7. Fiona
Chapter 7
Fiona
In the morning, I breathed a sigh of relief as I walked through the doors of the New Host Library. The scent of well-used books and crayons and stale carpet washed over me. I headed straight for the coffee machine; I needed double the caffeine. I had gone to sleep at midnight after finishing my essay, then was back up at four a.m. to gather materials for my program proposal. But that was okay. Being here meant that I could work at my own pace, which was something I had never had when I was growing up; my parents were always on top of me. Even when I was a volunteer at the library, there was so much freedom and self-regulation. People trusted you. Respected you. As long as the tasks got done, you were allowed to do them as you pleased.
Even if you were playing a high-stakes game in which panties were forbidden.
One of the part-timers was checking in books from the front-desk book drop, and Erica was shelving children’s books. I let my shoulders sink as I organized the rest of the check-ins. With the three of us, it would be easy today. I could probably officially start on my proposal.
“Morning,” Erica said, bursting through the staff room doors.
“Morning.” I gazed through the window at the dark office.
“He’s not in yet.”
I shrugged, pretending like I didn’t care, when all I wanted to do was to have Sawyer check every program proposal resource that I had so that he could see that it didn’t matter how I got what I wanted; I was going to win. But that would have to wait until later.
I settled into the routine: straightening the shelves, scanning for in-house check-ins, making sure that the computers were available for patrons. Once everything was fine, I went to my computer, scanning the sticky notes on the bottom of the monitor. Maisie? one of them said. I needed to check on my middle sister soon.
I glanced at the window to Sawyer’s office again. Did he ever worry about his brother like that?
“So what’s up with you two, anyway?” Erica asked, following my glance toward his window.
“Absolutely nothing.”
“But what about dinner?”
I forgot she knew about that. “It’s a long story.”
“You spent a long time in his office yesterday.”
“He’s—” I paused. Was he a jackass? A pompous jerk? An arrogant, smug?—
“—into you,” Erica finished.
Warmth washed over me. “No, he isn’t,” I said. Though secretly, I hoped he was.
“Oh, shush,” Erica said. She turned to the dark window. “His eyes are always on you. ”
I blushed, trying to keep it in. “I told you: he’s my sister’s brother-in-law.”
“That’s not a blood relation.”
“Erica!” I pretended to scold her.
“What?” she laughed. “It’s not like you’re making babies right now.”
I rolled my eyes, then focused on my work email. Making babies with Sawyer? Mr. Feldman, I corrected myself. I couldn’t let him be Sawyer.
“What do you think he really does?” Erica asked. “Did you see he had these men drop him off and patrol the other day? Like, why does a rancher need a bodyguard?”
She was right. Why did Mr. Feldman need men following him around for protection?
An idea dawned on me. I swiveled my chair to face hers. “You think he likes me?”
Erica grinned. “Obviously.”
“What if I found dirt on him?”
Her eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
I lifted my shoulders. I remembered my sister’s friend, Bambi, saying something like that once: People had secrets, and secrets gave you leverage.
“Why not?” I said. If I was willing to play a game about saying two words— please, Sawyer —in order to get the library, then why couldn’t I go after Mr. Feldman like this? In a game where I had the power.
My phone vibrated. Club Riot tonight, my sister, Maisie, texted. You’re coming, right?
My shoulders tensed. I wasn’t much of a partier, and going out when I had to study for midterms next week wasn’t a great idea. But if Maisie was there, that meant that there was a chance that Wilder, her husband, would be there. And if Wilder was there, then that meant? —
Why did I care if Sawyer went?
I meant Mr. Feldman. If Mr. Feldman went, I could figure out what he wanted. Then that would give me power. I could use that desire against him, just like he used my desire for my own library against me.
And if he actually showed up—what would he do when he saw me out without panties or a bra? Like he had instructed. Would he have a problem if I followed his rules when other people were around? Or would he be proud and excited by me?
I turned to Erica. “Have you been to Club Riot yet?”
She shook her head. “Is it worth it?”
