by Maryann Reid
“I’ll meet you there.”
“Sweet! I’ll see you later.”
My bodyguards are going to hate this.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
June 19
New York, New York
Littleneck was a small, glass-doored place easily mistaken for any other greasy diner until a person got near enough to read the words “clams” and “lobsters” on the windows. Brett was waiting for them outside, wearing a baseball cap for protection from the rain that had been falling for a half hour.
“My dad is originally from Boston, and he loves this place,” Brett confided as he opened the door for Blake and Suki. “He says this is the real thing, clam rolls just like you get in Maine and Massachusetts and all. I say he’s right.”
Judging by the aromas in the air, Blake didn’t doubt the food was delicious. Scents of garlic and tartar sauce and greasy french fries and beer made a tantalizing mix that got Blake’s tummy growling to be fed.
They started with bowls of clam chowder, followed by Blake’s memorable experience of clam rolls. Buttered, toasted, top-split hot dog buns held hot, tender giant fried clams. On the side were homemade pickled cucumbers, and Brett also sprung for an order of fluffy french fries shared among the three of them.
She was too enraptured by the food to make conversation, so it wasn’t until they’d cleaned their plates that she leaned back in her chair and murmured, “Thank you, Brett, that was heavenly.”
He smiled and said, “I’m glad. You needed some heaven after all the hell you’ve been through lately.”
Blake slanted a glance at Suki, and asked, “What was it like for you, your first time being questioned by the police?” Blake recalled a time when Brett shared he was arrested for robbery as a teen.
With his head bowed, Brett said in a hushed voice, “Terrifying, even though I’d done exactly what I was accused of.” He looked up, meeting her gaze, and added, “Second time, I was pissed, because I hadn’t done the shit they said I did, but they refused to believe me because I’d fucked up once and admitted it.”
“Now I know how you must have felt. Both times.”
He shrugged. “Well, that’s life as a person of color, isn’t it. Listen, let’s not ruin a good night by talking about the shit legal system. What do you say we go for a walk, or maybe go watch a movie on that big old TV of yours? I’ve got a Netflix account we can use to download something.”
“A movie sounds good.” She grinned. “Something funny, or maybe action with lots of righteous ass-kicking.”
“You’ve got it.” He laid down a generous tip on their table, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they went out to the street to hail a cab. She flinched at first, then enjoyed the comfort of his arm around her. It felt good.
Later, as they sat on her sofa watching Midnight in Paris Brett turned his attention from the movie to study Blake’s face and posture for a minute. “Girl, you’re wound up tight as a spring.”
She flashed a small smile at him and said, “Yeah, well, I guess a few days of hell aren’t totally erased by one yummy dinner. I didn’t expect you to be sitting here…again.”
“Tell me why you hate me.”
“I can’t because I don’t.”
He slid closer to her and began rubbing her shoulders, his strong hands soon massaging all the tension out of her muscles. As she relaxed under his attentions, he leaned in and whispered in her ear, “We could have more than one dinner tonight, if you know what I mean.”
Instantly she tensed up again. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“I don’t either,” put in Suki, blank-faced and cross-legged in a recliner.
“I’m not saying let’s be a couple again. I know I screwed that up. But we were good in bed together, and that’s a great way to get rid of stress.” Brett turned his hands palms-up in surrender. “Up to you, Blake, but I still care about you, and I hate seeing you unhappy.”
They watched the rest of the movie in silence. Near the end Matt drifted into the living room, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He noticed Brett, looked at Suki, and she shrugged.
“I’m going to need more coffee,” Matt muttered, and turned back to the kitchen.
When the movie ended, Brett stood and put his cap on. Blake walked with him to the door, and he spread his arms for a hug. She moved into his embrace and thought, If I close my eyes I can pretend he’s Kenton Rhodes.
Blake knew she shouldn’t yield to temptation, but she couldn’t help herself. “Don’t go.”
