Blue (The Carson Trilogy Book 1)

by K NILSSON

  “I heard about that place. Let me plug the address into the GPS.” I paused. “Repeat, what’s it called again?” I tapped my phone to pull up the map app.

  James gave me a sidelong glance expressing his disapproval at my lie.

  “What?” I grinned.

  James shrugged. “Well, maybe you called it something else when you were in college.”

  I barked out a laugh and saw him jump out of the corner of my eye.

  Siri’s annoying voice began the directions:

  Take I-10 East toward downtown.

  Like I said, annoying.

  James flipped through the stations on Sirius radio and chose the 80s and 90s Greatest Country Hits. I did a double take. Never did I ever imagine James to be a country music fan. The first song that came up was Florida Georgia Line’s song, “Simple”. The reason I know this is that James hummed it, then the words came out, and when it was time for the refrain, he belted out the lyrics. I shook my head; a big smile was cracking my face in half—the kid was a romantic.

  During the ride, we’d talked shop. James was keen on innovative spyware and kept a running tab on the latest acquisitions and made recommendations based on the job.

  “Hey man, do we have room in the budget to test new spy gear?” he asked.

  Pulling up to a stop light, I said, “There is wiggle room. What is it?” I turned to look at him. His eyes sparkled as he gestured with his hands.

  “There’s a super-dope insect spy drone. I had a tech-gasm when I saw it.”

  “Do you have a photo?”

  “Yeah, I’ll show you later.”

  Siri: Turn right

  “The little bar next to the stadium is the Dive.” James pointed.

  I circled until I could find a parking spot for the Hulk so I could see it from the inside. I pocketed the keys and strode toward the ramshackle building in the middle of the city. Once we walked in, it transformed. The bar looked like a Hollywood production warehouse. There were a lot of props from nearby movie studios on the walls and ceiling. The most outstanding feature was a back-lit mirror on the wall behind the bar. It was lit to display the colorful bottles of liquor and beer that lined the shelves. After a few moments, when my eyes made a full scan around the room, the hair on my arms stood on end. A familiar energy, and I saw her, Blue, sitting on a barstool only a few feet away.

  She also got James’s attention.

  “Let’s stand at this high top over here. You can keep your eye on the Hulk, and I’ll keep mine on the woman sitting at the bar.” He pointed.

  He was about her age or close enough. Would she prefer him? I clenched my jaw, this was the first time I’d felt my age. What. The. Fuck.

  With a coolness that’s as familiar as breathing, I said, “I’ll get us some beers. Is Dos Equis ok with you?”

  Not able to take his eyes off her, he mumbled, “Yeah, s’fine.”

  I don’t think she saw me slink toward the end of the bar. It would take a few minutes for the bartender to acknowledge me. My eyes kept landing on her reflection. She had already sunk her teeth into my heart that night at Club Trawl. I’ve indulged in the memory of that scene too many times since then, how she tasted when I kissed her lips, both sets. Her kisses and the sounds she made, wrecked me. They were full of unspoken passion, a deep well of desire and untapped potential. I need to summon my self-control because she lost hers and not because of me.

  Blue tried but failed at keeping a lady-like demeanor while a barfly harassed her. The scene unfolded like a train wreck.

  He leaned in toward her.

  "Where have you been all my life?"

  He caught her by surprise. "Hiding from you."

  The barfly mumbled something in her ear, unaware he put his head in the lioness' mouth.

  "That's the lamest line in existence," she spat.

  “Uh oh,” said James, coming over to stand by me.

  Undeterred, the barfly continued.

  "Don't worry, that was plan A."

  Amused, she said, “Not that I care, but what's Plan B?"

  "Take you hostage," he said with a smirk.

  Then he pawed her curvy bottom and any semblance of self-control went down the toilet. Her face went red from her collarbone to the hairline. Her hands clenched and for a moment I thought she would swing her handbag at his head.

  Blue was magnificent in her fury. Her shoulders square with her hips and legs staggered, she was in an attack stance. If the prince of stupid said one more thing, he would wear the bar stool as a crown.

