Nah, he can't be. He's Cruz King. I laugh to myself. I'm so giddy about how things are going. Not too much of anything will bring me out of my mood.
I walk over to the receptionist’s counter where Cruz's manager is.
“Hi, Bruce.”
“Hi,” he says.
“Do you know when Mr. King will be back?”
“Yeah, tomorrow evening.”
“Thank you,” I say as I turn to walk away, then retract my steps. “Um, how long has he been out of town?”
“He left in a rush late Sunday.”
“Okay.” Wow. He left right after he and Bryant were out.
I send a text to Bryant.
(Me) Did you know Cruz was out of town?
(Bryant) Yep
(Me) No one thought to tell me?
(Bryant) Nope
(Me) WOW!
(Bryant) WOW what?
(Me) I guess you guys don't need a financial analyst anymore?
(Bryant) Negative, Bree, we do.
(Me) Oh. So just not me?
He doesn't text back. It kind of hurts like hell. I attempt to leave the club, but my phone rings before I leave.
“Hello.”
“Bree, what are you talking about?”
“Neither of you have been in contact with me this week.”
“Okay, so what does that have to do with you not being our analyst? Everyone has been busy this week, Bree. This deal is closing on Tuesday; it's Thursday. We're all a bit antsy. Cruz had to go to Chicago to deal with his family; the man is stressed.” He laughs. “You shouldn't want him to contact you after Sunday.”
“You know what, Bryant, never mind me asking.”
“All I'm saying, Bria, is you could have told the man you were seeing someone. Hell, you could have told me; it would have…” He pauses.
“What Bryant? It would have saved you having to hand me... no, trade me... no, let's see. Sell me off,” I say through my teeth.
“Bree,” he whispers. The way his tone has conviction, but I don't give a shit. That action shows me the type of friendship that remains between Bryant and me. He’s ruthless I have to admit, but a bitch scorned throws fire.
“You know, Bryant, the more I try to forgive you for that, it just pisses me off that much more. So spare me.” I end the call before he gets the chance to respond.
I'm standing in the foyer of Cruz's health club. Bruce is still at the desk with whoever the receptionist is. Christy, Chrissy... I'm bad with female names. Women tend not to remember women’s names. We remember men’s names easily. We associate physical traits that remind us of their name.
Bruce is walking toward me; he seems reluctant, but what do I know. Hell, he is walking toward me.
“Ms. Watts correct?”
“Yes, is there a problem?”
“No, I didn't think you'd be back.”
“Well, me either, but I need to see Mr. King.”
“Can you walk this way so we can talk privately?”
I'm confused. “Okay,” I say as I follow Bruce toward some offices near the back of the club.
We come to an office and he opens the door.
“Ladies first,” he says politely. I walk in; there's a desk, a few chairs, and a computer on the desk. “You can have a seat, Ms. Watts.”
“Thanks, but I'll stand. I need to be going soon.”
“Okay,” he responds. He still seems reluctant. I wish he would just say what he needs to. Before the thought leaves my mind, he begins to speak.
“Uhm, I-I saw the video.”
“What video?”
“You know the one with Mr. King in the steam room with you.”
I tilt my head. “I thought that area isn't recorded?”
“It isn't. I just saw him enter. There isn't a camera in the women's steam room.”
“Okay, so you brought me here to say what, Bruce?”
“Well, nothing really, Ms. Watts. I was hoping you weren't going to file charges or have the club shut down. Mr. King treats his employees well. He's very reserved. I've never seen him do anything other than work out or train exclusive clients.”
“Okay, so?” I say, annoyed.
“Look, all I'm saying is I like my job as manager of this club. I've earned my business management degree. I just need to keep this job; my student loans are coming out of deferment soon. So I'm asking you to please not file any charges.”
I take this opportunity to pry into Cruz's life. “So honestly, Bruce, he's never had women in his office?”
“No, none that I've seen. I'm here every day... well, not every day. I work half days. He doesn't even approach women. He schedules the PTs to take care of them.”
