I storm back to the car, trying really fucking hard not to look like I’m having an aneurysm. I sit in the car silently fuming. I need some music to calm me down, but when I turn on the radio….
“Whaaaat?”
Seventies on Seven is playing an ABBA compilation. I flip to another station and catch iHeart playing ‘Candle in the Wind’.
“I am not a friend of Dorothy!” I yell at the radio.
Yeah, you could say I’m just a touch irate.
I know what would soothe me, some serious Rachel-time.
Chapter 8
Fright Night
THE BOSS REALLY isn’t a laugh-a-minute kind of guy—and I get why. He’s pretty fucked up, although maybe Ms. Alvarez is helping with that. But he’s also got tens of thousands of people in half a dozen countries living off of what he pays them. If he screws up, that’s a lot of people unemployed. Plus, he’s a walking, talking, fucking target for all the whackos out there who hate him because of his wealth, his agri-business, his techno-business, his anti-gun stance—you name it, people want to off him for it. Which is where I come in. And whatever went on with him and Norman Bates when he was a kid, he’s been pretty fucked up about women ever since. Maybe it’s true that everybody gets a chance at redemption. The question is: will he be smart enough to take it?
All this worrying about the boss is giving me a headache. I’m really glad that Rachel will be waiting for me when I get back. She is the best cure.
It’s quiet as I make my way silently through the house. I wasn’t trained in covert ops for nothing. Who knew it would come in so handy for being close protection for a twisted fucker like Anderson. Some weekends at the Farm, I needed a pair of blinkers to walk through the place. I really didn’t need to see the boss fucking in the main room, in the kitchen, and once in the swimming pool! Bastard! Images like that get burned into a man’s brain.
I turn off the lights as I go, but the place is never really dark, not with the city’s glow painting the night sky with a neon halo.
Rachel’s bedroom door is slightly ajar. Officially, we still have separate rooms, but mine hardly ever gets slept in. Sometimes I crash there if I’ve got a really early start and I don’t want to wake her. I hate those nights—the bed is just too damn empty.
I take off my jacket and tie and drop them on the sofa, then push open her door. She’s asleep on her side, one arm reaching out to the space where I really want to be. Her shoulder is bare, pale in the dim light. God, she’s beautiful. Her hair is spread out across the pillow like strands of silver. I am one lucky bastard.
I’m moving as quietly as possible, but when I tug my shirt over my head, her eyes open and she blinks sleepily.
“Sorry, baby. I was trying not to wake you.”
“I don’t mind. Mmm, you’ve taken your shirt off. Do you need some help with your pants?”
“I need anything you can give me, baby.”
She smiles like a sphinx and sits up. I can’t help my eyes following the sheet as it falls to her waist. She’s naked and just so fucking fabulous.
She reaches out and tucks her fingers into my waistband, tugging me towards her.
“I think you’re pleased to see me.”
I can’t reply because she’s running her hand over the fucking enormous bulge that’s just made lift-off in my pants.
She unzips me real slow—it’s such a turn on. And she’s staring up at me the whole time. God, she’s so .... she grips me—hard.
And I can’t wait anymore. I pull off my pants and step out of them.
“Did you just drop your pants on the floor?”
“What? Yeah, so?”
“What have I told you about leaving your clothes on the floor?” She looks really pissed. “You think I’m here just to pick up after you?” she says angrily.
“Of course not!”
She grabs the waistband of my boxer briefs and yanks them down. It’s only just not painful.
“You’ve been bad, Justin. You need to be punished … and you need to be restrained.”
What?
And she pulls out a pair of pink, fluffy handcuffs from underneath her pillow.
I break out into a cold sweat. Since when was Rachel into this kinky shit? She’s been working here too long!
“Um, Rachel … I really don’t…”
“Hush now, Justin. This isn’t going to hurt … much. Happy anniversary, darling.”
She throws me onto the bed and straddles me.
“Aaaagh!”
