The Client

by Gadziala, Jessica

  "I don't know," I admitted.

  "Before the cave?" he pressed, refusing to let up. And after what I had done, I had no right to deny him the truth.

  "Yes. I think sometime between arriving in Bali and the pool. And then more after the pool and during the day that followed. It was more me than it wasn't me, if that makes sense," I said, gaze on his throat.

  "When wasn't it you?" he asked, hands settling on my hips.

  "When I was pushing you away," I admitted. "When I was picking fights. That's what you're supposed to do. Reel them in. Then push them away, keep them coming back."

  "Keep me coming back," he corrected.

  "Yes, you too."

  "Why?"

  "Why what?"

  "Why do you do it?"

  "I get paid for it. I am good at it."

  "Why, Wasp?" he pressed, one hand going to my chin, gently forcing it up.

  "Because some men get away with things they shouldn't be allowed to. Because I can help some women get even."

  "And because you get to use your pretty against them," he mused, daring me to object. "It didn't escape me how you flipped whenever I called you beautiful. And now I am thinking that is because you were born pretty, right? Came out that way. Got prettier every year. Pretty enough that no one gave a shit if you had anything else to offer."

  'They still don't," I said, shrugging, trying not to be bitter about it.

  "I do," he corrected. "Yeah, you're gorgeous. I notice that. It's a factor. You like how I look too, darling."

  "That's fair," I agreed.

  "But that isn't it. I didn't keep you around because you were pretty. Pretty is a dime a dozen. I'd have gotten bored of pretty before we left Paris. The night we met, I was surrounded by pretty," he reminded me. "I walked away from them for you. And kept coming back for more."

  "Yeah, because that's how it works, Fenway. Catch and release. It's a trick."

  "It wasn't that I couldn't have you."

  "That is all it could have been."

  "No. There was something about you. I could feel it the moment you walked in. Before I even saw you. The air changed when you walked in that bar. Maybe you think all men see is the pretty, but there is something else too. The way you carry yourself. That look in your eyes. Everyone projects a vibe. It's why women can spot a creep from a room away. And maybe I saw all that pretty, Wasp. It's hard to ignore. But that vibe was what pulled me away from my table. I knew there was something there. I wanted to get closer to it."

  "And then," I prompted, needing more.

  "And then you stopped with the bullshit long enough for me to get to know you a little. And the more I knew, the more I liked. This," he said, running a fingertip down my jaw. "This is all wrapping paper. It's pretty. It draws your eye. But what you really want is underneath all that. Christmas would be pretty boring if all you had were piles of pretty wrapping paper."

  "I like that analogy," I decided, lips curving up slightly.

  "Tell me it was more real than it was fake," he demanded, vulnerability a breathtaking thing on his face.

  "It was a lot more real than it was fake. It was almost all real. I had to leave because it was getting too real," I told him. "I knew that if I stayed any longer, I was going to tell you. And that even if I did, there was no chance for us. Because you would never be able to trust me again."

  "Trust is a funny thing," he mused. "Sometimes you think it's been broken, when it's just been tested."

  "How could you call this tested? I lied to you. I took money to lie to you. I met you and I had every intention from day one of hurting you. That's not a test."

  "No, but maybe this is," he suggested. "Getting it all out there."

  "There's no way you could go on and believe me in the future."

  "No? I think that's my place to decide, darling, not yours."

  "You couldn't possibly want me now, knowing what I did."

  To that, a humorless smile pulled at his lips as he reached into his pocket for a handkerchief, gently swiping at my face. "You have a good hand with the makeup, but it's not waterproof. You look like you haven't slept since you walked away from me," he told me, touching the smudges I knew were under my eyes. "I think you've probably beat yourself up enough about what happened. You don't need me to pile on."

  "It's not about what I need. You have a right to pile on. I did something awful to you."

  "Did you, though?" he asked, tucking the makeup-smeared handkerchief away. "Falling for you wasn't so bad," he teased, lips quirking up. "One might be even able to argue that I quite enjoyed it."

