Black Tie: Book One of the Sparrow Archives

by Kieran Strange

  Elliot’s lips pressed together tightly and he watched the rhythm of his own swirling drink. “I had enough money and resources that we were prepared for anything once we knew Lara was pregnant. We had a removed safe house prepared for delivery so that I could be present for the birth without raising any suspicion. She was already there when the Megaflare hit, and I joined her the next day.”

  Cabe found himself wondering exactly what Elliot Wright had been doing at the exact moment of the Megaflare. He pictured the C.E.O., years younger, allowing himself a snappy sixty seconds to rant and bitch all of his fears and frustrations out of his system before learning to adapt as he’d likely always had to do in every situation he’d been placed in since he was born. If you ignored the arrogant, self-serving playboy he pretended to be for the media, he was actually quite a remarkable man.

  “So... if you don’t mind me asking, sir. Why the act?” When Elliot glanced over, his bodyguard was staring at him the same way he stared at a circuit-board when he wanted to rip it apart and reinvent the wheel. “You’re obviously a caring, charitable man and you don’t bother trying to hide that, so why the whole egocentric, chauvinistic prick angle?”

  “Are you calling me an egocentric, chauvinistic prick?” asked Elliot incredulously, because he chuckled and finally depleting what was left in his glass. “Because if I give them what they want, they’re less likely to go looking.”

  “Is that why you came out then, as an Anomaly? So they wouldn’t go snooping around?”

  The base of Elliot’s glass hit the countertop decisively. “Yes.”

  Cabe needed to shift in his seat to alleviate the pressure on his left leg, but the air between the two men was so fragile he didn’t dare move. “Who did you do it to protect?” he asked, very softly.

  “Emiko. She was fairly sure there was a P.I. tailing her, so I set her up in one of the executive suite units downstairs and turned some of my own dogs loose on the situation. They sniffed out a lead that several local firms had been tasked by a dummy corporation to dig up dirt on an apparent high-level WrightTech employee the government should be extremely concerned about. I just... gave them what they were looking for.”

  “A high-level WrightTech employee who can see the future.” Cabe shook his head, still in shock at what he was discovering. His mind wandered, and he averted his eyes, suddenly becoming acutely interested in the grain of the bar countertop.

  “Saturday, on the Gulfstream... did you know Max was going to shoot at us?”

  Elliot pushed his barstool away from the counter and hopped down, collecting both his and Cabe’s glasses in one hand. “No. It doesn’t exactly work like that.” He placed both of the glasses upside-down in the sink and fetched two sparkling fresh ones from the display behind him. “When I’m... I call it ‘in the zone’... it’s a lot like dreaming. I’m never really lucid and I don’t remember much when I come to. What’s your favorite liquor?”

  “Uh, I guess, anything but tequila – that shit really does make my clothes fall off, or at least makes me do crazy shit,” replied Cabe, recalling the incident five months ago at the Taco Bell drive-thru with far too much vividness.

  “So that day on the jet, when I went under,” Elliot continued, plucking a bottle of Patrón Citrónge from the middle shelf (which didn’t escape Cabe’s eagle eyes and caused him to scowl a little), “I have no idea how much I really saw, all I know is the parts of it I actually remembered. Doesn’t make it overly useful.” He found another cocktail shaker and went to work measuring and adding ingredients. “The only theme that really stuck with me on that one was laying in the cold snow while you throttled me by my tie and fired your gun like a true ‘Murican.”

  “I’ll have you know, I was being heroic,” Cabe shot back without missing a single beat. He watched hypnotically as Elliot noisily rattled the ice and liquor to blend and chill their drinks before pouring them pink and translucent into the waiting glasses.

  “It was very cute. Definitely not a mental image I’ll be relieving myself of any time soon.” Elliot pushed one of the drinks toward the Field Agent and lifted his own. “This time, just to me – because I mix a damn good drink.”

