by B. B. Hamel
The biggest problem right now is Felix. I lean back in my chair and look out my window at the high-rise buildings jutting up from the concrete down below like giants’ hands.
In a real sub/dom relationship, truth is of the utmost importance. I can’t imagine being with a woman like that, being vulnerable in a strange way, if she’s not being completely honest with me about everything. And I know there’s something more to Felix’s story that she’s not telling me.
I promised I wouldn’t ask her. But that doesn’t mean I can keep waiting for her to finally tell me what the deal is. I want to move forward, but I can’t do it with this issue still standing between us.
I pull out my old address book. Its faded leather cover is starting to crack and split, and I haven’t used it in years. All of my numbers and stuff have been in my cellphone, except for this one. Because I haven’t had to call this number in almost ten years. It’s not the sort of number that I want to put into an electronic record.
I find the page I need and look at the number. I don’t even know if he’s still practicing, but I bet he is. Back then, he wasn’t all that much older than me, maybe ten years at most.
I dial the number, feeling strangely nervous. It rings for a minute, and I’m about to hang up, assuming that he doesn’t use this number anymore, when the line suddenly clicks.
“Hello?” he answers.
“Nick Steel?”
“The one and only.” I recognize his voice, though it’s gotten a touch more gravel to it, probably since the guy smokes like a chimney. “How can I help you?”
Nick Steel is a private investigator. He has ties to a ton of underground criminal organizations and he’s supposedly one of the best, or at least he used to be. I was put in touch with him by a cousin of mine, a gambling addict with friends in the Italian mafia. We used Nick when we were starting out to research the opposition for us. He was thorough and impressive, finding dirt in places we never thought dirt would exist. We stopped using him when the company took off, but I never lost his number.
“Nick, this is Declan Jones. We worked together years ago.”
He laughs softly. “I remember you. I’ve been keeping an eye on you boys.”
“Have you?”
“Of course. I never forget an old client, especially not one that’s been so successful. I was wondering if you’d ever call me again.”
“Well, we’ve been really fortunate these past few years,” I say, somewhat uncomfortable. The idea that Nick’s been watching us puts me a little on edge. “I haven’t needed your services.”
“Until now,” he says.
“Right, until now.”
“What’s the job?”
I hesitate a second. I’m suddenly rethinking this decision. I don’t know if I can trust Nick at all, although he hasn’t given me any reason to distrust him. He didn’t exactly do anything illegal for us back in the day, but definitely some questionable things. If he went public with some of the info, he could easily hurt our company. I bet he could blackmail us if he really wanted, and I’m sure he has records of everything he did. He hasn’t, and so that makes me think he values his professional integrity over a quick buck.
“It’s a personal issue,” I say.
“Ah,” he answers, a knowing sound. “Cheating girlfriend?”
“No,” I say.
“Partner getting a sex change?”
“What? No. Why would I need you for that?”
He ignores me. “Angry stalker? Killed a hooker by mistake? Really into fire play and burned down a garage?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Do people do any of that stuff?”
“You’d be surprised.”
I sigh and kick my feet up on the cabinet behind my desk. “It’s my, uh, girlfriend’s son,” I say. It feels weird to call Teagan my girlfriend. I don’t think we have that official title, but I don’t know what else to call her right now. Plus, it feels good to say that. I have to admit, I like it.
“What about him?”
“I think he’s my son,” I say. “We spent a night together a couple years ago, and her son seems like he’s the right age.”
“I see,” he says like he’s heard it all before. “What else makes you think the kid’s yours?”
“Looks like me,” I say. “And she refuses to talk about the father.”
“Ah, I see.” It sounds like he’s writing something down. “Names?”
“Her name is Teagan Fisher, and the son’s name is Felix Fisher.”
“Got it.” He goes silent for a second. “One hundred an hour plus expenses.”
“Fine,” I say.
“I’ll figure this one out as fast as I can. In the meantime, hang tight and wait for me to call. You’ll get detailed expense reports.”
“Understood. Thanks, Nick.”
“Happy to help.” Another short pause. “Just so I know, do you want him to be your son or not?”
I raise an eyebrow. I actually hadn’t even thought about it, to be totally honest. The question of wanting him never really came up.
But now that he asks…
“Yeah, I think I do,” I say.
“Good. Easier that way. Talk soon.” He hangs up without another word.
I sit there in my chair staring at the phone. I just learned something about myself, something I didn’t really know.
I knew I’d step up and do the right things, help her out financially, take him on weekends, shit like that. I’d be an active father in his life if I knew about him from the start. But I thought I’d be doing all of that just because it’s the right thing to do.
But apparently I want a son. Maybe it’s just because I’d be closer to her that way, more a part of her life. Or maybe the thought of being a father itself makes me happy.
It’s strange. I never once thought about children before. All it took was some random private investigator to ask me one question, and now my whole world feels like it’s flipped upside down.
14
Teagan
I didn’t think it was possible, but somehow things with Declan both speed up and slow down.
