Revenge #5

by Knight, JJ

  But I have to watch my own back.

  Chapter 4

  Tuesday morning, I notice more changes at the Morris building.

  Only two security guards are on duty. There are usually three or four around, drinking coffee and eating bagels.

  The two that are here look very serious.

  “Where’s Eugene?” I ask one of them.

  “Cutbacks,” he says.

  I wait for him to elaborate, but his lips are pressed tightly together.

  Last night, as soon as Riley and I were both at home, I took her phone and tried to send a message to Mr. Morris.

  I asked him for a few more details on what I’m supposed to be doing. The message didn’t go through, and I couldn’t phone the number.

  This dead end shouldn’t stop me.

  I give the tight-lipped security guard my sweetest smile.

  “Is Mr. Morris in the building today?” I ask.

  He doesn’t even look at me. “I wouldn’t be very good at security if I went around saying who was where and when.”

  I walk away, shaking my head.

  * * *

  Wednesday.

  No big news yet, just small things.

  Nick and I eat lunch together in the cafeteria.

  I listen to the conversations around me.

  There’s a lot of chatter about checks bouncing and budgets being slashed. Nobody knows anything for sure, but fear is in the air. I’ve never been part of anything like this.

  People clump in groups and whisper. There’s very little of the usual lunchtime laughter.

  People from all departments keep approaching the two of us and asking if Nick has any information.

  After fending off a few nosy questions, Nick says to me, “This is exactly why I try to keep a low profile about who I’m related to.”

  “But you’ve worked here forever, Nick. Wouldn’t everyone know your mother’s the vice president?”

  “You’d be surprised. People see what they want to see.”

  I look around at all the eyes on us. “People definitely know who you are now.”

  He looks like he wants to crawl under the cafeteria table.

  Another person approaches and sits at the end of our table. After a minute, the guy says to Nick, “Hey, man. Some of us are going for drinks after work.”

  Nick stares at him blankly. “Does your mother tell you all the high-level details from her workplace? No, I don’t think so. Try to spend less time on gossip and more time doing your job, so you’re indispensable. Just in case.”

  The guy gets up, takes his tray, and moves to another table.

  “That guy invited you for drinks,” I say. “Maybe that’s all he wanted.”

  Nick just nods. “People see what they want to see.”

  I pick at my lunch, my appetite gone.

  People keep giving me dirty looks, like they know I’ve got the inside scoop.

  I try to look like I don’t know anything, which isn’t hard.

  * * *

  Thursday.

  I’m on my way in through security when a crying girl with a cardboard box comes out of the elevator.

  It’s the mean girl from the third floor reception. She was rude to me on my first day. Good riddance. She’s been rude every chance since then, whenever I see her in the cafeteria or elevator.

  “Layoffs have started?” I ask the security guard.

  “I can’t really say.”

  The bawling receptionist is followed by a grim-looking guy in a cheap suit. He’s carrying a potted plant and a framed photo of his family.

  After they leave, I look up at the security guard.

  “Yeah, it’s a real secret,” I say.

  He pretends not to hear me.

  I walk over to the elevator and check my phone one last time before I head down to the basement. I squeal out loud when I see there’s a new message from Dylan:

  Angel with Blue Shoes,

  I wish you were here in this swanky hotel room with me. We could tear this place apart. I would make you sweat, and beg for mercy. Can you tell I miss you?

  D.

  He’s attached a photo. I laugh out lout when I see the “swanky” room. His New York hotel room is not exactly a penthouse.

  I write him back:

  That bed is smaller than mine! Don’t leave your suitcase open on the carpet, whatever you do. I miss you, too. I’d love to mess up that tiny room with you.

  I get back a selfie of Dylan frowning.

  I’m hearing rumors that Morris Music is running low on money. That would explain the cheap hotel room. Jess, do you know anything? I’m going on talk shows and talking about this amazing career I’m planning to have. They’re not big shows, but the footage will be around forever. This is my big chance. Please, if you know anything, tell me. I don’t want to look like an asshole.

  I stare at my phone for a long time. People come and go by the elevator in front of me. A few more employees are leaving with their personal effects in boxes and bags.

  After a few minutes, I write Dylan back:

  You just focus on your beautiful music and singing. Everyone’s going to love you as much as I do. Don’t worry about things in LA, because you know I have them under control. LOL. You know what a big VIP I am here at Morris! I have an entire floor practically to myself. Just stepping into the elevator now. TTUL.

  I send the text message, even though it makes me feel like shit to lie to Dylan.

  * * *

  Friday.

  Nick is very secretive these days.

  He takes phone calls and whispers things into the phone, but won’t tell me anything. He’s probably worried I’ll let something slip to Dylan.

  I won’t even hint to Dylan that anything might be wrong. I can’t be the one who destroys his dream.

  Dylan sounds so happy. In his messages, he talks like his whole life has been a misdirect up until now. He’s finally on the path that was meant for him.

  He sounds so deliriously happy, in fact, that I wonder if he still has room in his new life for me.

  Riley says that what I’m feeling is normal.