“PTs?” I ask.
“Personal trainers,” Bruce confirms.
“Right, duh,” I respond.
“Honestly, you are the first person, well, woman I've seen him notice here. He's here just about every day of the week. Whether or not it's early or late night. He's usually down to business. He just doesn't show interest in women. I saw how he went in the steam room that day. He wasn't hesitant about walking in. He didn't look around or anything. He just walked right in. A few minutes later, he came out. He had a look of contentment on his face. You... you came out pissed. I just don't want to lose this job, Ms. Watts. I would like to apologize on behalf of club.”
“Bruce,”—I hold up my hand to stop him from any more pleading—“Don't worry about that. I've changed my mind about contacting any authorities.”
“Thank you,” he sighs.
I turn toward the door. “I need to get going if you don't mind.”
“Okay, Ms. Watts. I'll let Mr. King know you came by.”
“No, don't worry about it. You don't have to tell him about this visit.” I nod at Bruce.
“Okay,” he says.
“Thank you, Bruce.”
“No! Thank you, Ms. Watts.”
* * *
At home at last, today has been productive. All I want is a bath and bed, and I do just that. After my shower, I lie back against the headboard with my laptop to check a few classified lists. I filter the recent ones so I can delete the expired posts. One in particular catches my eye. “Finally on my own now”. I open the post, which says quite a bit about this person. Maybe too much.
Glad you opened this post. I'm BP. I’m currently employed but I’m looking for a part-time pastime. I'm 6 ft., dark hair, and brown eyes. I'm looking to cater to older women from 37- 55, while that is my preference but not limited to. I myself am 27 and my duties are open for discussion upon initial meeting. Please attach a picture with your response.
Well, okay BP, I'll bookmark you for a save. I hope BP is his initials and doesn't stand for something like bi-polar or some type of oil company. Some crazy idiots are out there, but I got myself a Ford. I laugh at my own corny joke. It was funny to me. I open the next post that shows a picture of a younger guy. He looks at least 22, it's titled, “Find me a steady.”
The title says it all.
I'm seeking employment maybe from an older woman for special services. Must be able to call or meet at some point soon after going over details, please respond, no spammers or men.
Look forward to hearing from you.
Mr. C
I go through many posts, a few of them are creepy, but I can distinguish those types. I can feel myself falling asleep before I do. I save my searches, clean up my history, and lock my apps. I'm exhausted when I hear my phone chime. It's from Stone.
(Stone) Hey, B, got good news. TTY in the a.m.
Shit, I forgot I set him up an appointment yesterday for tonight. I even had a car pick him and our client up. She needed an escort to a fundraiser. ‘Fundraiser’ yeah, right.
(Me) Okay, can't wait.
Sleep is overtaking me. I can't do anything. It's consuming my body, so be it.
I awake to my alarm screaming in my ear. Cellphone alarms are obnoxious little things. Getting up is harder and harder every day. From ti
me to time, my body doesn't like early morning wake ups. Winning the lotto is out of the question, so daily grind here I come. I finally prise myself from my bed to dress. Today I'm going to go lady business-like. I have an appointment with a PI today. Mr. Wilke will be out of the office most of the day so this is the perfect opportunity to meet with him in my office. Most of the office will be off for the next two days, so I'll have some privacy.
After my many returns back to my house because I kept forgetting items, I go to my usual café but it looks as if it's closed.
Dammit, I have to go to the bakery a few doors down on Broadway. They have awesome pastries but no special coffee blends. I find a parking space across the street. I perform my usual U-turn to park, so I can just pull out when I get back. I'm on my way out of the café when a car horn gets my attention. I notice the car immediately; it's Shanna's. My blood instantly starts to boil. I open my car door to set my coffee in the holder. I wave just out of common courtesy. She double parks behind me and gets out to greet me. I'm a bit reluctant though.
“Hi, Bria, how are you?” She leans in for a hug, but I don't budge.
“Hi, Shanna, I'm fine.” I'm so dry with my greeting she notices. She takes a step back and eyes me.
