Craving Midnight

by A. M. Hargrove

  A Peek from Chasing Vivi

  Chapter One

  Vivienne

  Even though it’s only October, the frigid New York air razors straight through my coat, chilling me down to the marrow. No matter how many layers I add, it never keeps the wind and dampness at bay. I’m already sick of this weather and winter hasn’t even hit yet. Why the hell did I decide to make a new life here? Why not Texas or South Carolina? Or anywhere with year-round warmth? I walk the rest of the way to work, huddled deep into my coat.

  And speaking of work, my job sucks. My boss is a deceitful bastard. When I interviewed for the position, he made it sound as though I’d be in charge of IT and the business was on the cusp of exploding. I foolishly believed him. My lack of research into Java Beans & More, which is nothing more than a glorified coffee house, should’ve had me tying up my running shoes and hightailing it out faster than a space shuttle at launch, but every ounce of energy had evaporated from me after Mom’s death. Cleaning out the house, putting it up for sale, and taking that huge loss, had zapped me. That and the mountain of debt I was currently facing, which was why I snapped up this job, thinking it was a great opportunity.

  Breaking away from Virginia, getting a fresh start, and making a new name for myself initially had me pretty damn excited about moving to the Big Apple. It hadn’t mattered then that I’d be living in a space not much larger than a closet, cooking on a portable countertop burner and microwave, and using a space heater to keep warm, because my fucking landlord would turn out to be a crook. I also hadn’t cared much that there were sketchy people hanging out in the building and on the stairways at all times of day and night, making drug deals or prostituting themselves. Okay, maybe I did care a little. Make that a lot. But I’d hurry past them, telling myself it was fine. Thankfully, they didn’t bother me much after I made it plain I wanted nothing to do with them. Now, I wanted to beat myself over the head. I should’ve been more diligent when the offer came through, instead of leaping at it like a yapping puppy in search of attention.

  The bell rings as I push the door open. Vince’s cheerful greeting has me waving back, even though I’m still shivering and hunkered down in my jacket.

  “You in there, Vivi?” I hear him laughing from behind the counter.

  “Y-yeah.” My teeth chatter from the cold.

  “You need a warmer coat. Like one of those Canada goose coats.”

  “Ha-ha, aren’t y-you th-the f-funny one? Th-they o-only c-cost a w-week’s s-salary.”

  “Not quite, but close. Maybe you need some fat on your bones. That’d warm you up.”

  If only he knew. I’d spent most of my life trying to get rid of extra fat. Of expunging those nasty ViviVoom comments in my head from Crestview Academy. Girls are so fucking mean. No wonder it was always difficult for me to develop deep friendships. Trust didn’t come easy because of what I’d been through. Being called “ViviVoom” for six years of my life was the least of it.

  “Nah, I just need thicker blood,” I call out to Vince.

  Rubbing my hands together, I hug myself for a few minutes, trying to warm up. Then I unwrap the scarf from around my neck and face, but refuse to take my coat off. “Was the early morning busy?”

  Vince, who is tall and lean with sandy brown hair and hazel eyes, glances at the coffee cup clock on the wall. “Uh-huh. We’re in the lull now. But it’ll perk back up in about ten minutes or so.”

  “Good. I’ll get to work then.”

  I’m upgrading the software in all eight shops and integrating everything into one system. Whoever originally set them up was an idiot. Each shop had its own package and nothing synced. It was a nightmare. I designed a new program for the company and am now in the implementation stage. I get seated at the other computer stationed at the counter.

  This is a far cry from my days in the Silicon Valley when I worked my dream job. And this was supposed to be its replacement. What a joke. Then I think about Mom and how I spent her final years taking care of her. Yeah, I gave up my career, but I wouldn’t have traded that time with her for anything in the world. When her diagnosis of ALS came, it mowed me down like a tank, exactly like Dad’s death in the car accident did when I was twelve. After she died, I sold everything and decided to start over. Make a clean slate. That’s how I ended up in New York. I’m still facing a mountain of debt, and this job was supposed to be a stepping stone to get rid of it, but I can see now it’s not working out that way.

