Chapter Eighteen
Isley
Having spent the rest of the evening the night before baking and not thinking, Isley was left with a whole lot of cake!
The evidence of which was in three of the six plastic tubs he’d managed to fill.
He carried what he knew for sure he couldn’t eat without making himself sick into his office, shrugging his shoulder bag onto his desk.
Then he took the heavy tubs to the coffee lounge, knowing his friends would devour what he’d made.
They had a rota for cake baking, though it was more fluid than fixed.
If someone made something they wanted to share, whether it was their turn or not, no one cared. Cake was the answer to all woes.
“What you got in there?” Ziggy asked, coming in behind him.
Today’s outfit said he wasn’t going to be in any meetings.
On those days, he went more grunge wear.
He’d paired a stripy, two-tone brown sweater pushed up to the elbows, revealing tattooed, sinewy forearms, with brown skater pants with large pockets and Timberland boots.
He always looked cool to Isley, and he envied his easy style.
Ziggy went straight for the empty coffee machine, which he tended.
He wasn’t much of a baker, though he tried to improve with help from Bowie.
He still bought cake from one of the local bakeries when it was his turn to supply their addiction.
And they were all addicts, of that Isley didn’t need any convincing.
Heck, Lane even asked about their cake preferences when he interviewed them.
“I was in a baking mood last night, so I made a raspberry and white chocolate torte.” Isley laughed and pushed that tub towards Ziggy at the grabby hands he made, the coffee beans dumped on the counter without a second thought.
Isley held up the other tubs. “This one has peanut butter cup cakes, and this one has triple chocolate chip cookies.”
“Did I hear triple chocolate chip cookies?” Frey questioned breezing in, but not looking directly at Isley.
He gave the tubs a look of intense concentration that Isley wasn't used to seeing. His baking skills were good, but not as good as say Monty or Bowie. He got an itch at the back of his neck and studied his friend when he didn’t take the offered tub, going instead to put Emmy’s teething rings in the refrigerator.
“You did. Are you in need of chocolate for breakfast? Did Emmy keep you up last night with her sore gums?” She’d been suffering with her first teeth working to break through her gums. Isley had felt the tiny bumps under the skin when she’d gnawed on his pinkie finger knuckle, slobbering worse than the St Bernard they’d had when he was growing up.
Frey blushed and fussed at the counter, still not looking in Isley’s direction when he came and stood next to him offering the cookie box. He already knew that they would be Frey’s choice.
“I’m cool, I had breakfast with Booker.” He threw a smile at Isley that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll catch ya’ll later, got an early meeting.” And he fled the room.
“Is there something wrong?” Isley laid the tubs down and stared at Ziggy who wore a perplexed look, a wrinkle at the bridge of his nose as he stared after Frey.
“Gotta be something, the man never refuses chocolate anything.” Ziggy paused on his way to the sink to fill the water jug, giving Isley a rueful smile. “Unless Booker was breakfast. That might have more than satisfied his appetite.”
They both laughed at that. Frey wasn’t very good at keeping quiet about his bedroom antics with Booker.
As the thought registered, Isley sobered.
“Maybe it’s something with Emmy? Her poopy nappies have been causing a rash that looks real painful.
” It was all Isley could come up with. He’d not had much of a chance to catch up and chat with work being killer, other than via the group chat they had and the quick hand off with Emmy.
“You could be right, teething is a real bitch. I’m glad I have no memory of it,” Ziggy laughed, but wore a look of sympathy.
The heavy tread of someone approaching drew a grin from Isley. Bowie appeared, sniffing the air like a blood hound on the scent of a fox.
“Do I smell peanut butter?” He came to the counter, hand already reaching for the correct tub with the cupcakes.
“Babe, you have the best nose.”
Bowie twitched that same nose, eyes crossing to look at it. “Do I?”
Isley reached up and kissed the tip of it making Bowie blush adorably. “You do. Now I gotta hustle. It's another ram-packed day, and I get Emmy first.”
“Lucky you,” Bowie mumbled around a mouthful of cupcake.
“Be careful your Daddy doesn’t catch you eating sweet stuff this early,” Isley whispered in Bowie’s ear. “You know what he was like the last time.”
Bowie blushed crimson and shoved the remaining bit in his mouth, giving himself chipmunk cheeks. Isley giggled and shook his head, leaving Bowie eyeing up the box with indecision.
Kari would never deny Bowie anything. Isley being one of the few people who knew about their relationship had witnessed from rat hand how much Kari was head over heels for Bowie.
