Positively Pricked

by Sabrina Stark

  Funny, I was a feeling a little hostile myself. Of all the places for them to argue, why here? The estate probably had fifty rooms. Couldn't they just pick one and talk there instead?

  Idiots.

  Afraid to move, I was still on all fours, and my knees were starting to ache. I felt like a dog ready to bolt.

  If only I could.

  Already, I'd been out here for way too long, and the delay wasn't even my fault. Normally, the back of the van was neatly organized, with every box and bin in a predictable place. But thanks to that earlier incident, the whole cargo area was a giant mess, with boxes and bins strewn everywhere.

  And I just knew there were meatballs rolling around somewhere.

  I could only imagine how messy the van would look under decent lighting, but all I had was a small keychain penlight, and the thing was practically useless. Even now, its narrow beam illuminated next to nothing.

  I hesitated. Maybe that was a good thing. I couldn’t see the mess, and they couldn’t see me. If I were smart, I'd keep it that way. On instinct, I cut the light and tried not to breathe.

  Outside, the guys were still arguing. Or – more accurately – the drunk was arguing with Zane, who said only enough to keep the other guy ranting. Why, I had no idea. Already, the guy was repeating himself.

  For the third time, he slurred, "Everyone hates you. You know that, right?"

  "Uh-huh. Now tell me something I don't know."

  "All right." The guy gave a drunken laugh. "You're an asshole."

  "Sorry, try again."

  The drunk paused. "What?"

  "That, I already know." Zane's voice hardened. "Now tell me something I don't."

  Another pause. "I've gotta pee."

  I rolled my eyes. Fine. Whatever. There's a dozen bathrooms. Go find one.

  The night was cold. Naomi was waiting. And I still needed to find the candles.

  Stupidly, all I could think was, "I hope they like cold crab cakes."

  Outside, I heard a quick zipping noise, followed by the distinct sound of – What the hell? – liquid splashing against the side of the van.

  Oh, my God. Was the guy seriously peeing on the catering van? I gave a disgusted shudder. Talk about unsanitary.

  Searching for a silver lining, I reminded myself that it could always be worse. At least, he hadn't said he had to poop. I made a face. Not yet, anyway.

  When the splashing stopped, I said yet another silent prayer. Just go. And I don't mean number-two.

  Sounding more sloppy than ever, the drunk mumbled, "Man, it goes right through ya, you know?"

  Whether Zane knew or not, I had no idea, because a new voice sounded in the distance. It was a male voice, filled with hearty good cheer. "Hey, there you two are!"

  From near the bumper, I heard a muttered curse. But from who? Zane? Or the drunk? I couldn’t be sure either way.

  A moment later, the new voice, sounding much closer now, said, "So, what are you two young bucks up to?"

  I gave another eye-roll. Young bucks. Seriously?

  I wanted to scream in frustration. Outside, the crowd was growing, not shrinking, which meant that I was more trapped than ever.

  Fearful of rocking the proverbial boat, I was still on all fours. My hands were freezing, and my thin pants were doing nothing to pad my knees from the cold metal of the van's floor.

  When neither of the "young bucks" responded, the new guy said, "I hear you caused quite a ruckus."

  The drunk mumbled, "So?"

  "So, I called James. He's waiting with the car out front."

  The drunk whined, "But I'm not ready to go."

  The stranger gave a friendly chuckle. "Still full of piss and vinegar, huh?"

  I gave another shudder. Nope. Not piss, anyway. I tried to think. Was the car-wash still open? Doubtful. It was, after all, nearly midnight – or later, for all I knew.

  The new guy said, "Hey, uh, Teddy?"

  "Huh?"

  "Your, uh, fly's open."

  The drunk guy muttered, "Son-of-bitch." I heard another zip as the guy said, "Fuck, Zane. Why didn't you tell me?"

  Zane replied, "Because I wasn't staring at your cock."

  "Oh yeah?" the drunk said. "Well, I wasn't staring at yours either." He snorted. "Asshole."

  The new guy spoke up. "Aw c'mon guys. No harm, no foul, right?"

