by Sadie Grubor
Rubbing my forehead, I take a deep breath.
"Thank you for taking care of things, the cleanup and the new locks. By the time I got home last night…er, this morning, I was too tired to check anything out. I will when I get home, but I'm pretty sure I know what he was looking for."
I refold the menu and shove it to the end of the table. "What?" Mom asks.
"I found a bunch of receipts showing he made personal purchases on the business credit card." I shrug, surprised by how little his betrayal stings now. "But I'd already scanned them and sent them to the credit card company to launch an investigation."
"Can you get him with embezzlement?" My father sounds a bit too excited. I shrug again.
"Not sure yet. Once the bank and credit card company does their investigation, I'll talk to my lawyer."
"What about your partnership?" my father inquires.
I school my features so I don't visibly cringe. Mom and Dad know I have a subscription business, and they even know sex toys are involved, but they don't know much about the porn or extent of the sex toys. I'm pretty sure they think I'm like one of those sex toy consultants selling lubes and vibrators to women. The thought of them ever really digging into one of the Toy BoXXXTM deliveries makes my stomach knot and causes a full body shudder.
"I'm working on that with the lawyer as well," I answer, and quickly take a drink of water.
My dad's eyes narrow on me.
"Sid…" he warns.
I sigh and put the water back on the table.
"More than likely, I'll have to sell the company off to a third party to get rid of him," I say, disclosing the piece of information I dreaded telling.
Redness crawls up my father's face and he pokes one thick finger into the table. While Dad is over fifty, he's still a well-built, handsome man. He works out regularly and tries to eat well, though he has a sweet tooth that rivals mine, but there's a natural thickness about him. He never had a six-pack or the capability to be 'skinny'. So, that thick finger poking down on the table makes everything sitting on the glossy surface shake and rattle.
"You worked damn hard to bring that business to fruition and now that little shit eater is going to screw it all up?" he growls low.
"Calm down, Marc," Mom soothes, placing her hand on his back. The redness in his face starts to recede at her touch.
An ache, similar to the one from yesterday, returns to my chest.
The connection my mother and father have with each other is once in a lifetime, and is as much inspiring as it is jealousy inducing.
"My marketing and PR business is going well. I have the club and Liza as clients. I'm making enough to get by with—"
"Get by with?" It's my mother's turn to get angry. "I know you enjoy the photography, marketing, and PR, but your company was your baby. You can't give that up so easily."
"Do you want him gone or not?" My words are harsher than intended, but talking about losing Toy BoXXXTM has my emotions on high alert. "Because selling off the company will probably be the only option I have."
"Can't you try to buy him out?" my father asks, easing back on the anger in his voice. Placing my elbows on the table, I drop my face into my hands.
"It's an option, but not one I think will work. Not with the bastard barista," I say, still refusing to use his name.
My parents burst into laughter and I peek over my fingers.
"The bastard barista," my father laughs, "I love it."
"Me too," Mom squeals.
When the waitress approaches our table, Mom covers her mouth to stifle her laughter. Dad just lets it go, wiping his eyes.
"A-are you ready to order?" she asks, cautious.
After stopping by Wendy's Organic Emporium to pick up another tube of lotion and a quick grocery store run, I run into my neighbor. Zane moved across the hall two years ago after dropping out of college.
"Hey, Sid," he greets with a crooked grin.
"Hey," I respond with a nod, retrieving my apartment keys faster from my pocket.
"So…" he starts, moving to lean against the wall beside my door. Internally, I cringe.
"You doin' anything tonight?" There's plenty of suggestion in his question.
I only have myself to blame, but it was one time. One goddamn time when he first moved into the building, and now, dude thought he had a free pass to call on the coochie whenever he wanted.
Sighing, I shove my key in the lock and twist. "Busy," I mumble.
I step inside and kick the door closed with my foot, but a slap on the wood turns me around. Raising my brow, I glance from his hand to his face, nonverbally asking him what the fuck he's doing with his hand on my door.
"Maybe later?" he presses.
With a huff, I step to the kitchen island and drop my groceries before turning back to face my once upon an afternoon mistake.
"After two years of me telling you no, why the hell do you think there's still an invitation to nookie knock on my door?"
I cross my arms over my chest and arch my brow, pursing my lips.
"Nookie knock?" He laughs. "You crack me up."
He shakes his head, but freezes when he sees I'm still wearing the same look of annoyance.
"We had fun—"
"Had," I interrupt, "being the key word. It was one time, never happened again, and won't be a repeat performance."
"But why? I know you got off," he counters, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Yeah, I know I did." I nod, lifting the first two fingers of my right hand and continue. "Because I know how to use these little things called fingers." I wiggle them to ensure he sees them. "Rubbing my own clit is something I can do by myself."
His mouth pops open and his shoulders droop just a bit.
"I've been there and done you. I wasn't impressed," I inform.
I walk toward him, place my hand on his firm chest, and guide him backwards, stopping in my apartment doorway
"There will be no repeat. Got it?" I plaster a huge, sweet grin on my face.
His brow furrows, but he nods.
"Great," I cheer before shutting the door in his face.
