Beneath This Ink

by Meghan March

  He seemed to be waiting for something.

  “Do you mind giving me a ride, or would you prefer I call a cab?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer. Just kept watching me.

  I waited.

  And waited.

  “Con?”

  “You regret it?”

  It dawned on me that he was wondering if this morning was going to be a repeat of that morning.

  “Do you think I regret it?” I waited to hear his answer, hoping it would give me some insight into this complicated man.

  He leaned back, one arm resting along the top of the couch. His expression morphed into a more familiar, arrogant smirk.

  “No,” he replied with a shake of his head. “I think the only thing you regret is that I didn’t fuck you.”

  My inner muscles clenched at his words. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

  His smirk softened into a lopsided grin, and he reached up with his other hand and scratched the back of his head. I tried not to focus on the way his bicep bulged when he bent his arm. Or on how sexy his shaggy blond bedhead looked.

  “Not sure enough, Van. Can’t say I’ve ever worked this hard for a woman.”

  His words unleashed a rush of insecurity within me. He’d had dozens, maybe hundreds, of women. Was the mystery of not remembering that night the only real appeal I held for him? “What if it’s not worth it? What if I’m not worth it?”

  “I think we both know that ain’t the case.”

  I squeezed the balled up panties in my hand. They were an excellent reminder that I needed to get moving. “As much as I’d love to discuss this further, I really do need to go.”

  Con dropped his arm from the back of the couch and checked his watch. “It’s five thirty. You gonna be able to sneak into Daddy’s house without raising the alarm?”

  Shit. Given that it was still nearly pitch black outside, I’d hoped it was earlier. My father would already be up. Although, if I were lucky, he might already be gone.

  “Let me worry about that.” I thought about pulling up in front of our house in the Garden District on the back of Con’s bike. Yeah. Nope. “Although, I guess I should probably take a cab…” I let my words trail off.

  Con’s arrogant smirk snapped back into place as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t worry, princess. I get it. I can drop you off around the corner. Your walk of shame will be short, at least.”

  The bitter tone that had crept into his voice sliced away a little of the pleasure of last night. It seemed like our differences loomed larger than ever. But did they really? I was standing in a multi-million dollar mansion on Lake Pontchartrain. The difference between Con and me wasn’t the money we had in the bank, because I had a sneaking suspicion that Con might have more than I did. The difference was wrapped up in how we felt about that money. Con seemed to hate it. Distrust it. Resent it. Whereas I accepted it. Appreciated it. Wanted to use it to change lives. Although Con was doing more than his part with respect to changing lives—his gym and his boys were proof of that. I wasn’t sure if we could get beyond this divide. It was ingrained, possibly unchangeable. But then again, maybe not.

  I met Con’s dark blue eyes. “I’d love a ride. Thank you.”

  Vanessa on the back of my Harley should have been all sorts of wrong. But it wasn’t. It felt too damn right. Just like it had felt too damn right falling asleep last night with my arms wrapped around her. But that wasn’t something I would let myself get used to. I’d trained myself early on not to get attached to things. Like the foster families of my early years who’d had no problem tossing me back into the system over some stupid kid prank I’d pulled. Or even something as simple as a stuffed animal. If it wasn’t mine to keep, I didn’t let myself get used to it.

  So I ignored the feel of Vanessa’s arms wrapped around my stomach as I changed lanes and eventually glided into the parking lot of a bookstore a few blocks from her house. Taking my Harley any further into the quiet streets of the Garden District would alert the neighborhood to the presence of a guy who didn’t belong. Didn’t matter that I still owned a damn house on those streets. Just like the lake house, I hadn’t been able to let it go after Joy and Andre were gone. It seemed wrong to sell something they’d loved so much. But it was a house for a family, and I was pretty fucking sure I’d never have one of my own. I couldn’t go through losing another one.

  I cut the engine and climbed off the bike, once again helping Vanessa with her helmet. I hoped she never got the hang of it because it gave me an excuse to touch her.

  Fucking pathetic.

  I needed to kick my own ass.

  She scooted off the bike, careful to keep from flashing the world with her goods. I knew because I watched closely.

  “You good?” I asked.

  She nodded, smoothing her clothing into place.

  “Thank you. For the ride. For last night. For everything.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  I sat on the bike sideways, watching as she turned and took one step away from me. But I wasn’t ready to let her go. I grabbed her hand and hauled her back into my arms. I crushed my mouth to hers and stole whatever words might have spilled from her lips.

  She’d never know it, but that kiss was to brand her as mine.

  I released her, and she stumbled back on her heels, eyes wide. She lifted a hand to that luscious mouth I’d just devoured.

  I couldn’t stop the grin from forming on my lips. “Have a good one, princess. I’ll be in touch.”

  Hennessy was waiting in the alley at Voodoo when I killed the engine and walked my bike into my garage.

  “Heard you had some trouble last night,” he called from where he leaned against the brick wall.

  I dropped my helmet on the seat. “Yeah.”

  “And you were conveniently unavailable even though witnesses put you at the scene.”

  Fucking assholes. Apparently my staff needed to learn they were supposed to be helpful in their statements to the cops—but only to a point.

