by JA Huss
I lean against the door for a moment, then slide down and slump to the floor.
I hate him. That’s it. I’m so fucking done.
My face falls into my hands and I cry. After a few minutes I lie down on the dark hardwood floors and curl up in a little ball. I’m tired. I’m so tired of playing this game with him. I lash out and kick the door.
It kicks back.
Or actually, it knocks back. “Veronica?” Bobby Mansi’s muffled voice comes through from the other side. “Are you OK?”
“Shit,” I say, frantically wiping my eyes and standing up.
“I heard that. Open up, I just want to apologize.”
I turn the handle and open the door. “Apologize for what?” I sniff.
He smiles a warm smile. “Interrupting. I’m sorry. I can tell you two are an item, even if he won’t admit it.”
“We’re not,” I insist.
He shoots me a doubtful look. “I’m not stupid, Veronica. May I come in?”
I wave him forward. “It’s your place, why are you asking me?” He walks into the little foyer area and I close the door behind him. “Are you really keeping the penthouse?”
“Yeah,” he says, turning. “I really am. I like it. I wasn’t going to stay here. Normally I live on the West Coast. But I got some new business here that requires my personal attention.”
I don’t have anything else to say. I don’t even know this guy. I don’t know this place and the only familiar things I have right now are the clothes on my back. All of which remind me of the one man I desperately want to forget about.
Bobby waves me into the living room. “Want to sit down?” he asks.
I walk forward and stop when I get to the couch. It looks nice. But I’m not sure if it’s comfortable. I’ve never even sat on it before and now I’m supposed to think of it as mine.
A hand is placed gently on the small of my back. “Sit, Veronica. There’s actually a bottle of wine in the fridge. It was purely for looks, when people walk through the model. But it’s not a bad year. We’ll have a glass, how’s that sound?”
I sigh and sit. The couch is comfortable. And then I look up at Bobby’s expectant face and nod. “That sounds nice, actually.”
Bobby walks into my new kitchen. It’s an open-concept floor plan, so the kitchen is separated from the living room only by a granite island. Not quite as spectacular as the one I was just fucked on upstairs, but still a very nice specimen of stone. He uncorks the wine and there are even wine glasses in the cupboards. In fact, I think the cupboards are just as stocked with stuff as the rest of the place.
He comes back out and hands me a glass, then takes a seat on the chair opposite the couch and leans his elbows on his knees, expectantly, turning his wine glass. Like he’s waiting for me to do something. Or say something.
I take a sip of wine instead. It’s good. I take another. Then I guzzle the whole damn glass.
Bobby laughs and sits back in the chair, satisfied that I’m OK.
When I come up for air he gets up, exchanges my empty glass for his full one, then goes back to the kitchen and grabs the bottle. He sits on the couch this time. Not next to me, but not far away either.
My eyes dart back and forth without looking at him.
“Are you and Mr. Shrike dating?”
I take another long sip of wine. God, I so, so fucking need more wine.
“Because it looked to me like you two were having a romp in my kitchen.”
Holy hell, what do I say to that? Wine makes it all better though, so I continue sipping.
“I asked him if he minded me taking you out to dinner.”
I do look up now. I look him right in his brilliant green eyes.
“He said, ‘Be my guest.’”
My eyes drop and I give myself a refill and guzzle that glass too.
“Would you like to go to dinner, Veronica? Tomorrow night? Or is Mr. Shrike lying and the two of you do have a thing?”
My sigh comes out a lot louder than I expected. In fact, it’s kind of a tipsy sigh. “No, we used to date. But it’s been over for a long time. What we do…” I look Bobby in the eyes again and allow myself to swallow down the humiliation. “Everything we do… everything we ever did… was a mistake. That ship has sailed.”
“But you still work for him?” Bobby asks.
Shit. I forgot about that. I’ll probably have to quit, won’t I? “It’s a new thing. Do I need references to stay here?” I ask.
