Links

by Shandi Boyes

  Removing the USB drive from my computer, Dexter stands from my chair. His tall height and large frame are even more noticeable since I'm shrouded in panic. "If it makes it any easier for you, I'll swing by Delilah's office on my way out and explain the situation,” he offers.

  Not waiting for me to reply, he paces to my office door. “It may keep her off your back for a few days.”

  Although I appreciate his attempts to calm the dragon, anxiety is still bubbling my veins. I brought Dexter here hoping he'd tell me there was no hope of recovering the edited footage I knew was missing from the surveillance tape. I had no clue he held the skills necessary to salvage the doctored material. If I did, I might have sought the aid of his colleagues.

  My lips are dry, so I lick them before saying, “Thanks for the offer, but nothing will slow down Delilah’s eagerness for this footage. Like everything, she wanted this tape processed last week.” I’m grateful when my voice comes out as I’m aiming: appreciative with a hint of formality.

  Dexter jerks his chin up. “Alright, my offer stands if you change your mind, though.”

  I issue him my gratefulness with a smile before swinging open my office door.

  “As soon as I have anything, I’ll bring it straight to you,” Dexter says, stepping into the corridor.

  “Straight to me?” I confirm, my pitch so high there is no mistaking the plea in it.

  Smiling, Dexter adds on, "Sure. . . If you're willing to do something for me?"

  Muted, I stare into his eyes. I don’t need to speak to express my sentiments. My entire composure exposes my willingness to keep the images of Marcus and me kissing in the hotel corridor out of Delilah’s grubby mitts.

  Identifying my eagerness, Dexter says, “Grab a bite to eat with me.”

  I balk, utterly flabbergasted. I was expecting a penance for a favor, not a reward. I’m also a little taken aback. Dexter is an incredibly handsome man who appears to have a heart of gold, so why wait until I owe him a favor to ask for a date?

  I stand in muted silence for several moments, unsure if I am coming or going. Although tempted by Dexter’s offer, I’m not a floozy. I can’t jump straight from one relationship to another. Even more so because a man like Dexter doesn’t deserve the rebound tag.

  I freeze for the second time in under a minute. For one, I'm jumping the gun. Whoever said eating with someone equals a long-term commitment? And two, technically, Marcus and I were never a couple, so that leaves me free to do as I please. Doesn’t it?

  The little voice hidden deep inside me screams a resounding "No." My heart unequivocally agrees with its sentiment. My brain. . . it’s still suffering the devastating effects of the mind-bending weekend to formulate an appropriate response.

  Spotting anxiety on my face, Dexter says, “Nothing formal, Cleo. Just two work colleagues grabbing a bite to eat. We can even do lunch if you want?” He shrugs his shoulders, his whole composure screaming carefree and relaxed, a stark contradiction to the wheezing and flushed woman standing beside him.

  After a beat, I stammer out, “Alright, but just lunch, nothing fancy.”

  Grinning at my blemished cheeks, Dexter nods before pacing down the bustling corridor. I don’t know why I’m acting so irrational. I’d have lunch with the devil herself if it guaranteed the deleted footage from the surveillance video remains in the right hands.

  I wait for Dexter’s impressive frame to slip into the elevator on my floor before rolling up the privacy blind on my office window, then I trudge to my desk. My steps are slow, weighed down by the mountain load of guilt sitting on my chest. Although I’ve reasoned with myself numerous times the past four days that I’m just doing my job, it isn’t sitting well with the integrity my parents raised me with.

  Even being threatened with unemployment a minimum of ten times, told I'd never work in the media industry again, and assigned the ostracized position of Delilah's PA hasn't eased the guilt plaguing me. I'm not going to lie; I am at my wits end. I've nearly quit three times the past two days alone. The only reason I haven't is because of how badly I need this job. With winter rapidly approaching, I have no choice but to push my personal disdain for Delilah and my confusion about my relationship with Marcus to the back of my mind. My focus must remain on keeping my sister's health my utmost priority.

  Let me tell you, it’s been a very confusing few days.