  “Well, detective, I’m conveniently available now. And flattered that you’re waiting on me at,” I looked down to check my watch, “just shy of six o’clock. Slow morning?”

  “Slower than yours, it seems.”

  He flipped open his little cop book and clicked his pen. “Who was the blonde, Con?”

  I surveyed Hennessy and wondered if anyone would miss him if he disappeared. He was about six foot, two hundred pounds, with a buzzed head and a don’t-fuck-with-me attitude. He was actually my favorite cop on the NOLA police force. I put his age at a few years younger than mine. Probably twenty-seven or eight. Still young enough to think he was making a difference. Yeah, someone would probably miss him if I fed him to the gators for asking about Vanessa.

  I’d taken too long to answer, because he looked up at me, dark eyes narrowed. “The blonde?”

  “Didn’t catch her name.”

  One eyebrow lifted. “And yet you were carrying her out of your club?”

  I played it off, smirking. “You know my style, Hennessy. I don’t get most of their names. And it’s not like I asked for her number either.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Your guy claimed the security cameras haven’t worked since you bought the place. That true?”

  “Sure is. It’s on my list of shit to do.” Actually, it was on my list of shit to do last week, but I’d gotten a little distracted.

  “Can you at least give me a description of the blonde so I can attempt to track her down for questioning?”

  “Come on, Hennessy, don’t you have enough information already? Besides, the best description I can give you is not of her face.” I didn’t like talking about Vanessa that way, but, considering it was her reputation I was saving, I got over it.

  He slapped his book shut. “Fine. I’ll drop the questions about the blonde, but I do need your statement. You want to do it now or come down to the station?”

  “You want coffee?”

  “Wou
ldn’t turn it down.”

  “Then come on up.”

  I picked up my cell phone for the eight hundredth time and looked at the screen. It didn’t matter that I knew the thing would vibrate if a text came through; I still couldn’t stop myself from doing it. It’d become a reflex. A really annoying, totally distracting, absolutely ridiculous reflex.

  It also didn’t take a genius to figure out whose text I was expecting.

  But it never came.

  I told myself it was a good thing. And when I stared at the calendar on my monitor, I knew it was a good thing. I had to report for duty in three hours at the Botanical Garden for a gala with Lucas Titan.

  When I thought logically about my life, I knew that I should be looking forward to the event. It was the kind of thing I was bred for. My closet was full of designer cocktail dresses and evening gowns selected by personal shoppers for such occasions. Small talk was an art at which I excelled. When it came to people’s names, hobbies, children, pets—my mind was a filing cabinet of information. My father was right in some respects. I would have been a damn good politician’s wife, but Simon wasn’t for me. He never had been. But being seen on his arm had lifted my father’s scrutiny for a couple years, and also helped me gain some much-needed confidence to show off my skills. Sometimes it took having a friend at your side to take you from faking it to making it.

  But now I was going back to faking it on Lucas Titan’s arm. My irritation flared hot and fierce. I was more than arm candy. I was more than a gateway to the inner circle of New Orleans’ upper crust. It infuriated me to be used as such. I wanted nothing more than to tell Lucas Titan to go to hell.

  I tried to imagine how that scene would play out. Archer’s reaction. The disbelief followed by disappointment. It was the disappointment that would hurt the most. I didn’t think I could handle seeing that emotion on my last living Bennett relative’s face.

  So I would go. And I would fake it.

  And hate myself for it.

  I flipped my phone over again, bringing it to life and swiping the screen.

  Still nothing.

  Opening my desk drawer, I tossed it inside. I had things to do and wondering why Constantine Leahy hadn’t contacted me after last night wasn’t helping me accomplish anything.

  As soon as I slammed the drawer, my office phone rang. The caller ID showed Archer’s assistant’s extension.

  I grabbed it off the cradle. “Hi, Paulette. Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Mr. Bennett would like to see you immediately. He’s received some disturbing news.”

  My stomach dropped. Shit. He knows. My heart rate jumped into a gallop, and my palms turned clammy.

  “Vanessa? Are you there?”

  I pulled myself together. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. “Yes. Certainly. I’m on my way.”

  “Thank you, dear.”

  She hung up, but I continued to hold the phone to my ear, listening to nothing but dead air.

  Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

  I thought about the letter of resignation I’d drafted. The file was saved on my computer. I wondered if I was going to need to print it when I returned to my desk.

  My steps were slow and deliberate as I crossed through the cube farm to the opposite corner. Archer’s office was directly diagonal from mine and down a short hallway. Although we both had ‘corner offices,’ neither was anything to write home about. Archer demanded that every penny we could cut from operating expenses went into the foundation’s managed funds. Thus the crappy furniture and tiny offices. Even for the executive director.

  Our new offices would be much more modern and trendy, but they were being paid for almost completely with newly raised money and long-term, low interest debt.

  Except I probably wouldn’t get to set foot inside those new offices, because I was about to get fired.

  Paulette was already on another call, but she waved me down the hallway. I knocked on his closed door.

  “Come in.”

  I opened the door casually, not letting my apprehension show in my movements.

