by Liz K. Lorde
Seems like they were crowding him to get a look at his Kindle Paperwhite E-Reader. I smiled privately at that, knowing that Jane would probably like to own one of those if she didn’t have one.
Striding over to the main door of the tower, I moved inside, catching looks from two white thugs. Couldn’t be a day older than eighteen. Probably slinging crack and keeping track of who was coming and going from the Towers.
Hustling my way up the stairs, my black leather shoes thudded against each creaky, worn step. Sunlight poured in from the grimy, stained windows. Cigarette butts littered the floors as couples and baby mamas got into shouting matches; now and again the pump of rap or hip-hop, or the scream of death metal would bleed through the rooms. How anyone could go about living through their day here was simply beyond me.
Wouldn’t wish this shit on my worst enemies. Of which, I seemed to have a lot lately.
When I got to room two twenty six, I adjusted my suit, brushing back my hair and the sheen of sweat on my head. I pounded on the soil colored door to be sure that she heard me. The face of it had long since been scratched and beaten up, chips of paint scraped off probably a decade ago that nobody wanted to fix. Not a second later and I heard the numerous chain locks being undone just behind it.
Out came Rebbecca in a blue plaid Belle Sleeve top, dressed in form-fitting white ankle pants. Her auburn hair was down, looking messy as it rested past her shoulders.“Michael,” she said my name like I’d just knocked her up and kicked her out on the streets. “I don’t know what you’re doing here--”
“I’m here to make amends,” I interrupted. “For what Jonathan did to you. He went behind my back--”
“No, no I don’t want to hear that,” she had a look of barely contained fury, one that was ready to snap at the slightest moments notice. “If you think you can make this right with money, you can shove it up your remarkably tight ass.”
I straightened out my chest and took in a breath, opting not to make a comment about any of that. I guess a compliment is a compliment, at the end of the day.
Rebbecca put her hand on the silver handle of her door, getting ready to swing it shut in my face. “I’m tired of being shit on by your family, Michael.”
“Listen,” I wanted to rub my temples in that moment. “I know you don’t want it,” I felt my throat tighten up, “but you were the best I’d ever had. Let me pay for your tuition. Please.” She had to know that I was being serious, I was never one to say please. Never one to beg.
Aside from Jane.
Christ, just what witch craft had that girl put on me?
She shook her head at me and twisted her lip into a frown. “I can’t deal with your father,” she told me flatly, “and I can’t deal with this anymore. Put it to charity.”
She slammed the door on me like I’d predicted.
Even with all of her ups and downs, I just lost the hardest worker I’d ever had.
Fuck.
***
The next morning I met Jane for a coffee before we both had to go to work. She grabbed a latte with skim milk, were I ordered an espresso. We each took a seat outside of the local Starbucks, a number of people surrounding us.
I knew that it wouldn’t take long for the press and paparazzi to show up. They were always swarming to put something new in the press, no matter how trashy, true, or untrue.
Jane sipped on her latte and pressed her foot teasingly against my leg. “You don’t normally do this,” she observed.
“Normally no,” I replied, grabbing her foot underneath the table. She tugged and pulled, trying to free herself from my grip. “Better that the public sees me with you, though,” I told her smirking. “Looks like someone wants their foot back.”
She tugged again, laughing a little. “Let go.” I sipped on my espresso casually, grabbing her tighter the more she tried to resist me. “If you break my foot,” she warned.
“Never,” I let go suddenly, having her fumble and knock her knee against the table, nearly spilling her coffee. “Don’t spill your coffee now,” I teased.
She stared daggers at me with those mischievous purple eyes. “Considering spilling it on that highly expensive suit that you’re wearing.”
“This is hand-stitched Italian,” I fired back derisively. Italy would weep if they’d overheard that threat.
Jane gave me the ghost of a smile, and I could sense that she was thinking about our intimate time last night. Just knowing that stirred me between my legs, made my balls ache with the need to fill her again. “So when exactly am I going to meet your father?”
