potentially enraging her asshole father into divesting funds she needs to make this world a better place.
“Bekah, come on. I didn't mean it like –“
“Sorry, I have to go.” I cut her off and hang up quickly. It's the smart choice before I say something truly damaging to our friendship.
Grant isn't worth fighting over. Not with my best friend, and certainly not when I become a target for his old sex toys.
Worse, he's still stuck in my head. Stupid smug smile, soft beard, serious inks, and all.
I told myself I'd lick my wounds for a few days and then go back to work. I'd sort out how I'd deal with seeing him then, but after skipping several days, I'm no closer to how.
Tay doesn't understand what's on the line. That's forgivable.
I'm less sure I can forgive myself for the same hole in my head. Because if I'm really serious about everything at stake, if I'm absolutely certain it means anything, I can't keep running. I can't hide from him forever.
I have to end this madness, before it ends me first.
I feel better after a long, hot shower. I've also left Nina a message saying I'll be in tomorrow at six o'clock sharp. Maybe there's still time to repair my standing with her if I get caught up on the supply requests we started processing before Grant lit my week on fire.
I head down to the library for some quiet time before I look for a late dinner, but I never get that far. I stop outside the closed door, listening to the voices.
It's dad. He's talking to someone else on the phone over speaker.
Probably Ethan. It sounds like him, but it's difficult to be sure because they're both talking French.
I can't understand a word. But the context couldn't be clearer. This is not a happy conversation.
Dad sounds strained, like he's trying to keep his tone low, controlled. Several more foreign sentences fly back and forth. Then his fist comes down abruptly on a desk. I jump at the noise, catching my heart in my throat.
“Listen to me, you desperate little shrew, I said I'll talk to him again to expedite the bonds for Fabius. That's the extent of my powers at the moment.” Dad slips into English, madder than ever. “As for Rebekah, yes, I'll talk to her, too. Understand I can't make my daughter do anything. She's a free woman, and an adult, as annoying as it is.”
Ethan speaks again. Calmer, softer, using the usual slick, comforting tone I hear him try to emulate every time he works his way closer to me.
“You don't scare me, you know.” My father's footsteps hit the wooden floor as he crosses it, heavy and loud, muffled when he reaches the Ottoman rug. “I told you, I don't care about the damned dirt, or the diamonds you're holding over my head. We're both tainted. If you think you're in any position to push Jeremiah Corbin around, think again. You won't flip. You'll be risking my word against yours if we're both found out. Hell, I'll call up the President of the US-fucking-A and have him sic SEAL Team Six on your ass if you get any bright ideas about busting my balls with your thugs. Hello?”
My heart is racing. It can't go faster, not even when I hear him curse again, and send the phone flying across the room in a fit. It hits the wall with a deafening thud.
Time to go.
I don't walk back to my room. I run, flying up the stairs, nearly bowling over one of the maids preparing to mop the second floor. Muttering an apology, I throw my bedroom door open and slam it shut. I'm safe. I've made it where my father can't find me, whenever he leaves the library in an inevitable, furious huff.
I've eavesdropped on a lot of angry business deals over the years, living in this house. But nothing as sinister as this.
'Rebekah' was never a subject on his lips before. I was a secondary annoyance he had to deal with, and usually turned over to my mother, or my teachers, as quickly as he could.
For the first time ever, I'm the center of attention, and I don't know why.
What kind of deal has he made?
Straining my brain as hard as I can, there are no answers. It scares the hell out of me.
It's good to be at the office again. After the conversation I heard last night, after it invaded my mind in a fitful, twisted sleep, I'm happy for distractions.
Even if they involve a bearded beast of a man who makes me feel incredible one day, and horrible the next.
I keep my head down past noon, long after he's come in, and decided to keep his distance. I run through the supply and support tickets with Nina, just another cog in a machine. Happy to be nothing more important for a few fleeting seconds.
Grant never bothers me. It's the same on Friday.
He doesn't leave his office, not even to make the rounds with the young men on the trading floor, who always look like they've received a pat on the back from God himself whenever he comes by their cubes and adds his encouragement.
I'm stunned by his absence. Okay, maybe a little disappointed.
I thought for sure he'd hunt me down, delivering all the excuses in the book. I expected an apology.
Oh, she wasn't important like you are, moscato.
She's psychotic. Don't listen to her.
She's out to get me because she knows we have something special.
I've run the make-believe words through my head hundreds of times, crafting the perfect responses. I n
ever get a chance to use them because he's mysteriously absent.
No, not mysterious. Infuriating.
On Saturday, I make up with Tay. We get coffee and Vietnamese food at our favorite little spot in Queens, then spend the evening shopping for shoes.
Sunday morning, there's a knock at my door. “Rebekah, wake up.”
Dad's voice. I jump out of bed, still rubbing my eyes, surprised to see my father standing there in a fresh new suit, a blood red tie around his neck. He hasn't woken me up in the morning like this since I was a little girl on Christmas. “What's wrong?” I sputter, knowing perfectly well it probably has something to do with the eerie chatter I eavesdropped on.
“Nothing, if you clear your schedule for dinner tonight. I'd like you to dine with your mother and I. We're doing the dinner with Ethan. He's discussed it with you before, I trust, so you had plenty of notice. Consider this one more, short notice as it is.”
What can I do? Say no, and choke on the invisible noose coiling around my throat?
“Maybe. What time?” I sigh, turning my doormat eyes to the floor.
“Seven. We'll meet at Filandro's. You know the dress code there.”
“Formal. Lucky I just had my wardrobe dry cleaned.”
“Excellent, I'll see you then,” he says, before taking off. He stops when he's halfway down the hall, just before I'm about to push the door shut. “And Rebekah...thank you for being on top of this.”
It's worse than I thought. My stomach recoils. He rarely ever shows anybody gratitude, much less his own daughter.
I give him my fakest smile and a tiny nod before I fall back inside, closing my eyes as I collapse against the wall.
Remember when I just had to worry about my billionaire boss trying to get my clothes off? This is so much more complicated.
I've picked a red dress, hoping it'll make me look like one of those animals whose hue screams danger. Filandro's is a stuffy, new money place with gold curtains, crystal chandeliers, and palm trees out the ying-yang.
