Chapter 22 The Pettiest Bitch You know is a Straight Man #2
Wes was eyeing Teo. Behind his casual, relaxed body language, she spotted the tension in his jaw. He held the glass in a white-knuckled fist. When did he get hammered?
“So,” started Teo, “what brings you to this fundraiser?”
“I’ve donated to this charity for years,” he said. “Thousands. Of dollars, not years.”
“Impressive, on an academic’s salary.”
“Well, I’m also financially involved in several start-ups. I’ve gotten lucky.”
Teo’s brows rose with interest. “Is that so? Which start-ups?”
“I don’t like to brag,” said Wes. “Have you heard of the Rose?”
“I’m not familiar.”
“Look it up,” responded Wes, while Sasha stared daggers at him. “What brings you here?”
“My business associate runs the charity. I’m not affiliated, but it’s a noble cause. The last person I’d expect to see here was Sasha. We met on a flight to Paris recently. A missed connection, you might say. I was a fool not to get Sasha’s information. I’ve never regretted anything more.”
Sasha and Teo glanced at each other. Warmth spread to her cheeks.
“Romantic,” said Wes flatly. “Anyway, if you’re not in the car in the morning, I’ll assume this guy’s the culprit.”
“Are you worried about me kidnapping her?” He laughed good-naturedly.
Wes looked at him. “What’s funny?”
“It’s humorous, the idea of me committing such a crime.”
Wes chuckled, hollowly. “I guess that is funny, considering that kidnapping takes strategic thinking.”
Teo frowned in light, amiable confusion. “You, eh, don’t take me for a strategic thinker?”
“You had six isolated hours to zero in on Sasha’s name, and that tripped you up. No, I don’t take you for a strategic thinker.”
Sasha read a social satire piece once, theorizing that “the pettiest bitch you know is a straight man.” The proof was right in front of her. Currently, her Spanx thong was cutting her in half—she longed to rip it off and choke Wes with it.
But Teo seemed amused. “Are you baiting me?”
“Why, you feeling baited?” asked Wes.
“Roland, that’s enough,” hissed Sasha.
“I won’t be insulted by an online vice chancellor.”
Wes turned to Sasha, gesturing at Teo with his glass. A bit sloshed onto the floor. “You hear this elitist fuck? This is your guy?”
“You know, you’re quite rude,” said Teo, with an almost surprised tone. “But you’re also entertaining. I can’t decide if I like you or not. Ehh, I’m of two minds.”
“Well, I’m of two tunics,” Sasha blurted out nonsensically. The tension was making her anxiety flare. “Teo, this man is my friend. He’s not usually like this. Unfortunately, he’s inebriated beyond belief.”
“It’s true. I’m an inebriated man saying inebriated shit,” admitted Wes.
Then, he looked at Teo with stony resolve, his entire demeanor switching up.
“But on this, I’m clear. You hurt her, and I’ll fuck your entire life.
You feel me? I played Little League with half the bookings officers in this city. ”
“So, if I hurt Sasha,” said Teo, “you’ll have me jailed?”
“No. I’m saying that I won’t be. Understand? No matter what I do. And before you ask, yeah, it’s a threat. Welcome to America, dawg. Cops are corrupt.” Wes finished his drink, and then added, “It’s a fucking travesty in every instance but this one.”
Teo didn’t address this veiled threat. He just nodded mildly. And then, he asked Sasha, “Is this friend important to you?”
“He is,” she confessed. “Very.”
“Then, excuse me. I’ll get him a glass of water.” Teo flagged a bartender, following him to the other end of the bar.
Sasha whipped around to face Wes.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she spat. “What happened to you?”
“What, am I the only one drinking at the function? Look at the dance floor. Sixty-year-old white people out there throwing ass to a Carlos Santana featuring Rob Thomas cover. They’re the problem.”
“Wes, please. Don’t ruin this. Pull yourself together or I’ll kill you.” She spoke so fast, her words bled together.
“You can’t be serious with this guy. That mama-mia-ass accent? Come on, Sasha.”
“Oh really? How many languages do you speak?” She ripped the glass out of his hand. “And did you really just threaten him?”
“It wasn’t a threat. He hurts you, I’m ending him. I’ve done it before.”
“Done what before? Listen to you! When did you even have time to get this drunk?”
“I’m not drunk. I’m six foot four, do you know how much I’d have to drink to feel it?” He exhaled a bit too hard, and his balance went wonky. Groaning, he grabbed the edge of the bar for balance. “Yeah, I’m drunk.”
“This is your job. I can’t believe you did this.
You don’t get to do this!” She moved closer to him, whisper-yelling so no one could hear.
All around them, revelers were reveling, but her life had split down the center.
