She unstacked the boxes to get to it. Opening the flaps, she pulled out a second, wooden box. She lifted the lid, half expecting the contents to glow like the briefcase in Pulp Fiction. It didn’t.
The items were meager but heavy in her mind. They were the few things she’d saved of her grandmother’s possessions. The hand-drawn birthday cards she’d made her growing up, the elastic binding them almost brittle. A CD of Swan Lake by the Moscow Symphony Orchestra. Her thin red shawl. She dug down until she found it. An old Bible, and inside, a thin square of linen bordered with pink lace tatting. Her grandmother had made it as a teenager.
She clenched the scrap of material in her hand and packed the other items back in the wooden box and then back into the cardboard one. Scooting until her back was against the wall, she held the cloth to her nose. It smelled of old paper and lavender. Instead of comfort, it made her feel more alone than ever.
She crawled over to retrieve her phone from the couch, sitting on the floor and leaning against the couch’s arm. Maybe…
Do you have a minute? To talk? she typed.
Sure, what’s up? Dimi replied.
She thought for a moment. She wanted to have a really good reason to text him, and nothing was coming to mind.
Thinking about where to get bookshelves, she replied. And then shook her head.
Home Depot. Or Lowe’s, he answered.
What was wrong with her? Just type the words “I’m feeling down and need someone to cheer me up.” Except that went against her whole life’s motto: Depend on yourself; rely on nobody.
She typed the words, seeing them on the screen. Her thumb hovered over the Send button. Why was this so hard?
Then his message appeared.
I think HD and Lowe’s will even put them together for you.
She let a breath out. She deleted the words she hadn’t sent.
I thought you offered to do that? Lol, she typed.
There was a long pause this time. The typing bubbles appeared… and then disappeared. Then appeared again.
Too busy now, but maybe next week if you still need help, came his answer.
So that was that. Fun, sexy time was over, and it was back to business.
K, thx, she replied.
She didn’t expect a reply, but the bubbles started again.
Good luck, Anya was his message. And if there’d been any doubt in her mind, it was gone.
At least it had been more fun than her other engagements. He was definitely the sexiest of anyone she’d met through Cavendish. She’d have great memories to relive late at night with her vibrator.
So why did her chest ache? And why did she have goose bumps? Something was moving in her belly, climbing her throat. Was she about to be sick? She hated throwing up.
But instead of vomiting, out came a loud hiccupping sob. She covered her mouth, shocked and embarrassed at the sound, but like vomiting, she couldn’t stop.
Hot sobs took over her body, and she slid to lie on the carpet. The emotion rolled out of her in guttural wails, slowing down and then starting again, and she had no strength to control it.
When it stopped, she found she’d rolled a few feet away from the couch, using her grandmother’s handkerchief to muffle the sobs and blot her eyes.
Babushka, I miss you.
There. It was said, the words she’d held in for a very long time. The words her grandmother had sworn her not to say.
“You won’t miss me.” She’d shaken her finger at her that last morning. “Don’t even think it, moya kroshka. Keep learning. Keep dreaming.”
She swept the last tears away. This was not the strong Anastasia her grandmother had raised.
Her phone chimed, and she looked over at the blue glow of the screen. She pushed herself up and saw the Cavendish app icon on her screen. Another engagement.
She reached for her phone, getting to her feet and leaving the last of her pathetic emotions on the floor. She smoothed the handkerchief over the arm of the couch to let it dry. No more tears.
She tapped the app icon, opening the latest engagement package. It was for tomorrow night.
Engagement Amount: $10,000.00
Engagement Package for Saigo
Client: Grisham
Event: Dinner in Treehouse (Savanna House)
Your Role: Server, shy, non-speaking, no eye contact with anybody
Consultant Partner: Scarlett (female date partner)
Client’s Role: Male date partner
Arrival Time: Car will pick you up at 6:00 p.m.
Instructions: As an assistant server, stand beside the beverage tray. When signaled, refill water or wine glasses. If you’re touched, act uncomfortable but don’t make eye contact. Client will take you away from the table into a dark corner. Client will masturbate against you without speaking. Return to your drink table and fulfill requests until client and partner leave.
Anya dropped the hand holding her phone to her side. Dimi was right, even though he hadn’t actually said the words. This was business, not fun and not romance.
She strode to her office, putting down her phone and opening up her budget spreadsheet. She entered $10,000 into the revenue column and watched her loans and tuition amount automatically lower.
At three engagements a week, she’d be paid off with tuition in the bank by July. Twenty-three engagements. Could she do it? She thought so. In fact… she duplicated the tab and typed a few more figures into it.
“Why drag this out?” she asked the screen.
She opened the Cavendish app on her phone and started a new message to her coordinator.
I don’t know what the protocol is, but what’s the highest number of engagements I could get? Because I think I can handle more, she typed.
22
Dimi bit into his apple, getting half the core as well. As he chewed through the pulp and seeds he watched his phone. K, thx shone up at him.
Don’t let her fuck you up. The words rang in his head.
