The Missing Butterfly

by Megan Derr

  Cassidy rolled his eyes. "You're not allowed to hang out with them anymore, and no more house parties unless I've vetted them. Christ, I so can wait for you to go to college. I am not looking forward to the phone call I'll receive then."

  "Yeah, yeah, yeah," Denny replies, but smiles another relieved thanks. "I didn't drag you from a party or anything of your own, did I, bro?"

  "No," Cassidy replied.

  "Anything fun happen?"

  Cassidy shook his head and carefully did not think about scouts and business cards and far away stars. "It was a pretty boring night. It'll be nice to get home."

  "I totally agree with that."

  Nodding, because he didn't trust himself to manage speaking anymore, Cassidy drove them home.

  Chapter Seven

  Cassidy had punched someone.

  Malcolm stared at Cassidy's knuckles in shock, only barely remembering not to stare openly as they made their coffee in the break room. He wondered, suddenly, just how long he'd been matching his breaks to Cassidy's so they had a few minutes alone here each day.

  He could not take his eyes from the fight bite. That was definitely a wound taken by punching someone square in the mouth. Whoever Cassidy had punched, the guy would be lucky if he hadn't lost a tooth. Who in the hell had Cassidy punched? Since when did flushing, mumbling, ready to bolt in a moment Cassidy know how to swing a punch?

  Dumping creamer in his coffee, Malcolm asked, "What happened to your hand? Looks like it hurts."

  Cassidy stiffened, then with obvious effort slowly relaxed. "Cut it doing house maintenance stuff this weekend." He grimaced. "Playing house is not all it's cracked up to be when shit breaks."

  "I agree. That's why I don't live in one," Malcolm replied with a grin. Then he wanted to kick himself, because now he would probably have to admit he lived in a penthouse. He could lie, but one lie always led to more, and he had enough crap to keep track of without outright lying for no good reason.

  But, for better or worse, Cassidy only nodded in reply, and did not ask further questions. "Smart move."

  "You look tired. Get enough sleep? You can go home sick if you're not feeling well."

  "No, I’m fine," Cassidy said, shaking his head, looking suddenly anxious. "Just tired. I'm fine, really." He looked up, sad eyes almost fearful now, then dropped his gaze again hastily, as if afraid of what he might see—or, Malcolm thought suddenly, of what might be seen.

  He shook off the weird thought. "Well, if you want to go home, just say. Myself, I had a very boring weekend, followed by a very boring week, and it's looking to be a very long, boring Friday. Paperwork has got to be the most boring thing on the face of the planet."

  Cassidy smiled briefly, making a noise that sounded suspiciously like a smothered laugh. "If we liked doing it, I guess they probably wouldn't pay us to do it."

  "This is true," Malcolm said. "So how was your weekend, evil housework aside? I hope less boring than mine." He hadn't even managed to get into a fight. His brothers, mature individuals that they were, had proclaimed they were going to fall over and die of shock. He'd told them to go fuck themselves, asserting his own maturity.

  Despite a burning need to go find his tattooed hottie, he'd told himself it was stupid to go hunting for a man who had probably already forgotten all about that night. He was hopeless, but not quite pathetic—yet.

  When Cassidy only gave a noncommittal response on his weekend, Malcolm switched tracks. "So are you still going to the picnic? They'll be announcing the band week after next. You're into music, yeah? I know you recognized the music in my car, when I took you home that one night. The girls say you're always singing along with the radio."

  Cassidy went bright red at that, and started trying to stare holes into his coffee mug. "Yeah, I try to be quiet though. I didn't realize they could all hear me. Sorry."

  Malcolm grimaced. "That's not what I meant. My impression is, they wish you'd sing more and at higher volumes. Anyway, I just meant you'd be sure to enjoy the music. Are you certain your hand is okay?" he asked, switching subjects.

  "I put some stuff on it," Cassidy replied, balling his hand into a loose fist and letting it fall by his side to be half hidden by his pants leg. "It'll be fine."

  Malcolm nodded, and gave up conversation for the time being. Cassidy was clearly in full on quiet mode today. "I guess I've avoided my monthly reports long enough." Clapping Cassidy on the shoulder, maybe letting the touch linger a beat or two, he finally forced his feet to move and returned to his office to slug through the dreaded reports. Every month, when the damned things cropped up and could no longer be avoided, he seriously questioned why he played Head Office Monkey instead of jet setting around the world.

  But, really, that was a no brainer. And lately, Cassidy seemed to have become one more reason to stick around, even if Malcolm could not see logically how that made sense. Cassidy could barely talk to him at the best of times.

  He might be fantasizing about Jonathan when he stroked off, but it was the sad, sad eyes of Cassidy that hit him like a punch to the gut. He thought about Jonathan, but he also thought about how Cassidy might look spread across his lap.

  Was Cassidy the soft, pliant type? Or did all that anxiety melt away in bed and show more of the spark hinted at when Cassidy had been at the restaurant? Was he submissive? A little aggressive? Malcolm would dearly love to find out, but more than that he wanted to know why Cassidy was so anxious all the time, why he seemed always fearful. He wanted to strip the sadness from those eyes, and see what they looked like bright and happy.