“Come with me tonight. My sister is bringing her friend, so I figure?—”
“That I can be your friend?” she winked. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”
That night, I wore the same black ruched dress I had worn to the anniversary party. I wasn’t one for fashion, but it looked good on me, and that’s what mattered. Erica dressed in a gold tube dress, drawing attention from everyone. And as we linked arms, I tried to smile like I wanted that attention too. I pulled down the hem of my dress unconsciously, scanning the club for my sister.
“Let it ride up,” Erica said. “You’ve got nice legs, girl. Flaunt them.”
“Thanks,” I said, trying to seem confident. But I didn’t remember this dress being that short, but I told myself that it would be worth it. If Mr. Feldman showed up, he would never expect me to follow through with his rules out in public.
And I would show him.
Maisie threw her arms around me. The giant diamond- shaped fishnets on her arms and legs scratched me as we embraced.
“You’re here!” she squealed. “I thought for sure you would have school.”
“We needed a break,” I said, exchanging eye contact with Erica.
“New boss,” Erica explained to Maisie.
“This is my friend, Erica,” I said.
Erica held out her hand. “You must be the famous sister.”
Maisie pulled Erica in for a side hug, then cocked a brow at me. “I’m famous now?”
“I told her about your anniversary party,” I said.
“Sounds like it was glamorous. But where did my invitation go?” Erica laughed.
Maisie held out a hand toward Bambi. “This is Bambi, my bestie.”
Bambi nodded at the two of us. “Let’s go. We’re wasting time!” she yelled.
“All right. Let’s go!” Maisie said, pulling me out.
Erica grabbed my hand. “Fi, you want me to order you something?”
“Sure!” I laughed, trying not to trip over my own feet.
“What do you want?”
“Surprise me!”
The music changed, and Maisie twirled me around, yelling silly compliments like a cat-caller. I giggled and closed my eyes, trying to enjoy myself even though I was rhythmically challenged. This was a nightclub, not a presentation. It was about showing off.
What would Sawyer think if he saw me like this?
“Is your husband here tonight?” I asked Maisie.
“Coming later,” she shouted back. “Why? ”
I opened my mouth to say that I didn’t think Wilder would let her out of his sight, but Maisie spun around to face Bambi, and I didn’t have it in me to scream a lie over the music. That wasn’t the real reason I was asking.
Erica joined us, handing me a shot glass.
“What is this?” I yelled over the music.
“And where’s mine?” asked Maisie.
“Let’s go to the bar,” Bambi said. “Next round on me!”
“Wait! Take it,” Erica said, bobbing her head at the shot. “I’ve almost spilled it twice! This crowd is wild!”
I wrinkled my nose at the clear liquid. “Vodka?” I yelled.
“Yep!” she said. “You said you wanted a surprise.”
We clinked glasses. All I wanted was to get my mind off of him. And if that meant shots, then I would keep them coming.
“Bottoms up!” Erica said.
I took the drink, the alcohol burning my throat. I groaned.
Erica yelled: “I knew you could do it!”
I laughed hard, the alcohol warming my chest. We met Maisie and Bambi at the bar. Then it was a round of shots, courtesy of Bambi—Jagermeister this time—followed by a round of vodka, Maisie’s treat. I figured Maisie and Bambi could hold their liquor, but I was surprised with Erica; I didn’t think she was a party girl. And though I tried my hardest to keep up, it was mostly bluster. Three shots were enough. The room was spinning. My skin was hot, the lights were flashing, and I felt lightweight for the first time in ages. I held my hem down, making sure no one got an unwanted flash, but other than that, I danced as if I knew he was watching. Because he could blame the game, but he wanted me. Me: a wannabe librarian who had flunked out of medical school. And he knew it .
And maybe I wanted him too. Sawyer.
Mr. Feldman.
Erica and Bambi ran off to the bathroom together, giggling. “Where are they going?” I shouted.
“Doing drugs? Who knows,” Maisie yelled. She leaned in closer to my ear. “Can I ask you something?”
My chest tightened, bracing for the worst. Was it about Sawyer’s new position as my boss?
