by Mary Calmes
"Oh, go to hell, Brian," I groaned, turning to walk away from him. "And that whole faggot crap is so old. Who even uses that word anymore?"
"Jory!" he screamed after me.
"People with pickup trucks and gun racks, that's who," I chuckled, my own laughter sounding a little unhinged. I was ready to pass out.
"Jory!" His voice had lost some of its power but he was still shrieking.
I headed toward the stairs.
"Mr. Keyes!"
I pivoted around and Detective Kage was there with his nice captain that I'd met earlier and another of the square-cut jaw/square-cut hair guys who had been on the street with him. He did the two-fingered poke into my collarbone like he was trying to drill through my skin.
"Where the hell do you think—"
"Sam," the captain cautioned him, putting up his hand.
"Let's not—"
"He's an idiot," he gestured at me, "and he'll be dead this time tomorrow."
"And who would do that? Brian?" I smirked at him.
"Gimme a break."
He gestured at me again but said nothing.
"Mr. Keyes," the other detective began, his voice gentle, soothing. "Even though you think of Mr. Minor as simply the sonofabitch husband of one of your girlfriends, you must believe us when we tell you the man is not that benign. He's a drug dealer, a murderer, and someone you don't want to cross. There are a lot of people that don't want him in the position of choosing between jail time or talking about them.
You alone have the power to put him behind bars. Without you, he walks. Do you understand that?"
"I get it," I told him. "I do. I will testify. I will do whatever you need so he never sees Anna again as long as he lives. I promise, but seriously—I have a life. I mean, I get from being here for the last five hours that you guys don't think being someone's assistant is important. But I promise you that, to my boss, I actually matter. I've got so much shit to do, you have no idea." I let out a quick breath, finally shaking my head. "Call me and tell me what day I need to appear in court." I said, heading down the stairs to the exit.
"Mr. Keyes."
I sighed and turned around, looking up at the captain.
"They'll come after people you love."
I shrugged. "Good luck finding any." I said, before I turned back away from him.
Outside the air was cold. I had forgotten I was still in my dancing clothes, which consisted that night of a black spandex T-shirt, tight, brown, distressed boot-cut jeans and motorcycle boots. So because it was November, I was freezing. It smelled like it was going to rain and the breeze was icy. My teeth started to chatter as I looked for a cab.
A car slowed down beside me and I heard the sound of the automatic window going down. When I turned, a guy was smiling at me from the driver's side.
I waited for the come-on line.
"Hey, man, you need a lift?"
The whole ick factor of some middle-aged man in a van trying to pick me up in the same ride that he took his kids to school in made my skin crawl.
"I'm talking to you, pretty boy."
"No thanks," I said quickly, hoping he'd just drive away. "I don't need a ride."
"C'mon," he persisted, "how much?"
"I'm not hustling, man, I'm just walkin'," I said, moving faster.
"Sure you are," he leered at me. "Get in."
And I thought, it's the club clothes outside of the club, downtown, walking the streets alone at two in the morning. I couldn't fault his logic. I had rent boy written all over me.
"I...."
The horn scared us both. I jumped, and the guy was so startled that he gunned the motor and drove away. It would have been funny if my heart weren't pounding so hard. I shivered in spite of myself and looked up when someone shouted my name.
I saw the enormous SUV then, named after something nautical, black and shiny, and through the lowered window was Detective Kage. He was motioning me over. I shoved my hands down in my pockets as I walked over to see what he wanted.
"Get in," he snapped at me as soon as I peered in the window.
"I—"
"Mr. Keyes," he said sharply, and the exasperation was not lost on me. "You're this close to being put in the vehicle whether you like it or not."
The way he said the word vehicle, so clinical, so like the cop that he was. Step away from the vehicle, put your hands on top of the vehicle, get in the vehicle.... it was funny. "Oh yeah?" I baited him because I figured I could move before he got a hold of me. "You think so?"
"Yeah," he warned me, his gaze level and dark. "I think so."
And it wasn't so much the ominous tone or the way he was looking at me as the muscle that flexed in his jaw. I realized I was closer to jeopardy than I realized. He was bigger than me, so the chances that he could hurt me were pretty good.
I opened the door and climbed up into the seat, swinging the heavy door shut hard.
He grunted at me. "Put on your goddamn seat belt."
"Do you know where I live?" I asked him.
"Yes," he almost growled. He had one of those voices that was low and husky, the kind that under other circumstances I would have found sexy as hell.
"I don't live in the city." I wanted to make sure he knew where he was going. "I live just on the other side of Austin Avenue in Oak Park."
He didn't respond so I gave up. There was some cowboy crap playing on the radio but it was low so I didn't complain.
"Did you hear me?" I asked him, checking.
"I know where you live," he said fast, clearly exasperated.
"It was one of the many questions you answered for me, as you may recall."
I rolled my eyes as my phone rang. "Hello?" I answered.
"Where the hell did you go?" Taylor Grant asked me irritably.
"To get a friend out of a jam," I smiled, slouching down in the seat.
"Were you gonna come back or call?"