He hands me a small chuckle. “No, Veronica. I’m not interested in your credit score or your past landlords.”
I nod. “Good, because that apartment was my first place. I’ve only got my dad as a reference. Or my brothers. And I’m pretty sure they don’t count to a guy like you.”
“Hey.” He holds up his hands. “Don’t judge me and I won’t judge you. How’s that?”
Is he sincere? I study him for a few seconds before deciding he is. “Well, in that case, I think I’ll quit my job with Mr. Shrike and go back to the only thing I’m good at. Tracing line drawings on people’s skin. But I won’t be able to pay for this apartment.” He puts a hand up like he’s gonna tell me it’s not necessary to pay, but I stop him. “I get it. The place is free. But it’s not free forever. I’m not trying to discount your kindness or anything, but everything about my life since I left home has been one big mistake. I can’t afford shit in the real world.”
These words affect me in a way I never expected. Because I just admitted defeat. I went through all that soul-searching to come up with something I could do besides tattoo art. Even if I was never really serious about a flower shop in the first place. Even if I just used that as an excuse to move on, move forward. It still stings that I dated a banker to try to get a loan. I sold my car to buy a motorcycle that is more sentimental than practical. And I spent all my savings on that cruddy apartment, only to have all my worldly belongings locked up and inaccessible. Probably irrevocably contaminated with fibers that will give me cancer just by breathing in their general vicinity.
Tears build in my eyes, so I get up real fast to make a break for anywhere but this couch with this man. I stumble from the wine and I’m about to go crashing into the glass coffee table when I’m caught in his arms. “Thank you,” I mumble, pushing off him and regaining my balance.
My pack is over on the counter, so I walk over and fish out my phone and press Vic’s face. Bobby Mansi watches me carefully as I put the phone to my ear and then he gets up and begins walking towards me just as the call rings through to voicemail. “You got me. You know what to do if you want me to get you back.”
I end the call and don’t leave a message. I forgot, my whole family is down in Colorado Springs for some tattoo thing. I have to work at the shop alone for the next three days. But no one comes in during the week anyway. Thursday nights get busy and the weekends are almost always packed. Everyone will be home Thursday afternoon, so I’ll be fine.
“Problem?” Bobby asks.
“No, not really.” I grab my pack and go sit back down in the living room. I take the chair this time.
Bobby waits over by the kitchen. “So, dinner tomorrow?”
“Sorry, I have to work in the shop until eleven at night. I’m just gonna have one of my girlfriends bring me a sandwich or something.”
He smiles and nods. “OK.”
I get up and walk over to the door since he’s sending I’m-leaving-now signals. “Thanks a bunch for your kindness. Do you want me to drop the key off with that guy downstairs when I leave?”
“That would be fine.” He steps through the door and then hesitates, like he’s gonna turn around. But then he changes his mind and calls out, “Nice meeting you, Veronica,” as he walks down the hall to the elevator.
I close the door and slump back down on the couch, stretching out. I mess with my boots until I kick them off, and then before I know it, the day fades away.
Chapter Thirteen
SPENCER
“Ro
ok’s not pregnant,” Ronin says the next morning as he strides into the office, his hair mussed and his t-shirt wrinkled. He flops down on the black leather couch off to the side of my desk.
I shoot Ronin with my finger. “Gotcha. OK. We ready to discuss business?”
“Ashleigh is,” Ford says. He shakes the Wall Street Journal a little to straighten it out as he holds it up to his face.
“Ashleigh is what?” Ronin asks.
“Pregnant.”
“Ford, don’t mess with the guy. He’s got baby on the brain since Elise is due to pop out a niece. Not to mention you coming home with Ashleigh and Kate.”
Ford ignores me. “She didn’t pee on the stick yet, but I know she’s pregnant.” He turns the page of the newspaper.
“How?” Ronin asks as he leans over to my desk and grabs a coffee in the drink holder.
Ford peeks over the paper. “How does she get pregnant?”