He grabbed the phone and his water bottle from the counter and went into his garage. He’d taken the black Audi today, which left room on the far side for him to work out.
He had his own training session. Two minutes on the speed bag, two minutes of pushups, and two minutes of alternating kicks on the heavy bag. Repeat five times.
He propped his phone on the weight bench and started punching. Then he realized he was limiting his movements, so he could keep his phone in sight.
“Fuck!” he shouted and marched to the weight bench to knock the phone face down. She’s already messing with me.
By the time he got in the shower, he’d turned his phone off. He’d keep his laptop open for any urgent Cavendish messaging that came through the app.
He toweled off and pulled on his sweatpants. He grabbed his laptop and sank into the couch, opening up the renovation plans. He’d been looking these over for weeks. They weren’t that technical, other than creating an enclosed second story for offices and temporary living space. It wouldn’t be as elaborate as his lair, but it would work.
He opened an email and addressed it to his contractor.
I think we’re there with the plans. What’s your timeframe to start work? I promised the tenants 90-days notice. Thanks, Dimitri
He punched Send and checked the Cavendish app for messages. There was one from Jones.
I’ve got two guys on holidays and two last-minute engagements coming up. Can you cover for me at the center so I can fill in on detail? Jones
He clicked on Reply.
I’ll fill in on detail. It sets a better example for you to stay in charge. St-Pierre.
He closed the lid and set the laptop on the coffee table. He wouldn’t say his dream was in motion until he paid the hefty deposit his contractor wanted and had some dates set, but he’d budged it a little. The guys at the gym would be happy. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t feel the same though.
* * *
Dimi hadn’t realized the crew’s holiday had started that
day. Jones was swamped.
“Just tell me where you need coverage,” Dimi said, watching Jones try to race through background checks on new clients.
“I didn’t want to trouble you.”
“It’s no trouble. What will help you the most? I’ll work at Liddell’s desk, since he’s not here.”
“I’ve already started on these checks, but if you test a few cameras and door sensors on the properties, that would be great. There are three tickets I’ll email you.”
Dimi nodded and headed to Liddell’s desk and computer.
One ticket was for a broken perimeter line behind the manor, and the other two were for cameras at the treehouse. Just as he sent all three to the printer, a fourth popped up, forwarded by Jones.
Program and tech-sweep cottage 4 at the compound.
“Sorry!” Jones called and then laughed. “But you offered to help.”
Dimi printed that off and added it to his clipboard. He shrugged on his coat and grabbed the tools.
“Just wait until you’re the one who has to meet with the ladies,” he said at Jones’s doorway. “They’ll eat you alive.”
Jones blanched. Dimi had fun creating a frightening image of Yuki as a CEO from hell. He figured it was sixty-five percent true.
* * *
The perimeter line fix was quick and easy. A branch had fallen on the chain link and snapped the wire. A quick tab-bond and he was off to the treehouse.
He drove the golf cart over the grounds behind the manor, easing it through a shallow creek and into the tall grass that mimicked Sahara grasslands. He found the narrow cart path, which led him to the front of the house and the dirt driveway.
The Savanna house didn’t see many visitors in the summer months. Like all the buildings, it was set back from the road behind bamboo and rubber trees and vine screens. The low, multilevel house was built on low stilts and had a heavy thatched roof.
The house had a large common room and three smaller bedrooms. Oddly, one of these was styled in a Moroccan theme with pillows and scarves and gold panels following a request from their highest-wealth client. He passed away after only using it once, and to Dimi’s knowledge, it hadn’t been used since.
Behind the house were lifelike yellow grasses and broad-canopied acacia trees. Their landscapers had done an incredible job mimicking the scale and expanse on the two acres behind the house.
Two trees were in the back, and the treehouse perched under the canopy of the tree in the foreground. He kept the cart on the narrow track to leave the grasses pristine.
“Hi, St-Pierre,” greeted Crowley, the Savanna house manager. He was carrying a large wooden tabletop. “They’ve got you pulling field duty?”
“Holiday coverage,” he said with a shrug. “Look who’s talking. The manager is doing the setup?”
“I don’t get to boss people around until late fall. Until then, I’m the entire skeleton crew.”
Dimi lifted his tool kit out of the cart and followed Crowley up the staircase that wrapped around the thick fake tree trunk. The man rested the tabletop against the tree trunk and went back down the stairs.
“I’ll check all cameras while I’m here. I shouldn’t be too long.”
“Take your time,” Crowley called up. “You won’t be in my way.”
Dimi referred to the ticket, spotting the malfunctioning camera inset into a rafter. He popped it out and unplugged it, no bigger than a dice. He replaced it with the one he’d put in his pocket.
He hopped down and pulled out his phone, accessing the security program. He entered the new camera’s IP and pinged the camera. A green glow lit up. He tapped another button to disable the light and tried zooming and panning, satisfied that it was working.
He checked the other two cameras. They functioned fine but were angled incorrectly. He adjusted them until they provided the proper visual and then shut his laptop.