  Slouching into my office chair, my eyes flick up to the frozen images of the hotel lobby. Considering the only images missing from the surveillance footage is of Marcus and me, I can easily deduce that Marcus arranged to have the tape doctored. The only thing I can’t work out is why he would do that? Hiding his face is fathomable; he is famous and highly recognizable. But why did he have the images of me exiting the hotel without him also removed? Other than looking like the many other crazies roaming around New York City, there was no need for him to hide my identity.

  While I am being forthright, I will admit, if Dexter does unearth images of Marcus and me, I haven't decided what I'm going to do with that information yet. Career-wise, it would be ludicrous of me to ignore what could be potentially be the story of the century. Personally, my parents raised me better than that. People will often quote that business is business; your personal life is your personal life, and the two can never mix, but what are you supposed to do when it's already happened? I can't just pretend one never occurred—no matter how much my decimated heart wishes it could.

  My wallowing in self-pity comes to an end when my cell phone vibrates on my desk. A faint smile cracks my lips when I notice only forty minutes have passed since Lexi's last call. Lexi has been brilliant the past four days. Although she urges me a minimum three times a day to shove my letter of resignation into a region of Delilah’s body that never sees sunlight, she has been a godsend. Don’t get me wrong, she is still as stubborn and opinionated as ever, but if I didn’t have her witty humor and nonchalant approach to life, I’d probably still be wearing holey pajamas and eating Ben and Jerry’s rocky road ice cream from the tub. Or even worse, crumbled into submission from Delilah’s wrath.

  Propping my backside onto the edge of my chair, I swipe my finger across the screen and lift my phone to my ear. “Miss me already? It’s only been forty minutes,” I greet her, sassiness resonating in my tone. “And no, I’ve not yet handed in my resignation. The dragon’s two-hour spa appointment this morning has made her more tolerable—barely.”

  “Four days or forty minutes, what’s the difference?” replies a female voice I don’t immediately recognize. “And in regards to the dragon, I know a guy who knows a guy who used to be a descendant of a British knight. I could possibly get you his number.”

  Worry thickens my veins. “Oh. . . I’m so sorry, I thought you were someone else.” My words are laced with embarrassment. “Umm. . . Cleo Garcia, how can I help you?” I greet more formally, grimacing.

  “Oh, fancy, I like it,” chuckles my female caller, her girly giggle shrilling down the line.

  Recognition dawns on the identity of my unnamed caller when she says, “I hope your credit card has a healthy balance, Cleo. After spending my morning assembling furniture, my appetite is rampant.”

  Smiling at the over-enunciation of her words, I stammer out, "Hey, Serenity. I didn't realize we were scheduled to meet for lunch today."

  “We aren’t,” Serenity interrupts before she directs someone in the background to move a couch to the other side of the room. “But there is so much testosterone at Links, if I don’t even it out with some girl time, I’ll turn into a guy. And I couldn’t think of a better way to do that than take you up on your offer of lunch.”

  When I remain quiet, she adds on, “You’re free for lunch today? Right?”

  “Oh. . . umm. . . not really. I’m a little swamped today.” I catch my eye roll halfway. Even I heard the deceit in my voice.

  Disappointment consumes me when Serenity replies, “You need to practice your blow-offs, Cleo, as that one stunk.”


  Even knowing she is most likely riling me up, I can’t help but react to the rejection in her tone. I’ve been on the receiving end of so much disappointment lately, the last thing I want is to be the cause of someone’s distress.

  Swallowing away the uncertainty curtailing my windpipe, I ask, “Do you have any objections to Mexican food?”

  5

  “So how is the prep at Links going? Are you ready for the grand opening on Saturday?”

  Serenity waits for the waiter to fill her wine glass with water before replying, “Yes. It’s been a hectic few days, but everything is finally settling nicely.”

  “I’m sure it's perfect,” I reply, hating the concern obscuring her striking gaze.

  Serenity blows her bangs out of her eyes before saying, “One way or another, we are opening our doors bright and early Saturday morning.”

