by Lily Foster
That jerkoff who was always kissing my ass—Damon, Devon?—accosted me when I breezed past the bouncers who were stationed like a secret service detail, turning away bachelorette parties from Bayonne and eurotrash from Brighton Beach. I gave him a head nod and a look that I hope conveyed my desire for him to vaporize after he handed me a shot.
I didn’t approach the coat check, as I was trying to be stealth about this entire operation. But stationed from twenty feet away, my heart dropped when I saw an unfamiliar redhead manning the spot. I downed my shot, dejected, and scanned the dancefloor before turning to go. Maybe she’d gone and quit this job. I hoped that was the case. She was out of place here. Veronica was too smart, too good and too innocent for this kind of life. This club might be upscale and expensive, but in many ways it was just as dodgy as a strip club.
What the fuck is he doing to her?
I was beside them in less time than it took to take my next breath, but then I stopped myself. She wasn’t being forced, I decided, taking in the way her fingers were fisted in his hair. But his hands, groping her ass and pressing her up against his crotch, making it so that her sad excuse for a dress was riding up to expose her—I wanted to choke the last breath out of him. Cheap Hugo Boss suit, hair gelled to within an inch of its life, square toed shoes that were no doubt from Macy’s. Probably some dipshit just off his first year at a private equity firm. First real taste of New York. Thinking he owns this city and can take whatever he wants. Thinking this girl is nothing but a plaything.
“Having fun?”
This lame-ass Jamie Dimon wannabe looked up at me and automatically backed away a few inches. He knew who I was. Veronica’s glassy eyes, however, took a few moments to register me.
She leaned back into the wall for support, cocked her head to the side and shot me a knowing smile. “Well, look who it is…Mr. Cole. One half of Mr. and Mrs. Cole.” She slurred when she dragged out the word misses.
Veronica was wasted.
“Maybe it’s time to get you home?”
She looked around, bewildered. “I’m working.”
“I hope to God this isn’t part of your job description.”
Meanwhile, her young suitor was wiping his nose, shifting on his feet, his jaw working overtime when he said, “Uh, I’ll be back...Heading to the bathroom.” Another coked-up shithead. Even on my worst nights I’ll bet I never looked quite so pathetic.
“Hmm,” she murmured as she fought to keep her eyes open. “I have to get back to work.”
“Damon said your shift’s over…That I should take you home.”
“Devon?”
“Yep, Devon. Come on, let’s get you out of here.”
Devon approached when he saw me put my jacket over her shoulders. “Mr. Cole?”
Looking back as I ushered her through the door, I eyed him with disgust. “Consider this Veronica’s resignation, asshole.”
The ride down in the elevator was a slow form of torture. Veronica was pressing into me as she sighed and nuzzled into the crook of my neck. At one point she slid her hand across and wrapped her arm around my waist. It was probably done in an effort to hold herself up, but hell if it wasn’t the most sensual touch I’d felt in a long time. The effort it was taking to suppress my own illicit desire left me feeling short of breath. Meanwhile, my wife and friends were still in the restaurant that was inconveniently situated on the ground floor, and I was about to walk past them holding onto a barely conscious girl. It was like a sit-com gone wrong, or more like a horror movie.
James was waiting at the door, careful to shield me from the piece of shit paparazzi who made their living by standing on the sidewalks outside of places like this all night long, all in the hopes of snapping compromising moments to sell to the highest bidder.
“Make sure she drinks some water. I’ll be right back.”
I literally had to wipe the sweat from my brow as I made my way back to the table.
Cecilia smiled but it did little to hide her irritation. “That took a long time.”
I smiled back but my tone was glacial when I said, “Unfortunately, I have responsibilities.”
As instructed, James rang my phone at that very moment. While he was chirping, “Clean-up in aisle six,” which I could only interpret to mean that Veronica was upchucking in the back seat of my new Rover, I was carrying on an entirely different conversation. “Yes, tell them I’m flying out first thing. I’ll be in Tulsa by nine.”
