“Well?”
“Well, what? Who gives up their job? I love my job, Bo - holy shit I can’t believe I’m engaging in this conversation.” My sweaty palms sought relief, but I couldn’t mess up my dress. I shook them in the air.
“Are you freaking out? We’re just talking, Ember.” Bo’s grip on my knee sent a calming current through my veins.
“Sorry, it’s just, tonight, last night, the day before, and the eight before that I’ve thought of forever when I’ve thought of you Bo. Fucking forever.”
He grinned, “And that’s a bad thing?”
“It’s a crazy person thing,” I scoffed.
“Guess I’m crazy, too.” His smile reached his eyes as he kissed my hand. “Let’s just have some irresponsible fun tonight, and worry about all of this heady stuff tomorrow.”
“Bowan Cavanaugh, are you going to try to get me drunk?” I batted my eyelashes dramatically.
“Nope, I happen to know you can do a fine job of that all on your own, Ms. Harris.” He winked as we parked in front of McCarthy’s Pub.
Despite the name, McCarthy’s was more of a night club than a pub. Private tables surrounded the black dance floor. We were escorted promptly to one in the corner and given complimentary champagne; just another reminder of the weight the Cavanaugh name carried in Concord
“You sure know how to show a girl a good time,” I toasted him and sucked down half the champagne.
Bo just shook his head as the waitress approached. He ordered for us and her smile lingered as she backed away from our table.
“Has it always been like this for you? The fawning and all?” My hands motioned back and forth in front of his body.
Even in the dim light of McCarthy’s I could see Bo’s cheeks redden, “Kinda, but it’s hard to tell if it’s because of me, my money, my parents . . .” He shook his head in thoughtful disbelief.
“Oh, it’s you, for sure.” My smoky stare did it’s best to undo him.
“I’m thinking tonight that it’s you; no one’s eyes have left you since we walked in here Ember.” His proud peacock look returned.
Looking around, I noticed he was right; we seemed to be the talk of McCarthy’s. No doubt, all minds were wondering who the woman was with Concord’s heir apparent; it didn’t make me nervous. I felt proud and beamed the biggest smile I had.
As we ate our dinner, McCarthy’s got busier, and I noticed a DJ setting up near the dance floor. I sat facing the door, which I always preferred, and that gave me the advantage of seeing Ainsley walk in before Bo did. I swallowed my second glass of champagne in one gulp.
“What was that about?” Bo stared at my empty flute.
“Told you she’d show up.” I nodded in Ainsley’s direction just as she caught my eye and the back of Bo’s head. “Oh, would you look at how she just lights up like a Christmas tree? It’s sweet, really.” Sarcasm flooded our booth.
“Play nice.” Bo playfully kicked me under the table.
Ainsley Worthington, all five-foot-four, strawberry blonde, and ice-blue eyes of her, walked toward us with what I now knew to be a cheerleader smile.
“Hey Bowan! I didn’t know you’d be out tonight!” Ainsley cheered . . . cheered.
Is that octave truly necessary? Force a smile, Ember- smother her later.
“Yeah, I know it’s a ‘school night’, but Ember and I have a pretty big meeting tomorrow so we’re trying to loosen up beforehand.” Bo reached across the table and grabbed my hand.
Activate launch sequence.
Ainsley’s eyes immediately shot to our hands, then my eyes, then his eyes, and back to our hands. She took a deep breath and swallowed hard.
“Ahem,” she cleared her throat and tried to pry her eyes from our hands to my eyes, “Ember, is it?”
Here we go.
“Yes, it is. November Harris, actually, pleased to meet you Ainsley.” I broke my grip from Bo and stuck my hand out.
“That’s an . . . interesting name.” Her dead-fish grip held mine for a split second before she clasped her hands in front of her.
“Thank you!” Two can cheer.
Ainsley speared her eyes in to mine before looking slowly to Bo, who nodded almost imperceptibly to her.
“Well, I’ve got to get back to my girls, see ya later.” She walked quickly back to her gaggle of friends.
“Jesus, I’ve never seen her back down like that before. Well done Ms. Harris.” Admiration oozed from Bo’s pores.
“It’s the dress. Told you it’s a good one.”