  “Amen to that,” Cabe laughed, touching the rim of his glass to that of Elliot’s, and the two men sipped. This one was much more his style, fruity and tangy with just enough kick that it was dangerous. “So was bartending one of the many billions of things your father taught you, or was it one of your own hobbies?”

  “One of my own. Dad never was much one for the drink. He said it made him lazy and sluggish and unproductive.”

  “What made him productive?”

  “Copious amounts of pot.”

  Cabe laughed. “One of those old hippie types?”

  “Bingo. He would’ve loved your boss, actually, if the two of them had ever gotten to meet. They would’ve saved the world together.”

  A third sip of his drink reminded Cabe to slow down, that he was still technically on the job if anything were to happen right now. Sweet, fruity things were his weakness, and the tequila in the blend was causing his thoughts to float more than just a little. “What was it like growing up with him? Actually, scratch that – what was it like growing up with a dad who didn’t liken you to a housecat on the good days and a punching bag on the not so good days?”

  Elliot cackled gently, with some restraint at the other’s arid sense of humor. “He was a great dad, all things considered. We never always saw eye-to-eye though, especially as I grew older and wanted to get involved with the company that was my birthright. We had... let’s just say staunchly different views about the direction the company and its message should be taken in.”

  “Was it one of those awkward moments where the student became the master?” Cabe asked soberly, despite the warm glow in his cheeks.

  “That’s... a very diplomatic way to put it, yes,” said Elliot. The alcohol didn’t seem to be affecting him at the same rate it was affecting Cabe, but at the same time, he was probably already several rounds ahead of his guest. “He taught me almost everything I knew about computers and electronics and how to code a system... but he was a man of his time, and I am a man of mine. There were several hurdles in the business world he wasn’t prepared for, and they were going to cripple his entire outlook for this company.”

  “What sort of things?”

  “The Internet, globalization. Equality in the workforce. My father was a very strange man.” Elliot sipped his drink and licked the taste from his lips thoughtfully. “The older he got, the more he acted like everything I did was in some way treason against him. I think he was paranoid I was planning some sort of mutiny and was out to sabotage his every move.”

  “Is that why so much changed after he died?”

  Elliot nodded. “That was when I really got to unveil my vision for the company. The future of technology – communications, personal entertainment, nanotech. The things that would allow us to help humanity reach a potential my father’s lack of foresight and faith were going to hold us back from.”

  “Is that why the logo changed too?” asked Cabe, furrowing his brow. His beverage was already half-drained and his cheeks were definitely hotter than they had been five minutes ago. Slow down, he warned himself again, placing it on the counter and removing his fingers completely from the glass. “I remember a boyfriend of mine at the time was a huge tech geek and he was just eating it up. I swear to Lucifer, if you’d shit in a little white box and told him it was going to reinvent the world of technology, he would’ve believed you.”

  Elliot chuckled and loosened the knot of his tie a little against his shirt collar. “Yeah, dad was always against rebranding. We had that damn acorn as our global signature since the dawning of the computer age, it feels like.”

  “Why the hexagon?”

  The C.E.O. paused, his fingers looped through his tie, to give Cabe a quizzical look. “Is this turning into a professional interview, Mr. Sparrow? Because if so, I warn you, my rates
aren’t in any way reasonable.”

  Cabe scoffed in a manner that was almost pouty. “No interview... maybe I just like shopping psychology.”

  Elliot smiled at him somewhat affectionately. “It was because of how my father explained computer circuitry to me as a child. He drew out the circuits like honeycomb structures and the bees represented information and data passing between the transistors. That was always how I imagined it, every time I built a circuit or a machine, or wrote a program. The more I focused on it, the more curious I became about the bee itself, and how a hive works very much like a computer itself in a very organized and productive manner. It reminded me of my dad’s company, and all of the selfless, hard-working employees who have driven it and built it up to be what it is. I think I was about twelve when I first approached him wanting to change the logo to reflect that idea and that concept. It meant a lot to me.”

  Cabe was staring at Elliot, his brown eyes enormous and round and totally absorbed. “... and he didn’t want to change it even after hearing that story? Unreal.”

