“Mrs. Stassi, there are more visitors.”
Goodness.
“They’re Miss Stassi’s bodyguards.”
“Okay, hold please.”
I mute the call.
“Your bodyguards are in the lobby. Maybe you should let them know you’ll be down soon.”
“Or your boyfriend can keep them company.”
She glances over her shoulder and gives Granger a scathing look. Granger stares back with stony silence. Why didn’t he set the record straight, that we’re not lovers? Or did I read him wrong and he’s not interested in Gia?
Men.
I unmute the call and inform the front desk that Granger will be down to speak with the men.
He leaves, and Gia peppers me with questions.
“Is he so intense?”
Intense isn’t how I would describe my friend.
“Not normally.”
“How is he normally?” She separates the ten cases into two piles. I’m guessing she’s made up her mind on which cases my foundation should take on.
I hold back my smile. Gia Stassi is straightforward and decisive like her brother.
“Granger is thoughtful, perceptive, and protective. Those qualities can be mistaken for intensity.”
“You love him.”
“I care for him. He’s my best guy friend. I love your outfit.” I change the subject. My friendship with Granger is no one’s business but ours.
“My design.”
“All the pieces?”
“Down to the panties.”
She ducks her head, but I don’t miss her smile. She’s proud of her work, and rightly so.
“Classy. Sexy. Beautiful. I love how you pulled off the entire look.”
“You do?”
“Absolutely. My bestie would’ve put in an order the moment you walked through the door.”
Her eyes widen. “Really?”
“Yes.” Collins. The end-of-the-season football bash that I don’t have money for. My kidnapper. I get an idea. “What do you offer in the way of dresses? How long does it take from paper to me wearing one of your designs?”
“I have the drawings on my phone. And a week if you need them right away. Four weeks if it’s intricate. But I can make it happen within your time frame, no probs.” She sticks her hand in the pocket of her boy short panties and pulls out her cell.
“Wait a minute, those have side pockets?”
“Yep.” Shit-eating grin on her face. “Here are the designs. I can send you a screenshot and you can pick. Feel free to send to your friends too.”
“Sure thing.”
We exchange numbers.
“Are those boy shorts available in satin and with side pockets?”
“Yes. I also have garter belts and thigh highs with pockets. They’re great for storing cash, cell phone, or a weapon. A girl never knows when she’ll run into danger.”
She shrugs as though she couldn’t care less, but like me, she carries with her the nightmare of her trauma.
“I had a knife in my pocket when I was taken, but my kidnapper caught me by surprise. He came up from behind and drugged me.”
“Though you protected yourself, you were still helpless.”
“Very much so.”
“Do you have regrets about that night?”
“Many. I regret not listening to my family. Regret that my bodyguards took the punishment for my sneaking off. I regret putting my grandfather and cousins through the heartache of searching for me.”
“The news media said you were kidnapped on your way home from seeing your friend.”
“That’s what they were told. What no one knew is that I snuck out three days prior. My cousin Roman later told me my grandfather had his men looking all over Oakland for me.”
“You went missing for three days. The first forty-eight hours is the most important before the trail goes cold. It’s the reason you started your foundation.”
Gia is smart and perceptive.
“Yes. Putting my grandfather through my disappearance and kidnapping—” I heave a shuddering breath. “I’ll be forever remorseful for putting him through that kind of uncertainty.”
“What was your bodyguards’ punishment?”
“Gia—”
“Please, Blaise. I need to know. There was no mention of your bodyguards in the media.”
“They were beat for leaving me unprotected. That’s all I know. I’m sorry.”
“Have you made contact with them? Apologize for what your cousins did?”
“How do you know it was them who did the beating?”
“I’ve seen your cousins, Blaise. See the way they keep a watch over you. They’ll do what is necessary to make sure no one hurts you again.”
“My cousins and your brother are cut from the same cloth.”
“They are.”
Is that an admission of her brother’s involvement in her rapists’ mutilation? The doorbell rings. Gia rises from the couch.
“That’s probably your bodyguard. I should go.”
I stand and walk her to the door.
“When will you need the dresses by?”
“Is two weeks good?”
“That’s doable.”
“Thanks, Gia. And it doesn’t have to be a dress. Put me in an outfit of your choosing as long as the pieces are silk or satin.”
“You trust me that much?”
“You have style. Let’s show it off.”
“Silk is difficult to make happen quick.”
“Satin it is.”
“How about lace?”
“I’m open so long as it doesn’t touch my skin,” I tell her.
“Casual, dinner party, or clubbing?”
I smile, thinking of Maddox’s idea of sleeping in all day and going clubbing all night.
“Dinner party and clubbing. Casual is what you’re seeing now.”
She runs her gaze up and down my body. I have on a satin cream top and an ivory skirt. Up the length of my arms are gloves in a blood-red shade. Granger likes to call this my Snow White look.
“Your casual is chic.”
“Thank you.”
The doorbell rings again. We both glance at the monitor. Granger is on the other side. He’s scowling.
