by P Mulholland
“So you lived in Chicago for the three years you were with him?”
“Yeah. I didn’t want to go out on a date with him. I had no interest in football or any sport for that matter, but Isaac was screaming at me to go. Big brother is a huge fan of the Bears. I admit I was pleasantly surprised.” I took a forkful of mushroom risotto. “Life. It can take you where you least expect.”
“Is that the article that was published in the Tribune?” A wicked little grin slid across his face.
“Yeah.”
“Huh!” He rubbed his unshaven jaw, faking a moment of deep contemplation, like Sherlock Holmes deliberating over a crime scene.
“What?”
“Nice red bikini.”
“Uh yeah, that.” The journalist had found an old pic of me in a red bikini and published that pic with the article, instead of a recent one, or one with me on the vessel. I suspect that was one of the reasons Aaron contacted me. “I rarely wear bikinis and that happened to be the pic she chose to show the world. Or at least Illinois.”
“She knew what sells papers.” His warm eyes sparkled in mischievousness. I imagined a multitude of women lining up for this kid. All he’d need to do was click his fingers and a girl would appear, wearing cherry flavored lip-gloss and a tight skirt.
“I was nineteen or twenty. And the only reason I wore it was for a calendar we were making to raise money to clean up the beaches in San Diego.”
“What month were you?”
Jeez! He just couldn’t wipe that smile off his face. “July.”
“Damn, not my birthday month.”
His feet played with mine under the table. I didn’t know how to handle him. I still had to live the next five months with him, so I didn’t want to make him my enemy. But I had no desire to jump into bed with him either. He’s just a kid. A gorgeous looking kid, but still a kid. A kid who’s old enough to vote, drive a car and buy alcohol in Illinois. So he’s officially an adult, but still…
I turned up for work at the headquarters of Elite Security Services at 7.30pm sharp. Jake dropped me off, but I said I’d get a taxi home. He offered to pay, knowing that I had a pissy little allowance to live on, but I declined. The best solution was for me to buy a cheap car, since mine was still in California. But I’d have to ask for permission to use my own ‘effen money from my cretin brother. Man, this situation made my blood boil.
While I was heading towards the elevator in Isaac’s office building, my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number and let it go to answer phone. Since I’d been back, there’d been several journalists eager for a scoop. I ignored their requests as I wasn’t ready to talk about it yet…to anyone. I will one day soon, as it is important for the story to be told and casting a light on the plight of the oceans is necessary. When the oceans die, we all die. A scientific fact.
My bastard brother’s company offices were extremely tidy and swanky- a furnished series of rooms, apart from the Dust Room as they called it. I called it the Spies, Lies and Alibis Room. It was a small windowless storage space, no larger than a decent sized bathroom with the walls lined with floor to ceiling shelves packed with boxes of invoices and bills going back decades.
The boxes of files I had to go through and sort were left on the desk that was squeezed in there. I sat down at the desk and took a deep breath. It was stuffy and hot with little fresh air flowing in from the neighboring rooms. I spotted the air conditioning vent hidden behind a box way up high, and proceeded to stand on my chair to remove it. Once removed the cool air flowed through.
I sat back down and listened to the message left on my phone. Like I suspected, it was a journalist wanting to talk to me about my time in prison and my work as an activist. It was the same journalist who had interviewed me for the Tribune years ago, Nancy Applegate. If I was going to spill to anyone, it would be her. After listening to the message, I sent Farrah a text to meet up for lunch sometime. The text wouldn’t send as I was out of range, but was in range as soon as I stepped into the neighboring room.
Ten minutes into sorting the paperwork into two piles of incoming invoices and outgoing bills, I heard the sounds of heavy footsteps nearing, the classic, undeniable sound of steal-cap boots. Knowing what type of business this really was, I searched the haphazard room for a weapon to protect myself with.
But I was too late; the boot wearer strode into the Dust Room without knocking and landed himself on a large box of books.
“Are you checking up on me?” I asked the brooding, handsome creature before me.
He nodded his dark head, placing his bike helmet down on the floor and proceeding to take off his gloves. “The old man thought you might not show.”
“Are you going to turn up every night?”
“Only the nights you’re required to work.” He unzipped his leather jacket and removed a folded motorbike magazine that was tucked inside, then tried to make himself comfortable on the box. That lasted only a few moments, before he stepped into the neighboring room and dragged a chair back in.
“Are you going to stay the whole two hours?”
Leon was the spitting image of his father with wavy black hair, heart-shaped face and an Italian nose, even though the Malone bloodline stemmed back to Ireland, not Italy. On the rare occasions when he smiled, his features warmed, lighting up his entire face and turning him into a completely different creature altogether. He had his mother’s exotic smile without a doubt but everything else was Malone. “We can’t have you shirking your responsibilities, can we?”
I made a childish face. He picked up a loose bolt on the floor and threw it at me, which I swiftly dodged.
