by Darrel, Skye
“I don’t pretend,” he says.
“You did pretty well pretending to be a crazy man with your barbed wire.”
He rakes a hand through his hair. “That’s not pretending. That’s what the military calls operational art. Deceiving the enemy. You’re not my enemy.”
I huff. “Gosh you’re sexy when you talk like that.”
“Yesterday was a bad day,” he says eventually. “Then it was a good one.”
By mutual silence, we leave it at that.
“I’m gonna pick up more flowers,” I say. “Come with?”
He nods without hesitation and that makes me feel good. As we eat, his hand finds mine on the table and our fingers play together. He tries to touch my thigh, but I slap his hand away.
“Couldn’t resist,” he says.
“You better resist,” I say. “I’m not your toy.”
“I know that.”
He leans in for a kiss. This, I allow.
After breakfast I lock myself in the hallway bathroom and sit on the toilet, smoothing out my rumpled dress. Another minute of fidgeting goes by before I dial my boss’s cell.
“Natalie!” Branigan sounds smug. “Anything new to report? The clock is ticking.”
“I need an extension.”
“Thirty days is thirty days, Whipple. You have three days left. Sell Gatsby’s house or I’m letting you go.”
Maybe it’s because of my near-death experience yesterday or my other experience on Asher’s bed, but my boss doesn’t scare me as much. I feel radiant.
“There was an issue with Gatsby’s neighbor,” I say. “But I worked it out. I only need a few more weeks.”
He goes silent for a moment, not used to me talking back. “What issue?”
“Someone may have been murdered. I was—”
Branigan laughs. “Whipple, that podunk town doesn’t even have a crime rate.”
“It’s complicated.”
“You’re making excuses,” he says. “I’ve been nothing but nice since you joined Branigan Realty, and this is how you repay me?”
I grip the phone tighter. “You call sexual harassment nice?”
“Whoa, whoa—I explained to you before, that was an accident.”
Yeah. Last November he accidentally took his belt off and locked the door of his office. He accidentally put his hand on my chest and accidentally took his penis out.
“You just want an excuse to fire me,” I hiss. “That’s why you sent me to Salma’s Hope with an impossible assignment. I want an extension or I’ll report your accident.”
Branigan makes a nasal sound. “Don’t play hardball with me, sweetheart.”
I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Same girl. Same hair that’s too long for office society, slightly shorter now. Doll face. But I feel different. Liam Branigan’s squeaky voice—I hadn’t realized how squeaky he sounds—no longer sends me crawling up the nearest wall. I don’t have to put up with him. Compared to Resnik’s men, a pig for a boss doesn’t seem as scary.
“I’m already playing hardball,” I say calmly. “It’s not easy marketing a house here. I need more time.”
“Salma’s Hope is a vacation town! People would buy a pile of dirt there! And there’s that casino nearby. That’s gotta be good for the market. What is it, Lucky Cherries? Shit, who wouldn’t want to live there?”
“I think you have schools confused casinos, Mr. Branigan.”
“Sweetheart, I don’t need a reason to fire you. I can fire you whenever the hell I want.”
“Then why don’t you?”
No answer.
I smile into the mirror.
We both know why. Because he would look bad to the rest of the office. I don’t like selling houses, I’m not a natural at selling houses, but I sold freaking houses. I busted my butt for two whole years at Branigan Realty, and while my numbers weren’t super, I always made my quota. I even earned a bonus last year. My customer satisfaction feedback was one hundred percent before Nelson the Pool Expert.
If Branigan had fired me, the other brokers and agents would’ve asked questions. My boss already had a reputation for being too frisky around women, so he needed a reason. That’s why he sent me here to sell a house even Oscar McNamara couldn’t sell. And Oscar is the best broker at Branigan Realty.
I hear Branigan whispering to someone in the background. Then his voice comes back. “Natalie, Natalie. You’re stressed. You’re not thinking clearly. Why don’t you drive back to DC, we’ll talk about this. How about it, sweetheart?”