“You should let him in. He looks ready to take a chunk out of someone.”
I open the door. Granger steps off to the side and lets Gia by. His heated gaze follows her as she makes her way to the elevator.
“Do you need me to escort you down?” he asks, not hiding well the unhappiness in his voice.
I shake my head. This guy. He can’t decide whether he should leave Gia alone or ask her out. In the years I’ve known him, Granger’s never had a serious relationship. There’s the rare second date he insinuates to me about; otherwise, he keeps mum about his personal life. He’s too busy sticking his nose in mine.
“I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.” She disappears inside the elevator. “See you soon, Blaise.”
The doors close. Granger looks from the elevator to me with a mixture of annoyance and anticipation.
“Get used to her being around, big guy. Now let’s get back to work. Gia’s made the decision for us.”
“It’s like that now, huh?”
“Like what?”
“Opening your life to another person in need.”
“Gia’s not in need of anything or anyone. You heard her. She’s more than capable of taking care of herself.”
“Not from what her bodyguards yapped about. She’s on the verge of being homeless, Blaise.”
A flood of anger washes over me. “How could Maddox not help his only sibling?”
“My guess is he has, but Gia refuses. Is pride worth going hungry and living on the streets?”
“You tell me, Granger? You were in a similar situation.”
Granger tsks and, leaning in close, says near my ear, “Remember, little one, I could’ve taken your life for what you stole. Instead, I gav
e you the gift of time. Don’t ever forget it.”
His breath is hot on the shell of my ear. From any other man, I would’ve taken his words as a threat, but from Granger, I interpret it as something else—a reminder of our bond.
I cup his face and whisper near his ear, “Never. I’ll never forget.”
And if my hunch is true, Granger is more than my bodyguard and friend. Granger Ward could be my half-brother.
20
Maddox
The hallways of the high school located in the center of the development I’m aiming to redevelop reeks of pot and a mustiness that I assume is attributed to age and neglect. The building could use a refresh, or more like a bulldozing over if I had my way. But the school district gave me strict orders to leave the building alone.
The surrounding businesses, though, are fair game.
At the door to the principal’s office, I knock.
“Come in.”
As soon as I walk inside, the principal rises from his seat, walks over, and extends his hand to me.
“Maddox. It’s nice to see you.”
I shake his hand. “Nice to see you too, sir.”
“Please take a seat.”
I occupy the chair across from him. Joe Williams is a big, burly African-American man with a booming voice and a friendly smile. He is my in to convincing the surrounding businesses that redevelopment is the best course for the survival of their homegrown businesses.
“How is Leigh? Last I heard, she’s living in Washington.”
“She’s doing well, sir.”
“How’s the Bugatti?”
“Still burned to a crisp and crushed like a soda can.”
“You haven’t sent the thing to the junkyard?”
“Nah. I’m keeping it for sentimental reasons.”
“It’s how you and Leigh met.”
“Yes, sir.”
People love a great tale of how a friendship came to be, and Joe is one of them from the smile on his face.
“Congrats on your marriage.”
“Thank you, sir.” I resist the urge to check my cell. The head of my security called earlier saying he had a development in Blaise’s kidnapping case but would rather the conversation happen in person rather than over the phone lines.
Figures. Roland is paranoid as fuck after his experiences working undercover for the narcotics unit back in Atlanta.
“You’re a busy man, and though I welcome your visit, school lets out in ten minutes, and my presence is needed at the front entrance. I keep the kids in line and scare off the misfits.”
He pulls aside his jacket. The big man is packing some serious firepower.
“What brings you in today, Maddox?”
“I’d like your help convincing the businesses that redevelopment is in their best interest.”
“Tearing what they’ve built and replacing their hard work and source of pride and joy with a white man’s vision is in their best interest?”
“Sir, if I can be blunt, Leigh was carved up like a pumpkin and whipped with an electrical cord a few blocks from here. No one should have to endure what she went through. The redesign will include ample lighting and security cameras. Streets, buildings, and the layout will be designed with security and safety in mind as well as a sense of community. The businesses will have a say in what their storefronts look like. I aim to please.”
“Out of altruism for Leigh and what she’d endured?”
“Yes.”
The warning bell sounds. He pushes back his chair and rises. I stand too.
“I’ll speak with the businesses, but first you must give them the promise that Cillian McCabe won’t rain hell on them. This is his territory whether you like it or not, Maddox.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll do my best.”
I leave Joe’s office with my hands jammed in the pockets of my trousers and my shoulders hunched. Getting Cillian’s cooperation is comparable to convincing a dentist to gorge on a bowl of Halloween candy.
The final bell rings. Kids rush out of the classrooms. A familiar voice rises above the chatter and the slamming of doors on walls. I make my way to the classroom where the voice came from. Sure enough, a ghost from my past is picking up chairs off the floor and setting them on the desks, seat down.
“Let me help you with that.”
Kristine looks up. Surprise on her beautiful face.
“Maddox?”
“Hi, Kris.”