Isley was surprised the others didn’t notice, because Kari was always doing things for Bowie.
They had a rule about not having cake for breakfast, but he’d bet his pert backside Kari wouldn’t get upset with Bowie over it.
That was just who he was, never making mountains out of mole hills.
Laken, however, could make a mountain out of anything.
He was poles apart from Kari. Kari had a lightness about him, even when serious, whereas Laken always seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, like Rue.
He often wondered what in his past had done that to him, put that pressure on him and Rue, he just wasn’t brave enough to ask.
Lost in his thoughts as he approached Booker’s office, who mainly started his day with Emmy in his office, his steps slowed when he heard his name mentioned.
“No, Frey won’t say anything to Isley. Did we not have this conversation last night? You’ll need to tell him something then, won’t you. And do it before the shit hits, bro. If Dad can’t work his magic, then everyone will know. It ain’t the best way to find out, is it?”
Shit hits? Work his magic? What will everyone know? How did it relate to him?
His confusion grew as there was a silence that followed indicating whoever Booker was talking to, they were on the phone.
“It’s important, you know that. We got you covered, so man the fuck up where it counts.”
More silence and Isley lingered, unsure if he should make his presence known or wait until the call finished. Booker wasn’t giving away who he was talking with but it sounded serious.
His fingers curled into fists, getting the feeling he needed to fight.
It weirded him out while he continued to listen to one side of a conversation, second guessing who it could be.
Taylin? Silas? They had both been in the press of late.
Booker’s comment about everyone knowing would suggest something like that, wouldn’t it?
“I’m going tomorrow night, bro. It was decided last night… no, Frey will stay with Popi and Emmy. I’m not allowing them to be put in harm's way, despite what Frey says.”
A cold sensation ran down his spine, like someone had spilled icy water down his back. He flinched and crept closer to the partially open door.
“Yeah, yeah, but remember, secrets cause more problems, take it from someone who knows!” There was loud laughter before he heard Booker say, “later” leaving Isley stood outside the door, counting off seconds to make it look like he hadn’t been hovering or overheard anything.
“What ya doin’, furry flyer?”
He jerked around at Jupiter’s question, blushing furiously at the silly name, but then he couldn’t blame him after what he’d done. He’d not seen Jupiter since his animals' crazy antics, but he could smell his scent coming from Jupiter’s pores.
Look what you did!
It was an accident.
Jupiter tapped the end of his nose. “Sugar glider got your tongue.”
“I was… erm… yeah… just coming to get Emmy.” He made sure to keep his voice down, ensuring it didn’t carry into Booker’s office. “I heard Booker talking. I was waiting till he finished.”
An unusual tension radiated off Jupiter, and the smirk disappeared, causing that feeling of iciness to turn into a waterfall.
“What did you hear?” he demanded in a harsh voice, so unlike him.
“Nothing… not really…”
He could feel the sweat gather on his skin at how Jupiter was eyeing him. He’d never felt threatened by Jupiter—until now. “What is it, nothing or not really? Because they mean something completely different.”
His low, dangerous voice sent chills through Isley, and he found himself taking a wary step back. Isley hyperventilated and struggled to hold Jupiter’s threatening gaze when he moved forward with him.
“Got you covered… magic… everyone knowing… me… Frey,” he babbled, not making any sense whatsoever when held captive like a fly in a web, making him want to confess as long as Jupiter lost that scary glint in his eyes that spoke of trouble—the crazy kind.
The sound of Emmy crying gave Isley the perfect excuse to hustle ass. “Got to get Emmy,” he mumbled when Jupiter didn’t ask him to reiterate what he was trying to say.
At Booker’s door, the man appeared carrying Emmy in his arms. He glanced between Jupiter and Isley, a frown forming.
Isley didn’t give him time to utter a word and snatched the baby from him like he was in a kidnapping movie.
He was absolutely convinced he wore a guilty expression as he tucked her into his arms, startling Emmy into quietness.
“I’ll sort her, Booker,” he stated, hurrying down the hallway towards the elevators, not breathing until he was inside.
He slumped against the wall and stared down at the whimpering baby. “Never listen at doors. Nothing good ever comes of it.”
He was lucky he hadn’t pissed his pants at Jupiter’s scary face. Did they do diapers in adult sizes? He might yet need them for when Jupiter came after him.
Fiddlesticks, should he mention this to Laken? Was he stepping into a family minefield? It sure as hell felt like it with Jupiter’s strange behavior and Booker’s conversation. But what did it have to do with him?