  I frowned. Yeah, tell that to the van, buddy.

  Finally, after some additional back-and-forth, Teddy the Drunk shuffled off with a belligerent promise to deal with Zane later – whatever that meant.

  I gave a quiet sigh. And then, there were two.

  The new guy said, "Hey, thanks for looking out for him."

  "I wasn't looking out for him," Zane said. "I was looking out for me."

  The new guy chuckled. "Yeah, who needs a scene, right? I'm just glad you got him outta there when you did."

  When Zane said nothing in response, the guy added, "Listen, I know that you and your granddad weren't close, but he was a fine man." His tone grew sympathetic. "And it was a damn shame what happened to him."

  I tried to recall. What had happened to him?

  The stranger was still talking. "But I guess when your time's up—"

  "Fuck you," Zane said.

  Long pause. "Pardon?"

  "You heard me."

  The new guy cleared his throat. "Hey, if you wanna talk…"

  "I don't."

  After a long, awkward pause, the guy tried again. "I'm just saying, I know it's gotta be overwhelming – with the hotels, the houses, hell, the financials – but if you ever need a shoulder to lean on…"

  "I don't."

  "Yeah, well…" The other guy hesitated. "I'm just saying, I know there's a lot on your plate."

  "Right," Zane said. "My plate. Not yours. Speaking of which, you're moving."

  "What?" the guy said. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean," Zane said, "the house on Longwood. It's mine now. So get the fuck out." In a voice that held the barest hint of a smile, he added, "By Monday."

  The stranger gave a strangled laugh. "Oh come on. You're not serious?"

  "Yeah? Why not?"

  "Because we've been living there for years. It's our family home. The deed – it was just a technicality. I mean, everyone knows it's our house."

  "Not anymore."

  "You're joking."

  "Do I look like I'm joking?"

  The stranger gave a low curse and was silent for a long, terrible moment before saying, "Even if I agreed – and I’m not saying I do – we couldn’t possibly move by Monday. I mean, come on. That's only two days away."

  "Right. So you'd better get packing."

  "But that's not even legal."

  "So sue me."

  "Maybe I will," the stranger said. "You do know that I’m a lawyer, right?"

  "I don't care if you're the fucking president. You're in my house, and I want you gone."

  "Is that so?" The stranger gave a derisive snort. "Why? Aren't the other houses enough?"

  "No. They're not."

  "But—"

  "Move. Or I'll have it done for you."

  "What the hell?" the guy sputtered. "You can't do that."

  "Yeah? Watch me."

  "But what about Teddy? He's your cousin, for God's sake."

  "So?"

  "So that's his house, too."

  I tried to think. Teddy? As in Teddy the Drunk?

  Zane replied, "Not my problem."

  The stranger was silent for another long, awful moment, and I held my breath, wondering what on Earth he'd say next. Cripes, what could he say?

  In the background, I could still hear the muted sounds of music and laughter coming from inside the house. But out here, no one was laughing – not me, not the stranger, and definitely not Zane.

  Asshole.

  Finally, the stranger gave a long, sad sigh. "You know, it really pains me to say this, but if your grandfather were alive, he'd be utterly ashamed of you."

 
"I know," Zane said. "But he's not. So fuck off."

  It was one of the strangest things I'd ever heard. He didn't even sound angry, just matter-of-fact. It was truly chilling.

  The other guy made a scoffing sound. "Is that all you can say? Fuck this and fuck that?"

  When Zane made no reply, the guy practically spat, "Look here, you ingrate. I don't know how they do things in the dirt you crawled out of, but around here, we treat people with dignity and respect."

  "Yeah?" Zane said. "Well in the dirt, you've gotta earn it."

  "And I haven't?" the guy said. "You do know I spent three decades working for your family."

  "So?" Zane said. "You didn't work for me."

  "But I worked for your grandfather. I was his right-hand man."

  "Yeah. And he's dead. So like I said, Bob, get the fuck out."

  I tried to think. Bob? Bob who?

  Outside the van, Bob spoke again. "You do recall it was me who threw you this party, right?"

