by P Mulholland
When I returned from my swim, he was in the kitchen making coffee and breakfast for us. My beach robe came to my mid-thigh showing a lot of leg, so when he took one look at my legs, he wolf whistled. I quickly made a beeline to my bedroom to jump in the shower. It’s peculiar how an item of clothing on the beach was considered normal until you wore it in the city. Next time I’ll wear sweat pants.
Over breakfast Jake pointed out that we needed to go food shopping. Guilt scoured my stomach. I had no money left and wasn’t likely to get more for another week.
He read my mind. “I’ll pay.”
I grabbed my phone and sent the brother a message.
Me: I’ve run out of money. I need more to buy food.
Isaac: You’ve been reckless with it.
Me: Are you my budget advisor?
Isaac:
Me: I had to pay for taxis to get to work.
Isaac: Find alternative transport.
Me: I owe Farrah. Take out $267 to pay her.
Isaac: Done.
Me: Please Isaac, I’m completely broke!
Isaac:
I slammed my phone down on the table and startled Jake.
“Conservation with the Ice Man?” he guessed.
“He’s enjoying this, you know. Like the sadistic asshole that he is.”
“I said I’ll pay,” he said, filling my cup with fresh coffee. The smell was divine. “Most chicks don’t mind me paying for everything.”
I groaned. “That makes me feel worse.”
“What’s your alternative? Beg on the streets for food? Starve? Send an assassin to knock your brother off?”
“I’m stuck on the assassin idea,” I said.
“Scratch that one off the list. You need money to pay an assassin.”
“Oh yeah, right.”
“If you feel bad about it, just pay me back when you get your allowance.”
“Deal.” I held out my hand for him to shake. He took my hand and held on to it a little longer than necessary, so I was forced to tug it back off him. I needed my hand more than he did. He shot me a playful look that made me smile and I went back to eating breakfast.
Later on, we went food shopping at the organic store. They recognized us when we walked in from last week when we bought up large. The rich couple, Jake Austin and partner. The activist and the billionaire. Little did they know that we were archenemies forced to live together.
Afterwards Jake convinced me that we should go out for lunch. I let him lead the way and he chose a fancy restaurant, even though we weren’t dressed appropriately for it. But the staff recognized Jake and let us in.
“Finally I get my date,” he grinned.
“Is it just because I’m there in your face that you like me?” I asked, curiously. “I mean, because you see me everyday I’ve become your focus?”
“No. I genuinely like you. And I’ve never had to work so hard in my life to get a date. The fact we live together makes it worse. You’d think it’d be easy. Just slide into bed with my roommate and off we go. But with you, nope.”
“You make me sound like a prude.”
“Well...” He backtracked. “I’m younger with a below par reputation with women, and that doesn’t appeal to someone who was wooed by a top-class man like the Bear. So, I have to prove myself to you.”
“How do you know Aaron was top-class?” I asked.
“I read about him. It was part of my research on you.” He picked up the menu to peruse the meal choices.
I wondered if he found any dirt on the immense criticism Aaron’s girlfriend received when she got arrested in Russia. The Bear fans wanted to run her out of town and in the end, they got their wish.
“I enjoy it, you know,” he said, his warm eyes peered at me over the menu. It was at that moment I noticed how long his eyelashes were, and that he’s got a little lump on the bridge of his nose, probably from an accident, or the accident. “The chase. The hunt. I’ve never had so much fun in my life without alcohol.”
“I thought you’d be suffering without…” I leaned in and whispered, “sex.”
He grinned and held up his hand. “I have my buddy Righty here and pics of you to perv at.”
I leaned back in my chair. “What pics have you chosen for your Righty collection?”
“Do you want to see my faves?”
I hesitated. “Okay. Yes, please.”
He took out his phone found the correct category and held it in front of me. Naturally, there was the photo of me in that red bikini when I was his age, and a few more that I thought were unremarkable, but for some reason he saw something special in them.
“I’ll show you my favorite go-to one,” he said, swiping until he found it. It was a black and white pic of me in full wetsuit standing in the cockpit of Ocean Warrior gazing out at the horizon. I’d say the vessel was closing in on a driftnet and I was waiting for the signal to take action.
“Why is that your favorite?” The only skin showing was my feet and head and my hair was a single plait down my back. Plus the angle was from the side, so you could only see part of my face. Hardly alluring.
When he looked at the pic again his eyes softened and a sweet smile appeared on his dial. “We’ve had some good times together me and this photo.”
I laughed, feeling slightly embarrassed.
“That’s how I see you. Strong and focused like Wonder Woman. It’s a powerfully sexy photo.”
“Where did you find it?”
“On the Ocean Warrior website,” he said.
“I didn’t know that photo existed.”
“Did the journalist take a photo of you last night?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Good point. I hope she doesn’t pull that bikini one out again.”
“You might get more Bears coming after you.”
“I hope not. How can you be so sure that I’m going to surrender to you? I mean this could go on forever or at least until this babysitting gig is over.”
He shrugged. “I’ve seen signs that give me hope.”
“Like what?”
