He's So Bad

by Z. L. Arkadie

  I kiss her forehead and step away from her. “Have a good night’s sleep.”

  Carter nods as if she understands the decision I just made. “You too.”

  I walk out of the room and close the door. It’s late, but to get my lust under control, I decide to go for a run. I haven’t exercised in so long that I can’t say when my last workout was. I put on a pair of sweats, a long sleeved T-shirt, and my running shoes and head out into the night. The course that I run in Napa looks better in the daytime. All the homes in my neighborhood are set far away from the road, so I’m mostly jogging past fields of grape vines, tall and skinny Italian spruce trees, and trimmed shrubs. The farther out of my neighborhood I jog, the darker it gets. I hear my breath, my footsteps, and the wind whistling past my ear.

  I think about what Carter said. If it weren’t for me, Vince would be a different kind of man. I’m well aware that if it weren’t for him and his family, I would be a different kind of man. About eleven years ago, Vince convinced me to invest my trust fund in high-yielding stocks. As a result, I more than quadrupled my investment, and so did he. That’s when we pooled our money, found another investor, and started our media company. I now believe that I do deserve some credit for making A&Rt Media the success that it is. When we first started, I was the one who studied corporate structures. I put together the pieces and formed the right departments to accelerate our growth. I hired the employees. Gabe Zenith was actually my first. After our first year of operation, we were less than a million dollars in the red. After our second year of operating, we were 375 million in the black. I can only half kick myself for not letting Vince buy me out then. I had taken my talents as far as I could within the industry of media. However, if I had left then, I may still have Vince as my best buddy, but I wouldn’t be 2.3 billion dollars richer. And maybe I wouldn’t have Vince as my best buddy. I would’ve eventually done something to fuck up our friendship.

  Without realizing it, I increased my pace from a jog to a sprint. I stop and bend over, grabbing my knees to catch my breath. Maybe I’m willing to do right by Carter. I had a good time connecting with her sexually today. At some points, I sort of felt as if we were making love. Just being close to her filled my heart with a sensation that I’ve never felt before. I believe that I’m ready to give a normal relationship a try.

  It’s pitch black out here. I didn’t wear my watch, but I have to have been running for the last forty-five minutes or so. My first inclination is to walk at least the first mile and a half back then jog the rest. I’ve already overexerted myself. But Carter is at the house. I can’t wait to tell her that I want to give “us” a chance and make love to her throughout the rest of the night. So I jog all the way back home and increase my pace as I go. Approximately a half an hour later, I arrive at the front porch. I want to bend over to catch my breath, but I can do that after I’m in Carter’s room.

  “Carter,” I call as I run down the steps to her bedroom.

  She doesn’t answer, so I knock on the door and wait. I’m breathing heavily. She doesn’t answer, so I knock again. I wait a few beats. Still there’s no answer.

  I open the door slowly. “Carter?”

  I take three steps into the bedroom and stop. Her luggage and bags of stuff aren’t lined up against the wall. The bed is made, and the bathroom light is off. Shit, I don’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out she’s gone—but how in the hell did she get out of here without a car? Someone must’ve picked her up.

  The Amazing Disappearing Act

  Carter

  An Hour Ago…

  Carter couldn’t sleep even if she tried to force herself to do it. She sat on the bed, listening for any sign that Robert had changed his mind and decided to join her. She sat at attention when she heard his bedroom door open and his footsteps. She ascertained that he was walking up the stairs and not toward her room. Then she scrambled out of bed to look out the window and saw him jogging down the long driveway. She stood there watching him until the night had claimed him. Carter wondered what to do next. Her body yearned for more of Robert Tango, but she was also confused about Tyler. She believed him when he said that he hadn’t asked the landlord to put her out of the apartment. But if he didn’t do it, then who did?