My palm cups the back of my head. My sight strays to her left hand. No ring.
“How are you?”
“How am I? How are you?”
Pieces of hair fall over her eye. I reach out and brush away the fiery red locks. Her jade-green eyes widen.
“I’m good.”
We stare at one another. Time stops. It’s been six years since Kris broke my heart and moved away to Massachusetts for college. I wasn’t invited to follow her.
“Congrats on your marriage, Maddox. She’s beautiful.”
Her voice is soft and filled with regret. Regret for what? That she broke up with me and now I’m married to someone other than her?
“She is,” I answer, not regretting my decision to marry Blaise.
Will she ever leave the safety of my penthouse? What can I do to break through her armor? Is three months enough time or do I need a lifetime? What exactly does that look like? Nights filled with kink using satin and silk, but never going all the way?
Shit, what if she never lets me touch her with my bare hands? Something’s gotta give, and I have a feeling that something is me conceding to Blaise’s whim. Otherwise, permanent isn’t in the cards. Am I ready to concede?
I refocus on the woman in front of me. I conceded to Kris and got nothing in return except heartache. Conceding to Blaise won’t get me far. Conceding leads to compromising, and compromises are land mines filled with heartache.
“What are you doing teaching here? I figured you’d be at some Ivy League college.”
Kris’s dream was to get her graduate degree in mathematics and teach at the university level. She’s beautiful as well as smart, a willowy figure who looks vulnerable but is one of the strongest people I know. She helped her mother through her cancer diagnosis, and all while making arrangements to bury her father after he died in the line of duty as a cop.
“Principal Williams is an old friend of my dad’s. He asked if I would like to work for him. The school’s been having a difficult time getting teachers in here. The pay’s not the best, and the learning environment is horrible. Fights break out daily. Drugs are sold inside and outside the school. I’m here to do my part and honor my dad’s memory.”
That’s right. Her father was involved in a lot of the community outreach programs.
“He’d be proud of you, Kris.”
“I miss him.”
Tears pool in her eyes. I pull her into my arms.
“I’m sure you do, darling.”
“Maddox, I’ve missed you.”
Her bare hands splay across my shoulders. Warm. Small. There are no barriers between her skin and my shirt. No satin gloves or sheets preventing her from feeling my body heat.
“Can I see you again, Maddox? There’s so much I’d like to tell you.”
She needs closure. I do too.
“How about I take you out for lunch on Saturday? Shit, are you free? Will your boyfriend or fiancé mind?”
“No boyfriend, so no worries. I’m free Saturday. Pick me up at noon? We can catch up at our favorite hangout.”
The café a few blocks from my penthouse with to-die-for French dip and Kris’s favorite dessert—eclairs. We exchange numbers.
“Maddox, will your wife mind?”
“She’ll be fine with it.” Didn’t she encourage me to get ahold of Kris and get my closure?
“Good. See you Saturday.”
“See you, Kris.”
Yet why do I have the gut feeling this decision will come back and bite me in the ass?
21
>
Maddox
“Give me what you have, Roland.”
As soon as I left the school, I booked it to Roland’s place. We’re seated at the kitchen table. Minus the stack of dishes in the sink, his modest-sized house on the east side of San Francisco is spotless, thanks in part to his OCD for cleanliness. He’s also a stickler for attention to detail.
And the devil is in the details.
“Look at these pictures carefully and tell me what you see.”
“I see a picture of Blaise with a bunch of guys in security gear carrying guns. These here”—I tap at the picture—“are naked dead guys missing their heads and their hands. How recent and what are the men’s connection to Blaise?”
I pick up the picture of Blaise and the men. She’s smiling, a vision of innocence in her school uniform. The picture must’ve been taken before her kidnapping.
“A week ago. The dead men are Lance Charon and Randall Daly, identified by their tats. They are two of three men assigned as Blaise’s bodyguards. Tobias Phelan, the third bodyguard, is unaccounted for.”
“And the others?” Three men on either side of Blaise.
“They are part of the same security detail hired on by her cousin Rylan. They are also unaccounted for.”
“Four missing men. Two dead guys.” Sounds like the punchline to a sick joke. “What’s your hunch?”
“Revenge killings. Word on the street is their deaths are mob hits.”
Heads and hands cut off, making it difficult to identify the men.
“My men and Blaise’s are attempting to track down the missing guys.”
“And the girl who lured Blaise into the alleyway, did you find her?” I set the picture of Blaise and her security team over the one of the dead men.
“No, and I doubt we will. Everyone in that neighborhood aren’t saying jack shit, Maddox. They’re scared.”
I push back my chair and rise. “Thanks, Roland. Keep me apprised. When you find the men, let me know ASAP.”
“Yeah, sure.” He walks me to the door. “There’s something else, Maddox. You were right to listen to your gut. A quarter of a million dollars was deposited into Arthur Lexington’s account the day after his brother’s death from a business I’m having a hard time locating. Toxicology reports came back negative. The autopsy report rules cause of death as a heart attack in his sleep.”
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