  She’s gone out a few times with the DJ, Bryce. She thinks she’s an expert on dating rock stars now. I try to accept her big-sisterly advice and not roll my eyes too hard.

  Mostly I just try to get through the week.

  I tell myself none of this corporate stuff matters, compared to how I feel when I’m with Dylan.

  And I’ll be with him tomorrow.

  Chapter 5

  Friday night, I’m home alone.

  Riley and Amanda went out with Bryce, to go clubbing.

  None of us can figure out if Riley is officially dating Bryce, or just part of his entourage. She doesn’t seem to care.

  I wish I could be more easygoing like her.

  Instead, I’m huddled over my laptop in my bedroom. Like a crazy stalker. I’m poring over every blog post and comment about Dylan.

  The music bloggers and reporters have dug up his past as Brandon. There are tons of sensational headlines about what happened to him. I can’t stop myself from clicking. Neither can other people, either. Dylan is a trending topic on many sites.

  The headlines say things like:

  You Won’t Believe this Viral Singer’s Shocking Brush with Violence!

  Blue Shoes Crooner was Victim in Bizarre Murder Plot!

  Lone Wolf Survives Knife Attack at Hands of Psychotic Stalker!

  A few people are actually talking about his songs. The single of his most popular song, Blue Shoes, is selling, but it’s not topping the charts. Morris took Dylan’s live recording and re-released it with a little digital remastering. The company can move quickly when there’s money on the table and the public is interested in an artist.

  Still, someone on the executive floors has got to be worried.

  I know enough about chart ranks and their relation to sales to be worried. These are not the kind of sales that make a record label happy.


  He’s uploaded some new songs to YouTube, but they all sound the same. Every one of them is good, but there’s no standout hit yet.

  I’m starting to understand what Nick meant about Dylan’s current inspiration. His songs are happy. I feel guilty, knowing that I might personally be responsibility for that happiness.

  The reporters haven’t figured out much about me yet.

  I’m just the Blue Shoes Girl, with no name.

  Maybe that’s for the best.

  I’m deeply focused on my laptop screen when a tap on the window startles me.

  I glance up to see a face in the darkness. Dylan has climbed the ladder and is at my window again.

  My body goes through shock and terror, but just a short blast. My heart rate is elevated as I open the window.

  I smack his shoulders and give him hell, but I’m mostly excited to see him.

  “This is the last time I’ll do the window thing,” he says, laughing.

  “I thought you weren’t flying in until tomorrow morning?”

  “Surprise.” Grinning, he steps in through the window and starts unlacing his boots.

  “And what do you mean, this is the last time? You’ll start using the front door, like a normal person?”

  “I won’t need to climb in the window when you’re living with me. Not unless you put in a special request.” He looks up from his boots with a wickedly sexy expression. His dark hair is falling across one eye.

  “Where is this place where I’m living with you? The firehall?”

  “No, that’s just a rental. I flew in early today so I could put an offer on a house here in LA.”

  My jaw drops. “You’re buying a house? Shouldn’t you wait?”

  “My life is here, Jess. Aren’t you happy? There’s a pool. I could picture you lounging by the pool, and I had to have it.”

  “Have it?”

  “Have everything. You. The pool. Everything. When I was depressed, I didn’t want anything. Right now, I feel the opposite way.”

  He stands and pulls his shirt off over his head. His chest and stomach muscles ripple, drawing my eyes.

  Now I’m imagining us lounging by a pool.

  “Everything,” I murmur.

  He steps toward me and takes me in his arms. His smell is different tonight, like he’s been touched by perfume. I don’t like this scent. My stomach pitches like I’m about to be sick.

  He pulls me to him, hugging me tightly and stroking my hair.

  “You’ll love the pool.” His voice so gritty, it sends shivers everywhere.

  I kiss his shoulder and smell his neck and hair, inhaling deeply.

  “You smell different,” I whisper.

  His hands move down my back slowly, toward my hips.

  “I’ve been using hotel soaps and shampoo,” he says. “I really need a haircut. Hey, stop smelling my hair. You’re making me feel like a girl.”

  I let out a laugh of relief. His new scent is probably from shampoo or hair product. Not perfume from another girl.

  He pulls away from me and studies my face. His dark brown eyes are playful. His face is familiar, but changed. I’ve seen him on TV now. He’s different on TV from how he is in real life. Still charming, but not as real.

  Now I’m seeing him through this other layer. His public face.

  “There’s something going on with you,” he says.

  “Me? There’s absolutely nothing going on with me. I’ve been working in the archives all week. You’re the one who was in New York with Marley and Bianca, living it up like a superstar.”

  “Is this how it’s going to be? I go out and work, and you get all moody?”

  I cross my arms and step back. “I’m not moody.”

  He makes a face and picks up his shirt from the floor. He pulls the shirt back on.

  I’m not sure what’s happening here, but putting his shirt back on feels aggressive. Like he wants to hurt me.

  “I’m not moody,” I say again. “I’m sorry I’m not however you want me to be. You climb in my window at midnight, with no warning, and you get what you get.”