I’m dizzy with him. Every waking moment, I’m thinking about him. I wonder what he’s doing, what he’s thinking, how he’s going to make me feel next. I want to give up all my time and lie in bed with him, let him explore my body, let him touch every inch of my skin.
Except we haven’t had sex yet. Actually, we haven’t even done much more than kiss, not since that night in the little cave in the park. I keep expecting more, wanting more but he doesn’t make a move.
Still, he sends me presents. New things every day: shoes, purses, jewelry, a laptop, even meals for Felix and I. It just shows up at my house, brought by the same courier.
“Big one this time,” he says. His name is Tyler and he’s a student at Temple.
He hands me the package, a big brown box. I don’t know how he carried it here on his bike. I expect it to be heavy, but it’s not.
“What do you think this is?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “Mr. Jones just pays me bring it over.”
That’s something else I learned about him. Tyler works directly for Declan, who somehow has agreements with UPS, USPS, and FedEx to let his courier bring his packages wherever he wants them to go. Unless he buys stuff locally, of course, then he can just send it direct with Tyler.
“Thanks again,” I say to him and haul the box inside.
“Have a good one.” He hops off my stoop and jumps on his bike, a ratty looking red thing. His jeans are torn on the right knee and skin tight. He’s wearing a ratty cardigan with elbow patches and a black t-shirt underneath. He has a patchy little beard and mustache growing in, and I want to tell him to shave, but he’ll figure it out on his own.
I shut the door and open the box. Inside are pillows, with a little note. Saw these in an antique shop. French, turn of the century. Thought you’d like them. Declan.
They’re beautiful and soft, and hardly worn
for pillows this old. I suspect they’ve been restored, but what do I know? They’re off-white, probably satin, with a gold band down the middle. A fleur-de-lis pattern is stitched overtop the gold.
“Felix is gonna wreck these,” I say to myself, smiling, and decide to take them upstairs.
On top of the presents, he takes me out to lunch almost every day, a new restaurant each time. He introduces me to chefs, writers, actors, people I never thought I’d socialize with. He seems to know everyone, and we’re constantly invited to parties. We even go to a few, incredibly fancy affairs held in penthouse apartments and on enormous rooftops overlooking the city. It’s all so glamorous and incredible, I feel like I’m living someone else’s life.
Meanwhile, the case continues to move forward. We’re fighting his company tooth and nail to win this lawsuit, but I’m trying to keep those two things separate.
“You know, I don’t even know what Reid’s thinking,” he says to me one night. We’re at a party on the roof of an old middle school. It’s been transformed into this elegant affair, and I’m in a flowing black dress that Declan bought for me.
I sigh and sip my drink. “I know we shouldn’t talk about it. But I’m absolutely swamped with paperwork.”
He smiles sympathetically. “I know, that’s part of their strategy.”
“He’s going to lose, you know,” I say, and hesitate. “You’re going to lose.”
He shrugs and sips his whisky. “Probably. Who cares? I don’t.”
“But I do. This land—“
He holds up a hand, interrupting me. “No work,” he says. “Only pleasure. Remember?”
I clench my jaw. Keeping work out of it is starting to get hard. When I say I’m swamped with paperwork, I’m not exaggerating. I’m buried in it. My whole waking existence is paperwork, from the second I get to work until the second I leave to pick up Felix. If I’m not with Declan or Felix, I’m doing paperwork. My hands are cramped and ink stained, but I keep going anyway.
“I know,” I grumble. “I’m just tired.”
“I know.” He kisses me softly. “Want to get out of here?”
I nod and kiss him again. “Save me from this prison.”
He laughs and we leave. But instead of bringing me to his house and giving me the night that I so desperately wants, he drops me off at home.
I don’t know why we’re moving so slowly. There has to be a reason, something that I can’t see. I want to ask him about it but I’m afraid of scaring him off. Actually, so much of our relationship is built around silence. I’m silent about Felix, we’re both silent about work, and he’s silent about whatever is keeping him from having me the way I know he really wants.
Two weeks pass like this. Work is a nightmare, and Declan is the only thing that keeps me going, him and Felix. Marta is a godsend at this point, watching Felix after he goes to bed so that I can see Declan most nights, even if it’s just for an hour or two. As soon as I have a little extra money, I’m going to give it all to Marta. She deserves it, though she’s a little mysterious to me.
I found her through a friend of mine. Apparently she had been working for a lawyer at her father’s firm, but they just laid her off. I did a little interview with her, and she was so good with Felix that I hired her part-time on the spot. I think I pay her less than she used to make, but she doesn’t complain and she’s always available.
I tried asking her about her life once, but she just shook her head and smiled at me. She has no family as far as I can tell, and she’s definitely not from this country, though I’m not sure exactly where she’s from. Some Slavic country, I’m pretty sure, but not Russia. I asked her that once and she just said that home is far away and she doesn’t think about it much.
Still, I’m grateful for her and I want to give her whatever she deserves. If not for her, I wouldn’t be able to see Declan as often as I do. I know it’s extravagant for me to have a nanny but I needed it to keep my sanity, and I’m glad I did. I don’t think I could have passed the bar if I didn’t have Marta to watch Felix for a couple hours while I prepped each night.
