He hesitated before depositing the entire top half of the biscuit in his enormous mouth but smiled with lips closed as he consumed the warm delight, nodding. Covering his mouth, my CFO mumbled.
“Excuse me, Mr. Gambini, but it isn’t often you get whipped cream cheese. I thought it could be butter at first, which would have worked just as well. Trust me, the combination is outstanding, assuming you don’t have a hockey puck for a biscuit. These are fabulous.”
I could barely understand him.
“They are,” I said, matching his combination. “And I agree with your choice. I’m hooked on something new.”
“No doubt you’ll work it out in the gym later. I’ll just keep adding it to my pregnancy,” he said, patting his small but developing paunch.
The brew was not as pleasant as my Black Rifle coffee upstairs, but with the cream, was acceptable. I made a mental note to inform them I’d like the Towers to support my Veteran-owned coffee company friends.
“How was your trip up, Frank?”
“My dad used to take a room at the Seaton Arms years ago when he wanted to get away on business. But I think he really wanted to get away from my mom and all us kids. God knows what he was up to there. It was like deja-vu staying there last night. I thought I could even smell his old cigar smoke.”
“Your father was a good man, Frank. As you know, he was one of my first investors. In those days, it meant a lot too.”
“He was. And I miss him, that’s for sure. I’m a better businessman today because of all his yelling and prodding he gave me over the years. He never liked that I worked for the IRS, until he had a big audit himself. And then he accused me of orchestrating it so he’d get off my back. But in the end, we both weathered the storm. He drilled that entrepreneurial spirit into me and trained out the wild side somehow. He was right. Made me a better man. You remind me a little of him, sir.”
“Please, Frank, we are the same age. Don’t call me sir. It makes me feel old, and I don’t need to be reminded I’m not in my twenties. It’s been how many years now? Let’s not be that formal.”
“No, I understand. Just showing some respect and wanted you to know how grateful I am to have a job with Bone Frog.”
I figured that was a little cover his ass in case I knew about the resumes being sent out. He was smarter than he looked sometimes.
“Duly noted.”
He finished off his Breakfast in Boston, and our waiter asked if he wanted another. He put up his palm, no, before checking in with me. He asked for scrambled eggs on the side, and watched as oatmeal was delivered to me, covered in strawberries.
“Wait. I’ll have one of those,” he changed his mind, pointing to my bowl.
“Very well, sir,” the waiter answered and left without a sound.
“I slept like a baby last night. How about you, Marco?”
I smiled, but my stomach gurgled and my groin got hard just thinking about the delightful romp I’d had.
But right now I had raw meat between my teeth and I was ready to tear apart the animal who had caused me pain. Now wasn’t the time for screwing or rising to new heights of pleasure. Now was the time for getting bloody, preparing for combat. I always carried my Glock, even when I was in cities where guns were outlawed. I had every license and clearance known to man to conceal carry. It would be like showing up naked to a cocktail party not to have my favorite sidearm, which had been with me longer than even my former wife.
We completed our breakfast and the table was cleared. Frank opened his briefcase and placed a sheaf of papers in front of me. Some were reports. Some were graphs attached to supporting documents. One was a subpoena.
“What’s this?” I said, holding it up between my thumb and two fingers like it was a piece of dirty laundry.
“Came in last night just before I was leaving the office. By courier.”
“Nice touch. Just before you’re to come report to me. Who leaked?”
“I think it was a coincidence, really. Your gal, Jennifer, seemed very surprised.”
I glanced at the cover page. It was an order to appear and bring records, at Rebecca’s attorney’s office.
“When it comes to Rebecca, there are no coincidences,” I said. “She shits on a timetable. I don’t think she’s been surprised since that fuck, she got at her daddy’s horse ranch when she gave her virginity up to a man she thought was a crown prince who turned out to be a royal con man instead.”
“Wow.”
“Oh, don’t be surprised. She grew up hard. Not a lot of love in that home.”
