by Lexy Timms
Pearson’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t met Jessica yet, and oftentimes he scared off those who could do an otherwise good job. Jessica had done well supporting Chrissy from the New York office, but she hadn’t directly faced James’ wrath.
It was important to Chrissy to be there with her family, not only for her father, but given that her relations with them had smoothed. It had taken them some time to realize they needed to back up and soften on their stances of things, or else she wouldn’t visit at all.
The salary certainly gave her the freedom to travel, but it often came with a strict schedule and no days off. Ever.
“So, this means you aren’t coming to the Paris lunch meeting with me?”
“No, I won’t be there.” Chrissy sighed internally, but she wouldn’t let him see that frustration. “We discussed this yesterday.”
“You should have reminded me.”
“I’m doing that now.”
“She won’t be you.”
“You’re right, she’s not me. But she is very, very good. In fact, I worry I won’t have a job when I get back.”
“You have nothing to worry about there. Unless, of course, you can’t raise Kosikov.”
“I’ll call him now. What threat level should I announce: yellow, orange, or red?”
“Just make the damned call.”
“Drink your coffee,” she said as she dialed Kosikov’s number. As she waited for the call to answer she remembered something.
“Turner Trower cancelled the Milan meeting.” Chrissy held a breath as she waited for Pearson’s answer. Trower had been Mr. Pearson’s tailor for a number of years, but lately Pearson has expressed his dissatisfaction with Trower’s work.
“That's fine,” Pearson grunted. “I've been unhappy with his last couple suits. Here.” He hunted for a card in his wallet and handed it to her.
“Call this man and make an appointment.”
Chrissy took the card while she waited for Kosikov to pick up. “Voicemail,” she announced. “Should I leave a message?”
“No. Damn it. I’ll take care of this at the embassy dinner tonight. I do have the proper shirt for the event, do I not?”
“Yes, Mr. Pearson. It arrived from Trower’s office yesterday.”
“It had damn well be better than his last tuxedo suit, or I’m sending it back.” His eyes narrowed on Chrissy, weighing if her own suit for the day was appropriate for her to wear in public. He looked away without comment, which meant it passed inspection. Not once had he offered a compliment of her tastes. The best she could hope for was his silence.
“Then are you ready?” Pearson was already on his way toward the door. “Don’t we have a plane to catch?”
“Yes, sir.” It didn’t matter if it was his plane waiting for him at the airport, Pearson had no patience for lateness. She double-timed it to the counter where the latte she’d carefully prepared sat untouched. Chrissy tossed the liquid into the sink, rinsed the cup, and put it in the dishwasher. She couldn’t leave it in the sink, because the fastidious James Pearson wanted his kitchen perfectly clean at all times. Heaven forbid it ever looked like anyone lived there.
Her last move, as it always was when leaving his apartment, was to grab her precious iPad. It was her Bible when it came to the life of James Pearson, and without it she would be tossed to the wolves.
With a gentleman’s manners, Pearson held out her light coat and she shrugged it on. She did the same for him. Chrissy gave up on trying to figure out why Pearson, who lived extravagantly in all other aspects of his life, refused to keep a butler. He could have at least hired one for the London condo, which was where they spent most of their time.
There were, though, many things she didn’t understand about her boss. His hours were very irregular, and he came and went at the oddest hours. There were times when he insisted she accompany him, and other times when he told her she wasn’t needed. It was difficult to imagine he could ever function without her, given all she did for him when she was present. Chrissy generally handled everything, from calling the car, to wrangling the types of tables he liked from the maître d’ at restaurants, to paying the bills.
When he called her the “mistress of his life” in their first interview, he wasn’t kidding. The only thing that was missing in this somewhat husband/wife relationship was the sex. And she didn’t miss or want that one bit. Pearson didn’t appeal to her all.
Oh, he was handsome enough, and dressed well, but his attitude would put off most women, except the ones who only wanted him for his money. As far as she knew, though, he hadn’t been indulging in that either, unless that was where he’d been going on his late-night excursions.
The entirety of the way to the airport, Pearson’s fingers tapped impatiently on his leg. It was a tick of his that she forced herself to ignore, or else it would drive her insane. Without fanfare, they arrived at the airport with time to spare.
Still, James was on edge. Though most people would think he was calm and collected, Chrissy recognized the tightness in his jaw that signaled his tension over the upcoming lunch meeting.
“Did you send me the sales projections?” he asked.
“Yes, Mr. Pearson. Last night.”
She darn well did them last night. She had to wait up for Marta, the New York office assistant, to send them. Since there was a five-hour difference between London and New York it was well after midnight, London time, before she got them.
He checked his iPhone. “Yes, here they are. And the reservations at the restaurant are made?”
“Yes.” She didn’t add that she ordered the car for tonight. That she’d have a tuxedo and the new tuxedo shirt set out for tonight when he returned or that she’d cleaned his tuxedo loafers. She didn't inform of these and the dozens of other details done and checked off on her list. She was grateful for all the other assistants before her who’d kept detailed lists of various tasks. Chrissy, after a week of studying them, was able to get through the day without looking at those lists every five minutes. They’d already become ingrained in her mind.