“The fact you haven’t told me to ‘fuck off!’ is a good sign.”
“So that’s all I need to do? Just tell you to ‘fuck off’ and you’ll stop pursuing me?”
“Yep. And I’ll go on my merry way to the club to pick up some chick wasted on cheap beer. But you’re not going to say those words, are you?”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Two reasons. One. Deep down you’re flattered by the attention I give you. Two. You’re a Malone. If you really wanted me to ‘fuck off’, you would’ve said so by now.”
I pondered on his words for several moments as he watched my face, waiting for a reaction. He’d given me an out and those two words were on the tip of my tongue. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t tell him to ‘fuck off.’ I didn’t want to analyze it too deeply, preferring to let the feeling float along the surface like thin ice on the lake. Once it was said, I couldn’t un-say it. I’ll leave it at that.
“See!” he exclaimed, grinning. “You can’t say it. I’ve slept in your bed, and kissed you. Never once have you told me to fuck off.”
“At least I know now what the magic words are.”
He grunted. “Are you going to tell me why? Why you can’t say them?”
“No.”
“You don’t want to admit that you have feelings for me?”
“No.”
“Want to see me naked? Run your hands over my hard muscles? Tumble in the sheets with me? Let me use my fingers to-”
“No.”
I’d have to be in a coma not to notice the size of his hands and fingers and the veins rippling through the underside of his solid forearms. The way his sweat pants hang off his hips when he saunters about the apartment, and those twinkling brown eyes full of mischief. I’d have to be dead inside not to feel even the tiniest of twinges when he looks at me like I’m a wonderland of curiosities for him to explore. Not just physically. He’s c
urious about me in general. My life. Me. The real Brydie O’Neal, not just the one seen on social media and in the Tribune.
“Liar. Say it then. Say the magic words.”
“No.”
He shrugged. “Then I’ll keep pursuing you. Bit by bit chipping away at that Shawshank stone wall with my teaspoon, until you’re all mine.”
“Interesting choice of symbolism.”
“Thanks.”
After lunch I said I needed to go for a walk by the lake, and when I found my spot by the water’s edge, I discovered myself chuckling aloud reflecting on the day’s conversations with Jake. If nothing more came out of this imprisonment with the kid, at least we developed a good friendship. But then, I had to remind myself that it was early days, we were only 8 days in.
Someone held a ceramic coffee cup in front of my face. It was red with white spots with the lid made of rubber. Could it be? My heart thudded against my ribs. I looked up expecting to see the hairy, grinning face of the Bear, instead it was the young, impish face of the twenty-one year old.
“I thought you wouldn’t want a paper cup, due to all the trees being felled and pollution and all that,” he said.
I took the cup and patted the ground next to me for him to sit.
“So this is what you do? You sit and stare at the water.”
“Yep.”
“Relaxing.” He took a slurp from his matching ceramic coffee cup, except his was black with white spots, not red.
“Yep.” I had the overwhelming urge to hug my archenemy for no apparent reason at all. But I held off, instead giving him an affectionate nudge with my elbow.
He grinned. “I’ll take it,” he said, nudging me back. “I’ll take every little bit I can get.”
Chapter Nineteen
Brydie
The following week consisted of me getting up early, going for a swim, then walking to work. I figured it would take me an hour to get there and it was around 52 minutes, unless traffic held me up.
Without confiding in me first, Jake had arranged for a driver to pick me up after work because he said I’d ruin dinner if I arrived home too late. Then of course, I had to head off to work for the brother from 7.30pm to 9.30pm, Mon, Wed and Friday. Jake dropped me off at my night job, then picked me up afterwards. He said he didn’t mind doing it, but it irked me that I had a distinct lack of independence. I was used to being a free agent, coming and going when I pleased. Now I had to rely on others and I hated it. But it was only until I got my next allowance and then I would start using the subway.
The dinners Jake cooked on his allocated days were great, especially the Sunday night dinner where he had more time to put into it. It was a two-course candlelit dinner, pasta for the main meal and chocolate self-saucing pudding for dessert. Even though he’d been practicing, I still didn’t expect much from him. When he placed the plate of pasta with mushroom sauce in front of me, I got up and searched for the takeout packages in the kitchen.
“You won’t find any,” he called out to me.
“Did you make the self-saucing dessert from scratch?” I asked.
“Ok. I confess to buying a packaged mix and following the instructions.”
I was still impressed though, and now I had to compete with his meals on my allocated days. Whose idea was this?
On Monday the Chicago Tribune printed my story and my phone started ringing even more than before. Even Jake was being harassed, since Applegate had printed that I was living with the infamous recovering alcoholic/playboy/billionaire. She failed to mention that we were just roommates, of course. Apart from that fib, everything else she wrote was to plan, to make the Austins look like heroes.
The only good thing to come out of my story being told was that it shone a momentary light on the plight of the oceans. Unfortunately, the public were more interested in Chicago Bear Aaron Trews’ ex’s relationship with billionaire bachelor, Jake Austin. I hadn’t realized that the Austin bachelors were a thing in Illinois, often featured in magazines and online gossip sites. The public liked to share their opinions on the handsome brothers and their choice of women, the clothes they wore, and the cars they drove.