  It was stupid. Not quite four months, Cassidy had been here. By now, employees had usually spilled their life stories to anyone who had no choice but to stand still and listen—or those desperate enough to avoid work.

  About Cassidy, he still knew so woefully little.

  His parents had died when Cassidy was eighteen. Instead of turning his siblings over to foster care, he'd taken responsibility of them. That said more about Cassidy than he suspected Cassidy realized. It said a hell of a lot.

  He also knew Cassidy took his coffee with only a small amount of cream. He suspected that when not drinking biohazard office coffee, Cassidy took it black.

  Cassidy obviously loved his siblings, where so many probably would have come to resent them.

  He was almost boyishly happy about the college courses he'd be starting soon, and Malcolm sensed a lot of that was a lost opportunity.

  His last boss had been a monstrous bitch. He was terrified of losing this job, despite the fact he had nothing to worry about.

  He never wore short sleeves. He had Malcolm completely enthralled and was completely oblivious to it.

  Malcolm let his head thump against the top of his desk, and gave up any attempt at working. He was going to have to do something about Cassidy, but damned if he knew what yet.

  He pushed away from his desk and stood up. If he wasn't going to work, then he would go and bother Antoine. Decision made, he grabbed his laptop bag and fled his office, heading for the elevators and taking one straight to the thirty first floor. He waved to Antoine's secretary, who only smiled and waved him through.

  Antoine looked up from his computer, and smirked when he saw who it was. He stopped typing whatever he'd been working on, and said, "I ran into your tattooed hottie Saturday night. He turned me down cold, it really hurt my feelings."

  Malcolm scowled. "Why the hell were you hitting on my hottie?" he demanded.

  Antoine snickered. "Making out with the man for a few minutes does not make him yours, you know."

  "No, but it does mean back off, I called dibs," Malcolm retorted.

  "You're hilarious when you're obsessing," Antoine replied. "Anyway, Mr. Possessive, I didn't hit on him. But, like you, that's how he took it at first. If I'd been cruising, I think I would have gone home crying."

  Malcolm rolled his eyes. "I'm guessing you weren't able to hook him? Wally usually has better game than that."

  "Wally had to b
ail on the evening. The Banshee demanded his presence." Antoine made a face.

  "Ah," Malcolm said. "So my hottie turned you down on all fronts. Must be losing your charm Mr. Smooth."

  "Fuck you. Poking around a bit more, though, it seems the man mostly keeps to himself. He's hooked up, but those were few and far between. He's definitely never pulled a guy out of a fight and then gotten into a car with him."

  Malcolm shrugged, playing at nonchalance. The jealousy he'd felt at hearing Jonathan had hooked up—of course he'd fucking hooked up, come on, what was he, in high school?—had been soothed by hearing Jonathan had treated him different.

  Ugh. How could he have it so bad for his employee and be obsessed with a mystery all at the same time? That didn’t seem fair.

  He wished he remembered more of that night. So much of it nagged at him. He would say that'd teach him to drink so damned much, but he knew better.

  "So I'll meet you there at eight."

  "Huh?" Malcolm blinked. "What?"

  "Stop daydreaming about tats and pay attention to me," Antoine said, exasperated. "I said, you're coming with me Saturday night. Meet me at Louie's about eight."

  "Make it six, I'll buy dinner," Malcolm replied. "I deserve good food first, if I'm going to be dragged around karaoke joints all night."

  "Hey, if we find him, there's a good chance you'll get sex, so stop your damned whining."

  "No," Malcolm retorted, just because it did Antoine good to be disobeyed.

  Antoine ignored him, and pointedly went back to typing.

  Pointedly ignoring him, Malcolm pulled out his laptop and alternated between the stupid monthly reports, and checking on his own myriad accounts—yes, still a millionaire.

  "One day," he said, when Antoine's silence started to become obnoxious and insufferable, "I'm going to buy this company just so I can fire you."

  "You're a millionaire, not a billionaire, Mr. McDuck. Anyway, you can't fire me. Your business would collapse without my beautiful, charming presence."

  "Oh, to test that theory," Malcolm replied, and closed his laptop with a snap. "I'm taking an early lunch."

  "You're not a very good manager, always ducking out and hiding and taking early lunches."

  "Tell the CFO to fire me, then," Malcolm said. "My department runs like a well oiled machine, the rest of you are just jealous. Also, you might be CCO, but I know how to 'misplace' your paycheck, so be nicer to me. You coming?"

  Antoine flipped him off, then shook his head and said, "No. I'm meeting Wally. Bastard is finally going to file for divorce, but you did not hear that."

  Malcolm nodded. "I know nothing. Going to lunch. See you when I see you."

  "Later," Antoine said, already slipping back into his work.

  Smiling, feeling horribly like a slacker but not really able to make himself care, Malcolm took the elevator to the lobby and hit the streets.

