Wordless

by Sabrina Stark

  "I know." And yet, he still said nothing.

  I remained silent, determined to wait him out. And for once, it actually paid off.

  "All right," he finally said. "Here's the deal. You remember that fight you got into?"

  Embarrassingly, I'd gotten into two fights since I'd met him – one with Imogen and one with Darbie's friend. With a nervous laugh, I asked, "Which one?"

  With no trace of humor, he said, "You know which one."

  Of course I did. After all, we were talking about that godawful shirt, which had nothing to do with Imogen.

  "Yeah," I said. "I was making a joke." Quickly I added, "And just so you know, I don't normally do that."

  "Do what? Joke?" A hint of humor crept into his voice. "Or fight?"

  As if he didn't know. "You know exactly what I mean. I’m just saying, it's not like I intended to fight with either one of them. And they weren't really fights anyway."

  Jack gave me a sideways glance, but said nothing.

  "They weren't," I insisted. "They both just kind of happened. And technically, the thing with Imogen wasn't a fight at all. Mostly, I fell on her, which hardly counts since it was sort of an accident."

  Was I rambling?

  Probably.

  But I knew why. Something in his demeanor was making me nervous, and I was getting the distinct impression that whatever he was about to tell me, it was worse than I might've imagined.

  He was silent for nearly two whole blocks. But then, at the next red light, Jack turned and gave me a serious look. "The thing is, your undershirt, it didn't hide much."

  Heat flooded my face. "You mean my camisole? Uh, yeah. I know. But I wasn't counting on anyone seeing it."

  "Then you counted wrong."

  I almost winced. I really had made a giant spectacle of myself, even if that hadn't been my intention. "Then I guess I owe you an apology, huh?"

  "Forget that."

  As if I could. And now, adding to my embarrassment was the fact that I hadn't apologized sooner. If he were a normal boss, I might've apologized up and down by now. But the truth was, he didn't feel like a boss at all.

  He felt like something else. I just didn't know what.

  Regardless, I needed to say it. "Just for the record, I really am sorry. I should've told you sooner. And honestly, it's not the kind of thing–"

  "Stop."

  I bit my lip. "Stop what? Apologizing?"

  "Stop all of it." His gaze locked on mine. "I'm trying to tell you–"

  "I know what you're trying to tell me."

  As my face burned and my palms grew sweaty, I forced myself to say it so he didn't have to. "I know people got glimpses or whatever of my, um, chest, I guess. And I know that's not terrific. But honestly, it could've been so much worse, so in a way, I should be relieved."

  In the driver's seat, Jack turned forward once again. I followed his gaze and was surprised to see that the light had just turned green.

  Already, the cars ahead of us were moving again.

  As our own car moved forward, I asked, "How'd you know it was green? You weren't even watching."

  "Yeah I was."

  "But you didn't look like you were watching."

  "Peripheral vision," he explained.

  "Oh." I was pretty sure that everyone had it, but not to that extent. This, like so many other things, was something to remember. The guy missed absolutely nothing.

  And yet, he still hadn't answered my question. "So, about that ugly shirt," I persisted, "what was it? Some sort of reprimand, like a 'Shirt of Shame' or something?"

  "That's what you think?"

  "Actually, I don’t know what to think, because you still haven't explained why you didn't just grab a shirt from my hotel room." I tried to smile. "I even gave you the key, remember?"

  "I remember."

  I still had no idea what I was missing. "But…?"

  "Listen," he said. "A minute ago, you said it could've been worse, right?"

  "Right."

  "And it was."

  I studied his face in profile. "So you're saying that it was worse?" Bracing myself, I asked, "How?"

  "Pictures," he said. "Some video, too."

  I felt the color drain from my face. "What?"

  "You heard me."

  "So you're telling me that someone took pictures of me looking… what? Obscene?"

  "Not just pictures," he reminded me. "Videos, too."

