20. Grae
Grae
I left Alana’s place this morning, sent off an email and went to the gym. I was about halfway through my run when my phone rings.
“What the ever-loving fuck, Grae!”
“Good morning to you too, Alana.”
“You cancelled your contract with Mastodon? Knowing full well… everything that you do.”
“Yep.” I turn up the speed and grab my water bottle, taking a sip.
“Do you care to explain yourself before I make good on every threat I've ever issued but you’ll be the one who takes the punishment?”
I pretend to think for a moment. “Hmmm punishment. Hot.”
“Grae!” My feet hit the treadmill harder with every step.
“I was thinking that you and Amanda have a lot in common. Amanda doesn’t know who her friends are and who's there for the money or fame. Everyone in your life is transactional. Lena’s a client, the Olympians contract you out, and I don’t know what the hell is going on with you and the Four Families but clearly money has exchanged hands at least once.
They either work for you or you work for them.
” The words are becoming harder to say between my breaths, so I hop my feet on the side of the treadmill and say, “Yes, you've blurred the lines between personal and professional but still there is an economic exchange. I want to be the one person in your life that can’t be bought or lost.”
She’s silent for a moment. “That’s kinda sweet.”
“I know.”
“But—”
I cut her off, already knowing all of her concerns.
“I already have a meeting with another security firm to pick up the contract. I’m meeting with them later today before I see Lena to go over some demos.
Now since I was such a good and responsible adult today, come by my place tonight, we’ll get dinner. ”
I heard her drumming her fingers against the desk before sighing. “Fine. See you later.”
I finish my work out, shower and head over to Lux Security.
They spent an hour upselling me. I don’t care.
Once they review my files and such, they’ll get back to me with a price and plan.
Whatever. It’s one less thing that Alana needs to worry about.
And now that we’re out in the open, I’m hoping there’s no deadline.
I can breathe and really make sure we work this time.
Which means winning over Lena, and then Lance. Lena will be easier.
She’s in a dance studio, finishing up with her choreographer. I wave at him. Amanda’s used him a few times for award show routines. Lena has her hair up in a ponytail, wearing heels and a tank top, zipping herself up into a hoodie.
“Really? Are we going through this again?” She glares at me.
“Twelve years and you had her number the whole time!”
She takes a sip of water and turns quickly enough to make her ponytail swish from side to side. “You never asked.”
“Would you have given it to me if I had?”
“No,” she says with a pout and grabs her gym bag. “It’s ridiculous that she’s giving you a second chance.” She shoves the bag into my arms. She’s making me her bag bitch, that’s fine. Time to move into phase two of winning Lena over.
“I’m getting rid of my couch, want it?”
“Why?”
“Reasons.” I push open the door and the temperature change from the stuffy dance studio to the breezy hallway makes me shiver.
“Are you trying to buy my forgiveness with a couch?” She has to take three steps for every one I do to keep up the pace.
“Maybe.”
The building is a multi-purpose building, funded by a grant from the Olympian Art Foundation.
The bottom floor holds afterschool programs for the visual and performing arts.
Floors three through seven are for new and noteworthy artists who are willing to donate their time and teach a few classes for a deeply discounted rental space rate.
The top five floors are for professionals, and there’s extra security for people like Lena.
I love it here. The air feels electric with creative energy, and I try to rent studio time here as much as I can.
I push the elevator button before pulling out my cellphone.
“Plus, I’ve got demos.”
She frowns. “Are these Amanda Chase rejects?” The feud between Amanda and Lena goes back a decade, maybe longer. At this point I don’t know if they even remember why they stopped talking. The door opens and we step in.
“I wrote them a few months ago with your vocal register in mind.” She huffs and taps her foot waiting for the door to close.
“Let me hear it.” By the time we hit the music studio floor, she’s grinning from ear to ear. She knows the same thing I do. It’s an easy top-five song on the charts. “You’re really pushing hard to buy my forgiveness.”
“I’ve got three more songs and that couch if you’re willing to give me a chance.” The thing about singers is bribery usually works, and if that doesn’t then there’s always another option. “Alana’s coming over tonight if you want to hang out.”
She inhales, then puffs her cheeks out as she processes all the possible outcomes. “Four songs, a couch and I get to insult your shitty taste in anime.”