As the second glass of champagne numbed my mouth, I noticed a large man across the dance floor. He seemed to be making his way toward us with a cocky smile on his face.
“Is that a friend of yours?” I shouted over the now blaring thumps of Ludacris.
When Bo glanced over his shoulder he released my hand and his shoulders sank for a minute. “That’s Bill Holder.”
“He’s an enormous son of a bitch; did he play football with you?” The hair on the back of my neck stood higher the closer Bill came.
“He played, but not with me, he’s Rachel’s age. Let me warn you, he’s great at what he does for DROP, but he’s a massive asshole - real cocky.”
While Bo’s tone tried to be playful, it made me edgy. I suddenly wished for a shawl to cover myself with, especially when Bill’s eyes settled on me. His imposing shadow strapped my shoulders against the booth and my pulse raced. I let out a long-held breath as he smiled - rather arrogantly - and gripped Bo’s shoulders.
“Hey brother, what’s goin’ on?” Bill sat, uninvited, next to Bo, who rolled his eyes.
Seeming to ignore his inquisition, Bo nodded in my direction, “Bill, this is November Harris from The Hope Foundation. She’s their grant writer.”
Bill extended his massive hand across the table and, quickly, I put on my best business smile and returned the greeting, “Nice to meet you. Can I call you Bill?”
“Absolutely,” he said unctuously.
The vibration from my phone made me jump half way out of the seat; it was a text from Monica.
Monica: Hey Em! See you tomorrow, how’s your weekend been?
I smiled politely at Bill and Bo before I padded my text back.
Me: Weekend’s been great. Wait till you meet Rachel, Bo’s sister- she’s a riot. I actually just met Bill (William) Holder, their grant writer . . . he kind of gives me the creeps- huge guy. How are things with Josh?
Monica: Things are good, almost back to where they were :) Kick that Bill guy in the nuts if he acts like an asshole!
Me: Will do :-*
“So, Bill, Bo tells me you played football?” Maybe if I get him talking more he won’t creep me out so much.
“Fuckin’ right I did, State Champs, baby!” While his smile was genuine, his voice didn’t settle right in my gut. Something is off.
“If you gentlemen will excuse me, I have to use the restroom.” I forced a smile and slid carefully out of the booth; fighting the growing urge to run. From what?
Bo’s eyes followed me all the way out of the booth and, I assumed, down to the bathroom. When I entered the bathroom I cursed my makeup for preventing me from splashing water on my face, like I so desperately wanted to. Instead, I took a few cleansing breaths against the cold tile of the bathroom wall, thankful for my backless dress. I picked up my phone and dialed Adrian’s number; he answered on the first ring.
“Hey Em, did you get my text? I’m running late.”
“No I didn’t. Shit.” The gong of my heartbeat started to reach my ears.
“Everything OK?”
“Um, I just met Bill Holder. He’s talking to Bo and I’m in the bathroom. He kind of gives me the creeps, Adrian . . .”
“Did he say or do anything to you?” Panic shot through the phone and closed my throat.
“No . . .why? Adrian, what’s going on, does this have anything to do with-”
“Ember, I’ll be there as soon as I can, just relax and hang with Bo, OK
?”
“Where the hell are you anyway?” I couldn’t calm myself down.
“On my way back from Portsmouth.”
“Jesus, Adrian, that’s like an hour away!”
“Relax, I’m more than half way there. Met up with some friends at Smuttynose and the afternoon got away from us.” He sounded far more relaxed than I needed him to be. “Everything’s fine, Blue. Be there soon.” Blue. He keeps doing that.
He hung up without a goodbye and I was left, still near-panting, in the bathroom. Blackmail, I meant to say blackmail to Adrian before he cut me off. Did he know that? Does he know something? Shit. Game face on, Ember.
As I swung open the door with renewed confidence, Bo’s figure in the doorway startled me.
“Shit!” I screamed.
“You OK? You’re acting anxious.” He placed his hand on my shoulder, his sweaty palm did not go unnoticed - nor did it help calm me down.
“Get in here.” I yanked the buttons on Bo’s shirt.
“Ember, what the hell, this is the woman’s bathroom-”
“Bill Holder has something to do with your sister’s blackmail, doesn’t he?” I hissed, pressing my hand against the bathroom door.