  As if I needed the reminder. Still, this didn't make any sense. Jack was a world-famous celebrity. I was his assistant. We'd been at a very public place. If those pictures had gotten out, I surely would 've seen them somewhere by now. Right?

  I shook my head. "But I never saw anything."

  "Yeah." He frowned. "But I did."

  Now I was absolutely horrified. "So you saw the pictures? How?"

  He gave something like a shrug. "Buying them mostly."

  "What?" I sputtered. "From who?"

  "From whoever took them."

  "How?"

  "The usual way," he said. "I offered money. They accepted. Done deal."

  Reluctantly, I asked, "How much money?"

  "Not a lot."

  I bit my lip. "Do you mean, not a lot for you? Or not a lot for a normal person?"

  "Forget it," he said. "It doesn't matter."

  "It does too," I said. "I should pay you back."

  "If you want to pay me back," he said, "be more careful."

  Finally I understood why he hadn't told me on the way to the signing. With the way I felt now, I might've hidden in the car until I pulled myself together. And who knows how long that might've taken.

  Still, I had to ask, "Were you ever planning to tell me?"

  "No."

  "But why not?"

  "Because it's handled."

  I considered everything he'd told me so far. "But you never explained. The photos, how could you buy them?"

  "The easy way. With cash."

  "Forget the cash," I said. "I just mean, they were probably on someone's phone, right? So how exactly does that work?"

  "Simple," he said. "Forward the pictures and delete the originals."

  My stomach clenched. "Forward the pictures to who?"

  He was quiet for a long moment before saying, "Me."

  Oh, God. Now I really wanted to crawl into a hole and hide. "So you have obscene pictures of me? Seriously?"

  "I wouldn’t call them obscene."

  "You would, too," I said. "In fact, I'm pretty sure you just did."

  "No. You called them obscene. Not me."

  "But you didn't argue."

  When his only answer was a tight shrug, I said, "Do you still have them?"

  "I might."

  Talk about humiliating. "But why would you keep them? Don't you think that's a little intrusive?"

  Already, the small downtown area was firmly in the rear-view mirror. In the sky, the sun was creeping ever closer to the horizon. Soon it would be dark.

  Good.

  All the better to hide my embarrassment.

  "These photos," I said, "where are they now? On your phone?"

  "If you mean the phone I was carrying at the time, the answer's yes."

  I already knew he had multiple phones. But that wasn't the point. "But why keep them?" I asked. "Shouldn’t you just delete them or something?"

  "No."

  Great. So now I was embarrassed and annoyed. "But why not?"

  "Because," he said, "if any of those pictures come out, I'll want to know who cheated me."

  "Why?"

  "So I can deal with it."

  "How?" I asked. "You mean by suing them or something?"

  His tone grew a shade darker. "Something like that."

  At something in his voice, I stifled a shiver. I had a funny feeling that however he resolved it, the law wouldn't be involved. Or maybe that was just my imagination talking.

  Regardless, the whole thing was beyond unsettling. And now, for the sake of my own sanity, I h
ad to say it. "Show me."

  Chapter 40

  Jack

  Show her?

  Not a good idea. This conversation had gone too far already.

  It was becoming a habit, and not a good one. When it came to Becka, I said too much. I did too much. I thought too much.

  Shit. I looked too much.

  The truth was, I'd seen those photos more times than were decent, considering that I'd acquired them for her benefit, not mine. The first time I'd looked, it had been for a good reason – to buy the images and make sure they didn't get out in public.

  But looking a second time? Or a third? In private? It was something only a cad would do.

  But it hadn't started out that way.

  In the passenger's seat, she said, "I'm serious. I want to see them."

  "Why?" I asked.

  "Because I want to know how bad they are."

  "Don't worry. They're not."

  "But that can't be true," she protested. "You wouldn't have bought them if they were just fine."

  They were fine, all right – too fine for the public to see, even if Becka was too reckless for her own good.

