by Linda Verji
Maybe it was boredom that peaked her interest. Maybe it was the relative emptiness of that cavern. Maybe it was the sight of that lone bound book sitting there that drew her. She didn’t know what drew her. One minute she was standing by the windows looking out at New York and the next she was striding into the cavern. Even from several feet away she could see that the notebook was filled not with printed words, but rather with neat handwriting.
She inched toward it and glanced down without actually touching the pages. It appeared to be a book of some sort. On the left page was the heading ‘Chapter 15’ set apart from the rest of the text by a bit of space above and below. Despite herself, she read;
Chapter 15
A loud thumping abruptly shattered Gil’s dreams. He came awake with a start and sat up on the couch bleary-eyed.
“Gil,” a voice called out, yanking Gil into complete wakefulness. Even through the wooden veneer of the door, Gil knew who it was. Timmy Sanderson called out again, “Gil. Open up, man.”
Gil scowled. He was getting really tired of this little weasel. Hadn’t the boy’s parents taught him about business hours? Six a.m. was way too early to be knocking on anyone’s door. Shoving the remnants of last night’s supper beneath the couch, Gil stood then crossed the room and unbolted the door.
Fuck! Timmy looked bad - all skin, bones and stringy hair. He looked like he’d lost at least five more pounds since Gil had seen him two days ago - and nothing like the son of a governor. The moment Gil opened the door, the younger man tried to push his way into the house.
“Fuck off.” Gil shoved him back outside. “You know I don’t roll like that. What do you want?”
Timmy’s eyes darted up and down the dark empty hallway, before he sniffed. “You got some of my stuff?”
“Not if you don’t have my money,” Gil returned evenly.
One of London’s hands flew to her mouth. Zeke had written this? The guy was so straight-laced that it was hard to think of him having a creative bone or writing. And he could write! Really, really well. How in the world did she not know this with how gossipy his brothers were? Was his writing a secret from them too? Knowing Zeke it probably was, and he wanted to keep it that way.
She lifted a foot to take a step back… but the rest of her body refused to follow along. She shouldn’t read this, she told herself. These were Zeke’s private writings and she really ought to move away.
“Move, London,” she muttered, even as her gaze wandered back to the page. She really wanted to know whether Gil was going to give Timmy some of his ‘stuff’ and what this stuff was. “Move.”
She moved.
But not in her intended direction. Instead of backwards, she inched forward. It didn’t count as reading if she didn’t turn the page, right? She looked down and continued reading where she’d stopped. It turned out that the ‘stuff’ Timmy was looking for was some coke and he did have Gil’s money. But - surprise, surprise - Gil refused to sell to him.
London let out a soft grunt of protest when the page ended in the middle of a sentence. Why wouldn’t Gil sell to Timmy? Timmy obviously had money to burn, and it was equally apparent that the two had had previous transactions before, so what was so different about today?
She stared down at the book, absolutely dying to flip the page, and see what happened next. Surely, turning one page wouldn’t be that bad. Zeke wouldn’t even notice. Just one. She reached for the edge of the page and turned to find the drug-dealer, Gil, having a rare attack of conscience. Apparently, Gil felt like Timmy was too close to the edge and didn’t want to be the one to tip him over. But Timmy didn’t take the denial well and pulled out a gun… the page ended again.
Damn it! This was just sweet. One more page and she’d stop reading. Pinky swear!
London turned the page.
Now Gil was begging for his life while Timmy was waving the gun around and threatening to shoot if he didn’t get his stuff. Gil started to head towards the couch where he usually hid his stash. However, before he could reach it twelve year-old Rita from across the hall stopped by to see what the commotion was about. Timmy turned the gun on her and pulled the trigger….
“Oh. My. God.” London plopped onto the seat as she swiftly turned the page to find Rita falling to the floor. She’s only twelve. Don’t let her die, London begged. But there Rita was, bleeding out on the hallway’s dirty floor. Meanwhile Timmy was having a mini panic attack and Gil was rushing forward to-
“What the hell are you doing?”
London whirled around to find him standing at the archway, his face streaked with anger. “Zeke!”
CHAPTER 7
“What the hell are you doing?” Zeke repeated.
Startled and more than a little bit scared, London jumped to her feet and took a step away from the desk. He’d never used such a tone with her and she’d never seen him so furious. She stammered, “I was - I was just-”
“You were just what?” he bit between his teeth as he glared at her.
Unable to think of a good enough excuse for the way she’d violated his privacy and reeling in horror and shame, she just stared at him.
He strode across the room, grabbed the book, snapped it shut, then demanded, “What are you doing here?”
“I was just-” She swallowed hard. “You - uh- uh - you invited me up for a drink.”
“I don’t mean in my apartment. I mean here.” His blue eyes glittered angrily. “In this room.”
“I- uh - uh - I was waiting for you and I got bored - uh- uh-” She realized that she was rubbing her upper chest and willed herself to stop. Her fist tucked into the crook between her neck and chin, she murmured, “I was trying to find something to do when I saw the- the-”
“My book?” Zeke finished for her curtly. Gripping the item of contention tightly, he crossed his arms over his chest. “So you decided that the best way to entertain yourself was to dig into my private things?”