“Well, that’s harsh. I mean, sorry for her.”
“She’d slit your throat if she heard you say that, so be careful.”
Frank adjusted his tie, touching his neck right where the knife would go in smoothly for the kill, and looked at me warily. “Marco, you’re going to have to make some tough decisions. What they’re asking about is your construction project in Florida—the veteran-ownership venture, building homes for injured vets”
“Bone Frog Development. The Trident Towers project.”
“Exactly.”
“Makes perfect sense. She’d want to hit me where it hurt the most. Odd that she would go for a non-profit like that. I don’t expect to make a dime. I’ll probably lose my shirt on it. Why the hell would they care about that?”
“You’re asking me? You were married to her. Anything I’ve heard would be just gossip.”
I pushed the papers forward and leaned back in my chair, folding my hands together over my chest. Now we were getting to the good stuff. The truth.
“Try me.”
“Excuse me?” His eyes were wide and his glasses slipped down his nose, needing to be pushed back again. From years of interrogating bad guys and judging tribal leaders as to whether or not they could be trusted, I saw the dilation in his pupils, along with a slight worry line crop up between his eyebrows. He knew he got caught.
“What have you heard? Spill it, Frank.”
When a subject looks down at his hands with fingers locked together, I knew he was looking for a way out, a friendly hand to give him a solution to wiggle free.
He was out of luck.
I’d already been told he was saying to others he doubted I would survive the coming months. This was about whether or not I could trust him. I didn’t begrudge his opinions, but I damn sure better get the truth to a direct ask. This was his chance to keep his job, if he still wanted it.
“I’m a numbers guy, Marco,” he said as he raised his gaze to meet mine. He was fortunate he didn’t look away as he spoke his truth. “I’ve seen all these things coming and going, and you’re going to have a huge cash flow problem in a few months. All these audits and attorneys’ fees are drying up your liquid, not to mention the settlements you’ve agreed to. And the public comments in the news, well, I’ve been asked by several people if they should start looking for work elsewhere. And, although I haven’t heard it directly, some have said that the contracts have started to dry up. You know how the government works. They don’t like controversy.”
“Even though they specialize in it.”
He kept his eyes locked on mine, thankfully. “Exactly. But even you have to admit, the numbers don’t lie.”
I leaned forward, placing my palms on the table, and then grabbed the paperwork to start reading over the fine print. I wasn’t going to tell him not to worry, because he was right. The numbers were worse than I thought. I was going to have to study these and then give clear direction.
“Where would you suggest I begin?” I asked.
“I’d sell off one of the entities. The airline, the shipping company, or the leasing agency. I’d boost your personnel security contracts since they are the most lucrative, and frankly, they are the most vulnerable. You might consider using some of your sales to hire a Washington PR company.”
“I’ve never had one before. You think it’s wise to do that now? Start a new project?”
He shrugged. “You need to pro
tect your personal connections with your higher ups. You need those contracts. It’s the fuel that makes everything else run smoothly. Your friendship with the Vice President, the Secretary of State—you need to make sure they are solid.”
He was right. I needed to reassure myself things were that bad, first.
“And,” Frank started, placing his hands on the table. “I know you’ve never considered this, but it would be a good idea to cultivate some contracts with the Kingdoms.”
“No. No non-US.”
“But Clearwater and Red Dog are making big inroads into that,” he argued.
“You don’t know their numbers, Frank, or do you?”
“No, sir—Marco. I don’t. I have nothing to go by except what I see in the papers, and the contract bulletins.”
“And you don’t know the casualties they are suffering, do you?”
“No, Marco.”
“They put their men and women in bad places. I won’t do that. I don’t care how bad ass we are. I won’t do that.”
He leaned back in the chair, and I knew there was something else.
“What is it?”