I chuckled. "I thought that wasn't our deal. Either one of us could split at any time. It's your rule," I reminded him cheerfully.
Long silence.
"Right?"
"Yeah, right," he said, the annoyance clear in his voice.
"So where are you?"
"On my way home."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"Tell me where that is."
"Nah. I'll call you," I told him.
"Jory," he said softly. "Please lemme see—"
"Later," I yawned and hung up. I wasn't in the mood for company. I just wanted to go home, shower off the night, and pass out in my bed.
"Friend of yours?"
"Not really," I told him, "just a guy."
"You got a lot of guys?"
I turned slowly to look at him.
"What?" he asked gruffly.
"What kind of question is that?"
"Fair, I would say."
I went back to staring out the window.
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-two." I clipped my answer, trying not to snap.
"Twenty-two," he repeated.
"Yeah."
"How can you afford to live alone?"
It was a weird question. "I told you already, I have a good job."
"And what else?"
I turned again to look at him. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"I think you know."
"I don't think I do, Detective. You need to spell it out for me."
"Fine. Does some guy help you out with your rent in exchange for fucking you?"
That was definitely clear. "No," I barely got out through my clenched jaw.
"No?"
"How do you know I'm even gay, Detective?"
He glanced at me, scoffing. "Dressed like that?"
"You know what, just lemme out."
"Knock it off. Don't be so dramatic." He was annoyed and his voice was dripping with it. "All you guys are so goddamn dramatic."
All you guys? "You mean gay guys?"
"Just drop it, all right?
I'm tired and I don't feel like getting into a pissing contest with you. I'm driving you 'cause if I don't, you're gonna freeze to death. You don't even have a jacket."
"I'll take my chances."
"Just sit there and shut up."
And I granted his request and didn't say another word to him for the rest of the ride. When he dumped me in front of the old Victorian house that had been converted into four apartments, I got out. I slammed the door and ran across the lawn without a backward glance. I didn't check to see if he waited.
When I got inside I immediately fell down on my bed, fully clothed, with my shoes still on. I was exhausted. Having people shooting at you as you ran for your life was really very draining.
Chapter Two
By the time I got to work it was almost ten on Wednesday morning and I felt like turning around and going back home.
Riding into the city on the subway was usually almost fun. I liked seeing all the same faces every morning and talking to people I barely knew. The problem was we had an icy rain that morning that made everyone soggy and cranky and impatient with the routine inconvenience of being packed together like sardines. Once I got downtown I had to walk two blocks over to Cullen's and pick up my boss's car. He had called me at six in the morning to tell me that the mechanic forgot to drop it off at his house, so I had to make it happen.
I had to bring the car to the office. For the billionth time I remembered why I didn't own a vehicle. Driving in the city was hell. Between dodging traffic, having people blow their horns at me and suicidal pedestrians, I was ready to scream.
I had to be careful not to hit any parked cars on the tight streets, remember which way all the streets went, and try not to drive into a pothole that I could lose a wheel in. I thanked God that Dane's BMW was an automatic; I would have been dead otherwise. People almost always touch your back bumper at a stop, and when you're driving a stick shift it's so hard not to roll backwards just a teeny bit and nail somebody.
When a horn blast startled me, I made the light just in time.
It felt like it took a year to go ten blocks.
I stood in the lobby and shook like a dog while I took off my topcoat and stamped my feet. Piper Dowling, our front desk receptionist, was watching me, giggling the whole time.
"What?" I asked, looking over at her. She was a vision, like she was every morning, all big honey-blonde curls, soft blue eyes, and perfect, flawless makeup that accentuated her beauty.
"You look really good all wet, angel."
I shot her a look, which sent her into peals of snorting laughter. When she recovered, she let me know that the coffee was still hot in the break room.
"Morning," Sonja Lawson called out to me from her desk as I walked by.
"Hey," I greeted her, smiling. "How are you this morning?"
She shrugged and I stopped before I hung up my coat on the vintage hat rack.
"What?" I found myself asking before I could stop myself. I didn't really care what was wrong; I found her altogether boring. She didn't date, didn't buy designer clothes or shoes, and didn't watch any of the same shows I did. We had absolutely zilch in common.
"Well, we're coming up on three months, J, and I still don't know if I'm staying here permanently or not."
I had no idea either.
"I mean the only reason I'm even here is because his office is ten times busier than any of the other partners.
Everybody wants him to do their homes, not Mr. Cogan or Mr. Brown."
"Sherman Cogan is a landscape architect, Sonja," I sighed, having explained that to her like a million times. "And Miles Brown's an interior designer. They don't all do the same thing."
"No, I know, but Dane's office is the busiest because he's the best."
As usual she didn't get why but I just let it go.
"Jory, I want to stay here."
"Yeah I know." She'd only told me that every single day since she started. From the day Dane had come into the office and she had looked up from her desk into his cool gray eyes, from that moment she had wanted to stay.
She sighed heavily. "I love everybody here."
I knew exactly who it was that she loved and wanted to be loved by in return.
"Jory, please."