I drop my head to the closed door, close my eyes, and lock up the deadbolt and knob. With a heavy sigh, I push away from the white painted wood to put away my groceries, unpack my bags, and then set about dealing with Toy BoXXXTM and the bastard barista.
Xavier
The sight of Maria hooked up to machines creating a symphony of beeps and wheezes around her is something I wished I'd never seen once, let alone the repeat times we've been here.
I enter the room and her eyes, dulled by pain medicine, anti-inflammatory, and rejection drugs, follow my movements to the chair next to her bed.
"Hey," she rasps.
"Hey," I return.
I take the beige plastic cup of water from the tray hovering above her bed, lean up, and put it to her lips.
Her struggle to sit forward breaks my heart.
Slipping my hand under her head, I palm her skull and help her take a sip.
She touches my wrist, letting me know she's done. I set the cup back on the table and myself down in the chair.
Emotion burns the back of my eyes and her image starts to swim in my unshed tears.
"Can I ask you something?" Her question is weak and quiet. Not trusting myself to speak, I give a nod.
"Who's Sid?"
The question catches me by surprise and the concern on her face worries me. "She's a—"
"She?" A smile forms on her face, followed by a sigh of relief.
"Yeah, Sidra. She's Jackson's girlfriend's cousin who…" I pause, "Christ, that sounds like a Jerry Springer introduction."
Her laugh is quiet and makes her squint from pain.
"Sorry," I blurt, "I didn't mean to make you—"
She weakly waves a hand at me.
"I needed that." She smiles again.
"Why are you asking about Sid?" Leaning forward, I place my forearms on her bed.
"The gi
rls mentioned Sid when I asked about their painted nails. I'm a bit relieved Sid is a woman, especially after other things they mentioned."
I bite back a smile and nod, understanding.
"Stripper vagina?" I ask, releasing a smile.
"Oh, Xave," Maria sighs, touching the tips of her cold, thin fingers to my arm. "It's been so long since I've seen you smile that smile."
"What smile?"
I take her hand within mine, hoping to warm them.
"You like her."
Staying silent, I continue to squeeze her hand between mine.
"Finally," she gasps.
I snap my eyes to hers and she grins wide. It brightens her ashen skin and brings a bit of sparkle back to her eyes.
"What do you mean finally?" I tease on a grumble.
"You've been alone too long." She slips her hand from mine and brings it to her chest with her other. "It's good to see someone has finally broken through."
"You talk like I had some wall up or something," I scoff, sitting back in the chair.
"Well, you sort of have." She swallows hard and continues. "I know we married young and after the divorce, you had every right to go crazy. You never got that time when you were younger because you were with me."
"Maria, I would never have traded us for sowing some wild oats," I reassure.
"I know. That's not what I'm saying."
"Then what are you saying?"
"That you needed that time to help you move on, but…"
"But?" I press.
"It's been a couple years since your oat sowing and I was worried you were giving up on a relationship, on falling in love again."
I shake my head and smile at her.
"Even now, you worry about me like I'm your responsibility."
Her shoulders move in what I think is an attempt to shrug.
"It seems I'll be passing that on to someone else soon."
Sighing, I bring my hands behind my head and lace my fingers. "She hates me," I inform.
Maria smiles, and then confesses, "The girls are perceptive."
Thinking back to the friend-zone talk I got from them up at the cabin, I nod.
"That, they are," I agree.
"What are you doing to make her not hate you?"
Gil enters the room just as she asks the question. He moves to the side of her bed, leans forward, and kisses her forehead.
"Where are the girls?" she asks, since he'd taken them to the cafeteria twenty minutes ago.
"With Ember," he assures.
"My sister's here?" I ask, dropping my arms.
"Yes, I am," Ember answers, breezing into the room. I push out of the chair and motion for her to take it.
"The girls are in the family waiting room with the boys," she explains, moving to sit into the now vacant chair. "They were watching something on YouTube, but I'm sure they'll be trying to kill each other in a few minutes."
Smiling, Maria reaches for Em's hand. "So, tell me about Sid," Maria requests.
"Oh, I have tons to tell you about," Em says, a bit too excited. "I wish mom were here to tell it with me. She'll be here tomorrow to visit so you can ask her then."
"Fuck," I groan, rubbing my palms over my face.
Two weeks later, I sit with Red waiting on Randy to show up. After the bullshit he caused, disturbing the peace and public intoxication, he's lucky he didn't get put in jail.
"So, Jeremy's out, huh?" I ask, though I already know the answer.
Red had sent a message days ago saying Jeremy's wife is eight months pregnant and the tour would be cutting it too close.
"Yeah," Red sighs.
"I can't blame him, ya know? I wouldn't want to have missed the birth of my kids."
He gives a small shrug and nods. Not having kids, the idea of skipping out on a concert because of a pregnant wife is probably something hard for Red to understand.
"Just wish I could've gotten us all back together."
"You did your best." I clap a hand to his shoulder.
When Randy arrives, twenty minutes late, I level a look at him.
"You're an idiot," I admonish.
"Calm your tits, Mom," he snaps, slipping into the booth.
