Friendly Fire

by Cari Z.

  “Okay.”

  “It’s a date, then.” Lennox kissed the top of Lee’s purple head and closed his eyes for a second to savor the closeness that had been missing from his life for what felt like an eternity now.

  A second was all it took for Khalil to sidle up and try to swipe the pie. His giggle gave him away though, and Lee practically forced the pie plate into Lennox’s hands before she took off after her little brother, who screamed with glee.

  Lennox did as he’d been told and ate the pie.

  Excerpt from Shockwave’s article:

  There’s a certain Machiavellian charisma to McKenzie, a primped and polished demeanor at odds with his exhortations to live genuinely and be true to yourself. Then again, this is not a man accustomed to privation. A cursory investigation into his background reveals an emotionally damaging but materially comfortable childhood, making him come across a little like a lesser Bruce Wayne.

  If there’s a crusader for justice in the McKenzie family, though, it isn’t the prodigal son. Or at least, it wasn’t before he became famous for all the wrong reasons. His sister, Vanessa Travers, is a prosecutor for the Denver DA’s office with an impressive number of successful cases under her belt.

  She’s also currently running for the position of Denver’s district attorney. I wonder if these siblings will dare to exchange holiday cards this year.

  “Aaand . . . action.”

  Elliot smiled for the camera, careful not to let his eyes track away to either side of it. He’d done close to a hundred of these videos now, and was pretty much an expert. He didn’t really need to read from the cue cards anymore, although he had Ted make them up for him just in case. “Hey, guys! It’s Elliot at Charmed Life, here with your weekly insight.” He clasped his hands in front of his chest for a moment before tapping them to his chin. Body language spoke as loud as words, and Elliot liked to set the stage for his subscribers, even if it made him feel like he was in an amateur acting class.

  “Before yesterday,” he began, “I had a clear-cut idea for what I was going to talk about in this video. But after yesterday, well, it seems that my priorities have changed.” Elliot shrugged and grinned. “They do that sometimes―I’ve learned to roll with it. So today I want to talk with you about . . . preconceptions. Specifically, about other people’s preconceptions of you, and a few strategies for dealing with them.

  “I was thinking about this because I did an interview yesterday, and let’s just say things started off with a bang and never quite slowed down.” He shook his head slightly, his smile turning rueful. “I get where they’re coming from. It has to be hard to meet your subject for the first time and try to get any depth out of them. Reporters are trained to ask the tough questions, and I respect that. Conversely, though, it’s hard on me to sit across from someone and listen to them recite my history like they’re reading it off a wanted poster, and then ask me how I feel about it. How would anybody feel about that?

  “Defensive.” Elliot let his smile wash out now. “Frustrated. Like there’s nothing you can do to keep people from bringing up the same old stories, over and over. It’s a painful loop to be caught in, and if it happens often enough, it can be destructive to the progress you’ve made so far. You don’t have to forget the lessons of the past to want to move beyond it, and get to the second chance you deserve.

  “But how do we handle this kind of presence in our lives? Yesterday for me it was easy: I just had to wait for the interview to end. Other times though, there is no end. We might be living with someone who won’t let us move on, or we might be missing someone who refuses to move on with us.” Elliot sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, expressing some of the fatigue he felt every time he thought about the people who had left him behind. His lover, Willie, Vanessa . . . He looked out at the camera again.

  “Sometimes you can talk to them about it. Set clear boundaries, come to an agreement about what is and isn’t fair to bring up. Sometimes,” and he held up a hand, as if forestalling an argument, “and I hate to say it but it really is true, folks: avoidance is the only way. That doesn’t mean you’ll never be able to talk to them about it, but it does acknowledge that some people need time to learn to deal with a new reality. Just because you’re ready to move on doesn’t mean your support network is.

