"I can do that. I assume jeans and a sweatshirt are better than a suit and skirt?"
"For sure. Okay, let me make a few calls, see what I can accomplish work wise before tonight."
"Okay. And Patrick?"
"Yes, Tabby?"
"I'm so looking forward to this,” she said after a moment, and I knew she was struggling to say something different. Fucking Pressman and his fucking games.
"Me too."
Tabby hung up, and I sighed, not looking forward to the next call I had to make. I dialed up Mark's cell phone, the one he'd given me for emergency matters. True to the nature of the number, he picked up after only one ring. "What's up, rook?"
"I really wish you'd stop calling me that," I said, a smile still coming to my face. "Although I guess it's better than amateur. Listen Mark, I need to talk with you. Tabby's going to be on the phone with you in about two minutes, and there's information that you and I need to discuss about it that she doesn't know."
"Are you telling me this because you don't want Tabby to know, or because she isn't in a need to know position?" Mark asked.
I chose my words carefully. "A bit of both. It has to do with my old life, and a connection to the Knave. Think you can get some time away from the house for a lunch?"
"Not at City Hall, I hope," Mark replied. "This scar isn't that much of a disguise."
"No, I was thinking the Park," I replied. "It's a public enough place, we could both blend in."
"Deal. One hour?"
"Deal. And Mark?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. Uhm, I'm going to need your advice on this one, I've let it go a while without bringing it up, and I don't know how to do it right," I said, feeling my face burn. "Jesus, I didn't plan this at all. Just, there's shit in my past."
"Shit that is hard to bring up to special people," Mark completed. "Yeah, that's a challenge. Okay. One hour."
I hung up my phone and sat back, just thinking. Fucking Scott Pressman.
I made it to the Park with a few minutes to spare, and went over to the bandstand that Mark had texted me to meet him at. In my hands was a bag from Burger King, a guilty pleasure that I hadn't indulged in all month. I saw Mark coming and waved, having ditched my work sport coat for a Spartans hoodie. We looked like two normal working class guys having lunch, with him wearing a jean jacket along with black denim. He was carrying a plastic bag that when he got closer I saw was from a sub shop nearby. "Sophie's going to want to kick your ass for that," he greeted me with as we slapped hands. "But I won't say anything."
"Thanks. Honest though, I haven't done this in weeks," I replied. I took out my burger and began. "So Tabby talked with you?"
"Don't worry about that," Mark replied, "I've got a Boston law firm that I've used for a lot of my contract stuff before. They're good enough to keep anybody that Pressman can hire off our tails, and just shady enough that they know how to protect our ass. But I doubt that's the reason you called."
I shook my head after taking a huge bite of my burger. Cheese, mustard, pickles, mayo..... pure heaven. "I know Pressman," I said bluntly, "or at least I did."
Mark nodded slowly and started on his lunch. "I figured as much. Some of the things you've said, you have more knowledge on the Knave than what a simple former bartender would. How do you know him?"
I blinked and shook my head, frustrated. "Back in my high school days. Hell, this would have been before you even moved here, I think. I was just thirteen, Scott was fifteen, sixteen maybe? Anyway, he was already into being a player, although back then it was being a player more than what he turned into. All of the guys in our little group thought he was so damn cool. Did you know by the time he graduated high school he'd already slept with half the female teachers including the Vice Principal of the school? And they talk about that shit on TV nowadays like its some sort of scandal. Scott Pressman was a walking scandal, and nobody said a damn thing."
"I'm not surprised. I never met him except for that one time."
I laughed, remembering when the news broke about the Knave's 'injury.' "Yeah, I was working the bar back then. Pressman himself came in, pissed off and so fucking depressed he could barely talk straight. I hadn't seen him in at least five years, not since him and I had a falling out, but for some reason he came in that night, already half drunk. I cleared out the bar, I didn't want some Confederation guy talking enough stupid shit to get the place shot up, and he proceeded to dump his whole story in my lap. I was damn near pissing my pants laughing until he put the forty-five on the table. Pressman might not have been a normally violent man you know, but you'd just taken away his dick."
