9. LINC
NINE
LINC
I volunteer to take grill duty—figuring a quick breather will do me good, while my brain still fights to understand what-in-the-fuck kind of opportunity someone like Desmond Casper could have for me.
He owns . . . well, everything.
He has a foot in the film business with his production company, he owns so many restaurants and hotels, I can’t even begin to list them all—tons of rental properties, his own private jets.
It’s interesting how different he and Ellis are—but one similarity is this quality, I guess. While Ellis doesn’t care much for excessive wealth like his dad, he is greedy for more in other ways—more justice, more discovery, more information.
Ambition, I think, just as I flip the patties.
I had that once too . . .
My mind threatens to slip off. The fuzzy memory starts to blur the corners of my vision, as a scratch of shame itches my throat.
My grip tightens around the rough wooden handle of the spatula I’m holding, and I focus down on the grill. The heat haze ripples the air—making the sight in front of me flicker with invisible waves.
The grill is hot, I think. Just a finger touch to that and I’m sure to singe the feeling away.
My hand lifts to do it, but at the last second I realize how epically stupid that idea is, and instead, I smack myself in the forehead.
Ow. Fuck.
Rubbing the skin, I groan. It’s tender, but I’m certain it doesn’t hurt as much as, oh . . . I don’t know . . . sticking my fucking finger on a blazing hot grill.
I grunt and take another gulp of my beer, but I need to slow down—make sure I have enough to sip through whatever conversation I’m about to have with Desmond.
The smokey smell of the meat hits my nose, and I glance down to see they’re ready. I slide the three patties onto the buns, then twist the knob to turn off the grill.
After a breath, I carry the plate back inside from the porch.
“Hey,” Ellis says from the counter, his laptop open. I hear Desmond off in the background on the phone, but he’s too far down the entryway hall for me to really hear anything.
“Burgers are d-done,” I say, lifting the plate.
“Awesome, man, thanks,” Ellis says, tapping the keys in front of him. My eyes scrunch curiously at the laptop and he says, “Got some info from the tech guy I contacted to help me with the new project—just wanted to respond quickly.”
I nod. “D-Don’t you have to delay the new one?”
Ellis blinks a couple of times down at his laptop screen, his green eyes studying something before he looks back up at me. “Yeah, I mean, I do. But if I can have him doing some research while I’m promoting The 5, then I won’t lose traction.”
My chin lifts with a half nod. Considering I didn’t know he was actively working on anything new until about an hour ago, I obviously have no idea what this new project is. But I’m sure he’ll tell me about it.
However blurry my memories may be, I know that he and I used to lose ourselves for hours, just “talking shop.”
I’m not as good at it now. The ideas—or the talking for that matter. But he thanked me constantly for the little bit I helped with on The 5 . He said I had been his “brainstorming backboard” and . . . it meant a lot to me.
I look forward to when he gets me on a good day, and tells me about the new one—maybe I can help him shoot some stuff again.
The sound of his laptop screen snapping closed pulls my attention back to him, and he says, “Let’s eat.”
After Desmond comes back from his phone call, the three of us fall into easy conversation, that is, until Desmond says, “Ya know, I’m actually heading up to San Francisco for a benefit at the end of the week. I should see if your mom and Bruce want to grab dinner.”
I nod, awkwardly mumbling, “I-I’m sure they’d love to.”
Ellis’s eyes meet mine in the check-in way I’m used too, and I sigh my response.
I’m fine. As fine as I’m capable of, at least. Bruce is my mom’s new husband. She’d started dating him my senior year of high school, and he proposed shortly after . . . I left. They moved up to the Bay area right before I came back.
I make a mental note to text Maisie later, just as Desmond angles himself more toward me. “Anyway,” he says, clearing his throat, “that job I wanted to talk to you about . . .”
Swallowing my bite, I shift my eyes down to my beer, seeing I’ve got about a third of it left.
“S-Sure,” I tell him, picking up the bottle and taking a sip, then ask, “What’s up?”
Desmond leans forward. “Well, it’s a bit unusual, and it’ll be temporary. My buddy owns a club in the city and he called me a couple nights ago. I guess he’s down a security guard.”
“A bouncer?” Ellis says with a confused huff.
I’m not sure how to take his reaction, but it sits strangely in my head. Does he think I can’t do it or shouldn’t do it? I can’t tell.