Sweat beaded on Bo’s forehead and the color drained from his face “Ember . . .”
“Doesn’t it? That dude gives me the serious fucking creeps, Bo, and you called him a massive asshole. I had to ask myself, why would Bo have someone working for his organization who is a massive asshole?”
“It’s not . . . holy shit . . .” Bo paced over to the sink and splashed water on his face. Must be nice.
“Look, I’m not going to say anything and I won’t act any different to him out there, but I can tighten my guard around him for sure. Adrian didn’t sound too pleased-”
“You called Adrian?” He growled through clenched teeth.
“Yes, psychopath. I called Adrian because Bill scared me and I wanted to know how soon Adrian was getting here.”
“Why couldn’t you tell me instead, Ember? Why did you have to run to Turner?” He stared into the empty sink, gripping it.
“No, this isn’t going to turn into an Adrian vs. Bo thing. Does Bill have something to do with the blackmail? Just give me an answer and I’ll drop it till later when we can talk about it at your house.” I placed my hand on his steaming hot back.
“Yes. He does. And, it’ll be all over soon, so don’t worry about anything, OK?” With his head still hanging, he turned to look at me. His eyes were shrouded in exhaustion.
“OK, I trust you. Can we please go drink heavily now? That’s the only way I can be around Bill Holder.”
Bo’s face warmed again against my words of reassurance.
“OK Rock Star, just don’t tumble in those nosebleed heels like you did the last time you wore them,” he chuckled as he led me to the dance floor.
“Deal, as long as you don’t let me go home with anyone else like the last time I wore them.” I shot my eyebrow sky high.
“Cold, Ember. Real Cold,” he feigned hurt while theatrically grabbing his stomach.
On the way to the dance floor, we stopped by the bar and I opted for a cosmopolitan. One glance at the crowded bump-and-grind told me my drink wouldn’t last two seconds out there before ending up down the front of my dress. With a smirk I poured the ice cold drink down my throat in one gulp, grateful for the instant calming effects of vodka.
“What, you want a repeat performance of that dog place?” Bo asked, referring to Lost Dog -the night Adrian took me home.
“I don’t want those assholes spilling my drink.” I nodded to the dancing fools. “Get me one more and I’ll be set to go out and tear it up.”
One more gulp of a cosmopolitan restored my equilibrium-and buried my inhibitions. Bo and I swung freely across the dance floor, though I couldn’t seem to shake Bill’s eye as he leaned back with his elbows up on the bar.
“I meant it, you know,” Bo’s lips on my ear caught my attention over Bill.
“Meant what?” I stopped dancing and grabbed his hips.
“Forever.”
I staggered back, feeling the equal effects of the uneasy feeling in my stomach and the vodka.
“I meant it too, Bo . . . we’ll just have to navigate it-”A tiny hand wrapping over Bo’s shoulder stopped me.
Ainsley.
“Bo, can I steal you away for a minute?” Seduction was her game.
“Go ahead Babe, I need another drink anyway,” I said, my eyes unmoving from Ainsley as I asserted my position.
Bo shot me a look of sardonic thanks as he moved across the dance floor with Ainsley. I turned back to the bar and ordered another cosmopolitan while I avoided the sight of them. I knew who he’d be going home with tonight; poor Ainsley.
“So, November, are you and Bo, like, a thing?” Bill Holder shouldered next to me and I could feel the steel of his arm muscles pulse in to me.
That was exactly the kind of question I was hoping to avoid until after the meeting tomorrow. So, I shook my head dismissively.
“Not really.” I opted to look him straight in the eye.
“Oh, well, in that case, can I have this dance?” He placed his arm loosely around my middle.
Shit.
“I’d like to finish my drink first if you don’t mind.” I twirled out of his hold as fluidly as I could and leaned my front against the bar.
“Sweet moves, November.” Bill wasn’t going to go down easy. He stood next to me but put one hand on the bar across my back.
Perfect, now you’re trapped against the bar. With one more turn I faced Bill, and looked over to Bo and Ainsley, who had no idea what was happening between me and Bill.
“I’m set, Bill, but thanks.” I chanced rolling my eyes, not knowing if it would set him off.
