by Shandi Boyes
“Come on, Cleo. Serenity is hungry; I suggested lunch as a solution for her hunger. She thought it was a great idea,” Lexi continues to plead.
I glare into her eyes, knowing there is more to the story than she is sharing. Her eyes frolic between mine, the plea in them growing in intensity for every second that ticks by. “If you’re worried about Marcus being angry, don’t be. I’ll talk to him. We’ll even take Brodie with us. If we must.” She mumbles her last sentence.
She continues pleading until she breaks through the protective wall I built around us the past four days. Then she proceeds chipping away at the panic curled around my neck until its tight grip is loosened enough I can reluctantly nod. I never could deny her, so I don't know why I bothered resisting her request.
My nod was brief, but not curt enough for Lexi to miss it. “Yes!” she screams, throwing her arms into the air. Anyone would swear she just won the lotto.
Her eyes track mine when I push the office chair away from Marcus’s desk and stand. “Let’s do this.”
Not giving me the chance to change my mind, Lexi wraps her arm around the nook of my elbow and drags me out of Marcus’s office. Her pace is so unchecked, she barrels into Aubrey, sending cookies and milk flying into the air.
“Sorry,” she apologizes with a grimace before continuing our trek, her excitement too high to stop her.
Fifty minutes later, our coats are hung by the beautiful hostess at an elegant restaurant where I've only dreamed of dining. Not wanting to be the odd man out, Brodie is holed up in his car with a bag of greasy takeout and a few sports magazines. I finalize my risqué text to Marcus, ensuring his understanding of our desire to eat out will be rewarded upon his return tonight, before storing my cell into my clutch.
My leisured steps into the elegant-smelling space quicken when my sweep of the room has me stumbling upon a familiar face sitting across from Serenity: Cartier.
"Hello, darling," she greets, rising from her seat to place air kisses on each of my cheeks. After greeting Lexi in the same manner, she says, "I don't need to ask whom you belong to."
I smile. "Lexi, this is a friend of mine, Cartier. Cartier, this is my baby sister, Lexi." I try to keep the muckiness out of my voice during my introduction; my attempts are borderline. I can’t rein in my pride when it comes to Lexi.
Lexi cordially greets Cartier with a smile. Her embrace of Serenity is a little friendlier. They act like lifelong friends as they wrap their arms around each other and bounce on the spot, giggling like teen girls on the way to prom.
“Thank you,” I gesture to the waiter when he fans a white napkin over my lap after I take a seat across from Cartier. “I wasn’t aware you knew each other,” I say to Cartier as my eyes drift between her and Serenity.
The twinkle of fondness in Cartier’s eyes grows when she locks them with Serenity. “It's a recently formed relationship. We have one man we both care very much about.” I assume she is talking about Marcus until her hand lifts to caress the thin necklace hidden behind her bulky ones. “Speaking of men I care about, how are things with you and Marcus? Everything okay?”
Cartier's hand drops from her neck when I gush, "Umm. . . Great. Actually, it's wonderful."
Cartier smiles, but it's more reserved than her usual smile. It was more like she had to force it onto her face than it being there of its own will. "Stop acting so damn happy or people will get the wrong impression," she snickers under her breath.
“Are you sure it’s the wrong impression they’d be getting?” I ask with a waggle of my brows. I indeed need to limit my time with Lexi; her maturity is starting to rub off on me—and not in a good way.
Wrinkles crease my nose when Cartier rolls her eyes. “Gosh, if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear you’re acting like a love crazy imbecile.”
I graze my teeth over my bottom lip, incapable of denying her snickered claim.
The happiness making my head a giddy mess drifts into abyss when Cartier requests, "Please tell me you haven't expressed. . ." Her words trail off as she assesses my face. "Whatever this is. . ." she swirls her hand around my loved-up expression, ". . .to Master Chains."
If it weren't for the dire expression on her face, I might have laughed at her statement. But since her gaunt appearance is relaying nothing but panic, I leash my childish response and briskly shake my head.
Cartier sighs deeply. “Thank god,” she murmurs frailly.
