62. Clara
Chapter 62
Clara
M orning light streams in the windows, and despite my exhaustion, I don’t think I’ve even slept.
It turns out that trying not to think is less effective for falling asleep than one would assume.
I call bullshit.
Walker slips out from behind me, and I cling to him, needing a kiss, needing distraction.
He obliges, but pulls away before I can truly force things to heat to the point of thoughtlessness. “Try to get a little more sleep. I want some time with the Rubens. And Trips and I have to set up the liaison with Jasmine.”
My pout is answer enough, but he tucks me back in.
“Try. Please.”
I sigh. “Okay.”
I watch him pull on clothes, covering up all that beautiful skin, hiding all those unexpected muscles. He closes the curtains before he heads out, the door clicking shut behind him in the now dim room.
Jansen stretched spread-eagle in the bed in the middle of the night, leaving only a sliver of space for Walker and me. With a sigh, I scoot over to rest my head on his shoulder, and he immediately wraps himself around me.
Cradled in the dim quiet, I practice breathing, working through systematic muscle clenching and relaxing exercises, anything I can think of for putting myself to sleep.
Frustrated, I flop onto my back. Jansen makes a sad mew before rolling on top of me, mumbling senseless words to my shoulder. He shifts a bit, using me as a body pillow, settling into a position where his weight is pleasant instead of suffocating, his heart and mine pressed together.
I must have slept, because I wake to RJ pressing a kiss to my cheek. “It’s time to get going, sugar. We let you rest as long as we could.”
I blink, realizing I’m alone in the bed. I sit up, the blanket falling off, RJ’s breath catching.
Awkwardly, I pull the sheet up over my chest. He reaches and tugs it back down, tracing around one breast, then the other with his knuckle.
Swallowing, I find my voice. “What time is it?”
“Eleven. You’re all packed up. We left some clothes out for you and toothpaste and stuff, but we need to check out now-ish.”
He doesn’t stop the slow circles, though.
Leaning forward, I press my lips to his, and he scoops me so my knees hug his waist where he’s kneeling on the bed, the kiss easy, peaceful, neither building nor falling, just existing .
Eventually, RJ pulls back. “If you aren’t ready soon, Trips is going to barge in here and catch your naked butt, so you should probably get dressed.”
I chuckle as he sets me on my feet next to the bed. “It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before,” I say, dragging on a black lace bra and panties laid out for me, followed by leggings and a loose green sweater that isn’t mine. One sniff of maple syrup and pine, and I know it’s Walker’s. Sliding it over my head, the neck wide enough for the V-neck to fall over one shoulder, the black lace peeping out, and I feel claimed in a soul-deep, comfortable way.
“Wait, are you and Trips keeping secrets from us, sugar?”
I laugh as I skip to the bathroom, the handful of hours of sleep letting me fake normal. “Nothing so sinister. He was just an ass who barged in on me showering. I kicked him out, but I needed two hands to do it. I lost my towel in the process.”
RJ laughs too, following me to the bathroom, watching me brush my teeth. “What I would have given to be a fly on that wall.”
“Oh, I was livid. He thought the whole thing was hysterical.”
The door to the bedroom opens, and like clockwork, Trips storms in. “Why aren’t you ready yet?”
I roll my eyes, spitting out the toothpaste. “I think for what we spent on this room, they’d be willing to let us check out fifteen minutes late.”
“It’s the principle of the thing, Clara.”
I glare at him, trying not to notice the deep shadows under his eyes, the purple of a bruise spreading across one side of his face. I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep last night, and neither of us got out of that alley unscathed .
RJ watches us both, a grin on his face as we glare at each other. “Do you have the final details for the drop?” he asks, breaking our staring contest. I was definitely going to win.
“Yeah. Once again, it’s at a restaurant. Once again, she only wants Clara there.”
“Once again, you’re going to be bitchy about it,” I add.
Trips catches my gaze, a question in it I can’t even begin to decipher.
Instead, I do another swipe of my teeth, rinsing, then shove them both out of the bathroom.
“Clara, we need to go,” Trips growls.
“And I need to pee. Get.”
The restaurant Jasmine chose is once again feminine and comfortable, this one a brunch place with cheerful yellows and blues, murals of happy birds covering the walls, perched on artistic renditions of bacon. It makes sense, as the place is called the Early Bird’s Bacon.