“No, you idiot, how do you know she’s pregnant if you didn’t do the pee stick test?”
“Do you guys mind?” I interject. “I’m not ready for baby talk with my bros, OK? Let’s just discuss what you found out last night, Ronin.”
“She smells different,” Ford continues.
“Different how?” Ronin asks back.
“Deliciously different. Like her pussy is candy, that’s how good—”
“Enough,” I bark.
“Rook got her birth control implant taken out yesterday,” Ronin says, ignoring me. “That’s what she was doing at the doctor.”
Ford lowers the paper all the way to his lap so he can look at Ronin. “That’s a step forward.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.” Ronin beams a smile at him.
“Hello? Anyone here besides me? You two whipped dumbasses do realize the jury selection starts today for the trial, reporters are in town in force, someone stole seven motorcycles from my shop and possibly robbed our friend Drake as well? Not to mention we need to get a military-grade robot out from his shop without getting caught. Like today. We don’t have time to talk about candy pussy.”
“Spencer,” Ronin pipes up. “There is always time for candy pussy.”
“And she makes this little squeal now.” Ford keeps going, like I never said a word.
“What?” Ronin and I say together. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Ford talk about sex before. He might make a comment in general. I did this or she did that. But he’s never talked about a girl before. It’s… strange. And while I’m no slouch in the fucking department, I’m not really into the shit Ford does. So I have to admit, I’m interested in what he’s got to say.
Ronin turns to face Ford as well, so apparently he’s interested too. “What kind of squeal? Because Rook, she does this little tongue thing right when we get started. Like, drags the tip over the edge of her top teeth, then licks the center of her lip. Fucking shit drives me wild.”
Ford smiles a far-off smile, like he’s picturing something. “It’s more of a squeak, really. Like she’s trying to hold it in and not let on that she’s excited.” He shakes his head. “She’s always excited.”
“Fuck. Is it lunchtime yet? I might take Rook home and make her do the tongue thing for me.”
“I might need to take the whole afternoon off,” Ford adds. “I do not believe in quickies. And if I get a squeak at the beginning, you can bet your ass it’s gonna end up a scream at the end.”
“It’s only nine o’clock, you horndogs.”
“Nine?” Ford asks. “That means Ashleigh is getting ready to walk to the coffee shop. I can probably catch her before she wakes Kate up from her morning nap.” He gets up and throws the paper down. “I’ll be back later,” he says as he pulls the door open and bumps into Rook.
He pushes past her without a word and Rook is just about to ask what’s going on when Ronin corners her. “Follow me, Gidget. I’ve got a surprise for you.”
And then I’m alone.
What the fuck?
They didn’t even give me a chance to tell them Ronnie’s little tell. She does that shudder thing. When I touch her for the first time before we fuck, she shudders. And she closes her eyes for a second. That’s how I know she’s in the mood. Granted, I can make her shudder any time I want, but when she’s really horny, all I gotta do is drag a finger down her arm and I get the closed-eye shudder.
I grab my phone from my desk and press her beautiful face. I don’t expect her to answer, so when I hear her voice after the first ring, I feel… happy.
“How can I help you, Spencer?”
“Are you available today?”
She sighs. “Yeah, I already got you four apartments lined up to look at. I’m just pasting directions into the email right now. Be sure to check—”
“No, Bomb. Fuck the apartments. Are you available to see me today?”
She pauses. “See you?”
“Yeah, like, for lunch? Unless you’re having lunch with that asshole from last night.”
Silence.
I hate that I added that dig. I’m such a fuck-up when it comes to her.
“Ronnie?”
“I have to work at the shop. Everyone’s down in the Springs until Thursday. I gotta open and close. So if you need anything else—like, shit that does not involve lunch—call me over there.”
I get the three-beep hang-up.
That’s just perfect. Just fucking perfect. Ronin is off screwing Rook. Ford is off eating candy pussy. And I’m stuck here with no one. And the worst thing is, I’m the only one who’s worried about all the shit that’s going down. Those two assholes are so busy with their women, they’re getting sloppy and slow.
