ON AIR

by Hadley Quinn

He meant Orkin, even though that wasn’t the company I’d hired, but I chuckled at his habit of not giving a fuck. We watched almost an entire Yankees/A’s game before the pest control guy left, who said everything looked good and I shouldn’t have anything to worry about.

  Like that was going to prevent me from squealing like a little bitch if I even saw one tiny little arachnid.

  Madden had ridden over on his Harley, so I grabbed mine from the garage and we headed out to ride east through the Columbia River Gorge. It was a beautiful day, and just the thought of being on my bike without having to talk to anyone felt like a much-needed blessing.

  On our way down the street, we passed Peter and Charlotte sitting on their front porch. Peter waved but I pretended not to notice as we rumbled out of sight.

  ***

  “Sinclair has your flowers,” Emmet said when I returned his call. “I saw them there at the radio station.”

  I leaned up against my bike where we’d pulled over at a rest stop. “You saw her? Sinclair?”

  “Her coworkers stated that the flowers on her desk were from a listener. Here, I took a picture to send you.”

  He paused, and when my phone vibrated, I opened my text messages. Sure enough, those looked like the flowers I’d ordered online. From what I remembered, the ones on my porch were a little different. I couldn’t be sure, though. Destroying evidence wasn’t exactly a concern at the time.

  “Yeah, that looks right,” I said, now on speakerphone. I was studying the photo closely, to see if there was anything I could use to my advantage, but the closer I zoomed, the blurrier her desk got.

  “And the card didn’t have Madden’s name anywhere on it,” Emmet said. “Just said ‘Becker & Lewis.’”

  I released the breath of air I didn’t know I was holding. “Oh. Well shit, no wonder she thought it was me.”

  “She knows where you work?”

  I explained my email handle and the information attached to it.

  My phone received another text, and sure enough, there was a picture of the card with my lame ass message from Becker & Lewis. Somewhere along the line Madden’s name got lost.

  “So what’s next?” I asked. “So she got my flowers… How or why did someone send some to my house with dozens of little Satans on board?”

  “I’m working on it, kid. I’m calling the flower business next. I’ll let you know. Just wanted you to know they weren’t the same ones.”

  “Yeah, thanks. I appreciate knowing. Although…not sure what it means.”

  “Just let me handle it, Dane. Doesn’t sound like you’re at home?”

  “Nah, Madden and I went riding up the Gorge. We’re heading back. Why, do I need to watch my back?”

  He laughed, but I was seriously irritated by all of this. “No, just let me get some answers before you worry about nothing. Take care, kid.”

  “Yeah, you too.”

  When I hung up, Madden was returning from the restroom. I filled him in on what Emmet knew so far, but he didn’t seem to have much to say. He was probably processing everything like me.

  We hopped on our bikes and headed back to Portland. I tried to let the ride clear my head, but it was useless. I cannot begin to describe how much I hated things being up in the air. I hated mysteries, I hated not knowing shit, and I especially hated knowing that someone thought it would be a good idea to threaten me with spiders.

  The spiders. A horde of Wolf spiders. Non-aggressive and non-lethal, but definitely biters if provoked. I shuddered involuntarily but wondered how many people knew I absolutely despised spiders. I wouldn’t consider myself a pussy, and I certainly wasn’t afraid of much, but I loathed creepy, crawly, nasty spiders.

  I got home an hour later than I’d planned. Madden continued on to his house, but I jumped in the shower and threw on a suit and tie as quickly as possible.

  I had a charity function to go to, and would perhaps meet the next psycho in my life.

  22

  “Dane! Oh look at you, so handsome.” Emily approached me, gave me a quick, non-embracing hug, and smiled. “You would make a charming addition to my family’s fashion line.”

  I cocked an eyebrow at her. “Dane Thomas” and “fashion” did not belong in the same sentence together. “Fashion line, huh?”

  “Yes. My sister is Eliza Kyle.”

  She waited while I caught up to the information, but I’m sure I looked clueless. I certainly didn’t follow anything in the fashion industry.

  “Sasha belongs to Eliza,” she continued, most likely realizing I was out of the loop. “But I see those thoughts turning in your handsome head,” she pointed a finger at me. “Don’t judge a book by its cover.”

