by Sage, May
“Assistant,” she corrected, shrugging as if the development was the most natural thing in the world.
Inside though, she was still in the middle of a mental victory dance.
When she'd contacted Maria Trench in March, the old Latin professor hadn't exactly given her a straight answer.
“The applications are closed, Elizabeth but if you fill it in, I'll do my best to get it processed.”
She'd assumed it had been a nice way of saying no way in hell, so the phone call had come as a complete shock.
“If you recall, I sort of was in an education program.”
“The fact that you've spent the following five years roleplaying in a real life version of Mission Impossible sort of negates that.”
Charles had nailed it; it was exactly what it had been. Playing. She had wanted to prove to herself and the rest of the world that she was strong, but now it came down to it, she was ready to grab hold of the opportunity to get back to her life.
“Does that mean you're staying in town?”
They weren't girly girls.
Charlotte had fought in a caged ring like a savage for a living and Vick was the one person in the world who had ever defeated her. Beth, while in no way as proficient a fighter as those two, just loved weapons. There were two guns, some very good knives, and her eight favourite shurikens hidden somewhere around her clothes and accessories at the minute.
But when she nodded, all bets were off.
They hugged, screamed and jumped around like the group of teenager they'd ceased to be way too early.
To her absolute astonishment, Beth kinda saw it as a good thing.
Chapter 9:
Creep
Eric, Cain and Dan were occupying the seats generally reserved for their use when he got in on Friday night, and five low tumblers filled with two fingers of scotch were ready in front of them.
Liam had actually been the last to arrive, but Jace, as per his usual practice, was delayed. By the time he made it to their table, he'd been accosted by three women – two of which had left him their phone numbers. He'd taken a slight shortcut to the restroom with the other one.
Seriously.
“I hate you,” Eric said, conveying the general opinion.
They all emphatically nodded their agreement.
Liam knew they were considered handsome in their own ways, but Jace was another story altogether. That man's existence was unfair on the rest of the world.
“You can't talk, Liam.” Cain cut in. “I've seen your girl.”
The three others choked on their scotch.
“His what?”
Liam only rolled his eyes, half amused, half frustrated. Cain had popped in just at the wrong moment earlier that day: Beth had been in the office, poking around his internal emails. He hadn't had much choice but to introduce her.
“She's a bombshell. I'm talking model tall, athletic, curvy, with a mouth made of sin and an ass like that,” he said, placing his hands half a meter apart. Slight exaggeration. “No wonder he hasn't brought her around, I tell you.”
He glared at Cain while his friends abused him, but they had other news to share, thankfully; busy as they were with their respective careers, they rarely met more than once a month and they never stayed sober past the first hour, so there was much to catch up on within a relatively short amount of time.
It was likely that nobody would mention Beth for the rest of the night, he thought with some satisfaction – just as the lady herself made an appearance.
What the hell was she doing at Sin, and in that dress? The little number, just the same purple as her lips, barely covered her ass. Damn, maybe Cain hadn't exaggerated. It was one deliciously voluptuous ass.
She was flanked by the usual suspects, Vick and Charles, and Liam thanked his good fortune; firstly, Chris was nowhere in sight, and secondly, while Cain would more than likely recognize her, the bros didn't address anything remotely related to Victoria when Jace was around.
It was an unspoken rule no one quite understood, as they'd known Jace for ten years, and prior to that, Vick had been underage, but the five of them respected it nonetheless.
He was, however, apparently out of luck. Jace himself pointed her out at her arrival: “You know the babe next to Grazinski?”
Liam kicked Cain under the table, but nodded.
“We used to go to the same high school.”
That explained a lot; while they had been in different grades, he understood the three girls had gone to the same preppy upstate boarding school. Obviously, it was where Jace had met Vick...
However, while a four year gap was nothing now, it was ever so slightly creepy to have a history with a fourteen year old girl at eighteen.
“At the time,” Jace carried on, “she was America's Sweetheart; her ancestry goes back to the Mayflower, she was the valedictorian and the cheerleader captain, rescued dogs, played piano, did some catwalks, and attended fundraisers. You'd recognize her if she was still blonde.”
He’d seen as much on the background check Ace had come up with. Elizabeth Carver blonde was the equivalent of Jessica Alba as Sue Storm: wrong, but still very hot.
“She was on Page Six nonstop from sixteen. I fully expected her to marry a politician. Instead, she disappeared. I couldn't believe it when I saw her in February.”
Liam hated the possessive streak roaring its ugly head, but he felt it nonetheless. He wanted to lash out at Jace for being so attractive, for meeting her, for knowing her before him. More pressingly, he wanted to stop half the men in the crowd from assaulting her with their leery glances, but how could they help it? She was clearly the most beautiful thing in the room.
He'd once studied her and preferred Victoria and Charles' polished taste as opposed to her natural looks. Now she was standing in one of Vick's dress – no doubt – her hair up in a messy bun, with smoky eyes, a golden glow, those irresistible purple lips, and no one was even seeing either of her companions.