“You sure?”
She nodded. “I just need a quick shower first. It was a long, rough day.”
He grinned. “Showering together could be fun.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Matt muttered as he walked past them with a steaming cup of coffee and seated himself in the other recliner.
“Something about nailing somebody to a tree on your mind, Matt?” Suki still had no facial expression.
Blake took Brett’s hand in hers and led him into her bedroom, under the disapproving stare of Matt and the practiced blank face of Suki. Blake mixed the hot and cold water to exactly the temperature she craved, and turned around to find Brett already stripped naked and very much in the mood. He helped her out of her clothes and lifted her into the shower. They soaped and scrubbed each other, with pauses for nibblings and sucklings in strategic locations. She let herself abandon every worry. Brett wasn’t everything, but he definitely knew how to make a woman feel like one.
He kissed her, his tongue playing hide and seek with hers, and just as she caught him he slid a hand between her legs and stroked her love button with an expert finger. She groaned, and he picked her up and held her straddling his hips. They merged in the stinging spray, and Brett had to lean against the shower wall as Blake’s pelvis took on a will of its own and hammered him for what seemed an eternity.
Finally she was finished, and he set her down gently on her feet again. They were both gasping for breath.
“God, that was amazing,” Blake managed at last.
He laughed and pulled her into his arms again. “It’s fine if you just call me Brett.”
#
Sometime in the night, Blake woke from a strange dream of people shooting at her with lasers. Her bladder nagged her to empty it, so she slid out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom.
It was when she emerged and stepped toward the bed that she noticed a dim red aura coming from her open closet. She investigated, pushing hangers of garments aside, and found a palm-sized silvery gadget with a lens glowing bright red.
A camera. Her heart froze, and for a moment or two she felt like she was choking. Goddamn you, Brett Skeet.
She picked up her bathrobe which she’d last left draped over the chair at her desk, slid into it, and pushed her feet into her slippers. Padding into the living room, she showed the camera to Matt. “Go ahead and tell me I’m a fool. I deserve it.”
Matt shook his head. “No, Ms. Bertrand. You’re not a fool. Just a rich lady, and that means a lot of people are gonna want to take advantage of you.”
He took the camera from her, inspected it, then flipped open a panel and tapped out a little plastic-looking card. “Without this, no harm done.”
Then Matt stood and strode into Blake’s bedroom, and shook Brett’s shoulder to wake him. “Put your clothes on and get out,” he barked as soon as Brett opened his eyes.
“What? Something wrong?” Brett sat up in bed, blinking against the light from the hallway streaming through the open bedroom door.
“Yeah, you.” Matt dropped the camera on Brett’s lap. “I’m giving you two minutes to get your sorry ass out of Ms. Bertrand’s apartment, or I’ll put you out by force.”
Incredibly, Brett tried to hand the camera back to Matt. “This isn’t mine.”
Matt seized Brett by a handful of hair and hauled him yelping out of the bed. “I wasn’t fucking joking, man. Put your damn clothes on and get out. You can take your camera with you. But Ms. Bertr
and keeps this.” He showed the memory card to Brett for a moment before dropping it in his jeans pocket.
Brett scowled, but didn’t say a word as he rushed into his briefs and pants. He grabbed his shirt and shoes and camera and ran out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.
Blake went into the kitchen and made herself a Jack and Coke and drank it down. “Well, Brett Skeet,” she muttered to herself, “you’re no Kenton Rhodes, that’s for damn sure. Hell, he probably isn’t as great as I’ve imagined, either.”
#
June 20
New York, New York
She slept late, waking up just in time for lunch. That turned out to be a couple of bacon and egg biscuits Antonio had brought from McDonald’s. Not as healthy as she usually liked, but, damn it, she deserved some self-indulgence today.