  He points his finger at me. “Moody. Bordering on bitchy.”

  “Oh, go fuck yourself, Dylan Wolf.”

  He raises his eyebrows and recoils.

  “I didn’t mean that.”

  After a silent moment, he says, “Yes, you did. But I suppose I had that coming.”

  “Maybe I am moody. I don’t know.”

  I look down at the ugly sweatpants I’m wearing. These gray sweats have stains and holes all over them. My shirt isn’t much better.

  With a sigh, I hike up the sweats so the crotch isn’t hanging down to my knees. “You should have let me know you were coming,” I say softly. “I look hideous.”

  “Let’s start tonight all over again,” he says, with equal softness.

  “It’s midnight.”

  He walks over to my laptop and takes a look at the article on the screen. His face contorts, like he’s in pain.

  “I can see why you’re moody,” he says. “You shouldn’t be reading all these lies. If you want to know what I’m thinking or doing, just ask me. Don’t read this stuff.”

  “I was bored.”

  He closes the laptop. Frowning at the crappy old thing, he picks at the silver duct tape holding the hinge together.

  “I bought you the wrong thing in New York,” he says. “I should get you a new laptop. I’ll get something custom-made, so it blocks out all Dylan Wolf content from the internet.”

  “That… would probably be a good thing.”

  He turns to me, his dark eyes twinkling.

  “Jessica Rivera, I’m going to kiss you. If you have any moodiness, let’s get it out of the way now. Because once I kiss you, this night starts all over again.”

  The words burst out of me. “You shouldn’t have bought a house. People are getting laid off at Morris.”

  He takes a step closer to me and grabs my hands in his.

  “And?”

  “And you shouldn’t do crazy things like buy a house in LA until things are more stable.”

  He squeezes my hands and looks deeply into my eyes.

  “It’s your house, too, Jess.”

  I turn away. “No, it’s not. It’s yours, and you bought it without me.”

  “What’s mine is yours.”

  “Sure, it is,” I say, my tone cold and dead. “Until you get tired of me, then I’m out on my butt.”

  “Are you saying you want to get married? In case you don’t remember, it didn’t work out so great for my last wife.”

  I can hear by his tone that he’s joking. I’m in no mood to joke around, though.

  “That’s not funny,” I tell him.

  “I’m a rich rock star. Everything’s funny from up here.”

  “Sure, you’re on top of the world. Meanwhile, I have about twenty dollars to last me until pay day. And the way things are going at work, I can’t even count on that. I could be laid off on Monday. The only reason they haven’t canned me yet is because I’m so small they forgot about me.”

  “You’re broke? But you’re always buying new dresses and underwear.”

  “I never said I was perfect with money,” I grumble.

  “How much do you need? We’ll go hit a cash machine right now. I’ll give you my daily limit, whatever that is. Then we can get more tomorrow.”

  My hands feel hot and sweaty in his hands. I yank them away and cross my arms.

  “I don’t want your daily spend limit.”

  He gives me a bewildered look. “Exactly how much do you want, Jess?”

  “None of it!”

  He turns his head to the side. “Are you sure?”

  I let out a few curse words in exasperation. I walk over to my closet and grab some decent clothes. I yank off my ugly shirt and sweat pants and get changed into something with more dignity.

  Once I’m changed into regular clothes, I feel a little more calm. I take a moment to figure ou
t what I want to say.

  “Dylan, I’m happy for you, and for everything that’s happening with your career. I want nothing but the best for you. I missed you so bad this week, and things have been stressful at Morris. You caught me off guard when you came in my window at midnight.”

  “Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  I take a deep breath and return to standing before him. I reach up and wrap my arms around his neck. “Kiss me now, and I’ll stop being moody.”

  His eyes crinkle at the edges as he smirks.

  “Do you think one kiss will be enough?”

  I can’t help but smile up at him.

  “Let’s try, and see.”

  He lowers his gaze to my mouth and leans down slowly. His hands go to my waist. He slowly lowers his lips to mine.

  The kiss takes away a week’s worth of loneliness.

  It’s just me and Dylan here in my bedroom.

  Whatever he said or did on TV doesn’t matter. Whatever people are saying on the internet doesn’t have anything to do with his lips on mine, his tongue against mine.

  My arms circle his neck tighter. He kisses me deeply, thoroughly.

  He starts walking, nudging me with his knees. I step backward, moving toward the bed. The seal on our lips breaks because I’m grinning.

  He mumbles something against my lips and changes direction, moving us toward my bedroom door. He opens the door and walks me out to the hallway, still kissing me.

  We kiss all through the hallway, then the kitchen, and all the way to the front door.

  Laughing, I pull away. “Where are you taking me?”

  “For a swim in my new pool.” He looks down at his feet. He’s in socks, because he took his boots off in my room. “You stay right here and I’ll be back in a minute.”

  He runs to my bedroom and comes back again, breathless. His cheeks are flushed, and he looks excited. His enthusiasm is just like his grin—contagious.

  “Should I bring a swimsuit?” I ask.

  His eyes sparkle. “What do you think?”

  Chapter 6