by Zara Cox
Her mouth snaps shut. I take a minute before I release her.
The roar is back. I want to slam my head against a wall to drown it back out. Instead, I shove my hands in my pockets.
“Goodbye, Adriana. I’m going out of town for a while. I’m not sure when I’ll be back. Sorry about the lack of ass-fucking. I probably would’ve accommodated you, but you blew it by reminding me just what type of human being you truly are. I’m sure you’ll find someone else to accommodate you in my absence.”
Her face contorts. Before she can open her mouth, I’m headed out the door. I don’t look back.
She knows better than to call my name again.
Back in my car, I pop the key in the ignition but don’t start the engine. My fingers wrap around the steering wheel, eyes closed with my head against the seat rest. For endless moments, I’m lost.
The hate, the vengeance and sex are instruments that oil my existence and keep my compass true. But thinking about her…my mother…always casts me adrift.
She was the purest thing in my life. The truest. A delicate flower in a nest of vipers. Her love was the closest thing that came to making me wish I was a better person. For her, I like to think I would’ve striven to be a less diabolical version of myself. Her every look once held that promise, that hope for me. And somewhere along the umbilical that connected a mother’s love to her son, a seed dared to sprout inside of me. Until it was mercilessly destroyed.
A fragile seed in a nest of vipers. Adele Blackwood had had no hope.
The burning in my chest spreads wide, upward, past my throat, my nasal passages to settle behind my eyes. I swallow the rancid taste of bile and let the black grief engulf me.
I should’ve done more. I should’ve saved her.
But you didn’t.
My eyes tear open. I release my death grip on the steering wheel and start the engine. I drive aimlessly for an hour until I end up exactly where I shouldn’t be. Hell’s Kitchen. I park across the street and stare at the building.
The lamps she left on emit a soft and welcoming glow, the opposite of what I’m feeling right now. The opposite of what she’ll feel if I let myself in and let hell break free.
Hell’s attraction grows as I sit there, my engine idling. Without taking my eyes off the large square window, behind which my perfect poison lies, I hit the call button on my steering wheel.
“Yes, Boss,” Fionnella, my homely ex-government operative and trusted team leader, responds. She’s been with me from the beginning; is the only one who knows Q’s identity and what the end game is. She also has a horse in this race, which keeps her motivated.
“Would you believe me if I apologized for calling you so late?” I enquire. Up above, I swear I see Lucky’s shadow cross the window, but I accept my mind is in full chaos mode and could be making shit up.
“I believe remorse may have crossed your mind for a second, sir.”
“If that counts, I’d appreciate an update.”
“The only update since we spoke this evening is the results of her blood work. No surprises to report. She’s healthy. Yours came back clean too.”
My cock, pleased with the news, stirs and twitches. I relax my head against the seat and cup my dick. My last memorable fuck was a twenty-four-hour bender with a Latina spitfire three weeks ago. She’d welcomed my darkness, and things may have gotten a little out of hand, not enough for me to lose every shred of sanity, but close enough.
The clean bill of health brings a spike of impatience. “I need pros and cons of moving the schedule forward by a week.”
“The set up at the property will be finished in forty-eight hours. The crew-vetting should also be done by Monday. Her birth control shot will be fully effective from Saturday.”
“All pros.”
“The cons depend on whether you intend to stay put for a while once you get to the property. She doesn’t have a passport and her fake ID is the worst I’ve seen. Even a tenth grader would spot the flaws a mile away. She’s not naïve, so I can only conclude she was desperate enough, for whatever reason, to accept the first one she came across.”
My cock thickens, and I breathe out. The part of me that should be ashamed for getting hard at the thought of her desperation is blissfully bankrupt enough not to get in the way of my hard on.
“If I need to take her out of the country, can you organize it?”
Fionnella sighs. “Of course, sir. But I’d appreciate as much advance notice as possible. I trust the people I work with, but I’m never comfortable with stuff to do with photos. Too much room for error.”
“You’ll have your notice.”
“Thanks.”
I hang up, pull my gaze from the window and ease my foot from the brake pedal.
Lucky may well fall through my cracks, but I intend the experience to be nothing short of memorable.
16
TAKE TWO
Fionnella’s text to me on Friday morning is the first warning that the dress rehearsal is over.
A driver will fetch you at seven pm. Be ready. Please ensure all the relevant ties are severed with discretion.
I read and reread the text, wondering if she believed me about Miguel. Perhaps she thinks we’re more than just co-workers? But the message makes me think of what to tell Sully. Granted, he never intimated his job offer would be permanent. He helped me out when I was in need. There will be a dozen others to take my place within a day.
But as I near Blackwood Tower, it’s neither Miguel nor Sully who occupy my mind. Today will be the last day I serve Quinn Blackwood. Will he invite me to lunch again, or will he request just coffee, like he did yesterday, instruct me to serve it at the sofa set in his office, and drink it while sitting far too close to me?
Even now, I recall the brush of his thigh against mine; the sandalwood and male musk that flowed from his skin. The way his lower lip curved on the cup, his strong throat as he swallowed.
He still hasn’t asked me for the favor I owe him. And he won’t get the chance after today. The thought produces a spike of regret that unnerves me more than I know is wise to allow.
