The Other Side of Greed

by Lily Zante

  “Further down, where no one can see.”

  Further down?

  How much further down?

  “Yeah?” My voice sounds disgustingly high-pitched. An indecent thought rockets north from the base of my groin. In the push and pull that has been the sum total of our strained relationship, I’ve tried to hold back from thinking such things. Now it’s impossible.

  My gaze rakes in her back, sauntering slowly from her spaghetti straps, to the compass tattoo, all the way down to her fuck-me heels.

  She throws me a look over her almost-bare shoulder. “You’re blushing, Brad. Are you okay?”

  She knows exactly what she’s doing. I don’t answer, for fear of giving my teenage horniness away. I grimace, and hope it resembles something like a passing grin.

  Her lingering gaze sets flames licking all over my skin. This is a new side to her. A vampish and unexpected side that I never would have thought someone like her possessed.

  I want her.

  Watching her stride away, I’m overcome with the thought of grabbing her and pushing her up against the door. I want to claim her mouth and rain kisses down her bare arms and shoulders. I want to make her mine.

  “Don’t forget to lock up,” she tells me, completely oblivious to the tsunami of emotions she’s sent sweeping all over my body.

  She’s so naive, so trusting, she hasn’t even asked me what I was doing sitting in her chair.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  KYRA

  * * *

  I made him blush.

  My tattoos caught his attention. Brad looked at me in complete shock, as if he never expected little old me to have anything like that. I wish I could tell what shocked him the most, the tattoos or that I unexpectedly showed up. Or what I was wearing.

  Who knows?

  I can’t believe I spilled my guts about my ex. I don’t ever talk about him, but it didn’t feel so wrong telling Brad.

  This isn’t me. But Brad makes me react like this. I fan my face as the air hits me. I can’t be like this. I’ve already wasted years on a cheating man, and my precious broken heart won’t suffer another setback. Brad is like the night sky, vast in its darkness and unknowingness. It would be better for me and my broken heart to stay away from him.

  By the time I get to city hall, I’m not too late but I’m all knotted up inside like a ball of cotton wool that a litter of kittens got a hold of. I tell Simona and Fredrich about my run-in with Brad at the office, making himself at home in my chair.

  Fredrich has his hand wrapped around a bottle of beer. “What was he doing there? He said he was too busy to come out with us tonight.”

  “He’s still upset about his friend who was in the car accident,” I reply.

  “Is she his girlfriend?” Fredrich asks.

  “He doesn’t have a girlfriend,” Simona replies smoothly.

  Fredrich takes a swig from his bottle. “I don’t understand why he’s so upset about it.” Simona and I stare at him, shocked.

  “She’s a good friend,” I insist, but he wasn’t at the hospital. He was sitting in the office.

  “A friend? Yeah, right.” Fredrich doesn’t look convinced. “She must be some friend for him to be so upset about it even now that he can’t come out to this event. Who would give up the chance to meet Elias Cardoza? The guy is a legend. Heavyweight champion of the world. How come Brad is so upset that he’s turned down this chance?”

  “I’m sure he has his reasons.” Simona seems to be Brad’s biggest fan and won’t have a bad word said against him. But I wonder, all the same, especially since he was sitting at my desk and looking as if he was pretending to be the boss.

  We spend the evening enjoying the fine hospitality at city hall. Soft music plays in the background and everyone is dressed up. It’s a rare night out for us and the other employees from work whom we eventually locate and hang around with for a while.

  Fredrich is working the room. He’s good at this. He’s confident, and with his huge frame he stands shoulders above everyone. People seem to notice him, and he seems to bask in that sense of acknowledgment.

  I’m by myself when a tall woman comes up to me. She’s dressed beautifully in a long stylish black and gold dress and a chunky gold necklace with it. Her legs seem to go on forever. It’s easy to tower over me, and even in my heels, I feel like a Hobbit standing next to her. “Are you Kyra Lewis?” she asks.