  “He was a very stubborn man,” mused Elliot, sipping his cosmo. “Hence why so much changed so suddenly after he passed away.”

  “How much did change?”

  “This and that. Mostly concepts and communications. I scrapped the majority of his five- and ten-year plans and sent the executive board, department heads, and five raffled base-level employees from each department to Hawaii for three days. Everybody regardless of pay grade or department worked together to help channel their coworkers’ ideas and suggestions on where the company should head and what it should focus on. Seven years later, and here we are, sitting in the penthouse suite of one of the most successful international businesses in the world today.” He closed one blue eye in a wink. “Not a bad story, eh, Peaches?”

  “I’ve heard worse,” agreed Cabe. He allowed himself to steal another mouthful of fruity goodness, wondering if it would be taken as weak or impolite to ask for water. “So, what stayed the same?”

  “The people.” Elliot leaned on his forearms on the bar counter, playing with the hem of one open cuff. “The board remained largely unchanged, save for several new additions. A company-wide survey showed that most employees were comfortable and happy in their current positions. I introduced a couple new sponsorship programs and connected with the local schools and colleges to offer work experience packages... but the majority of the team, especially the main internal team, is still the same. Well... with the exception now of Max.”

  Cabe eased a frog out of the back of his throat as Elliot finished the rest of his beverage with gusto. “I’m sorry,” he offered simply, honestly.

  “It’s his funeral tomorrow. The funeral for the brave and loyal Air Force veteran, longtime family friend of three generations who was shot dead during our escape from whichever terrorist group claimed they sabotaged my plane.” Elliot chuckled, a dark and bitter sound. “I still haven’t decided if I’m going to go. Is that terrible of me?”

  Cabe shifted uncomfortable. “I’m sorry,” he repeated gingerly, “we don’t really get much say in how they choose to spin this stuff. It’s... a lot of it comes down to red tape.”

  “I know, I’m not angry at you. I’m angry at the whole situation.” Elliot shook his head, staring off past Cabe’s shoulder toward the flickering landscape of the dark city beyond the curved windowpanes. “It’s been bothering me since I woke up Sunday afternoon after we all got to know each other properly and realized I was still alive. I was having a dream that took me back to when Max and I were flying biplanes in New England one summer. He’d flown in the Air Force with my grandfather, and my father had never been interested in flying, so when I showed an curiosity we bonded a lot.”

  Elliot brushed a few locks of chestnut hair out of his eyes, and Cabe hadn’t even realized their presence had been bothering him until they were gone. He hadn’t even realized he was aware of them, or even that he was staring at Elliot hard enough to care.

  “And then it just dawned on me... just how powerful or corruptive whatever it was that coaxed Max into betraying someone he once said was like a son to him would have to be.”

  A thick, heavy silence blanketed the room, and for a while, all Cabe could hear was the ringing in his ears and the seductive male Francophone tones floating out into the main hall from the living area. He released the breath he was holding in silence and slid his glass closer to Elliot by the hexagonal base.

  “Here. You look like you need this more than I do.”

  Elliot smirked. “If I didn’t know better, Peaches, I’d say you were trying to get me drunk.”

  “Okay,” Cabe said, finally giving in to the urge that had been plaguing him all weekend now that his own inquisitiveness meant more to him than avoiding any traps or pitfalls his newest client may be laying out for him, “I have to ask because it’s honestly been driving me mad.”

  “Fire away.”

  “Why the hell do you keep calling me Peaches?”

  Elliot’s frosty blues eyed him up. “Are you sure you want me to tell you that?”

  “I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

  “Okay. Because I hate peaches,” was the terse, off-handed reply, as Elliot’s long, slender fingers found the rim of Cabe’s cocktail glass and traced back and forth around a section of the arc. “They’re soft and fuzzy and cute and, despite the fact that I know they’d probably be good for me, everyone else would probably remind me that something so sweet and tasty can’t be as healthy for me as I think it is.”

