“Oh, I don’t know, darling, something in retail, perhaps. It would just be a few days a week.”
“A few days a week!”
So much for his good mood! Feeling her panic kick in, she hurried to smooth things over. “Drew, please, forget I ever mentioned anything.”
“I provide you with—” he flung his open arms wide, presumably to encompass the bounty of the apartment “—all this, anything you want, and still it’s not enough.”
He slammed the glass down, sending scotch lopping the sides. The wet ring would leave a permanent stain on the wood if it wasn’t wiped up. Were she a normal woman in a normal relationship with a normal man, she would have whisked away the spillage and reminded him to use a coaster, all without worry of being backhanded—or worse. Her situation was nothing if not ironic. Growing up, she’d yearned for a glamorous life, an existence far removed from the tool-belt-wearing brute her mother had married. Being poor and getting hit had seemed to go together, like Forrest Gump’s peas and carrots. Looking back, she supposed it made sense that Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous had been her favorite show even if she had watched it in syndication.
But now she knew that brutes came from all walks of life, from those living below the poverty line to others pulling in eight-figure salaries. She no longer yearned for “champagne wishes and caviar dreams,” but a normal life where she felt loved and cherished, respected and safe.
Normalcy was what she had with Marc. It was impromptu picnics in the park, and picking out kitten toys together, and squabbling over how long he had to stand posing. Meeting Drew’s glaring gaze, she was yet again struck by the contrast to Marc. His eyes were hazel, thickly lashed, and deeply kind—so kind that even after several months, Honey sometimes still found it difficult to meet them. More than anything, those eyes told her what kind of man he was, the kind of man who might have been hers if only she’d had the character and courage to hold out for him.
“If I find that you’ve pawned so much as one piece of the jewelry I’ve bought you over the years—”
“I would never part with a piece of it.”
That was another lie—a whopper. Though she hadn’t sold anything yet, she had gone so far as to take a few of the glitzier pieces to be appraised. High-end jewelry was touted as an investment—until you went to sell it. Once she left, pawning her jewelry would be a stop-gap measure, a way to keep the wolf from the door for a few months at most—long enough to figure out her life?
The house buzzer had Honey whipping around. Who could it be? Other than Drew, no one ever came over, especially not Marc, not after that first day.
Drew followed her to the call panel. “That would be Frank,” he said, shifting her aside.
“Frank?”
He nodded. “Frank Dawes, a work buddy of mine who really wants to meet you.”
*
“Honey, meet my main man, Frank. Frank, this is Honey.”
Paunchy, red-eyed, and wearing the remains of his dark hair in a Donald Trump comb over, Frank openly ogled her. “Wow, Drew, she’s all you said and more.”
Honey knew that look—and she knew she didn’t like it. Behind the scenes, finance guys, so-called suits, were ruder than any construction worker. Wolf whistles and cat calls were at least honest. Men like Drew and Frank weren’t only skanky—they were shameless hypocrites.
“Figures Ole Drew here would keep you all to himself,” Frank went on, jabbing Drew with his elbow. “You always were a selfish son of a bitch, Winterthur.”
He had that much right.
Drew grinned back. “Consider this me making it up to you.”
Honey marveled at the uncharacteristic joviality. Always so touchy with her, Drew certainly seemed to take his colleague’s ribbing in stride.
Frank peeled off his suit jacket, handing it to Honey to hang. “You give me this, and we’re even.”
So they’d struck some sort of deal or, more probably, a bet, and Drew apparently had lost. Stomach sinking, she wondered what he’d wagered. Searching for clues, she glanced over to him, but for once he couldn’t seem to look her in the eye.
“I’m going out for a while,” he announced, his gaze on the apartment door. “I promised to pick up some … stuff for the kids.”
“But you just got here. What about dinner?” As much as she wanted to clear him out, replacing him with Frank didn’t seem like much of a trade-up.
He shrugged. “You and Frank have it. I’ll pick up something on my way home.”
“Home” meant Drew’s other apartment, the one he shared with Katharine and the kids on West 76th Street. In their early days, Honey had dared to drop by the building once. Lingering at the entrance, all but willing Drew’s wife to walk out, she’d imagined living there someday soon in Katharine’s stead. At the time doing so had seemed poignant, tragically romantic. Now it struck her as seriously fucked up.
“Gotta go. It’s almost eight.” He paused to consult his wrist, or rather the vintage Piaget watch banding it. Eighteen karat gold and obscenely expensive, it was an anniversary gift from Katharine from three years ago. Back when Honey had still believed she was in love with him, seeing him wear it had hurt her.
Not so now.
Honey followed him over to the door. “Drew, please, you can’t just … leave me here alone with him.” She gestured back to where Frank stood mixing himself a drink.
“Got any ice?” he called out from the bar.
Honey ignored him.
Drew laid two fingers beneath her chin, lifting her face so that she had no choice but to look at him. “Babe, babe, c’mon, we both know you don’t need any chaperone. Just be nice to him, show him a good time. He’s in the middle of a divorce and needs a sympathetic ear to pour his troubles into. You’re always complaining about feeling isolated—lonely. Now I finally bring a friend over and you’re giving me shit about it.”