  “I am. And you are?”

  “Jessica Montrose. I own the Montrose Art Gallery in town. You might have heard of it?” She doesn’t offer her hand. I don’t offer mine.

  “It doesn’t ring a bell.” I shake my head. I have never heard of the gallery, and I haven’t met her before.

  “You’re the one who runs that …” She clicks her perfectly manicured fingers together. “That place where you make bags and jackets, and you employ people off the streets.”

  “We give people a chance to get their lives back on track,” I clarify.

  “You’re always in the papers,” she says, as if this annoys her.

  “I try not to be.” I smile back but don’t know what to say. She seems friendly, but I can sense her judging me. It’s not her words, but her eyes that give it away.

  “You’ve made such progress, given how young you are, and … and … what you do. It’s astounding.” She rakes her hand through her mane of glossy dark curls.

  “Thank you.” I should ask her something about her gallery, but I know nothing about it, or her, and I can’t make polite conversation. I give her another smile, then look around and pray that Fredrich or Simona, or the others, will rescue me. When my gaze circles back, she’s still here. I catch her checking me out, her eyes slowly going over my outfit.

  Something is off. Because when people approach me, it’s because they know about Redhill and they love what we do. They are interested in finding out more. “What was the name of your art gallery again?” I ask her, and when she tells me, it still doesn’t ring a bell. And yet I have the distinct impression that she seems to know of me.

  “How is business?” she asks, but her eyes are dead and it seems as if she’s just going through the motions of being sociable.

  “It’s … good. Business is good Why do you ask?” Someone like her would have no interest in someone like me, or in Redhill, and I know my donors. There are definitely no art gallery owners on that list as far as I can recall.

  A sudden cheer bursts in the crowd and the sound of people clapping makes us both turn. Elias walks into the room, hand in hand with Harper. While everyone is staring at Elias, she catches my eye and waves at me. I wave back and silently pray for her to come and rescue me but, to my dismay, she and Elias walk to the front of the room.

  There’s a short speech by someone, the party organizer, I think, and then the music starts up again and everyone starts talking again. In dismay, I see that the art gallery woman is still stuck to my side. Stuck for conversation I start to talk about the thunderstorms we had a few weeks ago. These are desperate measures, talking about the weather. I have nothing in common with her, not that commonality is the only vital ingredient in two people being able to connect. The woman gives off strange vibes and I feel on edge around her.

  “Kyra!” Someone taps me on the shoulder. I’m shocked to find that it’s Elias and Harper. Shocked, because they’ve come directly to me.

  Thank the lord.

  “Hey,” I say, overwhelmed and relieved. “You did awesome!” I bump fists with Elias, because it seems less formal than a polite nod, and as much as I’m super excited, throwing my arms around him doesn’t seem to be appropriate either. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.” His brown eyes are twinkling. He must be on a high from all the adoration everyone in this room has for him.

  I’m so proud of him. We, all the people in the city, are so proud of him and to have him be here, talking to me, when he has a room full of people who are so much more interesting and accomplished than me gets me giddy with
excitement. I glance around for my Redhill people, for Fredrich and Simona to come over, but in my excitement, I don’t find them.

  “We all watched the fight live. We were all rooting for you.”

  “It was a tough fight, but it ended well.” His customary humility endears him to me more than ever. “Congrats on staging your event,” he says. “That was an amazing thing you guys put together.”

  “You saw it?” I ask, wondering how I didn’t think to send him any photos from the event.

  “It was all over social media,” Harper informs me.

  I look around the room quickly and wishing that Simona and Fredrich would hurry up and get here so that they could take some of the credit. “It was one heck of a night. You winning made everyone’s day.”

  “Expect to see another donation from me in the coming days.”

  “Aww, thanks, Eli. We greatly appreciate anything and everything.”

  His face turns serious quickly. “Glad to help. The work you guys do is important. Harper and I were saying that only someone like you could have put on an event like that with a huge movie screen.”