“You just missed the client. He was here earlier, checking things out,” Crowley said, huffing under the weight of the two chairs and wooden stand he carried up.
“Oh yeah? I guess for the money they’re paying, they can make sure everything goes to plan.”
“This guy just seemed anal, marking where he wanted everything to go with little pieces of tape. See?” He pointed to crisscrossed strips of masking tape. He put the chairs on either side of it and then rolled the pedestal from behind the tree trunk to settle right over the mark. “Then he moved around to judge angles, like he was directing a movie.” Crowley rolled his eyes.
“Clients, huh?” He commiserated with Crowley. “Can’t live with ‘em. Can’t get rich without ‘em.”
This drew a big laugh out of Crowley.
“Fuckin’ A,” Crowley said.
Dimi looked around the treehouse, a tightness in his shoulders. “Were you here with him the whole time?”
“Yeah. Well, I was bringing up all the linens and tableware, so I might have been up and down the stairs a bit, but he didn’t give me any weird vibes.”
“What time is the engagement tonight?”
“Seven.”
“All right. If you sense anything weird, buzz me on the walkie. I’m pulling a double shift, so I’ll be around.” He hadn’t planned on that, but his gut said something might be off, and he always trusted his gut.
“Will do,” Crowley said and waved as he headed for the stairs.
Once he was out of sight of the treehouse, he stopped the cart and checked is phone. A couple clicks logged him into the schedule, and he saw Grisham had booked the treehouse. And Anya was his consultant.
* * *
As he took the back path to the compound, he voiced a text to Jones. “Why don’t I pull a shift tonight so you can get caught up? I can follow up on a few tickets Liddell hasn’t closed too.” He slowed the cart at a corner and tapped the green button, sending the text to Jones.
Knowing it was Grisham lessened the tightness in his shoulders. That guy was about as by-the-book as you could get. But it couldn’t hurt to keep an eye on the situation.
The situation or Anya? a knowing voice taunted.
He pulled up to the small apartment with the number four on it. Two across the street were temporarily occupied by service personnel, and he pulled out his phone to double-check there were no new tickets.
Grabbing his tools, he swiped his band and entered the apartment.
He checked the cams and the security panel on the back of the building. The set-up crew had already stocked the kitchen with food and the closet with linens, and the only thing left to do was program the consultant’s code for the door.
He tapped his phone app just as he heard a car pull up. And a familiar voice.
Opening the door, she rounded the corner carrying a large box with her pack on her back.
“Dimi,” she said, her face blank. “I mean St-Pierre.”
“Saigo,” he said, staring at her.
“Can you, uh…” she said, nodding at the door. Stepped back and held the door open so she could walk in.
She looked like she’d rather have the driver take her for another loop around the estate until he left, but the driver in question rounded the corner behind her.
“Where would you like these?” he asked, holding two boxes.
“Probably in the middle of the living room,” Dimi replied before he could stop himself. “Unless you got those bookcases.”
Anya gave him a sour look and stepped out of the driver’s way.
Dimi stepped beside her and turned back to his app, accessing the unit’s security interface.
“Could you swipe your wristband?” he asked her, and she complied.
The driver walked out and past them, and Dimi closed the door.
“Swipe again to test it,” he instructed, and she did. The door clicked and he opened it, just in time for the driver to bring in more of her things. He set them just inside the door.
“That’s all of it,” he told Anya and gave them both a brief nod.
�
�Thank you,” Anya said.
They both watched him get into the car and drive off.
He should leave too, but instead he stood in the doorway, looking at her. She stared back.
“So. You’re moving in,” he said.
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I am.”
“Why?”
“The condo was too big.” She huffed out a breath and shoved past him into the unit.
“That makes no sense.”
“It doesn’t have to,” she said, sliding off her backpack. “Thanks for whatever you did for the door lock.”
Though she meant to dismiss him, he stepped inside and closed the door.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Nothing. Except Cavendish work. I plan on being busy, and it makes more sense to stay here. On the property.”
“You plan on being busy. How are you planning that?”
“I’ve asked for more engagements.”
His head jerked back at that.
“And you think they can fill your schedule, because you ask?”
“They did fill it,” she replied, giving him a smug look. “I have an engagement tonight and two this weekend.” She flipped open one of the boxes and took out four books, laying them on the coffee table. “Look, I’m even unpacking.”
He watched her move around the table and sit down, grabbing one of the books and flipping through the pages. She stopped and brushed her hair back then focused on the book.
He set down his tools and leaned back against the wall, watching her. Her eyes flicked up to his.
“You can go any time,” she prompted.
“Why the rush?”
“To get you to leave?”
“To get more engagements.”
“I have a plan and I chose to accelerate it; that’s all.” She looked back to her book, flipping a page even though she hadn’t read a word.
“Do you think everyone gets ten grand per engagement?” he asked, folding his arms on his chest.
She sighed and her shoulders slumped, looking at him wearily. “Are you about to scold me? Like my grandmother used to?”
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