She could outshine anyone every single day; she simply chose not to.
“Where did you run into her?”
“She banks with me. One of the cashiers sent her to me, because she has no idea what she's doing with her accounts. Seriously, it's almost a crime to let that sort of money sleep. You'd think Grazinski would tell her to do something about it.”
Liam had no clue what drove him to say: “I'll speak to her.”
That did get attention.
“Boys, meet my girlfriend. I'd appreciate if you stopped staring at her ass, by the way.”
He'd all but pounded his chest shouted mine. Rather than digging himself any deeper, he got on his feet and walked away, toward the place he needed to be.
There was no other choice. Vick and Charles had left her at the bar to look for a table and at least three groups of men were making their way closer and closer, like a pack of hungry wolves.
Damn, she knew better than to wear a tight, backless, sleeveless dress. There was so much skin to see, to touch, to feel...
By the time he made it next to her, he still had no idea how he was supposed to accost her, but she made it easy:
“I assumed you'd come when I saw your friend Cain.”
“He would have found it strange if I hadn't bothered to greet my girlfriend,” he replied, using the situation to his advantage.
He bent down to drop a kiss just under her ear, on her neck, and enjoyed the hell out of the slight shiver she failed to restrain.
God, she smelt delightful. One would have taken her for a citrus or at least a spicy sort of woman, but she'd gone for an understated, sensual, flowery fragrance he could have lost his mind in.
“Miss Dior, Cherie,” she informed him as he lingered, breathing her in.
“Say that again.”
It was only a few words but her voice was perfect, entirely devoid of the American accent he couldn't shake when he tried to speak any other language.
She didn't oblige his request.
“You sou
nd very authentic.”
“My mother was French. I don't remember her ever speaking a word to me in English.”
Her hand flew to her purse when the three colourful drinks arrived, but he beat her to it, handing the bartender the first bill out of his wallet.
“I can pay my way, Slate.”
“In that dress, you'll never have to.”
Ignoring her indignation, he carried the two other drinks, walking a few steps behind her as she cut a path amongst the bodies dancing on the floor.
The view was exceptional from there.
“I don't think I've ever seen you here.”
“Not really my scene,” she shrugged.
“I'm surprised the others left you alone?”
“It may have to do with the fact that I am able to – let's say – knock out a guy twice my weight with two fingers.”
“Let's not dwell on that particular event.”
He'd digested it better since he'd learnt her job title, but the memory was still quite embarrassing.
“Besides, there are better things to do with your fingers, cherie.”
He regretted it as soon as the words escaped his lips. They couldn't go back there, to the casual flirting, the looks, the teasing. He couldn't stand the backlash when she'd change her mind.
He needed certainty. He needed her to declare that whatever they were doing could, would lead where they were headed. Otherwise, he was better off with the long line of casual hook-ups always ready for a round.
“Beth, wait a minute,” he asked, halting her before they got to the table Vick and Charles shared with four women, “I just need to say, I don't like how things are between us. We were friends once, weren't we?”
She lifted an eyebrow without much conviction and he had to admit she had a point. They were never friends. What they'd done had been starting to date, clumsily and without defining it, like a couple of teenagers, and then they'd broken up without a good reason.
Amateur hour was over, though.
“Friendly, then,” he amended. “Can we try and start over? We live together, for Christ sake. We should be able to talk.”
And touch. And taste. And...
“Alright. Let's try to be friends.”
And that, gentlemen, is called digging your own grave.
“What about you, Eliza?” one vaguely familiar girl addressed her, redirecting her attention to the conversation at hand. “You're coming, right?”
She'd been far too captivated by the man in the blue-grey shirt, setting off his blue-grey eyes, who watched her from the other side of the room, to notice or care about the present discussion.
She wasn't missing much. The club had been crowded, so Vick and Charles had converged towards some of their female acquaintances and whenever she'd attempted to listen, they had been going on about nails, hair, Botox...
“To the school reunion,” Vick clarified in response to her blank stare.
That explained why the fake blonde who called her Eliza wasn't much more than a vague memory: she'd been a schoolmate of Vick and Charles.
Great.
“I didn't graduate with you,” she reminded her.
And she couldn't think of anything as painfully atrocious as meeting those she had grown up with.
“But everyone would just love to see you.”
It was probably true: they'd enjoy nothing more than to discover that the queen bee wasn't famous or at the very least married to someone famous, with the requisite two point three kids.
“I'll think about it,” she lied, obviously meaning: “When hell freezes over.”
“You should,” the girl insisted.
Cherry, she remembered. It was the girl who had replaced her as head of the cheerleading squad after she'd left, and she'd been just as insufferable then.
“You look so good, everyone will be jealous; and you obviously aren't likely to get stretchmarks. I'm terrified, but Brian insists he'd like to have kids.”
