by Rie Warren
Half an hour later, Temperance met me at the door. “He’s been so worried about you, dear.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. It was my new mantra. I should get a tattoo of it.
A few steps behind Temp, Reardon roared out of the kitchen. “Where the hell have you been?” Worried Mr. Boone wasn’t half so amenable as Mrs. Bloom.
In no mood for his businessman bullshit, I handled his outburst with my usual aplomb. “He fuckin’ knows.” Dropped the f-bomb right off the bat. I walked into the lounge, bee-lined it to the bar and made myself a drink. “I’m sorry, I was busy. Destroying my marriage took some time, and I forgot to check the clock.”
“Jesus.”
“I don’t know. Was he a home-wrecker, too?”
Approaching me cautiously, he kneaded my shoulders. “That was quick.”
“It was, wasn’t it?” I took a drink, pressing Reardon back. I dumped my purse out over the Oriental rug. Kneeling, I scattered my lipsticks and chewing gum and travel tissues. “Here it is.” I pushed the magazine to him.
He sat beside me, fingering the Charleston Magazine. Giving me the she done finally flew over the cuckoo’s nest look, he asked, “It, what?”
Impatiently, I flipped it open to the spread of us.
He glanced down briefly, then took a closer look. Even with his skin paling, he denied it. “But that doesn’t mean anything, Shay. It’s a harmless picture.”
“Reeally,” I scoffed. “Tell me what’s written all over my face, why don’t you.”
He studied my expression and exhaled slowly. “I see.”
“Yeah, so did Palmer.”
His eyes crashed to mine. “Tell me he didn’t hurt you.”
I jumped to my feet. “Why is everyone askin’ me that? Palmer’s not a monster. I hurt him!”
“C’mere,” he beckoned.
“I can’t.” As I glanced over the pretty salt marsh, my mind filled with Palmer’s distraught face. “Such a mistake,” I mumbled.
“That’s foolish, and you damn well know it.” He stopped a few steps off. “This isn’t a mistake.”
“Leila said you couldn’t love me.” Admitting it made me feel like a weakling.
“Leila?”
“Your wife.”
“My ex.” Hurt bloomed in his eyes. “When did you talk to her?” He figured it out quickly. “At the restaurant, in the bathroom. She’s why you were so upset. Why didn’t you tell me?”
My chin jutted. “Sometimes you need protectin’ too.”
A half smile played on his lips. “You’re such a fighter.”
“I could just be your folly.” I snuck away.
“Folly?” He prowled to me and brought me back against his body, his hard muscles teaming with my curves. “I don’t think so. I’m sorry Palmer found out this way, but I am not sorry it’s over. And Leila was wrong, by the way.”
Was he saying what I thought he was saying, without actually saying it? My heart beat so fast we were about to need a defibrillator.
Until I remembered Palmer.
I shrugged him off. “It’s no good.” How was this for irony? All the time I was gladly fucking around behind Palmer’s back, and now the cat was out of the bag, pussy didn’t want to be petted.
He lifted a hand, let it drop. “What have I done to you?”
“We did it together.”
Bringing his thumbs to the corners of my mouth, he asked gently, “Can I kiss you? Let me show you we’re good.”
I stopped resisting. Pushing to my tiptoes, I took his lips with mine in a kiss so soft and loving it made my heart thump-thump-thump in excitement instead of all the dread threatening to pull me under.
Sliding my mouth to his cheek, I whispered, “How can this feel so right, Reardon, when everything we’ve done is wrong?”
“Feeling isn’t wrong, you told me that.”
“Doesn’t excuse my behavior.”
“Our behavior.” Before I could extricate myself, he lowered us to the floor, backs against the windows, his arm around my shoulders.
After a while of sitting hip to hip, I kicked the offending magazine away. “I don’t understand how the photo got leaked. You took the camera, you approved the pictures.”
He charged to his feet. “Goddamn it, I knew Slaughter was up to no good.”
“Surely not. Not even he would–”
“You’ve met the man, Shay.”
He had a damn good point. “How could he have gotten hold of the photos?”
“Money buys everything.”
