The waiter comes by and I order a Pappy Van Winkle as I wait for Harrison’s ass to arrive. He’s ten minutes late and I’m already on my second drink. They say you’re supposed to savor bourbon that can run upward of two grand a bottle, but I don’t. If I like the taste, I’ll down it however I damn want to.
“How’s the clean-up guy?” I say as I man-hug him.
“Good as ever.”
“Hey, golden boy, you look very California-ish with that tan. You’ve been hanging out in a tanning bed or something?” I like to give him shit.
“Oh, yeah. My favorite thing to do. If you dragged your ass away from this cold piece of granite, I’d show you some sun on the beach.”
He’s always giving me hell about New York. “And check out those tats peeking out on your neck. Rocking new ink, huh?”
“Yeah, and I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should.”
“I’m into skin art these days.”
The waiter shows up and he orders some kind of single malt scotch shit. I hate that crap. Reminds me of my dad. After his drink is delivered we toast to our friendship and a great dinner.
He cocks his head and stares. “What’s up with you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t look like you’re on your usual Scotty game.”
“Bullshit.”
“No, man, I’m serious.”
“Come on, Harry. Have you been talking to Westie?”
He holds both hands in the air. “No. I swear. I just know you like a brother. So what’s the deal?”
“Family shit. What else? And Weston didn’t fill you in?”
“Nah, you know how he is. He’s tight as a drum.”
I roll the tension out of my shoulders and proceed with, “You remember what happened last Christmas, right?”
“You mean the step-cunt fucktastrophe.”
“We had another run-in. Only this time is was at a huge benefit that Whitworth sponsored. Dad called me out in front of a bunch of clients and it got pretty nasty.”
“You’re joking,” he says, leaning on the table.
“Do I look like I am?”
“So what happened?”
“Granddad stepped in and he has so much clout that he diffused the situation. Dad left afterward. It was extremely awkward. Work has been a bitch since. Not that it’s been great since Christmas, I’ll admit.”
“Your old man is a douche. Why don’t you divorce him?”
“I wish he’d divorce the cunt he married, except they’re the perfect couple.”
“Dude, you should come to LA for a visit. Get away from here. Tap into some fresh, you know?”
The waiter shows up and hands us our menus. Harrison can’t decide what to get for his entrée, so we just order appetizers and tell him to come back in a few minutes.
“It’s a damn meal. If you can’t decide, order two.”
“Do you ever do that?” he asks.
“No, but you’re whining like a girl, so I figured it would shut you up.”
He laughs. “You’re an asshole.”
“It’s my middle name.”
Someone plunks a basket of bread on the table and Harrison grabs a slice, then slathers it with butter.
“Have you eaten today?”
“Yeah, why?” he says around the bread.
“Just curious.”
We talk about more shit and I toy with the idea of telling him about running into Vivi, but I decide to keep her to myself. There’s some strange reason I don’t want to share her with anyone. I feel strangely possessive of her. And the problem is, after I’ve thoroughly fucked her, I’ll want to own her, too.
“… the franchise?”
Harrison looks at me expectantly.
“Well?” he prods.
“What did you just ask me?” I down the rest of my drink and flag the waiter over to order another and while he’s here, we give him our dinner order.
After he’s gone, Harrison aims his finger at me. “See, I was right. You’re not right. Something is fucking with you. Prescott Beckham is all about money and finance—except when he’s got his dick buried balls deep in some woman’s pussy. And right now, as far as I can tell”—he bends down and looks under the table—“there’s not a woman giving you head, nor are you fucking one under the table. But I ask you about the franchise and financials with A Special Place, and you’re a damn blank.”
I wear a sheepish expression since he caught me in the act of thinking about Vivi. “Sorry. Guess my mind wandered.”
“I’ll say. Who is she? And the reason I ask is you’re not wearing a pissed off as hell look that you’d normally reserve for your father. This is an altogether different look, more introspective I’d have to say.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, that’s so. Give it up, Scott.”
“Okay, you’ll never guess who I ran into.”
Our extremely efficient waiter—whom I’m going to heavily tip—delivers my drink.
“Jesus, tell me already. I hate when people fucking do this. Only girls do this shit.”
“Vivi Renard.”
“Who the fuck is that?”
He doesn’t even remember her. “Yeah, you wouldn’t recall. She went to Crestview with us.”
He laughs. “Did you fuck her, like all the other girls there?”
“No, I didn’t fuck her. Christ. I didn’t fuck every single girl in school.”
One brow nearly jumps off his head. “I’m not buying the Brooklyn Bridge, asshat.”
“She did my homework.”
The same brow sinks low, joining the other as he thinks hard. Those cogwheels of his analytical brain are spinning, but nothing is catching. “I only remember that fat chick you used to pay, but her name doesn’t come to mind.”
“That’s the one.”
“You ran into her? The brainiac? What is she? A nuclear physicist or something?”
“Not even close. She works in a coffee shop.”