  Smiling at her pouty lip, I accept the menu the waiter is holding out for me. My mouth salivates when my eyes scan the delicious assortment of items on the menu. Although Toloache is a little on the pricey side, it's a prime spot for our impromptu lunch date. Not only is it within walking distance of Global Ten Media, but it also serves alcoholic drinks.

  After placing my order with the waiter for two lemon drop martinis and a pescado taco, I hand him back my menu. While Serenity places her order, I sip on a glass of chilled water while absorbing the energy thrumming around us. Toloache is a breathtaking restaurant with exposed wooden beams, crisp white tablecloths, and smiling waiters in abundance. Although I chose to dine here purely because it serves cocktails during lunch, its gorgeous interior and the pleasantness of its staff ensures today will not be my only visit.

  Handing the waiter back her menu, Serenity locks her big hazel eyes with me. Water traps halfway down my throat when she straight-out asks, “What did he do?”

  I peer at her, acting unaware of whom her question refers to.

  “Marcus—what did he do?” she queries, not the slightest bit concerned about her intrusive prying. “I was hoping the two to three pounds you’ve lost since Saturday was from sexual exhaustion, but your double order of martinis left that hope for dust. Women only lose weight for two reasons: either chasing a man or recovering from one. Considering you already snagged Marcus, I’m gathering the latter is a more accurate assessment.”

  My throat works hard to swallow the water trapped halfway down my esophagus. Once it's been forced into my stomach, I place my glass on the table and lift my eyes to Serenity. "Umm… he didn't really do anything. I’ve just been busy, that’s all. I'm so swamped with work, this is the first sit-down meal I’ve had all week.”

  That's only a partial lie. Although I have been extremely busy at work, my lagging metabolism is more due to heartache than conflicting work schedules.

  Serenity’s perfectly manicured brow bows high into her short, glossy hair. She glares into my eyes, calling out my deceit without a word spilling from her lips. She couldn’t be any more like Marcus if she tried.

  “We. . . broke up.” I breathe out slowly, winded by the brutal honesty of my reply.

  Serenity gasps in a sharp breath, her chest heaving. “What happened?! You seemed so perfect together. In love, even.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” I mutter, my voice coming out in a tremor since my heart is a jittering mess. “We’re just. . . umm. . . not compatible.”

  Her brows inch together, sending a massive groove of lines across her forehead. "Come on, Cleo, give me some credit. I may not have the best track record when it comes to relationships, but even I could see the connection between you and Marcus, so if you want a chance in hell of people believing your theory on why you broke up, don't start with incompatibility."

  Her blatant refusal to buy my explanation sends my nerves into a tailspin. “It’s hard to explain,” I whisper, striving to lose the attention of the people seated around us eyeballing our exchange with interest.

  “Hard to explain or comprehend?” Serenity asks, digging her hand into her purse.

  “A bit of both,” I exhale in a rush.

  After accepting the tissue Serenity dug out of her purse, I dab it under my eyes, ensuring the moisture pooling there hasn’t caused my mascara to run. “Something happened. I got angry. When Marcus failed to subdue my anger, I left.”

  “And?” Serenity asks softly, breaking my heart more with her devastated tone. “What happened then?”

  I wait for the waiter to set down my two lemon drop martinis and leave before answering, “And. . . nothing. I left Marcus in his hotel room, returned home, and I haven’t heard from him since.”

  I rub at the gnawing pain in my chest as my words ring on repeat in my ears. This kills me to admit, but not all the agony twisting my heart is based on Marcus’s deceit; some of it resonates from his silence. A small part of me was hoping one day he’d show up and demand forgiveness. But as each day passes in silence, my belief that our relationship was nothing but a game to Marcus deepens.

  Serenity curls her hand over mine and squeezes it gently. “Do you think there’s a chance you could work things out?” she asks as her moisture-filled eyes dance between mine.

  I lift one shoulder into an awkward shrug. The heavy groove marring the skin between Serenity’s eyes deepens.

  “That bad?” she asks. Just like Marcus, her eyes expose she already knows my reply.

  “Unfortunately, yes.” When she takes a sharp breath, it forces me to add on, “No. I don’t know. He really confuses me, Serenity.”