“Yesterday, I got a call from Senator Campbell. He asked me point blank if you were interested in meeting with a delegation from the Kingdom of Bonin. They have just signed on to bankroll a housing project in North Africa. They are going to need security for their royal family as they negotiate and follow-up on these projects.”
“So? I’ll meet with them, but I’ve never had to take one of those jobs before. I usually collect a referral fee and send it to someone else.”
“I understand, but Senator Campbell said he was hesitant to refer them to you. He had questions. He asked me if your recent setbacks had caused you to lose your nerve.”
I was ready to toss the paperwork, the table and all four chairs out the large window overlooking the bustling street outside.
Hadn’t Frank ever heard the term, “Don’t shoot the messenger?”
Chapter 4
Shannon
I waited two days before flying home to St. Pete. My body still rumbled—shaking, really, from the insides of my core all the way to my toes. I’d stepped into forbidden territory, yet something was so satisfying about it, I was a moth to the flame. It might destroy me, but I’d accomplished what I set out to do, and now, unexpectedly, I wanted more. So much more.
After Emily’s death, Mom and Dad moved to Florida once I left for college a few years later. They joined an active adult community in order to fill that horrible void left with Em’s passing. I was grateful the burden didn’t fall on me, because I was also reeling from my older sister’s untimely death. Those were strange years, finishing up high school and then applying to colleges with as much direction as a rudderless boat. The house had been so quiet without her. My mother rarely smiled, and my dad drank more. Never one for many words anyway, he retreated into a darkness that was so black it threatened to take me with it.
I became invisible. I never knew how much light Emily shed on our family until that radiance was extinguished. I was careful not to upset my parents, and they tried very hard to shield me from the hurt and pain they were feeling and could not help but show. It was a standoff with no winners.
I finished my degree in California, at Sonoma State, in communications and started exploring my options for future television work, which had been my long-term goal. I learned how to look and act professionally and took on an acting coach. A small low-budget indie film even cast me, giving me screen credits only. I modeled some, but when I was encouraged to go to near-starvation levels to get my weight down, and I refused. Plus-sized jobs started booking me, even though I was normal weight. My self-esteem plummeted and at my lowest, had an affair with my drama teacher in college. That lasted until his marriage broke up over his affair with another student.
I vowed that would never happen again to me. It was not a part of my life I felt very proud of. Lesson learned.
But it whetted my appetite for older men.
Em would have married Marco Gambini if she hadn’t been killed in that car accident that took her life with three of her sorority sisters’. My mother and I had hoped the accident would curtail my father’s drinking, because the drunk who hit them walked away with just a broken nose. He got some jail time, but not enough to satisfy our revenge and anger.
And that brought the other heartache into my life. Marco Gambini, my older sister’s fiancé, was my imaginary lover, my girl-crush, the man I compared every other man to when I dated. I guess he could even be considered a father figure since my father became a mere ghost, albeit a ghost who played golf every day and liked to sit and watch my mother play Bunko and Pinochle. After the funeral, I never saw Marco again, until two days ago when I walked into the Bachelor Towers, took up a seat, and became my sister for one whole night. It was a gift to myself, something I think Em would have approved of if I’d had the ability to ask her. I needed to know I could play for keeps with a man like that.
I walked away knowing that it didn’t work that way. He wasn’t a man like that. He was the only man in the universe for me. My teenage radar had been spot on. He was a keeper.
Now I had a problem.
So when Marco didn’t call, I knew I had to go back to the beach retreat I’d purchased with my own savings, the little one-bedroom place painted bright yellow with turquoise trim, nestled in the bluffs overlooking the white sugar-sand beach of the Florida gulf coast.
Some might judge me, and they should be careful. I’ve never been the girl to resurrect my dead sister’s life to make it my own. That’s not me. I needed to revive my own life, not Em’s. Sort of my right of passage.
Call it my empathetic nature, but I knew I could help heal his wounds, temporarily. For one night. For one night, I could pretend that the confluence of events between us had never happened. That we had no history. I wasn’t looking for a future. I was looking to bury the past once and for all.