“You don’t get to call me sweetheart. What’s going to happen is this. I’ll sell Gatsby’s house and pocket fifty percent of the commission instead of my usual five.”
He hisses.
“That’s right, sir. Seeing as I’m doing all the work, it’s only fair. Then I’ll leave your company and we’ll never see each other again. I won’t tell anyone you tried to touch me.”
I hear him muttering under his breath, and for an instant, I think he’ll agree. This happy future flashes in my head. Branigan realizes what a scumbag he’s been and lets me go. I find a good buyer and walk away with $70,000 before taxes, which is more than I’ve made the last two years.
I move on with my life. Maybe paint for a while and get my stuff shown in galleries, or I’ll start a graphic design business. I get to tell the world, See? I told you I could do it.
Branigan wrenches me from my daydream.
“This isn’t over, sweetheart.” He hangs up.
I put my phone away, check my hair in the mirror, and put on some lip gloss before I step out.
Asher is waiting right outside the door. “Who were you talking to?”
“My boss.”
“He bothering you?”
I straighten his collar and smile. “Let’s get some flowers.”
11
One Bar Fight Too Many
Asher
I sit on my porch and watch Natalie plant lavenders in the new flower bed. She’s been working on my lawn all afternoon. I told her earlier I’d be busy in the house, but I’ve spent most of the day gawking like a damn stalker, my cock aching in my jeans.
I still believe leaving town would be the safest thing for her to do, but if she really left, I’d track her down and throw her over my shoulder and carry her back.
On our way to Salma’s Tears this morning, I dropped her off at Goldilocks so she could change. She came out wearing the same summer dress, her hair damp. Told me she’d taken a quick shower and changed her undergarments.
I wondered what color her clean panties were. I wanted to make them unclean. It didn’t help my urges that she kept crossing and recrossing her legs, tugging on that skirt so it covered just enough of her creamy thighs. My cock stayed hard the whole way.
Distraction doesn’t begin to describe her.
“You’ll get sunburn if you stay out here any longer,” I yell.
“That’s why people invented sunscreen!” She straightens to wipe her forehead, smiles at me.
I struggle to smile back, grinding my teeth together. Her smile is beautiful, but I don’t want her smiling. I want her moaning.
She crouches over the flower bed again, ignoring me while I shift in my seat, my dick leaking in my briefs.
I could eat her.
I could lick her pussy for hours. I could sit her on my cock, bouncing her in my lap until her virgin pussy creams all over me,f and my seed fills her body, and her breasts are in my hands, my tongue in her mouth. I want to feel her cum on my cock while I tell her she’s mine forever.
I can’t fucking think like this. I need to focus. So does she.
We both have problems.
Natalie needs to sell that damn house next door. She hasn’t told me much about her boss, but from the bits and pieces, I gather he’s a piece of shit.
Then there’s my problem.
Verne Resnik.
Titus the cowboy.
Sledge, that hairy bastard who fancies himself a m
ountain man, but I know he’s from Florida. He’s a sham like everything at Resnik’s casino. A dangerous sham.
Yesterday when Natalie told me what had happened on the road, I controlled myself at first. I drove out there to convince Resnik’s thugs that Natalie is an innocent not involved in our quarrel. My intentions were peaceful.
Then I saw Titus at the casino standing by the slot machines, that lock of her hair hanging on a string from his neck like a fucking trophy. I lost my shit. I slammed into him and mayhem began, an all-out brawl with fists and whatever I could get my hands on. Stools, table legs, a metal bat I took off Sledge after I’d knocked him down. Titus was lucky I didn’t break his legs.
Of course, Verne Resnik will no doubt hit back.
He’ll move me to the top of his to-do list, if he hasn’t already. Let him come. He’s been on my to-do list for two years. One of us will do the other real soon.
I need to get him first without risking Natalie.
“Asher!”
I look up from my thoughts to see her staring at me. She’s finished planting the last row of flowers, and the front of my lawn would make Martha Stewart proud.
“Nice,” I say.