This type of media attention brought back bad memories of my days with Aaron. I just wanted to plunge my head into the sand until it was all over. Jake on the other hand, enjoyed the assumption that he and I were an item.
“You look hot,” he said, holding up the Tribune to show me the photograph that was chosen to accompany the article. It was a headshot in black and white of me with wind-blown hair, staring directly at the camera. I couldn’t remember when it was taken, but my expression was serious, frowning. I suspect it might have been cut from a group shot or one with Aaron. I guess I’ll never know and to be honest, I don’t care.
“Give it a week and we’ll be yesterday’s news,” I hoped.
On Wednesday night, Jake dropped me off at my brother’s building. There was a chill in the air that made my skin prickle; an indication that Fall was nearing. Which meant winter was clawing its way back to Illinois. Chicago winters were harsh, too harsh for a beach bum like me. The ultimate plan was to be gone before winter.
When I stepped out of the elevator to the floor of Elite Security Services, I was greeted by a maintenance man scrubbing paint off the glass doors. It was an X in red paint that stretched across both doors covering Isaac’s business logo.
“What happened here?” I asked the maintenance man.
“Kids fooling around, I suspect,” he said. “It’s all on film.” He pointed to the camera hitched in the high corner of the foyer. A security firm such as Isaac’s would have the best equipment in town, whether legal or not. But I did pause to wonder why did Leon have to watch over me when several cameras were already doing that. A question I must put towards Leon.
“The door is already unlocked,” the maintenance man said, when I took out my keycard from my bag. He pulled the glass across and let me go through.
I found Leon sitting in one of the offices staring at a laptop screen and called out to him, then went to work in the Dust Room. He didn’t reply, but Leon was not the type of amicable person that responded when someone spoke to him. Some folk viewed him as rude. I just viewed him as being too impatient for small talk and niceties. Actually, Leon was rude. Rude and obstinate, like his father.
After shuffling papers for thirty or so minutes, I decided to hunt Leon down to see what he was doing. I found him in the same office talking on the phone, still staring at the laptop screen. He glanced up at me and flicked his hand at me to leave, so I did.
“Been vandalized?” I asked, when he appeared at the door of the Dust Room later.
He shrugged. “Nothing we can’t handle.” There was no emotion, no anger, no fear. Nothing.
“What did Isaac say?”
“Wash it off.”
I snorted. That’d be right. “The maintenance man said it was kids.” Then it occurred to me that you can’t get into the building without a keycard, so it might’ve been an inside job.
“You’ve got work to do,” he said and left.
When Jake picked me up after work I told him about the red X over the door.
“No offense,” he said, “but you Malones are shady folk.”
“I’m an O’Neal, Jake, O’Neal. I wonder if it’s a targeted hit?”
“The fact you’re even using the words ‘targeted hit’ kind of freaks me out.”
“Trouble attracts trouble,” I muttered quietly.
On Friday evening when I arrived for work, there was absolutely no sign the red X had been crudely slapped across the glass doors two days before. I felt at ease and walked down the hall to the Dust Room as per normal. Leon was already there in the same office I saw him in on Wednesday.
“Is this your office?” I said, examining the shiny leather furniture and large mahogany desk.
“Got a problem with your eyes?” he asked, pointing to the door. A gold plaque with the name Leon Malone was stuck on the wood.
“Right. Did you discover anything on the security footage?”
“Why is it your concern?”
“Because I work here at night,” I snapped. “Is my safety at risk?”
“No.”
“Fine. That’s all I need to know.”
I turned to leave then heard a shuffling sound coming from the reception area. I cautiously walked up the hall to take a look. The room was empty, but the closing elevator door caught my eye through the glass entrance.
Someone had left a box. I pressed the button to open the glass doors when a voice behind me growled, “Are you thick or something?”
“Jeez! You sound like your father,” I hissed. “Isn’t it about time you got your own rude phrases to hurl at people?”
Ignoring me, he cautiously took a look around before deciding it was safe to step outside into the foyer. Then he crouched down next to the box and placed his hand on it to feel for movement or heat or something.
“You’re seriously not feeling for a tick?” I asked, stepping back.
“Get back to work,” he ordered.
“If I hear an explosion-”
“Go!”
I sat in the Dust Room biting my nails apprehensively. I had noticed the box was addressed to Elite Security Services, so it could be a genuine delivery. Perhaps the delivery guy was behind schedule and decided to catch up in his own time.
As the minutes ticked by my anxiety grew, mostly because I couldn’t hear anything. No bangs, crashes, squeaks. Nothing. Just silence.
I left my cramped little room to look for Leon and found him again in his office, talking on his phone. The recently delivered box was on the floor opened. Curiosity begged me to step closer. It took me a minute to register what I was looking at as it was far too macabre for my brain to comprehend quickly. It was a rat’s body with a small Barbie doll head crudely attached to where rat’s head should be.
Once Leon ended his call I asked, “An Andrew Lancaster piece, Leon? Where’s this going in your apartment?”