If nothing else, the woman has great taste in meeting places.
The tiny portfolio weighs heavy on my shoulder. We went through too much to get the thing.
I follow the hostess as she winds to a table in the back, the jazzy Christmas music failing to match my mood. Large potted plants and soft-backed booths section the table off from the rest of the restaurant. It’s a spot designed for private conversations, which seems like overkill considering the restaurant is nearly empty at one o’clock on a Thursday. My anxiety immediately spikes.
Jasmine stares at her phone as I approach, wearing a deep-cut navy suit that must cost as much as a semester’s tuition, if the way the fabric fits her is any measure. Her hair wraps in a tight crown around her head, but her fingernails are chipped and jagged.
That tells me everything I need to know about how this meeting is going to go. The urge to turn and run away is almost overwhelming, but I follow the hostess anyway. This mess needs to be cleaned up, and Jasmine’s our best bet at figuring out how everything fell apart.
I claim the chair opposite Jasmine, the scratch of the legs on the concrete floors causing her head to pop up. Hanging my coat on the back of the chair, I watch her.
We perch across from each other, neither of us saying anything, neither of us knowing where to start. I set the portfolio on the table next to me as a waiter comes up and takes my coffee order. Black coffee with a shot of espresso.
I’m in a bitter mood this morning.
Jasmine clears her throat, tucking her phone into her purse. “I’m glad to see you’re in one piece. Is it reasonable to assume we can say the same for your team?”
I nod, tapping on the portfolio, my anxious fingers picking up their familiar rhythm. “Luckily.”
Jasmine glares at nothing, shadows crossing her face. “It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. I hope you know I try to maintain the utmost clarity in my dealings with my suppliers. ”
My coffee comes, and I splash in a touch of cream, watching the clouds ripple through the dark. “I’m having trouble seeing that, Jasmine.”
Her eyes meet mine, honesty in her gaze. “I have run into some unforeseen complications in my business and personal life. I am working to remove these obstacles and prevent future problems. That, however, doesn’t help you now. I am sorry, Clara. And I truly am glad you and your team are all in one piece. The police report reads like a pulp fiction novel.”
My curiosity pushes me past the unease I feel. “What do the police think happened?”
She smiles, taking a sip of her tea. “They think the other team broke into the Art Institute of Chicago and beat up the security guards before realizing they’d broken into the wrong museum. The intended target was the Museum of Contemporary Art, of course, with the goal of exchanging a recognizable but poor forgery of Gem Black’s Containment on exhibit there. The police assume that mistake led to a rift within the group and a fight broke out. None of the men involved have said anything, as they value their careers enough to fear being blacklisted, so there is nothing to counteract the cops’ theories. It’s almost perfect, but with two notable problems: one—why was the entire team unconscious when they arrived? And two—why would one man blow off another’s cock?”
“Good riddance.”
Jasmine locks eyes with me, and we both know what doesn’t need to be said.
Some men deserve to be castrated .
She picks at her napkin, chewing on her lip. “I didn’t call in the second team, nor did I know they were being given the job behind my back. I want that to be clear. But unfortunately, until we are both able to clean house, I don’t think it’s wise to continue this relationship.”
Once again, she’s trying to give me a clue. There is a link between her problems and our own. “How long do you think it should take to clean house on your end?”
Her entire demeanor changes, suddenly small, scared. It only lasts a moment before she slips back into her confident skin, but I’ve watched Walker put on and take off masks often enough to catch it. “I’m hopeful my house will be in order by this time next year.”
That’s…a long time. “And our house?”
A harsh smile touches her lips. “I can’t say for sure, but your rat should come out in the open soon. He’s not one for silence, that one. He’s a chatty, boastful rodent. And to clarify this too: that rat is no longer a client of mine. I can’t have clients endangering my suppliers. It’s bad for business. I’m hopeful I haven’t permanently lost the best up-and-coming team I’ve seen, but if so, I understand.”
Recognizing that dismissal for what it is, I stand, sliding the portfolio across the table. “I guess we’ll touch base again once things are…safer.”
Jasmine glances inside the portfolio, a small smile on her face as she takes in the Rubens. Then she pulls out her phone, tapping out the transfer. Looking at my phone, I wait for my confirmation from the guys that the money made it. “I’ll put in a good word with one of my competitors,” she says while I wait .
