Chapter Eighteen
Nixon
It probably said a lot that I had to talk myself out of dropping into her workplace to talk to her. More than a few times.
Because for three nights in a row, I didn't see her at Michael's office.
"That's a good thing, though, isn't it?" Kingston asked Thursday morning, brow furrowed. "It means she isn't stalking anymore. That’s a win-win for everyone."
Except if she wasn't stalking Michael, she was nowhere near me.
"How the hell can I even close this case?" I asked, tossing a pile of paperwork about another case in my drawer, knowing I wouldn't be able to focus on it until I got my head straight. Which meant I needed to get her out of it.
Not fucking likely.
"Without telling him that your girl is his stalker?" King clarified.
"She's not my girl."
"She sure looked like your girl. Saw you two hugging like you were going off to war," he added, smirk toying up.
I guess from far away it would have looked innocent enough. No one but me could have known we weren’t embracing. Oh, no. I was trying to hold her together.
I was probably the worst man for the job. Literally any of the other guys inside the Mallick home, including the goddamn teenagers, would have likely done a better job.
But I was there, and she clung to me as her body jolted almost violently with silent sobs.
Over what? I had no idea. But whatever it was, it was a lot, intense, something that she felt down to her core.
Grief like that was secondhand traumatizing. I couldn't get it out of my head. I couldn’t help but want to know the origins of it. Even if I had no right to wonder.
"Look, if you still don't see her the rest of this week, I don't think she's going back. Tell the client you thought you saw someone, but after you hung around a while longer, they didn't come back."
"You want me to lie to a client."
That wasn't like Kingston. His business was too important to him.
"Listen, I liked Reagan. I don't think she's dangerous. Maybe she was misguided. Maybe you got through to her. She took some time, reconsidered it, decided to move on. And, well, the client is a dick. Give him the half-truth. Offer him a discount."
"A discount?" I asked. We didn’t offer discounts. The people who paid us were the last people who needed discounts.
"Just for the first couple nights. Back when you were truly on the job. Tell him you stayed on just to make sure, but we aren't going to charge him for that time. That should ease your guilt."
"I don't feel fucking guilty. I just don't want shit to blow back onto you."
"Look, he can't prove that you lied. It is a morally gray area, but we haven't exactly been Boy Scouts. It's fine. Wrap it up. Move onto something else."
With that, he moved to stand, going back toward the door, then turning back.
"For what it's worth," he started, giving me a long look, if you can't get her out of your head, I think that says something. That's not like you. Stop being a pansy-ass and do something about it."
"How long did it take you to seal the deal with Savea?" I asked, giving him a brow raise. "And it only happened because she needed your help."
"You're a dick." There was no malice in the words. There rarely was when it came to King. "I'm just saying, if she likes your asshole self, that is something worth pursuing. I mean, who else is gonna want you?" he added with a big smile as he walked away.
"Fuck," I sighed, rolling my neck, made sore from a night of tossing and turning.
It had been a long week. And I still had Sunday dinner and all those questions to look forward to.
I rose from my desk, making my way out into the office, going toward the coffee station, filling my mug.
It wasn't until I raised it toward my lips, seeing the Devil Tears' logo looking back at me, that I got an idea.
Was it smart?
Probably not.
Could it backfire?
Almost definitely.
But I couldn't seem to talk any sense into myself as I walked out of the office, got into my car, drove across town, parked on the ridiculous pavers, made my way through the basement, trudged up the steps.
"There he is! Our savior!" Krissy declared, beaming at me as I moved into the office.
"Hey Krissy. How have you been?"
"Oh, you know me. Working hard. Breaking hearts."
"Sounds about right. Kids," I greeted, nodding my chin to Marley and Calvin, who were both chuckling over something inside a file folder, all the malice from my last visit seemingly gone.
"Are you here to look at the headshots?" Marley asked, yanking the file from Calvin's hand, moving over toward me.
"Harvey's headshots," Krissy clarified. "You know... your idea."
Right.
The idea we were supposedly discussing over dinner last Sunday. The idea she had actually started to run with. It was stupid, but I felt a swelling of pride at the realization. One of my ideas was worth something.
"Yeah, I think I'm going to need to see those," I agreed when I eyed a pissed-off Harvey looking over at me.