  Oh, crap.

  That Bob?

  The stranger had to be Robert Something-or-Other, the silver-haired gentleman who'd been so friendly when we'd been setting up.

  At the time, I didn't even realize that he was the one throwing the party, but in hindsight, I should've. After all, he'd taken a pretty keen interest in all of the details.

  I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer that he'd already paid the catering bill, because if he hadn't, I had a horrible suspicion that we were about to get stiffed.

  Outside, Bob was sounding more frustrated with every passing moment. "And let me tell you," he was saying, "it wasn't cheap."

  In a deadpan voice, Zane said, "I noticed."

  "Jesus," Bob muttered. "If you were gonna toss us out, why didn't you say so earlier?"

  "Because I’m saying it now."

  "But the band, the catering – hell, the parking attendants – they weren't free, you know."

  "Again, not my problem."

  Bob made another scoffing sound. "Listen here, you reprobate. If you think I'm leaving that house, you're dead wrong."

  "Is that so?"

  "Damn straight. In fact…" Bob paused a long moment before blurting out, "You'll get the house over my dead body."

  "You think that can't be arranged?"

  "What?"

  "Lemme ask you something, Bob." Zane said the guy's name like it was some sort of insult. "You got a good security system?"

  "What? Well, uh, yeah. Of course."

  "Uh-huh," Zane said. "You do know those things fail all the time."

  "Yeah, well not mine."

  "Except it's not yours. Is it, Bob?"

  "What?"

  "It's mine. Funny how that works."

  "What is this?" Bob said. "A threat? Because lemme tell you something. I'm not afraid to fight you."

  "Is that right?"

  The guy cleared his throat. "I mean in court, like civilized people, not that you'd know anything about that."

  "You're right," Zane said. "I wouldn't." That now-familiar edge crept back into his voice. "So if I were you, I'd get packing."

  After a few more minutes of back-and-forth, the conversation ended with a string of profanity and fading footsteps as Bob stomped off, leaving a trail of curse words in his wake.

  I gave a quiet sigh. And then, there was one.

  My legs were cramped, and my hands felt like ice cubes. Desperately, I waited for the sounds of additional footsteps – Zane's footsteps, heading away from the van.

  But I heard nothing.

  And the longer I waited, the more I started to doubt myself. Maybe he'd already wandered off. After all, Bob's departure hadn't been terribly quiet. For all I knew, Zane had left at the exact same time. Maybe, he was already back inside the house, or wherever jerks went when they weren't spreading their misery.

  And yet, I still waited.

  Finally, when I couldn't stand it another moment, I crawled silently toward the back cargo doors and listened.

  Nothing.

  Slowly, I reached up and lifted the nearest door-handle. Praying for the best, I gave the door a gentle push. It swung outward maybe half a foot before it stopped, bumping into something on the other side.

  I gave a little gasp.

  No. Not some thing. Some one.

  Oh, no.

  Chapter 4

  In a panic, I yanked the door shut and scooted backward inside the van. On the way, I bumped a stack of boxes and sent them tumbling. A sudden clatter – the sound of metal cascading onto metal – made me cringe in absolute horror.

  Yup, there went the extra silverware.

  But it wasn't the silverware I cared about. It was the noise.

  So much for silently hiding out.

  I gave a mental eye-roll. Yeah, right. Like I hadn't already been busted.

  What now?

  Should I hunker down and hope he goes away? Or crawl out and face the music?

  In the end, I didn't have to do anything, because a moment later, that same cargo door swung open, and there he was – Zane Bennington himself.

  His gaze was sharp, and his mouth was tight, which was a shame really, because he had a nice mouth. Or rather, it would've been a nice mouth if his lips weren't compressed into a hard, ominous line.

  Our gazes locked across the short distance, and I felt myself swallow.

  I was still on all fours, and I had to crane my neck to stare up at him. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with that obnoxiously thick hair, and cheekbones that made me just a little bit jealous. His suit was dark and tailored – obviously expensive – with a white button-down shirt, open slightly at the collar.