  "Quite," I scoffed, shaking my head.

  "I do need to know one thing, though."

  "What's that?"

  "What's your real name?" he asked.

  "Oh, anything but that," I groaned, knocking my forehead into his shoulder.

  "I'm afraid it's a deal-breaker, darling. How bad could it be? Do you have some old lady's name or something?"

  To that, I snorted, taking a deep breath, sitting back. "It's Bella."

  "Bella. Meaning 'beautiful,'" he said, eyes shining, understanding why I hated it.

  "In both Italian and Latin," I agreed, rolling my eyes. "My parents really had to add insult to injury on that one."

  "It's a beautiful name. Even if I think Wasp suits you a little bit better. Maybe I will only call you Bella when I want to piss you off."

  "You're planning on doing that often?"

  "Just about every chance I get," he promised, eyes bright. "You're kind of sexy when you're pissed off," he told me, smile devilish.

  "So you plan on seeing me in the future," I said, needing confirmation, too scared to let myself hope without hearing the words.

  "Seeing you? Yeah," he said, hand slipping up my side, over my ribs, a place he knew I was sensitive. "And doing a lot more than just seeing you," he told me, fingers moving up, teasing the low bodice of my dress, not even touching my skin, but managing to send goosebumps washing over my skin in anticipation.

  "Fenway, be serious for one minute," I demanded.

  "Oh, darling, if there is one thing I am serious about," he started, eyes going molten, "it's about making you do... yeah that," he said when his hand slipped under my bodice, closing over my breast, his thumb moving over my hardened nipple, making me moan. "Now, isn't that better than talking?" he asked, using his thumb and forefinger to roll my nipple, making need bloom in my core.

  "We need to talk," I insisted even as my hips did a little shimmy, moving higher on his lap, feeling his cock pressing against me, making me let out an airy sigh.

  "We can talk," he said, one hand sinking into my ass, grinding me against him. "About how wet you are for me," he told me, jerking his hips upward, making his cock hit me right where I needed him, dragging a ragged moan out of me. His other hand went behind my neck, dragging me closer. "We can talk about how we are going to keep you quiet when I fuck you, so the driver doesn't hear," he told me, hand moving from my ass to slip between my thighs, sliding under my panties.

  "Fenway, please," I whimpered, rocking against him. "It's been too long," I added, instantly regretting those days when I'd held him at arms' length.

  Luckily, Fenway was just as out of control, not wasting any time slipping on protection, ripping my barely-there panties, and guiding me up so I could slide down onto his length.

  "Fuck," I whimpered, taking a deep breath.

  "Yeah, you never faked that," he told me, smirking as he jerked his hips upward into me as I started working in slow circles.

  It wasn't long before all control snapped, leaving me riding him hard, fast, his hand crushed over my mouth to muffle my cries as I got closer, as I flew over the edge, crashing down into my orgasm.

  Fenway followed on the tail-end of my orgasm, hissing out my name—my real name. And maybe I didn't hate the sound of it on his lips.

  "You realize Eamon Awan probably has a camera in here, and just watched us get it on," I told him, pulling backward after
I caught my breath.

  "Yes, well, the poor ugly bastard probably can't get any himself.

  "Ugly—" I started.

  "Work with me here, darling. I have some pride," he told me, grinning.

  "Oh, right. Yeah. He's just... hideous. If there was a race of aliens that were about to go extinct and needed a man's sperm, and the women came down, and Eamon was all the world had to offer, they'd probably decide they'd rather let their race die out."

  "I know, right? The poor man. I clearly could not imagine being so unfortunate-looking," he said, grinning.

  "Seriously, though. He probably has cameras in here. Why the hell else are we driving around Navesink Bank in circles?" I asked, looking over his shoulder at a building we'd already passed. "Unless he plans on killing us," I concluded. "You know... for figuring out his super secret location."