“Not everything,” I significantly stated.
He halted long enough to stroke my cheek. “No, not everything,” he agreed, then headed toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Hello? Having a breakdown here, and he was unrolling his sleeves, searchin’ his pockets for cufflinks, and reachin’ for his jacket.
“The office. Slaughter’s at Rad-Slaughter.”
Temp handed him the car keys.
He commanded, “Make sure she stays put.”
What was I? A frickin’ dog named Marley, made to heel? Only heels I knew about were carefully displayed in my closet.
I grabbed his arm, my bag, and kept up with him. “No way. Don’t you be treatin’ me like I’m some damsel in distress. I’ve got as much right confronting him as you.”
“Just trying to protect you.”
Rotten Rat Bastard, using my words against me.
Narrowing my eyes, I swatted his butt to get him into the corridor. “Nice try, babe. Nothin’ doing. I’m coming.”
Even in the midst of the crisis, a smirk twitched over his lips.
Men. I should smack his fine ass more often.
On the ride downtown, Reardon appeared at ease. He draped a wrist over the wheel and snuck peeks at my legs, as if we weren’t about to go head-to-head with the original asshole himself.
Men, again.
Parking in his spot, he advised, “I’ll do the talking.”
Uh huh, yeah, that’s gonna happen. Taking a leaf from his daddy’s book when dealing with Charley, I simply smiled and nodded.
She-Rah popped out from the reception, all propped-up tits and sticky lip gloss. She probably moonlighted at The Southern Belle gentleman’s club. “Mr. Boone, we didn’t expect you today.”
I stabbed her with my eyes, pretending they were poison-tipped arrows deflating the silicone valley of her chest.
At the door of his office, Reardon demanded, “Shepperd. Have him in my office ASAP.”
“Of course, sir.”
I hoped she didn’t think she was getting extra stars for the Yes sir routine, because I owned that shit.
She rounded her desk. “Will Miss Greer be joining you?”
“Of course.” He was already leading me inside.
Five minutes later–southern time–Slaughter slithered in, barrel of a booze belly making way for his porcine eyes. He stopped short when he saw me.
Covering his surprise, he conveyed all his spite in one sentence. “Is she sitting in on all your meetings now? I know she’s on payroll, but that’s just for a roll in the hay, isn’t it?”
Reardon snarled. “Shut the hell up and talk.”
“No matter how talented I am, it would be impossible to do both those things at once.”
“I’ll keep it simple for you. Sit and talk.” Reardon coiled with power, capable of cutting this man to shreds.
I couldn’t frigging wait.
Placidly, he sat his ass in a chair. “What do you want to know? The Dow’s off 25 percent. The recession is killing us, banks have no capital, we can’t get credit, and housing prices are plummeting. How’s that?”
“I’m more interested in the photograph in the Charleston Magazine.”
“Local periodical widely read by those who want to live the life of Charleston’s pampered elite. The photos appearing in this month’s edition? Easy as signing a check.” He showed no remorse.
“You admit it, then.” Reardon calm
ly buzzed Cheryl. “The company contract, please.”
At those words, Slaughter back-pedaled faster than his pig trotters could keep up. “No, I admit nothing.”
Such a politician.
Reardon remained silent.
“What?” he whined. “You thought I’d sit back and let all our capital go down the drain because of her?” His voice rose, his fat, wormy finger shaking at me. “I witnessed what happened to you with Will. Who saved you then, Boone? It sure as hell wasn’t some paid-for piece of ass.”
The only reaction Reardon showed was the tic pulsing in his jaw.
His laugh uncertain, Slaughter continued. “She has to go. She’s making you soft.”
I snorted. Reardon, soft? Not in this lifetime. Stunned by Slaughter’s paltry motivation, I hissed. “That’s it? Money-grubbing is your only reason for ruining my marriage?”
“Oh no, you can’t pin that on me, Mrs. Greer. You done pissed your marriage away all by yourself. All’s I did was give you the push. Consider it a favor.”
“You thought I’d let Reardon go to stay with Palmer once he found out!”