  Those fingers were sliding down the side of the glass, down the stem, down to where Cabe’s own hand was still resting atop the hexagonal base. They teased across the scarred knuckles, the executive likely not noticing the way a single muscle twitched beneath Cabe’s skin in response; he was too busy zeroing in on the look in the agent’s eyes, watching every single reaction his face made.

  “I’m also fairly sure they bruise easily.”

  And with that, the young brunet had closed every inch of distance between them in less than the time it took to draw a breath. Orange and violet-flavored lips sought out Cabe’s fervently as the one hand that wasn’t currently sliding up his bodyguard’s wrist and arm curled around his neck and gripped as much of Cabe’s short blond hair as he was able to gather up into one fist.

  Fifteen

  Bloody... fucking... shit.

  There was nothing romantic about the kiss, it was all fire and danger and passion. Bound to the barstool by nothing this time but his own lack of bodily discipline, Cabe melted into the other man’s mouth, parting his lips eagerly and obediently and meeting Elliot’s tongue with his own. His client’s fingers were in his hair and his shirt collar, clawing at the skin in ways that was sending shivers dancing all along his spine.

  This is such a bad idea... such a bad fucking idea...

  “Mmm,” murmured Elliot, finally withdrawing the tongue that had pushed itself to the back of Cabe’s mouth and planting a light, wet kiss on the slightly older man’s rough chin. The amused noise seemed to bring them both back into the present. The blond agent looked as if he’d quite literally frozen in place – his body was arched into Elliot’s submissively, his strong arms tangled and locked around the smaller’s waist.

  “You definitely taste like a peach,” the brunet purred, his breath sweet and warm across Cabe’s lips. “In a few minutes, we’ll see if you bruise like one, too.”

  “What?”

  One of Elliot’s hands slithered out of Cabe’s hair and whipped him hard across the ass through the back of the barstool in a vicious single swat he hadn’t been expecting at all. Had he been aware of its impending administration, he may have been able to stop the high-pitched yelp that escaped his chest the instant Elliot’s palm had struck his backside.

  “Rude!” he protested, in a way that earned him another quick kiss on the lips before Elliot released him from his clutches and nestled back on his own barstool.

  “Well, I apprecia
te you talking with me, Sparrow. I know you’re busy, so I won’t feel too offended if there are places you have to be or computers you should be slaving over.” How he could stand there and just taunt a man with those kiss-swollen lips and sultry blue eyes Cabe would never know, but then again, he did already know that Elliot Wright had a track record of being a total and utter sadist with Cabe’s emotions. “But... well, I did clear my evening, and I have no urgent plans. Lest the building catch fire. If our schedules were to align for the night, I would love to demonstrate how gifted physically I am by kicking your ass in a good old-fashioned game of billiards.”

  “I think that’s... the most English thing I’ve ever heard anyone in America ever actually say,” laughed Cabe awkwardly, still clinging to his own barstool to avoid losing his balance as he sat there, content to doubt gravity and reality alike for a couple more minutes. “Sounds like it’ll be a riffing good time, old chap.”

  Elliot laughed, took his glass, and downed whatever remained, before placing both in the sink with the original two. “You know where the table is, Sparrow. Rack ‘em, and I’ll be right in. There’s a mini-fridge in there if you want water or soda.”

  Cabe wasn’t entirely sure the hardwood would still be there when he placed the first of his soles on the floor. He was still reeling from the kiss, and from the fact that it had come from Elliot Wright, of all people – because anything his client had done or said in the past few days that came across at all flirtatious he had written off purely on the basis that he was Elliot Wright. The notorious, womanizing, sin city playboy – who apparently had a secret daughter, conducted biochemical research in the hidden laboratory in his building, and liked to kiss members of his assigned security personnel over fruity cocktails and jazzy French pop.

  Jazzy French pop which was apparently set up to play at a pleasantly low volume in select rooms all over the condo, he discovered as he walked into the den and found the same song drifting from the recessed speakers in the ceiling.