Why Tulsa? No chance in hell Cecilia would want to accompany me there.
“Tomorrow?” she whined. “Dylan, I have that appointment scheduled for us. If I cancel¸ it will take weeks—”
Right, the fertility specialist.
I cut her off, like the bastard that I am. “Can’t be helped. And I’ll make sure it doesn’t take weeks to reschedule.” For good measure, I slid my hand half-way up her thigh and leaned over to kiss her with as much passion as I could muster; it wasn’t much but she went for it. I looked to Tripp. “I’ve gotta run to the office and straighten something out, then I’m heading to the airport…Early flight.”
“Now?” Cecilia whispered, looking both embarrassed and sad.
“My team out there is a disaster,” I said, playing the part of the aggrieved boss. “I have to deal with an overseas supplier now, before the close of the business day on their end. Then I’m going out there to make some changes.”
She eyed me with suspicion. “You’re conducting a staff meeting on a Saturday morning?”
I shot her a warning look. “Yes.” I paused, daring her to question me further. “I’ll be home by tomorrow afternoon.”
“We’re going to—”
“Dinner with your parents. I know and I’ll be back in time.”
“You’re leaving right now?” Tripp asked, looking down while raising his wrist.
The newest addition to our table laughed loudly as he gave Tripp a hard nudge to the shoulder. “Bro, you’re not wearing a watch.”
I’d met this guy, Richard Von something the Third, once before. Within two minutes of being introduced I could tell he was a complete tool. Tripp was basically a decent person in my opinion, so I could never understand their long-standing friendship. In my mind this guy would always be Dick, and I called him that tonight when he did the whole what a coincidence-shtick as he wedged an extra chair into our table that was clearly meant for four. He corrected me, “It’s Richard,” and I just smiled. Tonight he was wearing a suit cut so slim you could see the outline of his ballsack, topped off with a Yale tie.
Two items on the long list of things I cannot stand: men who wear college ties long after they’ve graduated, and grown men who address other grown men as either Bro or Dude. Fucking ridiculous.
I ignored Dick. “Get my girl home for me?” I asked, squeezing Cecilia’s knee.
Tripp looked to his wife, who could barely keep her eyes open, and then smiled at Cecilia. “You know I will.”
James was halfway down the block, incognito, leaning against the car and smiling as I approached. “There’s been a bit of a situation. I don’t know who this one is, but she’s so beautiful she looks graceful mid-chunder.” James sounded like a proper English butler when he spoke, but my driver was anything but. A former M16 officer, the guy was tough as steel and had a wicked sense of humor. When I went to open the door, he said, “I set her all to right, she’s fine. Another car’s coming ‘round.”
The other half of my security team, Rupert, pulled up. Rupert was also M16, but unlike his garrulous co-worker, Rupert was all-business, no talk. I know it’s common sense for people in my position to have security, and I understand that I’m a high profile target, but Rupert took it to the next level—acted as if an ambush was imminent twenty-four-seven.
I opened the door to see Veronica curled up in the corner of the back seat. “Wake up, sleepyhead,” I whispered as I picked her up and kissed the top of her head.
The shoulder of her dress was damp, but she looked fine otherw
ise. James leaned in to give me a helping hand. “See what I mean, Cole, she’s perfect…Her vomit smells like cherry cola.”
Rupert was all silent efficiency as he took over, ushering me and Veronica into an identical black Rover. He let himself into the driver’s seat and then sat there waiting for instructions, checking his mirrors, casing our surroundings, always on alert. He borderline freaked me out, and that’s why he only accompanied me and James when it was absolutely necessary.
“Veronica, where am I taking you?”
“Home,” she murmured as she turned her body and curled into mine. I could feel her breasts pressing against my chest and threw my head up to let out an exasperated breath.
“Where is home, baby?”
She looked up at me, blinking as though it took effort. “Take me home with you.”