Even with her training and creating a suitable background for her, I wasn’t certain that things would go over well enough. “Not sure,” I told Jane, “sometime after the Bai’Kong Charity Dinner. Regardless, don’t get your hopes up with impressing him.” Some people passed us by on the street, billows of smoke gushing up from the sewer lids; an angered cab driver honked his horn at the blue Pontiac Aztek in front of him, sitting and texting at the green light. “He’s not a people person,” I explained. Even less so when it comes to the women that I date.
“And you are?”
“When it’s the right people,” I countered.
“You’re probably more like him than you even know,” she teased.
“If you’re trying to ruin my espresso you’re doing a fine job of that.”
“Ruining things is what I’m good at,” I couldn’t tell if she was being serious or not.
I reached an arm out and grabbed her delicately by the chin, pulling her in firmly for a kiss, noticing someone out on the other side of the street snapping a photo. Her lips tasted exquisite on mine, filling me with a fine fire. “My cock is going to ruin that beautiful pussy of your’s later tonight,” I growled in her ear.
“Michael...” she breathed in a husky, lust laced voice.
The good times were rolling, and for once, things were starting to look up.
Chapter 20
Jane
The days passed by in a glorious set of midnight rendezvous with Michael. He was quickly getting me addicted to his body.
I needed to spill my guts to Sayla and Beth something fierce; they should know about him. Every detail.
Well, maybe not every detail. I smiled privately to myself, shuffling along through the three person line at Culver’s Coffee. It had a rustic feel to it, with old wooden boards and sanded down tables and chairs; purportedly they were all handcrafted by the great grandfather of the family James Culver. Black ceiling fans spun lackadaisically above; moody interior lights lit up the whole place with a dull, sweeping gold.
I could feel the weight of someone’s presence behind me, and a lizard brain part of me demanded that I turn around and see who was drilling holes into my back. Trying to utilize my self professed super power, I think I caught a hint of this person checking out my ass.
Right before I turned around, a firm, thick finger tapped on my shoulder.
This made me whip around, but the end result wasn’t something that I was all too happy about.
Connifer. Leo’s right hand man.
He gave me that wild smile, seemingly quite genuinely happy to see me. Maybe he was just insane like his boss. “Fancy meetin’ ya here,” he said, completely self aware that he must have stalked me here.
“If you’re here it must be for more than just coffee,” I concluded dryly. “But since you’re here, I’ll ask: Icy or hot?”
Connifer’s eyes danced with amusement. “Sounds like ‘ah question for the bedroom, I’d say.”
“Since when did criminals have a sense of humor.”
He wiped his hand at his nose and sniffed in a fiercely quick movement. “We’ve actually got a comedy club,” he pointed with his whole hand to his right, “down on Pontepool and Hermenez.”
I raised my brows at him, almost ready to believe him.
Connifer snickered with some delight, “Nah. I’m just fuckin’ with ya. No good bones in that game.”
Th
e black, older gentlemen at the front with a pork-pie hat left the line, and we moved closer. “Why didn’t the man come himself?”
“Because I’m the man,” he barked playfully. “Now get ‘cher coffee and meet me outside for a little chat. Oh and don’t worry,” he said, “it’s on our tab. Eddie Culver treats us right.”
***
We sat down on one of the tables outside and I sipped on my blond coffee in the warm morning weather, the fluffy Altostratus clouds hovering above us.
“Boss is gettin’ a little impatient with you,” he brought the, most surprisingly, decaff coffee up to his lips and paused before sipping. “Not a good thing, I promise ya.”
“I’m not doing it,” I flat out told him. “Michael’s not some bad person.” That was something I believed with every fiber of my being, now.
“Maybe,” Connifer offered unconvinced, “but the players he’s in bed with are. His father, namely.”
“It’s not my business,” I straightened in my chair, not afraid to refuse them any more.