“Not at all. Why would you give up moneybags here to stay with your blue-collar husband? I figured Reardon wouldn’t want to be outted in public as a philanderer who had to pay for a fuck, and he’d break it off with you.”
“The only person going is you, Slaughter.” Reardon’s voice was cutting.
“I’ll have no recourse but to inform your family of these dealings.” How quickly he bribed.
“They already know how I feel about Shay.”
Slaughter snorted. Here, piggy piggy. “Interesting. But do they know what she really is?”
“My lover? Yes.” Softening for a moment, he shifted his eyes to me.
“Actually, I was going for slu–”
Prodded beyond his cool limits, Reardon was formidably in his face. “That word comes out of your mouth, you won’t be carrying out a box. You’ll be in the box.”
Resting back in his seat, Slaughter jabbed again. “What about the other mistresses?”
“Are you trying to blackmail me?” Reardon walked to the door to let Cheryl in. He put on his glasses and glanced over the paperwork she offered, speaking unconcernedly. “Full disclosure. I’m done hiding, and I’m not going to explain myself to you. Lisa, Anne, the others, there’s nothing to talk about. They were paid handsomely and treated well.”
Their names, shit. I tried to appear disinterested since Slaughter was practically salivating, ready to pounce on any show of weakness.
“Thank you, Miss Leggett. This looks in order.” Dismissing her, Reardon sat back down, giving nothing away.
“Our contract is binding. You have no cause to do this, Boone.”
“There is one other thing.”
His eyes darting back and forth criminally, Slaughter stood. “You’ve got nothing.”
“You always did think I was just your protege, didn’t you? Well, I learned from the best. I’m a killer, right?” Reardon leaned forward, no longer playing. He gave me a quick, consoling look. “There was a longshoreman’s accident back in ’96. A man died. His name was Alexander Motte. Weren’t you on the Controls Board overseeing the terminal?”
The loud blaring alarm when Daddy’s heart stopped. Nurses and doctors hustling in, thrusting me and momma aside as the last rattling breath left his chest. I fell back in my chair, cold sweat on my skin, hot tears flooding my eyes. No one had ever been charged in daddy’s accident.
“Yes.” Slaughter’s brow creased in worried furrows.
Reardon rose, a towering mass of menace. “You thought I wouldn’t find out? You knew all along who Shay was. Alexander Motte’s daughter.” His dead calm peeled away to reveal righteous rage. “Because you didn’t want to outlay the money to make repairs, her father died. And worse than that, you covered it up. You never paid a cent to her family! Don’t deny the real reason you wanted Shay as far from you as possible.”
My stomach twisted. My daddy died because of Slaughter?
“You’re not worth this, Shepperd. But think of it as a favor. Isn’t that what you told Shay?” He placed an enormous ledger on his desk. “The money I’m buying you out with should about cover the lawsuit being filed against you. I’ve taken the liberty of starting litigation. Of the three appraisals of the value of Radaman-Slaughter, I took the highest to get you out the door fastest.” He wrote a check whose numbers went on and on, handing it to Slaughter, who was stiff as an effigy. “I believe this covers your share. Of course, if you want to dispute the pay-off, have at it.”
Slaughter got ready to leave the building. Boxes of belongings in hand–Palmer all over again. Only this time it wasn’t a somber affair, not for me.
I commented to Reardon, “I must say, baby, I thought you were very restrained.” Personally, I still wanted Reardon to beat the ever lovin’ shit out of him.
“I was, wasn’t I?” He stroked his jaw for a moment. “Hold up, Slaughter. I forgot something.”
His expression smug when he turned, Slaughter met Reardon’s fist. Blood and spit went flying.
“You can go now.” Reardon dismissed the piece of shit.
Blowing across his bloodied knuckles, he took me onto his lap once we were back in his office.
“How’d you find out about my daddy?” I dabbed a tissue over his bruised hand while he used another to dab the tears from my face.
Placing me atop his desk, he braced his elbows on his knees. “I didn’t mean for you learn about it this way. I’m sorry, darlin’.”
“You stealin’ my line?”
