by Cynthia Dane
“Oh? What did you surmise?”
Nala put her glass down, crossing her ankles beneath her chair. The long stiletto heels pierced the floor and put so much pressure on the soles of her feet that she winced in discomfort. “You’re a man of means who doesn’t say much and has some agenda with Xavier Crow. You won’t tell me anything about it, though. Not that it’s a problem. I’m not exactly in a hurry to share my own tale with you.”
“That’s actually why I invited you to dinner first.” Vincent downed half his glass already, his head tipping back and Adam’s apple pulsing. “We need to go over the details of this relationship. We got caught on the spot last time when we were asked how long we were dating. We need to figure out how we met and where we’re going. Also…” He cleared his throat, still refusing to look Nala in the eye.
“What?”
Finally, his frosty blues bore into hers. “I would like some transparency. I need to know exactly what you want from all of this. I know you want something negative from Crow, but what, exactly? What do you want from me besides an excuse to get close to him? Money?”
Nala slumped in her seat, breasts sagging against the table. “The money sure is nice. I’m not going to pretend otherwise.’ She shrugged. “You’re paying me more than any job I’ve ever had before. By the way, am I getting another check soon? You said a grand a week.”
Something twisted on Vincent’s face. “Of course. I’ll make sure you get a check Sunday.”
“Nice.” More winter clothes! Rain boots! Nice ones!
“That doesn’t answer my other questions, though. Why do you want access to Crow?”
“Why do you want access to him? More business opportunities?”
Another grimace. Everything Nala said seemed to be a harpoon to the man’s gut. “You’re deflecting, but I’ll humor you.” He tossed his wallet onto the table, letting it flip open to a picture of the woman from his office. This one was candid, with her long, curly tresses bigger than her smiling face as she perched on a picnic blanket and wrapped herself in a baggy striped sweater. She’s pretty. Prettier than Nala, anyway. Not that it was difficult to be plainer than a girl who wore no makeup and kept her hair straight out of convenience.
“Who is that? You had a picture of her in your office.”
“Yes. I keep her picture there to remind myself every day that she’s gone.”
“I see.” Dread twisted in her stomach. She wasn’t sure she liked where this was going.
“Her name was Desirée. She was my classmate at Stanford. And…” Vincent looked Nala head-on, daring her to defy what he was about to say. “I believe that Xavier Crow is involved with her death.”
Shudders rippled from his side of the table to hers. Nothing sexual about it. This was pure, conniving hatred that they shared on a mutual base level. So he killed this woman too. No, that was the wrong way to look at it. Had her killed. Nala wasn’t dumb in all of this. She knew Xavier Crow would never kill a woman himself. He would hire someone to do it. He had the money and the means. Why dirty his own hands when plenty of people were willing to do it? How much had the deaths of Desirée and Tasha cost, anyway? A million dollars? Hundreds of thousands? Mere thousands? Nah, he would hire a real pro. He has too much to lose. That’s why their deaths were better than whatever they were going to do to him and his business.
“Why would he do that?” Nala asked carefully. “He would have to have a good reason.”
Vincent studied her reaction. “You don’t ask me how I know. So you believe me?”
“I certainly believe your suspicions are not unfounded. However, I would like to know why you thought this. Did she work for him?”
“Yes. An intern at one of his real estate firms. Desirée was at Stanford doing the same coursework as me. Namely, computer engineering and app development. She was working on a project to help real estate agents manage their properties… the app I did for Crow may or may not have been the finished product of what she started.”
“I see. Why would he kill her?”
“Had her killed. Don’t be stupid.”
“I’m not.”
Vincent narrowed his eyes. “I don’t have a lot of details. In her last few months, she was working closely with him, and was becoming more and more paranoid. She said that she thought she was being followed. When I asked her what she was working on, she remained hushed and said it was confidential. I didn’t see how. Everyone knew about her project, most of all me. So why was she holding back? It didn’t make any sense.”
Nala leaned against the table. “Then she ended up dead?”
Shadows cast themselves across the room, summoned by Vincent’s wary countenance. “It was a late, rainy night. She told our friends that she would meet us for drinks after she got off work with Crow. Next thing I know, I’m getting a phone call saying that she had ran off the road and fallen fifty feet. Broke her neck. Instant death.” He snapped his fingers for emphasis.
“Well, it was a rainy night.” Nala didn’t like playing devil’s advocate, but she wasn’t about to jump into telling her own tale until she got more details from Vincent. Sometimes she still had the sinking feeling that this was all a scam to get her to admit nefarious details about herself. As if Vincent were really the one working for Crow and sousing out whether or not Nala should be the next target.
“Desirée was one of the most cautious drivers I knew. She would have never fallen asleep or not paid attention, especially if it was raining. An investigator said there was evidence of her breaks failing on the curb. Nothing came of it. Crow was generous and paid for everything, including any investigation fees.” Vincent shook his head, disgust riddling his features. “He paid for her funeral.”
He paid for her funeral. Images of Yulia barking that her daughter should be grateful that her sister’s funeral had been paid for entered her head. Admission of guilt? Perhaps so.