“I’m not—”
“Just be your sweet self for an hour or two. Can you do that for me?”
“But I’ve never met him before. What are we supposed to talk about?”
“Talk about?” A smirk suffused his face. “I’m sure you’ll come up with something. Tell him you’re thinking of taking a class. I’m sure he’d be into hearing all about that. He’s all about self-improvement.”
She caught at his hand. “Drew, please—please don’t leave me.”
“I’ll be back before you know it. Have a drink for once. It’ll loosen you up.” He grabbed his jacket and slipped out the door.
Feeling as though she were walking the pirate plank in an Erroll Flynn film, she retraced her steps into the main room. Frank was making himself at home on the loveseat, a gin and tonic in one hand and the remote in the other. He’d loosened his tie and undone his top shirt button. Wiry black chest hairs peeked out from his open collar. More hairs sprouted from the backs of his fat-fingered hands.
“So you’re into old movies, huh?” He jerked a chubby hand toward the wall of movie posters.
“I enjoy classic films, yes.”
He seemed to find that funny. “I enjoy movies too. Drew mentioned he has quite a … collection.”
Honey knew all about Drew’s porn stash. It wasn’t like he made any effort to hide it from her. Watching people fuck relaxed him, or so he insisted. Despite her pleadings, he often made her watch with him. That several of the films featured two of her FATE friends, Sarah and Liz, formerly the adult film actresses Sugar and Spice, made viewing particularly uncomfortable, not that she cared to explain that to him. So far he was completely in the dark about her weekly Monday night FATE meetings. Honey meant to keep it that way.
“Maybe we could watch something together?” Frank suggested with a wiggle of wiry eyebrows.
“You’re welcome to watch whatever you like,” she said, knowing that if she was rude to his friend, Drew wouldn’t hesi
tate to take it out on her later. “I’ll just be in the kitchen.” She turned to go.
Frank flung an arm across the couch back. “Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that. Make yourself a drink and pull up a seat.” He patted the cushion beside him as though he were the host and Honey his guest.
Honey stayed on her feet. “No, thank you.”
He took a swig of the G&T and eyed her. “You know, Drew told me all about you.”
“Sorry?”
“Don’t play innocent with me. I know how you two hooked up.”
Drew had sworn never to tell and obviously he had—yet another reason to move forward with leaving him. “We met at a corporate function—a party.”
“Oh yeah, you met at a party all right, but you were no regular guest.”
That did it. Too furious to be afraid, she strode toward the apartment door. “I think you should leave.” She grabbed his coat from the hook and held it out for him to take.
“Yeah, well, it’s not exactly up to you, now is it?”
“This is my apartment, and I’m asking you to leave—now.”
Smirking, he set down his drink and stood. “This dump and everything in it belongs to Drew—and that includes you.” He started toward her.
Honey thought about grabbing her purse and running out, but she had Cat to consider. He would need to eat soon, plus she couldn’t risk him possibly crying and being found by Frank who would, of course, rat her out to Drew.
Reaching her, he grabbed her chin, jerking her face to his. “Drew tells me you could suck the cork out of a wine bottle, you’re that good. Let’s see whether or not he’s exaggerated.”
“Stop it!” His big, pinching fingers really hurt. She tried pulling away but it was no use.
“Hey, don’t get your thong in a twist. I’m just being friendly.”
“I thought you were Drew’s friend.”
He laughed at that. “I am. And friends share … lots of things. If he wants my help covering his ass on Investor Day, he knows he has to keep me happy, and right now my happiness hinges on him passing me a key to this place—and 24/7 access to you. But first I want a little nosh.”
She jerked back. His sloppy kiss, wet and stinking of booze, landed on her cheek instead. “I don’t believe you. Why would Drew need you to cover for him at work? He’s a partner.”
One ugly, thick brow lifted. “That, sweetheart, is the billion dollar question.”
He grabbed her again, pinning her arms and pulling her hard against him. Crushed against his barrel chest, Honey felt as if she couldn’t breathe. His erection pushed against her lower belly, and he shifted his hips, making sure she could feel it.
Panic closed her throat, preventing her from screaming. She was about to be raped in her own home, not by some random perpetrator but by a man her “boyfriend” had set her up with. Willing herself to calm down, she considered her options. Her arms might be pinned but her legs were still free. She lifted her right one—and drove her bent knee upward into Frank’s balls.
He let her go in an instant and doubled over. “Why, you little bitch,” he hissed, cupping his groin and backing away.
Honey eyed her purse and keys, both hanging on the coat rack behind him. She was ramping up to make a rush to grab them when the apartment door opened.
Drew poked his head inside. “I forgot my phone.” Entering, his gaze went from Honey to Frank and his brows shot up. “What’s going on?”
“You owe me—double.” Frank straightened, stalked over to the door, and grabbed his overcoat off the hook. He threw it over his forearm and turned around. “This isn’t over,” he said, stabbing a fat finger in Honey’s direction.
Drew threw an arm about Frank’s shoulders as though he, and not Honey, was the injured party. “Don’t worry. I’ll deal with her later. C’mon, I’ll walk you down.”
