Rebel North

by JB Salsbury

  Something bright blue catches my eye. It’s a color blue not typically found in garbage. Lapis. Unique. Expensive looking.

  A man’s wallet.

  I snag the blue billfold. The leather is textured like alligator skin. Part of me hopes there will be six million dollars inside, but the other part of me knows it doesn’t matter because I wouldn’t keep it anyway.

  The word FENDI is pressed into the inside in gold letters.

  “It is alligator.” This wallet must cost a fortune.

  No one with a working brain would throw away a wallet like this. My guess is it was stolen, stripped of cards and cash, and then tossed like, well, garbage. I dig through it, and, sure enough, the money slot is empty, and all the plastic is gone. They even took the owner’s ID.

  But I don’t need the ID to guess who the wallet belongs to. My guess is the owner is Mr. Handsome Pants with the great mouth and bone structure.

  I’m sure he’d be grateful to get his wallet back. I sift through the slots looking for some evidence of his name or home address.

  I pull out a business card with an embossed logo for a company called North Industries. The card is for someone named Alexander North. Is this Mr. Handsome Pants? I think back to his face and imagine him as an Alexander. The name doesn’t seem exotic enough to match the man’s regal beauty. On the back of the business card, scribbled in ink, is the name James and a phone number with a Manhattan area code. I keep digging. Tucked deep into a slot in the back is an insurance card.

  “Kingston North,” I whisper. “North Industries.”

  That must be where he works. If not, someone there must know him and how to get ahold of him to return his things.

  I tuck the wallet into my purse and hit the Uber app on my phone. One stop, then I’m going home to sleep for a week.

  Kingston

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

  Hayes’ angry voice wakes me from my midday nap, where I’m buried behind a stack of paperwork. I assume he’s barking at one of his employees again—he really is a shit boss—so I rearrange my paper barrier and fall back to sleep.

  “Did you get the email?” he yells, startling me awake again.

  Earplugs. I make a mental note to bring some with me tomorrow.

  “You better not be sleeping in there, asshole!”

  I drag my eyes open and slowly push myself up from my hunched-over position at the table. “Are you talking to me?”

  I hear the wheels of his chair roll, and I rush to make it look like I’ve been working this entire time. “What’s up, bro?” I say a little too brightly when he pokes his head into my closet office. If North Industries is my prison, my office is The Hole.

  He scowls. “You were sleeping.”

  “I was not. And I’m insulted you’d accuse me—”

  “I can see the indentation from your Montblanc cufflinks on your cheek.”

  Shit. “How do you know I didn’t do that on purpose? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some very important ABC order to finish up—”

  “Check your email.”

  “Why?” I pull out my new phone and see I have thousands of unread emails. I never check email. If someone needs to get in touch with me badly enough, I expect they’ll call. “Did you finally reply to my resignation letter?”

  He’s doesn’t look at all pleased with my wildly entertaining sense of humor. “It’s an evite.”

  “Who the fuck sends evites?”

  “My mother, apparently.”

  “Huh.” I search for my stepmother’s name in my inbox. “I thought I’d blocked her,” I mumble. Balloons dance on the screen, and I see my dad’s name. “She’s throwing a party for the Old Man this weekend?”

  “Wow. You can read,” he says dryly.

  His dig delivers a direct hit, but I school my expression, so he doesn’t know. I’ve been doing it all my life. “I’m not going. I have plans.”

  “What plans?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to make some.”

  He leans a shoulder on the door frame, making the space feel infinitely smaller. “You’re going to dip out on your dad’s seventieth birthday party?”

  “I—”

  “The same man who has been supporting you for the last how many years now?”

  I don’t appreciate him throwing that shit in my face. “Don’t—”

  “You’ve been on the payroll since you were seventeen years old.”

  “Thanks for the news, Hayes. What’s the weather?” Shame and humiliation weigh on my shoulders.

  “The weather, Romeo, is stop being a selfish, spoiled prick and go to his fucking birthday party.” He turns and storms away.

  I flip him off and mutter a string of curse words.

  “I heard that!”

  I push up from my desk, which is a very liberal term for the four-legged table I’ve been assigned to work at. “I’m taking a break.”

  He checks his watch. “You had your lunch break an hour ago.”

  I ignore him and walk right past him and out of the office.

  What’s he going to do, fire me?

  Four

  Gabriella

  When my Uber pulls up to the gleaming glass high rise, I practically pull a neck muscle taking in the enormity of North Industries. My stomach rolls with nerves. I haven’t been to the city in a long time, and what little memories I have are bittersweet.

  The Manhattan elite are no longer my people. They have very little tolerance for people like me who spoil their view from the top.

  Rather than ask the Uber to wait, I decide to make the forty-dollar fare worth it and grab a giant pretzel in Central Park for dinner and take a little walk down memory lane.

  I pay the driver, crawl out of the car, and face the tall glass doors in front of me. Rooted in place, a frustrated man in a business suit with a bald head and one diamond earring sneers as he passes me. I resist the urge to stick out my tongue at him and follow him inside.

  The lobby is bustling with activity. I jump out of the way before getting mowed over by a group of executives with their heads buried in their phones.

