by G. K. Parks
My phone rang, and I smiled. Glancing at the house, I saw the lights turn on as Martin entered and went from room to room.
“What are you wearing?” he teased.
“A string bikini.” Based on the lights, he was in the kitchen now. “Come outside.” A moment later, the back door opened, and Martin stood in the doorway. “You’re overdressed.” I hung up and put the phone on the table as he came over to me.
“Goddamn.” He was the only person who could make a single curse sound so sexy and appreciative. “Had I known you weren’t kidding, I would have been home hours ago.” He sat on the edge of the chaise, his eyes traveling the length of my outstretched body. My right hand was in a brace, but at least it was removable and not a cast. The bruises on my face vanished, and my hip was a slight yellowish green. “In my mind, a string bikini is more string and less bikini.” His eyes met mine, and I saw the green irises dance. “But this is still pretty fucking fantastic.”
“And just think, we haven’t even gotten to the fantastic part yet.”
He laughed. His hand started at my calf and traveled up my side, coming to rest on the bottom band of my bikini top. He ran his fingers along the string as I attempted to untie his tie with my left hand. “How are you?” he asked, having abandoned the playfulness for a moment.
“Relieved.” I glanced at the hearth, and he followed my gaze as if understanding its significance. Reaching for his wrist, I manipulated his watch around to see the time, having abandoned my quest to undo his tie. “Happy to spend the next sixty hours with you, even if it’s not the beach.” I glanced at the pool. “I thought about having some sand trucked in, but it would make a mess.”
“In that case, I’m glad they installed the new solar heating panels for the pool last week.” He stood up. “I’ll be back in a minute. I’m going to change and grab the champagne.”
* * *
When I woke up the next day, Martin wasn’t in bed. Instead, I found him downstairs in his home office, reading and making notes. Unfortunately, we had bad timing. Just when my job hit a lull, his was kicked into high gear. Padding back upstairs, I spent too many sleepless nights in recent weeks that I would make the most out of my free weekend.
The mattress shifted, causing me to awaken. “Are you finished working?” I asked sleepily.
“For now,” he replied, wrapping his arms around me. “I didn’t realize you were awake before. I figured after last night and this morning, you deserved some sleep.”
“What time is it?”
“Four.”
“You’re kidding, right?” I glanced at the clock, amazed half the day was gone. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I asked for a weekend, and I’m spending more time with the computer than you.”
“They say porn can be an addiction,” I teased. A ringing phone broke our banter, and sighing, I wasn’t sure which would be worse, mine or his.
“Sorry, that’s me.” He grabbed the phone off the night table and went back downstairs.
By the time he concluded his call, I had showered and dressed. We were in the midst of determining plans for dinner when my phone rang. “Parker,” I answered, hoping it wasn’t the precinct deciding they should arrest me for the assault, concealing evidence, or the other assault. Maybe Martin was right, and I needed to stop hitting people.
“Are you standing me up?” Maddock Howell asked.
“Crap,” I muttered. “Sorry, I am. Something came up.”
“Really? Or you just decided against hearing my pitch?”
“Both.” No reason to sugarcoat things. “Although,” I paused to make sure Martin was out of earshot, “you might as well be the first to know, I’m done working these corporate gigs.”
“You’re still at Martin Technologies, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but that’s it. Mr. Howell, I’m sure you’re aware I used to be a federal agent. My heart remains with resolving criminal matters, not corporate ones.”
“I see.” There was a brief pause. “In the event you ever change your mind, Miss Parker, please give me a call.”
“I won’t but thanks for the offer.”
“Most of the time, I would assume this was a negotiating tactic, but strangely enough, I believe you.”
As I disconnected, Martin came back into the room, eyeing me suspiciously. “Who was that?”
“No one important. Just an appointment I missed. Part of the perils of calling in favors when working for Francesca.” A look crossed Martin’s face, but he didn’t say anything. “We have a lot to celebrate, don’t we? O’Connell’s niece is safe. He’s okay. I’m not in jail. You’re not in jail for obstructing a police investigation or lying. The leak at Hover Designs was identified.” I offered a moment for him to fill in the blank, but he didn’t. “And of course, your company is somehow aligning itself with Hover Designs.”
“Did she tell you?” he asked, shocked.
“No. Well, not in such explicit terms. Instead, she asked if I referred to you as Mr. Martin when we were in bed.”
“What?” The shock might have just turned to anger.
“Hey, she isn’t my ex, so what the hell do I know about the things the two of you used to do.”
“We were never that formal,” he responded, probably out of reflex. “What does that have to do with the merger? I didn’t tell you because it’s not finalized yet and could be construed as insider trading. No one outside the Board knows.”
“You must realize I do this for a living. Supposition, deductive and inductive reasoning, it’s kinda my thing.” He laughed at his own stupidity. “Don’t worry, I’m also great at keeping things quiet.” That was the story of my life lately.
“I wanted to tell you,” he attempted to apologize, but I stopped him.
