It seems to be some sort of flash mob, and Jack is beside himself with excitement. Carmen is sitting on the front steps, grinning from ear to ear, and Jack runs to sit in her lap and watch the performance.
They’re good, and the image of Darth Vader dancing and swinging his light saber to the song is too funny not to laugh at. The Stormtroopers all keep pace behind him. Neighbors are standing outside watching the performance, all of them smiling.
I take out my phone to record the rest of the dance, also getting footage of Jack in Carmen’s lap, both of them obviously delighted. She rests her head on his, looking joyful and blissfully unaware she’s wearing pajama pants, a T-shirt, and a messy bun.
When the song ends, the Stormtroopers all stand in perfect formation, and Darth Vader approaches Jack.
“Jack Elliott?” he asks, his voice a deep, authentically filtered version of the real Darth’s.
“Yes, sir.” Jack looks up at him, his eyes wide and awestruck.
I realize that in his little mind, this is the Darth Vader, and it melts me.
“Your father sent me,” Darth says. “He loves you very much and said you’ve got the heart of a Jedi.”
“My dad? You know my dad?” Jack’s smile is wide.
“Yes. Remember that the Jedi are always with you in your heart. Will you do that?”
Jack nods and Darth touches the top of his head before standing, giving a flick of his hand to the assembled Stormtroopers and leading them down the street. The neighbors who were watching clap and cheer as the Stormtroopers slow-jog in formation.
Neighbor kids approach the front steps, all of them wowed by what just happened and dying to know how Jack knows Darth Vader.
Carmen lets him enjoy being swarmed, and she walks over to me with an incredulous look.
“Did you do that?” she asks me in a whisper.
“No.”
“I haven’t heard a peep from Danny in almost four years . . .” Her voice is nearly inaudible so no one but me can hear. “Do you really think he could have . . . ?”
“It sounds like it.”
She smiles, her expression softening. “Jack’s going to have some great stories when school starts, between that fireman’s badge and this.”
I hug her and hold up the brown paper bag in my hand. “We brought you some of those banana walnut pancakes you like.”
“You’re amazing.”
“So are you.”
She furrows her brow. “Do you think maybe . . . Coop did that?”
“One way to find out.” I take out my phone and press the button to call my brother.
After a few rings, he answers in a pissy, sleepy tone. “We didn’t do anything, I swear. We walked and talked, that’s it.”
“I know. I was just wondering if you set up the flash mob that just happened in front of my house.”
“Flash mob?” he asks, irritated. “I had to stop by the station after I dropped Carmen off, and I’ve only been asleep for an hour. Are you fucking with me right now?”
“No. Go back to sleep. Sorry I woke you up.”
He grunts and hangs up.
“Wasn’t him,” I tell Carmen. “So I guess Danny did set it up.”
Carmen wraps her arms around herself and smiles. “For all he’s done wrong, and there’s plenty . . . that meant everything to Jack.”
We walk inside, and Carmen lets Jack talk to the neighborhood kids alone on the porch. She keeps watch the entire time from the front window, of course. But still, it’s the most normal moment he’s ever had with the neighbor kids, and that means as much to me as it does to Carmen.
#talkdirtytome
THE CURSOR ON my office computer screen flashes, daring me to hit “Send” this time. Or maybe not, but I need the nudge, so I interpret it that way and click the button before I can overthink it.
I’ve written this message twice now, deleted it, and rewritten it. The third time’s apparently a charm.
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: hi again
Hi. Apparently, I don’t know how to quit you. You’re like a drinking habit, only I don’t even get a buzz.
S
* * *
I start working my way through my jammed Monday-morning email inbox. There’s a message from the Alpha Mail attorney with good news about the property I’m trying to acquire for a New York office, word from a detective at the Chicago Police Department that an order of protection has been approved for Isaac against his crazed client, and an email from Ben that I can’t bring myself to read. No matter what he has to say, I’ll never be able to look him in the eye again without thinking about him asking me to put my entire hand up his ass.
When a response from RoughRider appears, though, I pounce on it.
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
Where have you been? Have you not seen the dozen plus messages I’ve sent you? And now you’re back after more than a week and pissed off at me? Should be the other way around. I was worried about you.
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
Do you think you should be the one making the rules all the time? I’ve been busy, and I was cooling off, because you weren’t my favorite person for a while. You still aren’t, tbh . . .
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
Oh, yeah? Back at ya. Last I knew, you were going out with some guy. I’ve been wondering if you were dead in a ditch somewhere or shacked up in bed with him in Vegas or something. And back and forth on which I’d prefer.
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
Really????? I mean . . . REALLY? You were frustrated because you didn’t know where I was, when you could have picked up the phone to call me and ask? Imagine how it feels to be frustrated because I don’t know WHO YOU ARE. Also, fuck you.
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
That’s a fair criticism. I’m sorry for jumping all over you, and I shouldn’t have made that comment about not being sure which I’d prefer. I’m sorry for that too. So you’re right—fuck me. Forgive me?
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
I guess so. I’m still pissed off that I missed you, though, and I’m not getting over that until I’m good and ready.
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
You missed me? I missed you too. More than you know.
Have you been seeing the guy you went out with?
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
No. I actually thought the guy I was going out with might be you. But then I found out he wasn’t, and it was disappointing and awful. I was upset. That’s why I stopped messaging you.
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
I’m sorry, Sienna. That makes me feel like shit. I never should have messaged you in the first place. You’re the last person in the world I’d ever want to hurt.
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
You wish you’d never messaged me? Do you think we should stop?