“Really should be,” Connifer’s lips turned into a Cheshire’s grin. “I’m not telling you to do this,” he explained, leaning forward with both his arms folded over each other on the table. “I’m offering it to you as a courtesy. Cause I like ya. Cause the boss seems to like ya. Even despite the shit ya pulled.”
Now I was confused. “If it has something to do with Michael--”
“When you go fishing, you cast a wide net,” he explained in a sinister voice, downing more of his coffee, seeming to be enjoying the scalding pain of burning his own mouth. “We turned somebody before the sun came up. Much less noble than you,” he cocked his head to the side, then leaned back in his chair, the legs of it’s back supporting the now floating front. “Half the sum we could pay you. Petty little thing, that one.”
“Who?”
“Now why would I tell ya that,” he laughed, “no, no no no. I’m being serious here,” his tone stiffened. “You should take this deal, might open options between us in the future.” He cleared his throat, “you haven’t actually gotten some feelins’ for this guy now, have you?” When I didn’t answer, understanding filled the lines of his face. His eyes crinkled when he smiled. “Boy you’ve got it bad,” he told me. Yeah, I know I do. “Let’s just say this person was a close family friend to the Smoak’s.”
“I think that you’re bluffing.”
“No need to.”
“So show me proof.”
Connifer grumbled, reaching into the pocket of his coat and producing ten to fifteen pieces of paper stapled together. He slid it over to me, but kept it in his hand, letting me read what was on the surface.
It could still be a trick. But there were details of Michael’s mansion that only someone close to him could possibly know. Intimate information on him, and even some things that I wasn’t aware of. And it wasn’t just talking about Michael, but his father and other names likely related to the company as well.
Not good.
My heart fluttered in my chest, and I felt frozen to this stupid chair. What was I supposed to do? “I don’t think he could forgive me if I did this to him,” I said, mostly to myself. A Latino woman with long black hair and silver ear piercings carried a boom-box on her shoulder as she passed us on the streets. The bass pumped, and when she continued walking, my eyes met with Connifer’s. “If I do this,” I felt a snake constrict around my throat, “you have to keep Michael’s image in tact. He can’t be hurt by this in any way.”
Connifer shook his head, “Can’t promise that. Lot of people will be taken to court, at least to start with. Might be an accident or two, if ya know what I mean.”
“If you don’t promise it, then I don’t care. You can either go through with it, or eat crow.”
Connifer considered me over for a moment, fiddling with the cup of coffee in his hand. The front door of the coffee shop opened then, and the bell rang all cheery like the one man I cared about in my life wasn’t about to have his life ruined. “Alright,” he conceded, “I’ll do everything that I can, Pretty Jane. Damage to your little lover boy’ll be peripheral. Pleasure doin’ business.”
Chapter 21
Michael
Tonight was the annual Bai’Kong dinner and dance, a simple if not elegant event to garner money for the Lost Kids charity foundation. The ivory ceiling held strips of reflective black, housing the many bulbs over the entirety of the grand ballroom. They gorgeously sent down white light as people in their suits and dresses gathered around.
I was a consistent benefactor to the charity, but it always helped to pull on the heart strings of other high rollers in Chaos. There were thirty six black painted chairs to each long, white table, and there were a total of five of tables. Most guests were already sitting down.
Jane’s probably going to kill me with the audience being this big tonight.
She had better be here soon.
The Bai’Kong building had existed for over eighty years; it’s ballroom flooring was comprised of luscious lavender travertine, and striking white designs of artfully done flowers had been painted over the tiles. If one looked at it from a bird’s eye view, it might look like the heaven’s themselves had opened lightning all over the ballroom, cracking these images onto the polished floor.
Dinner was nearly ready to be served when Jane walked in through the ballroom’s wide, grand entrance. She was simply elegant, and stunning in the way that she didn’t have to even try. Her purple eyes drew me in, even all the way across the room - that was the delightful power that she seemed to have over me.