He searched my face. “Seems your knight in shining armor knows how to make good.”
“Who?”
“Mr. DuBose.”
“Augie?” I laughed. “I don’t know about knight in shining armor. Robin Hood’s dirty band of ass bandits, maybe.”
“Your family is owed some recompense.” He remained serious.
“It’s too much to think about right now, Reardon.” The underlying truth about my daddy’s death wasn’t even something I could grasp. Those old scars Momma and I would have to mourn again.
After sitting together for over an hour, a mostly silent, comfortable stretch, I suggested, “Let’s go home.”
“Home? Should I send Junior for your belongings?”
I about fell off his lap in shock. I couldn’t move in with him; I was still figuring out how to be in my house without Palmer’s dismal presence. “I think I just want to date for a while.”
“Just date.” His words were as dull as his eyes.
“Yeah. I’d feel so much better about myself.”
Placing me on my feet, Reardon turned to the windows. “Date other people?”
Oh, my hell.
“You know, for bein’ a really smart man, y’all are incredibly stupid sometimes.”
He spun around, hands spread before him. A savvy suit that’d skillfully swum through shark infested waters, and he was still unsure of my feelings?
I swung my hips for extra emphasis–since he was thick as a two-by-four–as I advanced toward him. “You. I want to date you. Only you.”
It was as if he couldn’t believe his luck, the way his smile unfurled when he caught me in his arms. I wanted to shout, It’s just me, you gorgeous misguided fool! Instead, I handled him gently.
“I’m gonna say it now. I gave you fair warning.”
Reardon tilted his head to the side. “You don’t have to. I know.” His heart pounded beneath my palm.
“I want to. I do have to.” I nibbled the virile flesh where his tie tapered to his collar, a perfect divot of musky male skin.
He groaned with each pluck of my mouth and teeth. “You’ve been through so much recently.”
“You got it near right. We’ve been through the wringer, baby.” For a moment, I arched away. “And even though my heart aches, even though I know I should feel bad...right now?”
He held his breath, his eyes questioning.<
br />
“None of it changes the fact that I love you.”
A long whoosh belted from him.
I repeated it. “I love you.”
I sneaked up to whisper in his ear, “I love you so much, Reardon Dade Boone.” Nothing if not a give-and-take kind of gal, I bumped his hip and said, “Your turn.”
“Shay.”
“C’mon, give it to me. And I ain’t talkin’ bout this.” I swirled into his groin.
“I already did.” He double-talked me.
“No, you didn’t say it at all!”
His mouth lowered to my neck, darting over sensitive skin. “What was the question again?”
“Ooh, you obstinate–”
He cut me off with a rushed, “I love you.”
“Say it again.”
He leaned away. “I love you.”
I didn’t for one second believe my ears. “Louder.”
Joyously, he jerked me back to him. “I love you!”
Twining my arms around him, I held the dear man close...and demanded, “One more time, for the hard of hearing.”
He chuckled so low it set my body on fire. “How about this. I love you, Shay Greer. I don’t ever want to be without you.”
“Mmm, I could get used to the sound of that.” I rejoiced in the feeling of peace and delight he brought me. It sounded hokey even to Constance, but it was true.
“I’ll say it all night if you like.”
“Soon,” I assured him. “But I really think I should go home tonight.”
“Alright.” Reardon walked me out of the office. “I can drive you.”
I flew into his arms so he laughed and stumbled back a step. “Yes, you can.” I pecked his cheek. “And you can walk me to the door.” I rubbed my hand over his rough black stubble. “You can even kiss me goodnight with the porch lights on.”
We had our goodnight kiss, which turned into a salacious embrace on my doorstep. I bent away; he followed.
I warned, “I need to go inside.”
He bit his bottom lip suggestively. “Can I join you?”
“Reardon.”
“What? Can’t blame a guy for trying.” His eyes sparkled dangerously, at odds with his so-innocent stance.
I arched an eyebrow.
“Pushing my luck?”
“Yeah, a bit.”
He leaned over for one more chaste taste of my lips before stepping back, a lovely smile canting his mouth. “Would it be okay if I called you later?”
