Hungry for It

by Fiona Zedde

  “Matthias Anderson?”

  “What can I do for you, Ms. Bouchard?”

  Her eyebrow arched at his obvious familiarity with her while she remained in the dark about who he was.

  “If you know who I am then you must know why I’m here.”

  “I have my suspicions,” he said. “But I’d rather you tell me. I don’t like guessing games much.”

  “I don’t like games either myself. Of any sort.”

  “Your life must be very boring.”

  Rémi felt her jaw twitch. “Are you trying to sabotage my business, Mr. Anderson?”

  “I’m not trying to do anything to you or your business.” Amusement crawled into his voice. “But if you feel like you can’t handle the responsibility of owning such a successful club, I’ll happily take it off your hands.”

  “My hands are very capable. Thanks for your concern.” Rémi’s shoulders shifted under her jacket. “Your hands, however, I don’t want anywhere near me or my business.”

  The shadows behind her shifted. She smelled leather. Heard a heavy breath come closer. Rémi put her hands in her jacket pockets.

  “One thing I can’t stand is a presumptuous woman”—his eyes moved scornfully over her—“telling me what I can and can’t do. You must not value that pretty face of yours very much.” Anderson fingered the letter opener on his desk.

  He gestured to someone behind her and Rémi tensed. Maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to come here alone.

  “Frank, Todd. Please escort Ms. Bouchard from my club.” He looked at her again. “Don’t ever come back here again with threats against me.”

  She blew out the breath she’d been holding even as two men, both smelling strongly of battling colognes, firmly took her arms and turned her away from Anderson’s desk. Pain rippled through her shoulders at their rough handling.

  “I don’t make threats,” Rémi hissed. “Only promises. Stay away from Gillespie’s. I won’t tell you again.”

  Frank and Todd, one blond and the other a redhead, but with the same thick necks and wearing identical black suits, dragged her toward the door.

  “Or what? You’ll fuck me into submission?” He laughed, a low, choked sound that bowed him over his desk like he was having some sort of attack. “I’ve seen how you operate in this town. You’re nothing but a paper doll. Pretty to look at but useless. What I want, I’ll take. And there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it.”

  Frank ’n’ Todd guided Rémi out of the office, looking for all the world like concerned, gentlemanly escorts to the few who cared to look their way. They shoved her out a side entrance into a blushing hot Miami dusk. The stink of the alley—piss, rotten food, sun-heated cum—choked the breath in her throat. Rémi gagged. Her boot heel caught on a piece of cracked and jutting concrete.

  The Dumpster’s blue steel shell thumped as she stumbled against it, barely saving herself from falling. The adrenaline surge savagely through her. The punch to her kidney cleared her thoughts. Quickly. She ducked and leapt away, only to stumble into the second muscle bag who batted at her face, ricocheting pain into all her bones, all the way down her neck. Rémi dropped to one knee and slammed her fist up, catching the blond hard between the legs. His balls jellied under her knuckles and she winced, jumping out of his path as he howled—the first sound out of his mouth all night—and fell to his knees on the damp and dirty pavement. She panted.

  The goon fumbled for something in his jacket. Fuck! A gun. Not good.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Frank.” A cold voice cut between Rémi and her would-be killer.

  Wynne stood just to Frank’s left. Except for the Glock, its deadly length extended with a silencer held firmly in her black-gloved hands, all of her was hooded in darkness. “Pick up your friend, turn around, and go back into the club.” Her voice was a steady blade. “Don’t let me repeat myself.”

  After only a moment’s hesitation, Frank did as he was told, helped the whimpering Todd to his feet then stumbled through the black door into the club.

  “Nice job, cousin,” Wynne said after the men disappeared. “But you might want to pack something a bit more effective than your fists next time.”

  “Thanks. I’ll remember that.”

  Rémi straightened, adjusted her jacket around her suddenly trembling shoulders, and started walking away from the club and her cousin. She didn’t even want to think about why Wynne appeared in the alley when she did. Although Rémi was grateful for her presence. Very grateful. She glanced briefly back, but her cousin was nowhere in sight.