“Would it really be that bad if I did?” I ask before I can stop my words.
Cartier’s tongue delves out to replenish her lips before she swivels in her seat to face me. She waits, soundlessly building the suspense until it's nearly murderous. Just when I think she isn’t going to speak, she says, “I like to believe I know the true Marcus, the one beneath the Master Chains mask he regularly wears, but even I can’t guarantee what his reaction would be if you declare your love for him." She whispers the word “love” as if it's a curse word. "I thought I knew Henry, and look how that turned out."
Ignoring the swirling in my stomach induced by her peculiar reply, I accept the wine list from the waiter, happy to use it as a distraction while unravelling Cartier’s puzzling statement. I’ve barely scanned the first page of cocktails when the menu is plucked from my grasp.
Keeping her eyes locked on the waiter, Cartier says, “We will have sparkling water, thank you.”
My bottom lip drops into a pout. With nearly every drop of alcohol in Marcus's house potent enough to knock me on my ass with one sip, I was very much looking forward to a fruity cocktail. And, if I'm being honest, I was hoping to lace Cartier's veins with alcohol to loosen her lips.
“Alcohol ages you,” Cartier snickers, her voice as mortified as my facial expression.
"Says the lady downing margaritas last week like they were apple juice," I scold, my playful tone dulling down my snappy reply.
Cartier's chance to reply is lost when Serenity and Lexi’s prolonged greeting comes to an end. My eyes roam Lexi’s face when she plops into the chair next to me. Her face is red with exertion, but no signs of air struggle are notable. It's indeed amazing how much the Kalydeco program has been a godsend for Lexi. If I didn't already love Marcus with every morsel of my soul, Lexi's new lease on life would have soon taken care of that.
Don't get me wrong; I'm not saying I love Marcus because of what he can give me. I love him for how generous and kind he is. His kindness extends way beyond monetary value. I believe even if he weren't a wealthy rock star and BDSM club owner, his charity efforts would still be as strong as they are today. His grandmother left him a lasting legacy, one that will live on for years after he is gone.
Feeling giddy, I snap open my clutch to check for a return message from Marcus. Regretfully, my screen is void of any messages or missed calls. After accepting the menu from the grinning waiter, Lexi swaps seats with Cartier as per Cartier’s request.
I raise my eyes from the menu to Cartier, taking in her flawless designer-clothed body on the way. When our eyes meet, she asks, “Have you talked to Marcus about what you unearthed Monday?” Her tone is more friendly than the one she used earlier, but it still has a hint of antagonism associated with it.
I shake my head. "No. I want to do it in person."
Cartier stills from my confession but remains quiet. I can understand her reservation. I've had plenty of opportunities to discuss my findings with Marcus the past four days, but every time I prepare to expose the connection between Keira and Mr. Carson, my words clog in my throat. I don't know why. I think part of my worry stems from the protectiveness Marcus displayed to Keira Saturday night, and the other half is concerned about what his reaction will be when he discovers I've been investigating him.
I’d like to say my investigation into Chains ended the instant Cartier unearthed the link between Keira’s assault and Mr. Carson’s agreement to investigate Chains, but that would be a lie. Although it isn’t as rampant as it was days ago, I’ve still spent a minimum three hours a day
seeking further information on their connection. Mr. Carson and Keira’s family association is buried by so much legal propaganda, that one photo Lexi discovered Sunday morning is the only photo I’ve found of them together. It's as if they are total strangers.
I stop twisting my napkin around my fingers so tightly they are void of natural color when Cartier places her hand over mine. She peers at me like she wants to say something, but not a syllable escapes her lips.
Dying for her to articulate the secrets her eyes are struggling to conceal, I ask, “Have you talked to Marcus about what I discovered? About Keira?” I whisper her name since my hackles are still bristled from last weekend.