At the gate nearest to his plane, the car came to a stop.
“Thank you, Miss Serafini,” James said as he exited the car.
Wait. What? Chrissy’s brow wrinkled. He’d actually thanked her? What was that about? A thank you from his mouth was unheard of. But the driver shut the door quickly, without any further comment from her boss.
But the door opened again, and Pearson poked his head in.
“You should find a package from Harrods upon your return. I want you to wear what’s inside tonight.”
The door abruptly shut again.
Well. What was that about?
“Only eleven months to go,” she said under her breath.
The chauffeur opened the privacy window.
“Heathrow, Miss?”
“Yes, thank you.”
They made it to the airport before Jessica’s plane landed. She pulled out the small sign she’d made from her brief case.
“Let me out at Arrivals.”
“Yes, Miss. I can’t park here, but I’ll keep circling around until I see you again.”
“Thanks.”
She quickly found the gate on the arrivals board and hurried toward the receiving area. Travelers poured from the roped areas and it was difficult to see.
“Chrissy!” she heard.
Jessica came through the roped area, waving her arm.
“Jessica!” Chrissy flushed with excitement at seeing her friend from home. It seemed forever since she’d seen anyone she knew. Though she talked to Jess on the phone nearly each day, it was different laying eyes on a familiar face.
Chrissy held up the sign she’d made that said, “Jessica Saunders.”
Jess laughed.
“You. Look at you all dressed in London fashion.”
Chrissy blushed. Pearson did make her upgrade her wardrobe “to present the proper image.” It wasn’t a hardship, though, since he sent her to a top woman’s des
igner and paid for the new wardrobe.
“Oh, not everything is London. I have Parisian pieces, too.”
“Looks good.”
“Don’t worry; Mr. Pearson, if he takes you around, will buy your clothes to dress ‘appropriately.’ But you look good, too. When did you go blonde?”
“Shortly after you left. I’ve always liked your hair color, but I didn’t want to be a copycat.”
“Well, it looks great on you.”
“Yeah, but we could be like twins, can’t we?”
“Yes. The sister I never had,” Chrissy said sarcastically.
Jess rolled her eyes. “You have a sister.”
“Yeah, but not a sweetheart like you. Thank you so much for coming to help me out so I could go home. Especially when I’ve told you how impossible Mr. Pearson can be.” In fact, Chrissy almost felt a tad bit guilty about pitting someone so nice against Pearson.
“You told me some good stories, but I don’t believe them.”
Chrissy chuckled, and took her arm. “Oh, you’ll see.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Every bit of paperwork looked like the last. Saks’ eyes had long since glazed over, even if he was grateful to be a bit closer to the action. “Come on, Luke,” he begged, “just let me help a little. These business accounts are killer.”
“No,” Luke said from the garage.
“But—”
“No buts. You can' t be in the garage until the doctor clears you.”
“Fuck,” Saks muttered. He liked his job, but he never thought he’d be the one to envy the guys who were working on the bikes. Now he knew that nothing was more boring than sitting in front of a computer all day. At least Luke kept him on the payroll, though, and his working in the shop was more to curb his boredom with his injury than to do actual work. It was only due to Luke’s insistence that he be cleared for light duty that he was able to do it at all. At least it gave him the opportunity to learn the operational aspects of the business and give him a reason to get out of bed.
Mail scattered onto the floor from the door’s mail slot. Saks pushed out of the chair and went to gather them all up. Several of them were from the State Department.
“Yo, Luke. Looks like they’re here.”
Luke walked into the office, wiping grease off his hands with a shop rag.
“What’s here?” he said.
“The passports. For the road trip to Canada.”
“That’s good. Put Emily’s and mine on the desk and I’ll pick them up before I leave.”
Saks opened his and groaned. Because it was taken a week after he got out of the hospital, his face was ashen and drawn. He’d been in pain and looked like it.
“Let me see,” Luke said with a grin. He reached in to take the passport.
“No,” Saks said, jerking the document back, and then moaned when he wrenched his shoulder.
“That’s what you get when you try to aggravate your boss.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be working on a bike or something?”
“And aren’t you supposed to be at the physical therapist’s?”
Saks grumbled. He didn’t see much point in going. It was a twenty-minute trip for a half-hour appointment. And the therapist didn’t seem to work him hard at all. In his mind, actual work would’ve been far more productive.
“Do you need a ride? Should I call Emily and have her take you?”
The last thing he wanted was to inconvenience Emily, who was dealing with a stressful early pregnancy and an energetic toddler.
“No.”
Luke’s expression got serious, and Saks prepared for the lecture to come.
“I didn’t mind putting off Suzuki school because of your injury. But if you won't attempt to get well enough to perform all your duties, I need make other plans.” It meant he’d lose his new promotion, and the guilt of that would weigh heavily on Saks if he let it happen.
