Best Friend's Sister

by R. R. Banks

  “Fine,” I relent. “Set it up. But no promises about anything.”

  “Fair enough,” he tells me. “Fair enough.”

  Knox

  “Why are we here?”

  Peter looks at me and smirks. “Because you’re interviewing for a job.”

  “In case you don’t remember, I’m not exactly hard up for money,” I remind him. “I don’t exactly need a job.”

  “True. You don’t,” he concedes.

  “Besides, there are a hundred different security agencies I can recommend,” I chuckle. “I think she’d probably prefer it anyway. She and I didn’t exactly hit it off.”

  “Yeah, I gathered.”

  We’re seated in a café drinking coffee as we wait for his sister to show up. Peter had the bright idea to get his sister and I together to talk things out. Leave it to the therapist to think all we need is to hug it out and everything will be alright again. I’m pretty sure this isn’t one of those things that can be fixed – Felicity hates me.

  Personally, I think she’s being unreasonable. I did what I had to do to make sure she was kept safe. I did the job Peter hired me to do.

  “I don’t want another agency to handle her security,” Peter says. “I don’t trust anybody else, Knox.”

  “Which is smart. Anybody else is going to be second-rate. At best,” I nod. “I wouldn’t trust a second-rate security agency either.”

  Peter laughs. “Which is why I want you to keep an eye on her.”

  “Sure, but you’re forgetting the whole ‘your sister hates me’ thing.”

  “No, I’m just relying on my sister’s intelligence and keen sense of self preservation,” he snaps back.

  “In which case, we’re screwed,” I note. “You should be relying on a profound sense of fear of death instead.”

  “Yeah, maybe you can find a better way to phrase that,” he tells me.

  I stare at him evenly for a moment. “If your sister is anything like you, we’re going to need to overcome two things – her stubborn, pigheaded pride and an unrelenting need to assert her independence,” I inform him. “If you can find a better way to pierce that wall without giving her the unflinching truth, I am as they say, all ears.”

  Peter sits back in the booth, exhaling loudly. He knows I’m right, because his sister is a lot like him. He just doesn’t want to admit it.

  “Oh, too late, but thanks for playing,” I crack.

  Felicity walks through the front door of the café. She looks around, spots us sitting in a booth near the back, and I see her face darken. She slaps a smile on her face, but I can see how artificial it looks from all the way back here. Her body is stiff, and her shoulders hunched as she heads in our direction.

  “Yeah, this is going to go well,” I mutter.

  “Just be your normal charming self.”

  “That’s what got us into this mess to begin with,” I remind him.

  “Good point. Be somebody else.”

  Felicity slides into the booth next to her brother, putting her directly across from me. Her smile is tight, her eyes narrowed, and her jaw clenched. I give her a small nod.

  “Good morning, Felicity,” I greet her. “Lovely to see you again.”

  “Knox,” her tone is curt. If it were any colder, I might get frostbite.

  Peter looks from me, to his sister, and back again. The tension that hovers in the air between us has a physical weight to it. It’s tangible. It feels like the silence that envelops the world in the moments before a powerful storm breaks.

  The waitress arrives with a dazzling smile and sucks a small bit of the tension out of the atmosphere at the table. Felicity orders a cup of coffee, but unlike Peter and I, she doesn’t order breakfast – which tells me she’s not planning on staying long. Which also means she has no serious interest in having a security detail shadowing her. This is simply a formality on her part. A show she’s putting on for her brother’s benefit.

  She’s a stubborn, stubborn woman. Her stubbornness is stupid and is going to get her hurt – or worse. But part of me can’t help but admire her strength and assertiveness. She’s tough. A hell of a lot tougher and stronger than Peter gives her credit for.

  “So, you have us here,” Felicity turns to Peter when the waitress buzzes away. “What’s next?”

  “What’s next is we talk about what happened,” Peter states, the shrink voice coming out.

  “I don’t think this is something that can be talked through,” Felicity grumbles.

  “You promised that you’d keep an open mind,” Peter reminds her.

  “No, I promised that I’d show up for this shitshow.”

  I sit back against the booth and watch the interaction between the two. Felicity is clearly hostile and wants this over with, while Peter is in full shrink mode and is maintaining a calm, detached demeanor. It’s actually impressive.

  “Knox, Felicity and I have talked a bit about the situation, as I’m sure you understand,” Peter addresses me. “I shared a bit of what you and I talked about.”

  “What happened to doctor-patient confidentiality?” I chuckle.

  Peter chuckles, but I’m mildly irritated that he shared some of our conversation with his sister – but I get why he did it. He’s pulling out all the stops, trying to make her understand that she needs somebody watching her back. And I trust him enough to believe that he wouldn’t have shared my most intimate and personal thoughts with her. Not even to convince her to take on a security detail.

  Felicity turns those dazzling green eyes to me, and a tornado of inappropriate thoughts goes twisting through my mind. I have to fight to keep my eyes from sliding up and down that deliciously curvy and feminine body of hers – which isn’t easy. Even dressed down in yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt, she’s gorgeous.

  There are a million reasons I need to stop looking at this woman the way I’m looking at her – not the least of which is that her brother is my friend, and he would most definitely frown upon me dating his sister.