  Since Robert had gone for a run, Carter lurked through the house. He had given her a tour earlier, but she preferred to indulge in these things alone. So far the floor plan was just as she would have drawn it. She had her cell phone with her to take pictures of some of the walls. Robert had used some great plasters and wall glass throughout the house. She was a few minutes into her self-guided tour and had just entered Robert’s home office when she received a call. Carter checked the name on the screen. It was Tyler.

  She sighed before answering. “Hello?”

  “Hi.”

  Carter noted the height of the walls, then she saw the envelope Robert had earlier sitting on the desk. “It’s late. What do you want?” she said, half distracted.

  “I just wanted to talk to you.”

  For one second, she debated whether or not she should invade Robert’s privacy. She was good at keeping things to herself, so he would never find out that she had snooped. If only he hadn’t behaved so strangely after he had returned to the garage, darn near clinging to that envelope.

  “Where are you?” Tyler asked.

  Carter held still for moment to make sure she couldn’t hear Robert returning from his run. After a beat, she felt as if the coast was clear. “In Napa.”

  “Me too,” Tyler said excitedly.

  She rolled her eyes as she slid the contents out of the envelope. “No, you’re not.” Carter gasped at the photos of her and Robert.

  “What’s going on?” Tyler asked.

  She read the note attached, threatening Robert if he didn’t fire her. “Did you send Robert pictures of him and I together, threatening him to leave me alone or else?”

  “Picture? Is that who you’re with, Tango?”

  “Fuck.” Carter knew she had said too much. “Yes. But that’s not what I asked.”

  “Are you two fucking?”

  It was time to lie. “No. He and I are friends from childhood.”

  “No way. Are you dicking me around?”

  “No, it’s true.”

  He grunted, sounding intrigued. “No wonder.”

  “No, no wonder,” she snapped. “I earned my shit, and you know it.”

  Tyler remained quiet as Carter slid the photos back into the envelope. She was more conflicted now than she had been before she began the tour. If there was one thing she’d learned by spending the day with the man she’d crushed on her whole life, it was that he needed an unsullied reputation.

  Carter tried her best to place the envelope just as she found it. “Are you really in Napa?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  She closed her eyes to consider whether or not she was being impulsive with her next decision. At the moment, everything she had questioned was clear. Although her heart already felt the loss of Robert Tango making love to her once again, she sighed with resolve. “Could you come pick me up?”

  Tyler didn’t hesitate. “What’s the address?”

  * * *

  Robert

  This is the fifth time I’ve tried to call Carter since she disappeared in the middle of the night. I left a message on the first call, asking her to call me back and let me know that she hadn’t been abducted by aliens. She’d left pretty abruptly, so I can only guess that something’s gone wrong. Her voicemail picks up again.

  “I get your message loud and clear. At least text me to tell me that you’re okay and that I don’t have to worry.” I end the call. I would never admit this out loud, but I’m hurt. More than likely, it’s just a shot to my ego and a smidgen to my heart.

  It’s Sunday afternoon. Today the transport company brought my vehicle over and took my rental car back to the company. It feels good to sit in the driver’s seat of my own car again. I had them bring my bran
d new sporty Jaguar. I’m heading back to San Francisco to stay in Jack’s Russian Hill house. I’m tempted to call Grace and ask her to meet me for drinks tonight. I want to get to the bottom of those photos. It’s driving me crazy that she paid someone to take those pictures in order to get some leverage over me. However, I’m too preoccupied by what could’ve possibly happened to Carter to even deal with Grace right now. I decide to keep our original meeting time of Tuesday morning at eight.

  It’s already nighttime when I make it to Jack’s house. The lights are on inside. He directed me to just ring the doorbell, and one of the “house staff” would let me in. I barely get Jack Lord. For a pretty down-to-earth guy, he has some fucking stuffy habits. He has personal chefs and daily caretakers in all the homes he owns. He owns eight houses that I know of, and that doesn’t include his three private islands. He’s just a man with too much fucking money. Thank goodness that his heart is made of the finest quality of gold.