  “And lastly? Guys . . .” Elliot shook his head. “Sometimes you have to be willing to leave them behind. If someone in your life can’t let go of their preconceptions of you, if someone in your life can’t accept the changes within you and support you in maintaining them, then it might be time to step away and find some new friends. We all need a community to lend a hand when it comes to staying on a new path, and as wonderful as I think my subscribers are,” he smiled again, “I’ll be the first to admit we’re just one piece of the puzzle. We can be there for each other, but we can only do so much in forums online. The physical component is as important as the emotional one. Which isn’t to say I’m not trying to solve that problem too, but one thing at a time.

  “So, preconceptions!” Elliot rubbed his hands together. “Think about how they affect you, both your own and other people’s. Think about the ideas you may be holding on to about other people in your life, maybe even about yourself, and consider how you can better come to terms with them. Share your ideas on the forum, so our friends can see they’re not the only ones going through this. Next week, we’ll go over some coping strategies that do not involve marijuana, so stop asking―I know it’s legal here but, c’mon, don’t get me into more trouble, okay? Thanks for listening.”

  “Aaand . . . cut.” Ted poked his head out from behind the camera and gave Elliot a thumbs-up. “Nice. We can use this; it’ll hardly need any editing at all.”

  “Are you sure? I think I stumbled a bit at the end there,” Elliot said, stroking the sides of his head below the edges of his fedora. “And am I frizzy? This feels a little frizzy.”

  Ted sighed the sigh of the immensely put-upon. “You’re not frizzy. And if there was a stumble, I’ll edit it out. Give me a day to get the final version to you and then you can post it.” He was already packing up his equipment, all of it fitting into a guitar-sized case.

  Ted might be bit impatient with Elliot sometimes, but he did good work. If he said it was fine . . . “Thanks, Ted.”

  “No problem.”

  Elliot left him to deal with the lights, and headed back upstairs for his next big thing. Which was . . . actually, he didn’t know. He headed for his office, but Serena met him in the common room before he got as far as his door.

  “Hi! Filming go okay?”

  “It went fine, like every other week,” Elliot said, a little taken aback. All day, Serena had been . . . not manic, exactly, maybe excited? And anxious? It was a nerve-racking combination coming from a woman who generally seemed unperturbable. “Why?”

  “Just making sure you don’t have anything else to do down there.” She checked her phone. “Your timing is perfect. He should be here any minute.”

  Elliot frowned. “Who should be here?”

  Serena beamed. “Your four o’clock! I set up a meeting with a representative for a personal and home security company, who―”

  “Serenaaa.” Elliot drew her name out with a groan. “I told you, I don’t need extra security!”

  “Who,” she persevered, “also happens to be my ex-brother-in-law, but he’s still a friend of the family, so before you get started with him, let me tell you something.” Her expression went deadly serious. “You be nice to Lennox, or as God is my witness I will make you suffer as only a personal assistant can. You don’t have to use his services if you really don’t want to, but you should give this a chance, Elliot, and that starts with behaving yourself now.”

  Elliot was intrigued despite himself. Serena never got this defensive over people who weren’t, well . . . him, mostly. “He’s your ex-brother-in-law? And he’s still friends with your sister?” Elliot hadn’t met Gaby, but she sounded like more the “burn the
bridges and set fire to the town along with them” rather than the forgiving type.

  “They’re very good friends, and have been ever since their divorce. He got here three months ago and is working hard to settle in. He can be a little touchy, but he’s great and I don’t want you to be rude to him.”

  Elliot snorted. “Why, will he cry?”

  “No. But he might leave you crying, and I don’t want to have to deal with that today. Oh!” Her face lit up. “He’s here!” She left Elliot and practically ran across the carpeted floor and greeted the man coming inside. Elliot got a vague impression of someone in worn jeans and a dark Henley as Serena smothered him in a hug. As soon as he moved back and Elliot could take in the entire view, however . . .

  Damn. Damn, get him a martini and a recliner, because he could watch this guy for hours. He was about Elliot’s height, maybe slightly less broad across the shoulders, but his bare forearms were whipcord lean, and darkly tanned. He had golden-brown eyes under low brows, a sharp jaw covered by a closely trimmed beard, and thick, dark hair just long enough on top to be stylish, which was probably accidental given the worn state of the man’s clothes. His face was a little hollow to be strictly handsome; it made him look too intense for a simple handsome. The lines of his muscles under his shirt were cut, compact. All in all, he was about the last person Elliot had expected after being warned so vehemently not to be rude. If Elliot was rude, this guy would likely bend him in half and tie his limbs in knots. Which might be fun . . .