Everything about him was familiar. His scent, the way he smiled, kissed. The way his fingers explored. The little grunts and deep grumbles in his chest, even his whispers and sighs as I rose for him, bloomed for him, showed him my insides—that place I’d never shown anyone else. Oh, I wasn’t a virgin, by any means. But I was new to love, to what Em had in her life. I had begged for just one taste of him, and now I would be tainted forever.
Did it bother me he never called me back?
I didn’t expect it. I suspected he wouldn’t.
Would I try to chase him, duplicate that night of passion again?
I told myself that, no, that wasn’t the agreement I’d made with my better angels. With Em. With him, even though he was completely unaware of it.
Did I expect he’d recognize Em in my eyes?
I wasn’t sure, but I’d hoped not. They were my eyes needing his examination and determined lovemaking. It was my body he pleasured, that I gave to him. It was for and about me. And I would be forever grateful, even as the remembrance of that night would leave me breathless, haunted, and wet for weeks. Possibly months or even years. I might never find that intensity again. But there was one ground rule I would never break.
I would never chase him. I found him. One time. Now it would be up to him and only him, to go beyond that. As my female parts recovered from the long night of lovemaking, the ache inside remained.
Only way to deal with it was to call it delicious, rare, and tuck it away in my wine cellar of experiences where it would remain a vintage release consumed sparingly.
After all, a good wine was meant to be enjoyed, not stored forever. That’s exactly what I did.
The Tampa International Airport was a dose of reality that came on me like a firehose. Retirees flocked in groups as tour operators collected them all with brightly colored guide signs held high above their heads. Families were reunited. Young couples arrived to join the throngs at the Gulf Coast beaches. Businessmen in suits sweated under the heat, unaccustomed to the humidity. Children ran aroun
d everywhere, and pets were released from their crates.
I passed long lines of passengers waiting to escape from the Florida sun or begin their trip home after a vacation. It was a bustling society of everyone coming from and heading to different places, and for a moment in time, all residing within the confines of the terminals spilling out into the hot parking garages or hotel passenger vans.
I retrieved my one bag, then found my car in long term parking, and headed for the refuge of the coast.
My shoulders relaxed the closer I got to the water’s edge. Just before I arrived at Beach Trail Road and the driveway leading up to my little beach bungalow, my phone rang.
“Judie. I’m back, almost at the house. How has everything been?”
My best friend reminded me so much of my big sister Emily, it was uncanny. She had been the one who found Marco’s headlines and placed those news printouts on my desk in my cubby.
“You know, sunny with a chance of rain. They hired and fired a new intern…”
“Already? That’s got to be a record.”
“I think so. Apparently, her dress attire was not appropriate. It got her the job, but it’s what got her fired.”
“Oh, I get it now. Clarence.”
Clarence Thompson was our evening anchor personality, complete with hair plugs and makeup, even when he wasn’t on the air. He was getting long in the tooth, with habits that weren’t aging well with the female population at TMBC. It was only a matter of time before he’d be forced out by a sexual harassment lawsuit. But this train wreck of a man just couldn’t keep his hands and his mouth under control.
“Fucking Clarence. The cat that ate the canary.”
“The one and only. So, Shannon, mission accomplished? Did you meet him?”
I hadn’t told her everything I was planning, and now I was glad I hadn’t.
“Yup. He’s still as handsome as I remember. A real gentleman, too,” I lied.
I could still hear the words he growled over me, “I love fucking you.” My badge of honor. I nearly came in my car seat just recalling how he commanded my body while I was powerless to refuse him anything. In my mind I told him to fuck me harder, take me from behind, from the side, upside down if he wanted to. I could still feel his grip on my hips almost to the point of bruising, clutching me tight as he skillfully drilled me a new meaning of the word fuck.
Bone Frog Bachelor (Bachelor Tower Series) Page 3