He leans back in his chair and blinks about forty times. “You’re fucking with me. Not that girl. She’s the one everyone made fun of. It was bad, man. The girls pretended they were elephants around her. They’d do this funny thing with their arms, swinging them like trunks.” He does this half-ass imitation of it as he sits in his chair.
“That’s pathetic. I never saw that.” Suddenly, I feel pained for Vivi and how awful it must’ve made her feel. Am I developing a conscience?
He shrugs. “I don’t know how you missed it. It was actually pretty hilarious at the time. Except now when I think about it, it wasn’t really. It was quite terrible.”
We’re both silent for a while.
Then anger hits me. “Why didn’t you say something? Call those bitches out?” My tone is harsh as I glare at him.
“Dude, everyone did it. Why would I have said something? She was a townie and all the kids made fun of her.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Because it was wrong, perhaps?”
“We were all assholes back then. And since when did you grow a conscience and become so worried about other people’s feelings?”
I choose to ignore his question because it is unlike me. Thankfully, the waiter delivers our plates of steaming food. I’ve ordered a thick juicy bone-in rib eye and Harrison ordered some froufrou dish that I give him a hard time about.
“I watch what I eat, man, unlike you.”
“Just like you gobbled down all that butter? And hey, I watch what I eat. I watch it go straight from my fork into my mouth.” I chew my bite with gusto.
“I don’t know how you stay so lean. So, tell me about Vivi Renard. Other than she works at a coffee shop.”
After I swallow my tasty bite, I say, “I think she does something with their IT. But she’s not fat anymore.”
“No? What does she look like? I hate to say it, but I don’t remember her face.”
“Sort of average,” I say in a nonchalant manner. But he doesn’t bu
y it.
“Bull-fucking-shit. That’s why you’re off your usual Scotty game. It’s Vivi, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I ran into her. That’s all. But I didn’t come here to discuss Vivi. I’m more interested in hearing about Midnight Drake and her kink.”
He wipes his mouth with the napkin. “Why? So you can pick up a few pointers?”
“Maybe.”
He pulls out his phone, but before he passes it to me, he says, “Your eyes only, Scotty. And you never saw this shit. Am I clear?”
“It’s on your phone, not mine. Besides, I don’t gossip.”
“I know. But it had to be said. This shit was all over the place anyway. We were lucky to get it pulled as fast as we did.”
I take the phone and watch some of the videos. I’m no prude by any means and have even been to a couple of BDSM clubs in the city, but this chick definitely got caught doing the wrong things with the wrong people.
“I have photos, too, which are just as bad as these. The bondage, spreader bars, labia clamps, the list is endless.”
“From these, it looks like it.” I hand him his phone. “How’re you going to fix it?”
“It’s fixed. Tomorrow, she makes a statement, then we check her into rehab. They delay filming for a while. She takes a huge hit on her fees, but it saves her career. We’ve built a story about how she was abused as a teenager and never told anyone.”
“Is it true?”
“Yeah, but she’s reluctant to talk about it. It happened in foster care. I had to wheedle it out of her, but I’m the fixer. It’s what I do.”
Our plates are both polished, so the waiter swoops in to clear them away.
“Harrison, what happens to the people she was with?”
“We’re working on that.”
“Like what are you going to do?”
His expression loses every sign of friendliness. “I’m not at liberty to discuss it.” He won’t bend on this.
“Fair enough. I don’t want to know anyway.”
“No, you don’t.”
“So let’s blow this place and head to mine. I have some great weed at home.”
“Actually, I need to get back. We have an early morning call to run through how her statement is going to go and then the cleanup. You know?”
I don’t, but I act like I do.
“Hey, come out to the west coast. It would be a good trip for you.”
“Yeah, I might do that.” It’s one more thing I have no intention of doing anytime soon. Not that I don’t love Harrison as a brother, because I do. But right now I need to fix my own shit before I can take off and enjoy myself, and part of my shit is finding Vivi and fucking the pleasure out of her. I want to hear her begging for more and screaming my name as if I were the only man on Earth who could give her what she needs. At the moment, that’s all I can think about.
Chapter 5
Vivi
Prescott was right. I did use my fingers. Not once, but three times. And every time, it was his face I saw when I came.
This morning, I ache. For him. What the hell has he done to me? Every time I think of those wicked words he spoke to me, wetness pools between my thighs. My legs clench together more times today than I care to count. To my horror, I even find myself in the bathroom on a break, frantically rubbing myself, just to relieve the pressure that’s built up there.
Why did he have to come into the coffee shop that day?
Today is endless. Then, of all days for him to drop by, Joe prances in and pesters me about some inane issue that isn’t an issue at all. He only wants to check on whether or not I’m still doing my job. My brain is everywhere but on work and I’m clearly not on my game.
“Vivi, I was wondering when you’ll be finished here,” he says.
“Joe, as I explained to you earlier, on Monday. Then I’ll be rotating to each of the stores next week.”
“Then this is perfect timing.”
“For what?”
“I’m having some problems implementing your program.”