  Trying to calm her down, he put his hands on her shoulders. She slapped him and called him names. Her gorgeous mouth hurled a barrage of insults that would turn an average man into an emotional eunuch. She began the litany with his "pea brain" and worked her way down his body to "needle dick."

  She made me hard. I yearned to kiss her. I needed to manhandle her. I wanted to fuck her. Blue's ire burned hot like a full-on blaze.

  Then, she saw people in the bar watching the spectacle and tried to settle herself. She spotted me, despite my short haircut. I turned toward the mirror, to avoid eye contact. As she approached, I could tell she wanted to talk, even tried to get my attention by pouting and sliding a cardboard coaster toward me. But I was firm in my resolve.

  My face returned to that of a priest's who's heard it all in a confessional. With my mouth in a tight line, giving the air of a bored son-of-a-bitch, I dismissed her. I hated what I did, but it was necessary. She'll never speak to me again. I made sure of it. I was the man who walked away from her at a nightclub after rocking her world, and I'm the one who is ignoring her now. I doubt I could talk her into a hand job, ever. She stomped out of the bar in a fury.

  The next time I saw those eyes, they were shooting me angry glances across a conference table.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Devyn

  Sigma Stormsoft

  Culver City

  Today was my first day as an employee of Sigma Stormsoft. The campus, designed by a team of esteemed architects, was twenty minutes from my apartment, and by LA standards, a short commute.

  Yesterday was an indicator of how much control Rathmore wanted over his workers. The orientation package, delivered by courier, was a prime example. It included an executive leather briefcase embossed with the company logo, a Sigma Stormsoft coffee cup, and a thumb drive.

  Inside, Ben found a tracker lodged in the seam. The attached instructions said the thumb drive would be for the new computers, it held blank HR forms we should fill out and hand in — which I am prepared to do as soon as I get an office, but then I bumped into Vera, causing the coffee in her mug to splash across the floor.

  "I'm sorry, Vera," I said checking her name tag.

  "No, I'm sorry. It was my fault. Let me help you with that."

  I handed her the briefcase and watched her blotting away, and I wondered if she had one like mine. Running my hand down the front of my skirt, checking for errant drops of coffee, I re-assured myself the classic navy suit still looked professional.

  "Thanks! I'm a little nervous. It's my first day."

  "I remember my first day. I've been here for ten years now as a coffee-cup-filling secretary," said with some pride, pointedly looking at me as if to say ‘I know where all the bodies are buried’.

  Vera escorted me to a luxurious waiting area steps away from reception. The morning sunshine spilling through the picture window beckoned me to look. Cars jammed the streets with bumper to bumper traffic. Workers late to work lined the walkway to enter the building.

  Abstract paintings in the ridiculously expensive office were the only source of color on the neutral walls. From the white leather chair to the crystal bar set, the designer spared no expense to reflect the company's image of power and money.

  Waiting for orientation, I reflected on how much effort I spent on my short career, working for a man I've tried to please, loved like a brother, and feared, while I have a job I love. This life wasn't what I thought I'd b
e doing after my mother died. But I think she’d be proud of me.

  My job title, systems analyst, was deceiving. I could analyze anything from the cost to benefit ratio of a vending machine to computer systems applications. It was a job with no identifiable parameters for me. I might not be the only person with this position. Although I don’t have a lot of experience as a systems analyst, I know enough electrical engineering and computer systems to get myself out of hot water. Ben said this is where my skills at improvisation will help me most. I'm nothing if not an expert at thinking fast on my feet.

  “May I get you something to drink, Ms. Foster?” Vera asked.

  “Yes, black coffee, one pink sweetener. Thank you.”

  “I apologize, but, we have none.”

  “No problem. Black is good.”

  I swear she must have the coffeepot in her cubicle, because she returned about a minute later and handed it to me in a cup with the company logo.