  His own apathy should definitely concern him. Perhaps it was time to start being a bit more serious. But would he do? Perhaps all the restlessness simply came from being pulled between two hotties. Not that Cassidy or Jonathan cared, but that never stopped an obsession.

  Now, where to eat?

  "Mr. Malcolm! Mr. Malcolm!"

  Malcolm turned, mostly at the shock of hearing a strange female voice call his name—but he placed it even as he saw her, and returned her smile of greeting. "Ms. Lindsay, a pleasure to see you again. What brings you downtown today?"

  She laughed and latched onto his arm, walking alongside him as he resumed. "Running errands, crossing and dotting everything before I go off to grad school in August. Keeping my brother in line?"

  "Your brother keeps himself in line better than a five star general could an army," Malcolm replied.

  "God, don't I know it," Lindsay replied, but with a fond smile. "Mom and dad were never half so strict as Cass could be, but then again, they weren't afraid of social services."

  Malcolm nodded. "Would you like to eat lunch with me, or were you in a hurry?"

  "I could eat," Lindsay replied. "You sure? I didn't meant to bother you; I was just was surprised to see you. We really enjoyed dinner, Cass especially, not that he'd ever say." She wrinkled her nose at her absent brother. "He really likes the job."

  "I know," Malcolm said, and opened the door to a favorite sandwich shop, motioning for her to precede him. They shuffled into line, and he couldn't help but ask, "Your brother seems to have hurt his hand. He said it was doing house maintenance."

  Lindsay slid him a look, pensive and amused and, Malcolm suspected, too knowing. Then she snorted. "House maintenance, hah! You tell him I told, I'll murder you."

  "I promise not to breathe a word."

  "Denny got stuck at a party that went bad. Cass went to pick him up and punched out a guy there." She threw her head back and laughed at Malcolm's disbelieving look. "I'm serious. Cassidy is tougher than he probably comes off at work. He's… used to playing mouse at work." She grimaced. "You really should have seen the bitch who lorded it over him before, though he'd kill me for telling you anything."

  Malcolm frowned in thought. "It was a diner, right? Blue something." He'd memorized several details from Cassidy's resume, but former place of employment hadn't really stuck.

  "Bluebird Diner," Lindsay replied, tucking back a strand of hair in an obviously nervous gesture. "Mary Winston was his boss." She said nothing more, as her turn at the counter came up and she put in her order.

  Adding his own, Malcolm paid before she could, waving off her protests and thanks. "Let's sit by the windows."

  Lindsay nodded, and they settled in with their food, and Malcolm should totally be ashamed of himself for getting what dirt he could from the sister—but he was totally shameless about shameful behavior in this case. He wanted the sad eyes to go away.

  "Cassidy was telling us about the company picnic," Lindsay said after a few minutes of silence while they ate. "He's more excited than he likes to let on. Denny and I are looking forward to it, too. It's cool to see him doing so well, you know? Even if it's not what he would have chosen." She shrugged and focused on her food.

  Malcolm wanted to ask what Cassidy would have chosen, but sensed that was prying too far. He didn't want to go that far behind Cassidy's back.

  "You knew he'd punched someone, didn't you?" Lindsay asked.

  "I know a fight bite when I see one," Malcolm replied. "It just surprised me to see Cass sporting one."

  Lindsay giggled. "To hear Denny tell it, you should have seen him throw the punch. Cassidy is quiet until he's riled, but when he's riled—look out."

  So, feisty underneath the shy. Malcolm wanted to see that feisty like burning.

  "You should have seen the night these punks tried to trash our yard on Halloween. We found out later they'd already hit other houses on the street. Cass heard them from the kitchen, snuck outside. We never saw what happened, but we heard them scream, man. Screamed all the way down the street as they ran away." She dissolved into giggles again.

  Malcolm laughed, mostly because her laughter was infectious. He really wanted to see Cassidy like that; not terrified of him and almost as silent as a grave when the office girls weren't coaxing or outright shoving him into conversation.

  He wanted Cassidy comfortable with him.

  Lindsay smiled at him, and Malcolm again sensed she knew more than she should—though how she knew any of it was beyond him. Thank god he'd never really had to deal with women, past knowing what to say or not to say to his brothers' girlfriends.

  Bluebird, was it? Hmm…

  "Oh crap!" Lindsay burst out suddenly. "I’m going to miss my bus!"

  "Bus?" Malcolm asked, confused. "Why did I think you had your own car?"

  Lindsay grinned, and boy did he know Up To Something when he saw it. "Can you keep a secret?"

  "Of course."

  "I had to run my errands downtown today, so I had Denny drop me off before he took the car to go pick up Cassidy's birthday present."

 
"Birthday?" Malcolm echoed. How had he not known Cassidy's birthday was coming up? "When's his birthday?"

  "Thursday," Lindsay replied. "We're celebrating Friday, though, so we can take him back to your brother's place."

  "What did you get him?"

  "A new computer," Lindsay replied. "He's had the same poor old clunker for years. He's made certain Denny and I have good laptops for school, but he never gets around to his own upgrade, the dork. So we're doing it for him. Denny went to pay and retrieve today."

  "Sounds awesome."