“Okay, okay. I haven’t felt energetic since...” Saks’ voice trailed off, because he didn’t want to say what he’d really been thinking: that so much more of it had to do with Chrissy than he wanted to let on.
Damn it. She’d walked away from him. Chrissy Serafini had climbed into that damn plane and flown off with that rat, James Pearson. It should’ve made him angry and filled him with fire, and it did, but it also left a hole in his gut that refused to fill.
Luke shook his head. There was understanding in his eyes, but the tone of his words wasn’t kind. “Get it together, Saks. I need you front and center, so I can take this business to the next level.”
“You’re right.”
“Of course, I am. I’m the boss. So, get out of here and make that appointment.”
“Sure, Luke. I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Do you see the time?”
Saks checked the clock to see it close to three in the afternoon. “Yeah.”
“And you didn’t take lunch. Just get out of here and open tomorrow.”
“Sure,” he grumbled. He pulled his leather jacket off the pegs by the door and slid it on.
“Oh, and remember Hawk is moving in to the clubhouse this afternoon. Remember to give him the security codes.”
It had been four weeks since Hawk was admitted to the hospital. Four weeks since he’d been shot just trying to pick up some prescriptions for Saks. Somehow, he’d managed to pull through the nasty gunshot wound, and was about to released. Since the people who ordered the hit were still at large, Oakie had made a decision. Saks, and now Hawk, would live in the clubhouse, with its high gates around the property and its security system.
Around the back of the building, Saks stopped for a moment before the beater car he used in the wicked Connecticut winters. With one shoulder jammed up he couldn’t ride his bike, and the old car would have to do.
Which was another reason, he supposed, to make his physical therapy appointments.
But he just didn't want to. Not today. Nope. Because today was a Monday. The fourth Monday since Chrissy got on the damned plane.
Disgusted with himself, he drove toward town to the physical therapist’s office. He called the office on his phone.
“Hello? This Anthony Parks. My appointment is at three, but I just got out of work. Is it okay if I’m fifteen minutes late?”
“Let me check.”
Saks waited and, finally, the person who ran the appointment desk came on. “Hi, Mr. Parks?”
“Yes.”
“Sally told me what was going on, but I’m sorry. We're booked solid through the end of the day.”
“Sorry. Then tell Tom I’ll see him Friday.”
“Um, I hate to bring this up, but this is the third appointment you’ve missed. We’ll have to start charging you.”
“I understand. You’ve been very understanding so far. I’ll be there Friday.”
Relieved of his appointment, and having the rest of the afternoon off, he decided to visit the Red Bull. He hadn’t seen his cousins since the shooting, and he could use some of their wings.
Saks pulled into the parking lot, which was nearly empty at this time of day, and walked inside. The familiar sights and smells of the Red Bull relaxed him. Brightly-colored bras still hung from the rafters, and the faint smell of liquor and beer mingled sharply and permeated the air.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” his cousin John drawled. “Where the hell have you been?”
“State secret,” Saks replied. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
John drew a draft and slid it to Saks. “That’s a helluva way to get out of a bar tab.”
“I’m not trying to get out of anything. I just got cleared to drive last week.”
“Uh-huh. And your mother and father haven’t heard from you either.”
“Better that way until the police arrest those guys who put the hit on me.”
“Don’t they have the guys who did it?”
“They did. But someone bailed them out and then they rabbited.”
“
Oh. Sorry to hear.”
“You and me both. But if you speak to my parents, let them know I’m okay.”
“You know your old man. He won’t listen. And your mother is beside herself.”
Saks felt like crap, but really, considering all that had happened, it was just best if he didn’t stay at the house.
“I’m the prime witness for the state. Okie was there, but with his record they don’t consider him a reliable witness. So, I’m it. And until I testify, I have to keep my head down.”
“At least you could call them.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I’ll call Mom tonight.”
“Good idea,” John responded.
He spun on his stool and studied the room as he sipped his beer. It was a quiet night, with only regulars popping in for an afternoon beer before heading home. The place never had been much to look at, but it served cold beer and the food never made people sick. A sliding sound on the counter had him spinning back around to the plate of hot wings that now sat in wait.
“I didn’t order that,” Saks said.
“You didn’t. But you could use them.”
“Thanks.” He was hungry, and hadn’t contemplated dinner. A plate of wings would do the trick. As he dug in, he felt the presence of someone taking the seat beside him. Usually he wouldn’t have cared much, but something about the intrusion left him scowling as he felt a hand settle against his arm. His head whipped to the side, only for his expression to soften from anger to mere upset at the sight of Chrissy’s sister.
“Hey, Saks,” Gloria said. “How have you been?”
“I had better days before I met your sister.”
“Yeah, sorry about that.”
“Why are you here?”
“Can a girl get a drink around here?”
“As I remember, that’s what started the trouble the last time—you wanting a beer.” But Saks gestured to John and pointed to his beer bottle and put up two fingers.
John, with a doubtful look in his eye, set the beer bottles down in front of them.
“Want a wing?”
“Sure, thanks.”