“I do apologize for the other night. I had to leave.”
“Is that it?” I say to her.
“Yes, why? Would there be something else?”
“I don't know, Shanna. You seemed to be very interested in how long and how I knew Cruz.”
“Oh that,” she chuckles. “I know Cruz from back home.”
“Back home?” I repeat.
“Yeah, I lived in Chicago for seven years. I might be on my way back,” she informs me.
“Where did you live before Chicago?” I narrow my stare at her.
“California,” she answers.
“What brought you to Minnesota?” I question her further.
“Someone's full of questions this morning,” she jokingly implies.
“Well, Shanna, just like you. I want to know things so I ask.” My tone is accusingly harsh, but I don’t give a rat’s ass how I come off. My ‘watch-a-chick’ radar is in full effect.
“Oo-kay,” she says sarcastically.
“Well, I have to get going; work awaits.”
“Oh, yes absolutely, maybe we can go out again. I enjoyed myself.”
I turn lowering myself in my car. “Yeah, maybe,” I answer as I close my door. The only thing that comes to mind is reversing my car to back over her little petite ass. Then drive back over her when I pull forward. I despise sneaky bitches... she's one of them.
* * *
I'm in the office earlier than usual. I can hear my boss in his office, but his door is closed. I have a flashback of the day he had a late night with the French lady. I didn't think he was going to be in. Oh well, I close my door hoping not to be disturbed. Only that thought goes away with Lisa bursting in with a horrified look on her face. She shuts my door immediately.
“What the hell's wrong with you?”
“Mr. Wilke is in his office,” she says in a panic.
“Is he supposed to be somewhere else?” I ask.
“No, but he's in with a female. I think he's having sex.” Her eyes widen as she reveals that tiny bit of information. So do mine.
“Holy shit, Lisa. Are you serious? You should have led with that.” I get up and open my door to listen. Sure as shit, I can hear the faint voice of a female.
“Lisa, you are not supposed to be here this early.”
“Dammit, Bria, I'm not supposed to be here at all. I had to complete a few details on that Brunswick deal. I knew it was only going to take me an hour or so. I just thought in early, get it done, and get out.
“Okay, listen, Lisa. You heard nothing; you saw nothing.”
“He's done this before?”
I don't answer her.
“Bria, you have to tell me.”
“Lisa, this man is powerful.”
“Bria, I know.”
“So, you know that if he knows you know, the consequences of that.”
“Shit, Bria, it doesn't matter. I'm toast anyway.”
I look at her confused because I hope she isn’t trying to pry information from me for leverage regarding her job.
“He knows about ladies’ night, Bria; he knows how wild I am.”
“Lisa, who cares about that as long as you're successful here? Mr. Wilke doesn't give a flying hockey puck what you do outside this place.” I have to assure her of this. She looks like she's lost most of the color in her face. I can't believe she's worried about ladies’ night. My boss is in his office, having very early morning sex. My biggest concern is who exits that office with him.
“So has he done this before?” she asks in her softer voice.
I nod. “But if you say anything to anyone. I swear and promise I'll pull your tongue out and feed it back to you.” She winces and nods.
“Who is it?” she asks.
“What do you mean?” I play the role.
“Who's the female?”
“Oh, my God, it's his wife, Lisa.” I pray that his wife comes out of that office. Mr. Wilke doesn't play like that, unless it is absolutely after hours. He knew there would be a few people in today. He wouldn't risk it. It’s too dangerous.
As I think about how I'm going to play this with Lisa, there’s a knock on my door.
“Come in.” I wide-eye Lisa and shrug my shoulders.
“Hi-yee, love, how are you?” Mrs. Wilke comes into my office while Lisa is sitting on a chair near the window.
“Lisa, how are you?” she says.
“Fine, Mrs. Wilke, and you?”
“I'm fine now; hubby tried to get away from me this morning. I had to show him who’s the boss.”
My cheeks flush red and Lisa coughs a laugh.
