Chapter Fifteen
SEBASTIAN
I can’t seem to focus today. Or at all, lately.
Outside, another summer storm is raging.
I’m supposed to be planning out our calendar for the third and fourth quarters, but the wind and beating rain on my window remind me a little too much of my night with Simon.
I don’t know how long I’ve been staring out at the storm, but it’s been long enough for the sun to have nearly set. Most of the office has gone home.
Lehman walks in and tosses a newspaper on my desk.
“Another one? Are you serious?”
The paper shows two pictures, one of Dev, who disappeared last weekend, and Parker Nolan, who was similarly reported missing Monday morning. The latter was last seen at a “Summer Blowout” at a beachfront mansion.
Like Cam, Parker is the son of a local client. “They’re getting more frequent. This has to stop.”
“At least the papers are tying the disappearances together. Maybe that’ll get the police to take another look,” Lehman says, but in a tone that tells me he’s losing hope.
Frustration has me hurling the folded newspaper against the wall. “We’re up to five, Lehman. Five people have disappeared who were either clients or the child of a client, and the police have no clue what’s happening. Get the investigation team on this.”
The silence between us stretches long enough that I already know what he will say. He’s trying to devise a way to couch it because he knows I’ll be furious.
I preempt his response with one word. “Don’t.”
“Bas.”
“They found Cam. They can find the others. We can afford it. We’ve got low overhead and plenty in reserves, and if it comes down to it, I won’t draw a salary. We have enough in savings to cover expenses for at least a year.”
Unless Tony manages to convince a judge he’s entitled to half of everything I have. That will kill the business faster than our declining client roster ever could.
“And what if, like Cam, Liam’s team finds them but can’t get any information? How does this end?”
A throbbing starts in my head. “We’ll figure something else out. We’ll start setting shit on fire and turning over rocks until we find something.”
Lehman shakes his head. “I know this is a sensitive topic for you, but…” The wheels in his head are turning. He’s got his hands on his hips the way he stands when he’s gearing up for a fight or we’re dealing with a difficult client.
His rebuttal is clear because I already know the facts: the money, the clients who’ve jumped ship.
Paying a paramilitary investigation team each time someone disappears isn’t sustainable.
None of that matters to me if we stand by and do nothing.
I stand and come around the desk, ready to stand my ground.
“You can’t save everybody,” Lehman says quietly. “And you don’t need to keep paying penance for who your father was.”
“I—”
Then there’s a hesitant knock at the door. “Bas? There’s someone here to see you. I know it’s late. He’s insisting it’s urgent.”
“Jesus fuck, lady, stop looking at me like I’m some kind of lying-ass criminal. And for God’s sake, get that mole on your neck checked out. There’s a great dermatologist in Lake County. Slice that thing right off for ya.”
I know who I’m going to see before the door bursts open. I’d recognize that mix of superiority and sarcastic unsolicited medical advice anywhere.
“Simon, what are you doing here? You could have called.”
“Yeah, I tried the numbers you gave Christian. One went straight to voicemail, and then this one”—he gestures at Abigail—“told me you were too busy to take calls.”
My assistant looks as if she’s never wanted to strangle anyone more in her life. “Do you want me to call security?”
“No need.” I focus back on Simon. “I could have gone home for the day.”
“No, you couldn’t have. Jacob told me you work more than his stepfather. I’m not thrilled about being here, but I needed to talk to you.”
I raise an expectant eyebrow, but he only glances back and forth between Lehman and my assistant.
Fine. “Give us a minute,” I say.
Lehman nods. “I’m going to head out. It’s late. Nothing more we can do tonight.” He gives me a pointed look.
I give him one back. “Set up another meeting with the team.”
“I’ll call from the car.”
He exits, but my assistant seems to hesitate. “Abbie. It’s fine. Go.”
When we’re finally alone, Simon says the last thing I expect him to. “Cookie?” He holds up what looks like a miniature pizza box.
I shake my head. “What?”
“I walked here from work. Passed this cool little bakery called Midnight Cookies. I guess they stay open late for all the bar crawlers who might have a case of drunk munchies. Got one of each flavor to try them out. Birthday cake, chocolate chunk, tahini, and double fudge.”
He laughs at the last one and holds out the box, which got rained on a little.
“They’ve all got a bite missing.”
“You’ve had your mouth on my dick but sharing food I’ve bitten is where it gets weird for you?”
I take him in. He looks significantly more casual than the last time I saw him. He’s wearing a hoodie and what look like medical scrubs, but they’re covered in pink flamingos.
I study the silly looking flamingo scrubs and then return to the box of cookies. “Do you ever take anything seriously?”
“Believe me, I try not to. But.” He clears his throat. “I’m here for a serious reason.”