  I laugh. “It was Fredrich’s idea, actually.” I turn to Harper. “How were you on the night?” I know she hates watching Eli fight.

  “A complete wreck.” She puts her hands in front of her face as if she’s reliving the moment again. Her engagement ring sparkles under the lights and is hard to miss.

  “Wow.” I take her hand and examine the rock.

  “He proposed,” she says, all girlie and blushing. The two of them tell me about the proposal and we talk as if we are old friends.

  The woman from the art gallery stands by silently. She remains tight-lipped, and it feels awkward having her here. She’s like an appendage my body doesn’t need. I feel duty bound to introduce her, which isn’t so great because I’ve already forgotten her name and what she does. “This is ... J...J….” My mind blanks out completely.

  “Jessica Montrose.” She gives Eli a smile that has as much wattage as the necklace she’s wearing. Ignoring Harper completely, she offers Elias her hand, something she never offered me, and then she takes over the conversation, talking about the donations she has made to Eli’s various charities.

  Harper and I exchange knowing looks. “You must be used to this,” I whisper so that only she can hear me.

  She gives Jessica a sideways glance and rolls her eyes. “You have no idea. I should rescue him,” she mumbles. “He looks as if he’s in pain.”

  “Let me make my getaway first,” I whisper back. And then I rush away.

  Chapter Thirty

  BRANDON

  * * *

  The weekend seems to last a lifetime. I’ve been dying to know, from the Redhill people, how the city hall event went. So far, I’ve only heard Jessica’s version of events and she’s talked mostly about herself. She also tells me she sought Kyra out and tried to have a conversation with her, but she doesn’t elaborate on it except to say that she seemed to be a good friend of Eli’s.

  “You missed a cool night,” Fredrich says when I go to work on Monday. It has killed me going days without seeing Kyra.

  “I’m sure I did. My loss.”

  “We did miss you, Brad. What did you have that was so important?” Simona asks as she goes through the mail. Kyra is quiet as she gets on with her work. I want to see her reaction, but the way I’m sitting will make it too obvious to the others if I keep trying to catch her attention. I need to find a moment to get her alone.

  “I had things to do.”

  “Kyra says you’re still upset about your friend, and understandably so,” Fredrich adds, “how is she now?”

  I tell them what I know. I know from one of Emma’s friends at work that her condition is stable, but she’s got a long way to recovery. Emma’s sisters and parents are still by her bedside.

  “That’s good, but you should have come, dude. It would have taken your mind off things. You missed the chance to meet Elias Cardoza.”

  The room falls silent and I’m aware that they are waiting for me to say something. Years of experience with complex negotiations tells me that they aren’t convinced of my alibi. I can’t tell them about my guilt over Emma, or even my relationship to her without giving away who I am. I understand why they are suspicious of me. “I just wasn’t feeling it. Sorry.” I turn to Kyra, but her gaze is on her computer screen where it has been for most of this morning. With dogged determination, she’s managed to stay out of the conversation and is quietly getting on with her work. Avoiding me, I’d say.

  “Were you very late?” I ask her, remembering that night. She looks up at me with a brazen smile. “Not really. I made it in good time, but you did miss a great night.” Her eyes twinkle more than I like. As if she’s fangirling over the boxer. As if he’s the one who made it such a fucking great night for her.

  “Cardoza made a beeline for her,” Fredrich informs me. My heart pinches. Jessica said the same, but not quite like that. I believe Fredrich. Jessica said she’d purposely sought out Kyra because she wanted to get up close and take a good look at her. I wish I had kept my mouth shut, but back then it seemed the natural thing to do, to tell my potential-trophy-wife about my plan to trick Kyra.

  “He made a beeline for you?” The words are hard to dress up in a jokey manner, but I somehow manage it.

  “She looked like quite the glamor girl,” Simona announces proudly.