“That last one hurts, but ok.”
“I will consider it.” She twists fast enough to whip her ponytail around and whack me in the chest with it.
Removing professional hurdles, check. Mending bridges, check. Now it’s time to woo Alana with food and attention, making it impossible for her to ‘cancel her membership.’ The rest of the day, I busy myself with shopping for food and completing other adulting chores to pass the time until she texts.
Alana: On my way.
Alana: You invited Lena?
Me: I figured you might want to hang out with her too.
Alana: That’s very considerate, and stupid of you. She’s going to shatter your fragile ego.
Me: She’s a tiny terror.
Me: But you love her.
I turn down the block I live on and nod at someone walking five dogs.
Show off. Walking into the lobby of my building, I breathe in the familiar lemon grass smell.
The elevator opens as soon as I press the button.
I’m rereading all of Alana’s texts over the last few days when I get to my door.
As soon as I grab the handle it instantly feels wrong.
It’s too loose, making my hackles raise.
I see shapes and outlines of people. My finger flips the door lock.
“Mastodon Code 345 Protection mode!” I yell and the lights start flashing red.
I hear an ‘oh shit,’ and someone approaches.
Male, smaller than me. He takes a swing, but I grab his arm and twist it around his back.
I throw quick punches to his nose and stomach, and then a snap kick to the back of the knee to send him flying into the wall.
There’re more assailants, and all those years of training are paying off.
Each one of my moves is swift, precise and painful.
“Wait!” a voice cries out in the darkness. I’ve heard it before, but I can’t place it, not now with my adrenaline running.
“Phoenix code 345 has been activated.” The speakers rattle. “This is Agent Markus and I am sending the police…” but then he stops speaking and groans, exasperated. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
The red lights stop flashing and the room resets to its typical cool, white glow. Now I can get a good look at the four, frowning, middle-aged men standing in the center of the room. I follow their gazes to the men on the floor.
There’re four more guys. One’s in a suit, another in a jersey and track pants. The sports casual one clutches his shoulder as he slides down against the wall. There’s a man on his knees coughing and mumbling in Russian. The last man sits on my couch, jaw open. Him, I recognize instantly: Uri.
My mouth dries, because what are the fucking odds? I’ve had one hook up in over two years and he’s in my home with a bunch of other guys.
“What the hell is going on?” I snap. Markus’s voice crackles over the speaker.
“These are Alana’s, um, associates. And she’s about to bypass the lock any second.”
The door lock moves on its own. Alana is… well pissed isn’t the right word. Seething is close, but not quite. She stands there, cellphone in one hand and the other inside her purse. Her eyes narrow and she makes a bee line to the four men standing in the center of the room.
“Haven’t I done enough for you? Fixed your lives, made your cartels stronger than before, and run interference for your families.
I gave my goddamn life for you, and this,” she motions to the groaning men on the floor, “this is how you repay me? You couldn’t mind your own business and instead you break into my boyfriend’s home? ”
Mental note: when the world isn’t coming crashing down, follow up with Alana about that official boyfriend status.
A few of them glance sheepishly at one another. But the ones on the floor are beginning to right themselves, replacing the momentary hesitation with defiant strength.
“We came to talk to Grae.” The guy in the suit grabs onto my kitchen island to help himself up.
He looks like a harsher version of the men behind him: dark hair, dark eyes, menacing glower.
“If we had known he was a fucking green beret ninja, we would’ve handled it differently.
” There’s something vaguely familiar about him.
“Get out!” Alana points to the door. “You’ve no right to be here. It’s bad enough that Duncan outed me to the entire Four Families, but now you pull this shit? Stay the hell out of my personal life.”
“Calm down,” the sports guy on the floor calls out. “He didn’t mean to out you to the family. He saw the same damn thing I did in that picture.”
Alana whips around to the guy. “And what’s that?”
He motions to me, making him wince and grab his shoulder again. “Duncan wasn’t even paying attention to this guy. He was too busy looking at your face. He had us do the same damn thing for Waverly. He wanted to talk with the guy who makes his daughter happy.”
“But I’m not…” Alana swallows as confusion and other mixed emotions wash over her face. Then she gives him a once-over and turns back to me. “Did you dislocate Donny’s shoulder?”
“Ohhh, yeah. I think I did.”