  "Hm," Fenway mused as I climbed off of his lap, tucking my panties into his pocket. "Maybe he'd be more forgiving if we went back, and I dropped a small country's GDP at one of his tables," he suggested, zipping up, then sliding to the side, knocking calmly on the glass. "I have a hundred grand burning a hole in my pocket," he told the driver when the window slid down.

  "I'll see what he says," the driver told us, closing the partition again.

  Fifteen minutes later, we were back at a table, Fenway making easy business conversation with Richard Balefire as I tried to pretend to ignore Faye's knowing look.

  "It's clever, you know," she told me as she shifted her cards around.

  "What is?" I asked.

  "A dog trainer," she told me, smirking.

  "Yes, well, you know how they behave when they are let off their leashes," I told her, getting a humorless laugh.

  "Chasing after every bitch in heat," she suggested.

  "Well, yes. But not if they're scared of having their balls chopped off," I added, shooting Fenway a saccharine smile as I rearranged my hand, knowing I'd won again.

  "Oh, I'm not a cheater," he said, eyes narrowing as I laid down my cards for him to see. "Unlike some people," he added, raising his brows at me. "There's no way you have that hand."

  "Oh, hush, and hand over the twenty grand, darling," I added, getting a big smile out of him. Eye crinkles and all.

  I could get used to that look directed at me.

  Maybe, if I was lucky, I could.

  After I was done taking all his money, that is.

  Priorities.

  FIFTEEN

  Fenway

  I imagine other men might have run for their lives when her truth came out. Perhaps that was even the most prudent of choices.

  But, really, when had anyone ever accused me of being careful?

  Besides, many jobs were steeped in suffering of some sort. Everything from food production to finance to fast fashion. There was harm done whether it was human or animal or environmental. It would be hypocritical to judge her for causing harm if I didn't go out of my way to blame others for their negative impact on the world.

  And on top of all of that, there was the simple fact that I believed her. Women could fake things. And fake them well. That panic attack and breakdown in the limo? That was real. She couldn't have faked that. The Wasp I knew would have been too mortified even to try. Her mask was the cool, calm, and collected sort.

  She cared about me.

  If it wasn't love yet, it was heading in that direction.

  She left because she was moments away from telling me the truth. And she was terrified that by doing so, she would not only ruin any future since she thought I couldn't trust her, but also lose out on the money. It was the definition of a damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don't situation.

  I didn't blame her for taking stock and running.

  Lesser men would have wanted groveling, would have wanted her begging for forgiveness, tearfully swearing she would never lie to me ever again. My forgiveness didn't need to be earned on the back of her pride. If your ego required someone else to make themselves small to be able to welcome them back into your life, maybe it was time to reevaluate your relationship dynamic.

  After she took me—and Aero—for all we were worth, we went back to my room at the hotel, falling into bed and each other for hours before her phone started—and refused to stop—ringing.

  "It's probably Raven," Wasp told me, grumbling as she rolled off my chest, walking bare-ass naked out into the living space to grab her phone out of her purse. I went ahead and enjoyed the view before climbing out of bed and following, going for my own phone, texting Alvy, telling him to send Raven flowers and set up a meeting with Richard Balefire, half paying attention to Wasp's conversation that started with her trying to sound firm while telling her friend she was in big trouble, then slipping into excited whispers as she recounted the evening.

  "She wants to officially meet you," Wasp told me after hanging up. "Expect very harsh judgment. And some veiled threats."

  "Hate to break it to you, darling, but your best friend is more of the direct threat sort of woman."

  "She already did it? And I missed it? Damn. Did she threaten to jam something up your urethra? Because that's my threat."

  "It involved a boating accident that would never be traced back to her."

  "She's perfectly capable of that," Wasp declared, moving over toward me, dropping down on my lap, reaching for the scotch I had discarded before the casino.

  "I don't need Raven's threats. You scare me enough," I told her, tugging her hair.

  "As I should," she agreed, giving me the glass to finish as she leaned her head on my shoulder. "So, aren't you at least a little bit curious?" she asked.

  "About what?"