She walks up to the porch, the skirt of her dress chased by a breeze. “Nice? How about spectacular? Dazzling? How about—thank you so much, doll face, for turning my home from a zoo into a civilized abode.”
“It’s beautiful,” I say. “Thank you.” I must’ve made a face because Natalie frowns.
“Are you worried about Resnik?” she says.
“I’m not worried about a goddamn thing.” I step forward and nearly suck on those pouty lips, but I settle for a pat on her shoulder. “We should celebrate. I’ll buy you a drink at Goldilocks.”
Her face brightens. “I’ll drive.”
“Good girl.” My gaze roam down her body as lust squeezes my cock.
“You’re having dirty thoughts about me, aren’t you?”
“What if I am, doll face?”
She tsks. “Don’t jerk off in my car.”
“I’ll try not to.”
She rolls her eyes, turns around, and walks toward that Beetle, the back of her skirt swishing over her plump little ass.
I swallow a growl and follow.
Natalie’s car still smells like dead fox and garden dirt, but the scent is fading.
My own mood gets better by the time we reach Main Street. She pulls into the back lot at Goldilocks, and I see only two other cars. A green Porsche and a Mercedes. I’ve never seen a luxury car in Juno’s lot yet.
Natalie tenses as we get out, holding the strap of her messenger bag with tight hands. She glances at the Porsche.
“What’s wrong?”
“My boss drives a Porsche like that. I think the Mercedes belongs to Oscar, you know, that broker at Branigan Realty who came before me?”
“They trouble?”
“Dunno.” Her expression says yes.
I put an arm around her. “Introduce me to them, Ms. Whipple.” I try to smile, but I’m primed for a fight. Goldilocks is Natalie’s sanctuary in Salma’s Hope. Anyone who disturbs her here will pay.
We head inside.
Two men at the bar giving Juno a hard time.
The loud one is about fifty, built like a bull, wearing a blue shirt with a red bowtie and matching suspenders. It’s quite a getup by local standards. I think of an aged hipster on steroids. His younger wingman wears a polo and slacks that look humble by contrast.
Normally I wouldn’t worry. Juno Newlin has thrown out her share of rowdy customers, and if someone’s too big for her, Rene the fry cook lends a hand, but he’s already left for the day.
There’s no one else present and Juno is all alone. Behind the bar, she looks uncomfortable as she listens to Bowtie say something in a low voice.
Natalie watches the men nervously. I’m about to ask if these gentlemen are her colleagues when Bowtie slams a fist on the bar counter.
“I’m done playing nice,” he shouts. “Tell us where she went.”
Wingman appears to disapprove of Bowtie’s behavior, but he doesn’t intervene.
“My customer’s information is private,” Juno says. “If you know Ms. Whipple, call her number and ask yourself.”
Bowtie slams the bar again. “How many times do I have to say it, you stupid bitch, she’s not answering her phone. We need to speak with her pronto. Right fucking now. I know she rents a room here.”
Natalie pales. I get ready to move.
Juno looks over Bowtie’s shoulder and sees us standing between the back tables. Her expression tells me to leave, that she’s got this, that she’s worried I’ll pick a fight.
I’m not leaving her in the lurch.
Bowtie leans over the counter and shoves a finger into her chest. “I drove three hours out of DC to your podunk town. I’ve spent the past hour talking to country yokels just like you. My patience is at an end. Where is she?”
“Sounds like Natalie doesn’t want to be found,” Juno says. “Can’t say I blame her.”
Bowtie looks ready to blow.
“Stop it!” Natalie yells. “You found me.”
The room goes silent.
She gives me a helpless look. “It’s my boss, Mr. Branigan.”
I’m starting to understand why she hates her job.
Bowtie turns toward us. Wingman, who I’m guessing is Oscar, follows at his side.
I take one step forward. Perhaps these are reasonable men.
Branigan sizes me up. He’s not impressed. I’m wearing scruffy jeans and a sleeveless work shirt. I’m tall and built, but he is too, so in his mind, I’m no threat. But the difference between us has nothing to do with size.
