Chapter Thirty-Five
Wes
It figures. The night I march into work with my head held high, ready to tell Max he can cram this job up his uptight ass, he’s already gone home for the day.
Still. Simply for having made the decision, I’m lighter and less stressed than I’ve been in forever. Nobody’s screwing with my good mood tonight. Not Max, not the yappy Pomeranian on the tenth floor, not the “eccentric” visiting CEO from California who keeps insisting we only bring him green food.
Nobody.
I slip into Max’s office to leave the letter on his desk, taking the time to tape it to his computer keyboard for good measure. It’ll be the first thing he sees when he sits his ass down in the morning.
“What are you doing in here?” Gina’s voice breaks into my focus.
“Shit.” I nearly make myself dizzy by lifting my head too quickly. “You startled me.”
“Sorry.” A crease mars her forehead. “I saw the light on. Max already left for the day, so I was going to turn it off. What is this?”
Not sure whether she’s referring to the roll of tape in my hand or that I’m behind our boss’s desk, but either way it’s the same answer.
“Came to drop off my letter of resignation. I’m leaving.”
“Are you serious?” She leans her hip against the doorframe. “All those times I suggested we leave and go somewhere for a fresh start. Now you’re quitting?” Sadness crosses her features.
Gina and I have fought so much over the years; I think I made her the villain in my head.
Really, I need to own up to the role I played in our problems. “You’re right.
And I’m sorry. We moved here to be near my brother and it’s the same reason I never wanted to go anywhere else.
I should have been more flexible. Or maybe we should have split up earlier. Either way, you deserved better.”
She straightens her shoulder. “Thank you for saying so. For the record, so did you. I let my misery turn ugly and I tried to punish you for it. That wasn’t fair.”
Gina’s never really been one to apologize, so this is a lot. “I forgive you.”
“I appreciate that. But, Wes, do you really want to leave? I thought you liked this job. Is this about…them?”
Them. Adam and Troy. Certainly it has to do with them, but not exactly.
“It’s about me. I’ll be healthier and happier not having to run into you and Max every day.
Not walking through the same employee parking lot I was kidnapped from.
Not seeing—” The customers who have fucked Adam and Troy “—the VIPs I don’t like and whose asses I have to kiss anyway. Ideally, not working nights.”
She wrinkles her nose. “That was unfair of Max to do to you. I should’ve said something.”
“Don’t worry about me, Gina. I’m not your problem anymore. And I’ll be fine.”
“You know, I’m not sure things are going to work out with Max anyway.”
Color me surprised. “It’s none of my business what you do with your personal life, Gina.”
She seems to take the hint, straightening and backing away from the door. “Right. Well. Good luck, Wes. I’ll see you around.”
I return the roll of tape to its location on Max’s desk and leave a minute after she does. I’m about to go to retrieve my two-way radio when I spot Emmy from housekeeping pushing her cart down the hall. Her limp looks even worse.
“Hey.” I turn to follow her. “Thought you were going to get that thing checked out.”
Her smile looks tired. Strained. “Oh, I will. Took your advice and put in the request for time off. I’m waiting for Max’s approval.”
“Tell you what—” I relieve her of the heavy trash bag she’s trying to keep from toppling off the cart. “—let me take this. Go home. Tomorrow, get in to see your doctor. I’ll make certain the time off gets approved.”
Worry creases her forehead. “You’re sure? Boss man’s not your biggest fan.”
“Absolutely. There’s no reason for him not to approve it, I’ll talk to him about it when he gets in tomorrow. Besides, I put in my two-weeks’ notice this evening, so what’s the worst he can do to me?”
Unexpectedly, she lurches forward and throws her arms around me. “Thank you, Mr. Monroe. We’ll all hate to see you go.”
Well. I didn’t expect that response. Or the lump of emotion in my throat.
Emmy disengages, quickly heading off down the hall. Probably decided to leave me with the cart before I change my mind. Which makes me chuckle.
I’ll miss everyone here too, but the more I think about it the more I’m excited about the idea of leaving. The way I left things with Troy and Adam has me nervous, but I’m hoping we can talk it out.