In keeping with that thought, after she ate her microwaved Mc-brunch and washed it down with some coffee laced with plenty of cream, she went out on the veranda and pressed her BlackBerry’s speed-dial number for Uncle Thorne. He answered just before her call would have gone to voicemail, sounding still drowsy himself.
“Hi there, girl. Are you okay? You’re not having any more problems about that fire, are you?”
“No. That was awful, though, but by itself I think I could handle it. Just…” Blake watched the Saturday comings and goings of New Yorkers, no less busy than on a weekday.
“Just?” Uncle Thorne asked, prompting her.
“There’s just been so much to handle, lately.” Blake found herself baring her heart to Uncle Thorne: the race to make a one-year profitability plan for the Wishman Spears, Margot’s suicide attempt, Brett’s attempts first to possess her and then to sell her out, Lang’s mind games with the restraining order and getting his girlfriend on the reality show, being questioned about the arson at the restaurant, everything.
“Whew. Girl, you need a vacation,” Uncle Thorne suggested, when at last she’d told him everything.
“I agree, but I can’t take one because of the damned TV show.” Blake wondered what it must be like to be anonymous, like so many of the people going about their weekend activities ten stories below her.
“Maybe not, but there’s another possibility, you know.”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“Well, your Mentors & Protégés is launching Monday, isn’t it? You’ve got hiking with that Internet genius Mark Summers for auction, and a guitar lesson with me, and a bunch of stuff like that. How about putting yourself up for auction, and have a day you’d never have if it’s you calling all the shots?”
Blake felt a smile sneak onto her lips. “Uncle Thorne, you’re a genius.”
He chuckled and responded, “Now that’s something I don’t often hear. But I have my moments.”
“I love you. Thanks for letting me vent and for giving me an idea for getting away from it all for a day.”
“Love you back, girl. Call me anytime, you know that.”
When they ended the call, Blake promptly put herself up for auction. She fought the urge to specify what she and the winning bidder would do together, instead listing simply “an afternoon with Blake Bertrand.” It’s a day away from everything. This may be one helluva adventure.
She changed into a jumpsuit for her jujitsu lesson from Suki, grinning with anticipation. Monday couldn’t come soon enough.
Chapter Thirty
June 22
New York, New York
Blake wasn’t surprised when Brett called in sick from work at The Takeover Monday morning. No doubt he’s busy working a new scam. I feel bad for whomever he’s conning, but that’s never again going to be me.
The website to raise funds for her Mentors & Protégés activities, dreamittolife.org, opened for auction bids at 8 A.M. EST. All day, whenever she had a minute free from reality television duties, Blake monitored the progress of the first auctions.
Hiking with Mark Summers, the first premium package, Blake priced to open at $10,000. By noon the bidding was already at $60,800.
A Lesson With Former Santana Guitarist started at $500, but by noon the highest bid had climbed to $8,300. She made a mental note to look up the leading bidder on the Internet. He was in Maroon 5, unless she was mistaken.
Dinner With Manley and Melinda Yates was a package she expected to appeal to business leaders and tech fans alike, so she’d assigned an opening price of $5,000. As of noon, the top bid was $23,200 and certain to climb some more.
A soccer ball autographed by David Leckam had fetched a high bid, so far, of $1,700. U2’s Bono had donated an autographed guitar that he’d actually used extensively on the band’s latest record and tour, and that was going for a cool $2,500, undoubtedly with more to come. Lady Gaga offered one of her most outrageous music video costumes, and bids for it had already soared to $19,100. No celebrity item was going for less than $1,000.
As for An Afternoon With Blake Bertrand, she’d settled on an opening price of $500 for that, too. She was astonished to find that by noon someone was already bidding $33,000. Even as she watched, an anonymous bidder offered $35,000 to spend a few hours with her. For a moment she worried that the anonymous bidder might be Lang, but she quickly dismissed that fear. He was obeying the letter of the restraining order, if not its spirit. Not even Lang would be audacious enough to believe the issuing judge would grant him an exception because he won an afternoon with her in an auction.