  I would have taken that as a warning if I thought Sasha was less-than-appealing. But Emily herself had said her niece was beautiful so…

  “Oh, come.” Emily grabbed my elbow and turned me ninety degrees. I’d seen nothing but glammed and glitzed since I entered the hotel ballroom. I also might have been the only man who was wearing a basic suit and tie instead of a tux, and upon eyeing as many males as I could while we walked, it was pretty much confirmed.

  “You should have told me it was a tux sort of thing,” I said to Emily. “You told me ‘formal attire’, but I guess that didn’t quite register with me.”

  “Oh hush, you look perfectly fine,” she smiled. “Honestly, Dane, you’re the best looking man here. And if you ask my opinion, what you’re wearing is kind of a statement. Brilliantly sexy man in a simpler style. It’s bold. And you’re going to be the envy of every man here in a minute.”

  I didn’t quite appreciate that thought until later, but Emily gave a little squeal and clap at the sight of someone, and as soon as I put two-and-two together, I choked my tongue back up from almost swallowing it.

  “Dane Thomas, meet Sasha Kyle. Sasha, Dane,” she motioned between the two of us.

  Yes, I was staring. But trying not to. But still staring as I shook her hand and smiled. Not in a creepy, obsessed, frothing-at-the-mouth sort of way—hopefully—but the image was already in my head and think that’s why I smiled. I hoped to God that I didn’t look like a kid who was just handed a fifteen-layer ice cream sundae.

  Beautiful didn’t even describe this woman. She had dark brown hair that was piled on top of her head, so it was obvious it was pretty long. And her eyes… Her eyes were like a tropical ocean, but more than just a solid color. They were sort of teal around her pupils, but rimmed with a darker tone on the outer edge. And her lips… Okay, I’m a man, obviously. I imagined those lips around my cock almost instantly.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Dane,” Sasha spoke as we still shook hands.

  And I was still staring into her eyes and at her mouth. I honestly couldn’t look away. In fact, I had no idea when Emily even left because I was too tunnel-visioned at the moment.

  She was a 9.5.

  “It’s nice to meet you too,” I finally responded.

  I’ll admit…even with my superficial instant attraction to her, I was a bit intimidated. Just knowing the family she came from and that she was around environments like this made me feel inadequate. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a guy who really cares what people think. But when you’re put in a situation like this…maybe you do feel a bit of pressure. I only wanted to be comfortable around people, and this was totally out of my comfort zone.

  I didn’t mingle with rich socialites.

  “My aunt says you’re an architect.”

  Our hands finally disconnected at that initiation of basic conversation.

  “Yes, I am. I’m actually designing their home.”

  “That’s what she mentioned.” Sasha had nodded slowly, but I could tell it was more because she was studying me right now, sizing me up. Then she added, “You’re not anything like I expected.”

  How was I supposed to respond to that? In a room full of tux-wearing, wealthy men, I was definitely a misfit. I made good money in my career, but not enough to throw around at charities
once a month.

  “Well I’m not sure how someone is supposed to respond to that,” I replied truthfully. “I wasn’t told much about you, so I didn’t exactly hold any expectations. Emily said you were beautiful and smart. Obviously one is true; keep talking and I’ll let you know about the second.”

  She paused for a moment, and then lightly laughed. “Ahh, clever. What I meant was that she and my mother are always trying to match me up with men, and it’s generally a certain type. You don’t reek of that type. Be thankful.” She accepted a glass of wine from a server and eyed me over the rim. I could tell she took a gentle sniff of it before she sipped it.

  My nerves were a bit razzed at that point. I wanted a beer. And I felt slightly betrayed by Emily and her insistence that her niece wasn’t a stuck up snob. Maybe she didn’t exactly say that, but I felt she implied it, and now here I was watching Sasha Kyle analyze the wine.

  “Trust me, I’m very thankful,” I retorted, but with a smile and a polite voice. “I’m sure this is a worthy cause and all, but not a scene you’d find me in. I’m only here for Perry and Emily.”