He’s not that stupid. “I believe you need one of the employees to teach you how to use it. It really is quite simple and streamlined.”
Then I sense it. He leers at me. Shit. Man, did I walk into his trap.
“I think I’m looking at the perfect person for that. Why don’t you come to my office on Monday? I think you’ll be the perfect instructor for me.”
“Um, actually, as I mentioned, I’ll be visiting the other shops to get a feel from the employees what they need from me. You know, a sort of best practices thing.”
“You get one week, Vivi. Then I’ll consider you all mine.” Our stares connect and I nod briefly.
I have one week to find another job.
When I get home, I don’t bother with dinner. I get online and immediately apply for jobs again. My résumé is in so many places, I’m not sure where else I can post it. My hand itches to call Prescott. I know he’s expecting me to, but finding another job is more important right now. The frustrating part of job hunting is the wait. However, I’m resourceful and willing to do menial work until something better opens up. I’ll scrub floors or be some kid’s nanny if I have to just get away from the scumbag. Joe makes my skin prick when he ogles me.
By the time I turn off the lamp, which sits on the floor next to the air mattress I sleep on, it’s close to 2:00 a.m. I see it then. A text that nearly burns a hole in my phone glares at me accusingly. I can almost hear his voice, saying those dirty things to me all over again. And worse, I can hear him scolding me for not calling.
Vivi, it’s after midnight, which means today is FRIDAY. You were supposed to call me YESTERDAY. I meant what I said. You owe me a phone call. And I expect to get one. CALL ME! I don’t like being ignored.
Shoving the phone under my pillow just to get the damn thing out of my sight doesn’t help a bit. It actually makes it worse. I imagine the damn text attacking my phone, infecting it like a virus, sending all sorts of malware throughout it. Oh my God, this is ridiculous. I have to be up in four hours, and Prescott Beckham is fucking with my head. If I didn’t live in such a dangerous area of Brooklyn, I’d put on some running shoes and work out my frustrations pounding the streets. But the way my luck runs, I’d get kidnapped, fall into the hands of human traffickers, and no one would ever hear from me again. The thing is, who would give a flying fuck? I have no family, expect for one distant aunt who I rarely speak to. I could be shipped off to some remote corner of the world and that would be it for Vivienne Renard.
When my phone beeps, I’m still wide ass awake. This is going to be the day from hell. By the time I get to work, my stomach is a raw bundle of nerves. Vince is off this morning and won’t be in until one. Jackie is here and greets me as I enter.
“Good morning, Vivi.”
“Morning, Jackie.”
As I get behind the counter, she asks me if I’m okay. “Yeah, why?”
“You’re as pale as a ghost. Are you coming down with something? The flu is going around, you know.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m fine, though.”
Her hand snakes out to land on my forehead. “You don’t feel feverish.”
“Like I said, I’m fine. I didn’t sleep well, is all.”
She launches into a long drawn out explanation of why I should take melatonin and how it would benefit me in getting a better night’s sleep. All I want to do is yell at her to shut up because what I need is a better job that doesn’t require me to work for pervy Joe. But I bite my tongue and smile because she’s only trying to help.
“I’ll give it a try.” Then the issue of Prescott nags at me, but I sweep it under the old rug again.
“How ’bout a cup?”
“Make that a jug,” I say.
Jackie laughs. “Latte sound good?”
“Please. Would you mind if I pick your brain?”
“Sure.”
Between customers, I question her about the new sys
tem—specifically her likes and dislikes. Most of what she doesn’t like has to do with her unfamiliarity with certain aspects of it. After I explain things and walk her through everything, she has better opinion of the system.
“Joe should’ve hired you a long time ago.”
“He couldn’t have afforded me back then,” I mutter.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing. So what are you studying? You’re at NYU, aren’t you?”
“That’s right. I’m in the creative writing program. I want to work for one of the Big Five one day as an editor.”
“The big five?” I ask.
“You know, one of the big trade publishing houses.”
“Right.” I take a huge sip of my coffee to cover my idiocy. I hate looking stupid. I should’ve known what the Big Five were given how much I devour books, or used to anyway.
As I’m sitting here jotting down everything she told me, the bell over the door rings, indicating another customer has entered. It’s close to noon, which means the soup crowd will be in. The “More” in Java Beans & More is the soup, bread, and other lunch items the shop serves. It’s not the traditional fare, like sandwiches and salads. Joe got it right when he negotiated with one of the local Italian restaurants to sell their soups and bread. He also contracted with one of the local bagel companies. That’s what makes us a hit for the breakfast crowd. If you don’t get here early, you’re out of luck.
“Can I help you?” Jackie asks.
“I’d like Vivi to wait on me.” He pronounces every single letter of my name with precision.
Fuck me sideways. Prescott.
Glancing up, I look directly into a pair of angry golden eyes. The pen in my hand shakes, so I set it on the counter to hide my fear.
“Um, hey there.” Maybe if I act jovial, he’ll get over his anger. “How’re you today?”
Chasing Vivi Page 5