by Lexi Black
“The question is, how is she getting her information? Whoever is betraying Marcus is feeding her such a detailed account it’s scary. Notice how she always says the source is “close” to Eliott House, not an employee or member of it. So it has to be someone like me, contracted from the outside.”
“Is it you?” August pushes his white lump of hair to the side in order to make eye contact. He’s trying to see if I’m going to lie to him. I won’t.
“No. Marcus has been nothing but kind to me. I would never betray him. But, I can’t imagine who would. Jim and his guys are the ‘death before dishonor’ types and DeLong makes plenty of money without taking a fee from Jordan.”
“Maybe the person isn’t telling them for money,” August suggests, reaching out to grab his composition notebook and hold it to his chest. “Maybe there is something important to the person that Davis is offering.”
“I can’t imagine what would be more important than money. You’re right though. Jordan can’t be giving much of a finder’s fee. Maybe someone in the hotel. If his information dries up while we are in Boston, we’ll know for sure it wasn’t one of us.”
“Us?” August chuckles, opening his notebook and scribbling the word over and over in the margin of a page. “I have never been part of an ‘us’ before. It is a powerful word.”
“Do you remember your mother and father, August?” I should know better than to upset him this close to the interview with Jordan. Still, curiosity propels me forward.
“Not my father. He died when I was very young,” the young man squints as if he can feel the self-inflicted bullet entering his father’s brain as he speaks. “He was a scientist. A biology professor. A little famous, not like me.”
“There’s no one quite like you, August.”
“He discovered the coming extinction of Incilius Aurarius and warned they were near annihilation. By the time someone listened to him, the toads were all gone. People think my mother drove him to suicide, but I think it was that. The loss of the toads.”
“Toads?”
“Incilius Aurarius — the Golden Toad.”
My mind flashes back to the night in his room when he called Marcus the Golden Toad. He must think of Marcus like a father figure. I press further than I should. “Did your father also discover something about a silver hornet?”
“I don’t think they exist,” he laughs and I feel like a fool. I should stick to pies and dinner rolls. I’m clearly not a good detective. “Except for jewelry.”
“Jewelry? What do you know of jewelry, August?”
“My mother had one — a silver hornet. It was a pin. One day my mother took me to a cousin’s house for afternoon tea. It was very hot. She sent me to take a nap and before I went she hugged me, and the silver hornet, hot from the sun, burned my cheek. I cried. When I woke up, she was gone, and I didn’t see her again for three years. I thought it was my fault, because I cried about the silver hornet.”
“Do I remind you of your mother, August?” Great, I just aged another thirty years.
“No, why?”
“Because you called me ‘silver hornet’ the other night when you were high.”
“Maybe I wasn’t high,” he countered mysteriously. “Or, maybe it wasn’t you.”
“L'avion sera débarquement dans quelques instants. Mettez votre ceinture abdominale et préparer le rebond, s'il vous plait,” Gabrielle says to August as she walks through our cabin to Dr. DeLong’s room.
“The plane is landing soon. She wants our seatbelts on,” August tells me sweetly. I roll my eyes. “She said, ‘Please’ at the end.”
“Always the peacemaker, August?” I tease, winking at him while I fumble with the clips on the belt.
“Have you seen her hands? They are exquisite.”
~
Chapter 3
“Be careful,” the attendant says as I nearly miss the first step on the tiny built in ladder of the private jet. Thank goodness she recovered her ability to speak to me just in time. I tripped because I was looking at her hands. August was right. They are exquisite.
I nearly fall off the bottom step when I look up to see Chloe standing there with a limo. It’s almost a four hour drive, how did she beat us here, ditch the former car, pick up a limo and be standing in front of us with a freshly laundered uniform smelling of jasmine? It’s not possible!
“Mon ami!” Chloe calls, and Gabrielle nearly pushes me to the pavement rushing down to hug her friend. They kiss and chat excitedly in French. Dr. DeLong also pushes past me, grabbing August by the arm.
“Adieu, mon cher,” he says, kissing Gabrielle as he pulls August to the waiting vehicle and deposits him in the back.
“Au revoir, Cecil,” she responds.
It’s like I died and went to Heaven only to discover the whole place is one big Grey Poupon commercial. I feel Jim standing behind me, encouraging me to join the others in the car. “Do you speak French, Jim?”
“I’m from New Jersey, Ms. Miller,” he laughs with a snort. “I barely speak English.”
I walk toward the car, watching Jim whisper something to Chloe that makes her kiss her friend goodbye and get us moving. I purposely hover around the door to the front passenger seat of the stretch limo, hoping she will invite me to sit up front with her and tell me about Marcus. Nothing ever goes as planned. She walks me back to the rear door and opens it for me.
“I got your note,” I say, dreadfully jealous I can’t say it in another language.
“No time now,” she whispers. “I’ll catch you tomorrow, after your interview.”
I climb into the back and get settled in the luxurious seat. The guys are checking out the bar, and August is playing with the seat warmer. With no meat on his bones, I imagine he’s frequently freezing.
