Naughty and Nice

by Sarah J. Brooks

  “Who are you?” I repeated myself like a broken record. “How do you know Patrick? Did you do this to him?”

  To my surprise and shock, Mavin Toller began to laugh. “Did I do this to him?” he sneered. “Obviously not; I expected you to have a little more sense than that.”

  “Well, what are you doing here? How did you find him?”

  “You have a lot of questions for someone in your position,” he said, still sitting, his chin resting on his hands, which were popped up by his elbows on the chair arms.

  I was silent. I wasn’t going to give this man any information. I knew he was telling the truth about being the one who called; I recognized his voice. Also, I could see Patrick’s cell phone—or at least one that looked exactly like his—on the man’s thigh. Its silver case stood out against the darkness.

  We stared at each other for a few moments, the only sound in the room the beeping of Patrick’s heart machine.

  “What do you think Bradley would say about you coming to the rescue of another man?”

  I stared, my mouth open. My mind reached to the ends of itself for an understanding of how Mavin Toller knew about my relationship with Brad.

  “I don’t know who you think you are,” I said, my voice cold, “but my relationships are none of your concern. And I am not here to rescue anyone. You called me, remember? You told me to come to the hospital. So, here I am.”

  “Yes,” he said, a slow grin spreading on his face. “Here you are.”

  Brad

  When I turned my phone back on, my messages pinged immediately, dozens of them, all from Simon. I sighed and called his number.

  “What the fuck, Brad!” he fumed. “Did you shut your phone off? Do you have any idea what’s happening?”

  I rolled my eyes and tried to stay calm. I wasn’t in the mood for anything to have gone wrong on even the most simple of levels. My conversation with Manuel Brown was still burned into my brain and his words repeated over and over. He had me right where he wanted; he considered me motivated. He wasn’t going to give Antoine back until he was good and ready. And, the more I asked, the worse it would be for me.

  “Brad!”

  “What?” I said sharply. I hadn’t realized Simon had been talking.

  “Did you hear a word I just said? The place burned to the ground!”

  “What?” I stared at the phone. “What did you just say? What place? What burned?” My breath caught in my chest and I could feel my heart pounding.

  “The Morocco site. There’s been a raid. Infidels broke in, stole everything, and torched the place. We have inventory in the open, Brad. In the open!”

  “Does Manuel know?” I asked dully, already knowing the answer.

  “Of course he fucking knows!” Simon swore. “He’s the one who called me, because he couldn’t get ahold of you. Why do you think I was texting you and calling so much? You turned off your phone and now we’ve lost precious time.”

  I struggled to stay in the conversation with Simon as my heart began to jerk in my chest. Antoine. Manuel had assured me that Antoine was safe, and he credited part of Antoine’s safety with the ‘good work’ I had been doing.

  “Who were the infidels? Moroccans? Or foreigners?”

  “We don’t know,” Simon said. “We have a team on its way to investigate, subtly, of course. But, as I said in one of my messages, we have a plane chartered and ready to go. We need you on that plane.”

  “Yes,” I said immediately. “Yes, of course. Do we have a damage report?”

  “The initial observations are grim,” he said. “The inventory that’s still at the site is burned beyond repair. The building itself has been reduced to basically rubble. There’s no way we won’t have to completely rebuild it.”

  “Where is Manuel?” I asked. “Is he going to the site? He can’t beat us there.” I could hear the panic in my voice as the realization of what was happening began to settle in. I felt a mix of urgency and shock blending in my bloodstream, and it was getting hard to breathe.

  “He said we have twenty-four hours to take care of it before he sends in another team. Brad, if he sends in that other team, we’re dead. You know that.”

  I knew it. And I knew that, more importantly, my son would be dead. No use for me meant no use for him. I swallowed. “Yes,” I said. “I know. When does the plane leave?”

  “Tonight,” he said. “I’ve got it all arranged.”

  “We’re dead,” I said suddenly, the thought too large to stay in my brain.