  Sasha tipped her glass at me and replied, “Me too. I make an appearance with my mom now and then—” She motioned across the room, and I could instantly tell who her mother was. They looked a lot alike, just a generation apart. “This is her scene, not mine. I’m just here for the free alcohol.”

  She took another drink and winked at me in the process.

  Okay, I was a bit intrigued. “So you’re a lawyer?”

  Sasha lowered her drink, but there was a tiny smirk at the corner of her mouth. “Is that what my aunt told you?”

  Confused, I shrugged. “Yeah, pretty sure that’s what she said. You mean it’s not true?”

  “It’s true. She and my mother just like to give the impression that I’m some high profile defense attorney, or that I’m legal counsel for celebrities and such. But I stand up for something way more important than that. Kids.”

  Nodding, I processed her words. “You’re a family attorney.”

  “Yes. And yes, I do manage divorce cases and such, but my specialty is being a children’s advocate. To make sure the kids who are innocent of doing anything wrong get the fairest outcome possible. Adults can do what they do and fight over the money and the possessions, and the custody of the children just to make themselves look good… But I focus on the kids. They deserve more than being in the middle of that mess—”

  She interrupted herself to say hello to a couple passing by. Taking a play from Sasha’s book, I grabbed myself a glass of wine, too. If I was able to fake it at Peter’s book club/bachelor party, I could do it here, too.

  And yes, the alcohol content was my only focus, and I drank half of it in one gulp. I knew that wasn’t the “proper” way to drink wine, but I didn’t care. And Sasha ended up drinking hers gone before I took my last swig, and we both reached for second glasses when her mother came by with a man on each arm.

  Men that were probably younger than me, even.

  “Darling, meet Zechary and Vaughn. Two of my newest gems to model the winter line.”

  Zechary? What the fuck kind of name was that? I looked them both over, not really knowing which was which, but decided the sandy blonde was probably good ol’ Zech. He had that twatsicle, wealthy little boy look to him. Delicate. I could snap him like a twig.

  Vaughn had broader shoulders and was most likely a fuck boy, but he could probably cuddle with Zechary and get away with being the dominant male in that situation as well.

  I heard my name and realized Sasha was introducing me. I forced myself to be polite and not embarrass her, but to be honest, I was pretty sure my arrogance and desire to leave as soon as possible was apparent.

  “Calvin Klein?” Eliza asked as she eyed my suit from shoulder to shoulder, and then down my hemline. “A good tailor could measure you properly for a better shoulder fit and custom design.”

  I could have focused on her condescending tone, but I truly didn’t feel one from her. I understood she was speaking her expertise. And the woman was right, I’m pretty sure my suit was CK. The normal me would have joked I got it from Goodwill, but I wasn’t quite ready to insult Sasha’s family just yet.

  “Very good,” I nodded to Eliza. “You are an exceptional eye in your industry.”

  She seemed pleased and eyed her daughter for a second. Turning her attention back to me, she said, “So Dane, what is your superficial contribution to the world?”

  I wasn’t sure if she was serious or just testing me, but I answered, “Like you, I design the façades to people’s lives; sometimes frivolous and unnecessary, and sometimes completely beyond their financial means, but a shell of their societal aspirations. But I design what they think is a suitable place to live; mostly a representation of what they want people to think.”

  I could tell she was completely intrigued. “You design homes,” she stated. “Hmm, very interesting. You and I…we do have a lot in common.”

  It wasn’t always true about ostentatious clients, but the direction I’d gone in my career lately somewhat catered to those people. Ones with money. Ones who wanted something no one else had.

  The thought of that kind of hit me hard. I used to design basic, functioning homes for the average person. People who were hardworking and had a dream to have something they could call their own from the ground up. I respected that. It was what I wanted for myself one day. But somehow I’d been handed a high-end client here, and another one there, and I had become another Clive in our company.

  “You don’t like that about your career?” Eliza smiled at me when I’d paused. “My daughter thinks I’m a superficial, money hungry, fame-seeking socialite. Do you as well?”

  Sasha didn’t at all look offended by her mom’s assessment, but more like she was also waiting for my answer.

