Chapter 32 Boone
BOONE
There’s an awkward moment when Hedy puts together that I was unofficially part of a Guardians’ operation.
By the way, I’m a Guardian now? Apparently?
Details are forthcoming.
All I know is that I did not make my first million because of a photoshoot. I made it because the Guardians split the profits of their operations evenly among the operators present.
Whitaker’s compound, held in trust for one of his dead sons, is now a holding of Elijah Energy. I’m told that’s Jake’s and Ryder’s doing. I can’t wait to meet them.
Anyway, the compound is worth several million, and I’m told my payout is nonnegotiable. Jake set up an offshore account for me while I drove us to Maverick’s condo.
Hopper, Maverick, and I have plans to work on our projects together this weekend, and Hopper has commandeered my cat until then.
Pretty sure he’ll return her at some point.
Conversely, Anders has refused to take back his car. Called it a sign-on bonus.
Not sure how I feel about that, but having seen his more sedate twin shear someone’s spinal cord with his own vertebrae, I’m disinclined to argue with the man.
In another first, I’ve never been inside a penthouse. Accessing the space from a private elevator is a helpful reminder that Maverick’s lifestyle is way above my pay grade.
Even with the Whitaker payout.
The foyer is posh, with marble flooring and heavily polished wood paneling, leading into a sunken living space that feels both grand and cozy. High ceilings, walls of windows overlooking downtown and the lake, and a gorgeous bar dividing a modern kitchen done in stainless steel and limestone.
Maverick’s cousins are waiting on a massive U-shaped couch, and they jump up, rushing over to us.
“I can’t believe Whitaker sent people to your apartment,” his female cousin says, sending a grimace my way. “How the hell did y’all survive that? By the way, I’m Maya.”
“Hi Maya. I remember you from summer camp. And it helps that Maverick is a martial arts expert,” I answer dryly, then wrap my arm around his waist and kiss his shoulder. “He saved my life.”
Maverick rubs his chest. “Only seems fair. You saved mine too.”
Maya pulls her chin back. “Wait, are you two…?”
“Yep,” Maverick says, leaning into me.
A sexy guy with a fashionable mullet and hand tattoos calls out a question, but Maverick is starting to rub up against me, and there’s a sense of urgency about him.
“You okay?” I ask, low enough so only he can hear.
“You ever get horny after a really dangerous situation on the force?”
I stifle a grin. “Sometimes.”
“So, the fact that I want you to fuck me into my mattress?” he whispers back, pivoting us back toward the foyer. “Totally normal?”
I look over my shoulder at the cousins, who seem confused, but go with it.
He leads us to a long hallway off to the right of the elevators.
It looks like a high-end hotel, with expensive-looking wood floors and a series of gorgeous, plush rugs.
Half a dozen doorways dot the walls, each slightly inset with ornate framework.
Each door feels like it leads into a distinct space.
“Darling,” I answer, kissing the side of his head, “I don’t care if it’s normal. If that’s what you want, that’s what I’m going to do.”
Footsteps follow us into the hallway, but Maverick continues down to the last door on the left. He opens it, pausing to send me a worried look.
“Shit. Everything just changed for you, didn’t it?” He brings his hands to his eyes, shaking his head. “Tell me we didn’t ruin your entire life.”
I hold up my hands. “I can’t think about it right now. I just… I need you.”
“Maverick? Are you really not going to talk to us?” Maya asks, a much, much larger cousin looming behind her.
I also vaguely remember him from summer camp. I think he’s named after a tree, maybe.
Oakley.
Maverick opens the door and ushers me in before turning to her. “Doesn’t feel great when the shoe is on the other foot, does it?” he asks lightly.
If we weren’t both horny as fuck, I’d probably recommend he stop and listen to what she has to say. But now that I’ve gotten to know the man better, I know he needs to process, and the conversation with his family needs to happen…after.
Maverick softly closes the door and turns to face me. I can’t help but smile.
“In the middle of everything, you’re smiling at me?”
Moving his hair out of the way, I lean in, speaking low into his ear. “I need you to clean your ass out for me. I plan on living up there for the next several hours.”
Gesturing awkwardly, he points to his bathroom, and I dip my chin.
The cousins aren’t the only ones who are due a conversation, and we’ll get there, but not right now.
Pulling back his hair, he makes his way into the bathroom with a little bounce in his step. He spends a little more time here than he did in my apartment, and it gives me a chance to take in the room.