“Go for it,” I said.
“How do you know Erica?”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re asking about Erica?”
“She’s a little—” Maisie paused, tapping her lips, “—she’s not your usual friend type.”
“What?”
“She’s—” Maisie shrugged, “—extroverted?”
Because she liked to drink and snort coke? So what?
Erica couldn’t take all the credit.
“Hate to break it to you, but those years you were gone, I was in college. And in college, I drank too.” I pointed to the ceiling, popping my hip, my dress riding up. “And yes, I danced on tables. And yes, I did body shots. I did all of it . I even smoked weed once. And though I may not have been as cool as you always were, I have no regrets.”
The ‘no regrets’ part was a lie, but it didn’t fit with my speech.
“Whoa, there, buddy,” Maisie said, raising her hands in defense. “I don’t doubt your partying skills. I’m just curious. She’s different.” She squinted her eyes at me. “Hey, how much did you?—”
“And let me point out something important,” I interrupted her. “It’s not like Bambi is ‘good friend’ material. They’re off doing drugs together right now.”
Maisie tilted her chin. “All right. I’ll back off. ”
I peered over her shoulder. A man with broad shoulders winked at me. A tight black shirt was stretched over his muscular chest. I rolled my eyes; he was the kind of guy who knew he was hot. Like Sawyer. But this guy was worse because he didn’t even dress well.
Yeah, I gave a pass for men in suits.
Not that I had noticed that Sawyer almost always wore suits.
I corrected myself: Mr. Feldman.
The muscular man in the tight shirt approached me. Tight Shirt. That’s what I would call him.
“Let me buy you a drink,” Tight Shirt said.
“Thanks, big guy,” I laughed. “But I’ve had enough of your kind for one day.”
“My kind?” he asked. “What’s that mean?”
“You don’t see it?” I pinched my eyebrows together in disbelief. “My boss is enough. I don’t need to deal with you too.”
“Feisty,” he sneered, invading my space. “I like that. Let me buy you a drink.”
He looked down at my legs. I glared at him, subtly trying to pull down the hem of my dress.
“Don’t stare so hard,” I said.
“Get her a cocktail. One of those A Short Trips to Hell,” he said to the bartender.
“Fiona,” my sister warned, pulling my arm. “She’s drunk,” she said to Tight Shirt, forcing a laugh. “Don’t mind us.”
“You can shove the cocktail up your ass,” I shouted at Tight Shirt.
“What the hell are you doing?” Maisie hissed into my ear.
Tight Shirt cracked his neck, then stepped closer. Maisie’s grip tightened on me. “Flashing your pussy like you need some dick in your life, and you’re telling me ‘no’?” He handed me the drink off of the bar. “Now thank me.”
I laughed. “No. Thank. You,” I said.
“Bitch—”
Tight Shirt reached for me but was yanked back by his shoulders, tripping over his feet. Sawyer stepped forward, his jacket off, his sleeves rolled back. One of the top buttons of his shirt undone, showing off his chest hair. No tie.
How did he look so good in formal wear, and partly undone like this? And why was he here?
My heart gathered in my throat.
“Sawyer,” I said.
“She doesn’t want the drink,” Sawyer said. “Find yourself another woman.”
“What did you tell me to do?” Tight Shirt asked, straightening his chest, the fabric threatening to rip.
A sudden fear swarmed in my stomach. Sawyer was muscular, but this guy was like a damn boulder.
“It’s fine,” I said, grabbing Sawyer’s arm. Nausea swept through me. I held my stomach. Maybe Maisie was right. Was I pushing it too far? How much had I had to drink? “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”
“That’s right,” Tight Shirt said, clenching his fists. “The bitch isn’t even wearing a thong. What kind of attention did she think she’d get?”
Sawyer’s knuckles whitened, the blood leaving his straining fingers. “Is that right?”