I try to smile, glad that we aren’t totally without work. Once the message comes through, I drain the last of my cup, the cream barely muting the sharp cut of the acid on my tongue.
I hold out my hand, and Jasmine takes it, some of her mask shedding, letting me see genuine regret in her blue eyes. “Tell Walker his work is transcendent. And that even his last-minute mock-up has more heart than it ought to.”
“I will.” Turning toward the door, I pause, not wanting to burn this bridge. “I hope things come together quickly for you.”
A hint of the sad, scared woman returns, but she forces her shoulders back, pulling her purse onto her shoulder. “Me too. Until next time?”
“Until next time.”
RJ and Jansen took off while I met with Jasmine so Jansen could catch his evening final. That means I’m stuck in the tiny Neon with Walker and Trips for the six-hour drive home.
The snow has stopped for now, but the roads are slick and the car is terrible, so we’re not making good time.
After Trips thoroughly quizzes me on what happened at the meeting with Jasmine, he falls quiet, staring out the windshield. Walker’s sitting behind me, a hand on my shoulder, rubbing the soft sweater against my skin, a tease and a comfort .
The longer I watch the white fields flash by in the silence, the more anxious I get. On a whim, I reach across myself, grabbing Walker’s hand. And I can breathe again.
Great. Cue clingy girlfriend.
At least I have three to cling to.
Walker strokes the back of my hand, and I relax into his touch. Maybe I can take a little nap on the way back?
Trips interrupts my thoughts. “How close are both of you to graduating?”
Walker stops his steady stroke. “I mean, at our current pace? Or full steam ahead?”
“With the goal of graduating and moving base so we can let RJ remove us from the internet—how soon could you be done?”
Tallying up the courses I need to graduate, knowing that my high school AP classes completed almost all my general education requirements, I pull my legs onto the seat. “I have six more required courses to complete my major and my minor.”
Walker and Trips both look at me. “Aren’t you a junior?” Trips asks.
“Yeah, but I came in with credits. I was hoping to do pre-law coursework too, so another three courses, but I don’t know. I guess my plans are…in flux.”
Trips tilts his head back against the headrest. “Six minimum, nine maximum. Walker?”
“Three gen eds, four major courses.”
Trips clenches the steering wheel. “I have three left for my major, two for my minor, and one gen ed.”
“What are you thinking?” I ask .
He glances at me, his blue eyes bruised from lack of sleep, one so swollen he’s squinting. “I’m thinking we’re no longer safe. Our cover’s blown. How many of these could we do online, or in summer session?”
I shrug. “I bet a bunch. Except probably you, Walker.”
He sighs. “You’re right. But I only have two studio classes left. The other two are theory. So…is this our last semester on campus?”
We both look at Trips. He runs his hand through his hair, the gold in it bright from reflected snow, his knuckles broken and scabbed. “We’ll have to check with RJ and Jansen, but yeah. I think so. If you get wait-listed in required classes, we can put RJ’s backdoor to good use.”
Wait—RJ can skip the line in the lottery system? Who am I kidding—of course RJ can do that.
Am I really rewriting my future for these guys?
To run? To disappear? With them?
My seat belt unbuckles, and Walker drags me into the backseat, settling me against him as I click into the old-school middle lap belt. “I can see those wheels spinning, princess.”
I tuck my head under his chin, Trips glancing at us in the rearview mirror. And for once, it’s perfectly clear on his face: longing. Trips wants this too.
Letting out a big breath and snuggling closer, I close my eyes. “I’m tired.”
Walker lets me drop it, his hands warm, stroking up and down my back.
But when I wake up tucked in my bed, it’s Trips pulling the blanket to my chin. I snag his hand as he goes to leave, the two of us staring at each other like the secret to make our souls calm is written in the other’s gaze.
“Please. I don’t want to be alone.”
The words ache to force out, fear scratching the insides of my ribs.
Trips says nothing. The silence becomes desperate between us, but the second before I let go of his wrist, he groans. Stripping off his jeans, sweater, and t-shirt, his fantastically ripped and inked torso deeply shadowed from the haze outside my window, he crawls over me, pressing his bare chest against my back.
I wrap my arms around his forearm, hugging it. Feeling brave, I drag it between my breasts, kissing his fingertips. “Thank you.”
His breath ruffles my curls, hot against my head. “Sleep, Crash.”
So I do.