  Both men and women are dressed in power suits, their heels and shoes polished to a shine, and I’m suddenly painfully aware of how out of place I am in my scrubs.

  I pull the elastic of my ponytail out and hide behind my hair. If I’m going to do this, I need the shield.

  “Welcome to North Industries. Can I help you?” A brunette woman with a big smile greets me. Her light eyes sparkle with friendliness but blink rapidly when they settle on my scar. She clears her throat. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “I’m here to see Kingston North?”

  Her eyelids drop a fraction in suspicion. “Is Mr. North expecting you?”

  “I’m returning his wallet.”

  She seems to mull that over and then hits a couple of buttons on her phone and presses the receiver to her ear. She angles her body away from me as if it’ll somehow keep me from hearing her. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s a woman here to see Kingston.” I hear a couple of mm-hmms and fully expect her to hang up the phone and tell me to get lost. “She says she has his wallet?” More mm-hmms.

  This guy must be pretty important if he needs a sentry.

  “You can go on up,” she says and hangs up the phone.

  “Go where exactly?”

  “Executive level. Turn right out of the elevator, and Mary will help you.”

  The heat of curious eyes burns my skin as I wait for a chance to race into the elevator and hide. Only, when I do get inside, I end up surrounded by people who dress like they have money and smell like newly printed bills. The elevator car stops a few times until finally hitting the executive floor. A man races out from behind me, and I’m reminded how everyone in Manhattan is always in a hurry to get somewhere.

  I stand out of the way of traffic and take in the office space. Not at all what I expected from a stuffy New York corporation. The room is sp
acious and airy. The glass walls let in sunlight, and every office has a floor-to-ceiling view of the city. A blonde woman lifts her eyes from her computer screen as I approach.

  “I’m looking for Kingston North.”

  She, too, seems a little confused after taking me in. Either Kingston doesn’t often get female visitors, or he doesn’t often get female visitors who look like me. My guess is the latter.

  She picks up her phone and hits a button, apparently reaching out to another gatekeeper, and I wonder how many of these I’ll have to get through. She directs me where to go and tells me to ask for Danielle. I do as I’m told, and finally, after one more phone call, Danielle leads me to an office decorated like something out of an interior design magazine. I only have a second or two to admire it before a man peers up from his desk, looking wholly perturbed.

  “Mr. North,” Danielle says, her hands balled in front of her as if to keep them close for fear they may be bitten off. “This woman is here to see Kingston.”

  He sets a pair of cold, hazel eyes on me. “You’re here for Kingston.”

  I pull the wallet out of my pocket and show him. “Only to give him his wallet back.”

  His gaze drops to the wallet and then slides to Danielle, where he nods once to dismiss her. She backs out of the room quickly. His attention completely on me makes me feel exposed, vulnerable, and a little scared.

  He stands and motions to the chairs that face his desk. “Come in. Have a seat.”

  “Um…” I turn back to the door and find it closed. Danielle must have some super silent powers to have done that without me hearing it. “I’m sorry, maybe I have the name wrong. Are you Kingston North?”

  His eyes narrow in suspicion, and he doesn’t hide his inspection of my face. “No.”

  I absently touch my temple, where my scar disappears into my hairline. “They made it sound like he’d be here—”

  “Why don’t you sit down.” He motions again to a chair.

  I sit on the edge of the seat, my nerves making it impossible to get too comfortable. I met an old psychic last year. She came to visit her sister, who was in the final stages of breast cancer. She’d cleanse her room with sage and lay crystals around the bed. She taught me about auras, and this guy is giving off some serious red—passion, ego, danger, warning. Guys like this feed off fear, and I’m no one’s pig trough.

  He stands in front of me, leans back against his desk, and crosses his ankles. “How do you know my brother?”

  Brother? Strong brow line, full lips, hazel eyes. Not nearly as pretty, but that might have something to do with his fuck-off expression.

  I don’t know how much Kingston has told his brother, but I’m not about to rat him out.

  I stand and hold out the wallet. “If you could return this to him for me, I’ll get out of your hair.”

  “Answer my question.” He folds his arms over his chest.

  Yep, he’s a dick. I mirror his stance. “No.”

  The corner of his mouth ticks up. “You’re the woman he blacked out with.”

  “Hold on… he didn’t black out with me.”

  He shrugs. “Semantics.”

  Is he implying what I think he’s implying?

  “Your brother was mugged, and—”

  “What did you say?” His voice turns arctic-level cold, making the hairs on my arms stand on end. “He was mugged?”

  I slam my mouth shut.

  “Don’t hold back now, sweetheart—”

  “I’m not your sweetheart.”

  “What is going on in here?”

  I whirl around and, unprepared for the visual assault, I stumble back a step.

  It’s Mr. Handsome Pants. And although he looked incredible when he was passed out and hungover, he looks otherworldly hot now.

  His eyes are wide on me and bounce quickly to his brother before settling back on my face. “You,” he whispers.

  I instinctively pull hair over my scar.

  “You didn’t tell me you were mugged, fuckface.”

  I jump at Kingston’s brother’s growl.

