by JJ Knight
The skin over my whole body pulls taut. I cross my arms over my chest. His tone is dark and dangerous, like he’s warning me.
My voice is low and scratchy. “I haven’t heard that one.”
He pulls on his leather jacket, and strides toward the front door.
I run after him, asking where he’s going. I have a feeling he isn’t heading home.
He stands on the step outside the door and turns his head so his face is in profile. The edges of him glow orange in the light of the street lamp.
“I have to make sure you’re safe,” he says.
He walks down the steps and turns in the direction of the vacant house.
A cool breeze makes me shiver. I sink down until I’m sitting on the floor, my arms wrapped around my legs.
“Are you coming back?” I call after him.
He doesn’t respond, but I’m sure the answer is no.
A million dark thoughts race through my head. I fight down the worst of them by trying to talk sense to myself.
Dylan’s just checking to make sure the guy has moved on.
I head inside and lock the door.
Now I’m going to take a long, hot shower, and go to bed.
I’ve got to work in the morning.
It’s late now, and I probably won’t be able to sleep, but I have to try.
Chapter 12
Monday morning.
The archives.
Nick barely glances up at me as I shuffle off the elevator on the basement floor.
I take a seat at my makeshift desk, across from him. I’m twenty-five minutes late. I offer him no explanation.
There’s an envelope tucked under my keyboard. It’s not covered in dust and ancient grime, so it can’t be part of the boxed archives material.
I thumb open the envelope’s flap, and a pile of money peeks out.
The realization shoots through me and makes my face flush hot.
This is the bonus money Morris Music offered me for sleeping with Dylan. I shove the money back in the envelope, fold it quickly, and stuff it into my bag.
This money is for Nan, I tell myself. To help her pay for her new apartment. That’s all. It’s good money, for doing good things to help my family.
I wait for the shame to pass, but I just feel worse. And I’m confused. Nick told me I’d get the money only if I got Dylan to agree to a meeting at Morris Music this week.
“Nick, I thought the bonus was for—”
“Mondays!” he shouts, cutting me off. He holds one long finger to his pierced lips. His eyes are wide, and dart to the side. “Mondays are the worst,” he says.
I glance around us, looking and listening for other people. The archives are quiet. I can hear the hum of the fans on our computers, and nothing else.
I turn and narrow my eyes at Nick. Is he playing a joke on me? Nick doesn’t seem like the joking type.
He blinks three times. Is that supposed to mean something?
“Mondays really are the worst,” I say. “I know it’s a bit early for our first coffee break, but I could really use a coffee.”
Nick’s eyes flick to the side, then back to me. “We could go upstairs and get a coffee,” he says.
I push my chair back, pull my bag onto my shoulder, and lead the way to the elevator. Nick follows me.
The doors close, and we begin to move.
“What’s going on?” I ask, whispering.
At a regular speaking volume, he says, “Oh, we can talk in here. But nowhere else. Mr. Morris is back in town today. He was downstairs in the archives just now, asking all sorts of questions.”
“Mr. Morris? As in, Mr. Carter Morris, the company’s owner? Wow. He’s a real visionary. Is he still down there on our floor? I’d love to meet him.”
“Jessssss,” he says, hissing my name. “He can’t know about certain arrangements.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not a blabbermouth.”
The doors open on the cafeteria floor.
A handsome older man in a tailored suit stands alone in front of us.
Nick gasps and takes a step back. “Mr. Morris. I thought… I thought you were downstairs in the archives.”
Mr. Morris raises one silver eyebrow and smiles. “Really? And you were just going to leave me down there all alone? Without even asking for my coffee order?”
Nick composes himself, and we both step off the elevator.
Mr. Morris glances at the empty elevator, then back to us.
“I’ll take the next one,” he says, turning a beaming smile on me. “For the moment, I’m delighted to meet our newest young hire. Jessica Rivera. How wonderful to have you join our company.”
I feel myself melting under the sunshine of his smile. My hand rises on instinct to shake his. He has the perfect, ideal handshake.
“I’m Jessica Rivera,” I say.
His smile widens. “I know. That’s what it says on your keycard, which you’re wearing on a cord around your neck.”
I look down at my keycard and see my own dorky grin beaming back at me from the photo.
“That’s me,” I say.
He presses the call button for the elevator.
“Well, Jessica, it’s important to know who you are. I’d say it’s an essential key to success in the music industry, if not in any industry.”
I stare into his eyes, lulled by his voice and his dazzling green eyes. With his snowy white hair and silver eyebrows, his eyes are utterly striking.
He continues, “Knowing who you are is not the most important thing, but it is the second.”
I ask hesitantly, “What is the most important thing?”
He purses his lips a moment, then smiles. “Being on time.”
The elevator doors open and he steps on.
“Welcome to Morris Music,” he says.
The doors close, and a second later, Nick exhales and gasps for another breath.
I frown over at Nick. “Why are you so tense?” I ask. “He seems really nice. Except for that thing about being on time. That was freaky. If he wasn’t in the archives, how did he know I was late?”