In fact…I decide to finally go ahead and shoot them a text.
Wes: I’m sorry about the way I left things before. Can we please talk when I come home after work?
I’m hoping my use of the word home will clue them in to what I’m thinking.
We’ll get it all worked out. We get each other. I believe that.
Smiling, I hoist the top bag of garbage from Emmy’s cart and head out to the walled-off enclosure where the hotel hides several large dumpsters from view.
Chilly air seeps through my clothing. There’s a cold front coming. Belle Argo usually averages temps in the sixties to eighties this time of year, but my weather app warned me we could see high wind and lows in the twenties and thirties tonight.
When I left my brother’s place earlier this afternoon, it was sixty-five out. Now, the chill on my skin tells me that’s been dropping steadily. Chafing my arms for warmth doesn’t work too well when I’m carrying a huge bag of trash.
God, I can’t wait to finish my shift and go home. It’s been hell not having Adam and Troy on either side of me. The stinging night air has me missing their warmth even more.
Maybe that’s why it takes me a minute to notice that the flood lights that illuminate the dumpsters don’t seem to be working. Or why I don’t immediately register the footsteps behind me.
Until a voice says, “Mr. Monroe. I have a request.”
I freeze in the midst of swinging the garbage bag into the bin opening. It swings back and hits me in the face. Gross.
A second later, when I hear the now-familiar click of a gun being cocked, I drop the bag. Turning, I find Rigby, of all people. In the moonlight I can see he’s wearing his usual uniform of high-end loafers and a cashmere sweater. Pressed khakis that are probably worth more than my car.
He’s also pointing a weapon at me.
Even as my pulse spikes, my mind is surprisingly focused. “If you’re unhappy with the turndown service, I can look into that for you.”
“I’m unhappy with Adam calling to let me know that I should leave you alone. That he and his ‘best friend’ are ‘for sure’ quitting the business.”
“That has nothing to do with me, you know. They’d talked about doing it anyway.”
“Oh, I know. They’d mentioned it to me. Several times. Each time they did, I’d offer them more money and they’d change their minds. Which was a win-win for everyone.”
Until I came along. I see. Okay. “Here’s a novel idea. If you wanted them, why didn’t you simply ask them out on a date?”
Rigby gives me an impatient look. “My marriage provides me with money and connections I’m not anxious to relinquish.
Beyond that, the whole mating song and dance isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.
You should know that as well as anyone. When you pay someone to perform a service, they’re expected to perform it to a certain standard.
Especially when you pay as well as I do. ”
A shiver hits me that has nothing to do with the weather. “You want to have power over them.”
“Sounds awful when you put it that way.” Which isn’t a denial.
Gross. I shove my hands into my pockets, feeling for the button on my key fob that allows me to send an emergency signal from my car. It’s out there in the parking lot beyond us, but I don’t know if I’ve got the range to make it work.
“I’m curious. Would you be this angry if I’d taken away your chef or your gardener?”
“You’re damn right I’d be angry. Callum and Elana are extremely valuable to me. Would I go to this kind of trouble? Probably not. For you though, it’s not simply about Adam and Troy. It’s about your disturbing tendency to get involved in the lives of your very temporary employees.”
“You’re aiming a gun at me because I try to be a good boss?”
“Son, I’m a good boss. I own three companies. Everyone loves me. But if an employee fails to show up for work without explanation, they’re fired. End of story. It’s not your place to follow up.”
Wait. “This is about Nadia and the other missing staff?” If that’s true, then… “Did you have something to do with all the other people who were taken? Me? You were responsible for me and Adam and Troy, your precious, favored ‘service performers,’ getting kidnapped?”
He clicks his tongue in a way that makes me want to rip it the fuck out.
“That part was an accident. They weren’t supposed to be with you.
” It’s hard to tell, but he almost sounds regretful.
“The point was to get you out of the way, which would keep you from dating them and from nosing around about the missing employees. Win-win.”
Something tells me the words win-win are going to trigger murderous rage for a long time to come. If I survive.
“You are stupidly fucked up, you know that?” I’m saying this as a guy who got off on having my ass destroyed while our kidnappers caught us on film. At this point, I’m an expert on fucked up.