  Felicity turns her eyes to me, her gaze imperious.

  “Do you have anything to say to me?” she sneers.

  “About – what?” I ask.

  Peter leans back, fading into the background and letting the conversation play out now that his sister opened the door. This is apparently supposed to be a dialogue between me and Felicity, with Peter playing moderator. I have to imagine that he’s hoping we can smooth things out between us – then he’ll broach the subject of taking me on as her bodyguard.

  “About what you did the other night,” she snaps. “About you destroying my event.”

  A wry laugh passes my lips. “I did my job. I saw the threat and I neutralized it,” I inform her. “If you’re expecting me to apologize for doing my job, you’ve got a long wait for a bus that ain’t coming.”

  “I see the last few days haven’t taught you any humility.”

  We fall silent for a moment as the waitress brings our food to the table. She sets the plates down then leaves without a word, obviously sensing the tension at the table. Peter and I both apparently lost our appetites and push our plates away from us. Alone again, I turn my eyes to Felicity, and try my best to keep the scorn out of my voice when I speak.

  “I’ve been exactly who I am for the last thirty-five years,” I inform her. “Do you really think a couple of days is going to change me just because a pampered princess got her little feathers ruffled?”

  Her mouth falls open, her eyes widen comically, and the look of outrage that stretches her face strikes me as funny. Peter’s trying to warn me off with his eyes, but the laughter bursts out of me anyway. He opens his mouth to speak, obviously to try and calm the waters, but Felicity beats him to the punch.

  “You arrogant asshole,” she hisses. “You really are a son of a bitch.”

  I shrug. “You say the sweetest things.”

  “Listen, let’s all just calm down,” Peter interjects. “This isn’t productive.”

  Felic
ity rounds on him. “And just what did you imagine was going to happen here, Peter?”

  “Getting the two of you to start acting like adults would be a good start.”

  I scoff. “You should have picked something easier – like securing peace in the Middle East.”

  “Seriously,” Felicity adds. “The next time you get this cretin to act like an adult is going to be the first time.”

  “I resent that comment,” I tell her. “There was a time in 2008 or so when I had to act like an adult.”

  Felicity rolls her eyes and clenches her jaw. “This was a big waste of my time.”

  She stands to leave, but Peter grabs her by the arm. She spins around, a murderous gleam in her eyes.

  “Let go of my arm,” she spits. “Now.”

  Peter reluctantly lets go. “Please don’t go,” he implores. “Please sit down, Felicity.”

  “Why? What’s the point of all this?”

  He turns to me, his jaw clenched. “Is it physically possible for you to not be an asshole for an hour?”

  I smirk and lean back in the booth, putting my arms up over the back of the seat, and shrug. “I’m actually not sure. But I’m willing to give it a shot and see what happens.”

  “Overgrown fucking frat boy,” she snarls.

  “I gotta be me.”

  “Please, sis,” Peter pleads. “Just sit down. For me.”

  Felicity’s face is still dark with anger, but it softens slightly as she looks upon her brother. But the moment she turns toward me, that softness fades immediately – gone like it had never been there. She sits back down in the booth, glaring daggers at me. I really think in that moment, if she’d had a gun, she would have shot me. She looks that angry.

  There’s not much I can do about it. I am who I am, and that’s not going to change. I’ve always been a sarcastic ass; I’m always going to be a sarcastic ass. Anybody who knows me knows that. But I know I can sometimes push people a bit too far – which is clearly the case with Felicity.

  I’ve never been terribly great at the whole social interaction thing. People tend to annoy me, and inane, banal conversations are exhausting. My tolerance for people seems to be shrinking even further the older I get. I have my circle of close-knit friendships, and I’m not necessarily looking to add to it at this point. Which makes me tend to not care how I’m perceived by most anybody.

  That being said, I do still have the good graces to observe social norms when necessary. I suppose all those years in prep schools and navigating the waters of upper-crust society were good for something after all.

  Peter looks at me expectantly. As if I somehow have the magic words that will make her feel better about what happened – and about taking on a security detail. Or perhaps more specifically, about having me serve as her bodyguard. I’m honestly not sure there’s enough magic in the world to make that happen.

  If I can use only one word to describe Felicity, it would be controlled. She keeps herself so tightly-controlled and uptight all the time. She’s a strong woman but is so desperate to assert her independence and give everybody who doubts her a big ‘fuck you’, that it makes her really high-strung. Almost neurotically so.

  “Knox,” Peter is pleading with me. “Give her the assessment you gave me.”

  Not that it’s going to help any, but I don’t want to jam up my friend either. I can see he’s throwing everything at the wall in trying to get his sister to recognize the problem – a problem that could go real bad, real quick if she ignores it. This is one of those things. Felicity’s stalker is one of those guys that just isn’t going to lose interest and go away.

  “Right, well what I told your brother is that you have a real problem, Felicity,” I begin. “You have a big problem, and if you don’t do something about it, it’s only going to get worse.”