“Listen up,” Chloe commands and the whole car gets silent. “When we get to the hotel I am pulling the limo into the service drive. As soon as we stop, get out and head directly inside. Don’t look around. Don’t talk to anyone. Dr. DeLong and August, you are in the Oakwood Suite, top floor to the left. Here’s your key, Dr. DeLong. Go straight to your room. Your luggage will be brought up later.”
The two men nod affirmation as if in a trance. “Everyone else,” Chloe continues holding court. “Including you, Ms. Miller, is going to go directly to the top floor to the Presidential Suite. That’s where Mr. Eliott is staying. He is holding meetings with all Boston staff and wants all of you present. Don’t look around; don’t talk to anyone. Don’t talk to each other. Just get out quickly, silently, and make your way to the top. Above all else — stay away from anyone from Bookfeed or Vineyard.com.”
“I don’t think Dagney Van Der Vine is here, Chloe. She was still at the hotel when we left,” I say helpfully. I’m hoping she sees me as an ally.
“You didn’t think I was here either,” she says, correctly, then slams the door and takes her place in the front.
~
Chapter 4
“The center isn’t holding,” Marcus declares standing in the make-shift meeting room formed in his suite. Jim’s team fills the couch, Chloe, a few personal secretaries, and a group of anonymous looking “interns” I have never seen before are splayed around the room in various chairs. I’m sitting on a love seat behind Chloe trying to see if anyone is reacting to this speech that would give us a clue. “How the hell is Vineyard.com getting every detail of this tour? Someone in this room is betraying the rest of us.”
I look to see if anyone is shifting uncomfortably in their chair, but the tirade is so uncharacteristic of Marcus that everyone is shifting — including me.
“People, this job isn’t hard. We are trying to get one author to do three events with his dignity intact. I have hired an army of people to make this tour work and still it is falling apart at the seams! Jim, I spent a fortune on suits and ties to make your team look like civilians and I can see that was a mistake. You are all acting like civilians! Step up the protection. Joanne, you’re supposed to be handling t
he press. Get some GOOD stories out there about the tour and keep batting away Van Der Vine. Speaking of Dagney Van Der Vine — how in the hell does she know everything about our schedule? She is staying at our hotels. She is showing up at our press stops. Hell, I took August for a walk in the park and she showed up! Chloe, do a better job shaking the tail.”
“Yeah, Chloe, shake your tail,” one of Jim’s guys laughs. No one joins him.
“The Boston schedule is being entirely re-written, including the interview with Carrie and August. It’s been put off from tomorrow to the next day.”
“Speaking of Ms. Miller,” Jim says with a defensive edge. “Maybe you could address the issue of those closest to Mr. Kalle being responsible with such things as keys, cards and access to drugs.”
I bite my lower lip and breathe deeply.
“I’m a caterer, not a Navy Seal,” I say. “And I messed up.”
“I’ll handle Ms. Miller,” Marcus says with such a dark, direct vocal tone everyone looks away from me. I feel like a marked woman.
Just when I think it can’t get any more unpleasant Chloe turns and sings. “Someone’s getting a spanking.”
Marcus goes over some notes, threatens hell or high water to anyone leaking information and dismisses the troops. Fortunately, no one from Eliott House saw my flirting with Jordan in the hotel hallway, but I stay in my seat, hoping to assure Marcus that I am not the leak.
I wait until the final person leaves and I hear the door click. He turns to me. I can see the toll this tour is taking on him. His tie is hanging around his neck undone, and there are wrinkles in the lapel of his jacket, as well as his forehead. He brushes his jet black hair across his face and looks at me for a moment. His eyes narrow and his nose flairs momentarily. I feel like prey.
“Marcus, I know I messed up. It’s my fault August was able to buy…”
He leans over, places his hand on the back of my head, pulls me forward and kisses me roughly, his slightly chapped lips crushing mine for a moment. He reaches down and places his hand on my breasts through my travel blouse. My nipples rise to attention at his impulsive touch and I feel my wetness growing.
“I just wanted to say that I know he…” I try again, attempting to fit the words between kisses and pinches. He reaches down to my blouse and pulls both sides. The buttons shoot off making small clicking noises wherever they land.
“Shut up,” he says, pushing me down on the love seat and lifting my bra to expose my breasts. His mouth takes no time in finding my most tender nipple and enveloping it. Before I can register my surprise, his hand is between my legs, diving under my skirt and yanking my panties down. I feel the pressure of his palm against my labia then his finger diving in the folds of my body, rubbing up and down. Each time his calloused fingertip rubs over my clitoral hood I jump a bit and he suckles me harder, pain and pleasure mixing.
He attempts to mount me on the love seat but at his height it is impossible. Sighing, he takes his mouth away from my breasts, pausing to look at the bruises he managed to leave. Marcus puts his hands on my hips as if he is going to pick me up like a cheerleader being elevated to the top of the pyramid. I start to shift so he can get his arm around me to pick me up, but he just laughs and lifts me from the hip twisting my body as I rise.