“So you see, I need to find out the truth. I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I’ll find out whether or not Desirée was killed by Crow’s order… but most of all, I want to know why she was disposed of.”
Something didn’t add up. “Why are you so invested in her? Was she your girlfriend?”
Vincent remained still, face ever unchanging. “I told you, she was a classmate of mine. We were good friends.”
“Uh huh.” They were totally boning. Nala didn’t believe in the goodness of men that well. Vincent wouldn’t still be so invested if it weren’t for Desirée being that close to him. “Anyway, that’s quite the deal. I don’t envy you in the least feeling that way.”
Vincent sat back, almost as if he were offended. “And you? What do you want him for?”
“Even after hearing that, I still don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
That commanding grate in his voice caught Nala off guard. One moment she was thinking about this Desirée woman, and the next she was back in her shower, blasting herself between the legs to images of this man thrusting himself into her. The first fantasy I’ve had since before… Nala still didn’t know how much she could trust Vincent.
“My sister. I told you that she died.”
Those set lips barely parted when he spoke. “Yes. You didn’t mention anything else.”
Nala considered the red wine swirling in her glass. Anything to avoid looking at the man sitting across from her. “She was a medical researcher for Black Raven.”
“Go on.”
“You ever hear of Tasha Nazarov?”
“Not off the top of my head, no.”
“I’m not surprised. You probably wouldn’t have unless you read research papers and magazines. She was becoming fairly famous in the world of cancer research.” Yulia still kept every clipping, from both print and online, mentioning her daughter’s progress in the world of medicine. She doesn’t keep anything about me. Nala had nothing to show for her life thus far. “She was hired at Black Raven right out of college. Worked her way up until s
he was researching cancer cures in the main lab up in Seattle.” Nala stopped, bile in her throat. “She would come home for holidays and say that she was close to a breakthrough. There were promising trials. The science made sense, she said. The more the months went on, the more excited she became. Until…”
“Until she became paranoid.”
Nala sat up with a start. “Yes,” she said, trying to contain the first bit of excitement she felt in so long. “Men following her, like Desirée.”
“What happened?”
“Heart attack. In her late 20s.”
“Let me guess… the trials magically stopped, the notes disappeared, and nobody spoke of what your sister was up to again.”
“That’s right.” Nala wished she had her sweater back on. Everything was frigid in that room now. “I didn’t understand. I still don’t. It wasn’t until I was surfing the internet one night when I came upon a conspiracy theory that pharmaceutical companies don’t actually want cures for things like cancer and HIV. They’d rather make more money keeping those poor people alive than cure them and lose them as customers.”
“Yes. I’ve often wondered about that as well.” Vincent shook out his sleeves, those cufflinks needing more love. “I’ve done a lot of research into his companies…”
“So have I.”
“…And the thing about Black Raven Pharmaceuticals is that they talk a lot. They pump a lot of money into many things, but they never, ever have anything to show for it. It’s a multi-billion dollar setup thanks to, as you said, the medicines they provide to keep millions around the world alive, but never cured. Xavier Crow would lose most of his foundation if a cancer cure came around. Your sister must have come too close to becoming the woman who would cure cancer.”
The woman who would cure cancer? That didn’t sound like something that would happen in the Nazarov family. Isn’t that why my parents came to America? For those opportunities for their daughter? Nala hadn’t existed yet. Tasha was already a promising science student even back in the USSR. Some people were like that, Nala guessed.
“Why would he hire her if he doesn’t actually want to find cures? You’d think he’d hire researchers who are middle-of-the-road in achievement. Less likely to have to dirty his hands that way.”
“Because PR. It’s always PR. I guarantee his stocks went on huge upswings whenever there was great news of some kind. Not merely hiring your sister, who must have shown great promise out of college, but every step she took toward finding a cure, short of actually finding it, would have meant more money in his pocket. It looks great to investors.”
“You’d think he’d take the credit for the cure, take the money, and use it to expand his real estate hobby.”
“Real estate is too risky, which is where he gets the thrill, but he’s not stupid. People may go homeless, but they will still get sick.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Unfortunately, that’s capitalism.”
Nala’s throat betrayed her when she said what she was wondering, but didn’t want to dare to actually ask. “You’re not like that, are you?”
Vincent smiled, slightly, enough to assuage Nala’s nerves. “Money is nice. Money means I’ve paid off my debts and can live comfortably for the rest of my life. But even if apps stopped being a thing tomorrow and I never moved on to the next big tech thing, I would be content with how much I have. It takes a certain type of personality to make it as far as I have… but it takes a completely different one to make it to Xavier Crow’s level. I am only one of those personality types.”
“The successful kind. Not the sociopath.”
“I hope so.”
Their first course arrived. French onion soup, with a side of freshly baked bread. The scent took Nala on a journey far, far away from her fears and dread over her sister. She hoped Vincent felt the same way, if only for a little bit. I don’t know who this Desirée woman was to him, but he clearly cared enough about her to want vengeance like I do. It almost seemed too coincidental. Two women taken down by Crow’s cronies. How many other people were there? How many had fallen because they got too close to something or someone? What had Desirée done to “deserve” such a gruesome death?