  She tugs at the napkin on her lap, anxiously knotting it around her fingers. “Marcus is a complicated man, Cleo, has been for years. But from the way you were looking at him Saturday, I thought you understood that?”

  “I thought I did too,” I reply, my tone as brittle as cracked glass. “But I was wrong.” My words are so soft, if they hadn’t stabbed my heart with pain, I would have never believed I’d expressed them.

  Serenity twists in her seat to face me head on. “This will sound a little cliché—”

  "Clichés are my life at the moment," I interrupt, grimacing.

  Gently smiling, Serenity continues, “I really like you, Cleo. You scream integrity and understanding, and you’re also beautiful and kindhearted. You're the ideal woman wrapped up in a kickass package.” She locks her glistening eyes with me, ensuring I can’t misread the truth in her statement as she hits me with my hardest blow of the week. “Marcus needs someone like you in his corner.”

  The air is vehemently removed from my body, leaving me winded and breathless. As stupid moisture looms in my eyes, I float them around the room, silently praying no rogue tears will roll down my cheeks. It may make me seem pathetic and weak, but for the last eight weeks, my entire life was wrapped up in the fictional world of Master Chains. Talking to him was the highlight of my day, so I am ashamed to admit, I am struggling to give that up. Even irrefutably angry at Marcus doesn’t mean I can’t miss him. I miss him—truly I do.

  My hand shakes when I reach out for my drink, hoping the refreshing coolness will ease the burn in my throat. With how many times I've fought tears this week, my throat is red, raw and dry. I'm stunned at the number of times I've felt the urge to cry the past four days. I've barely shed a tear in three years, but it feels like all my time lately is spent fighting my pitiful sobs.

  After downing half my drink in one giant gulp, Serenity squeezes my hand, silently requesting the return of my focus. I suck in a nerve-cleansing breath before returning my eyes to her.

  Regret darkens her eyes, then tears glisten. "I'm sorry for pushing, Cleo," she apologizes, her pleading-for-forgiveness eyes strengthening her admission. "Better than anyone, I know how hard relationships are, so I am in no position to judge. I just don't want you to walk away from something magical because you can't see the man behind the fame. That man you spend your weekend with, that's the real Marcus, not the hoopla you dealt with at Links."

  “Marcus’s fame isn’t the cause of my concern,” I blubber out, my to
ne splintering with remorse.

  Serenity stares at me, more confused than ever, her gaze searching for answers in my truth-exposing eyes. When her silence becomes too much for me to bear, I explain, “I can’t be with a man I don’t trust. A relationship without trust isn’t a relationship. It’s nothing but destruction.”

  “Marcus broke your trust?” Serenity asks, her pitch spiked with disbelief.

  When I nod, she stills, and shock spreads across her face. "My brother Marcus?" She sounds confused, like she can't comprehend he'd ever do something as underhanded as that. "Are you sure?"

  “Yes,” I reply, fiddling with the hem on my blouse. “I saw the proof firsthand. His laptop at his hotel was streaming live footage of my bedroom, and he had a background search on me saved on the desktop.”

  Serenity sinks into her chair, her mouth gaped, her eyes wide. "Holy hell," she mumbles, stunned. "The background search I can understand—he has to protect his identity—but the live stream. . . God. I feel sick.”

  I sit quietly, unsure what to say to ease her turmoil. We plunge into awkward silence crammed with palpable tension. I regret my decision to down an entire lemon drop martini on an empty stomach when it suddenly flips, protesting the drastic shift in the air. Compared to our friendly greeting ten minutes ago, the vibrancy of our rapport has been snuffed out, leaving nothing but tension so thick I could cut it with a knife.

  I’m thankful our waiter suddenly arrives at our table, balancing two plates of food in his hands. Although I’m wary of trusting my stomach with food, I’m grateful his presence snaps Serenity out of her confused trance.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, accepting the aromatic dish he is holding out for me, my rickety voice exposing my rattled composure.

  After setting Serenity’s order down in front of her, the waiter skedaddles away, the stiffness in the air so great, even he wishes to avoid it. I wait for him to be out of earshot before turning my focus back to Serenity.