  “I almost didn’t recognize you,” Fredrich says to Kyra. “If Eli was single, he would have asked you out.”

  Kyra shakes her head in weary annoyance. “He would not. He and I … no.”

  “He’s a fine-looking man,” Simona remarks.

  “What is wrong with you people?” There is a level of anger in Kyra’s voice that makes me sit up and take notice. “He’s engaged. Did you not see Harper with him? She’s the love of his life.”

  Did I detect a hint of jealousy in her voice? Is there a sinister reason behind Eli being Redhill’s biggest donor?

  “But he came straight over to you after the intro speech,” Fredrich presses.

  “Is that right?” A knife twists in my belly as I imagine the scene playing out. Kyra and I aren’t even together, so my level of jealousy is excessive. Weeks of simmering tension between us seems to be ratcheting up.

  “He came over to talk to me because of the event we had put on and he wanted to thank me in person.” She glares at the others. “He would have thanked you two had you been there.”

  “Didn’t you all hang around together?” If only I’d gone. I would have kept Kyra company all night. I picture the worst, that men of all ages and status flocked to her side.

  Fredrich rips up another letter and throws it into the bin. “I was mingling.” The grin on his face is telling. “Kyra got lumbered with some stuck-up woman before Eli came.”

  “A stuck-up woman?” I say with a tone of exaggeration. I’ve heard all about it from Jessica’s point of view and now I’m curious to know their side of events.

  But Kyra stands up, as if she’s had enough. “Do we have enough water bottles for this week?” she asks. “I forgot to buy some last time I went shopping.” She wanders off, presumably to the storeroom. I give it a few moments before I follow her.

  She’s around the back, crouching on the floor, peering at the crates of water bottles which we hand out on food nights.

  “I’m sure I saw some water bottles,” I state, pulling out a crate from another shelf.

  “Who put them there?”

  “Someone must have shifted them there. Not everyone is as obsessed with keeping everything perfectly in line.” I attempt a smile, but she doesn’t return it.

  “If everyone put things back in their original place, we wouldn’t have to hunt around the entire room to find what we want.”

  “What was Fredrich talking about? What stuck-up woman?” I ask, needing to hear her side of the story. More than that, it’s her interaction with Cardoza I want to hear the most
.

  “What?” There’s an edge to her voice, of irritation, as she starts looking through the cupboards, noting things down. Is she doing a fucking inventory check when I have so much I want to talk to her about?

  I’m sick of these baby steps, of holding back, of Jessica and her whining and complaining, of this little dance that Kyra and I unknowingly have been swaying to.

  “What are you doing here, Brad? Why have you followed me in here?”

  I can’t answer that, because whatever things I’ve been feeling and thinking about her, she doesn’t seem to feel the same about me. Her irritation speaks volumes. “I just … I …” I sound like a blubbering, blundering idiot. That’s what she has reduced me to.

  “What were you doing sitting in my chair the other day?”

  “What?” I attempt deflection, sounding more indignant than I should.

  “You were at my desk, making yourself quite at home from the looks of it.”

  My insides churn as those gorgeous eyes—the ones I see each night when I rest my head against my pillow—now look through me.

  “Are you looking to take over my role?” she asks, giving me an out which I grab with both arms. A laugh tumbles out of my mouth.

  “I was going to write you a note and I was looking for a piece of paper.”

  “I didn’t see any note.”

  “That’s because I didn’t write it.”

  “What were you going to write?” She lifts her eyebrow and looks at me as if she doesn’t believe me, and she shouldn’t believe me. I’m no good for her. Even though I can’t take my eyes off her, I’m trouble for this woman.

  She should walk away.

  She should, but even if she tries, I won’t let her.

  “I can’t remember now,” I say, hastily. “It couldn’t have been that important.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “It couldn’t have been important,” she echoes.

  “Whatever it was went clean out of my head because you walked in and knocked the wind right out of my lungs.” I can’t believe what I’ve said.