"So what's the problem?" Mark asked. "I mean, Sophie knows about my history with Anita Han."
"You and Han?" I asked. "Really? I knew you made the hit, but there was more?"
Mark nodded. "For about a year I was one of her boys. Never emotional mind you, but she taught me a few things I still use to this day. Sophie was fine when she found out."
"Anita Han didn't mentally screw Sophie up," I replied, chewing on a fry. "I just didn't know how to talk with Tabby about this. I mean, how do you tell your girlfriend that one of your former buddies was the guy who had turned her inside out and screwed with her heart and head, and oh by the way, he was the last person you were with before me?"
"Can I ask, how close were you and the Knave?" Mark asked.
"For a while there, we were part of the same crew," I said. "I mean, we worked game together, and I'll admit we talked a lot of shit about girls together. That continued until Vince got shot."
"Who was Vince?" Mark asked. "You haven't mentioned before."
"Vince was my best friend through junior high and high school. We lived in the Hall, and we started running together soon after I got there. He and I were buddies, and when Vince met Scott, we all became part of the same clique. Pressman had the money and the moves, Vince was the athlete, I was the smooth talker to get us out of trouble. There were a few other guys who kind of rotated in and out, we tended to run in a group of four or five most times. The other two, whoever they tended to be, were kind of the groupies."
"I understand. What happened to Vince?"
I sighed and ate the rest of my burger. "Vince was always the best athlete of the bunch. That kid could ball like nobody's business. Unfortunately, his grades were terrible, and after high school he was unable to qualify for a decent school. Still, he was able to talk his way through our Confed connections into a local juco that had a team. I did my best to keep Vince shielded, I wanted at least one of us to get out of the life."
"I can understand that," Mark said. "But I'm guessing others didn't?"
"No," I replied. "There were a couple of bookies who did action on the local sports, even at the juco level. When Vince started lighting up the scoreboards and getting attention from big name schools, they let things build, until the odds were greatly in their favor. Then they called in their marker."
"Did they want him to lose?"
I shook my head. "No, just point shaving. They wanted him to look like shit, basically. Just one game mind you, but it turned out that it was the night that three different D-1 coaches were coming in to look at him. It was Vince's best shot at a top flight program, and he knew it. If he did what the bookies said, he'd lose his shot at a scholarship. If he didn't, he'd be pissing off a whole lot of Confederation bookies."
"He didn't do what the bookies wanted," Mark said gravely. "I remember the name, actually. It was before my time, but I heard the name."
I felt tears spring to my eyes. "He went out there, and I swear afterwards he knew what he was doing. He knew he was finished either way, so he was going to show one time how damn good he was. That night, he was Magic Johnson, Michael Jordan, and Lebron James all combined. Vince had forty four points by half time, and got even hotter in the second half. The final buzzer sounded, and he had a hundred and eight points, fifteen rebounds, ten assists, and five steals. It was the damndest thing I'd ever seen. Walki
ng off the court, he flashed me a smile and a thumbs up, tears streaming down his face, utter exhaustion and exhilaration written on his face. It was the last time I'd ever see him conscious."
"They hit him in the locker room?" Mark asked. I nodded.
"They waited until the rest of the team had supposedly cleared out, and the coach was out talking to some of the Division I coaches who had come to visit. The first bullet took him into the leg, the second took him low in the spine."
"So they didn't kill him outright," Mark commented. "Paralyzed?"
I nodded, "If he'd woken up, yes. But the way he fell, he hit his head on the bench, cracking his skull. The doctors did what they could, but between the gunshot wounds and the hit to the head, he went into a coma. He died four days later."
Mark sighed and finished his sub. "That's when you started peeling away from the Confederation."
"And Scott," I said. "He never admitted it, but he was the only other person who knew that Vince wasn't going to go along with the plan. Of course afterwards he denied it, but after that, well, things changed. It took me three years to really drop out of the life, and move on somewhat. That was the catalyst though."