  Vera watched me sip the coffee and asked if it was okay. I nodded yes, but still, she eyed me. I was getting an odd vibe.

  Feeling the need to break the awkward silence, I asked, "Why are you here, as a support person, and not running your own company? You are efficient."

  Vera blushed, looking at her feet.

  "Thank you, Ms. Foster. I was lucky to get this job," she confided.

  I waited for a complete answer.

  "I'm in recovery."

  "For?"

  "Alcohol."

  That put the kibosh on the small talk.

  "Is there anything else I can get for you, Miss Foster?"

  "No. I'll just gather my thoughts while I wait for the meeting." But really, I wanted to lick my wounds, indulge in a little self-pity.

  My mind wandered to the night before…

  I’d made plans to meet Candace at the Dive, a place we frequented in college. But just as I’d arrived, she texted me and said she was having “trouble” with a celebrity client she was styling.

  So I found an empty stool, took a seat, and ordered a drink. And after a few minutes, a drunk tried to pick me up. It wasn’t even amusing. Then I felt the hairs on my arms stand. My skin heated. I looked to my right. There, standing a few feet away, was the same nameless guy who had licked, fingered, and fucked me with painful eroticism at Club Trawl.

  My demon looked different. He was clean-cut and manicured. I was sure it was him. The aura of a confident alpha male, one who thought nothing of spraying everything with testosterone and walking away scot-free, hung in the air. And then... there was that sexy cleft in his chin.

  I wanted to talk to him, ask why he walked away so fast, and take his head off while I was at it. But then, the drunkard cock-blocked me, and I lost it.

  No matter how I tried to draw his attention, he’d ignored me. The demon was far worse than arrogant. He was indifferent.

  I’d almost forgot Ben's rule to be invisible. It flew out the window. My exit was a little dramatic. I slapped the cash on the bar as hard as I hit the drunk. Then I grumbled the whole walk of shame to my car.

  Aching frustration followed me home and tormented me the entire night. I could still smell his scent—leather and vanilla—along with the heft of his thick cock in my palm. The cursed thing needed its own zip code. God damn it, I couldn't get him out of my mind, so I put the memory of him to good use, along with my vibrator.

  Vera popped her head into the room. “Orientation starts in five minutes.”

  This brief mental vacation was a waste of time and not safe for work, but melancholy aside, he was the reason for my lateness to work. He was a mistake.

  The floors in the corridors were shinier than any I'd ever seen. The first step decided my gait. My heel slid sideways. I kept my eyes on Vera who led the way to the conference room. She had no problem with her walk. Working here for ten years gave her plenty of practice, that, or she had tape on the soles of her shoes. As usual, I led with my hip, right foot stepping in front of the other, giving a feminine sway to my walk. The heel of my back foot slid sideways causing me to lose my grasp on the briefcase under my arm and put me at a serious disadvantage with my balance. Had I not been able to right myself at once, the spill would have been an end to my first day.

  Although the MeToo movement was now running rampant in social media, heels and a pencil skirt were unwritten rules in this corporate culture. It didn't matter. I wasn't here to rebel against the dress code. I had better fish to fry.

  Before I walked into the room, I ran my fingers along the nape of my neck, looking for any loose strands of hair that needed tucking behind my ears or into my updo, then checked my teeth for lipstick marks with a swipe of my tongue. All was well. I schooled my face into a serene expression, took a breath and walked inside.

  The conference room, set up to display the latest technology, proved that the company had innovative assets. There were no overhead projectors, screens on the wall or pamphlets, just a large console that dominated the middle of the table. There were computer tablets for the attendees at each seat. The figure of a woman standing at the front of the room an unspoken example of the ideal female executive. Tall, blond, and curvy, Joan wore a red sheath dress, matching red lipstick, and black too-tall-heels. I wonder if she ever fell in the corridors. No, I’m sure she didn’t. Holograms don’t fall.

  "The Rathmore Corporation welcomes you on your first day," the woman began. “My name is Joan Nesbitt, I’m from Human Resources, here to help you acclimate to the corporate culture."