  The motorcycle was right where she left it. After dropping the keys twice, Rémi finally started the engine then cruised out of the busy parking lot. She didn’t realize where she was going until the familiar outline of Claudia’s house rounded the corner and the bike pulled into its driveway.

  The modest-sized Spanish-style house with its two levels and two-car garage was the perfect place for a two-income family—a successful lawyer and tenured university professor with their two point four children—to live. Through the years, Rémi had found herself outside that door wishing that her own family lived somewhere like this. Somewhere normal with a pool and the sounds of a mother cooking. Not a maid always threatening to quit or perfectionist papa with more passion for his job than his family.

  Instead, she had to content herself with being the “point four” child. The extra one at dinner who couldn’t stay at her own house, although it was on the beach and she had the whole place to herself.

  She had been very happy to call this Coconut Grove house her second home, imagining that Claudia Nichols belonged to her too. Imagining that she would one day ring the bell and the lady of the house would throw open arms around Rémi and welcome her into a comforting warmth she never had to leave. She rang the doorbell and waited.

  “I didn’t think you’d make it,” Claudia murmured as she opened the door. Her eyes flickered over Rémi’s face and she gasped. “God! What happened to your face?” Cool fingers brushed Rémi’s cheekbone.

  “Bad judgment.” She winced at Claudia’s touch, then instantly wanted to feel it again.

  “Come in. Let me get you some ice for that.”

  Before Rémi could tell her not to, Claudia went quickly down the hall, leaving Rémi with no choice but to close the door behind her. She dropped her helmet and jacket on the sofa before following. In the kitchen, Claudia moved efficiently between the pantry, fridge, and sink, dispensing ice from the stainless steel refrigerator into a sandwich bag, then grabbing a dishtowel to hold the ice with. She turned and nearly bumped into Rémi.

  “Oh! I didn’t realize you were so close.”

  Rémi steadied her, grasping her thin arms, holding Claudia’s warmth briefly against her body.

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” She gave Rémi the bagged ice, eyes patting over Rémi’s face with concern.

  Rémi smiled self-consciously. “Thanks for this.” She held the bag against her cheek. “Although you didn’t have to. Looks worse than it is.” The cold seeped immediately into her face. With the ice against the bruise, she felt the swelling. Felt the pain.

  “Was this a fight over a woman?” Claudia stared narrowly at her.

  “Well, um...” but she must have hesitated too long. The other woman shook her head.

  “Oh you girls!”

  But her chiding seemed automatic, not something she was truly invested in. She leaned back against the sink and watched Rémi’s face. Instead of looking away, Rémi watched her in turn. Claudia looked almost like a creature from another world, eyes large and shining, cap of white-streaked black hair in small curls around her face. Her slender body was clothed in a white V-neck blouse and black yoga pants. Claudia’s bare feet seemed vulnerable and small against the black-and-white check tile floor. Now that the adrenaline had subsided, unblocking her senses, Rémi became aware of the soothing rhythms of Boney James coming from the living room stereo.

  “So, di
d I miss the party?” Rémi asked.

  Claudia shook her head again, seeming to fight the childish urge to roll her eyes. “Yes. Everyone’s already left but you can help me clean up.” She finally smiled. “There’s plenty of food.”

  “That’s just what I wanted to hear.” She experimentally took the cold and seeping bag away from her face. Already, the bruise felt better.

  “Come,” Claudia led Rémi back through the living room and out the sliding glass doors to the deck.

  From the light glowing from under the pool’s surface and through the windows of the house, Rémi saw there was only a little bit of a mess; paper cups stood, some half empty, others not, on the wooden railing. Paper plates littered the surface of the small glass table near the pool while the barbeque grill still released its smoke. But there was nothing cooking on it.

  Stepping over the wooden slats of the deck, Rémi stumbled. She grabbed the railing to stop herself from falling completely on her face.

  “Are you doing all right, Rémi? Did that girl mean that much to you?”