  “Pardon?” Simon asked, startled.

  “We’re dead. Manuel will never understand this incompetence. He’ll never understand how something like this could happen.”

  “Don’t, Brad; Manuel will know that this is not your fault. It was terrorist activity, probably completely unrelated to the project. If anything, Manuel will be watching to see how you fix the situation. If you can fix it properly, he’ll probably reward you.”

  “And if I don’t…” I closed my eyes and shook the thought out of my mind, the images passing through my brain too painful to allow to take root.

  “Don’t do this to yourself,” Simon warned. “You’re savvy and will have this fixed by this time tomorrow. I have every confidence.”

  “Thank you,” I said gratefully. “And I’m sorry; I didn’t realize the severity of the situation.” My apology was useless and I knew it.

  “Don’t let it happen again. We need to trust each other, Brad. You have to trust that I wouldn’t call you unless it was an emergency.”

  “It won’t happen again.”

  I hung up the phone and went to the computer to check my email and to look up the blueprint for the Moroccan storage facility. It was one of our older facilities, since Morocco had been one of our first storage sites. Unlike the newer facilities that were equipped with fire retardant paint, Morocco had old paint and a layout that deterred fire rescue. I shook my head, wondering how this site had been passed over for updating. I would need to personally look at each facility, worldwide, and assess its fortitude.

  Several hours passed and it was dark by the time I looked up. I realized I was starving. I checked my watch; it was after eight o’clock. I walked into the kitchen ; a note from my housekeeper said that dinner was being kept warm in the oven. I opened the oven door and sniffed deeply, my stomach growling in response. It was a roast, moist and juicy, with potatoes and carrots. At least one good thing; it was my favorite meal.

  “Hey,” a voice behind me greeted. I turned and saw Cassie standing in the doorway. She looked exhausted; far more tired than she had seemed the last time I’d seen her this morning.

  “Hi, baby,” I said, walking to her and encircling her in my arms. I kissed the top of her head as I pulled her to me. Her sweet scent filled my nostrils and I felt myself pressing against her not just for being attracted to her, but for the stability and support her body offered mine.

  “Hungry?”

  “Starving,” I said. I held her out and looked at her. “Where were you today? What did you do?”

  She looked at me and a shadow crossed over her face. “Nothing much.” She shrugged. “Mostly just hung around the house.”

  “Well, I want you to pack your bags. Right now.”

  Her face brightened, and I plastered a smile on my face. I had to make everything seem believable; I had to make it seem like this was just an ordinary romantic vacation.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, her face beginning to flush with excitement.

  “Just… somewhere. Don’t ask questions.” I took the roast out of the oven and began to cut it into slices. “Go pack now; I’ll finish dinner.”

  “Listen,” she said, not moving. “I really don’t know about traveling right now. I mean, I still don’t have my passport. Can I even go anywhere?”

  “Don’t worry about that,” I said. “We’re taking my plane; you don’t need a passport.”

  “You have a plane?”

  I paused, anger boilin
g up inside me. I needed to stay calm and in control. Antoine’s life depended on it.

  “Yes,” I said. “Now, please, go get packed and ready. We’re leaving tonight. I promise I’ll answer all of your questions on the plane.”

  “Can you at least tell me where we’re going? So, you know, I know what kind of clothes to pack?”

  I sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “Morocco,” I said finally. “We’re going to Morocco.”

  Cassie

  Brad’s plane was magnificent, no question. I boarded and was immediately overwhelmed with the… wealth. That was the only word that came to mind. The entire interior of the plane had been gutted and replaced with couches upholstered in cream leather. Two recliners were positioned toward the rear of the plane, angled toward one another, with a chess board sitting between them.