I feel sorry for what happened to Keira months ago, but I'm still angry at her wearing Marcus's trademark. There is only one reason she did that—she wanted Marcus's attention. And, unfortunately, that's precisely what she got. Marcus is a smart man, but he fell straight into Keira's trap last weekend. The fact she unarmed a man as guarded as Marcus has me truly worried about the influence she has on him. I have no doubt Marcus feels guilty for Keira's injuries if they were sustained against her wishes while she was a patron at his club, but unless her injuries were placed there by him, it's unnecessary guilt. If Keira genuinely cares for Marcus, as her eyes relayed last weekend, she should relinquish him from his guilt, not encourage it.
A wisp of blonde hair falls into Cartier's face when she shakes her head. "No, darling. It's not my place to tell him. It's yours. Relationships are enough work without third-party influences butting in."
“Ain’t that the truth,” I mutter to myself.
I realize my quiet summarizing wasn’t as discreet as I was aiming for when Lexi and Serenity’s heads lift from their menu to peer at me. Although their gazes drop back to the menu seconds later, I can feel the heat of their eyes on me. It isn’t the warmth of friendliness; it the heat of worry.
"When you get the chance, you really need to talk to him, darling," Cartier requests, tapping my hand with hers. "I know he is swamped; when I saw him yesterday, he was run off his feet, but the information you found could be critical for many people very dear to him. You must tell him what you discovered, Cleo. It's the right thing to do."
I swallow the bitter taste in the back of my throat before murmuring, “You saw Marcus yesterday?” Although I wholeheartedly agree that I need to inform Marcus of my findings, my primary focus is on Cartier’s admission she saw Marcus yesterday.
A twinkle of fondness flares in Cartier’s eyes as she nods.
“You went to Florida?” Shock smears my high tone.
The glimmer in Cartier’s eyes dulls before she timidly shakes her head. “No, darling. Why would I go to Florida?” she asks, sounding disgusted at the idea.
“Because Marcus is in Florida,” I object, my words laced with unwarranted bitchiness. When Cartier balks from my admission, I add on, “He is in Florida, isn’t he?”
For the first time, Cartier looks genuinely fearful. She forcefully swallows before her eyes drift to Serenity and Lexi, who are once again eyeballing our exchange in silence.
“You must have gotten your dates mixed up, Cartier. You saw Marcus last week, remember?” Serenity’s attempt at lying is as woeful as mine usually are. I hardly know her, and I still know she is lying; that's how bad her effort was.
“Oh, yes, that's right. It was last week,” Cartier agrees with her squinted gaze locked on Serenity.
Because I can't see her eyes, I can't 100% proclaim she is lying. Her vocals were higher than usual, indicating deceit, but since we met mere days ago, it doesn't feel right to call her out as a liar.
Cartier sighs loudly when our waiter magically appears at her side, demonstrating that she too felt the uncomfortable awkwardness plaguing our small gathering.
By the time everyone's orders have been jotted down, any opportunity to grill Cartier and Serenity further are lost. They are buried in discussion with Lexi about a man named Ricci.
Over the next hour, I try to participate in the conversation being held around the table, but with my mind elsewhere, my responses are lackluster, missing the Garcia spark. Lucky Lexi's personality makes up for my deficiency in schmoozing. I know the cause of my absentmindedness: while unjumbling the complexity of my conversation with Cartier, many theories ran wild in my mind—none of them were pleasant.
Accumulating my knowledge of Marcus and Keira's connection, the link between Mr. Carson and Keira, Marcus's sudden decision to return to Ravenshoe alone, and Cartier's admission she saw Marcus as recently as yesterday has bombarded me with a severe case of nausea. I feel sick—incredibly unwell.
Excusing myself, I snag my clutch off the table and make a beeline for the washroom. Although my first thought was to splash some water on my face, when I'm in the safety of the stall area, I yank my cell phone out of my purse. After kicking down the toilet seat in the vacant stall in the far back corner, I dial Marcus's number. His cellphone rings on repeat—over and over again.
All six of my calls sent to voicemail amplifies the sick gloom creating havoc with my chest. I sit in silence, assuring myself repeatedly that Cartier was mistaken, that she didn’t see Marcus yesterday, and that Marcus isn’t accepting my calls as he is in the process of flying home.