“Every time we got close, you pushed me away. So you don’t get to have a temper tantrum. ”
He blinked, slowly, and then eyed her through his absurdly long lashes. “Don’t I?”
Even in this state, petulant and angry, his face got to her. At once, he was goofy, vulnerable, menacing, ridiculous, and utterly, thoroughly, in the wrong. But in his mess was the truth. And it was clearer than if he’d said it out loud.
“Let me be happy, okay? You found Teo for me. Your work here is done. Put the last month behind us and move on. I’ll never forgive you if you ruin this for me.”
“He’s a fraud.”
“And I’m a fool,” she said bitterly. “Go home.”
Just then, Teo returned with the water. He handed it to Wes. “Drink this. I haven’t known Sasha for long, but I doubt she’d have a friend who was an, eh, actual threat to me. Sì? And a friend of hers is a friend of mine.”
“Say ‘friend’ one more time, Super Mario.”
“And I decided I can’t leave you in this condition. My driver’s circling the block. Where do you live? Nearby? Can I drop you off somewhere?”
Something sparked in Wes’s eye—undetectable to anyone but Sasha. But it disappeared in a millisecond. And then he sighed as if giving up the fight. “Brooklyn. But I don’t need a ride.”
“He can take an Uber, it’s fine,” said Sasha frantically. “Honestly, he’s not even that drunk, he’s just dramatic.”
“I insist. Sasha, you also live in Brooklyn, yes? I’ll drop you both off. Roland will take the passenger seat. Let’s call it a night.”
This was an obvious power move. Teo was domming Wes. On top of that, he was showing Sasha that he cared about what she cared about.
Sasha chewed her lip, the situation giving her heart palpitations. “Are you sure, Teo?”
“Any friend of yours is a friend of mine. Sì? I’ve been in his position. Tomorrow night, he’ll be home, alone, regretting his actions. But we’ll be dining at Le Veau d’Or. It’s the least I can do.”
Even though Sasha knew it was a power play, she was taken by Teo’s chivalry. She was also taken by the micro-expression on Wes’s face. Something was brewing behind his eyes, she just didn’t know what. An idea. A spark of a plan.
What was coming next?
Wes found himself sitting in the front seat of Teo’s Escalade. A uniformed driver was speeding down the West Side Highway, as Lower Manhattan’s jagged skyline flew by. His drunkenness was clinging to him, stubbornly—and the sharp, nauseating scent of leather and shoe polish wasn’t helping.
Sasha and Teo were seated in the back, but there was a partition separating them from the front.
In the ten minutes since they’d piled in the car, Wes had been straining his ears to listen to their conversation.
Even in his state, he was dedicated to catching Teo in a lie.
His Wordle journal was on his lap. His pen was poised.
And his instincts told him that this bozo was going to give himself away.
Right now, Teo was in “impressing the girl” mode.
Playing at chivalry by rescuing Wes. Rising above his antics.
Sweeping Sasha away in a chauffeured car.
Teo was feeling smug. That’s when men get messy.
Lightly, Wes tapped on the glass. The partition was opaque, dark, but it was basic glass—not the heavy, laminated kind.
The issue was that it was sealed along the edges, which solidly kept out sound.
Wes cupped his hand at his ear and pressed it against the glass.
Still nothing. He leaned his head back against the seat, annoyed as fuck.
He knew what he had to do. But he’d been hoping to avoid it.
Fishing around in the inner pocket of his jacket, Wes pulled out a tiny black gizmo. An HY929 listening device—a bug attached to earphones that, when attached to the partition, would enable him to hear their conversation clearly. He never left home without it. Spy shit 101.
The driver, a Slavic-looking young man with a retro mustache, shot him a quizzical glance. He was probably twenty-one or so, but his livery uniform and ’stache added an air of gravitas.
Wes put his index finger to his lips. Shhh. Quickly, he inserted the earphones into his ears and showed the driver the gadget. Then, he pointed to the partition.
The driver pointed to a camera affixed just above the rearview mirror.
Without skipping a beat, Wes dug back into his suit jacket pocket of tricks.
He pulled out two twenties and handed it to the driver.
The driver snorted, shaking his head. Fine.
It wasn’t enough. Everyone had a price. He returned to the well, and handed the driver two hundred, cash.
The driver’s eyes widened to comical proportions.
Instantly, he flipped down the visor and slipped the cash behind a pocket-sized photo of Pope John Paul II.
He’d been carrying that bill stash around for years—insurance in case he encountered a situation where he couldn’t use his wits to bribe someone. Tonight was the night.
“Our secret,” said the driver in a rolling Czech accent, hitting the camera’s off button. Grinning, he held up a fist. Wes bumped it with his.
Then, he pressed the bug to the glass. And listened.