  Her mind staggered back to what happened before she appeared on Claudia’s doorstep. “I’ll be fine, Mrs. N. Just a small misunderstanding. Nothing that can’t be cleared up.”

  She put aside her ice pack and mechanically began to pick up the litter on the deck and around the pool, all the while keeping up a light patter of meaningless talk. And Claudia indulged her, watching her with concern even as the last of the trash was being bagged and dumped into the large black bin at the side of the house.

  When she got back from putting away the trash, Claudia had a plate of food for her, a glass of what looked like lemonade, and a smile laced with comfort.

  “Come sit by the pool with me,” she said. “I feel like putting my feet in the water.”

  Rémi sat on the deck chair, the food—barbeque chicken, baked beans, and roasted corn—on the glass table next to her, the lemonade with ice clinking against the glass, cooling her palms. She watched as Claudia rolled her pants up to her knees and slid her feet into the pool with a low sigh.

  “I’m happy you were able to come over.” Claudia’s gaze remained on the rippling surface of the water. Her legs stirred up tiny waves as she moved them slowly back and forth. “Even with your drama.” She looked over her shoulder at Rémi. “Just be careful when you play with those women out there.” Her mouth twitched. “I hear they’re vicious.”

  Rémi nodded, but said nothing. She wanted to tell Claudia what really happened, but the words eluded her. This whole business with Anderson seemed so sordid and dirty. She didn’t want any of it touching the other woman.

  Claudia’s gaze gently met hers. “If you ever need to talk with me about anything, Rémi, anything at all, my door is always open to you. Don’t forget that.”

  “I never have.” Rémi put the lemonade to her lips and drank until the glass was near empty. The tart flavor of limes—not lemons, she realized—washed over her tongue, entwined with the sweetness of the raw cane sugar Claudia preferred to use in her kitchen. A bit of pulp, fat with juice, burst between her teeth.

  “Good.” Claudia’s smile flared as brightly as a flame. And just as beautiful.

  A wordless breath escaped Rémi. This was why she’d come here.

  And just that quickly she was tired of moping, tired of waiting for who knows what to happen. There was more to come, but she was here. Here. She picked up her glass and walked to sit beside Claudia at the pool’s edge. The older woman watched as she pulled off her boots and socks, rolled up her pant legs, wiggling her pale toes first before plunging them into the water. She winced at the surprising cold.

  Rémi dragged a towel off the deck chair behind her and spread it on the ground so she could lean back onto her elbows without scraping up her skin.

  “So, Mrs. N., how was your barbeque? Knowing you, I’m sure it was scandalous.” Rémi waggled her eyebrows. “Please tell all.”

  Claudia leveled an arch look at Rémi for the sudden turnaround, but she played along. “It went well,” she said. “Derrick came with his girlfriend. Eden brought her husband and a few mutual friends from the university. It was nice. There were other people your age for you to talk to if you had come.”

  “I’m not only interested in people my age,” Rémi murmured. Her feet wavered beneath the pool’s surface next to Claudia’s. Not quite touching. Not quite estranged.

  “You’re such a darling.” Claudia’s hand landed briefly on her thigh in a series of pats before drifting away.

  Hardly, Rémi thought as she watched the black pants stretch over Claudia’s hip and curve of her bottom, allowing herself to be distracted from the afternoon’s madness. She would take care of Anderson. Rémi didn’t quite know how yet, but she would. He wasn’t going to get the best of her. She didn’t come this far for some random asshole to take it all away.

  “I see people my age at the club all the time. When I come to your place, I expect something different. Barbeque instead of foie gras.” Her smile teased. “White wine instead of bubble gum.”

  She lay fully back against the towel, lifting her feet out of the water and propping them on the edge of the pool.

  Suddenly Claudia laughed. A surprisingly girlish giggle that made Rémi smile. “You are a terrible flirt, you know that.”

  “Does that mean I’m terrible at it, or I’m so terrific that you’re terrified you’ll get taken in by my dangerous charm?”