My damn molars were grinding. If I hadn’t gotten her out of there, she would have been saying this shit to some random guy, to the guy who was mauling her upstairs. Veronica looked up at me again, this time managing to keep her eyes open as she slid her free hand down, unintentionally grazing my dick in the process. I was now so hard it was painful.
“Take me home, Mr. Cole.”
The mister comment should have deflated my boner on impact, but it did nothing of the sort. It made me burn with a need to own her, to press her hand right there and make her rub me raw. My chest was thumping and my hands were trembling. Fuck this girl, she was gonna kill me. I took her by the shoulders and shook, gently at first but then with more force. “Veronica…Goddammit, just tell me where you live!”
Clean-up in aisle seven. James was close, but I pegged her puke as smelling of vodka cranberry. Glad she didn’t have lobster mac and cheese for dinner like I had, or else I’d be wearing that right now too.
“Got any cleaning supplies up there,” I yelled to Rupert as I lifted Veronica’s hair out of the way and directed her head in the opposite direction of me.
“I’ll see to that,” he answered.
“No, I’ve got it.”
Rupert handed me a roll of paper towels. Wasn’t much I could do to clean her up with those, but I did my best. Most of it was on me anyway.
As I dried my shirt, I called out, “Ask James where he dropped her last time.” When their conversation went on a beat too long, I barked, “Put him on speaker.”
“I dropped her at that flower shop on Madison, but boss, I don’t think that’s wise.” He paused. “I got the feeling she was dodging me, really didn’t live there. She wouldn’t let me walk her to the door…Shut the service gate in my face. I wouldn’t take her there in her current condition.”
As I racked my brain for alternatives, Veronica slumped back so that she was next to me again, her back to my front. I adjusted her so that she fit in close and I wrapped my arm around her. My office and my spare apartment were both off limits, for the simple reason that it wasn’t appropriate. Did I want to strip her out of that soiled dress, rinse her off, put her in one of my shirts, comb her hair out and tuck her into bed? Hell yes, I wanted to take care of her. But I felt like a sick man with what was racing through my mind at the moment. I wouldn’t put myself into such a precarious position and would never harm a hair on her head. So where to? To Jake and Kasia’s? That would be fucked up on so many levels, the first being that I knew exactly where they lived because I’d looked her up online numerous times. In one of my weaker moments, I’d even driven by their house.
I knew where I had to go.
As we pulled up outside, I felt the weight of those memories from so long ago. That night, pleading my case, being exposed as a liar and a cheat in front of a roomful of relatives. Watching impotently as she took his hand to reassure him while I spewed insults and tried to make him feel like the lesser man. I was the lesser man. Everyone in that room including me knew that much.
I told Rupert to wait as I walked up to the front door by myself. It was after midnight so I knew they were probably asleep. I rang the bell and knocked on and off for a few minutes before I heard footsteps approaching the door. He was older, nearly thirteen years had passed since I’d last seen him, but he still looked like he could kick my ass.
“Dylan?”
I smiled, taking in the wooden bat in his hand, suddenly grateful I’d left Veronica in the car for the moment. “Hello, Mr. Mazur. I’m really sorry to bother you.”
He eyed me warily. “What is going on?” He was no dope, he knew this wasn’t a social call.
“Kind of a long story—”
“I have time for long story,” he broke in, opening the door wider and ushering me in. I stood on the threshold, taking in the simple home. I loved this place and I loved Mr. Mazur’s broken English. While this place held my worst memories, it also held some of my absolute best.
“I’ve got your niece Veronica out in the car.” I held up my hands in defense, remembering this guy’s temper. “She wasn’t with me…I ran into her…She drank too much and she got sick. I just wanted to make sure she got home safe.” He was still eyeing me with suspicion. “I didn’t know where else to take her. Look, let’s just get her inside and I’ll explain.”