  Kingston notices, and his wide eyes grow narrow and swing to his brother. “Calm down.”

  “No. You fuck—”

  “Now, Hayes. I’m serious.” After a brief stare-off, Hayes backs down with a shake of his head.

  Seeming satisfied, Kingston turns to me, his posture stiff. “Hey.”

  Not a single intelligent word comes to mind, so I shove his wallet toward him.

  He spots his wallet, and I expect him to look happy or relieved, but he seems indifferent as he takes it from me.

  “I found it. There’s nothing in it.”

  He doesn’t even look, just lets it dangle in his hand at his side.

  “Except for a business card and an insurance card.” I motion to the wallet, but he keeps his eyes on mine. “It’s how I found you.” Pulling my hair across my lips, I mumble, “I hope that’s okay.”

  The air in the room hums with a charge of electricity—or maybe the warm sensation against my skin is the result of having two handsome, powerful men staring directly at me in close range.

  “What’s your name?”

  I rip my gaze from Kingston to Hayes, who asked the question. “Gabriella.”

  “I owe you money,” Kingston says. He pulls a sleek brown billfold from his pocket, and I swear I can smell the leather from here. He fishes out a few bills, folds them, and offers them to me, pinched between two long fingers.

  I take the money and stuff it into my pocket.

  “She paid for my Uber home,” I hear Kingston say. I assume answering his brother’s unspoken question.

  “I can’t believe you were mugged,” Hayes grumbles. “You should’ve called me.”

  “They stole my phone, and I couldn’t remember anyone’s number.”

  Hayes rubs his eyes and then shakes his head. “Then you’re lucky Gabriella here found you.” He circles around to his desk chair and mumbles, “Dumbass.”

  I shift on my feet, my soles tingling with a desire to get away. “I should go.”

  Kingston steps aside, allowing me to pass, and stares at the floor.

  “Hold on,” Hayes says from a casual position, leaning back in his chair like some kind of corporate god. “I can’t just let you leave without properly showing my appreciation for what you did for my brother.”

  “Hayes,” Kingston says softly but with a stiff venom.

  Hayes smiles. “We have a party coming up. Why don’t you let Kingston take you as his guest.”

  “That’s not necessary. I was happy to help.”

  “Nonsense.” Hayes motions toward Kingston, who is still looking at the ground. “Bring Gabriella, ya know, as your date.”

  A muscle in Kingston’s jaw jumps, and he licks his lips as if trying to bite back an angry response.

  “No, thank you,” I say firmly. “I’m not interested.”

  Kingston’s gaze meets mine, and there is tension in his stare, some internal struggle that has me leaning in for a closer look.

  “Oh, come on, it’ll be fun. And you’ll be doing Kingston a solid.” Hayes sounds lighter, more relaxed. Dare I say… friendly. “There’s no hope of him coming out of that closet anytime soon. Our family is kind of a nightmare. Bringing you will keep them off his back.”

  I study Kingston under a different lens. Incredible body, perfect hair, fashion sense, and he smells better than any man I’ve ever—oh.

  Ooh…

  Kingston is gay.

  He catches my eye, and whatever he sees in my expression makes him wince.

  Poor thing, he’s probably getting pressure from his wealthy, traditional family to get married and produce offspring. Old money can be so archaic.

  “I’ll do it.” With straight shoulders and a stiff spine, I nod. “I’ll go.”

  Kingston’s body seems to melt a little in his well-tailored suit. “You don’t have to—”

  “Are you kidding? I’d love to go.” If for
no other reason than to fuck with his family, who care more about their bloodline than they do about their own son’s happiness.

  “Great!” Hayes scribbles something down on a Post-it Note and hands it to me. “We’ll see you there.”

  I shove the note into my pocket, and as I pass Kingston on my way out, I stop in front of him.

  He hesitantly meets my eyes.

  “It’ll be okay,” I say softly and smile. “I gotchur back.” I reach out, squeeze his muscled bicep, and deny my hand permission to linger on the firm muscle there. “I’ll see you next week.”

  “Great,” he says with little enthusiasm.

  He’s worried.

  I don’t blame him.

  But he’s in good hands with me. I may have a love–hate relationship with the New York elite, but I know exactly how to handle this world of money and reputation.

  I was born into it.

  Kingston

  “You have no idea what you’ve done!” I pace the length of Hayes’ office, double fists in my hair and pulse racing.

  I was stuck in place for what felt like hours after Gabriella walked away. I couldn’t find my voice or sort my thoughts fast enough to reject Hayes’ stupid idea. Inviting Gabriella to my dad’s birthday party as my guest? Selfish prick.

  He wants to throw the redhead with the scarred face on my arm just to rile up our father, and usually, I’d be on board for his kind of fun, but not with her. Hayes is a cruel bastard. At the very least, he’s set Gabriella up for dirty looks and inappropriate comments. At the worst, well… I refuse to allow my mind to go there.

  “I got you a date for the party. You’re welcome.”

  I swing my arm out toward the door. “With her.”

  “Yes, with her.” He tilts his head. “She’s perfect. Feisty, outspoken, and you won’t be on August’s radar because he’ll be too busy looking at that nasty scar.”