In fact, it’s a good thing Ronnie and I are on the outs. Yeah. It’s perfect, actually. Because now I can stop thinking about her and concentrate on my job.
I glance out the window that overlooks the bike bays. All the guys are anxious to get started on their projects. Ryan and I are both working on major deliveries, one of which needs to be completed in two weeks. But I’m waiting on the chrome guy and the upholsterer for the custom seat.
I stand up and look out the window behind me. This one has a view of College Ave. In fact, I can see the FoCo Cinema from my office. I like that. I can spy on Bombshell from right here and she’ll never know, because I have a pair of high-powered binocs in my desk drawer and she likes to sit by the front window in the winter and outside in the summer.
The deafening roar of a badass bike makes me look left. It takes me several seconds to actually come to terms with what I’m seeing.
My Veronica.
On our bike.
She flashes past and I swear she flips me off as she passes. It’s hard to tell because she could’ve just been adjusting her hand on the grips, but it sure the fuck looked like she flipped me off. She turns into a space in front of the cinema and parks the bike. A group of college guys are in line at the front coffee window and they all turn to look at her. I know they say something, because that one-finger salute is crystal clear.
I chuckle. Veronica is adorable. And I’m feeling needy right now. It sucks that Ford and Ronin get to have girlfriends while I have to squirrel away the feelings I have for Veronica to try to keep her out of the messed-up shit we’re in. I’m not sure how Ford can justify it.
I mean, Ronin, I get him. He’s got one thing on his mind and that’s Rook. His job is lying to the police and bailing us out of shit. And right now, we’re not in any shit legally. He’s got nothing to do. Plus Rook works with us. She’s here all day long.
Ford, he’s a hacker, so I sorta get the feeling he thinks he’s ten steps ahead of everyone at all times. Why worry? And I bet he is. Who the hell knows what goes on in that freak brain of his. He’s practically employing his own private police force to protect Ash and Kate. And he’s got those dogs.
But that’s just not enough peace of mind for me. If I had my way I’d have all the girls locked up in here with us all day long. I’d stick a crib in the empty office on the other side o
f the shop and that could be Kate and Ashleigh’s little room. Rook could run the showroom and Ronnie could just sit in here with me so I’d never have to take my eyes off her.
Plus, there’s cameras all over this place. Not in here, this is the only private place in the whole building. But everywhere else is wired up for the show.
I sigh. They’d be so much safer here with me to keep my eyes on them. And that’s my job. Yeah, I am the initial planner. Ford gets that genius brain to come up with original shit every now and then, but mostly I come up with the plans and he carries them out. I run security. I protect everyone, boots-on-the-ground style.
This is a waiting game. The trial officially starts today with jury selection but the witnesses are not supposed to start until next week. Apparently jury selection is an art and major players understand this and take their time. That’s what our lawyers say, anyway. In the big-league trials—and this one certainly qualifies—jury selection is everything.
Rook is scheduled to testify next Monday. Day one. Witness one. She is almost the whole trial. She recorded that FBI fuck Agent Abelli threatening to sell her. She filmed him torturing her ex-husband to death. She filmed him setting her house on fire with her in it. She had access to secret files that implicated more than a hundred people. More than one FBI agent. State senators, US Representatives, cops, a couple mayors, and a drug lord. And those are just the ones I remember off the top of my head.
Ford and I combed through each name before we put that last operation to free Ronin from jail in motion. But some of the names had no online database reference. Many were foreign.
Rook is the star witness. The only other evidence the federal prosecutors have, besides some questionable confessions from other members of the human trafficking crime ring, is the bank transactions. And all that was a setup by Ford. Except for the money transfer from the Columbian drug lord, every bit of it is fake.
And this worries me. Bad.
Because without Rook, the Feds have no case. And if the defense can pick apart those bank transactions, well, all that hard evidence falls apart too.