My head is spinning with the combination of arousal, confusion, desire and pleasure/pain. I feel pressure against my tummy and realize he has bent me over the arm of the love seat, my legs dangling down. He gets up and I hear the buckle of his belt jangling. Ice water fills my veins. Chloe wasn’t kidding! He is going to spank me.
“Wait, a minute…” I say, then I hear his zipper go down. Turning my head, I notice his belt is on the floor, with his pants and underwear soon to follow. I give a heavy sigh of relief until I feel the head of his cock running up and down my slit the same way his finger did. My clit has risen from the hood and registers sweet arousal as it rubs against the arm of the chair.
“Be quiet,” he commands, his voice the same harsh and stern one he used in the meeting. His fingers make forward progress and soon they are in my body, plunging back and forth drawing the attention of my entire being. I realize I’ve been moving my hips up and down all along. I want him, and he knows it. He reaches out with his other hand and pushes my head down against the cushion. I feel his penis at the opening of my channel, the head stretching my vaginal opening. He stops at the entry, both of us aware my body is rocking back and forth attempting to impale itself on his cock.
He leans over my body, his cock still bedeviling me and the weight of his strength pushing down my back. I feel his hot breath as it tickles my ear.
“Say one word,” he hisses. I am about to release at the sensation of his breath against my ear and his tongue now running down the nape of my neck. I attempt to imagine what the right thing to say might be, but surrender to the reality that all I can think about is my throbbing swollen clit begging for more.
“Please,” I gasp, and he plunges into me, his shaft pumping back and forth as he holds my shoulders. The rough thrusts also press my pelvis against the chair, the velvet fabric rubbing my clitoris into happy oblivion. He lifts his body off mine and continues thrusting, both hands now holding my hips and pulling me back and forth as he pounds me.
I feel myself climbing quickly, the tone of his voice, the confidence of his approach and the raw, beast-like thrusts taking me to the top faster than I have ever been. The sound of his balls slapping against my pussy echo through the room (and probably all over Boston), as low moans and grunts issue from his throat.
“I’m there, I’m there, I...ooooooooooooooooo.” My mind shatters into a million fragments as the orgasm explodes in my mid-section. I grip the cushion with both hands and shove my mouth down over the cover to mute the scream tearing out of me without my consent or control. I’ve never been very dramatic about sex and always thought screamers were just women playing a role. But now, with the convulsions rocking the chair back and forth and my whole body responding to my pulsing release, the scream takes a life of its own — forcing it’s way through my clenched jaw. I hear him make a noise that is more growl than moan, and feeling the cum spurting deep inside, bursting from him in jerking spasms as he gasps with each one.
We stay that way for a moment, the predator and the prey, until I can catch my breath. He pats me on the bottom and removes himself from my body as I feel the wetness escape my battered pleasure center and begin to run down my thigh. Ever the gentleman, Marcus takes some tissues off the side table and cleans me.
“I’ve got wine and cheese in my bedroom,” he says quietly as he kisses me lightly on the cheek. “When you can walk, join me.”
To be honest, he wasn’t kidding. I ended up staying bent over the love seat for more than a few minutes, trying to will my legs to move. It was like I was frozen for a moment. Finally, when I pushed myself up to a standing position the nerves reconnected and I remembered to put one foot in front of the other. I kick my panties off my ankle and slide my skirt off. Somehow I managed to wrangle out of my bra (thank goodness for teen girl slumber parties where such skills are taught), but leave the shell of my ripped blouse over my shoulders. One piece of dignity isn’t too much to ask.
I walk into the mammoth bedroom and see him naked on the bed. He points to a glass of wine and a saucer of cheese and water crackers on the nightstand. I sit on the bed then swing my legs up, the soreness inside me giving me a sweet memory only a few minutes old. Marcus props himself up on one arm, his hand holding his head, and grins at me.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“I’m just a guy who wanted you to know I accept your apology,” he laughs and looks down, an oddly boyish quality shining through.
“Well then,” I say, blowing my hair up from my forehead in an effort to cool down. “I shall be sorry more often.”
~
Chapter 5
I make one last check in the mirror before Chloe whisks us to Jordan’s hotel suite.
; Jacket pressed? Check.
Blouse loose enough to billow, low enough to be suggestive, but not slutty? Check.
Skirt lined up correctly on my hips (I hate it when women have their skirt crooked).
Stockings instead of hose? Check.
Pedicure? Check (thank goodness for the Eliott House card!).
Shoes polished, heels high, toes open? Check.
I’m dressed exactly the way I think Jordan will enjoy. Oh, and I’m ready for the interview too. Marcus was kind enough to send some notes on August’s book so I can appear to have read the whole thing. I’ve tried several times to pick up that book and read it. The truth is — it’s too beautiful for me. His “words” swirl and take shape in ways I can’t explain. It’s like looking at a poem written in lace through murano glass.
Chloe already has August with her when she arrives at my door. I don’t know where Marcus found the suit the boy is wearing, but it’s at least a size too big and looks like it may be eating the author from the inside out. The jacket may swallow him whole before we are done for the day.