“As long as your company is the only thing merging with Francesca, then it’s fine.” I smiled. “Congratulations, I guess.”
“Thanks.” He still looked glum. “Of course, that’s why I have seventy meetings scheduled for this coming week, and the only thing I wanted was to escape work for one weekend.”
“It’s okay. We’ve always agreed to put work first. Last time, it was on me. This time, it’s on you. Maybe we’ll have better luck next time.”
* * *
Sunday night, I was draped across Martin’s chest as our breathing stabilized. He was gently rubbing his thumb across my knuckles as we remained in the quiet bliss. There were ten hours remaining to our weekend, and although short and interrupted by his work, I was glad to have some time off.
“Y’know, you could never wear a ring,” he commented, tracing his thumb along my ring finger, “you’d end up taking half a guy’s face off.”
“Don’t talk about rings,” I retorted, not enjoying this uncomfortable conversation topic.
“Alex,” he moved his hand to trace random patterns on my back, “if I thought for even a second there was the remote possibility that an engagement was something you wanted, I would have gone to Harry Winston or Cartier and tucked the black velvet jewelry box in my sock drawer, waiting for the perfect opportunity. But,” my heart jumped into my throat as I fought the fight or flight response, “I know it’s not. You’re here because you want to be. It’s not because you’re driven by a social construct or some misguided and outdated notion of what society expects. Sweetheart, the fact that you choose to be here means more than the promise of a ring or the idea of a marriage. I love that about you.”
“Jerk.” I hit him with my palm for freaking me out with talk of commitment. Yes, we were in a monogamous, committed relationship, but labels didn’t sit well. “Is that how it was when you proposed to Francesca? Societal pressure and thoughts of how things were supposed to be?”
“From the moment we started dating, she made a million plans for us. By our fourth date, she had china patterns picked out. There was no choice, no romance, it just seemed that this was what was expected. I was in my mid-twenties, and by the time we graduated from business school,
it seemed the appropriate, mature thing to do was get engaged so we could be married by thirty and start a family.”
“Is that something you even wanted?” We never talked about these things before. As far as I was concerned, the only thing that mattered for either of us was what happened after we met. With his history of sexual exploits and my career issues, we didn’t need to talk about the past. It was the past for a reason.
He pondered the question. “No. It’s what I thought my mom would have wanted. My dad would have found anything that detracted from work abhorrent, so maybe that added some appeal to the notion.” He shrugged. “We would have been divorced within the year. At the time, she wanted nothing more than to be a trophy wife, and I wanted to create an empire.”
“Aren’t you glad you have a girlfriend who understands putting work first?” I teased, kissing his neck and contemplating using a second round of lovemaking as distraction tactics.
“I’d rather put you first.” He was serious, and I leaned back to look him in the eye. “After everything, it’s obvious circumstances with us are often life or death. I don’t want to regret missed opportunities.”
“And on that note,” I rolled over, “wake me when you get up in the morning.” Serious conversation scared me. The only thing I knew for a fact was emotional attachment was an easily exploited weakness. It wasn’t that I didn’t feel the same way; I was just afraid to admit I felt the same way.
An hour later, neither of us were asleep. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “The things you say often surprise me. It’s hard enough putting up with playful Martin, but serious Martin scares the shit out of me.”
“My fault,” he murmured, “talking about Francesca after our romp wasn’t a well-executed idea. Neither of us do normal relationships well.”
“But we’re both pretty amazing at this one.” Snuggling against him, we fell asleep.
The next morning, I watched as Martin rushed around the house, collecting everything he needed for his numerous meetings. With his briefcase packed with files and notes, he poured a cup of coffee and took a seat at the table.
“I almost forgot, Heathcliff called yesterday while you were in the shower. He wanted to know if you wanted your jacket out of evidence or if you needed,” he squinted, trying to remember something, “a copy of the form to file to be reimbursed.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I’d have you call him back.” He put the mug in the sink. “All right, I’m going to be late if I don’t leave now.” I scrutinized his evasiveness, not letting him escape that easily. “For the record, I don’t like finding out your clothing got shot. It’s preferable to you being shot, but it’s still too damn close.”
So that’s what last night was about. I sighed. “Close doesn’t count.” I considered the almost bullet to the back of the head. Way too close, but that was neither here nor there.
“Okay,” he collected his briefcase, “you’re welcome to stay as long as you like.” He gave me a quick kiss and headed for the stairs. His driver and bodyguard were in the garage waiting for him.
Forty-seven
After Martin left, I stopped by the precinct to fill out the reimbursement form and yell at Heathcliff for letting the cat out of the bag. None of that took very long. Everything was quiet at the police station. The frayed nerves were repaired, and everyone who worked overtime had the day off. The officers at work looked ready to deal with whatever new conflicts the city was facing.