“No. No, of course not,” she rushed to defend herself, feeling like a teenager being reprimanded by the principal. “But the book was open and I-”
“So its being open gave you permission to read it?”
“No. That - that page was so interesting I- I-” She gulped, recognizing how awful her excuse sounded the second the words left her lips. But apparently she wasn’t done putting her foot in her mouth, because she added, “It’s a public room. You don’t even have a door here and you left the book right on the table. You should’ve hidden it or something.”
“It’s not a public room. This is my house,” he ground out. “I don’t have to hide anything.”
“If you don’t want people to read it then you should lock it in a drawer or something,” she suggested, wondering why, why, why she was still talking when she was clearly in the wrong.
He didn’t respond to that suggestion for quite a while. Just glowered at her. Heat flushed through London in the face of that intense, quiet glare and she shifted her glance downwards to her feet. His anger hovered between them like an angry cloud. It sucked up all the air until she was sure that she’d stop breathing if something didn’t happen to break the tension.
She was the one who broke the silence. “Maybe I should leave.”
“There’s no maybe about it,” he returned tightly. “You should leave.”
Pain stabbed through London at his words. She hadn’t realized until that very moment how much it meant to her that she and Zeke were back to being friends. And to think that this time she was the one who’d caused their friendship to fall apart was enough to send a pang of panic through her. She whispered, “I’m sorry.”
There was no softening in Zeke’s expression. His voice as cold as ice, he said, “Charlie will take you down.”
With that he left the writing alcove, with her still standing there.
Clearly she was being kicked out. And she didn’t blame him one bit. She’d violated his privacy. She considered following him to apologize again but something told her that he wasn’t
in the mood for an apology right now. Feeling dejected, she exited the little niche, crossed the living-room to the couch and picked up her coat and purse. She was just putting on her shoes when the elevator pinged its arrival and opened to reveal Charlie inside. London threw a hopeful glance towards the hallway that led to the other rooms in the house, wishing that Zeke would emerge to at least say goodbye. Her heart sunk when he didn’t.
An awful feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as she entered the elevator. Would he ever forgive her?
NO, HE WOULDN’T forgive her.
Two days later and Zeke was still reeling with anger. He stood by the window in his office, staring at the Manhattan skyline but not really seeing it. His mind was still occupied with her. No one was ever supposed to have read that book. No one. No one was ever supposed to know that he wasted his nights on something as fanciful writing. No one. And for her to be the one to find out…
He felt violated. Exposed. Foolish.
And he couldn’t forgive her for making him feel that way. No. No, he couldn’t.
The ringing of his office phone cut into his furious musings. He strode away from the window and picked up the phone, as soon as he did, his assistant’s voice filtered through, “Mr. Hollis, there’s a London Pistol at the lobby asking to see you.”
What? What the hell was she doing here? She was the last person he wanted to see. So he said, “Mira, tell her that I’m not available.”
A few minutes later, his cell-phone beeped, marking the arrival of a message. He swiped his finger across the screen to reveal the message.
I know you’re up there, the message from London read. And if you don’t let me up I’m going to tell everyone that you write. Everyone.
Bloody hell. He swiftly picked up the phone. “Mira, tell them to let her come up.”
Ten minutes later, London walked into his office, smiling brightly as if there was nothing wrong. “Hi, Zeke.”
“Blackmail.” He shot her a hard-eyed glare. “That’s your new strategy?”
“Well, you shouldn’t have lied that you weren’t in your office.” She crossed the room to take the seat directly across from his desk.
“By all means, take a seat,” he said sarcastically. His sarcasm flew right over her head.
“Thanks,” she said, leaning back in the seat and crossing her legs.
This woman! Though his frustration level was rising with every second of her presence here, Zeke schooled his expression into one of cold dismissal. “What do you want, London?”
“I - I- uh-” she bit her bottom lip, and his pulse immediately leapt in awareness as his brain conjured images of him soothing that lip with his kiss.
He ruthlessly quashed that image. “You what?”
“I-” She sucked in a deep breath. Irritation flickering in her gaze, she asked, “Why are you making this so hard?”
“Why am I making what hard?”
She heaved a sigh. “Why are you making it so hard for me to apologize to you?”
Raising his eyebrows a notch, he asked, “And why should I make it easy?”
“Because it’s the nice thing to do,” she said, a hopeful note in her voice.
“Because it’s the nice thing to do?” He chuckled, but there was no humor in it. Sitting back in his seat, he asked, “Is that what you were thinking when you were reading my book? That it would be a nice thing to do?”
“No, Zeke, I-”
“There’s nothing you can say,” He jabbed at her with his index finger. “Nothing that will justify what you did.”
“I know.” Her gaze slid to the side, and he knew she was about to apologize.
He didn’t want to hear it, so he began, “London, please leave my-”
“No, wait, Zeke,” she cried out, her eyes flashing with genuine remorse. “I know it was wrong for me to read your book. I know. But I was… bored… and waiting-”
“I’ve already heard that excuse,” he cut her off.