“Justin! Justin! What’s the matter?”
I wake up in a cold sweat, reality rushing through me, and I realize I’m thrashing around in the bed as Rachel sits up and turns on her sidelight.
I screw up my eyes against the brightness and let my breathing return to something like normal.
“Justin, what on earth is the matter?”
Her voice is filled with concern.
Christ! I just dreamed about Rachel and handcuffs and … fuck me!
“Did you have a nightmare?”
Was it a nightmare? Mmm, maybe not. But, Rachel with handcuffs?
“Noooo, not exactly.”
“Then what?”
She runs her soft fingers over my chest as I sit up and lean back against the headboard. And suddenly I really don’t want to admit to her what I was dreaming about. Fucking Anderson! It’s his fault, the twisted fucker!
“Tell me, darling,” she says, her voice edged with worry. “You sounded like you were having a nightmare.”
“No, just … I’m fine. Sorry I woke you, baby.”
“But…”
“It was a good dream … surprising. Babe, you don’t happen to have a pair of pink fluffy handcuffs under your pillow, do you?”
She starts laughing.
“No! What makes you ask that? Oh, is that what you were dreaming about?”
I eye her carefully. She doesn’t seem upset.
“Maybe.”
“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but no, I don’t.”
“You could never disappoint me, baby.”
Her smile fades.
“But you do get nightmares, don’t you?”
I stare at her, surprised and uneasy. I didn’t know that she’d ever heard me. I’d thought I was mostly over that part. I am, I think.
“I was probably having a nightmare about Anderson’s meditation room.”
Not a smile. Nothing. Instead, she watches me gravely.
“Why do you do that? Why do you always have to make a joke about it?”
Because it’s better than being weak.
“I’m okay. You don’t have to worry about me.”
She sighs and looks away.
“I knew you’d say that, but I do worry.”
“Rachel, seriously, I’m fine. Better than fine, I’m great.”
She looks at me doubtfully.
“Last week … well, you were shouting out something that sounded like ‘Adam’ or maybe ‘Aiden’. I just wondered…”
The hair on the back of my neck stands up and I can’t hold back a shudder. I never talk about Aiden King. Never.
I kick off the sheets and stalk into the bathroom, running cold water and splashing my face. As I stare in the mirror, the memories flood back. I’ve tried not to think about that day. The docs say that’s why it haunts my nights.
I switch off the bathroom light and go back to the bedroom. Rachel is sitting up with her arms wrapped around her knees protectively. She’s worried, and I know I’ve hurt her.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly, pulling her into my arms.
Her body is rigid, but eventually she lets me hold her.
“I’m not fragile, Justin. You don’t have to protect me. I’m stronger than I look.”
“I know that … it’s not … I’ve seen some bad shit. Hell, I’ve done some bad shit. I don’t talk about it because I don’t want you to have it in your head.”
“Maybe I could help?”
“You can’t.”
My words are harsh, too harsh, and I hear her take a sharp breath.
“Shit, I don’t mean it like that. It’s because I can’t un-see the things I’ve seen; I can’t forget, although God knows I try to. You’re the best thing that’s even happened to me. You make it better.”
There’s a heavy silence before Rachel pulls away so she can look me in the eye. In the moonlit room, her irises are black and shadows shroud her face.
“I was married to Brian for ten years. He was a fire fighter for all of that time. I do understand the toll it takes, mentally and physically. When he was … killed, there were times when I wish I’d died, too. It changed me. And I understand that what you’ve seen has changed you, as well. But you don’t have to hide it from me, Justin. I don’t want you to laugh and joke when you’re hurting inside.”
I refuse to unlock all the dark that lives inside me. And I definitely won’t let it taint Rachel.
She rolls onto her side, facing away from me.
We lie in silence, the distance between us increasing. I’m a boat that’s lost its moorings and every second I’m slipping further into the vast, empty ocean. I’m afraid of losing her.