  “How do you like working for Joe?” Vince asks out of the blue, breaking the silence.

  I hedge, answering, “Why do you want to know?” I can’t tell him the truth. Joe is a fucking lying pervert asshole.

  “Just wondering. You seem to have your shit together. I’d think someone of your caliber would be working for a bigger company.”

  Me too, I want to say. But I never talk about my personal life with anyone. Even though Vince is a nice guy, he’s young, only twenty-three, and I don’t trust him. I remember when I was his age, only a few years ago, but it seems a lifetime ago. He might get drunk and run his mouth to his buddies about how I thought our boss was a dickface. And there’s no way I’m going to dump my shitload of issues on his shoulders either.

  “Thanks. I do have my shit together. This job presents a challenge, which is why I’m here.” It’s a bullshit answer, but I go back to working, hoping it suffices. I’m busy, my nose buried in the screen, keyboarding away, when the bell rings at least a dozen times, but I ignore it.

  Vince interrupts me, asking if he can log on. Without breaking concentration, I tell him to go ahead and keep working. I’m on the back end of the program, so it won’t affect anything he’s doing.

  Reaching over with my left hand to grab my coffee, I accidentally knock my cup over, creating an epic mess. I scramble to clean it up. When I finally glance up in search of more napkins to mop up the spill, I’m staring into the most gorgeous set of golden eyes, the exact ones I’d always dreamed about, the ones that made me do things at Crestview I told myself I didn’t agree with.

  Standing before me is Prescott Beckham—the boy of my teenaged fantasies. He sat next to me in a lot of classes. We ended up as lab partners in chemistry and that was when he proposed the deal. Could I please, oh please, with hot fudge on top help him out with his homework? At first, I didn’t respond, but then he said he’d pay me. That grabbed my attention. I was desperate, broke, and didn’t have an extra penny to spend.

  “I know you don’t have any cash. I’ve watched you at lunch. You eat cheap junk. Not even high dollar stuff. You like Oreos, but you eat those shitty fake kind. I’ll pay you. I have a lot of money, Vivi. Please?”

  And those damn eyes. Oh, God, his gold-hued irises nearly buckled my knees. I caved and said I’d do it. But I made it clear it was only for the money, not because he’d asked nicely or I agreed with it. The truth was, the money was great, but I would’ve done it for free. He was that kind of guy—so persuasive, so difficult to say no to, so everything. Not to mention I was secretly in love with him.

  I often dreamed about how one day he’d announce to the world that he didn’t mind that I was fat and unpopular, that he’d fallen for me anyway—me, in my too-tight skirt wrapped around my pudgy thighs, which certainly rubbed together. Why? Why did I torture myself like that? Why did I let myself believe a guy like him could fall for a girl like me?

  Now, here he is in the flesh, all six plus feet of tall, dark, and insanely sexy. And it pisses me off that someone can look so damn edible. Dressed to kill, he’s wearing a lovely black coat, which I’m sure is toasty warm and probably cashmere. Peeking from beneath it is a crisp white shirt and striped blue tie. He’s come a long way from his Crestview uniform.

  Amazon: http://amzn.to/2gmPjKn

  A Peek From A Special Obsession

  Prologue

  Special

  * * *

  The text had me scrambling to get out to L.A. I wasn’t sure what I’d find when I arrived, but she’d been
my best friend since first grade, and we swore always to be there for each other, no matter what. I knew she’d been through every avenue to tame her addictions, but the demon of drug abuse invaded her soul like the devil it was. None of the interventions had worked, and two years ago when I finally walked away, I’d been determined to stay out of her messy life of addiction. It had broken my heart worse than anything, but it was tough love, or that’s what they say.

  Except life isn’t always what it seems. The old saying about walk a mile in my shoes nailed me right in the gut when I was caught off guard by her call a few weeks ago.

  “I’m in trouble, Spesh.”

