Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
Alex
Vicky is in Brooklyn, visiting Carol.
I know this because I can see her location on the map open on my monitor, courtesy of the tracking app I added to her phone while we were in Montana. She’s clearly not found it yet, and I’ve no reason to expect she will.
This is the first time we’ve been apart since then, and I’m not enjoying it.
I send her a text, now that she’s finally unblocked me.
Still sore, Tink? Take a bath when you get home, and I’ll pick up some massage lotion for this evening.
Lotion, lubricant… it’s about time I took her ass. It’ll give her other parts a rest.
My office is quiet. Just me, my monitors, the gentle hum of distant New York traffic in the streets below, and Rita’s dulcet tones. She’s halfway through an update on Greenstone, and I haven’t been listening.
Vicky doesn’t respond, and I toss my phone back on my desk, reclining in my chair. But my attention is still drawn to the dot on the map that marks her location. Why am I so obsessed with her of late?
No, it’s not ‘of late’; I’ve always been obsessed with her. Ever since I first saw her. That intoxicating combination of strength and vulnerability, just begging to be toyed with, baited, owned.
It’s the most fun I’ve had in… ever.
Watching her succumb to me when she won’t even admit it to herself? It’s exhilarating.
Sure, I was slow to see it at first; mea culpa. But now I know what really makes her tick: being pinned down, forced to face herself, having her needs drawn out into the open.
Who knew she was hiding that, all those months?
“…Which is why the sixteenth pink goose amendment on clause fourteen is—“
“What?” My attention snaps to Rita, in puzzlement that grows quickly to irritation.
“Oh, finally, a response,” she says, dead-pan. “I wondered what I’d have to do to get one.”
“I was listening,” I lie. “I was thinking of the regulatory impact.”
“That’s convincing.” Her words drip sarcasm. “I’m not going to embarrass you by asking what I’ve been talking about for the past twenty minutes, because we both know you have no idea.”
I chuckle, caught out and not caring. “Give me the too-long-didn’t-read version.”
Rita stares at me in disbelief. “Did you just laugh?”
“I laugh,” I say, a little defensively.
“When?”
When Vicky is around.
The thought comes quickly, and is strangely disconcerting. I laugh at work too, right?
Judging from Rita’s incredulous expression, maybe I don’t.
“What’s so distracting?” Rita’s out of her chair and leaning on my desk before I can reach the mouse, and sees the map on my screen, the dot in the center. I minimize it a second later, annoyed that she’s been so forward.
She seats herself again. Crosses one leg over the other. Balances her laptop back on her lap. “I see.”
“What do you see?”
“Your vapid little investigator is intruding on your mind. And you’re tracking her, no doubt to ensure her welfare. I’m certain it’s nothing to do with control or trust issues.”
I stare at her coldly. “You’re overstepping.”
“No, I’m protecting myself,” she replies candidly. “Your success is my success, don’t you recall?”
And your failure is my failure. It goes unsaid, but hangs in the air.
She closes her laptop in exasperation. “Why don’t you go home? Go find that woman you’re infatuated with, and put her on her knees.”
My mind summons images of Vicky in the hallway, just inside the door, looking up at me with tears in her eyes as she chokes on my cock. I’m instantly hard, and grateful the desk hides that from Rita.
But she’s still way the hell out of line, even if she’s not wrong.
I lean back in my chair and let my disdain show. “Jealous, Rita?”
To my surprise, she doesn’t bite. She crumples. Her shoulders hunch, her head lowers. “Actually… I’m worried.”
My eyebrows go up. “You? Why on Earth…?”
She doesn’t respond at first, then speaks to her lap when she does. “You know the other day, when I said I’d let you bend me over that desk? That love doesn’t compare to what we do here?”
“Yes,” I say slowly, not sure how that’s at all related to her being worried.
“I wasn’t entirely honest.”
My curiosity is piqued, despite myself. “About which part?”
She laughs, a bitter sound. “The second.” Her head comes up, and her eyes find mine. “I was absolutely honest about the first.”
It takes me a moment to put that together. “You’ve found someone you love?” The moment the words leave my mouth, I know they’re wrong. I don’t need the scoff she lets slip to confirm it. “You’re in love with me?”