“Aiden King was my buddy from Boot Camp.”
Rachel stops breathing, her body too still.
“He died in an IED attack. Iraq. I was with him, sitting next to him. There was smoke everywhere and my ears were ringing. I couldn’t hear anything. I think I was shouting, I don’t know. And when the smoke cleared … I was soaked in Aiden’s blood. I tried to hold him together, but he was … in pieces … I couldn’t and…”
I can’t talk about this. I can’t.
In the darkness, Rachel takes my hand and links her warm fingers with mine. She’s my lifeline, and I know she won’t let go.
IT’S MONDAY MORNING but I have the luxury of sleeping in. Once I knew that Ms. Alvarez had changed her mind and didn’t need to be driven home last night, I guessed the boss wouldn’t be going for an early morning run either.
I was hoping to work on some more diversionary tactics with Rachel, but she swatted my wandering hands away and bribed me with the promise of bacon and pancakes … if I’m ‘good’.
Why, Ms. Smith! I’m always good with you around.
Rachel interrupts my pleasant daydreams by bringing me breakfast in bed. I can’t help grinning at her.
Neither of us makes reference to the conversation we had last night. Thank Christ we don’t need to. And yet somehow, I feel lighter.
“You are an accomplished woman, Ms. Smith.”
Maybe it’s kind of dumb, but I don’t want to call her ‘Mrs.’ anymore. I know she’s noticed, but she hasn’t said anything.
“Why, thank you, Mr. Trainer. An unexpected but very welcome compliment.”
“And you sure can cook, woman!”
“Is that the beginning and end of my talents?”
“Aw, no, baby. You’re great in the sack, too.”
I grin up at her, knowing that she wants to be mad at me, but is also fighting a smile.
“By the way,” she says, changing the subject, “I just bumped into Ms. Alvarez.”
“Oh?”
I’m surprised they’re up already.
“I think I embarrassed her.”
“Yeah, she and the boss fuck like it’s about to be rationed.”
“Hmm, well, it seems to be catching.”
I reach up to grab her, but she dodges out of the way.
“You are not getting maple syrup on the sheets again!” she says sternly.
“You sure?”
“Well, not on a work day. Even though Mr. Anderson isn’t going into the office until after lunch.”
“I have a few ideas about how we can spend the morning until then.”
And this time she’s not quick enough. I’m really looking forward to getting her all sticky.
Chapter 9
The Fast and the Furious
TODAY, I’M HELPING Rachel with the grocery shopping. Having four adults in the house has severely depleted reserves.
Rachel is waiting at the main entrance as I drive up. Damn, she looks hot. There’s something so incredibly sexy about that crisp white blouse and slim-fitting pencil skirt: all that passion, all those amazing curves, hidden by a severe uniform. Maybe it’s just me.
Nope, not just me. Frank, the doorman at the apartment building next door, has too many fucking eyeballs on her. Back off, asshole! She’s taken.
I jump out and give Frank a warning stare. He steps back. Yeah, message received and understood, pencil neck!
I help Rachel into the Rover, and she raises an eyebrow, an amused expression on her face which I decide not to notice.
“Where to, ma’am?”
“I’ll start at Brooklyn Fare. It’s been lovely having Ms. Alvarez to stay, she’s such a sweetheart, but we seem to have got through a lot more food than usual.”
“Probably because they spend all their time fu— … um … screw— ... They need the energy.”
“I could say the same about you,” she says challengingly.
“I’m addicted, baby. You make me hungry … and not just for food.”
“Concentrate on driving, Justin!”
“Yes, ma’am,” I grin at her.
She shakes her head, but she’s smiling.
“Well,” she says, amused, “at least with Ms. Alvarez away, Mr. Anderson will be back to his normal routine for a few days.”
Yep, Ms. Alvarez is heading to Cancun with Dolores and a bunch of her friends for a bachelorette weekend and the boss isn’t happy about it. And even if he was, normalcy and the boss aren’t two concepts that I’d usually expect to find in one sentence. Besides, I’m guessing Rachel is wrong.