  His Russian Hill house is an extravagant Victorian complete with two limestone lion statues at the foot of the tall steps. I drive past the front of the house and turn down a narrow driveway. I’m supposed to drive all the way to a closed two-car garage, park my car, walk through a gate, and ring the doorbell of the first door that I see. I follow those instructions to a T. There’s not a drop of light back here, and I’m a little worried until the porch light cuts on. Less than a minute later, a tiny black woman opens the door. She might be fifty or sixty, I don’t know, but her enthusiasm is inviting.

  “Hello, darling,” she says with a Caribbean accent.

  “Good evening.”

  She looks over her shoulder. “Clarence, come get the man’s luggage.”

  An older white man, who looks to be in his early sixties, shoots past me and stops behind me. “Car keys?”

  I hesitate, but I give him my keys.

  “I’ll park it in the garage and bring your suitcases up,” he says.

  Clarence is frail. I’m twice his height and size.

  “That’s okay, I can get my suitcases,” I say.

  “No, no,” the black lady says. “I know you’re a big, strong man, but Clarence is too, aren’t you, darling?”

  Clarence simpers and goes off to do his job.

  I raise my eyebrows. They’re a couple.

  “Come on in and eat dinner,” she says.

  I can smell the spicy food coming from the house. Hell, she doesn’t have to tell me twice to come and eat.

  “My name is Mary, and that’s my husband, Clarence,” she says as I follow her.

  She tells me where I’ll be sleeping and who will be here in the morning to cook breakfast.

  “I cook in the night and clean in the day,” she says.

  I’m trying to follow her every word, but I’m awed by the inside of the house. Like Jack Lord himself, the house is a contradiction. The outside looks old and traditional, but the inside is a modern masterpiece. He’s had the house gutted from top to bottom and put in clean and modern fixtures, flooring, staircases, fireplaces, and furnishings throughout. Even the floor plan has been modernized. Anyone in his or her right mind would advise Jack against doing what he did—he completely gutted the house’s worth. However, it’s not as if he needs to think about resale value. Instead, what he has here is a masterpiece, and I half want to ask him if he would sell the damn house to me!

  It seems Jack is partial to sunroom dining areas where the walls are made of glass and it seems as if we’re eating outside. He has the same kind of room in his Malibu beach house and his Manhattan apartment. I’m sitting at the dining room table, and a lit garden surrounds the glass encasement. I would have loved to bring Carter back to this house. She could really appreciate what Jack has done.

  My cell phone vibrates. I take it out of my pants pocket. Speak of the angel, I just received a text from Carter. It says, “I’m fine. Sorry for the sudden departure. I had fun. I wish you the best.”

  I stare at the words. “I wish you the best.” That sounds so final. I have a good mind to call her back, but I think better of it. Shit, what a spot I’m in. I remember Zoe’s warning about losing respect if I fucked Carter. She didn’t come out and say it, but I got the gist of her words. Yes, it’s best to deal with Carter another day.

  Mary serves me beef stroganoff and a fresh pepper salad. The food is good, and I scarf down two helpings before heading upstairs to bed. I’ve had a long, mentally draining day. The guest room is fit for a king and puts all four of my guest rooms to shame. I feel as if I’m staying in a five-star hotel with a flat king-sized bed that has a backboard coated with onyx. There’s an egg-shaped tub that sits on a dark wood plank. A bubble bath has already been drawn for me. The light fixtures are metalwork nightstand lamps carved into intersecting circles surrounding a ball of pleasant light. A fluffy white fur rug surrounds the bed. I definitely have to up my design game to outdo Jack Lord’s house.

  I strip out of my clothes and get into the tub. The water is so comfortable that I almost drift off to sleep. I get out, dry off, and hit the sack. I lay in the dark for a while, trying to figure out how in the hell I’ll handle these feelings I have for a woman who’s off-limits and way too young for my tastes. However, Carter isn’t immature.