  “Brad,” I murmured, reaching for his hand. “This is…”

  “I don’t try to flaunt my wealth,” he said soberly. “But this is a special occasion. I wanted to treat you. I know you’ve been struggling lately. I don’t know exactly what’s wrong, but I can sense it. I want you to be able to let go of whatever is stressing you out and relax.” He leaned in and kissed me, his lips warm on mine. I kissed him back, wishing that I could be in two places at once. Mentally, I was doing exactly that. One part of me was here, in my body, on the plane; the other part of me was sitting beside a hospital bed waiting for Patrick to wake up. I pushed Patrick out of my mind; if I thought about him for too long, I would cry; I wouldn’t be able to explain that to Brad.

  “It’s just so amazing,” I said, covering my worry. Before we had left, our conversation at dinner had revolved around my job. Brad said that bringing me to the Morocco Legacy property would give me another angle for a story; he promised that we would sit down for another “exclusive.” I told him that, if I didn’t get back to New York soon with a lot of stories in hand, my boss was going to fire me. It may have been a slight exaggeration, but not by much. My editor had been understanding, accepting my stories via email and holding meetings with me over Skype, but I could tell her patience was running thin.

  If, on the other hand, I could break a story about a big billionaire secret… she might be a little more willing to give me some latitude.

  Of course, that would mean figuring out what, if anything, Brad was hiding. And, now that Patrick was in the hospital, I had no one to help me figure that out. And, what was worse, clearly someone was after Patrick. It had crossed my mind that someone, maybe the same person, could be after me. Given that thought, getting onto a plane had been a relatively easy decision.

  Still, leaving Patrick to fend for his life alone in a hospital bed had not been an easy decision, and I felt my stomach tie up in knots at the prospect of him succumbing to his injuries before I could return to see him again.

  The pilot instructed us to be seated for take off. I sat on one of the couches nearest to where I was standing and belted myself in. Brad smiled and sat beside me, taking my hand in his. As the plane gained speed and lifted into the air, I slid against him and he put his arm around me.

  “It’s all going to be okay,” he whispered. I looked up at him. Something in his tone was strange, as if he wasn’t just talking to me, but to himself as well.

  “It is,” I said. “I know.” I squeezed his hand, offering him reassurance but not knowing exactly why. “How long have you owned the plane?” I asked, thinking I was changing the subject.

  “Awhile,” he said. The plane continued to climb, but the pilot came on and said that we were stable enough to undo our seat belts, so long as we stayed seated. “Listen, Cassie, I try to live a normal life. I try to not brag about being wealthy; in fact, most people have no idea who I am when they run into me in daily life.”

  I nodded. I had witnessed this first hand. Anytime we went out to eat or went shopping, Brad paid cash, in small bills. He never flashed a black card, or paid with hundreds, or flaunted his wealth in any way. It was part of the reason I found being with him so amazing. He knew I didn’t care about his money; he didn’t seem to care about it either. In the time that we had been together, he had made it seem as though he was a perfectly normal guy who just happened to have a few billion dollars.

  “I don’t brag because the money I have has come at a much higher cost than the money is worth.” He stared at a spot on the wall. I followed his gaze to the window, to the blinking light on the wing of the plane. “One of the things I love about you, one of the first things that drew you to me, was that I can see that you know that money isn’t everything. You wouldn’t believe some of the shallow people that come into my life, saying they’re someone they’re not, threatening, promising…” He shook his head. “All manner of lies. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that you’re not that way.” He looked at me, his eyes meeting mine directly and deeply, and my breath caught in my throat.

  It was as if he was urging me to confess… what? I hadn’t done anything. I reminded myself that any thoughts I’d had about Patrick had been just that, thoughts, and barely formed at that. Visiting him in the hospital had been something I’d kept from Brad, but only because Patrick was investigating him and I didn’t want to open up either one of them to trouble and danger.

  “I didn’t grow up around money,” I said. “It’s easy for me to not act greedy for something I never even had in the first place.”

  He regarded me with his serious eyes, and then he ran the outside of his fingers along my cheek. A shiver of arousal moved through me and I closed my eyes, reaching for his hand. I gripped his fingers with my own and held his hand to my face. It felt warm and solid, and, for at least a few moments, it was a centering force, drawing me to stability as the plane climbed higher into the night sky.