It’s enough to make me contemplate a different scenario for myself. One where I return to Blackwood Tower in a month’s time, and ask Sully for my job back. But then in a month, provided the shit show of variables fall into place, I’ll be too busy finding a way to talk Clayton into sparing my life in return for one million dollars to think about Blackwood Tower. And I’ll be trying to do all that with Clayton without placing myself anywhere in his orbit.
Or divulging the secret that’s locked tight in my heart.
Provided I manage to jump all those hurdles, then yes, I might give returning to Blackwood Tower and asking for my job back a try, so I can go back to lusting after its unattainable and questionably unstable CEO.
I half-snort as I change into uniform for my last day. Miguel is nowhere to be seen, which is a little surprising, but I secure my locker and head for Sully’s office.
The middle-aged man listens to me, a thoughtful frown in place, and shrugs when I’m done thanking him. “It’s no big deal. What I did for you, I hope someone else would’ve done for my kid. I’ll have a job on my hands to get someone for Mr. Blackwood though. He seems taken with you.”
My heart skips a beat. “I don’t think so.”
Sully smiles. “You know how many times the man’s had lunch in his office since he took over from his father three years ago?”
I shake my head.
“Far less than you think. And certainly not every day for a week like he has this past week.”
“I…I don’t think that was because of me.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Elly. The best things come in small packages. Or so my wife tells me.” He waves me away. “Go on, now. Make the best of your last day. And don’t forget to come pick up your pay when you’re done.”
The morning rushes by, probably because time, like the rest of my life, is determined to give me the finger, a
nd before I know it, I’m standing in front of Quinn’s frosted doors. His EA, a sylph-like brunette with an expression as neutral as Switzerland, aims a remote at the door to release the lock.
“He’s not in yet, but he’s on his way up. He wants you to proceed as normal.”
I start to nod, but she’s already re-engrossed in her task. I wheel in the trolley and unload today’s offering of sushi and accompanying dishes. I’m setting down the crystal goblet containing bluefin tuna topped with Osetra caviar when I sense him behind me.
“Elly. Hello.”
I swallow and turn around. “Hello, Mr. Blackwood.”
Eyes as bright and deadly as the sun rake me up and down before they settle on my mouth. “Call me Quinn, please. Mr. Blackwood is a man who has the unhealthy habit of wanting to make his employees do things they may not want to,” he divulges in a stage whisper, sexy and pulse destroying.
My breath reacts accordingly. “Things like what?” I ask before I can stop myself.
He half-turns and throws his coat over the sofa. “Things I deem wise not to introduce before lunch, in case it turns your stomach.”
“I’m not delicate.”
For some reason, that reply invites that terrifying deathly stillness. Only his eyes move. He tracks my lips to my racing pulse. From my breasts to my hips to my feet and back up.
“Do you know how I feel about you, Elly?”
I actually gasp in shock at the unexpected question. “I…no, I don’t.”
He nods, as if we’re discussing the price of Kobe beef. “That’s fortunate because I don’t know either, save to admit that every time I hear you speak, every time you look at me, I want to reach for that cheap garment that has the audacity to lay against your perfect skin, rip it off your body and spend a considerable amount of time doing terrible things to you. So I’m most relieved to learn you’re not delicate.”
The latent power behind his words, the fierce focus propels me back a step. My hip bumps the dining table. “You can’t.”
He strides forward, his gaze merciless. “Mr. Blackwood most definitely can. Quinn undeniably wants to. But he’s prepared to listen to pleading arguments.”
“Do you often think of and refer to yourself as separate entities?”
A whisper of a smile threatens to transform his face, but a stronger force, a frightening force, devours it before it can live. “My shrink probably thinks I am. She finds me…challenging. In fact, she may have had a hand in this little vignette.”
My eyes widen. “She told you to tell me what you want to do to me?”
“She advocates laying one’s card on the table. The only card I’m interested in right now is the I-want-to-fuck-you-blind card. And since you’re not running screaming out the door, perhaps her idea has merit, after all?”
Blood rushes through me at the speed of lightning. My tongue is so thick in my mouth I have to maneuver my jaw before I can speak. And each word I’m about to utter feels like it’s riveted with spikes. “Mr.…Quinn, I’m sorry, but today’s my last day.”
He doesn’t blink. “Your last day.”
I swallow hard and nod. “Yes, I handed in my notice this morning.”
“Why?”
My teeth worry the inside of my lip while I fight to maintain eye contact. Looking away will rat me out. “My position was never permanent and I…I need to take some time off for personal reasons.”
“So, let me get this straight. You resigned this morning?”
Thoughts of being fucked by Mr. Quinn Blackwood recede a bit as panic flares. “Yes.”
“I see.”
He relieves me of the napkin I forgot I was holding and places it on the table. When his fingers wrap around mine, that flare unleashes harder but this time with a whole heap of lust. He escorts me to his desk and pushes me into the seat before it. He remains at my side as he hits a number on his phone.
“Mr. Blackwood, how may I help you?” a nauseatingly responsive female voice enquires.