Several minutes of reassurance awards me with nothing but additional butterflies in my churning stomach. Why would a woman as intelligent as Cartier get something so simple wrong? She wouldn’t have, would she? And although Marcus is flying, wouldn’t advances in technology mean he could still answer my call if he wanted to?
I run my hand across my cheek, gathering a stupid tear descending down my face when Lexi calls out, “Cleo? Everything okay?” From the way her voice is projecting, it sounds like she is standing right outside of the stall.
“Uh, yeah, just an aversion to the clams.” I cringe, loathing my inability to think on the spot.
“Eww. Alright. Buzz me if you need assistance.”
She waits for me to respond before she leaves me in peace. I take a few more minutes to settle the restlessness on my face before dumping my tear-gathering napkin into the bowl and flushing the cistern. My brisk pace to the vanity to wash my hands slows to a snail’s pace when my eyes lock in on a shimmering of blonde standing next to the only sink in the room. I calm the unnatural beat of my heart, confident the world wouldn't be so cruel to throw me another curveball right now. I've been dodging so many balls this week, one is eventually going to hit me square in the guts.
A timely reminder of how cruel life can be hits fruition when the blonde pivots on her heels to snag a paper towel from the muted washroom attendant dressed entirely in black on her right. Seemingly unaware of my gawking glance, Keira thoroughly dries her hands before placing a selection of bills onto a gold tray in the corner of the room. I suck in a grateful breath when she heads for the door without so much as a sideways glance in my direction.
The air I've just drawn in is brutally evicted when her swayed steps stop. She turns her head to face me, her movements stiff and robotic. “Cleo?” she greets, her tone apprehensive, like I’m a mirage standing before her.
Realizing I’m not an illusion, she paces two steps toward me. “What a pleasure to see you again.” Her tone is so convincing of her gratuity, I may have believed her if the quickest flash of annoyance didn’t blaze through her eyes.
“Hello.” I'd like to express more, but vehement jealousy has stolen my words.
Even though her exchange with Marcus last week could be construed as innocent, I hate that she interfered in our relationship at all. What she did last week was wrong. If I weren't fearful of airing my dirty laundry in public, I'd tell Keira precisely how disgusted I am about her ruse. But since I was raised better than that, I dip my chin, finalizing my greeting, then hightail it to the sink.
Keira doesn't utter a syllable as I wash my hands at a record-setting pace before heading for the washroom door.
“Cleo, wait,” she calls out as I glide into the corri
dor.
I hear her apologize to the washroom attendant in Spanish before she shadows me down the corridor separating the restrooms from the main seating area of the restaurant. “I really didn’t want everything to come to this. What I said to you in the elevator months ago was true. I do genuinely like you. It's just. . . just. . .”
“Just what, Keira?” I spin on my heels to face her. “I’m nice, but not nice enough for you to respect me? Or am I only convenient to associate with when I’m not occupying the time of the Master you want?”
She tucks her fancy clutch under her arm as her eyes fleetingly float around the room. "You need to keep your voice down.” Her tone is more mature than her twenty-five years.
"Why? Are you afraid people will discover you aren't as innocent as you portray?"
Keira’s eyelashes flutter as she struggles to blink back her tears. My throat tightens, hating that I’m allowing my jealousy to turn me into a vindictive, malicious person.
Lessening the severity of my wrath, I take a step closer to her. “If you were honest with your uncle, all of this could have been avoided.”
“All of this?” She retaliates, her voice quickening with anger. “What's happening is not my fault. I’ve done everything in my power to stop Global Tens’ investigation into Chains.”
“Have you tried being honest?” I fire back, my tone just as stern as hers.
“Yes!” she answers, her word hissing out of her mouth like venom.
“So you told your uncle everything? You explained that the bruises and whip marks you sought medical assistance for were put there by your own choice?”
She balks as her pupils turn massive. Clearly, she is unaware how deep my investigation into Chains has gone. As quickly as her tears appeared, they vanish. She realigns her slouched pose before the glint in her eyes turns evil. She glares at me, issuing a stare so chilling, it reminds me of my many run-ins with the devil herself.