“Somehow I didn’t think it was because you’d suddenly decided you wanted me to fuck you again. Particularly since you did tell my assistant it was urgent.”
Simon grins. “Trust me, if I wanted you to fuck me again, it would be urgent.”
“Why are you here, Simon?”
He sighs and rounds my desk, dropping into my chair without permission. “I’m here because you mentioned you’d had some of your clients turn up missing.”
“And?”
“And…” He pulls a folded-up newspaper page from his pocket. The same article from the front page of the paper I’d thrown across the room. “Like these guys?”
I narrow my eyes. “Yes. How did you know?”
“I didn’t. It seemed like a possibility, an important enough one to come and ask you about it. The thing is, I sort of know this guy.” He points at Dev’s picture.
“Client?”
“Fuck no. I volunteer at a local animal rescue. I’ve seen him there.
I wasn’t sure I remembered him, but when I went yesterday, the assistant director was all worried because he hadn’t shown up in a while, and it wasn’t like him to miss a shift without calling.
But the thing is, I also saw this other guy at a party on Friday night. ”
I round the desk, standing right between it and Simon. “You should go to the police.”
A laugh escapes him, his head dropping back against the chair. “That’s a good one.” Then he sobers up. “Seriously. I try to avoid the police as much as possible. For obvious whore-related reasons.”
“Right. Then tell me.”
“Just…don’t shoot the messenger.”
Because I can’t have him this close to me without touching, I step forward, placing my hands on the top of the tall chair back and keeping one leg on either side of Simon’s knees.
His eyes widen, but he keeps eye contact.
The only hint of concern is the rapid tick of the pulse in his throat. Or maybe that’s excitement.
When I push my thighs together to squeeze his knees, his breath catches. “Tell me,” I repeat.
“I can’t go to the police because it might come out that I was working the party.”
Working. “As in…”
“Not what you’re thinking. I never fuck at parties. Dancing, though. Performing. A few other guys and I were there. Got lots of questions about all the bruises on my arms that haven’t gone away yet, so thanks a fucking lot. Also, Tony was there.”
Reaching out, I take hold of his hands to push up one of his sleeves and then the other. The marks are fading but still there. The glow of my desk lamp shows a mix of greens and yellows.
“Wipe that smile off your face, you dick. I’m not your property.”
So he says, but when I run my fingers up and down his arms, he doesn’t stop me. Just slouches in the chair lightly, his breath growing choppy. And when I straddle his lap and sit, trapping him in place, I don’t think he even realizes the moan that comes out of him.
“Simon.”
“Hmm?”
Great. I’ve distracted him a little too well. “You said you saw Parker at a party. You said Tony was there.”
“Right. Yeah. Dude was drunk off his ass or maybe high—this Parker kid. But I saw Tony and some other guy walk him out. They said something about getting him a ride home, I think, but they were all heading toward a white catering van. I didn’t want to get in trouble for not doing my job, so I didn’t spend too much time perving on the situation. ”
I clench my fist. “Anything else?”
“Other than your husband threatening me for letting you fuck me, no.”
“Wait.” I stand and take a step back. “How would he know?”
“No idea. Maybe one of the guys at the front desk tipped him off.”
“I’m going to punch him in the face,” I mutter.
“Only if I get to watch.” He grins. “It’s fucked, but I think you’re hot when you’re violent.”
My brain’s not certain how to respond. My body has some suggestions.
“Anyway. That’s pretty much all of it. I felt shitty I couldn’t help you with your divorce situation, but I wanted to tell you about this in case it was useful in some way.
Maybe you can get Tony to tell you something helpful.
I’d better get going, though. Early day tomorrow. ” He stands and tries to slide past me.
I could move, but I don’t. The flush on his cheeks gives me far too much pleasure.
“So…I said what I came to say. I’m gonna go now.”
Standing so close, I can see dots of moisture on his hair, face, and clothing. Because it’s raining outside, I’m returning to that night we spent together.
“I, uh, left my umbrella out in the lobby. Dripping everywhere. Your assistant might murder me,” he whispers.
Still, he doesn’t move. He licks his lips. Swallows. When he finally takes a step to edge past me, I grab his arm and slide my fingertips over the lingering bruises there.
“I had so much fun giving you these,” I murmur.
He swallows again. The wet sound has my slacks fitting tighter.
“Sebastian, I can’t—I really should go.” Simon’s words are mostly air, with no absolute authority.
Then there’s a flash outside—a too-close bolt of lightning. There’s a whir and grind as the building’s air conditioning shuts down. Everything is plunged into darkness—the entire block, judging from the view out my window. The only sound is the spatter of rain on glass.
I tighten my fingers around his wrist. “You’re not going anywhere.”