“Nancy, can you tell me if this company has abandoned the notice period before employment termination clause?”
My breath slams out and stays out.
“No, Mr. Blackwood. The handbook clearly states the minimum of two weeks for junior employees and a sliding scale upward for senior employees.”
“Illuminating as always, Nancy. Thanks.”
He disconnects and leans against the desk, ankles crossed, thick arms folded as he stares at me. “Someone has dropped the ball downstairs. Would you care to enlighten me as to who that person is?”
Ice and lust and panic and the urge to kick my own ass, hard, fight for supremacy. I shake my head, both to dispel the forces, and to buy myself some time. There’s no way I’m throwing Sully under the bus, but all it’ll take is a simple phone call for Quinn to find out who hired me.
“I…don’t want to get anyone into trouble.”
“I feel as if we’ve had a variation of this conversation. Very recently.”
I purse my lips but silence won’t do me any favors right now. “Please, Mr. Blackwood.”
Heat flares in his eyes. He remains silent for a full minute, before he stands. “Come.”
He leads me to the dining table. The special containers holding sushi and the tuna on ice have done their job in not ruining lunch on top of everything else. Quinn doesn’t seat me at the opposite end of the dining table this time. He sets one place at the head of the table and motions me to sit.
Wracked in trepidation, I take a seat. He takes the seat next to me and picks up the delicate fork, heaps up a mouthful of caviar-topped tuna and presents it to me. This room, this man, even the food has an insane effect on me. I open my mouth and take the morsel. Heavenly flavors burst on my tongue and I want to close my eyes and die at the bombardment of sensations inside and out.
As I’m chewing, he reaches into his jacket and takes out a business card. Or what I imagine is a business card. It’s black with gold numbers on it, which he slides across the table to me.
“Do you have a phone?”
I hesitate. Technically, the phone in my possession is for a specific purpose, which I’m sure doesn’t include the scenario I’m mired in right now. So I should say no. “Yes.”
He waits.
I reach into my pocket and retrieve it.
He holds out his hand and I place the phone in it. A few taps later, a phone on his desk rings. He cancels the call and hands me back my phone along with the card.
I return them both to my pocket. The near silence of the whole thing fascinates and terrifies me.
Quinn’s lids descend as he arranges another perfect mouthful. “Prior to today, you owed me…something, didn’t you, Elly?”
“Yes.”
“So now, you owe me something plus two weeks.” It isn’t framed as a question. I owe Quinn Blackwood two weeks.
“I can’t give you two weeks. I have to be somewhere else.”
He raises the fork again, feeds me another mouthful. “For how long?”
“A couple of weeks. Maybe three. I can’t get out of it.”
“Then we’ll make a deal, Elly. You go do your thing that you can’t get out of. Maybe I’ll call you at some point, maybe I won’t. Either way, when you’re done with this thing, you come back here and give me two weeks.”
“You want me to come back and work for you?”
“That is to be decided. After all, I’ll have a couple of weeks, maybe three, to work out exactly what I want from you.”
“What if I don’t come back?”
He takes his time to feed me another mouthful, before cold blue eyes hook hard into mine. I have no doubt that the terrifying Mr. Blackwood is in residence. “If you don’t come back, Elly, every single one of the sixty-eight people working down in your precious basement will be fired.”
17
LIFT OFF
The windows at the back of the limo are tinted. Which is a good thing, because the less people to witness my meltdown reaching c
ritical mass, the better.
For the last hour, I’ve been repeating three mantras under my breath:
One million dollars.
Save my life.
Keep the secret.
Each time a silent fourth reverberates at the back of my head.
Deliver yourself to Quinn Blackwood.
His threat wasn’t idle. Not when he could buy a new set of catering staff once an hour every day for a year and barely feel a pinch in his wallet. But he was determined to make me see how serious he was. The chopsticks barely delivered the piece of tempura to my hungry lips when he added, “And I’ll start with Sully Manning.”
I give into a hysteria-tinged chortle as the limo crawls through traffic. We left Hell’s Kitchen at the stroke of seven. Besides a courteous greeting, the driver curtailed any attempt at conversation by putting up the partition in the limo, thereby sealing me in my moving luxury padded cell. I lasted fifteen minutes before I texted Fionnella to find out where the driver was taking me. She’s not answering.
The first inkling of where I’m headed comes when I spot the signs for an airport. But it’s not JFK or Newark. We’re headed toward Teterboro Airport.
I’ve heard a few clients from The Villa refer to it so I know it is a private airport.
The hairs on my nape prickle to attention.
Airport means security.
Security means a name popping up and getting flagged on a database. Fear, hot and acrid, floods my insides. I claw for the abandoned phone and stiffen my shaking fingers long enough to call Fionnella.
This time, she answers. “Everything okay?”
“No! We’re headed for the airport. I can’t fly. I…I forgot my ID back at the loft.”
“Don’t worry, it’s been taken care of.”
My gut ices over. “What does that mean? You took my ID from the loft?” I’ve only used it once since I arrived in New York and that was to prove to Sully that I was over 18. We both knew it was a fake, but he let it go. No way will it withstand a TSA check. I’ll be in handcuffs before the scanner is done beeping.