"I can't fucking believe you pull that shit right after I ask you to join us for the benefit tour," Red growls, his face flushing.
"Did you fucking call me here to kick me off the tour?" Randy's voice rises, his eyes narrowing.
"Unfortunately," Red starts, "your fucking name is already associated and it wouldn't do us any favors to kick you off…" he pauses, taking a breath, "but I swear to God, Randy, if you pull any more shit like this, I won't hesitate to boot your ass!"
"Fuck you both," he shouts. "Don't get all holier than thou. Your asses used to—"
"Used to, is the point," I sneer.
"You need to clean your shit up before you hurt someone else," Red snaps, setting back into the booth. "We only have a week before the first concert in New York."
"Who the fuck did I hurt?" Randy slaps his hand on the table, drawing the attention of Liza's brother, Kel.
He's started helping Red out with inventory and account books for the club under the terms that he gets a college degree.
"Seriously, man?" Red asks, exasperated. "Fucking Jack almost died. You almost put yourself in jail and could've hurt someone."
"What happened to Jack was his choice. I didn't force the drugs on him." Randy slides to stand, his eyes still on us. "He came to me and I helped him out."
"Yeah, then disappeared after a night of helping him OD on your shit," Red shouts, pushing out of the booth.
I slip out behind him and put an arm on his shoulder.
"He made his choices," Randy repeats.
"Keep your shit off this tour, Randy," Red threatens. "No getting trashed. No drugs. No prostitutes."
"You don't get to tell me what to do," Randy tosses back.
"That's where you're wrong," I say, moving in front of Red. "All our contracts have a conduct clause. You signed the contract, which means Red gets to tell you what to do."
Randy's jaw tightens before he straightens his spine, turns, and walks out of the club.
"What the hell are we going to do about him?" Red asks, exhaustion filling his words.
"Keep an eye on him," I suggest, turning around to face him. "It's all we can do and the moment he fucks up, we kick his ass to the curb."
"Christ, why didn't he get help when you offered it to him." It's not really a question, more like a verbalized wish.
Chapter Fourteen
Sidra
The banging pulls me out of an amazing sex dream. At least, I think it's amazing, until I wake up and realize the star of it is Xavier.
Damn it, I can't get away from him.
For the past two weeks, while I've been working with my lawyer, filing the restraining order, and preparing for the start of the upcoming benefit concert, he's infiltrated my thoughts. Now, not even my sex dreams are safe.
The banging gets louder and a familiar angry voice accompanies it.
Fuck!
I climb out of my cocoon of warmth, grab my oversized sweatshirt, and slip it over my head.
At the front door, I undo the deadbolt and knob lock. Leaving the chain in place, I open the door the three inches it allows.
"You aren't supposed to be here," I yawn the words.
"Sid, you can't be serious about this?" He holds up a big yellow envelope.
"You broke into my apartment, went through my things, and tried to hack my computers," I say, listing off just a few of the things he's done. "Thank God I'm better with computers than you."
He leans into the small open space, his face contorted in anger.
"If you think I'll give up my part of the business, you are out of your fucking mind. No restraining order or buyout offer will force my hand, Sid," he sneers, tossing the papers through the crack.
I flinch, fear pounding inside my chest.
He slaps the wood with on
e hand, causing the chain to strain for just a moment. It's enough, and I shove the door closed, twisting the deadbolt first. As I reach for the knob, it starts to twist and jiggle.
"If I lose Toy BoXXXTM, so do you, Sid," he shouts through the door.
The minute the jiggling stops, I twist the knob lock and step back.
"You don't know who you are fucking with, bitch!"
One more slap causes me to jump before everything falls silent.
I wrap my arms around myself and sink to the floor. Taking deep breaths, I fight back panic and tears.
"Should've never let him get so close," I mumble, eyes closed. "Never again," I whisper to the empty apartment.
The sound of a knock on my door causes me to jump, a squeak of surprise leaving my lips.
"Sid?" Zane asks. "You okay?" Even muffled, I can hear his concern.
"Yeah," I choke out. "I'm fine. Everything's okay."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah." I swallow the sob lodged in my throat.
"Open the door," he demands. "I'm not going away until I can see you're okay."
Guilt rushes over me. I was a bitch to him before and here he is checking on me.
I push up from the floor, swallow hard, and take a deep breath before unlocking the door and pulling it open.
Worry lines Zane's eyes as he scans my body. Coming back to my face, the concern melts.
"You sure you don't need anything?" he asks, looking over my shoulder into the apartment. "I'm sorry I didn't wake up sooner."
"No one's here," I assure him, and push the door all the way open so he can see. Embarrassment creeps up my neck in a flush.
He gives a quick nod and brings his eyes back to mine.
"You need anything, anything at all, call me." His hand comes to my shoulder and squeezes.
"Thank you," I whisper.
Releasing me, he steps back and retreats to his apartment.
I close and lock the door again, pressing my forehead to the wood.
The panic and fear have merged with the embarrassment. Steeling myself against any emotional outburst, I let anger replace it all.
I march back to my bedroom, grab my cell phone, and shoot off a text to my lawyer.
Research buyers for Toy BoXXX . Use the terms we agreed upon.