"The decision has nothing to do with me." I said, shaking as much water off my coat as I could before walking over to my desk, squishing the whole way.
"What'd you do, swim to work?" She chuckled, momentarily distracted from her campaign to stay in Dane's office.
I grunted. "Yeah, it felt like that."
"You know what I'd really like?"
"I have no idea," I said, looking over at her.
"Your job." She smiled big.
"And what would I do?"
"My job."
"Yeah, right. Can you even imagine me being cute and perky all day long?"
She laughed at me as I cocked an eyebrow for her benefit.
I gave her a lot of credit for the smile she kept plastered on her face for eight hours a day. No way was I capable of such forced charm. My job had more wiggle room to be bitchy.
I got to contact clients, sit in on initial meetings, go with my boss to clients' homes, and make sure that no one without an appointment ever got to see Dane Harcourt in the flesh. I also made a lot of trips to the dry cleaners and ordered flowers for whomever he was dating at the time.
Picking out birthday and Christmas presents also seemed to be in my job description. I didn't particularly mind that, though—it was fun. Besides, I liked it when people complimented Dane on his taste and he had no idea what the hell they were talking about, because he forgot to ask me what I bought. Since I carried a Platinum American Express card with my name on it, and I was the one that reconciled his statement, nine times out of ten he had no idea what he had spent or on whom. It was nice to be trusted implicitly, and I found that I was somewhat addicted to it. When Sonja's intercom buzzed suddenly and an annoyed voice asked her if I had arrived yet, I was amazed at how quickly all my good feelings fled.
"Yes, I have," I answered loudly, letting out a deep breath and raking my fingers through my damp curls before flopping down into my chair
"Come in here now," Dane snapped brusquely, and the intercom went dead.
I groaned loudly.
"Shhh," Sonja warned me.
"Why?"
"He'll hear you."
"And if he does?"
"I just think you should be sweet to him."
I was instantly suspicious. "Why?"
"Because he might have had a long morning."
"Why?" I asked again, and I could feel my brows drawing together.
"Well," she said hesitantly, "Therese Warner called like an hour ago and told me she was coming by."
"That wouldn't do it," I said, standing, fussing with my sweater, my dress pants, making sure I looked good before I walked into his office, checking my shoes. "Unless you let her talk to him."
Silence, so I looked up at her. She looked guilty as hell.
"Oh shit," I groaned. "Are you kidding me?"
"What's the big deal?"
"Sonja," I whined. "C'mon."
"I forgot that you told me she wasn't to be put through."
She took a deep shaky breath. "So when she told me she was coming by, I asked her if she wanted to speak to Mr.
Harcourt."
"Perfect," I grumbled. Wednesday was getting better and better. "Anything else you wanna tell me before I go in?"
"I put Mr. Reid through too."
I rubbed the bridge of my nose and counted to ten. My friend, Evan, always said that it was about visualization. You to imagine your happy place and you would be there instead of in that moment. Unfortunately it didn't seem to be working. It really wasn't such a big deal that he was irritated; he was irritated with me ninety percent of the time. The problem was sitting through the lecture that always followed.
The man lived to reiterate my mistakes.
"I'm dead. I'm so dead."
"But I'm responsible for everything that happens to him at work."
"She giggled. "C'mon, J. You're taking yourself a little seriously right now."
I shook my head. "No, I mean stuff that has to do with the office, that's my baby. I'm supposed to make sure that things run smooth here."
"I don't think it's really that big a deal."
"If you knew him better you'd know what this is really about."
"What's it about?"
"Following directions," I told her just as the door to Dane's office opened and he filled the doorway. I couldn't stifle my groan in time.
"Has the meaning of the word now escaped you completely?"
"No sir." I said getting up and following him back into his office. I was careful to close the door quietly behind me.
"I want you to make arrangements with the temp agency to have Miss Lawson transferred out off this office as soon as possible. I think our contact over there is Darcy somebody.
Call her."
"Pardon?" That I hadn't expected.
"I want her out of my office. Preferably today." He clipped his words. It was so early for that.
"But she does such a good—"
"I don't care where she goes," he said crossly, cutting me off. "I just want her out of here. She can't follow simple directions."
"Why? It was a simple mistake about letting Miss Warner and Mr. Reid talk to you this morning," I defended her, sitting down in the chair in front of his desk. "It won't happen again.
I'll explain that—"
"Do you see that?" he said sharply, cutting me off again.
He motioned to the flowers on his desk that I hadn't noticed.
They were long-stemmed red roses arranged with baby's breath and they were absolutely beautiful. The vase they were in was lovely too, very expensive.
"Yeah."
"Yes," he corrected me. He hated yeah.
"Yes," I said again.
"And?"
"And what?" I asked, my tone a little sharper than I meant to.
He cocked an eyebrow at me like he was waiting for me to say something. I looked at him and waited. He laced his fingers slowly and continued to stare at me. I looked into his cool gray eyes and noticed for the billionth time how beautiful they were with the flecks of silver in them and how much darker they got when he was annoyed. And then it hit me.