  “You really think this guy –”

  “Yes, I do. I have some experience dealing with pricks like this. He’s not going to stop,” I cut her off. “If anything, the longer things go on, the more emboldened he’s going to get. He’s going to take you doing nothing as a sort of acceptance of his role in your life.”

  She visibly shudders, then quickly reasserts that iron control over herself again. Her face is smooth, her expression one of disinterest. She’s projecting an attitude that says she doesn’t care, but I can see in her eyes that she’s worried. I can see that she’s scared. Which is good. She needs to be scared. And she needs to take this shit seriously, unless her goal is to wind up locked in a cage in some dude’s basement.

  “I can take care of myself,” she states, though she doesn’t seem entirely certain of that. “I’ll get a can of mace or something.”

  “Yeah, that should do it,” I quip.

  Felicity rolls her eyes. “Let me guess, you think I need a bodyguard?”

  “I do,” I say simply.

  “Why?” she growls. “Don’t you think I can protect myself?”

  Apparently having done his job to facilitate the discussion and get us back on track, Peter fades into the background again. He’s picking at his plate but is keeping an eye on us.

  “I’m actually pretty sure you can. I’m not questioning your ability to take care of yourself, Felicity.”

  “Then why would I need you?”

  I take a sip of my coffee and set the mug down. “Because you’re not mean enough.”

  Her mouth falls open, and she gapes at me. “Mean enough?”

  I nod. “Yeah, mean enough. The only thing that’s going to get through to a guy like this is a beating. A sound, thorough beating,” I tell her. “And even that might not be enough.”

  “Not everything can be solved with your fists, you know.”

  “That’s true. This isn’t one of those things, though,” I continue. “You need somebody watching your back who has no qualms about getting their hands dirty and taking things right up to that line – maybe even crossing it. And I don’t think you have that in you.”

  Peter’s eyes drift to his sister. She makes herself busy staring down into her cup of coffee. It’s hard to get a read on the woman – she’s able to keep her face as passive as her brother does. Must be a family trait or something. But I know she gets what I’m saying – and that I’m right. She’s strong and in control of herself, but she doesn’t have that hard core inside of her that would let her beat somebody bloody. To defend herself, she’d do what it took – up to a point. She’ll never cross a certain boundary, thanks to that strong moral compass inside of her.

  And she needs somebody watching her back who will.

  “Look, I don’t mean that to sound insulting. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing,” I explain. “But when you’re dealing with somebody like this Elliott Graham guy, you need somebody who will do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Even if that means crossing a line or two.”

  Felicity’s gaze shifts to her brother, and I can see him silently imploring her. She purses her lips and turns back to me.

  “And I suppose you’re the type of man who’d be willing to cross those lines?”

  “I do what’s necessary to protect my clients.”

  “Of course you do,” she rolls her eyes.

  I’m not a guy who gets ruffled or lets people get under my skin. Not very easily. But there’s something about Felicity’s dismissive and petulant attitude that’s really grating on me. There aren’t many people who can truly upset me – I can usually brush anybody off and move on. But Felicity Manson and her piss-poor attitude are really getting to me.

  “Listen lady, I don’t care if you hire me or not. Your brother wanted me to provide you with an assessment,” I sneer. “My assessment is that you need somebody to watch your ass, because sooner or later this guy will come for you. And he’s not going to just stand on the sidelines watching you. Eventually, he’s going to make a play for you. You can absolutely count on that. Do with that assessment what you will.”

  I stand up and throw my napkin. My eyes are still fixed on Felici
ty. She’s looking back at me with an expression of haughty irritation, but I can see the stark fear in her eyes. Which means I did my job and got through to her on some level. I dig some cash out of my wallet and toss it on the table.

  “Breakfast is on me. Good luck with it all,” I announce before I turn and walk out of the café.

  Felicity

  “He’s just trying to scare you. That’s all,” Maura waves me off.

  “Well, he did a good job of it.”

  I’m sitting in a restaurant with Maura a couple of days after my breakfast meeting with my brother and the meathead. She wanted to talk about something and asked me to meet her. I have no idea what it is, but she sounded really excited about it on the phone.

  Of course, I had to tell her about what Knox had said. I’d expected her to be up in arms about it all. She has really been nurturing the fiercely-independent, stand-on-my-own-two-feet, don’t-need-anybody-to-protect-me side of my personality. But surprisingly, she’s been pretty nonchalant about the whole thing.

  “So, what do you think?” I question.

  “About what?”

  Maura eyes me over the rim of her wineglass, and I wonder if she’s even heard a word I’ve said. I pick at the salmon on my plate, my mind a spinning, whirling mess. I hate to admit it, but Knox got into my head with his talk about this Elliott guy coming after me. I write dark mystery for a living. It’s not very hard for my imagination to conjure up a million different horrible scenarios when I think about having a stalker – each one worse than the last.

  “About needing security,” I remind her. “Until they get this guy off my back.”

  Maura lets out a breath. “Are you really sure this guy is –”

  “I’m not sure of anything, Maura,” I snap. “All I know is that this guy has shown up to the last two events, and in between them, he showed up outside my coffee house, then followed me down the street until I ducked into Peter’s office.”

  She taps her fingers against her cheek, watching me closely. “You’re really scared, aren’t you?”