I’m thinking about Marta, trying to decide what I can afford to give her as a little bonus, when Sara comes barging into my office. “Did you see this?” She holds up a piece of paper.
“Nope,” I say, already tired. “But I’m guessing it’s bad.”
She slams it down on my desk. “The bastards filed for a mistrial.”
“What?” I pick up the paper and quickly skim it.
Basically, they’re claiming that because of a small error on a minor form, the whole trial should be declared null and void.
“And they have fucking grounds,” she says to me as I finish.
“Can this really happen?”
“Maybe.” She collapses into the chair. “I don’t know. I doubt it.”
“I mean, they have grounds,” I say. “But would a judge really dismiss a whole case like this because of one typo?”
She shakes her head. “I doubt it.”
“But we’re going to have to take it seriously anyway.” I groan, realizing what’s happening.
“Yep. They’re trying to drown us.”
“It’s working.” I stare at the page as I start to tally up the hours I’m going to spend on this minor and stupid inconvenience.
Sara sighs and stands up. “Just keep plugging away. You’re doing great. Jerry even said so.”
Jerry Lowry is one of the main partners in the firm. “Really? He’s aware of me?”
She nods. “Of course. He keeps an eye out on the young stars.”
I laugh at that. “So far, all I’ve done is fill out paperwork. I haven’t thought about anything for weeks.”
“Welcome to being a lawyer.” She heads to the door. “Good luck with that.”
“Thanks,” I grumble, though I’m smiling a little bit. It feels nice to know that someone is noticing my hard work.
Once Sara’s gone, I take a second to compose myself before diving into work. I have a ton of forms to file and phone calls to make, trying to figure out if this mistrial thing has even a remote chance of working. Either way, I have to take it seriously. I suspect it’s not all that important, since it landed on my plate and I’m not exactly a senior member of the team. Still, I can’t risk screwing it up.
I take my job and my career seriously. Maybe spending time with the enemy doesn’t exactly speak to that, but still. I take my responsibilities seriously and I want to keep going forward, never looking back.
So the day melts away like that, my hand cramped with writing, one form after another signed and sent off. By the time five rolls around, I’m leaning back and staring at the ceiling, wanting it to be all over, but I know I have at least another couple hours.
Before I can get back to it though, I get a message on my phone. I pick it up against my better judgment, mostly because I haven’t heard from Declan all day. Sure enough, it’s from him.
“Come to my house tonight,” he says.
I bite my lower lip. “I’m stuck at work. Marta has Felix. Not sure if I can ask her to stay longer.”
“Don’t worry about Marta. I’ll pay her double.”
I sigh, a small smile on my lips. “Why do you want me to come over so badly?”
“Wear all black. I’ll pick you up at nine.”
I stare at his text, a thrill running through me. “Okay,” I send him, and I put my phone away.
Why does he want me to wear all black? It’s probably for some special party or something, or maybe we’re going to a chic wake. Declan seems to be involved in an incredible variety of parties, gatherings, and shows, and it’s impossible to keep up.
Though we don’t usually go to his house. In fact, we never do now, not since that first night. He normally picks me up from my apartment and we go out from there. We always end up back at my place at the end of the night.
No, tonight he specifically wants me to come over to his place… and to wear black.
My h
eart starts beating faster. This might be what I’ve been waiting for. Declan finally is going to give me a taste of what I need, and not a moment too soon. I’m buried in work and stressed beyond belief, and now, finally, he’s going to help relieve some of that stress.
I can barely concentrate on what I’m doing, but I burn through it as fast as I can. I double-check it all, not wanting to give the opposition an opportunity to bury us in more paperwork, but I get it finished in record time. Once it’s collated and sent off, I grab my things and hurry home.
“Marta,” I say as I drop my bag in the kitchen. “How’s Felix?”
“He’s good,” she says. “Very good boy.”
I find him in the living room playing with some blocks. I kiss him and look back at Marta.
“Listen, I hate to ask, but—“
“Yes, I can stay,” she says with a smile.
I smile back and raise an eyebrow. “How did you know?”
“He called,” she says, waving her hand. “Very persuasive. Offered me lots of money.”
“He called you?”
“He’s that kind of man.” She says it so simply that I can’t help but agree.
“Thank you,” I say to her.
“Go, have fun. I make food, it’s in oven.” She walks over to Felix. “Bed time for little man.”
I kiss Felix again and watch as they disappear upstairs. I grab something to eat quickly, a delicious pot of some kind of stew, and then run upstairs to change.
I’m buzzing with excitement and I don’t think I can wait until nine, but I force myself to calm down. I have an hour to kill, so I drink a glass of wine and sit on the couch.
Soon, I’m going to get what I want. I can feel it in my bones. And I can barely sit still.
15
Declan
Nick leans up against the brick wall, cigarette between hips lips, manila folders open in his hands.
“You sure you wanna see this?” he says, cigarette bobbing.