“Rachel, it’s going to be early morning runs, working out in the gym at all hours, kicking the shit out of Enrico, and yelling at Tessa until she pukes. Better head for the storm cellar because Hurricane Anderson is back.”
“Oh, dear.”
Yeah.
“Poor Tessa.”
There’s a pause.
“Do you think that Ms. Alvarez is the one?”
I shrug. Before I met Rachel, a phrase like that would have me checking to see if my dick had dropped off and I’d grown a vagina, but now I understand that ‘the one’ is as real as a man walking on the moon.
“Maybe. But I expect the boss will manage to fuck it up.”
“What do you mean? He really seems to like her. Why would he mess it up?”
It’s a good question, but kinda hard to answer. Despite scaring the crap out of Tessa and most of his employees, he takes their well-being seriously. He offers first rate medical and dental, and given the fact that he hardly ever has a day off himself, his time off for vacation is more generous than most companies.
None of which can be applied to Ms. Alvarez’s case.
“Because he’s never had a girlfriend before. Because he doesn’t know how to deal with it when she stands up to him. Because he’s not used to putting someone else’s feelings before his own. When I first met her, I thought she was this quiet, gentle little kid—but she’s her own woman and she won’t take any of his shit.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, who wants a woman who does exactly as they’re told all the time?”
Rachel lifts her eyebrows, and out of the corner of my eye I see her holding back a smile.
“I just mean that even though part of him likes that she stands up to him, he’s got no coping mechanism for it except…”
I hesitate to finish the sentence, but I don’t need to.
“Yes, I see what you mean,” says Rachel, sounding serious. “I really hope you’re wrong.”
So do I.
I find a parking spot near the market and escort Rachel to the deli while she runs her eyes over what looks like a very long list.
“Justin, why don’t you go get a coffee? This is going to take a while. Give me half
an hour?”
“Sure, baby.”
I head off to a nearby coffee shop, grateful for the chance to spend some quality time reading the sports section of the New York Times, and checking out the form of the New York Jets recent signings.
I’ve been here about twenty minutes when there’s a loud commotion at the cash register. I shove my chair back, my hand reaching towards my shoulder holster, my automatic reaction to unexpected sound. But it’s completely unwarranted, and I feel pretty dumb when I see two elderly ladies looking shocked and upset, their tea and muffins scattered over the counter, the change purse of the older one strewn across the floor.
I ease my hand away from my holster and take a calming breath.
Yeah, I can see the headlines: security officer in granny-gate massacre.
Luckily, no one has noticed my Smith & Wesson and the server is more concerned with clearing up the spillages.
I bend down and start picking up the dimes and quarters.
“Oh, thank you, young man! Thank you! I don’t know what happened! I’m all fingers and thumbs. How clumsy of me.”
“That’s okay, ma’am. Happy to help.”
About five bucks worth of change has gone flying across the café but I think I’ve gotten all of it.
“Oh, and you’re such a polite young man, too!”
Never a truer word.
Meanwhile, the waitress has replaced the tea and muffins and dumped the tray on a vacant table. The old ladies are still chirruping their distress and I really want to shake the sour-faced pit-bull of a server.
I pour the heap of coins onto the table.
“There’s your change, ma’am. You look after that.”
“Oh, thank you so much, young man. Please, let us buy you a coffee for your trouble—we interrupted you.”
“That’s okay, ma’am. I’d about finished anyway. Just happy to help.”
I shrug off their thanks as I check my watch. Time to go collect Rachel.
I can see them waving through the coffee shop window as I saunter out, and the one who dropped the change purse blows me a kiss.
Yep, still got it.
Rachel is finishing at the checkout when I catch up with her. I load the bags into the shopping cart and wheel it out to the Rover.
Jane Harvey-Berrick Saving The Billionaire Page 6