It was at that moment, thanks to Cherry Crawford’s direct hit at her empty ring finger, that it struck her.
Chris had long moved to another mark, but she'd stubbornly studied Mike Dawson's file backwards and forwards, convinced of his culpability.
“He's too obvious.” Chris had argued. “Everyone knows he can't stand his brother; he'd have to be stupid to organize a hit on him.”
Mike wasn't a stupid man, but he certainly was an arrogant one. Arrogance could do very well where ignorance failed. He could, while completely aware he'd be the first suspect, believe his plan too perfect to lead to him.
To be entirely truthful, it was.
The plan floated around one person she, every detective, private investigator, or person of sense would overlook.
Lucia Fox.
“Excuse me,” Beth said, getting up without paying the slightest attention to the way her hasty exit was perceived.
She was out of the dark club, breathing in and out whatever fresh air she could get as the realization sank in. She had culprits and a motive; as for the proof, she expected it wouldn't be very hard to dig out.
Chris answered by the second ring with a: “I thought you were on a night out? You're really allergic to fun.”
“Shut up and get in touch with Pam down in IT; she fancies you.”
“Want to explain why you aren't asking your boyfriend if it has to do with IT? He's supposed to be the genius.”
“Because,” she said, ignoring the jab “I need to trace my boyfriend's records, and I’d rather he didn’t find out – not just yet, in any case.”
Beth was hanging up when a noise to her left caught her attention. She relaxed as she recognized the gorgeous redhead Vick had pointed out as the manager of the club. Obviously, she'd interrupted her breather.
“That was one interesting request,” the woman said, a smile at the corner of her perfect red lips. “Don't worry, though. I've been known to stalk the occasional lover.”
Despite her teasing smile, the woman made her uneasy.
It hadn't occurred to her when she'd seen her at a distance, but now she was in front of her, she was just way too close to perfection.
It was unnerving how her complexion bore no defect, how white and straight those teeth were, and how beautiful the tears running on her porcelain face could be. She wore a black lace dress poured on her body, and looked... 'ethereal' was the only word close to it.
“You're alright?” she asked the stranger.
While she wouldn't have known how to behave three months ago, that time-lapse had reminded her of those emotions she hadn’t felt in years; now, she understood those tears. Boy problems.
“Never better,” the woman replied.
For a little while, it seemed to be all she was willing to say, but she soon opened those lips again.
“My people,” she told her as if, despite her New York twang, they were from a completely different place, “get together forever when we find the one. A good advice, Elizabeth: if you've got yours, don't let him go.”
And just like that, without letting her ask how she could know her name, the spooky gorgeous woman went back inside; in her place, framing the doorway, stood William.
“Hey. I saw you heading out. You're good?”
Was she?
He approached in silence and slowly, giving her all the time in the world to push him away, took her hand to pull her against his chest.
“You're cold,” he whispered, mistaking her frissons. “Come back inside.”
She shook her head.
It may have been the redhead – too creepy by a half – and her warning, the pent up tension when they'd stared at each other from across the room, or the fact that she knew if she was right, she'd have him for a very short amount of time before he entirely belonged to Lucia Fox, but a sudden urge took over.
She just had to run her fingers along his arm, his torso, and his sexy-as-fuck midnight stubble. After quenching her prevailing needs, she settled on locking h
er hands behind his neck, capturing him inside her arms.
All along, he looked down to her without a word. She didn't register any surprise, any confusion, not the slightest bit of uncertainty in this gaze.
“We don't have to do this now,” he told her. “I can give you all the time in the world.”
And although this was all she could think of, those words were exactly what she needed to hear.
“What I can't do is go back and forth as you change your damn mind, Beth. It's not in my nature. We can discuss things. I'm quite fucked up and you don't have to accept all of me without concessions. I'll make concessions. Just don't shut me out again and you've got a deal. You've got me,” he said as his hands fastened around her back.
How deliciously tingly those fingers were on her skin.
“How fucked up?” she couldn't help asking.
Yet would it make a difference? She'd expected as much from the moment she'd thought they might be attracted to each other. She'd expected ropes and chains, mind games to be part of the package. And damn if she wasn’t tired of wondering.
“I have an offer to make,” he said, lowering his mouth to her ear. “One night.”
It was just a breath, a soft murmur.
“Let's have one night. Then, I'll tell you. I'll answer every question you might have and you can hightail it without a second glance, or choose to try.”
Chapter 10:
Compromise
He recalled no detail of their way back to the apartment, but it had been quick. He'd walked blind as he carried her a good part of the way, and pushed her against an adjoining wall once or twice.
Her lips should have been classified as a hard drug; he could imagine himself growing addicted to their taste, the way they felt, their wicked ways.
When they made it home, it was to find a very amused Christopher lounging around on the sofa.
For Christ' sake!
“Get in the guest room or get out of here,” Beth ordered him without looking away from Liam. In the next breath, she was biting his lips and pushing him down on the sofa.