“I prefer the term eccentric. Less ‘I need outpatient services’ and more ‘lovably quirky rich uncle.’ My nieces and nephews adore me.”
Because they don’t know you’re a psychopath . “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Rigby.”
As we talk, I make a point of stepping a few inches to the right, and then a few more, hoping he’ll be too focused on his delusions of—I don’t know, romantic servitude?
—to notice I’m edging toward the enclosure opening.
The employee parking lot has horrible lighting, so if I can make it out there, I might be able to hide.
Call for help, or even make it to my car.
Rigby takes a breath and re-focuses his aim on me. “I know you think I’m being unfair, but I’m looking out for the two of them like you are.”
Unfair is not the first word I’d use. “By killing me?” Another sideways step.
“You’re not suited to take care of them like I can. I tried to tell you.”
“You’re right. I’m not. They’re the ones who take care of me.”
Now I’m hating myself for arguing with them when we last saw each other. Why couldn’t I have said thank you instead? Thank you for feeding me my favorite foods and teaching me who I really am and for making me feel seen.
Thank you for making me feel loved .
Rigby scoffs. “Of course they would. They’re good boys, but they’re young. They don’t know yet what’s best for them. Maybe you wouldn’t understand, but I’ve raised two children. Sometimes what they want and what’s good for them isn’t the same thing.”
“They’re adults.” What’s worse here? That he’s talking about Adam and Troy as if they’re children for him to “raise”? That he’s buying his own PR?
Or that I almost bought it too?
And… “I love them. They make me happy. I want to make them happy. Isn’t that all that matters?”
“You’d think?—”
Footsteps on pavement draw his attention. Out of nowhere, something hits me from the side. Somone.
“Troy?”
He shoves me out of the way, inserting himself between me and Rigby’s gun. “Wes, get the hell out of here.”
“I’m not leaving you here with him. What if?—”
“Wes, go.”
Rigby actually fucking smiles. “Since we’re all here, let’s use this an opportunity to have a talk. Where’s Adam?”
“Visiting his brother in Miami.”
“What?” I’m about to ask why I didn’t know they were even back in touch, but then I remember I walked out a few days ago and haven’t talked to them since. Of course they wouldn’t loop me in.
“Don’t worry about it.” Troy jerks his chin at the quirky billionaire with the gun. “You’re going to let Wes go. If you do, then you win. I’ll go with you. Adam and I will do whatever you want.”
I’m going to be sick. “Troy, don’t?—”
“If you hurt Wes though, you don’t get us. You don’t get anything.”
“Troy, no. Don’t let him win.”
I reach back for his hand, but he slaps it away.
“Come on, Wes. You said it yourself, our relationship doesn’t make sense. We were always on borrowed time. Now, I swear to fucking God, if you don’t run I will murder you myself.”
My heart sinks. “I’m not leaving you here.”
“Wes. Please. ” Troy keeps his gaze trained on Rigby. “This man’s got more money than God, a steady hand, and a shiny Colt 1911. What exactly do you think is going to happen right now?” He takes a deep breath. His stance is loose, his expression stoic, but there’s an edge in his voice.
Terror.
“I’d listen to him if I were you, Mr. Monroe.”
Right now I’d give almost anything to punch Rigby in his smug asshole face.
This is worse than my first marathon attempt. Twenty-four miles into the race, my legs turned to noodles. Dehydrated and completely out of fuel under the hot Florida sun, I fought so hard to get to the finish line, but in the end I ate pavement.
Right now all I want is to fight for Troy. To fight for us. But there’s a man with a gun pointed at him and Troy is begging me. Not even when we got kidnapped did I see Troy looking so terrified.
“Wes. I’m choosing. I don’t want you here. Go, before you get shot for someone who doesn’t even want you.”
He’s lying. He’s got to be. It doesn’t stop the words from stinging.
Troy’s entire demeanor has gone icy and cold. As much as I want to stay and argue, there’s still a man with a gun waiting not so patiently, and if he gets mad enough, he could shoot us both.
So I give Troy one last pleading look, and then I do what he asked me to.
I run.