“Shh,” Nick says. “Let’s do nothing today but talk about the weather. Or nail polish.” He takes another deep breath and leads me over to the cafeteria line. “I don’t care about nail polish, Jess. Do you?”
I look around the cafeteria. It’s mostly empty, too early for most people’s coffee breaks.
“Nick, I could use a guy’s perspective on some other things. I don’t really want to talk about nail polish.”
He grabs the biggest size of paper cup and starts filling it with hot, black coffee.
“Is this about a certain musician?” he asks quietly. “Because if it is, please wait until we get downstairs.”
“Just random stuff. I don’t know.”
I’m still shaken up from the attack last night, but it’s not bothering me nearly as much as my conversation with Dylan. I don’t want to talk to my friends back home, or my roommates, so that leaves only Nick.
“Yes, it’s about Dylan,” I say.
Nick shakes his head, takes his coffee, and walks away from me.
Nick’s being weird, even for Nick. This paranoia must be another interesting facet of his Casper the Unfriendly Goth personality disorder.
I pour myself a coffee and hit the sugar station to doctor it up. A guy comes up beside me and makes a joke about me having some coffee with my cream and sugar.
He’s tall and cute, with tousled light brown hair. In another life, I’d care about this guy flirting with me. He might even find himself the object of my new work crush.
But I barely glance at the guy, because my mind is elsewhere. I’m only getting this gallon-drum-sized coffee because I was up all night thinking about Dylan.
Everything was going so well yesterday. Even dinner. And I would have expected dinner with my roommates would be a disaster. But Dylan was so relaxed and comfortable that he made having dinner with my liar half-sister feel easy.
No. I need to stop thinking about the attack. This is why I couldn’t sleep last night. Imagining what could have happened next. Thinking about how much I wanted to choke that guy myself. These aren’t good thoughts. Not productive, useful, practical thoughts.
Things happen in life, and you need to move on. When the past comes calling, don’t listen, because the past has nothing to say.
I’d much rather think about the future. Once Dylan signs a development deal with Morris Music, everything’s going to be perfect. They’ll promote me up from the archives, hopefully to a department where I can help Dylan’s career.
I get to the cashier to pay for my coffee and find I didn’t bring my wallet. I reach into the bag on my shoulder and pull a bill from the envelope. It’s a hundred.
The cashier groans and asks if I have anything smaller. I look around, my cheeks flushing hot. People are staring, and I get this paranoid feeling. They know this is whore money. They can’t possibly know, but I can’t help how I feel.
The brown-haired guy hands the cashier a twenty and says he’s paying for my coffee. I stuff the hundred back into my bag quickly and thank him without looking into his eyes.
I shuffle away and take the elevator back down to the archives. I’m relieved to be back down here, where nobody can see me.
Nick is doing a manual inspection of the area, checking that we’re actually alone. He explains that Carter Morris really was down there, and must have left quietly without saying goodbye.
“I swear he does that on purpose,” Nick says. “So you feel like he’s always around, looking over your shoulder.”
Nick’s nostrils flare, and he flicks his lip piercing from the inside of his mouth rapidly. He’s rattled. I can’t understand why, since Mr. Morris seems so nice, but maybe Nick is up to something. He did get into some sort of trouble with the vice president, to get banished down here with me.
Nick is a bit of a mystery. He’s down in the basement archives with me doing grunt work, but he’s still connected. He’s the one who got me the two thousand. Who is he in with? Stephanie up on the ninth floor? Or the Vice President? There’s no way the spycams in the firehall are just for security. Nick is up to something.
I shake my head. Yesterday’s incident at the vacant house has got me paranoid. Now I’m imagining big conspiracies.
I take a big sip of my sweet coffee. This is going to make me jittery, but at least I’ll be awake.
Nick is already sifting through a dusty box, so I do the same over on my table.
After ten minutes of scanning and file transfers, I look up and notice there’s something different about my coworker.
“Nick, did you get another piercing over the weekend?”
He points to the corner of his eyebrow.
I laugh. “Actually, I thought the cheek one was new, but you had that before. I guess I’m just confused, and sleep-deprived. Dylan was being kind of intense last night, and I couldn’t sleep.”
He keeps pointing to his eyebrow. “This one’s new.” He gets a far-away look in his eyes, like he’s enjoying the memory of the piercing.
“What do your parents think of your piercings?” I ask.
“They don’t care,” he answers flatly. “My father only cares about his new kids, and my mother is… well, she’s all about her career. I don’t think she’s noticed the piercings.”
“Nick! You’re making me feel so sad for you. Can I give you a hug?”
“No.”
I keep my hands moving, loading and unloading the computer drives with old disks.
“You need a hug,” I say.
“No.”
I push my chair back and walk slowly around the desks. A smile is twisting on my lips, and I feel giddy. My super-coffee is kicking in.
“Nick,” I say, waggling my eyebrows. “Just close your eyes and let it happen.”
To my surprise, he pushes his chair back from the table and closes his eyes. I lean down over him and give him a sideways hug. Nick smells like baby powder. I thought he’d smell like sawdust or metal shavings. His shoulders are tense, but after a moment, he sighs and relaxes.