Inside the file were assorted staged pictures of Harvey and the bottles of whiskey. He looked miserable in every single one of them.
"They're perfect, right?" Marley asked, eyes bright, excited, clearly invested in the company even if she was there by force.
"I think they might just work," I agreed, shutting the folder, handing it back.
"He managed to piss off everyone on set by insisting they all listen to Nietzsche on audio the whole day," Calvin informed me, smirking. "Nothing people like more than hearing a German philosopher spouting off about perspectivism for hours."
Apparently, Reagan was right about that kid. I wasn't sure I knew many adults who knew who Nietzsche was, let alone could pronounce his name correctly, and touch on his philosophies.
"Are you here to check in on the campaign?" Krissy asked, eyes keen. "Or just to see Reagan? I don't think she was expecting you."
"She wasn't. I got out of my usual work early." More like I walked out without saying a word. "Figured I would drop in to see how things were going."
"Oh, is that all?" Krissy asked, lips twitching. "Well, you picked a bad time. Reagan ran out. She should be back soon though. Why don't you wait in her office?" she suggested, jerking her chin over to it.
I didn’t know why she wanted to hide me away. But I figured catching Reagan by surprise might be a good course of action.
I moved into her office, walking casually around, looking at the peaches piled in a bowl, wondering if that was where her scent came from.
Not a perfume, just eating too many peaches, absentmindedly touching her neck or hair before washing her hands.
Somehow, that made the scent even more appealing.
Without her there to see me snooping, I picked up the picture she had been looking at the first time I had visited. With the picture of a guy I had felt pangs of jealousy over at first. Her model brother. Who the woman was, I didn't know. Maybe a best friend she left behind in California.
I found I wanted to know why she had left that whole life behind. Why she would choose to settle down in Jersey with its cold winters and overcrowded summers, with its beaches covered in New Yorkers trying to escape the concrete jungle for a weekend.
I also found myself wanting to tell her why we had settled in Navesink Bank. What we had all been doing before then.
She'd been surprisingly receptive toward the fact that the Mallick family were loan sharks. I imagined she would be able to accept my siblings' and my past.
I lowered myself down in her chair, watching the door, wondering if I was out of my mind. Why was I going out of my way for this woman when I barely spared others a second thought? It made no sense.
But I decided that King was right. If she wasn't scared off by me yet, and if I found myself so interested, then maybe it was something worth looking into.
"Harvey," Reagan's voice rang through the other room, her heels clicking across the room, something rustling as she went.
Bags, probably. "The next time you place such an asinine order, you have to go pick it up.
You should have seen the looks those people were giving me.
I'll be right back. I just want to kick out of these shoe—“
"Hey, babe," I greeted her, feeling my lips curving up at the shock on her face, the way it made her eyes go round, made her lips part.
She was wearing another pair of those high waist slacks, this time in a bright royal blue color, paired again with another white top.
But this one teased at playfulness with a short hem that showed off a sliver of stomach under her breasts.
Just a couple inches. That would be all it would take to expose her to me, to take her nipple into my mouth, to her my name sigh out of her mouth as my teeth sank in.
Fuck.
I needed to focus.
"Nixon," she said, sucking in a breath. "What are you doing here?"
"I needed to proof Harvey's headshots," I told her in a loud enough voice to be heard by the eavesdropping Krissy.
Seeming to sense my reason, Reagan walked closer, came toward the desk, but stopped when she was at the side of it.
I wondered if she placed the distance there because she genuinely wanted it, or because she didn’t trust herself close to me any more than I trusted myself close to her.
"The real reason," she told me, voice low.
"I don't have a passable answer for that," I admitted, shrugging.
"And yet I am supposed to accept that?" she shot back, brow raising, but her dark eyes were dancing.
"I told your staff I was here to proof the headshots," I told her, side-stepping her question.
"I gave your idea some thought. I figured it was worth a try."
"I hope it shakes out for you," I told her, meaning it.
"Harvey is dragging his feet, kicking and screaming the whole way, but I think there is a small part of him that is actually enjoying it.
He would never admit it, but it's the truth.
We are doing a commercial in a week. Marley and Calvin actually worked together to come up with the script.
It's surprisingly hilarious in a very self-aware sort of way. "