*
Drew returned a few minutes later. Whatever calm he’d shown in front of Frank was burned away by glowering fury. “Clothes off, on your knees—now.”
Sitting on the loveseat hugging her knees to manage the shaking, Honey looked up. “No, Drew, please, you have to listen. He tried to—”
“I don’t give a shit if he screwed you left, right and sideways. He’s not just my friend. He’s my business associate. And thanks to you, he’s royally pissed. You need to be taught a lesson—and I’m going to teach it—tonight. Now get undressed.”
Honey swiped a hand across her streaming eyes and shook her head. “I won’t, not like this. You can beat me, you can kill me, but you can’t make me do that, not anymore.”
Meow, meow, meow …
Honey’s heart dropped. Every bit of moisture seemed to be sucked from her mouth.
Drew’s eyes widened. A smile twisted his lips. “The neighbor got a kitten, huh?”
Be quiet, Cat. Please darling, please …
Meow! Meow!
Honey sprang to her feet. “I’ll speak to Mrs… . to her tomorrow, ask her to put him—it—in another room.” The words tumbled out in a flurry, desperate and choppy. For someone who lied with fair frequency, she was truly terrible at it.
The triumph on Drew’s face told her that he wasn’t buying it. Cat’s crying was nonstop now, the sound clearly coming from within the apartment. Like a hunting hound sniffing out its quarry, Drew followed the mewling to the pantry door. Honey rushed after him, tripping over her feet to try to get to Cat’s hiding place before he did.
They reached the kitchen at roughly the same time. Any further dissembling was pointless. Drew had found her out. The best she could do would be to swear to have Cat gone in the morning. Wherever she took him, even a shelter that euthanized surplus pets, would be preferable to what Drew might do.
Heart pounding, she said, “Please, it’s not what you think. It’s not what it looks like.”
Ignoring her, Drew pulled back on the bi-fold door, and Cat popped out. He swung around to Honey. “I’d say it looks like a cat.”
She eyed the kitten swishing about her ankles. Could she grab Cat and make a run for it? The last time she’d tried escaping Drew had caught up with her in the hallway before she made it to the stairwell. At least this time she wore ballet flats rather than heels. It was a long shot, but it was also her and Cat’s best chance.
As if reading her mind, Drew reached down and scooped up the startled kitten before she could. Grasping Cat by the scruff, he left the kitchen area, crossed the living room, and carried the terrified, shrieking animal over to the sliding-glass balcony door.
“Drew, no!”
With his free hand, he drew back on the door and threw one foot over the threshold. Honey tried using her body as a barricade, blocking him from stepping out, but it was no use.
Holding Cat away from him to avoid being clawed, Drew edged over to the rail. “Morris here had better sprout some fucking wings.”
Cat’s wailing filled the night, eclipsing even the traffic noises below. Tiny orange paws flecked with cream pedaled the air, seeking the security of solid ground.
Honey fell to her knees, the chilly air whipping her hair into her eyes, the cement cutting into her skin. Tears scalded her eyes, slid down her flushed face. “Please, Drew, I’m begging you. Don’t do this. He’s just … a little kitten. Do what you want to me, but leave him alone. He’s not … he’s not even mine. I’m just … keeping him.”
Drew stilled. “You’ll do anything I say.”
She turned her face to look up at him. Even in the throes of her fear, Honey acknowledged she’d never hated someone so much.
He turned away from the rail. “I want this … thing out of here tomorrow, got it?”
Honey released her held-back breath. “Yes, yes, I’ll take him back, I swear it.”
And she would. She knew Drew. He never bluffed, at least not with her. The next time she wouldn’t be so fortu
nate, and neither would Cat.
First thing in the morning, she’d call up Liz and beg her to take him, temporarily or, better yet, permanently. Either would solve the immediate problem. If Liz didn’t adopt him, then the rescue lady in Union Square would have to honor her word and take him back once she was back in town. Honey had been stupid to bring an animal home in the first place, stupid and selfish to think she could live like a normal person, free and unafraid, even for a few paltry days. She should have known better than to bring a helpless creature into the hot mess that was her life. She did know better and yet …
Drew tossed the kitten. It was a tough throw but at least Cat landed on the patio on all fours rather than splattered on the sidewalk below. He sprang over the threshold and scrambled inside, slipping beneath the sofa. With luck, he would stay there and out of sight until Drew left.
But he wasn’t going anywhere until he had his pound of flesh, Honey knew that. They’d struck a deal, and he would expect her to hold to her end of it. He needed to hurt someone, and that someone was her. Feeling as though she were living a nightmare version of someone else’s life, Honey stood on stiff legs. She wiped a hand across her wet eyes, turned, and walked back inside the apartment. The glass door slammed shut as Drew followed. She didn’t bother looking back, nor did she need to. By now she knew the basic drill. She also knew that what lay ahead would be far worse than anything he’d so far done to her. Unlike the night he’d thrown her down the stairs, he was in full possession of his faculties. His quiet, calculated silence was far more threatening, far more terrifying, than a storm of flying fists and shouted accusations.
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