  The skin on my arms tingled. I sensed a familiar presence. No. It can't be. Though my face pointed in Joan’s direction, my eyes moved from left to right, scanning the faces of my tablemates. I should have spotted him at once. The nameless arrogant man sat across the table, and his eyes rested on me. I glimpsed ephemeral hesitation in his demeanor; the demon was just as surprised as me. Though my ovaries stood up and cheered, I wanted to slap them down along with the smirk on his face. He was the source of my greatest humiliation. I couldn't unsee him. The best I could do was give him the side-eye glare and ignore him as he did me.

  I caught the tail end of Joan’s instructions... “Introduce yourself to the group, including your name and your position.”

  I will have consensual intel on my Romeo, on the downside, he’d have mine. I would research the hell out of him when I got home. I glanced at him and smirked.

  He raised his brow.

  “Let’s start to my left,” said Joan.

  An elfin-faced older woman with white hair and frameless glasses fidgeted with her pen. There were no paper notebooks anywhere, so I guess she was holding on to it out of habit. Wearing a green polyester leisure suit and flat shoes, she said, "Hi, I’m Sheila Falstaff, I’m a member of the Travel department."

  I didn’t know companies kept Travel departments anymore.

  Then she shut her mouth as if she realized that she’d spoken more words than allowed.

  A young man who looked like an accountant sat next to her. He combed his greasy hair flat. He wore a plaid shirt with a pocket protector accessorized with a colorful array of touch screen stylus pens. I gave him props for the custom painted red Chucks. He fidgeted with a stylus and his phone when it was his turn.

  "My name is Samuel Blevins, and I'm the data conservator."

  I’d slipped non-prescription glasses on, a pair with a hidden camera. They were also useful for covering any involuntary facial reactions. They were a little oversized for my face, but they did the job.

  "Next?"

  "My name is Devyn Frost, and I'm a systems analyst."

  He was last.

  "My name is Maximillian Stone. I go by Max. I’ll be working in the Systems Security department."

  I didn’t look at him when he spoke, but down at the tablet. When he finished, I squirmed, my thighs squeezed together, and I peered at him over my glasses.

  He grinned.

  I didn’t look his way the rest of meeting.

  The human resources coordinator, Joan, d
roned on.

  Periodic, random, drug screening tests required… blah blah blah.

  My mind was reeling with thoughts and suspicions about Max, his position, and what it could mean for me. Now he had access to personal information, like my name and the phony address, but he also had an intimate knowledge of what my pussy looks like and what I feel like from the inside. I wanted to punch something.

  He was still smirking as if he knew the thoughts that swirled in my head. Well, you know nothing, buddy. Nada.

  I was furious with this man. I'll be civil. I'll keep cool and my expression calm. Breathe... But on the inside, my stomach churned.

  How dare he dismiss me? What made this man reject me? All I could do is think about his hands roaming all over my body, and I'm seething all over again. I don't think I could manage whatever clusterfuck this would be if I’d gone home with him.

  Stone cannot interfere with my job. I’ll avoid him at any cost. I'll work out a strategy on my evening run.

  I looked around the room for signs of security cameras. Calm and aloof, the order of the day. Any emotional response would be a weakness.

  So far today, I’ve met a woman who has worked here for ten years doing the same thing all that time, an executive with HR person that's a hologram, and a cold, soulless man who has the power to be my Achilles heel. I wish I could have seen more staff, see if they tiptoe through their day. Are they aware of being watched at every corner?

  I downloaded the contents of the thumb drive onto the tablet. I felt Max staring as if willing me to turn around and acknowledge him. Gathering my things, I followed the rest of my coworkers out, frowning at him like he was a gnat on the bottom of my shoe. I decided he would not rattle me anymore.

  He looked like he wanted to say something, but regret flickered in his eyes.

  The only sounds in the hall were my heels as they clicked.

  Do you hear Max? It's the echo of me walking away from you.

  ~ Blue End of Book One

  Acknowledgments