  If he weren’t the ex-husband of Elliot’s best friend’s sister, that was. He couldn’t be more off-limits if he were Serena’s ex. The two finished their greeting, and Elliot straightened up and smiled winningly as they came over.

  “Good afternoon.” He extended his hand. “I’m Elliot McKenzie. Thank you for meeting me on such short notice.”

  “Lennox West.” He had a low, easy voice with a touch of a Southern drawl to it—Georgia, perhaps? “And I should probably be thanking you for making the time, since I know this wasn’t your idea.”

  Elliot smiled more broadly. “Well, if we’re being completely honest, then I’ll confess that I didn’t actually know I was meeting with you until about a minute ago. Not that I’m in any way disappointed now you’re here.” Was he . . . flirting with Mr. Unavailable? Maybe he was going crazy.

  “Neither am I.”

  Wait, was―was Lennox West flirting back? He couldn’t be. Elliot should ignore it, chock it up to Southern gentility, and keep things in a purely professional realm.

  Except he wouldn’t be himself if he did that.

  “Let’s hope you stay that way,” Elliot said. “Are you thirsty? Hungry? I’m not sure if you know this, but within these four walls I’m allowed to ask Serena to bring me things. Every day at work feels like being in the eye of a hurricane: as exciting as it is dangerous.”

  “Oh, stop.” Serena whacked him on the arm, and then smacked Lennox as well when she caught him grinning. “And you, what is this? You two aren’t allowed to gang up on me!”

  “We’re just trying to get along,” Lennox said, as innocently as a child with his fingers crossed behind his back. “I thought you wanted me to be friendly to your boss.”

  “You practically demanded that I be nice,” Elliot added. “How much nicer can I be? Actually,” and he knew it was a bad idea but he went ahead with it anyway, batting his eyelashes at Lennox, “I could be a hell of a lot nicer to you, but that sort of thing has no place in an office where other people are in earshot.”

  “That’s a shame,” Lennox said, and Elliot probably looked like an idiot, he was grinning so hard, but he didn’t care.

  “Oh my god.” Serena looked between the two of them like she’d just realized she’d left her curling iron plugged in, and whether or not the house would still be standing by the time she got back was clearly up in the air. “You’re getting along. I thought I’d have to stand by with a cattle prod to keep things civil, but you’re even . . . You can’t be serious.”

  “I try never to be serious, but we do have business to discuss thanks to you, so.” Elliot shrugged and opened his office door for Lennox. “Come on in. Pick anywhere you like to sit, and we can talk. Serena, if I could have a bottle of water, that would be wonderful; I’m still hot and bothered from being under those lights.”

  If there was a prize for obviousness, Elliot would have won it right then. Judging from Serena’s glare, she agreed, but her ex-brother-in-law steadfastly refused to show any hint of offense as he stepped inside. “I’d like one too, if you don’t mind.”

  She nodded warily. “I’ll get them. Just . . . give me a minute.”

  “Thank you.” Elliot shut the door and looked over at Lennox, who, after a moment of debating between the leather couch and the beanbag chair, flopped down in the chair. His legs splayed as he got comfortable, and it took more willpower than Elliot was comfortable with to force himself to sit down on the couch across from Lennox.

  “You’re allowed to decorate with beanbag chairs in a place like this?” Lennox asked bemusedly.

  “It’s my place, I can decorate it however I want to,” Elliot said. “And for certain people there’s nothing better than a beanbag chair. Take you, for example. You opted for it.”

  “True,” Lennox said, smiling as he ran his hand over the fabric. He seemed different when he smiled: softer and, dare Elliot think it, slightly sweet.