When the waiter departed, Nala lined her lap with a napkin and broke off a piece of bread to dip into her soup. “So, here we are,” she said, watching the bread turn dark from the soup. “Two people trying to take down Xavier Crow.”
“Is that what we’re doing?”
“Well, I suppose. What else do we want besides justice? Have you thought through what we’re going to do?”
“The first step was the easiest. We got into his club. The whole point of getting in, for me, was to try to gather evidence to take to the authorities.”
“Me too!”
An uncharacteristic smirk appeared on Vincent’s face. “What a formidable pair we make. Now, let’s start with the basics. Where did we meet?”
Over dinner, Nala and Vincent concocted a story surrounding their supposed romance. Apparently, they had met at a convention, at which Nala temped. Well, one thing led to another, and wouldn’t one know it, they were taking vacations to Vancouver (the Canadian one, not the one across the river) and exploring the finer points of a heated BDSM relationship.
Before their previous conversation, this would have been awkward at best, but after knowing Vincent’s real motives and their shared pain and frustrations, Nala felt free to be more open with the man she called her fake boyfriend. Not that they were sudden bosom buddies or anything. More like business associates who were about to go down a very dangerous path, now that they knew what the other was about. I can’t believe we’re doing this. They had played at being a couple before, but now they felt more like a unified force hell-bent on revenge and all its trappings. Or maybe that was Nala feeling the surge inside her veins. Who knew what Vincent was thinking? The man was as easy to read as an ancient Sumerian text.
It almost felt… fun. Until she remembered the rules of The Aviary’s game. That eventually she and Vincent would have to take their lying to a new, uncomfortable level.
“What is it?” he asked over their main course. “Is the food making you sick? You really don’t look well.”
“It’s only…” Nala stared at the fish left on her plate. “It’s one thing to pretend to be a couple. We can fake that easy enough. Some kisses here, some jokes there… but what about the other stuff? We can’t just talk about our fake kinky sex life.” Water. Spray. Showerheads. Nala hid a cough in her napkin. “Eventually people will want more from us.”
“Indeed. I thought we would take things one step at a time. I know how uncomfortable it must make you feel.”
“No, no… the only thing that really bothers me is the people watching. I’ve never done something like that before, so I’m not sure I could…”
“Wait… the voyeurs is what bothers you the most?” Vincent dropped his fork, letting it ping against his plate. “I would think it’s the act itself bothering you.”
“The act itself?” The spanking? The groping? The tying up and putting on a display for the other kinksters? Oh, right. That was pretty bothersome.
Sort of…
I’m embarrassing myself. Vincent had barely kissed her a couple of times. What gave her the right to not only fantasize about him while bringing herself to orgasm, but flippantly shrug off the idea of him bending her over his knee and swatting her ass while calling her a naughty tramp? Oh my God, what is wrong with me? These conflicting emotions had to end before she suffered whiplash. Anger one minute, sexual arousal the next. Not exactly a winning combination for anyone’s life.
“Well, I can distance myself from that,” she asserted. “Dealing with everyone else’s reactions is something else. I have no control over that. What if I don’t give a convincing performance?”
“Again,” Vincent said, holding his palm up to her, “let’s take things one night at a time. I doubt we’ll be asked to do anything like that soon. How’s
dinner?”
Dinner was fine. Fantastic, even. Nala hadn’t devoured a meal like that in a long damn time. Could Vincent take her out on more dinners in the near future? I’ll take his money and the food right off his plate. Now that she hid no secrets from him – well, besides the fact she found him attractive enough to orgasm to – she was free to imagine all sorts of crazy scenarios. Driving his car. Harassing his assistant. Using his credit card to order takeout. Maybe she should ask about an expense account.
After dinner, Vincent helped her put her sweater back on, his hands lingering on her shoulders after the fact. “Excuse my hair,” she said, pulling it forward and over her chest. She tried to not think of his touch sending ripples through her barely-there dress and centering its strength in her core. Maybe I should sleep with him. How would she even bring that up? “So, hey, I know we’re playing at being a couple, so maybe we should fuck to make it more believable. I know I’ll be able to lie better if I know how big your cock is.” She cleared her throat and stepped away from him before she made a fool of herself.
“Your hair is fine,” he said. Nala turned, wondering why he wasn’t following her out of the alcove. “Your hair is quite lovely.”
He walked past her, informing the host that he would need a valet soon.
No one comments on my hair. Most people told her she needed a better style than the plain Cleopatra look. Bangs were out. Fringe was in. Apparently there was a difference.
They got in the car the moment they stepped out into the chilly air. Vincent was quick to put his foot on the pedal and wheel them out of the old industrial district and toward the downtown center.
“You’re kidding,” Nala said. “There’s a sex club downtown?” She thought it would be more on the outskirts, maybe even around where they were. A place where people wouldn’t question what was going on. People who went to sex clubs liked a semblance of privacy, right?