“Hey Bill, what’s up?” A young man with a much calmer voice and sunnier disposition bounded beside Bill, slapping him on the back.
He was significantly shorter than Bill, and far less threatening looking. He had short bouncy blonde curls that gave me some sort of comfort.
“This gorgeous lady, here, is the grant writer for The Hope Foundation, and came here on Bo’s arm tonight,” Bill sneered. Sneered.
Chills exploded up my spine and bile bubbled in my throat as I forced myself to believe I was hallucinating the reason why Bill gave me such bad feeling.
“If she came with Bo, Bro, you better keep your hands off,” his friend said in an eerily calming tone that inexplicably also gave me a bad feeling.
“Don’t be such a pussy, dude, like I’d piss Bo off in here.” Bill gestured with his hands.
An auditory memory pulsed through my ears; Max, just get in the truck if you’re going to be a useless pussy.
No, it couldn’t be.
I turned one more time so my back was to Bo, but I was no longer pinned against the bar.
“Take it easy, Bill, just trying to save your hide.” His friend elbowed him playfully in the ribs.
He’ll be here Bill, just take it easy.
Impossible.
Flashes of the night at the garage almost two weeks ago whipped wildly through my head; changing frames with each thump of the bass from the speakers. Bill sounded identical to the violent Bill from behind the garage - all that was missing was his calmer sidekick, Max.
Clearly I’d had too much to drink and my mind was playing tricks on me. Bill’s imposing stature and snarling voice set off warning bells in my head, but he was a creepy looking guy anyway. I shook my head in an attempt to think rationally.
“Um, sorry, we haven’t been introduced.” I pointed my eyes to Bill’s friend.
“This guy,” Bill interjected, “works with us at DROP, too. He’s the community educator.”
“Oh, so you must be Tristan MacMillian?” I stuck out my hand as the bass from the stereo volleyed for position in my head over my heartbeat.
“Tristan’s my dad’s name,” he smiled as he stuck out his hand, “my friends call me
Max.”
Run.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Are you crazy? Run!
My brain shouted to my frozen body as terror took over. It tasted like cayenne infused wine; it was disorienting and pulled beads of sweat to the surface of my forehead. I took one prey-like step back as my senses scrambled. In the last twenty minutes my brain received two very important pieces of information; one, Bill Holder is blackmailing Bo, two, the two men in front of me were most definitely the “Bill and Max” duo from the garage nearly two weeks ago.
“Hey, you OK?” Max reached out for my arm and I reflexively flinched back.
“I, uh, just need to get some air. I’ve had a lot to drink.” My eyes moved from Max’s to Bill’s, and back again.
Turning my head to the dance floor, I finally caught Bo’s sight. He put his hand on Ainsley’s shoulder, mumbled something, and tore through the crowd toward me.
“Ember?” Bo gripped his hand on my sweat-soaked back.
“Get me out of here, now!” I raced toward the exit, not looking back.
Bo was just a second behind me as I sucked the cool, calming air in to my lungs outside McCarthy’s.
“What the hell happened? Ainsley just-”
“This isn’t about Ainsley, Bo. Those - those guys, Bill . . . and Max . . .” My erratic breathing was doing nothing to help my voice.
Bo grasped my shoulders and squared me to him, “They what, Ember? Did they say anything to you?” His fingers pressed in deep urgency against my skin.
“No. Those fucking guys were the ones, the ones behind the garage that I dropped my car off at two weeks ago. Why the fuck were they in Barnstable? Are they blackmailing other people?” I spewed all at once.
I became more aware of the sound of my breathing in the silent night. My eyes darted around, noting the desertion around Bo and me.
“I don’t think so, Ember.” Bo looked toward the door in growing fear.
“Well I’ve got news for you, they beat the hell out of some guy named Spike, and I-”
“What the fuck did you do, Cavanaugh?” the all-too familiar sneer followed us out to the sidewalk.
“Bill, not now.” Bo stood in front of me so I wasn’t in the line of verbal fire.
“She knows something, Golden Boy, or she wouldn’t have called you by your high school football name - no one calls you that anymore.”
Ten Days of Perfect (November Blue) Page 21