Maverick is a maximalist and a genius. Or a mad scientist.
He’s definitely an artist. I don’t know how many ways in which this man can blow me away with his talents, but this is a new one.
While it is one big room, there are several distinct microclimates. His bed is against the far wall on a platform, surrounded by twinkle lights, the effect like a mini loft. His bedding is a cacophony of quilts and pillows, many of which look like they’re made from repurposed sari material.
His color theory is stunning. The walls, or at least the visible parts, are a deep peacock blue, and the couch in his sitting area is a deep golden, almost mustard, color, reflected in several elements around the room, the two main colors gorgeously complementary.
He’s got a big, angled desk mostly lit by the oversized windows, perfect for the dozens of projects he has somewhat neatly stacked in the floor-to-ceiling built-ins.
It reminds me of the time there was a theft of an art piece at the Blanton Museum, and I was allowed behind the scenes, where all the art that isn’t currently on display is stored.
For Maverick, the act of storing art is in itself an art, and my curiosity gets the better of me.
Each built-in cubby is a wonder of color and technique.
It’s not just that he works with a wide range of materials.
It’s that he works with every kind of material.
Multimedia doesn’t begin to cover it. More like omni media.
Paints, charcoal, crayons, butcher paper in every color of the rainbow, brushes, scissors, yarn, more of that sari-type material that covers his bedding, various looms and frames that I can’t even begin to identify.
While it’s tempting to call this a cacophony, there’s a mad sort of flow to it. Next to this stunning wall of materials is a filing system for some of his larger unfinished works. Careful, I thumb through them, and every project deepens my respect and understanding of him.
I can’t wait to make art with him.
I’m also reminded that, in order to access his trust fund, Maverick has to be involved in charitable giving. Now I understand why he sponsors arts for underprivileged kids, funneling those with both talent and passion into programs that help them to develop their skills and options for the future.
As I continue to marvel, my phone buzzes.
It’s Joni.
Joni: Everything’s been cleaned up on our side. Nothing has reached the department.
Joni: You still have a job if you want one.
Joni: But if the Guardians offer you something with their team, I think you should take it.
I’m not ready to let my brain go there right now, mostly because Maverick just walked out in a towel. Gorgeous, spangled with droplets on his broad shoulders, his hair loose and heavy with water.
“You’re stunning,” I breathe out, silencing my phone before putting it away.
Everything makes sense, and nothing makes sense.
“I know it’s kind of crazy in here,” he says, toeing the dark wood floor. “But think untidy, not dirty.”
“This isn’t untidy.” I pull him into a tight grip, nosing his hairline before laying a deep, heavy kiss on his sweet lips. “It’s a peek inside your brain. I didn’t know you were an artist.”
He looks around his room, perhaps viewing the various elements with new eyes.
“I suppose it is quite the vignette.”
“I would love to paint this room,” I say, finding I mean it. In the abstract, so much can be said about this place. “Maybe while you worked on one of your projects.”
“Really?” he asks, gently shaking out his curls.
“Really.” I tap my chin, trying to remember… something. “This reminds me of a place. I can’t….”
“I always think of Hong Kong when I come in here,” he jokes.
I snap my fingers. “That’s it! This reminds me of Hong Kong.
Bright colors layered one on top of the other, but without the noise.
I don’t know if I have the words to describe it, but there is an organization to this.
” I kiss his forehead and remove his towel.
“Maybe not any kind of organization I’ve ever seen before, but there’s an order to it. It’s peaceful.”
“It’s one of my favorite spaces,” he admits softly.
We kiss. Passionately. Desperately. My clothes disappear from my body. Soon enough, we’ve made our way over to the sensual, otherworldly loft bed, under the silken quilts, naked, facing each other, wrapped up in each other.
Maverick pulls back, his chest heaving. “I’m so sorry for ruining your li—”
I press the tips of my fingers to his lips. “No apologies. You didn’t ruin anything.”
“You sure about that?” he asks, and there’s a desperation behind the question that makes me think he needs to believe me.
“I’m not sure about much right now,” I say, needing him to see that I’ll always be honest with him, “but I am sure about you.”
We kiss on those words, and I’m stunned by how true they are.
I pull back to tell him this and find that he’s blinking away tears. I cup his chin.
“Tell me what’s going on in your head.”