“Where are you living these days?” He lived in the pool house for most of his youth until he finally moved out. But he still spent a huge amount of time at his parents’ place, just like Abbie did. The exact opposite to me. I left the Malone household when I was 17 and refused to return until Farrah got sick, four and a half years ago.
“I’ve got an apartment downtown,” he said, giving little away.
“You got a girlfriend?”
He shook his head. “You got a boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Not fucking the Austin kid yet?”
“Revolting language, Leon. Is everyone expecting me to?”
He nodded. “His brothers are.”
“Seriously?”
“They’ve placed a bet on it.” Leon’s eyes were resting on my face in expectation of my fiery reaction. He knew me well.
“They’ve placed a bet on whether or not Jake and I will sleep together?” I was flabbergasted.
“No. They know you’re going to sleep together. The bet is how long it will take.”
“How will they know?”
“The kid will probably let slip.”
“Have you placed a bet too?”
“I never gamble,” he said.
“Does Jake know?”
“Has he been trying to get into your panties?”
“From day one.”
“Then maybe he’s placed a bet too.”
“I’ll ask him.” Then I felt annoyed by it all. “Typical men! What a bunch of shitheads. What gets me is you just assume we’re going to sleep together.” I banged my fist angrily on the desk.
“And out comes the hyena.” The reaction he was waiting for. The ranting and raving, the clenched fists, the throwing of objects, the snarling. “You are going to sleep with him,” Leon said, with great certainty in his voice.
“How do you know? When did you become an expert on matters of the heart?”
“Matters of the cock, you mean. It’s obvious. The kid will pester you until you can’t take it anymore. He’s a slut billionaire who’s used to getting what he wants and has a long list of conquests. Just Google him, you’ll see.”
“Ew! Is he? It crossed my mind to disinfect the dining chair and couch where he’s been sitting. Especially after Saturday night when his friends visited, three of which were scantily clad females. One of
them was practically giving Jake a hand-job on the couch.”
“You’ve got work to do,” Leon reminded me. “I’m not here for a social visit.”
‘I’m female, Leon. We can multi-task. Socialize and work. Look, I’m stacking invoices in alphabetical order and talking at the same time. Clever.”
He was not amused, dropping his head to read an article in his magazine.
After several moments: “Do you fancy anyone, Leon?”
“Work!” he growled, pointing to the boxes.
“I am working!” I yelled back. “Come on, Leon, there must be a girl you’ve seen that you like.”
“I have no time for girlfriends.”
“You would if you found one you really liked. Besides, you need to release some of that pent up tension you have.”
“I don’t need a girlfriend to release tension,’ he bit. “And get back to work. You’re pissing me off.”
“I haven’t stopped working. It doesn’t take much to get a rise out of you. Like your father.”
“No,” he said, after several moments of silence.
“No, what?” I asked. “I’ve forgotten what we were talking about.”
“No. I don’t like anyone.”
“And?” I asked, prompting him.
“And what?”
“Do you have a selection of call girls you might require the assistance of occasionally?” I teased.
His nostrils flared.
“Oh, you do? I’m not judging you,” I said. “It would be nice for you to settle down…”
“Like you can fucking talk!” he snapped. “How old are you?”
“I think you know my age is twenty nine.”
“You’re drying up. No one will want you soon.”
“Good.”
“You should’ve stuck with the Bear,” he argued. “Now you’re left with a slutty kid who’s probably got a bet on how long it will take before you’re swallowing his cum.”
“Jeez, Leon!”
He stood up. “I should’ve let you drown,” he hissed, dragging his chair back into the neighboring room and sitting down in there. “So fucking dramatic.”
“I can still talk to you from here, you know!” I taunted.
He replied with an exhausted groan.
Chapter Twelve
Jake
Several days went by where I didn’t see Brydes and I hated it.
She’d come home late and leave early. She’d stopped making plunger coffee for me and the muesli wasn’t left out to cook up if I wanted to. When I texted her, the replies were short and sharp and I wondered if I had done something wrong.
I really didn’t understand chicks. One minute they’re hot, the next they’re ice. If I’ve done something wrong, she should tell me. To pass the time away in the evenings and to distract me from drinking, I started watching Youtube cooking videos. I focused on Italian cooking because they’re fairly simple, the ingredients mostly easy to find and the dishes look great on the plate. I practiced a couple of dishes for real and they came out alright. Good enough to impress the spitting cobra, I hoped. In my lunch breaks, I searched recipes and downloaded them for later. The whole time I’d be thinking, What would Brydie like?
Going to all that effort for a woman was new to me. I’m not sure that I liked it, but I couldn’t stop. When I was searching through recipes yesterday I had to stop and check myself. Was I still Jake Austin or had some obsessive jackass taken over my body? Then I continued as I was.
There was a little blonde receptionist who asked me out. She’s short, cute and squeaky. Not really the type I go for because I find them so damn irritating. They seem to rely on their cuteness to get things and look up at you with big soulful eyes, pouting their lips, hoping you’ll be enamored by them. There’s something childlike about them that puts me off. Like dating a doll.