“I know you girls got an earful this morning. Ladies, we are close to forty; we are still very active.” Mrs. Wilke shares this bit of info and I flush from head to toe. “Well, ladies, I have a few things to get done today. I've already accomplished one. Check!” She hand motions a check mark on her hand. I laugh and shake my head. “Bria, I've sent a few details to you for my husband.” She glares at me as if I know what she is referring to.
“Okay, I'll take a look at them and send everything back to you to confirm.”
“Well done, love. Make sure the mister leaves here within an hour.”
“Will do, Mrs. Wilke.”
“Nice to see you again, Lisa.”
“Same here, Mrs. Wilke.”
“Ladies.” She closes my door then Lisa and I bust a gut laughing.
“Surprisingly, it's not disgusting,” Lisa says.
“No, it's not. They are both very sexy people.”
“Especially Mr. Wilke,” Lisa reveals. “He could definitely get it.”
“Lisa!”
“What, Bria? You know that man can get all up in you.”
“Lisa!” I laugh out to her.
She laughs. “If it wasn't occupied by Cruz, Bryant, Cruz, Cruz.”
“Shut up, Lisa.”
She continues to laugh. “Girlfriend, you have two gorgeous men wanting that P. What do you have in those panties? Shit, I want one.”
I laugh at her antics about me. “You are too much, Lis.”
She gets up from the chair. “Let me finish up this deal and I'm out of here before I encounter anything else.”
“Okay, chickie, I'll call you tonight.”
“All right, Bria, later.”
* * *
The private investigator arrives early. I explain to him what I need and how discretion is important. We both come to an agreement; he signs a few disclosures as I do. We sign each other’s contracts; his says I agree to employ him for one year, flat rate fee.
Mine says, I agree to employ him under the agreement that all information sought is only for me, the employer, and cannot be sold to third parties. His fee is as stated in his contract as one sa
id flat fee for one year. I fax over all documents to Mr. Wilke's lawyer to verify while we confirm other paperwork that needs to be signed.
I ask Mr. Tripp a few questions just to get familiar with him. “Is there anything you want to know, Mr. Tripp?”
“No, I've already completed a background check on you,” he admits.
“Wow... really?”
He tilts his head to the side. “Yeah, Bria Watts, I have.”
I nod. “You are the only employee of mine who knows my full name.”
“Do you prefer to be called B?”
“Only around the others, if you don't mind.”
“That's cool.”
“What's your first name?” I ask him.
“Marcus.”
“So you were in law enforcement?
“Yes, twelve years fresh out of college.”
“That makes you thirty-three or thirty-four?”
“Yep, thirty-three,” he answers.
Marcus is probably of an interracial ethnicity. I know for sure he's part Black American, but I can't detect what other race he might be.
I'm illiterate to race. I'm not ashamed to admit it. I'd rather admit it than to think I know and be completely wrong, I see black or white. If you're Puerto Rican or Mexican, you’re Hispanic to me. If you're Chinese, Japanese, or Vietnamese, to me you’re Asian. Arabic, Hindu, Pakistani, or Palestinian... um, Indian I think. Not of Indian descent or tribal, that's me.
He's definitely mixed with something. He's fine too; I really don't need to surround myself with all of these gorgeous people. It will begin to be distracting and dangerous. My lower lady is mistreated enough; she doesn't need false arousal.
“So what about you, Bria; why this line of business?”
I chuckle because I've been asked this question before.
“It's a booming business; it's legal this way. It's not just sex; it's companionship, fantasies, and events. Some of my clients don't request sex at all.”
“Oh,” he says.
“Yeah, it's all total discretion and I'm paid well; so are my guys.” He nods. “Can I ask you a question, Mr. Tripp?”
“You can call me Tripp; my friends do.” He smiles.
“Okay, Tripp, can I ask what your nationality is?”
“I'm Black American and Seminole Indian.”
“Get out! You are not!”
What They Don't Know (Won't Hurt Them Trilogy #1) Page 23