Whoever the anonymous bidder for a few hours with her might be, Blake was thrilled. Halfway through the first day of auctions, my Mentors & Protégés has already raised more than $100,000! I can go ahead and announce the official launch! She texted Vickie to do just that.
#
Vanessa and Jerome visited Blake’s NBC studio office as she and Antonio were getting ready to leave for the night. “Blake,” said Vanessa, flashing a broad smile, “Jerome and I have been discussing the remaining contestants, and we were wondering if you’ve got any thoughts yet on who you’ll choose as the winner.”
“Not really. I haven’t even announced the third elimination, and after that there’s still nine contestants left.” Blake didn’t sit down again, but she leaned against her desk and studied first Vanessa’s face and then Jerome’s. What are these two up to now?
Jerome seemed to be trying to hide behind Vanessa, but he surprised Blake by speaking next. “Don’t you think one or two stand out from the pack, though?”
Blake glanced at Antonio. His eyebrows were arched, visible in spite of his Ray-Bans. At least I’m not alone in thinking this is a weird conversation to be having so early in the competition.
“Of course a few people have been especially impressive so far,” Blake conceded.
“If you had to name four who you think have the best chance of winning, who would you say?” Vanessa’s piercing gaze reminded Blake of a predator judging the right moment to snatch its prey.
Blake shook her head. “There’s every chance the four best now aren’t going to be the four best by the end.”
“For the sake of argument, tell us who you think the best four are now, then.”
She considered for a minute, her head bowed so that their watchful faces wouldn’t distract her. “Ray Fisher is working hard on every assignment. Vin Guevara is brilliant. Eve Womack is both.” After hesitating a moment, she finished, “Gabby Truitt never seems to be exerting herself or thinking outside the box, but somehow she keeps coming up with the goods. So, those are the four who’ve done the best so far.”
Vanessa and Jerome exchanged happy grins. “That’s good, your thoughts are similar to ours. And Jerome and I are thinking that Gabby should win.”
Blake stood up straight, taken by surprise. “Why?”
“As you say, she comes up with the goods for every assignment. She’s also got charisma, and the others don’t.” Vanessa folded her arms across her chest. Almost behind her, Jerome nodded agreement.
“I also s
aid that may change by the end of the competition. Starting a business is a lot of hard work. It takes months of planning and preparations to do it well. These contestants have only twelve weeks. Some are going to burn out before the end, watch and see.”
“Maybe you should give Gabby a little extra help if she needs it, to make sure she wins.”
“Absolutely not.” Blake slung her purse over her shoulder. “The winner will be the person who has most earned it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go for the night.”
Blake marched out of her office with Antonio close behind her. Why can’t I just have a good day anymore? For every good thing that happens, lately, at least two bad things happen.
Antonio glanced at Blake’s face as they waited for their taxi back to the apartment to arrive. “Should I call Suki and warn her you’re in the mood to kick the shit out of somebody?”
She made a face. “Please don’t. When Suki thinks I’m in a bad mood, she works me until I hurt all over for a week.”
#
As if her thoughts were a premonition, Blake entered her apartment to find two men in black suits sitting on her sofa, waiting for her. Suki sat in one of the recliners, dressed for jujitsu, staring at the visitors. “Hi, Boss,” said Suki, when Blake stood in the doorway. “These two guys from the FBI want to talk to you.”
“Oh, hell. What can it be this time?” Blake flung her purse down by the door and stood by the giant flat-screen TV, her gaze locked with those of the agents.
The agents looked at each other for a moment. What that accomplished, Blake couldn’t guess, because they were both wearing shades. Both turned their heads to look at her again, in perfect unison, and the slightly taller one said, “Ma’am, is it possible we could talk to you in private?”
“It’s possible,” Suki answered for Blake. “But it won’t happen. We’re here to protect Blake Bertrand. Even from the FBI, if you try to hurt her.”