Rupert had the car open and Veronica’s limp body in his arms, walking towards the house before we were even out the front door. He had a sixth sense in terms of timing. He nodded at Mr. Mazur as he approached and Kasia’s dad backed up instinctively to let him through. Mr. Mazur was tough, but Rupert took the whole don’t fuck with me-look to a whole other level. He laid her on the couch and then looked to me. It was an unspoken question: Should I stay or should I go? Mr. Mazur’s cheeks were turning a furious shade of red just as Mrs. Mazur was making her way down the stairs. The feeling of being with them again was so strange. It was so good and yet messed up in a way that I really couldn’t make sense of. So even though there was a good chance he was about to throw a punch my way, I didn’t care.
“Wait for me outside.”
“Dylan?”
Mrs. Mazur, still as graceful and elegant as a countess in her thick chenille robe and slippers, looked back and forth between me and Veronica.
I stammered my opening words, struggling to explain the events of the night when she cut me off. “What is she wearing?”
That band of fabric had ridden up again, shamefully exposing her ass. Mr. Mazur threw an afghan over her in anger.
“I’m pretty sure that’s her uniform. She was at work.”
“Work?” she questioned me, confused. “She goes to school…She works part-time at Alex’s shop and babysits for Kasia. What is that?” She gestured to what was underneath the blanket, hurt and disgust marring her features.
“I was having dinner at a restaurant and there’s a club upstairs. A nice place, fancy,” I added, trying to reassure her. “My group was having after-dinner drinks,” I lied, “and I saw her. She’d obviously had too much to drink and some of the people there…It’s not safe for a girl her age. She couldn’t tell me where she lives, so I brought her here.”
“Oh, my źabka,” Mrs. Mazur whispered as she went to Veronica and stroked her hair.
“She got sick in the car.”
Mr. Mazur sighed. “Let’s get her upstairs.” He shot his wife a look where something unspoken passed between them. “You get her cleaned up and I talk to Dylan, all right?”
“Yes.”
They led her upstairs to the bathroom and Mr. Mazur made his way back downstairs just as I heard the shower turn on. “She is a good girl. I don’t know what makes her work in a place that has her dress in that way.”
“I’m sure she makes very good tips there, but I agree with you, it’s not for a girl like Veronica.”
He eyed me with skepticism. “You recognized her…Or is this the long story?”
I chuckled as he led me to the kitchen and gestured to a chair. I looked around, remembering mornings drinking coffee and eating babka, bullshitting with Kasia’s dad. Out of character for me, but I always wanted his approval. “This is the long story.”
>
I went on to tell him about meeting her at the flower shop, not giving him any details as to why I was there, and then seeing her again crying at the hospital. I had to bite back tears when I told him that I was just comforting someone who was practically a stranger, only to have her mention Kasia by name. That’s when I put it together.
His head was down, his thumb and forefinger massaging the bridge of his nose.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Yes, Dylan, it’s been a difficult time for the family. You know how very special she is to us all. Kasia has been through so much, and now…What the doctors tell us is not good.”
“How much time does she have left?”
He took my hand, taking me in, hearing the lump in my throat that gave my speech a choked quality. “We don’t know, a month or maybe two. But,” he smiled, “you know her, she’s tough. She pretends she has energy, especially when the children are about. My Kasia is always smiling, wants no one to fuss.”
“Is she in pain?”
“She is but she hates the medication. Says she needs a clear head so that she can do everything she needs to do, say everything she needs to say. Still my stubborn girl.”
Mrs. Mazur joined us then, putting a plate of small cakes on the table, removing a bottle from the freezer and pouring me a shot of vodka. She was trying to soften the blow, preparing me for the bomb she was about to drop.
“He already knows,” he said to his wife, taking her hand and rubbing his thumb over it in a gesture of comfort. Their connection was always so obvious. They were two people who could communicate without talking, who worked together as partners, who craved each other in every way. I envied them, and back when I was young and foolish, I thought I could have that same kind of relationship with their daughter, even if I hadn’t earned it.
I took her other hand. “I feel terrible for you all.”
“Sometimes,” she said, swallowing and holding back tears, “I wish it was over for her. She is in pain. But mostly, I’m selfish and I’m scared. Every morning when I see her, I tell myself this is good, I have one more day to care for my baby.”