  Elliot had seen pictures of Serena’s niece, Lia, numerous times. While before he’d thought her looks came from Serena’s side, now he could recognize hints of this man in the sharpness of Lia’s jaw and the length of her coltish limbs.

  “I had one as a kid,” Lennox said. “It was just blue vinyl, not nice fabric like this, but I loved that thing.”

  “Did you keep it until it was all worn out?”

  “Ah, no.” Lennox was too tanned for Elliot to see if he was blushing, but the way he averted his eyes for a moment spoke volumes. “Once I was too big for it, I ended up using it for target practice.”

  Elliot tsked and shook his head. “You shot your favorite chair? Such a fickle lover.”

  “Actually, I used throwing knives.” Lennox shrugged. “I went through a ninja phase when I was in my teens.”

  The thought of Lennox flinging knives into cheap vinyl should absolutely not be hot. Elliot cleared his throat. “I hope you’ll be kinder to my chair. Please don’t stab it in a fit of nostalgia.”

  “I promise not to take a knife to any of your pretty things,” Lennox said mock-seriously. “Cross my heart.” He did so, and then seemed mildly surprised by his own actions.

  “Well, that’s a relief.” The man was carrying a knife too; Elliot saw the clip holding it in his right pocket. Of course he was. Elliot considered asking Lennox to whip it out so he could see it, but then Serena came in with water. He took advantage of the break to get control of his rogue brain. You cannot hit any harder on this guy. He is off-limits until you have clear proof otherwise. Like Lennox pushing Elliot up against the wall and sticking his hand down his pants. That would be nice proof.

  “Thanks, I really need this,” he said to Serena when she handed him an icy bottle. He drained half of it in one go, refreshingly chilled by the end of it. Yes, he could handle this.

  “No problem,” she said, not sounding like she was brimming with belief, but Elliot took what he could get. “Can I bring you anything else? Do you need someone to take notes?”

  “It’s a security system, not rocket science. Right?” He looked expectantly at Lennox.

  “If it was rocket science, I wouldn’t be doing it,” Lennox said easily. “The really high-tech stuff I leave to the MIT grads. These kinds of systems are easy. You can even get one that you install yourself, if you want. Motion detectors, alarms on the doors and windows, cameras . . . it’s all wireless now.”

  “Keep in mind that I’m not a rocket scientist either,” Elliot warned him.

  “Stop being modest,” Serena chid
ed him, then turned to Lennox. “He’s so good with his hands, you wouldn’t believe it. He can fix cars, appliances—he fixed my washing machine last week, took the whole thing apart and put it back together and voilà! It works better than when I bought it. You should have been an engineer, not a lawyer, Elliot.”

  Lennox’s eyebrows lifted. “I didn’t know you were a lawyer.”

  He could have heard a drop of water hit the floor, it was so still for a moment.

  “All fine? Nothing needed? Lovely! I’ll just go, then!” Serena pivoted on her very high heel and walked out, quietly shutting the door behind her.

  Elliot raised one eyebrow. “Really? I thought everyone knew that. Past tense, of course; I was disbarred, but I used to be a patent lawyer.”

  “Why were you disbarred?”

  “Why don’t you know already?” Elliot said. “I may be wrong, but I was under the impression that the reason I’ve never met any of Serena’s family is because they’re quite aware of my past, and unanimously disapproving.”

  “I haven’t been here very long yet,” Lennox said as he twisted the cap off his water bottle. “And I’ve found it’s always better to get information straight from the source.” He took a sip, and Elliot tracked the motion for a moment before getting his mind back in the game.

  “That’s true.” Fine. He would lay it all out there; he hated to rehash his past, generally, but something about Lennox made the prospect less aggravating. “Five years ago, the law firm I worked for was hired to represent a company called Redback Industries. They were in a dispute over the rights to a new technology developed by a former biomedical engineer of theirs named Frank Gunderson. Frank had left the company several years previously, formed his own corporation and proceeded to pioneer a method of 3D-printing cell scaffolds for seeding transplant organs.”

  Lennox frowned. “Can’t we do something like that already? I thought I saw an article on organ manufacturing not too long ago . . .”