  This was nothing new for Sasha. Drugs had caused her all kinds of trouble since we were teenaged girls.

  “What kind?”

  “The real bad kind.” Her voice shook, and it scared me something fierce.

  “Sasha, you talking the kind where you need to get help again? Like the hospital kind? Because you know I don’t have much money to spare since I just opened the bar.”

  “I wish. I don’t need your money. It’s way worse than what you’re thinking. I did something really stupid this time.” She cleared her throat. Her voice had an edge to it I’d never heard before.

  I scooted forward in my seat and asked, “What’s going on?”

  “I…I—” There was a loud banging in the background. “I gotta go.”

  “Sasha, wait.” It was too late. She’d hung up on me. Sighing, I stared at my phone for a full minute before getting back to work, but I couldn’t get her out of my mind. Something was up, and I questioned whether or not I should call her parents. Then I recalled what happened the last time I did. They told me never to mention her name again. Nix that idea. So I played the waiting game. One day turned into two, with at least a dozen of unanswered texts.

  Finally after five days, she called again. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Sasha, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

  “If I tell you, it could put you in a real bad place too.”

  What the hell does that mean? I took a frustrated breath. “Do you want me to come out there and bring you home?”

  “I’m scared. I think I’m gonna die.”

  “Sash, don’t say that.”

  “No, no, listen to me. I know you’re probably thinking I’m overreacting, Spesh, but I swear I’m not. I need you to do something for me. There’s this, this thing … if something happens to me.” Panic laced her voice.

  “You’re talking crazy now.” I tried to calm her, but she kept insisting something terrible was going to happen. Only she wouldn’t give me any information and then she hung up.

  Another week passed before I got an emergency text.

  I need you to come here. Please! There are some things you need to know. My apartment. As soon as you can. Hurry!

  And that was it. I tried to call, but her phone went straight to voicemail. I almost called the police, but something warned me not to. That was how I found myself running through LAX toward the rental car buses. I had to get to my best friend—the girl who I’d known as long as I could remember—to see what had gone so terribly wrong.

  When I finally parked in the lot of her apartment complex, I checked my phone. I wanted to make sure this was it. My GPS directed me here, and even though it didn’t surprise me to see how seedy it was, I rubbed my arms as my skin itched with fear. My heart pounded out a rock-hard beat that traveled up to my cheekbones and almost made my teeth rattle. The sun had long since set, and it was more than a little creepy walking up the rusty metal steps leading to her second floor apartment. Wasn’t she scared living here? I damn sure would be.

  When I got to her door, I held up my fist to knock, but one touch pushed the door open. It was pitch-dark inside, so I reached in and felt the wall next to the door, hunting for a light switch. When I flipped it on, the sight froze me in fear. Her apartment had been completely trashed. I didn’t get farther than the doorway, but everything in her tiny living area was in shambles. Broken pieces of furniture lay in scattered piles, and her couch had been ripped apart with the stuffing torn out. The scene was so frightening, I hightailed straight back to the car.

  “Sasha, what in the hell did you do?” I murmured.

  On a scale of zero to ten, my anxiety level was at one hundred.

  About a couple of months back, Sasha had texted me a number to call in case anything happened to her. At the time, I thought she was overreacting; now I wasn’t so sure. The person who answered gave me explicit instructions. I was supposed to go directly to this individual’s home and not stop or speak to anyone. It was imperative I do exactly as she said. I was to monitor my rearview mirror to make sure no one was following me. If I thought I was being tailed, I was to continue driving until I reached a point of safety. When I finally made it to the destination safely, I could never have imagined in a million years what I was stepping into. Sasha could never have prepared me for this, for what awaited me, or for what I would gain in the process. I didn’t know whether to scream or to jump for joy. But I did know one thing. My life would never be the same again.

  * * *

  Chapter One

  Special

  Three Years Later

  * * *

  Jeb leans over and asks, “Special, what are we gonna do about that one?” He gestures toward the corner booth, which holds the imposing figure of an extremely inebriated man. His head rests flat on the table, forehead planted firmly in place, and it’s obvious he’s not going anywhere, any time soon.