She shrugs one shoulder. “For the longest time, I didn’t think I was.
I convinced myself it was just lust, and power.
” A pause. “An easy mistake to make, isn’t it?
” She laughs dismissively, then sobers. “But when I saw you with Vicky at the dance… how possessive you were…” She trails off and gives herself a little shake.
“I spent this last fortnight unable to get the images out of my head.”
I’m struggling to believe this. It sounds like a play. “Oh? What conclusion did you come to?”
“That I understand.”
In that moment, I wasn’t sure I did. “What are you saying?”
“I don’t know how well Vicky knows you, Alex, but I know you pretty damn well.”
“Uh-huh.” My interest fades. I’m not interested in her games. Not today, not when Fournier’s given me only a week to solve whatever mess Vicky has got herself into. Why it’s an issue, I’m not yet certain. Who cares about some random construction company’s expense issues?
She’s lying to you, the paranoid part of me suggests.
No, she’s not. Vicky doesn’t lie—not to me.
Is that fact, or blind obsession?
It’s fact, I tell myself, ignoring that’s what blind obsession would say.
Rita’s voice pulls me from my musings. “You’re more popular than ever,” she continues, her voice lower.
“Your star’s ascending. The head of the whole Company invited you to his house.
Yet you’re constantly distracted. Do you know how dangerous that is?
” Her gaze locks on mine, and she has my undivided attention now. “What’s going on, Alex?”
“Why do you want to know?” And can I trust whatever answer she gives me?
“I don’t,” she replies simply. “I just want to know that you do.” Her eyes narrow. “Do you?”
In light of that question, it takes me longer than it should to compose my features.
She suspects. No, she knows. Even if she didn’t before, my reaction just told her.
Rita’s too damn sharp not to put the pieces together.
“That’s what I thought,” she says. “Something’s amiss, and you’re endangering not only everything you’ve worked for here, but…” She swallows. “…me too.”
Rita reminds me often enough that I’m supposedly intelligent.
I don’t feel very sharp right now. I’m distracted, worried—to use her word.
Not just for myself, but for Vicky, too.
Because as always, Rita’s right. Fournier won’t accept less than answers, and I don’t have any.
Not for Vicky, not for myself, and not for whatever she’s done to attract Van Wyk’s attention.
That’s not all of it.
I know damn well that I’m now in bed with the devil. Greenstone, the whole Company, fingers left on a table in a pool of blood. The man who said no to Fournier and isn’t in his inner circle. He’s dead, and so is his wife.
If I can’t find out if Vicky’s up to something, and she is, she’ll be killed.
If there’s a hint of failure from me, we’ll both be killed. Fournier won’t stop at a finger, not when I’ve already refused him. He made that clear.
Strangely, it’s Vicky losing her life that bothers me more than losing my own. She didn’t let herself get dragged into this; it was all on me.
Rita’s said nothing more, and I haven’t spoken. The silence is damning.
She knows she’s got me over a barrel.
“What is it you want?” I ask.
“That’s the funny thing,” she replies, like she anticipated the question. “I used to want your success. Now, I want your happiness. And hand-in-hand with that, your safety.” She tilts her head, the subtle move making her long dark hair ripple. “If you play with fire…”
“Is it me you’re worried for, or yourself?”
“I’ll admit, after I walked out of that session with DeLuca, it was me.” Her gaze is steady as she holds mine. “But now it’s you.”
If she’s lying, she’s damn good. I can’t tell.
But then I know she’s damn good. I employed her.
“What do you suggest?” I ask, curious as to what her answer will tell me.
“You tell me, Alex. You’re the brains.”
That’s tidy. I ask her for help, she has what she needs to expose me. I don’t, and I’m on my own, with the walls closing in and the clock ticking.
“I’m not sure I pay you enough,” I mutter.
She inclines her head in agreement. “You did reject my last request for a pay rise.”
I watch this woman, sitting opposite me, her expression wholly unguarded for once. She’s bared her soul—if she’s to be believed.
But my every instinct tells me I can believe her.