“I know. I know,” she said, urgency ringing in her tone. “And I’m sorry. I’m not excusing what I did. I’m just trying to explain.”
He opened his mouth to tell her not to bother with the explanation; what was done was done, but she leapt in before he could.
“I shouldn’t have read it,” she continued, “but as soon as I read one sentence I had to read the next. The book was so good, and I wanted to find out if Gil would give Timmy those drugs. Then when Timmy pulled out that gun…. Zeke, I couldn’t stop. I had to find out what was going to happen next. I’m really, really sorry.”
For a moment Zeke could do nothing but stare at her. London was always so animated, but today she seemed doubly so. To see her speaking so passionately, so eagerly over his book was in one word - Thrilling.
“You-” He cleared his throat. “You liked it?”
“Did I like it?” Her eyes widened, genuine excitement gleaming in their amber depths. “Of course I liked it, Zeke. I loved it.”
“You did?” he asked, hating the hopeful note in his voice but unable to quell it.
“Yeah. It was like I was there in that apartment with them. You described Timmy and Gil’s scene so well, I could see, feel everything that was happening. And when Timmy shot Rita… oh my god, my heart stopped.” She cupped her palms over her mouth as she stared at him in wide-eyed amazement. “Please tell me that she doesn’t die.”
Zeke smiled, ridiculously pleased by her praise, and said, “I don’t want to give you any spoilers.”
“Nooo,” she moaned. “Tell me. Tell me. Tell me.”
“You’ll just have to wait until you read it.” He laughed.
“You’re so-” She paused as her eyes got even wider. “So you’re going to let me read more?”
Had he said that? He supposed his words could be construed to mean that. He wanted to say - no. In fact he should’ve said that this were his private writings - for his eyes only. But seeing the eagerness written all over her face was the best ego massage he’d had in a long time. And he found himself saying, “I’ll think about it.”
“But I need to know what happens to Rita,” she wheedled, leaning forward slightly. “Please, Zeke.”
It took everything in him to keep his expression straight and not to grin like an idiot as he said, “Patience is a virtue.”
“You know what?” She sat back in her seat. “I hate you. I literally hate you right now.”
He chuckled. “I thought you were here to ask me to forgive you.”
She kissed her teeth. “You are a mean man, Zeke Landa-Ho-”
The phone on his desk cut into her words. Shooting London a smile, he picked up the phone only for his assistant to say, “Mr. Hollis, Carla Simon is here for your ten a.m.”
“Give me ten. Thank you, Mira,” he said before setting the handset back into its cradle.
“I guess that’s my cue to leave,” London said. It was obvious by the reluctance in her tone that she didn’t want to leave.
He didn’t want her to leave either but business called. He said, “Tell you what - come over to my place again tonight after your performance and we can talk about whether you get to read the rest of my book.”
“Yay.” She smiled as she rose to her feet. “Thank you.”
“London.” He stopped her. Shooting her a warning look, he added, “This time no poking around.”
She gave him a sheepish smile. “I promise I won’t.”
Moments after she left, he was still smiling. As much as he’d wanted his book to stay hidden, it was great to have someone reading - and loving it. Images of her excited expression played on his mind the whole day. By the time he signed off from work he was ready to reveal that part of his life to her.
CHAPTER 8
London waited for that night with bated breath. By the time Charlie rode up with her to Zeke’s floor, she was practically bouncing on her toes, eager to find out what was going to happen next in Zeke’s book. The elevator doors slid open, and she stepped out.
“Bye, Charlie.” She turned back to wiggle her fingers at the concierge.
“See you, London,” the older man smiled at her as the elevator doors closed on him.
“You’re late.” A deep voice startled her.
Her hand flew to her chest as she whirled around to find Zeke seated on the couch watching her coolly. She gasped, “Yeesh, are you trying to give me a heart-attack?”
“You’re too young for a heart-attack,” he dismissed. Though he was still in the clothes she’d seen him in earlier, he’d discarded his suit jacket and shoes for a more casual look. Glancing at his watch, he repeated, “You’re late.”
“No, you’re just early,” she returned with a cheeky grin. Shrugging her trench-coat off to reveal the slinky black evening gown beneath, she asked, “Did you get here early because you were scared that I was going to snoop around again?”
“The thought occurred,” he said, a slight smile tilting his lips.
“Well, you don’t need to-” Her breath hitched as she pulled off one of her uggs. “-to worry. After the way you threw a hissy fit, I’d be crazy to try that again.”
Zeke’s jaw dropped. “I threw a hissy fit?”
“Dude, you didn’t talk to me for two whole days.” She shook her head as she trod barefoot across the carpeted floor to where he was. She plopped down on the couch next to him. “If that wasn’t a hissy fit, I don’t know what is.”
“Let me get this right-” Zeke leveled his narrow-eyed gaze on her. “My not talking to you for two days qualifies as a hissy fit?”
“Yes.” She nodded.
“Hmph.” Zeke guffawed. “So what do you call you not talking to me for two years straight?”