  Shrugging, I replied, “There’s a lot of ground to cover when it comes to our way of life. Some things are necessary, but oftentimes those things get a bit out of hand. But that’s what money does.”

  “The bottom line, Mr. Thomas.”

  “Yes, fashion is a billion-dollar industry that does nothing to improve anyone’s character or society as a whole. It fact, it sort of tears it apart. But it’s a job. You can’t exactly survive without the money to take care of yourself. I guess we have to wear clothes, so that’s a necessity. But the extent people take it is a bit extreme. However, everyone has a hobby. Some just make money off it.”

  She tilted her head as she stared at me. I’ll tell you, it’s one of the weirdest things to be scrutinized by someone like that. She represented herself as something far beyond what I considered her to be. For me, she was just a woman; an average human being like the rest of us. To herself, she was a queen.

  “Interesting,” she finally nodded. Turning to Sasha she said, “I’m not sure if I like him or not. You may play with him for a bit until Mommy says otherwise.”

  If Sasha hadn’t rolled her eyes and Eliza hadn’t smiled mischievously, I would have made a smart remark. But I think I caught on to both their personalities pretty quickly. The rebellious daughter who didn’t want anything to do with mommy’s lifestyle, and the mommy who had to accept that but liked to make jabs about it anyway.

  We both watched Eliza excuse herself with twatsicle and fuck boy.

  “Well, that’s my mom,” Sasha grinned at me. “You wanna run, now’s your chance.”

  “Parents don’t bother me. They’re just people.”

  I deliberately said nothing about rich, high–profile parents. I knew she was observing me for just that angle, but social status didn’t bother me one bit. It actually made me much happier to be who I was. Made me appreciate my average life.

  “My parents divorced when I was twelve,” Sasha informed me. “It was nasty. Ugly. Brutal. And yes, it affected me so much that I made sure I could help other kids battle through their own parental nightmares. I don’t feel most parents intentionally hurt their children, but they
need to realize their words and actions will make an impression on them for the rest of their lives. Adults can be reckless. Thoughtless. Selfish. All of those things when they’re hurt or feel threatened. That’s why I decided to take a role as a children’s advocate.”

  I slowly nodded, absorbing her words. It was refreshing to not have some deep, unknown personal issue I had to mind-read and figure out in the future. Open up that closet door, baby. Right off the bat.

  “And you?” she asked.

  Not knowing if she meant my parents specifically, I answered, “My parents are deceased. Died in a car accident seven years ago. The other driver swerved to avoid hitting a dog, apparently, but there were a ton of holes in her story. She and her sister were heading home from something…” I trailed off with a shrug, not really wanting to get upset over the facts again.

  “I’m very sorry about your parents. Do you have siblings?”

  “One sister, younger. Chloe.”

  “I have one brother,” she continued. “Barrett. Thirty-six. He lives in New York. And if you’re wondering why my mom is here in Portland instead of L.A. or New York, she spends time in all three. Seattle too. Chicago. And Paris, although that’s just for her own ego and not because she really has much business there. She’s really not as elite internationally as she’d like to be, but she’ll never admit that.”

  “It’s tough being an internationally acclaimed designer.”

  She scoffed, but lightly shoved me. “Exactly.”

  “No, I’m not joking,” I chuckled. “Art is such a versatile career, but it’s a race that you’ll never win. A person has to truly love what they do to survive, especially if they desire recognition for it. Other than that, you better be happy with the standard money you make—if you’re so lucky.”

  She eyed me carefully. “And for you? What do you aspire to?”

  Thinking back to my earlier thoughts, I kind of found an ah-ha moment for myself. “I love what I do. And it comes easy to me. Your mom had a point, and even though I know she was acknowledging her own shallow interests, we’re all that way now and then. Yeah, I have some pretty wealthy clients. Your aunt and uncle included. And yes, they allow me to open up a bit more and get creative, to give them something that’s unique but suited toward their lifestyle.” I shrugged. “But I think I love the first time homebuilder the most; the ones who are so excited to build their own home just the way they want it; the ones who have to stick to a strict budget and weigh and measure where they can splurge and not splurge.” I nodded resolutely. “Yep, those are my favorite clients.”