  “Aw, fuck. Who kept serving him?” I ask.

  “Josie. I think she was hoping … you know.” He waggles his thick brows.

  “Dammit. I’m gonna have a talk with her. She keeps hoping with every guy who walks in this bar. This isn’t a damn whorehouse.”

  Jeb chuckles. “Yeah, you better talk to her real quick then, ’cause her attire has been leaning more toward hooker than waitress lately.”

  Running a hand over my sweaty hair, I shake my head in disgust. “The hell. I’ve been so busy, I honestly haven’t noticed. That bad, huh?”

  “Spesh, I don’t know how she works in those damn shoes she wears. You’d think she was working the strip in Vegas.”

  “Oh, God.” The groan I let out lasts for a minute. I’m frustrated because it’s difficult getting good help these days, and I’m working my ass off keeping this bar running. Not that I’m in financial trouble. It’s the opposite. Business has been fantastic, and that’s the problem. I need good, reliable staff, not the kind that are here to pick up men.

  “Maybe you should cut back on the hours you serve food,” Jeb suggests.

  “You know that’s where I make a ton. It’s a cash cow. When the customers have too much to drink and need some food to soak up the alcohol, they turn to the late night menu.”

  “Yeah, but you’re running yourself ragged.”

  “No, shit. That’s because I can’t seem to find solid help, besides you.” I check the time; it’s two forty-five in the morning. “Let me finish cleaning up back there,” I gesture toward the kitchen, “and then maybe that dumbass will rouse enough so we can order him an Uber or something.”

  “All right. I’ll get the bar taken care of.”

  When I’m done making the stainless steel in the kitchen gleam, I step back up front. Jeb is standing next to the booth where the dude is passed out.

  “Any luck?” I ask, wiping my hands on my apron.

  “Nope. But he’s not your average poor motherfucker, I can tell you that much.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  Jeb laughs. “Check out his watch.”

  A brief inspection gives me no hints. “Okay. What about it?”

  “It’s a Patek Philippe.”

  “Aside from the fact I can’t pronounce it, what, is it like a Rolex or something?”

  He laughs again. “Let’s say you could probably buy a dozen Rolexes for what he paid for tha
t one.”

  I shoot a look at Jeb. “And how would you know? You don’t even wear a watch.”

  He shrugs. “I’ve always had a fascination for them, and the reason I don’t wear one is because I can’t afford the ones I want to own.”

  Jeb is older, maybe in his late forties, though I’ve never asked. When I opened this place a few years ago, he came looking for a job and said he would be my most loyal employee. He’s been with me ever since and has lived up to his promise. I’ve learned a little about him, not a whole lot though, but maybe somewhere in his past he had money. He doesn’t have much now, or at least I don’t think he does. Jeb is a wealth of knowledge, from trivia to how to change the locks on the doors, and he looks out for me. I still can’t believe my luck in finding him.

  He interrupts my musing and says, “But that’s not the only reason.”

  “What else?”

  He holds something up between his fingers and thumb. “Well, holy cow. Now I do know what that is.” It’s a black American Express. Imprinted on it is Weston M.C. Wyndham, V. “Yeah, this dude is definitely Mr. Money Bags. Did you check out his name? So what’s he doing in a place like this? Not that my place is a dive or anything.” And it’s not. But it’s not what you’d call a high-class club, either.

  “Who knows? Maybe he decided to check it out for something different.”

  “Okay, I’ll give you that. But most people have a drink or two. They don’t get completely plastered and pass out on the table.”

  “True. So, what should we do?”

  “Did you check him for a wallet or a driver’s license?”

  “Yep, nothing except the AMEX, a key fob, and a big wad of cash,” he says.

  Releasing an exhausted sigh, I make a decision. “Take him to my place.”

  He shakes his head. “Spesh, you can’t do that. He isn’t a stray cat.”

  “Right, but I live the closest.” In the building next door, in fact. “And what are our other options?”