Tight Shirt narrowed his eyes. “Your whore?—”
Sawyer grabbed the man’s shoulders and kneed him so hard in the chest, everyone in the vicinity gasped and gawked. The music kept playing but Tight Shirt held his stomach, then reached for Sawyer’s leg. Sawyer railed punches into the man’s skull, straddling him, his knuckles crashing down. Someone tried to pull Sawyer back, but another man stopped him. I had this vague recollection that I recognized the man from the anniversary party. Was that one of Sawyer’s bodyguards dressed in regular clothes?
What were they doing here?
Sawyer threw a final punch, the man’s eyes sufficiently puffed and bloody. My face throbbed. The room sloped around me. A headache hammered my skull.
Had Sawyer just hurt that man for me?
Sawyer stood up. “Get out,” he said.
A few men behind Sawyer pulled Tight Shirt to his feet, escorting him through the crowd. A man in a black suit wearing an earpiece nodded to Sawyer, then left. Did Sawyer know the owner of the nightclub? Was that why no one was stopping him?
Sawyer wiped his bloody hands on a cloth, then stowed it in his pocket. His eyes cast on me, holding me still.
He had hurt that man. Was he trying to protect me?
Why was he protecting me?
Was it because he liked me?
Why was I even considering that? It didn’t matter why he had done it. A single punch was one thing, but Sawyer had hurt that man until he couldn’t see.
“Fiona,” Sawyer said, his voice low. His eyes traced down my dress and I blushed, my nipples hardening under his gaze. I thanked the universe that the dress was ruched, probably hiding my reaction. I hated my body for reacting like it did around him. It didn’t make sense. And yet, I was pulled toward him every time.
He had hurt someone. It was supposed to be disgusting. Even frightening.
But he did it for me .
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said.
He ignored my statement, nodding to the rest of his men, then his full attention swung back to me. My skin perspired, the room spinning.
“That was obnoxious,” I tried again, my words slurring.
“He was obnoxious,” Sawyer muttered.
“You think you can force your way into anything, don’t you?” I hissed.
Sawyer looked down his nose at me. “He tried to take what’s mine.”
Mine?
I balled my fists. Was he calling me his? Or was he just claiming my pussy? It was such a stupid thing to even think about, but both ways made me either want to punch him in the face for thinking he could own me, or for thinking I couldn’t handle myself.
Or maybe I wanted to punch myself for being so resistant. Maybe I wanted to thank him. Because that guy was huge.
What had gotten into me?
Maybe it was Sawyer’s fault. He had this strange effect on me.
And he wasn’t getting off of the hook now.
“What is up with you?” I asked.
“You’re the one fighting meatheads at a nightclub,” he said.
Fighting? I could show him fighting.
I swung my fist forward, and he stepped out of the way. I tripped, but he caught me, holding me in his strong grasp. He grinned. The smug bastard.
Once I was standing, I shook my head. “Incredible,” I said. I faced the exit and Sawyer grabbed my arm.
“Where are you going?” he asked .
“Home,” I said. Erica could get a ride home from Bambi or Maisie. She didn’t need me here.
“You’re under the influence,” he said, walking behind me. Why was he so obsessed with my state of intoxication? “You can’t?—”
I pushed through the crowd of people. “Then I’ll call a cab,” I snapped.
The cold air rushed forward, enveloping me in a crisp breeze. I sucked in a breath, letting it refresh me. But my stomach twisted, and I held myself. All I had to do was get to my car. Be alone. Then I could call a cab. Sawyer was right. Mr. Feldman.
I stomped toward my car. Footsteps clicked onto the pavement behind me. My eyes landed on a folded piece of paper stuck under the windshield wipers of my car. I opened it.
Fiona Ross. Age 26. Master’s candidate at Pacific State University, Pierce Satellite Campus. Dropped out of Heritage Bay College of Medicine. Will probably drop out of PSU-P too.
My pulse skyrocketed. What kind of sick joke was this? I crumpled the paper in my hands. It had to be Sawyer. He had to be messing with me. I dropped the paper, tears burning my eyes. Then a spasm rocked through me.
Every drink came out in a yellow mess on the floor.
A hand landed on my back, another fist swiping up to hold my hair.
Sawyer.