  But that was part of the appeal. I'd been buttoned up so tightly for so long that her exuberance was like a magnet to my soul – making me feel things I hadn't in a long while.

  When I made no reply, she said, "I deserve to see them." In her seat, she turned to face me. "In fact, I want to buy them off you. I'll just pay what you paid."

  She couldn’t afford it. And, I wasn't about to give them up – not because I'd looked one time too many, but because that would defeat the purpose of my storing them in the first place.

  "You can't," I said.

  "But why not?"

  "I already told you. If they get out, I'll need to pay someone a visit."

  "Honestly, you don't need to do that."

  That's what she thought. "Hell if I don't."

  "But even if that happened," she said, "you wouldn't need the pictures, would you?"

  She was missing the point. "I would if wanted to match the picture with the taker."

  "You know what I think?"

  "What?"

  "I think you don't want to give them up."

  She was right. I didn't. But this wasn't exactly news. "I know. I told you as much."

  "And honestly, I think you like looking at them."

  It was an accusation – and true, which made me feel like a giant shit-heel. But already, I'd promised myself that I wouldn't be looking again – not unless someone welched on the deal.

  And in that case, she'd have bigger problems than me refusing to hand over the files.

  When I didn't deny it, she said, "What are you doing with them, anyway?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean, do you pull them out and laugh?"

  I didn't get it. "Why would I laugh?"

  "Why does anyone laugh?" she said. "Because they're funny."

  My jaw clenched. They weren't funny to me. "That's what you think?"

  "Well, that must be it," she said. "Or you'd put them on a memory stick or something and let me hold onto them."

  Some might agree with her logic. But me? I wasn't a trusting guy. I knew all too well that memory sticks could disappear the same as anything else, especially with a little help.

  I said, "And you think they're safe on a stick?"

  "Safer than with you," she said. "Because at least then I'd know that no one would be looking at them."

  "I promise," I said, "I'm not gonna look." I meant it, too. I was done with that. Yeah, I wanted another look. Who wouldn't? But looking without her say-so made me feel like a total dick.

  And, speaking of dicks, it didn't help that the brain down below liked the images nearly as much as I did. She was sweet and sexy, like the mythical girl next door, except if she were my neighbor, I'd be looking to move even closer.

  My fingers tightened around the steering wheel. What the hell?

  I was supposed to be acting like a big brother, not some pervert at the window. Still, the thought of anyone getting their hands on those images, well, I didn't like it.

  With a hard scoff, she said, "I mean, I know I'm not exactly Imogen."

  Imogen? I wasn't following. "What?"

  "I'm just saying, I've seen her pictures, like the ones she took at Flynn's place."

  "So?"

  "So I'm just saying I know you wouldn't need photos of me to get your kicks."

  I turned to look. "You're kidding, right?"

  "No." Her cheeks were red, and her mouth was tight. "But I’m just saying, I get it."

  "Get what?"

  "You know. There's that saying, why go out for burgers when you've got steak at home." She frowned. "Anyway, you get the gist."

  I did. And I didn't like it. I told her, "I like burgers."

  She rolled her eyes. "Yeah. I know. I heard at the signing. But I'm just saying, I realize you get steak all the time, so—"

  "So what?" I said. "You ever think that you're the steak?"

  With an awkward laugh, she said, "Actually, I'm not even sure I'm a burger." She glanced around. "And speaking of which, I'm starving. Would you mind hitting a drive-through on the way back?"

  "Screw that," I said.

  She stiffened. "Why?"

  "Because I'm taking you out."

  I hadn't meant to say it. But now that it was out there, I realized how much I wanted it, to spend some time with her outside of this so-called book tour.

  She replied, "You don't have to do that."

  "What, you're not hungry?"

  "That's not what I meant," she said. "I just know that you probably feel obligated or something. And you're not, honest. A drive-through is fine."

  Up ahead, on our right, was a bait and tackle store, closed for the night. I pulled into the parking lot and cut the engine.