I admit, I don’t understand love. It’s not an emotion I’ve ever seen a need for. Control? Yes. Ownership? Where Vicky is concerned, absolutely. But love? A weakness. A delusion. A chemical illusion and a loss of judgment. I fail to see the appeal.
Yet Vicky loves me, and apparently Rita does too.
“You know I don’t love you,” I say, testing how far this goes. “Why are you still here?”
She gives a bitter laugh. “Alex, did you miss the part where I told you I know you pretty damn well? It’s not that you don’t love me, it’s that you can’t.
” She sighs, shifts her laptop to the side of her chair, uncrosses and recrosses her legs.
“If you can love Victoria, then… I suppose that’s something. ” Her head tilts. “Can you?”
“What ‘something’ is that?” I ask. “Do you expect me to believe you’re suddenly altruistic?”
“Would you accept romantic?”
“No.”
Hurt flashes in her eyes, but it’s gone before I can be sure. “Sentimental, then.” She waves a hand. “Call it what you will.” Her gaze hardens. “You have to make a decision.”
“About what?” If she’s asking me to pick her over Vicky, it’s not a contest.
And that’s the moment I realize: I need to get out. I need away from this Company, before it’s too late. Not just for me, but for Vicky, too.
It should be a harder decision than it is. It would have been, before they threatened her.
“What you’re going to do,” Rita replies. She pauses, looks down at the floor, presses her lips together, then meets my gaze again. “How you’re going to… escape.”
That’s a damning word, and it mirrors my own thoughts. As usual, Rita’s always a step ahead. She’s just put herself out there, making it clear she knows the stakes. If I was Fournier’s man, she’d be exposed for that. She knows it, and she still said it.
Part of me regrets I can’t offer her what she wants; we really are the perfect match—on paper.
But it’s Vicky that I can’t stop thinking about. It’s Vicky I… care about.
The revelation is like opening my eyes and turning on a light. I do care. I can care.
The money never kept me up at night. The power never made me check a map every five minutes to see where someone was. Only she does that.
I want her safe, whatever the price. Even if that means I have to trust Rita, and take that risk.
“If I leave, you’ll need to go, too.”
“I’m well aware.” She shrugs. “I was only here because you were. The work-life balance sucks, and the coffee’s shit.”
I laugh, even though the joke doesn’t deserve it. “Very well. One last project?”
“Of course.” She gives me a smile, tinged with bittersweet sadness. “I’ve never forgotten who I work for.”
It’s late when Vicky texts me.
Sorry I’m not there. Not feeling too well. I have my period, so Carol’s giving me emotional support and a girlie night.
I call her immediately, and she picks up.
“Come home. I’ll run you a bath.”
I love the little gasp she makes. Is she even aware?
Every time I tell her to take a bath, it’s loaded with meaning. It’s deliberate, of course; I’m certain she’s learned that. Doesn’t mean it’s not effective.
There’s a pause before she replies, and I switch my phone to my other ear, watching her dot on the map.
“That’s really sweet of you, but I’ve already had one and we’ve broken out the ice cream.” Her voice lowers. “We’re already a quarter of the way into Bridget Jones’s Diary, and Carol would be devastated if I left now.”
Shit. I really wanted to see her.
But there’s no way in hell I’m sitting through that drivel.
“Very well. I suppose I can go one night. But I’ll miss you.”
“Do some work?” she teases, voice sharp. “You won’t even notice I’m gone.”
“I can’t work.” I look at my screen. At the finance sheets I have up, none of them to do with Northbridge. All of them my own personal accounts. Public securities. Private investments. PE funds. Figuring out what I can liquidate, in how long. “Not without knowing you’re home, and safe.”
“Uh… that’s sweet.” She sounds almost surprised. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
That’s a bit abrupt. Maybe the movie is distracting her. “And I’ll spoil you rotten then. Call me if you need me?”
“Sure. Good night.” That was terse too. She must really not be feeling well.
“Feel better.” I kill the call and frown at my phone.
I can’t remember the last time Vicky got her period.
Then I shake my head, dismissing it.
Why would I know? I’ve not been around.
That’s all about to change.