  Her warm chuckles cascaded down on Rémi’s ears, and she felt a shift in the air beside her, heard a splash and trickle of water as Claudia lifted her legs out of the pool and lay down beside her.

  “You are terrific, there’s no doubt about that.”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you know”—Claudia murmured, close enough that Rémi smelled the faint sweet traces of barbeque on her breath. Chicken, maybe?—“that you have webbed feet?”

  Rémi’s eyes flew open as surprised laughter tumbled past her lips. “After all these years you’re just now noticing that?”

  “Maybe I’ve never been this close to you before.”

  Rémi spread her toes wide, felt the subtle webbing stretch. She dropped her feet back in the water, still smiling.

  “Maybe.”

  Chapter 6

  Rémi took the day off from her responsibilities at the club to take Nuria to a birthday brunch. It had been a while since the two of them had had any time together, and her friend said as much as they sat across from each other at Nuria’s favorite Brazilian restaurant, taking bites from each other’s plates and drinking caipirinhas. With her dreadlocks curling around her face and throat and the wicked glint of her labret stud punctuating the deep red of her mouth, Nuria looked fantastic.

  “You look like the birthday present, not the birthday girl,” Rémi teased, flicking Nuria’s chin with a playful finger.

  “Birthday girls should always look ready to be opened,” she said with a growl.

  “Ha! Just don’t get into any trouble tonight. You know how you can get.”

  Sounds of the restaurant swirled around them. The low-voiced conversations of other diners. Clink and tinkle of cutlery against china. Here and there, the gentle thud of plates being placed on tables. Sunlight leaned, golden and friendly, against windows revealing the passing parade of people on the boardwalk just outside.

  Nuria’s eyes glinted. “Dez got me a gift.”

  “Trouble?”

  “I think so.” She tugged a chunk of beef from the skewer across her plate and bit deeply into it. A line of juice escaped her mouth, and her tongue darted out to catch it.

  “Are you going to take it?”

  “Definitely.”

  Rémi laughed. Ice cubes clinked as she swirled the remnants of the caipirinha in her glass. “Why am I not surprised?

  “You and I know trouble’s not so bad. Especially when you have it in your bed tied up on its belly and whimpering your name.”

  Rémi put the glass to her mouth and snar
ed an ice cube with her tongue. “I’ll remember you said that.”

  After brunch, she dropped Nuria off at her place then headed back to her own, intent only on taking a nap then working out at home before heading back to Nuria’s for her birthday party. But her friend’s words about trouble—and they were so true—kept echoing in her head. The trouble she wanted to get into took the shape of Claudia. But would it be worth the potential loss of a friendship?

  At the condo, she sat in a warm pool of sunlight on the stairs and stared out through the windows. But for once she didn’t see the spectacular Miami skyline carved against an azure sky or the meditation garden below her window, with its gently waving trees and white rocks. She saw Claudia and Dez, her best friend. She saw trouble. Still, Rémi knew what her decision was. Had known it when she’d walked out to that balcony in Montreal and seen the older woman sitting there on that bench, waiting for her. Rémi just hoped she could live with its consequences when the time came.

  She picked up her cell phone and punched in the number.

  “Did I catch you at a bad time?” she asked when Claudia answered.

  Rémi heard something, a roughness or cough in the other woman’s voice when she answered the phone. Claudia cleared her throat.

  “No. Now is fine.” She cleared her throat again.

  Rémi squirmed against the stairs, even though, obviously, Claudia couldn’t see her. “Would you come to dinner with me tomorrow night?”

  She didn’t know what to expect but it wasn’t the immediate, “Yes. I’d love to.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  Claudia laughed weakly. It was a new, almost rusty, sound, as if she hadn’t laughed all day. Or all week. “What time and what should I wear?”

  Rémi’s surprise slowly began to give way to excitement. Her heart pounded even more heavily in her chest. “Seven o’clock. And anything you want.”

  “Even my sequined gown from senior prom 1976?”

  “If you want,” she murmured, answering the tease. “As long as you’re comfortable.”