  And then, I turned to face her. "You're nuts, you know that?"

  "Yeah, I know," she said. "You're making me nuts. So really it's your fault just as much as mine."

  "Oh yeah?" I said. "You ever stop to think that you're making me nuts, too?"

  "Why?" she said. "Because I'm such an awful employee?"

  "First off, you're not. And second, I'm not talking about your work."

  "So what are you talking about?"

  "You." My gaze locked on hers. "And you wanna know why?"

  "Why?"

  "Because you're steak and burger. And apple pie, too, while we're at it."

  "Oh shut up," she scoffed. "I am not."

  Now it was my turn to scoff. "Wanna bet?"

  She sighed. "Look, I'm just saying it's all relative. I know I've got my good points, and it's not like I think I'm ugly or anything. It's just that I know, well, compared to what you're used to looking at, it's not like you'd be jerking off to my stupid pictures."

  As the words echoed out between us, her hands flew to her mouth. "Oh, my God," she groaned. "I don't believe I just said that."

  Neither did I.

  But the truth was, her words hit harder than she knew. I hadn't jerked off to the pictures, but let's just say those images weren't far from my mind during my shower this morning. And last night, too.

  And now, she was sinking lower in her seat. She squeezed her eyes shut and said, "I just realized something."

  "What?"

  "Remember before today's book-signing, when you told me that I didn't want to know?"

  "I remember."

  "I should've listened." She opened her eyes and turned to face me. "As a matter of fact, can we just forget this conversation ever happened?"

  "No."

  "But why not?"

  "Because you've got it all wrong."

  "I've got what all wrong?"

  "Hang on," I said. "I'll show you."

  Chapter 41

  Becka

  At first, I wasn't quite sure what he meant. But then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone.

  Now I wanted to groan
all over again. "So I was right? You've got the photos on you?"

  "Just for now," he said. "Until I transfer them for safe-keeping."

  "To where?" I asked.

  "Forget that," he said, scrolling across the screen. "I want you to see what I see."

  Part of me wanted to bolt from the car. The other part realized that the sooner I got this over with, the better. After all, they couldn't be nearly as bad as I imagined.

  Could they?

  Reluctantly, I held out my hand. But he didn't drop the phone into it. Instead, he leaned sideways toward me and held out the phone in front of us, so we could both see the screen at the same time.

  At the first image, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I was lying on my back, with the brunette sprawled out beside me. My hair was wild, and my face was flushed. My skirt was hiked a lot higher than I'd realized at the time.

  As far as the skirt itself, its position wasn't so much indecent as suggestive, like with another inch or two, I'd be flashing my panties – or worse – for everyone to see.

  But the true horror lied in my shirt – or lack thereof. Yes, I was wearing it, but the buttons were gone, and the blouse was wide open. The camisole underneath was thin, skin-tight, and lacy, which had been the whole idea, considering that it had been serving double-duty as a bra.

  Regardless, it was not meant for public viewing – obviously. Through the lace of its sheer fabric, the outlines of my nipples were embarrassingly easy to see, even more so, considering that they were clearly erect, straining against the thin fabric.

  I heard myself mumble, "Stupid temperature."

  When Jack made no reply, I felt the need to explain. "It was really cold in there. I mean, you probably didn't notice because you're a guy. But it truly was freezing."

  Still, he said nothing.

  Fearing the worst, I slowly turned my gaze in his direction. He was still looking at the photo, and something in his expression made my nipples harden all over again.

  This time, it wasn't because of the cold.

  His gaze lingered on the image. "You wanna know what I see?"

  Now that was a loaded question. I looked back to the image and tried to laugh. "I don't know. An idiot?"

  "No." When he spoke again, his voice was nearly a caress. "That's not what I'm seeing." As he said it, he turned his head and looked straight in my direction.

  Fearful of making a fool of myself, I kept my gaze on the photo. Still, from the corner of my eye, I could just barely tell that he was still looking – not at the image, but at me.