  "Who hired me," she said, shaking her head a little. "That was a lot of money. I don't think your little trust fund chasers would have been able to bankroll the job.

  "You don't have a check?"

  "We did it crypto. Normally, they'd pay cash or Paypal me. But because it was so much, I wanted it in crypto. It's a bit more complicated to turn it back into USD, but it saved me from having to worry as much about the IRS. I have enough of an issue explaining my profession to them every year."

  "You actually pay your taxes?" I asked, snorting. "What criminal pays taxes?"

  "The kind who don't want to get Capone'd."

  "Capone'd?"

  "You know, they technically got away with all their crimes, but they threw tax evasion charges at them."

  "So do you actually tell them you're a dog trainer?" I asked, teasing.

  "I do, actually," she said, smiling up at me. "I am a very expensive dog trainer. But, of course, I am worth every penny."

  "What was your plan for when you were done with dog training?"

  "I have been carefully investing. I was hoping to maybe partially retire, find some side gig that I found fun and interesting. But, apparently, I could have a very successful future as a high-end call-girl," she mused, pursing her lips. "Perhaps I should be giving Faye a call..."

  "I don't think so, darling. No one is going to get to put their hands on you but me from now on," I told her. I'd never been a possessive person in the past. But I'd also never had a woman as a steady fixture in my life, a woman I could picture a future with.

  "Well, clearly, if this becomes a thing, a future with contracts kind of thing," she said, pussyfooting around the word 'marriage,' "I would have to find something to bring in money. Since you are on a one-man-mission to lose your entire fortune."

  "Oh, but what a fun way to go into destitution," I declared, getting a chuckle out of her. "This plan for semi-retirement," I started, knowing this was a tricky area. "When was that supposed to start?"

  "I didn't have an exact date. I figured there would come a day when I just knew I was done. By then, I should have saved up enough to take a year or two off to figure out my future plans."

  "So you have a year or two?"

  "Well, thanks to your job, absolutely."

  "Good. Because you're officially retired," I told her, watching as she
arched a brow at me. She knew she was too, but this was not a woman who liked being told what to do. "Come on. We have to check out all those vending machines. You said you would come with me."

  "I believe I said it would be fun to go with you, not that I would."

  "Come on. You know you want to." She did, too. Her eyes were already bright with excitement

  "We can't just jet off to China."

  "Sure we can. Alvy brought the jet back to the States for me."

  "That's not what I meant," she said, rolling her eyes, but she was smiling. "You have to meet Raven and Roman. And if my brothers catch wind of your presence, they will want to size you up as well. We will have to stay in the States for a little bit."

  "Well, if we are going to stay for a while, maybe we can plan a trip for you to meet someone too."

  "Your grandma?" she asked, looking touched.

  "Yes. She's up in Connecticut. We can fly up after we spend some time with your family. We can even fly... commercial," I said, pretending to gulp hard.

  "I have a much better idea."

  As it turned out, her better idea was to take Wanda.

  I learned something new about Wasp on the road trip up to my grandmother's estate.

  She drove like a church lady on her way to a potluck with a giant pot of soup—without a lid—on the floor of the passenger set.

  "There is a gas pedal, you know, darling," I told her, getting a withering glance. "Here I was thinking you'd be the sort to say fuck it to speed limits since you know you can charm yourself out of a ticket. But here you are, hands at ten and two."

  "Have you ever driven a school bus?"

  "I have not."

  "Then shush," she demanded, taking a turn at about three miles an hour.

  Her skoolie—aka Wanda—was nothing like I thought it would be. Namely, not cold and oppressive, tight-feeling.

  She'd clearly done the work to make sure it was airy and open feeling, so that despite it's minuscule size, I didn't feel like the walls were closing in on me. I could see how she and Raven had comfortably lived here for years.

  Even if I much preferred flying and using the yacht, to be perfectly honest. If for no other reason than that we would actually make it there in good time rather than a day later than planned. Not that my grandmother would mind, of course. She was used to me being late.