"I see. I'm guessing with all of this, you never thought of talking about it with Tabby," Mark commented, bringing things back to the initial conundrum, "and now you don't know how to broach the subject."
"Not after the last screwup I had," I replied. "I just don't know."
"Well, in any case, good luck with your date tonight. I'd say you need to talk about it tonight with her. Tell her the truth, see what happens. She's stronger than she thinks. That girl’s been through a lot and she keeps bouncing back.”
Chapter 8
Sophie
I'd spent most of the afternoon coordinating with Mark's Boston lawyer on the whole situation about Pressman Contractors. The lawyer, a guy nicknamed The Squid, promised me he'd be able to take care of things. Mark had total trust in the man, and he'd apparently done work for him before.
I was standing in the bathroom, staring at myself in the floor to ceiling mirror as I pondered my reflection. I was gaining weight, that was unavoidable. My biggest concern however was that I'd been gaining weight too fast. My baby bump was becoming a full on pot belly, at least in my eyes.
I heard the front door close, and knew that Mark had come back from his meeting with Patrick and his shopping. He hadn't told me what he had gone shopping for, so I was surprised when he came in with his hands behind his back. "What do you have there?" I asked, smiling. "Don't tell me you spent money on some trifle or something."
"Not a trifle at all," Mark replied, coming behind me. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, looking at us in the mirror and showed me a single rose. "Gifts for the most beautiful woman in the world are never trifles."
He felt so good, his strong arms holding me from behind, I could barely breathe. "I'm hardly beautiful right now," I said, running my hands over the bulging stomach of my shirt. I took the rose from him and sniffed it, letting my arms dangle afterwards with a sigh. "I feel like a damned cow. And I still have three and a half months of this."
Mark nuzzled against the nape of my neck, his breath tickling and at the same time raising delicious goosebumps on my flesh. "Have I been that inattentive of you?" he asked, trailing little kisses over my neck.
"You haven't been inattentive," I said with a half groan, half laugh. He felt so good, and it had been nearly a week since we'd made love. Twice our plans for intimacy had fallen through, as I was too exhausted by the end of the day to do much more than fall asleep in the TV room. "I just... I'm not feeling very feminine."
"Well, that is something I shall have to remedy then, isn't it?" he said, nuzzling some more. He kissed my ear, his tongue following the curve down to nibble at the tip, my laughter evaporating as desire filled me. "Because I think you’re the most beautiful, wonderful woman in the whole world. Look."
Stepping back just an inch or two, Mark eased my shirt up and over my head, leaving me in just my bra. My tummy already poked out, and I unconsciously went to cover it. It just brought up so many memories of my heavier days. It was hard to not feel self-conscious.
"Stop," he said, taking my hands in his. "Look at yourself in the mirror. Look how the light bathes your skin, glowing with health. There's no need for makeup or lotions or anything like that, because you’re naturally beautiful and healthy."
Hearing those words from his lips sent ripples through my body, my heart fluttering. Looking into the mirror, I was captured by the intense fire in his eyes as he looked at my reflection, and the way his hands hovered over me, showing without touching just where I was beautiful to him. Kneeling, Mark continued his words, pulling my shorts and panties down. I stepped out of them, my legs rubbery from the desire building inside me.
"Look at your feet," Mark said, "with five of the cutest little toes I've ever seen, but with a hidden strength within them, the strength to serve as the foundation for your amazing self."
My breath was husky and dripping with want. I knew what Mark was doing, and oh my, was he doing it well. Seduction has always been as much about the mind as about the body with the two of us, and it thrilled me.
"I do. Then of course my eyes travel to your thighs, which are shaped perfectly, sweeping out to your hips that you know inflame my passions for you. Your hips that lead around to your delectable, beautiful backside, the backside that I love to massage, and kiss...."
I groaned, my lust taking over for me. Mark responded by literally kissing my ass, his hands pulling my hips back and towards his eager mouth.