  Archer sat behind the wide executive desk. Dark wood, scarred and marred from years of use, was covered with scattered papers. Stacks of even more papers and files covered almost every inch of the floor. There was a narrow path from the door to the desk. One of his guest chairs was crammed with files, but the other looked as though it’d been newly cleared.

  He looked up when I entered. His expression was closed off. And almost…somber.

  Oh shit.

  Tears burned in the backs of my eyes. Only sheer force of will kept them from materializing and falling. Years of practice smoothed the smile across my face and hid all traces of my inner turmoil.

  “Thank you for coming, Vanessa. Please,” he gestured to the chair, “sit.”

  I navigated the paper-lined path and lowered myself into the seat. Smoothing my skirt, I crossed my ankles and laid my hands in my lap. Ladylike posture until the very end.

  Words that would carry the admission of guilt bubbled up inside me, but I held them back just as effectively as the tears.

  I waited for Archer to speak.

  He lifted a hand to his face, his fingers starting at his forehead and sliding down around to cover his mouth.

  Still waiting…

  He dropped his hand to the desk, his fingers clenching into a fist.

  “I don’t even know how to say this…” he started.

  All the breath in my lungs evaporated.

  “But Dick Herzog is dead.”

  I froze. The words—words I hadn’t expected to hear—echoed in my head.

  “Wha—what?” Dick Herzog was the treasurer of the board.

  “Stroke.”

  “Oh my God.” I grasped my forearm with one hand, digging my nails into my skin. It was punishment for the instant relief I’d felt to learn that the news Archer had to deliver had nothing to do with Con and me.

  If this were the alternative, I think I would’ve preferred to hand in my resignation. Dick Herzog had been on the board for as long as I could remember. He’d given me peppermints as a little girl when I’d come to board meetings with my mother. He’d continued in secret even after she’d made her disapproval about the candy known.

  “Yes, well…Melinda’s beside herself. As one would expect.” Melinda was Dick’s wife. His widow.

  “I’ll arrange for flowers to be delivered to her at home. And some low maintenance catered meals.”

  Archer nodded. “That would be very kind. I’m sure she’d appreciate it. In the meantime, I’m going to send a note to the board sharing the bad news. Melinda wants to have the service on Saturday. She doesn’t want to wait.”

  That seemed rather fast, but I guess…maybe that was normal? Or maybe it was the type of decision you made quickly when faced with this situation.

  “Okay. I’ll be there.”

  I stood, legs just as shaky as they had been when I’d entered the room. Except this time for a completely different reason. Death never got easier. It didn’t matter who it was, or how minor a role the person played in your life. Death always had the power to rock us by reminding us of our innate human fragility.

  My thoughts from last night about being ninety and lying in my bed regretting the things I’d never done came rushing back. Dick had to have been seventy-five if he’d been a day.

  “Vanessa.” Archer’s voice had me pausing at the threshold.

  “Yes?”

  “Be sure to say a prayer for Herzog, won’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  I flinched and turned my head as another camera flashed from just beyond Lucas. It was worse than I’d expected. I wanted to be anywhere but here tonight—and not just because I was dreading what would show up in the papers tomorrow.

  “You keep ducking, and I’ll arrange for a copy of the society section to be delivered to Con’s doorstep in the morning.”

  I glared at Lucas. “I thought you were worri
ed about ending up dead.” Like Herzog, I added to myself.

  He flashed a practiced smile in my direction, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Rarely did any of them reach his eyes. But I honestly didn’t care.

  “That’s only if he found out about our deal. Seeing the pictures will just get him pissed at you.” He slid an arm around my back.

  I hunched forward, trying to lessen the points of contact between our bodies. “Get your arm off me, or I’ll break it myself.” I was not in a mood to be messed with.

  Lucas tsked. “Play nice or the deal is off.”

  Forcing back the urge to slap him, I smiled and lifted my hand in a polite wave as a state senator nodded my way. Through gritted teeth I said, “I’m tempted to tell you to go screw yourself and tell whoever you want about Con and me.”

  “I doubt that, Vanessa. I truly doubt that. You see, I did my research when it came to you. I think I know exactly what that foundation means to you. And what’s more, I think I know what Archer’s and your father’s respect means to you.”

  A decidedly unladylike bark of laughter escaped my lips. “And I’m not losing their respect right this minute, standing here with you?”

  His expression twisted. “Not as fast as you would if you were standing on a street corner with Leahy.”

  I loosened the grip on my champagne flute so I didn’t shatter it. This conversation was completely pointless. I wanted to be home, chin deep in a bubble bath, a glass of wine resting on the edge of the tub.

  The remainder of the night was equally pointless. I smiled. Made my flawless small talk. The only bright spot of the evening was meeting a woman who chaired the board of a kids’ sack supper program who had applied for a grant. Hearing about her organization had only reinforced my desire to make certain we allotted funds to as many worthy causes as we were able.

  As I climbed into my car, the valet shut the door. I pulled out onto the dark street. It was nearly midnight, and the lack of solid sleep last night and the events of today were catching up with me. Deciding to take the quickest route home, I turned down a side road and slowed at the stoplight.