I pull away and stare at him with my hands on my hips. “Better now?”
He nods and shifts the chair back up to the desk.
I take my seat again and go back to work.
When I look up and catch his eye again, something’s different. It’s not just his new eyebrow piercing, but something in the way he looks at me.
We work quietly until eleven o’clock.
He says, “Okay, what happened last night with Dylan? I know you’re dying to talk about it.”
“You won’t tell anyone?”
His eyes are wide. “Who would I tell?”
I finish the last syrupy gulps of my coffee, and then I lay it all out for Nick. My whole messy life. The dirtbag half-sister who’s suddenly my roommate. How she swears she’s different now. And how weird I feel about liking her… like I’m betraying myself by trusting her.
And then I tell him all about what happened over the weekend with Dylan. I don’t go into too much detail about losing my virginity, of course, but I tell him it happened. His face doesn’t show any reaction. He says he hasn’t been looking at the spycam feeds for the firehall, and maybe he’s telling the truth. I make a mental note to find them and unplug them as soon as I can.
When I get to last night, and how Dylan roughed up the squatter, Nick doesn’t say anything. The edges of his mouth curl down. Talking about it makes me feel sick to my stomach, but I take it slow, breathing deeply. In the light of day, it’s easier to act like the attack was no big deal.
Once I’m done the story, Nick says, “I have a friend who can check police reports.”
“We didn’t call the police.”
“We should find out if Dylan Wolf killed someone last night.”
My face burns hot as my blood runs cold.
“Don’t joke around,” I say to Nick.
He pulls out his phone, then pushes it aside. We don’t get reception here in the basement.
“I’ll check later,” he says.
“Nick, you can’t tell anyone. I trust you. I wouldn’t have told you if I didn’t trust you. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
He takes a long time to answer.
“Yes. We’re friends.”
“Do you swear you won’t tell anyone about what happened last night?”
“I swear. But I’m still going to look into reports. If some homeless guy showed up beaten and dead last night or this morning, you’d want to know, wouldn’t you?”
I stare down at my hands, twisting against each other on my lap. The smell was so awful, but not being able to breathe was worse.
“Sure,” I say, my voice a hoarse whisper. “I’d want to know.”
Chapter 13
Dylan doesn’t contact me at all on Monday.
I wish I’d thought to get his phone number the last time I saw him, but then again, I’m glad I didn’t.
If I did have his number, I’d probably send him a million embarrassing text messages. I’d become some needy girl, bugging him.
I want him in my life, but I have to respect his career. He’s busy right now, writing songs. He should have his space and not get bothered by me.
I want to give him space, but it’s still hard.
When I climb into bed Monday night, I miss him so much. There’s nothing new on his YouTube channel, but I play everything on there with the volume turned down low. The Blue Shoes video is still getting a lot of views, but it’s slowing down.
I look at some of the other videos that are trending. What do they have that Dylan doesn’t? The other videos suck, but maybe I’m not impartial. I thought for sure Dylan was heading
for a billion views and a huge deal with Morris Music.
Now… I just don’t know.
Every day, dreams don’t come true. This whole city is mostly full of people whose dreams aren’t coming true.
I hold my teddy bear tight and try not to worry.
My sleep is full of nightmares.
The next morning, I get ready for work, and try not to worry.
Tuesday.
I get back to my desk in the archives.
Nick says, “I talked to my friend at the police department.”
I bite my lip as all my worries swirl around me like a tornado.
“And?”
The big land line phone on Nick’s desk rings, piercing the silence.
“And nothing,” he says. “No news is good news.”
I let out a sigh of relief. I’m so glad Nick didn’t find out something awful. Of course I never believed Dylan would kill someone, but it’s good to know for sure.
Nick answers the phone. “Archives, Nick speaking.” He looks at me. “Yes, I believe we do. May I say who’s calling?” He pushes the phone over to my side. “Dylan,” he says.
I take the phone, narrowing my eyes at Nick.
“Jess speaking,” I say.
“That was easy,” comes a deep, gritty voice that makes my toes curl inside my shoes.
“Hi,” I say.
Dylan says, “I didn’t have your phone number, so I called the Morris switchboard and asked for the prettiest girl there.”
I giggle and swivel my chair so Nick can’t see my face scrunching up.
“You did not,” I say.
“The receptionist demanded more details. I think she was mad I wasn’t calling for her.”
“You freak,” I say, giggling.
“I could tell by her voice she isn’t as pretty as you. But then again, nobody is.”
“OMG, stop right now.”
He makes a growling sound, then says huskily, “How’s that sweet body of yours today? My bed is so big and lonely. I think you and your teddy bear should come over to my place tonight.”
I’m shaking with giggles and embarrassment. I’m so relieved to hear his voice that I’m giddy. He sounds happy, like he’s forgotten all about what happened Sunday night.
“I think I figured out my writer’s block,” he says. “I keep thinking about undressing you, smelling your skin, and kissing you all over. I’m losing my mind because I need you. I need to feel you under me. I want to hear you cry out my name.”