* * *
&
nbsp; To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
No. I can never have you the way I want to, but if this is as close as I can get, I’ll take it.
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
Will you at least tell me why you can’t have me? Give me something.
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
I can’t. Telling you that would reveal who I am. Please understand.
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
I wish I could, but if knowing would ruin things between us, what we’re doing is probably wrong on some level. You said you aren’t married, but are you separated or in a complicated relationship? I can’t handle being part of something like that.
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
No—I’m not involved with any woman in any way. It’s nothing like that.
I’m relieved it didn’t work out with that guy. I was so jealous over that I couldn’t see straight.
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
Is that so? I thought true alphas didn’t get jealous and possessive . . .
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
I wouldn’t be if we were together. But I’m just here fucking helpless, not knowing what’s going on. He didn’t do anything to you, did he?
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
What, something bad? No, nothing like that.
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
Did you fuck him?
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
Excuse me? Like that’s any of your business, random person whose identity I don’t even know?
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
Tell me. Did you?
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
So when I want you to tell me who you are, you brush me off, but I owe you explanations about the intimate details of my sex life?
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
TELL. ME.
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
No, I didn’t “fuck him,” Casanova.
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
Why sugarcoat it? That’s all it would have been with someone you don’t love.
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
And what’s wrong with that? You think two single, consenting adults can’t have sex just for fun?
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
Sure they can, but that’s not for me, and I don’t think it’s for you either.
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
I don’t even know what’s for me anymore. I do know life was easier when I was closed off to all men, even anonymous ones.
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
Easier isn’t necessarily better. I hate to do this, but I have to sign off for a work thing. IM date tonight?
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: about fucking time
Okay.
* * *
When I walk into the break room after my message exchange with RoughRider, Isaac and Kell are sitting at a table eating sandwiches.
“Hey, how’s it going?” I ask as I walk over to the stainless refrigerator and open it to grab a bottle of water.
“Eh.” Kell grunts and shrugs.
“Good talk,” I say with a wry smile.
He gives me the playboy grin that keeps his client roster full. “Sorry. I just got an ass-chewing from a pissed-off husband.”
“Oh, you mean . . . his wife is a client?”
“Yep.”
“Tell him to take it up with her.”
“Oh, I did. But the douchebag still wouldn’t quit. Called me every name under the sun and accused me of giving his wife unrealistic expectations about men.”
I sit down at the round table. “You don’t have to put up with that, Kell.”
“She’s on the unlimited plan, and he was texting me from her phone, so . . . I kinda did.”
“No, I don’t want you guys dealing with that stuff. I’ll talk to the attorney about drawing up a new policy so this doesn’t happen again.”
“Thanks.” He brushes the crumbs from his hands and stands up. “Good sandwiches, by the way.”
“I think Jane switched caterers.”
“Yeah.” He glances at his watch. “Duty calls.”
I chat briefly with Isaac, who tells me he’s relieved he got a restraining order against his stalker client. Poor guy, he seems genuinely fearful of the woman who had his name tattooed on her. I can see why—she sounds completely unbalanced.
Before leaving the break room, I grab a sandwich from the fridge. I’m walking back to my office, food and drink in hand, when the sound of a deep, growly male voice makes me slow down.
“Fuck, baby. You’ve got me so hard for you right now. Tug on those nipples for me . . . yeah. Squeeze them hard like you know I would.”
My slow walk turns into a complete stop. The voice I’m mesmerized by is Dane’s. Apparently, he’s not as grumpy with clients as he is with me.
“Yeah, my hand is wrapped all the way around my cock. It’s so fucking hard. You want me to go slow or fast?”
My brows arch involuntarily, and I grip the bottle of water in my hand. I’m the boss here, and this is just another way of keeping up with what’s going on with my employees, no different from talking to Isaac and Kell in the break room just now.
Right . . . but talking to Isaac and Kell didn’t turn me on. I’m not sure if that’s a job perk or a job hazard, but I do know one thing: I’m staying outside this door, out of Dane’s sight but well within reach of his gravelly voice.
“You’re soaked, aren’t you, baby?” he croons. “Slide those fingers inside for me. Tell me how it feels.”
I close my eyes, thinking of RoughRider. Maybe I can convince him to let me hear his voice. I think if he and I could have conversations like this, I could make do with not being with him in person.
“Faster,” Dane coaxes. “I have to go faster, babe. The thought of you lying there with your legs spread, fingering that gorgeous pussy is just too much for me . . . oh, shit . . . feels so good . . .”
I should probably tell him to close his door .
. . but not now. Later. I’ll tell him later.
For now, I’m riveted, straining to hear Dane’s next words. He’s right, it does feel good, in places that shouldn’t feel good at work.
Gretchen is approaching me, her mouth open like she’s about to say something. I put a finger to my lips and motion for her to stand next to me by the wall.
“Fuuuuuck, baby.” Dane groans loudly, and Gretchen’s eyes widen with surprise. “Come hard for me. Oh, shit . . . yeah, I did. I shot a huge load off thinking of you.”
Gretchen and I exchange a look that’s half curious and half concerned. I can’t help myself—I poke my head around the doorway to look at Dane.
He’s sitting at his desk, fully clothed, working on a Rubik’s Cube as he talks into the headset he’s wearing.
“Yeah, baby. Lick it all off your fingers for me. You know how I like that.”
When he sees me, he raises his hand in a friendly wave, like he’s talking about the weather right now or something. I smile awkwardly, weirded out knowing I was aroused by his fake arousal.
“Okay, babe . . . me too. Have a great day.”
He presses a button to disconnect the call and then takes off his headset.
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