  It was the first time Brad had directly addressed his money with me, and it made me doubt that he had any sinister secrets; perhaps he was the one in a billion billionaire… the one who had come by his money honestly. Perhaps Patrick was wrong after all.

  “I think the plane has leveled off,” Brad said, and, just as he finished his sentence, the pilot came onto the intercom and confirmed that we had. “I have an idea.” He grinned at me and arched his right eyebrow in an expression that must have made his high school girlfriends swoon all over themselves.

  “Oh?” I asked, playing innocent, pretending that I couldn’t see the bulge in his jeans plain as day. “What’s that, Mr. White?”

  “Ever join the Mile High Club?” he asked.

  “Funny you should bring that up,” I said, trying to control the smile that I knew was playing on my lips. I could see him trying to ignore it, though it was clearly arousing him. “I always said I was saving myself for… a private plane owned by a billionaire on its way to Morocco.”

  He burst out laughing, breaking the remaining tension in the space from our serious conversation.

  “It’s true!” I insisted, nodding to punctuate my words. “I swear! I always said I would love to do it, but I wasn’t going to just do it on some commuter flight from New York to LA, right?”

  “So you decided it had to be a private plane destined for Morocco and owned by a billionaire,” he mocked.

  “Do you not believe me?” I pouted, letting my intentions show in my eyes.

  “I believe that I’m going to make all of your dreams come true in short order,” he said, his voice suddenly husky as he began to get down to business. He started by unzipping my sweatshirt. I’d worn a simple black tank top and black bra underneath, and he dispensed with those in just a few moments, and then laid me on my back on the plush leather.

  He stood on his knees, straddling my legs, and pulled off his t-shirt. I reached forward to unzip his jeans, and he pulled them off, then he reached down to pull off my leggings.

  “You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever known,” he said, his eyes scanning my body. I reached up for him, wanting his body pressing against mine even more than I wanted his admiration. Suddenly I was ravenous for him; I wante
d him inside me, and I wanted it rough. He was tremendously hard, his cock pressing between my legs, and I grabbed it with both hands and began to stroke his shaft furiously. He groaned and gasped in alternating breaths, his hands holding down my shoulders. I sat up quickly, my core muscles straining, and kissed him. His tongue pushed into my mouth and we folded into each other. I wrapped my right leg around his hip and released my grip on his cock. He grabbed himself with his hand and lined himself up with my pussy, soaking wet and ready. He plunged into me deep and fast, and my gasp turned into a moan of pleasure as I felt his fullness inside of me. He wrapped his arms around me to keep me sitting up as he thrust against me. The angle was new and different, the pressure on my clit direct and constant.

  “Oh my God, Brad,” I moaned. “I want you deeper. I want you so deep inside of me that I can feel you in my throat…” I realized there were no words for the appetite I had for him, that my desire was completely insatiable.

  He pulled out and pushed me back onto the couch. His sudden vacancy left my body confused and wanting, and I looked at him, his cock glistening with a mixture of my wetness and his pre-cum.

  “I want to fuck your tits,” he said in a low voice. “Squeeze them for me.” I grabbed my breasts and pressed them together, creating a deep, tight canyon for his cock to settle into. As he fucked my chest, I saw his hand reach back and felt his fingers pressing into my clit. He slid his thumb faster and faster over the hard, pulsing nub, and my groans turned into cries as I tumbled into my orgasm. I pressed my breasts together harder, catching the tip of his cock with my tongue as he thrust upward, until he groaned sharply and pulled back again. He quickly spread my legs and found his way inside once again, the waves of my orgasm still causing my muscles to twitch and shudder.

  “Oh, Cassie,” he moaned as he came, his cum flowing into me and reaching every available space inside. He arched his upper back then rounded it as he spent himself, once again hitting the hair trigger of my clit and pushing me into another orgasm. I let this climax wash over me; I laid back and simply enjoyed the pulsing sensations of each small explosion in my body.