Unlocking my apartment, I couldn’t help but notice the glaringly obvious signs of a break-in. My apartment remained intact, but on the counter were my dossier that Mercer constructed and his business card. Written on the back were the words “emergency only” and a phone number. Checking the rest of my apartment, the only other thing I found out of place was a bag of potato chips I didn’t remember buying. Either I was losing it, or Bastian decided to leave a calling card too. Even though in a twisted way this was supposed to be an apology or comforting, the thought of Mercer in my apartment made me cringe. I had seen enough of their tech toys to wonder if they bugged my place. Yes, you’re paranoid, my internal voice commented.
Picking up my house phone, I dialed the OIO, listening for strange clicking noises. There weren’t any, but I still called in a favor with one of the tech geeks to sweep my apartment for any type of surveillance or listening devices. He agreed to come by around five and give the place the once over.
In the meantime, I owed Luc Guillot a huge apology and the level of professionalism he expected from me. I changed into a suit and went to the MT building. The final check had to be run on the protocols, and that would be the end of the security update.
As I entered the building, Jeffrey Myers greeted me. “Ms. Parker, the information you requested concerning your security card is in your office.”
“Thanks.”
I went upstairs, suddenly dreading what else Mercer stuck his nose into. On top of my desk was a manila envelope and inside was a list of accessed files. Turning on the computer, I conducted a search of each file. My on-file résumé had been opened and a related internal memo outlining my brief stint serving as Martin’s personal security. When Mercer said he knew more about me than I imagined, he wasn’t lying or embellishing. Hell, he probably knew my bra size too. At least no sensitive corporate material was compromised. The paranoid part of my brain hoped Martin’s safety wasn’t either.
Phoning Guillot’s assistant, she put a meeting on the books for one this afternoon. With some free time to kill, I went down to HR to see how the hiring for the internet security specialist was going. Interviews had been conducted last week, and the new hire was starting Wednesday. At least my involvement in the kidnapping case didn’t harm my corporate job any. Frankly, they got along better without me.
At one o’clock, I met with Guillot. We scheduled the protocol review for Thursday so we could include the new hire in the assessment. As I stood to return to my office, he surprised me. “Ms. Parker, I’m glad to see you’re much more put together today. Although, the way you worked when,” he tried to think of a polite term to use, “you were frazzled was amazing.”
“What can I say? I work well under pressure.” I took a deep breath. “Sir, after the protocols are checked and everything is running normally, you should look for someone to replace me. I can’t do this job anymore.”
He nodded. “Mr. Martin warned me this might happen. May I ask what you plan to do instead?”
“When I left the OIO, I hoped to become more of an investigator than a corporate consultant. It’s about time I make use of the office space I’ve been renting.”
“Ah,” he smiled, recalling the assistance I provided one of his wife’s friends, “you make a fine P.I. I wish you the best of luck. I’ll have HR start the search this afternoon. I assume it’ll take a month to find a replacement, but whoever we hire won’t be nearly as astute.”
“Thank you, sir.” Smiling, I left his office.
* * *
After the tech swept my apartment and found nothing suspicious, I still had an uneasy feeling. Maybe it was my imagination or the fact that Mercer had dug through my federal, corporate, and private background to determine who he was working with that left me feeling naked and exposed. Or more than likely, it might have something to do with the fact Martin was worried about my most recent near miss. Regardless of reasoning, I packed a bag for a week, locked my apartment, and went to his place.
It was after nine when he got home from work, exhausted and shocked to find me still at his house. “I was wondering if it’d be okay if I stayed here for a while.” My voice sounded sheepish, even to my own ears.
“Absolutely.” He looked puzzled. “Have you reconsidered moving in? That offer is still on the table.”
“No,” I shook my head, “but since you’re so busy, I thought maybe I’d hang around. I’m sure we’ll barely see one another with your long hours, but there is something to be said about sleeping next to you.”
<
br /> “Admit it, you’re just here because you missed the sofa.”
“That too.”
“Is everything okay?” he asked as I followed him upstairs while he changed out of his suit.
“I quit my job today.”
“Does this mean I can finally tell my friends we’re dating?” he teased.
“Wait until Guillot’s found my replacement before you start shouting it from rooftops.”
“Okay.” He assessed me, tilting his head to the side. “I worry about you, and I know you hate that. But it is nice to see that you’re in a good place, even after everything that happened with O’Connell and his niece. Sometimes, you get lost in this sea of negativity that surrounds you.” I put my finger to his lips to silence him.
“Recently, it’s been pointed out that I need to accept who I am and what I do.” I thought of Mercer in the back of the van. “It’s time I get my life back on track and stop hiding from things I can’t change.”
* * *
Almost four weeks later, I cleaned out the few personal effects in my MT office. Something about leaving was depressing. Maybe it was the closing of a door, but that notion was ridiculous. My attachment to MT had nothing to do with the job. I loathed the job. But in a way, it was my beginning. The start of a life I never planned to have. Even though I resisted it, somehow things fell into place. I had Martin, a great group of friends, and the freedom that I never had and never realized I wanted.