  In every possible way, he looked like a million bucks, which was almost funny, because if the stories were true, he was worth way more than a million – probably more than a billion counting all the assets.

  And yet, he wasn't much older than I was.

  Talk about lucky.

  Him, not me.

  Still, I tried to smile. "Uh, hi."

  He didn't smile back, not that I'd expected him to. In a dangerously quiet voice, he said, "Get out."

  I blinked. "What?"

  "You heard me."

  Suddenly, I didn't want to get out. True, the van was a cluttered freezing mess, but the guy in front of me was something else entirely. I mumbled, "That's okay. I'm good."

  His gaze hardened. "You think."

  Was that a question? It didn’t sound like a question. I cleared my throat. "You're probably wondering who I am, huh?"

  From the look in his eyes, he knew exactly who I was – an insignificant bug to be flicked off his pricey jacket.

  Into his silence, I said, "I'm just the caterer."

  No. That wasn't quite true.

  I tried again. "Well, not the caterer-caterer. I mean, I'm just the assistant, one of several, actually – because, you know, it's a pretty big party, huh?"

  Right. As if he didn't know. This was his place, after all.

  His cool gaze swept over me, and he looked decidedly unimpressed.

  Then again, I was hunkered out, doggie-style, in a van.

  I sat up in the confined space and tried to ignore the random fork or whatever that was poking against my right ass-cheek. I ran a nervous hand down my frilly white apron and said, "The thing is, I was looking for a candle."

  His jaw was so tight, it was a wonder he could even speak. "A candle."

  I hesitated. Was that a question? Again, I wasn't quite sure. "Right. You know. The kind you put under a serving thingie to keep it warm?"

  Damn it. The thingie had a name. Normally, I knew the name, but the guy was looking at me with such loathing that I was finding it hard to think.

  He moved a fraction closer. "The doors," he said, "why were they shut?"

  "You mean the van doors?" I gave them a quick glance. "I shut them because it's freezing out."

  If the answer satisfied him, he sure as heck didn't show it. "It's April."

  Yes, but it was early A
pril, and this was Indianapolis, not Tampa. And besides, springtime or not, the night was unseasonably cool. Somehow, I managed to stammer, "Right. But it's dark, and there's a breeze."

  Right on cue, that same breeze ruffled the ends of his thick hair, making him look like a some kind of movie star in one of those annoyingly sexy slow-motion shots. It was especially annoying now, because this guy wasn't moving at all. Instead, he was eyeing me with open hostility.

  Like an idiot, I started blathering. "So, you see, I shut the doors to keep it out – the breeze, I mean. I would've fired up the van – you know, for the heat – but I didn't think it would take so long to find the candles." I gave a nervous laugh. "I don't suppose you have any on you?"

  He didn't even crack a smile. "Who do you work for?"

  So much for softening him up with humor.

  "Vista Catering." I pointed vaguely to my right. "It's, uh, written on the side of the van, actually."

  His gaze didn't waver, and he made no reply.

  I cleared my throat. "If you don't believe me, just look." I plastered on another smile. "Go on. I'll wait."

  Or, I'll run screaming into the house for my purse and car keys.

  Stupid? Probably. But the guy was making me nervous, and not only because he'd caught me eavesdropping. For all his money, there was something about him – something barely civilized – lurking underneath his rich, glossy surface.

  One thing I knew for certain, this was a guy who wasn't afraid to break a few eggs. And right now, I was feeling like a giant chicken.

  In front of me, he still wasn't moving. He repeated his question, more slowly this time. "Who do you work for?"

  I was freezing and tired – and yeah, maybe a little scared. I hated being scared. In fact, I decided, I wasn't going to be, not tonight.

  When I spoke, my voice came out snippier than I intended. "Vista Catering. You did hear me, right?"

  "I heard you."

  "But what? You don't believe me?"

  "No. I don't."

  Damn it. The way it looked, there was no way on Earth that I'd be leaving with my catering job still intact. Oh sure, anything was technically possible, just like it was technically possible that I might win the lotto someday, well, if I ever splurged on a ticket, that is.