  Am I ready to be in something serious? I feel like an open wound that’s in the healing stage. Nothing in my life can be good as long as Vince wants nothing to do with me. No. I need to make this business successful, and I’ll show him that I’ve changed. Only then will I be ready to be involved with the right woman.

  I turn on my side and close my eyes. “Shit.”

  The first thought that comes to my head is a memory of sucking on Carter’s ripe nipples. I grab my dick, let my memory replay more scenes of us fucking, and take care of myself.

  Monday morning arrives. This is officially the first morning that I’ve slept in. It’s ten o’clock, and I needed every ounce of the extra sleep. I contact Pierce Daly, the broker Jack told me to get in touch with, and I tell him that I’m interested in at least three acres of land so that I can build the Robert Tango brand of a mid-century modern style estate. Pierce tells me three acres in the city is hard to find but not impossible.

  “I’d like to see something today,” I say.

  He hesitates. “I’ll call you back in a couple of hours.”

  “That’s what I like to hear,” I say. A good real estate broker will rise to the occasion.

  I scoot to the foot of the bed and notice a small white card in front of the closed door. I go pick it up. It says to dial the intercom when I’m ready for breakfast, so that’s exactly what I do. The cook agrees to bring breakfast upstairs.

  I still have a lot of work details on my mind. Despite being on a four-day weekend, I’m receiving emails left and right about every facet of my business. I fight the urge to go to the office, set up my computer, and work for the rest of the day. Instead, I turn on the television, click the On Demand button, and veg out on TV shows as I eat breakfast.

  Two hours after I finish eating, I receive a call from Pierce. He has four plots to show me today. I put on a pair of jeans and a sweater and ring the intercom to let Clarence know that I’ll need my car. He tells me it’ll be ready in five minutes.

  Shit, no wonder Jack lives like this. One phone call, and everything I need is at my fingertips. It’s like having personal house elves. It’s plain insane. Living like this makes me feel lazy, but I only have to put up with it until I finish building my own place.

  Later in the day, I choose the third plot Pierce shows me. It’s on the west end the city, on a hilltop in Sea Cliff where I can have three-hundred-sixty-degree views of the beach, downtown, and the Golden Gate Bridge. On the drive home, I realize that I’m Zen. My soul has never felt so satisfied. I’m doing this. I’m changing my life. I grin Zoe style. Life has never been so good.

  Two Crazies in a Company

  Tuesday Morning…

  I’m working in Jack’s study. Grace walks in and stops as
if she’s caught off guard by the ambiance. I let her have a moment to admire the white cabinets with checkered white-and-clear glass doors behind my desk.

  “Interesting house you have here,” she says.

  I do believe that was a compliment, although her deadpan tone doesn’t indicate one. I point at the white leather chair across from my desk. “Have a seat.”

  Grace studies me with ruffled eyebrows as she sits. “I didn’t come here to fight.”

  I place the envelope of photos in front of her. “Do you recognize that?”

  She tilts her head curiously. “Should I?”

  “Open it.”

  Grace hesitates but opens the envelope, takes the pictures out, and studies them. She scoffs. “You don’t think I did this, do you?”

  I sit back confidently in my chair. “I do.”

  “I’m not saying that this is beneath me, but I didn’t do it.”

  “I’m sure you weren’t the photographer, but you’re behind this shit.”

  Grace remains as cool as a cucumber as she watches me with an unaffected grin. “So you’ve been fucking Carter. Great.”

  I point at the pictures. “Those photos are doctored.”

  She looks off and shakes her head. “That bitch never ceases to amaze me. But as I said, I’m not behind this.”

  For the short time that I’ve known Grace, I’ve learned that lying isn’t her MO. She would cop to the truth at some point—and now would be that time.

  I sigh. “I believe you, but if you didn’t send this, then I wonder who did.”

  Grace picks up the photos of Carter and me in the car. She grimaces as she studies them. “You were staying at the St. Regis?”