She was wearing a garnet lace dress with a zipper on the back, and it hugged her divine figure in all the right places. It had a smattering of glitter to it; her platinum hair came down in medium length tangles, two thick braids circling the back of her head like a crown. I’d never seen her dress up so spectacularly before.
Getting up from my chair, I walked across the travertine floor and closed the distance between us. I smiled at her, more so in my chest than in my face. “You look stunning. Should have let me come and pick you up,” I told her, my fingers aching to run through her hair.
“I wanted you to be surprised. Plus, you know, work.” She gave me her private smile, and I felt at peace. “Sayla and Beth helped me with this.”
“Your friends did a great job,” I observed, unable to take my eyes from her beauty.
Jane smirked and tried to look away, clearly not used to the attention in public. “They really care about me.”
“They do. Not like it’s hard to make you any more pretty than usual. Regardless of you being late, it was worth the wait.” I hooked her hand through mine and walked her towards the chair next to the one that I would occupy. I made sure to pull her chair out, let her sit, and push her delicately into the table.
When I sat down, and as the table chatted amongst themselves - some quietly, some not so quietly - I noticed a look on Jane’s face. Her purple eyes slowly moved over to mine, and her crimson lips told me how there was something that she needed to say.
I leaned in closer to her and whispered: “Something wrong?”
“No,” she offered back bluntly, then the lines of her face twisted into guilt. “It’s something I can talk about after the dinner.”
What wasn’t she telling me? “Alright,” I said, trusting in her. I felt the soles of my feet get kissed by fire, whatever was weighing on her mind, I had to know about it. “After the dance, then.”
Chapter 22
Jane
The heavenly prepared food was tainted by the gnawing feeling in my skull and chest; how was I supposed to tell Michael this? Tonight was supposed to be our first dance. Our first foray into the public light.
He wouldn’t understand if I told him. And it scared me. Frightened the hell out of me.
But I knew that I had to do it.
When the waiters removed the plates and cleaned the mess we’d made, the ballroom floor was cleared of it’s tables and chair
s. Everyone started picking out their partners; while this happened Michael and I only had eyes for each other, the heat between us connecting through an invisible, fiery spear.
Michael picked himself up first, and I followed suit. We met each other at the corner of the table, and he grabbed my hand with an economic grace. “You ready?” He asked, those perfectly cut lips curling into a fiendish smirk. “Because if you’re not, I’ll give you that push.”
“Michael--”
He put a finger to my lips and pulled me closer to him. “You’ve done great so far,” he praised privately. He seemed so proud of me, the words just struggled to come from me. “Now. You shine.”
I felt a part of me wilt away. If he only knew what was going on right now, would he really want to do this with me? I know that I can trust him with anything, but could he even forgive me?
He took his finger from my lips, and I followed him to the center of the room.
Every step towards the center filled me with a quiet pressure. My heart tapped against my breast bone, already preparing to move to a relentless pace once the dancing begins. It was like I could feel the weight of each eye on me, the cut of each thought that they might have of me.
Michael put his hand tightly on the small of my back and the music began with an alarming swell of string and brass, pulsing and pounding throughout the room. He hooked his other hand through mine, and began to lead me in our practiced waltz motions. Everyone moved in near perfect synchronization with us. It was kind of intimidating in the moment. I had to focus on every movement that I made, every breath. It was like I was reliving the nights we spent in private, but this time they truly mattered.
Don’t screw up. Do not screw up. It skirted across my mind. Just focus on him, and you. It’s only a dance.
You can do this.
Michael spun me around after a quick change in musical meter. Relying purely on the muscle memory that he instilled in me, I reflected his actions near flawlessly, and it stunned me how I was able to keep up. He pulled me back into his embrace, and we moved to the left, the music nearing it’s end. He beamed at me, giving me a glimpse of those perfectly white teeth. “Last step,” he gently reminded, his eyes telling me that he was going to kiss me long and deep.