There was another receptionist who also asked me out who’s more to my liking. But I declined her offer because for some stupid reason I’m fixated on Brydie, and now I’m starting to regret it.
I had no problem pulling chicks. And the modern chick had no problem pursuing the object of their desire, which made my job easy. It also made it boring. Most, no, all of these chicks wanted me because I’m rich. I’m hot and handsome as well, but take away the money and I’m far less interesting.
I could buy them stuff. I could drive them in my expensive car, take them to an exclusive restaurant in my expensive suit and fuck them in my fancy apartment. Then they’d hope that I might want them back again for a second date and a third, until one day she’s walking up the aisle with my kid in her belly, and I’m thinking, What the fuck just happened?
Brydie wasn’t like them. Nothing like them. She wanted nothing from me, yet I wanted everything from her. I hated how I felt about her. I only met her a few days ago yet I want to spend every waking hour in her presence. I didn’t even have to touch her, all I wanted was to be near her. She was just so interesting to me, so different to every other chick I’ve met. Scratch that. I wanted to touch her big time, but I suspect I’d receive a black eye if I tried anything at that point.
It was Friday and after not seeing Brydie since Monday, I decided to try and bug her via text.
Me: I have a date tonight, so I won’t be home.
Brydes: Good.
Me: Have I pissed you off?
Brydes: You and your brothers are betting when you and I will sleep together. So I’m making sure it doesn’t happen.
I took a moment to re-read the text, because I couldn’t quite believe what I was seeing.
Me: I know nothing about this.
Brydes: Not sure if I believe you. You’ve been trying to get me into bed from day one.
Me: That’s because you’re hot. Not because of a bet.
Me: Why do you have to stay away from me? Am I too tempting?
I got up and went into Corey’s office. He wasn’t there, so I walked into Trent’s office and sat down opposite him. He had his head down typing on his laptop and didn’t even acknowledge me when I walked in.
Trent and I weren’t close. He was the only family member, grandparents included, that didn’t visit me in hospital and rehab. He rarely spoke to me and I got the distinct impression he viewed me as no more relevant than the scuff marks on his shiny shoes.
“What?” he said, without looking up.
“Did you and Corey place a bet on me and Brydie getting together?”
“Yeah,” he said, as if it was blatantly obvious.
“Well, she’s found out about it.”
“And so?”
“So how do I fix this?”
“How should I know?”
“I have to live with her! Help me, Trent.”
“I can’t help you.”
“Come on, Trent! You’ve been married to your childhood sweetheart for years so you must know a thing or two about keeping a woman happy.”
He dragged his eyes away from the laptop screen. “Take her out for dinner.”
“She’ll just think I’m trying to sleep with her.”
“You don’t want to sleep with her?” A hint of surprise in his normally even tone.
“Yes, I do. But right now she thinks I’ve placed a bet on when she and I will sleep together. So she’s avoiding me.”
He narrowed his eyes. “That won’t work. I want to win this bet.”
“What’s Plan B?”
“Buy her flowers.”
“None of this will work with her. She’s not a normal woman,” I said, pointing in the direction of the sea of receptionists in the open office area.
He cringed. “Has she got balls?”
“I don’t think so.” No. She dated a Bear, of course she hasn’t got balls.
“Then she is a normal woman. And normal women all want the same thing.”
“Which is what?” I was sitting on the edge of the chair in apprehension.
“Security.”
“Security? Is that the best you can come up with?�
�� I was staggered.
“Go and ask all those women out there what they really want.” He flicked his hand at me to leave. “Do you think they’d be in a job like that if they didn’t need to pay the rent and buy nice clothes?” His voice was steady and quiet, even as my tone rose in frustration.
I stood up. “So what was your bet?” I asked as I was leaving.
“Four weeks in,” Trent said, looking back at his laptop.
“And Corey?”
“Ten days.”
It was a notch in my belt that Corey thought I’d have Brydie in my bed in ten days. But it was seven days in, and I doubted it was going to happen within the next three days. Especially since she was avoiding me.
When I got back to my office, I checked my phone. She hadn’t replied to my last question. I tried again.
Me: I swear I know nothing about the bets. Ask Corey and Trent.
Brydie: You have a poor reputation.
Me: Depends who you talk to.
Me: Can I take you out on a date?
Brydes: 21
Me: Chucky! Come on!
Brydes: You’ve got a date tonight already.
Me: I’d cancel it to be with my roommate.
Brydes: You’re strange.
Me: You’re supposed to stop me from drinking. You can’t do that when you’re never home.
Brydes: Are you groveling?
Me: Yes and I don’t care.
Brydes: Go out on your date. I’ll see you tomorrow.
Me: Not tonight?
Brydes: Working for the brother.
Me: Can I take you out for dinner another night? As friends.
Brydes: I’ll think about it.
I didn’t want the conversation to end, now I was back in her good books.
Me: How’s work?
Brydes: Which one? Day or night?
Me: Both
Brydes: Shit
Me: Not in the water?
Brydes: Correct.