“You’re not welcome here,” I say.
Natalie grabs my hand. “Asher, no.”
“You know this jackass, Whipple?” Branigan says.
“He’s Gatsby’s neighbor.”
Branigan’s eyes bulge. “So you’re the lunatic I heard about. This him, Oscar?”
Wingman nods, but unlike Branigan, he senses there’s more to me than meets the eye. “That’s him.”
Branigan stabs his finger in my chest. “I’m Natalie’s employer. She and I are gonna have a talk.”
“How’d you even find this place?” Natalie says.
“Wasn’t easy, sweetheart. You wouldn’t answer my calls so Oscar and I took a road trip. We checked out that motel first, but you were gone. We drove into town and ran into a cop.” Branigan pauses. “What’s that guy’s name, Os?”
“Hoyt Dunkel,” Oscar says.
“Right,” Branigan says, his finger still poking my chest while he eyes Natalie. “The one useful person in this lousy town. Says he met you. Gave us directions to this rat hole.”
Hoyt should’ve known better.
“Do you wish to speak with this man?” I ask Natalie without breaking eye contact with her so-called boss.
“No,” she says after a moment. “No, I don’t.”
“You heard her,” I say.
“Hey buddy,” Branigan says, “why don’t you go back to your trailer and fuck your cousin a few times? Stay out of this.”
“I don’t have a cousin. I don’t have a trailer.”
“Fuck your sister then, just get the hell out of my face.”
Natalie takes a sharp breath. Even Oscar realizes Branigan has said something that can’t be taken back.
I haven’t moved. Yet.
Lieutenant Sheppard, my former CO from the Army, told me once your anger is not your own. Your anger comes from others. Either use it or let it destroy you.
I stay calm. I’m the surface of a winter lake.
My anger is not my own.
I keep my eyes on Branigan. “You own Branigan Realty Group?”
“Correct. Liam Branigan the Third. Don’t fuck with me.”
“You’re fucking yourself.” He’s a simple bully who picked the wrong day to show off. He never learned there’s always someone s
tronger.
Oscar grabs his arm. “Let’s go, Bran.”
“You should listen,” I say quietly. “I’ll even let you walk away, Mr. Branigan. If you apologize for my sister.”
He nudges Oscar off. “So you have a sister then!”
“I did. She’s gone. Apologize.”
“Okay, friendo. I am so terribly sorry. Did you fuck her while she was alive?”
I step closer so his finger bends against my chest. “Try again.”
“You want to dance, boy? Get violent? I can get violent too.”
“You know nothing of violence,” I say.
Branigan falters. He sees something in my eyes he hasn’t met before, something foreign to his experience, but ego won’t let him surrender.
“I could kick your ass from here to Alaska,” he says. “You need to get out of my face, boy. And Whipple! Get your ass over here.”
He grabs for Natalie’s arm.
I grab his wrist midair.
He startles.
“Don’t touch the lady,” I say.
His other hand swings for me. I saw it coming. This man knows nothing of violence and broadcasts his movements like he’s in a fucking movie.
I parry his punch. My jab to his throat sends him reeling.
Oscar swoops at me. I step aside and he crashes into a table. He gets back up with fists ready.
Branigan’s howling on the floor like a wounded animal, holding his throat.
Natalie watches me, her eyes big with fear. I need to end this now. This is a side of me she doesn’t need to see.
“You don’t want to do this,” I tell Oscar.
He hesitates, glances at Branigan on the floor, and then nods. He’s surprised when I offer my hand. We shake.
Then I squat at Branigan’s side. His eyes are wild. I could’ve broken his windpipe but didn’t.
“You’ll be fine,” I say.
“W-Who are you?”
I pick up the wallet that’d fallen out of his pocket and put it back in. “I’m trained.”
Juno tells him to get the hell out of her establishment and never come back.
Natalie gapes at me like I just saved her life and ruined it.
12
He’ll Be Back