After the mental foreplay he'd given me, I reveled in the feeling. Putting my hands on the mirror, I looked myself in the eyes and smiled, both me and my mirror image knowing we were in for exactly what we needed. Looking back down, I spread my legs, letting Mark have access to everything. He reached around, cupping my pussy with his right hand while he continued to kiss and lick me, his fingers working in slow, languid circles. I was so wet I knew he was already coated, but didn't care, it felt so wonderful. "Oh Mark, I need you so much."
"I need you," he replied. His left hand reached down to unbutton his pants and push them down, at least to his knees which were on the floor. "I want you more than I know how to say."
Part of me wanted him to take me, right there in the bathroom, looking in the mirror as my man, my husband, filled me over and over until we both came. But another side of me, the bigger part, wanted to be carried to our bedroom and made to feel even more beautiful than I felt at that instant. Now, I felt desired, I wanted to feel beautiful too.
I swear it was times like this that Mark transcends the human to superhuman. He read my mind, picking me up in his arms and carrying me through the house in his arms. Like a princess, he carried me through the halls of Mount Zion, having somehow kicked off his pants when he stood up, carrying me all the way to our bedroom.
Laying me on the bed, Mark kissed me, starting with my lips and working his way down my neck to my shoulders. He worked down my left arm, kissing the inside of my elbow and causing my breath to catch as he kept going, all the way down to my fingertips.
"I love you," Mark said, his eyes wide and soft, expressive with more than just words. He sucked my index finger into his mouth, licking around it and letting me pump it in and out of his mouth. I pulled it out and he kissed back down my arm, finding my lips again in a searing, passionate kiss. His hands roamed over my body, stroking over my stomach, hips and breasts as our bodies entwined on the mattress.
I could see it in his eyes, clear to his heart and soul. I was beautiful, that day, the next day, a decade, a thousand years from that moment. To Mark I was always going to be beautiful, regardless of how much my stomach expanded, or if my breasts sagged under the weight of having one, two, or a dozen children with him. I would always be beautiful to him, until the last moment his heart beat, and the last sight in his eyes would be me, his beautiful Sophie.
“Show me how
much you love me…”
* * *
"You know, you didn't have to be so damn good at it," I joked lightly later as we lay in bed, still gloriously nude. "I mean, I still don't want to move."
"Then don't," Mark said. He'd pulled on a pair of sweatpants, but that was it, just in case Tabby and Patrick's date came home early. I was of two minds on the matter. I hoped in one hand that it would, but was at the same time afraid. If they came home early because the bubbling desire that had been building between them for the past month was boiling over, I'd be the happiest woman in the world, even if I'd need ear plugs. On the other hand, if Tabby came home early by herself, I'd be crushed.
Mark had told me about his conversation with Patrick in the Park. Once I got past my initial shock, I understood his dilemma. It's never a good time to bring up former associates, and it wasn't like Patrick was still friends with Pressman. Mark hadn't told me about Anita Han, after all, and our relationship was stronger than ever.
Then again, it was still different, and I was worried. "What do you think will happen?" I asked as Mark came in, carrying two mugs of hot chocolate. "Tears of joy, or tears of heartbreak?"
"I think it depends on what fate has in store for them," Mark said, handing me my mug. He'd put cinnamon in it, just like I liked, along with three big puffy marshmallows. Have I mentioned he's perfect?
"What do you mean?" I asked, and took a big drink of my cocoa. He'd even made the temperature perfect, allowing me to take a deep drink without burning my tongue.
Mark grinned and leaned in, giving me a kiss. "You're cute when you have a cocoa mustache," he smirked after we parted, "but as to your question, I guess I'm just saying that it's all in the hands of fate. I think Tabby is a great woman, you know that. Hell, she's the second most perfect woman in the world to me."
I teased him just a bit, knowing his answer. "So if I didn't exist, you and Tabby?"
Mark just rolled his eyes. "You know the answer to that," he said. "Anyway, I think Patrick's come around a lot too. He's impressed me the past month. He's done his work with you with barely a complaint, just keeps coming back for more, and that's after putting in his work at City Hall. He's got a ways to go before I let him out on patrol with me, but he's come a long way."
Ambition 2: A Dark Billionaire Romance (Driven) Page 7