“Kind of,” Desmond says, with a tilt to his head. “On the surface, you’d be a guard, but it’s a little more involved than that. He suspects there may be something amiss at the club.” He shifts his weight with a small sigh, then continues, “It’s an exclusive place. Invite-only, and the guard they just terminated was let go because he was caught admitting uninvited guests. There’s also been some second-hand chatter about multiple staff members being approached by people recruiting for some underground sex club. He’s not totally sure on the details, but that’s where you would come in.”
“Underground sex club?” Ellis drawls.
Distantly, I see Desmond shrug as he says something else to Ellis, but his words are taking an absurd amount of time to sink into my head.
“Wh-What would I have to do?” I ask. It’s the only thing I can ask. This already sounds like something I’d be terrible at.
“Essentially, you’d work regular guard shifts. Discretion would be key,” he says emphatically, then adds, “He’s asked that you document anything that might allude to anything unsavory happening—any strange interactions you might notice among the staff. Any suspicious patrons . . .”
The fuck? How will I know what’s not normal when I have no fucking clue what normal is? Not just in life but like, specifically, at this club.
My eyes squint, confused, and Desmond leans forward. “Look, I know this sounds kind of unusual. But if the club is being used to facilitate anything illegal, it’s important that he gets out in front of it before it becomes a PR nightmare.”
Ellis laughs humorlessly. “Why doesn’t the guy just spend some time at his beloved little joint? Worried, but not worried enough to take the time and figure out what’s going on for himself?”
My eyes widen a bit. Like me, Ellis has been a little on edge these last few days, but it’s still a feistier response than I’m prepared for.
“Easy, kid,” Desmond chuckles with a shake of his head. “It’s true, he’s a busy guy, but if shady shit is happening there, his presence will only throw a temporary blanket over it. People tend to be extra careful when the boss is around. And since his schedule won’t allow him to be there all the time, he needs to get to the bottom of it as quickly as possible.”
I don’t even know . . . what the fuck?
Desmond sighs, adding, “He’s an old friend, and he asked if I had anyone I trusted. Someone with good instincts. Strong. I thought of you immediately.”
“Um . . . I am right here,” Ellis says, and then laughs.
Desmond does too, and it eases some of the tension that came from this bizarre fucking offer.
Then Desmond says to Ellis, “I knew you’d be busy with The 5.”
Right. Ellis has a job.
I’ve mostly stuck to freelance editing jobs I can do from the house over the years. Picking up enough work to pay Ellis my measly excuse for rent.
Maybe that’s what this is about. Ellis has stuck with me through all my bullshit for the last five years, but maybe he was getting sick of it, and didn’t know how to tell me.
Or maybe after seeing the lemons yesterday, he’s worried I’m slipping and talked to Desmond about it. He wouldn’t be wrong, I’ve been worried about it myself. The zone outs . . .
Speaking of zone outs, Ellis clears his throat, bringing my attention back to the table
Desmond says, “Look, Linc, I’ve known you for a long time. You’ve been through a lot . . .” he trails off for a second before his spine stiffens. “I just think if there is anything going on there, you’ll find out about it.”
My unease swells with something else—something encouraging. I’m not sure if it’s the result of a billionaire tycoon working me, or if it’s sincere, but the way he said it made it really sound like he asked me because he believes the things he mentioned to be strengths I have, instead of just shit I’ve lived through.
The sound of Ellis picking up his bottle darts my eyes up, as he says. “Why don’t you just think about it, Linc?”
Desmond nods. “Yes, of course.”
I shake my head, quickly rasping, “I’ll d-do it.”
Truthfully, I went into the conversation preparing myself to accept whatever he threw on the table. It’s the first thing Desmond is asking of me—something he’s entrusting me with—and while I’m not sure of my ability to follow through, I owe it to him to at least try.
It’s only temporary, and maybe something that gets me out of the house—a schedule—will help steer me back on track.
Maybe this will be good for me.
Desmond nods. “Really? That’s great, Linc. I really appreciate it, man.” Ellis gets up with his empty plate, and I follow, in need of a breather, when Desmond says, “Oh—uh—and just one more thing.” I stop again, staring down at him as he says, “It’s a burlesque club.”
Fuck.