“Arizona?” I frowned. “At the hottest time of the year? Why?”
“I’ve been invited to do a security workshop for a banker’s conference, but I’d rather stick close and keep an eye on Wallace Trading.” He sat and leaned back in his leather chair. “I was planning to turn it down, but you could take it. It’s a good way to meet new clients.”
“How soon do you need to know?”
He stood and moved a few files around like he was searching for something. “A-sap.”
I nodded, starting for the door. “I’ll think about it.”
* * *
The box holding my work essentials was in the center of my desk, and for a moment, I surveyed the contents—an old Bears mug, a couple of hardbound legal texts I used pretty regularly, a baseball-shaped stress ball, a now-empty picture frame.
I pulled the ball out and gave it a squeeze while I considered moving the entire contents to the dumpster—saving the books, of course. All the other shit brought my former life back too irritatingly close for comfort.
Still holding the ball, I leaned back in my chair with one of the books. Nikki’s comment about correcting my reports was in my head, and I was pretty sure this one had police codes in the index. Feet on the desk, I saw what I thought was a piece of cardboard stuck between the pages, but when I flipped it over, it was more like a million iron-fisted slams straight to the gut. Stacy.
My kid sister Amy had taken this picture of us at the Navy Pier a year ago—the day I’d proposed. The day she’d said yes, knowing she was screwing my neighbor. My jaw clenched as I studied my blissed-out expression. What a joke.
Her blonde hair ended in the slightest flip at her shoulders, and I looked like a first-class sucker with my arms ar
ound her waist, kissing her cheek. I was only twenty-seven when we met, and two years later I proposed. In hindsight, I decided my feelings were a combination of feeling like it was “time,” whatever the fuck that means, and of her being the first woman I’d connected with after Afghanistan.
Either way, she did not share my level of commitment.
It was a really classy send-off, too. Her in my kitchen, on her back on my bar, moaning with her knees spread wide. The dick from 24B had his face buried between her thighs, and he was going to town.
Fuck the tightness in my chest. I crushed the glossy print in my fist and leaned back, slamming the stress ball hard as I could against the opposite wall.
CRASH! My aim was too high, and the large, black-and-white framed art photo was now shattered. Shit.
“Oh my god, what happened?” Nikki was breathless as she rushed into my office, but I was already across the room, taking down the frame. Glass was everywhere.
“My hand slipped.” I didn’t turn around. I was pretty sure remnants of anger were still on my face, but I kept my back to her, trying to hide it.
“Sounds like a lot more than a slip.” Her tone said she was onto me as she took the picture. “Poor Wilson.”
“Wilson?”
“The tiger whose picture you smashed. It’s from the university.” She only paused a moment before going to the door. “Hang on, we keep a vacuum in the kitchen closet. Don’t cut yourself.”
I bent down and started collecting the larger fragments and tossing them in the trash. Bee stings… needles… rope burns… glass cuts. It was a game Stuart and I made up when we were kids. Who could name the worst kind of pain. Those were real injuries, that Stacy flashback was bullshit.
“Here, stand back.” Nikki positioned the long silver hose and bent over to capture the splinters of glass.
I leaned forward to retrieve the stress ball, and shiny heels lifted her ass almost directly in my face. Wrapped in that tight pink dress that hit mid-thigh, the view reminded me the best way to kill bad memories. I was inches from sliding my fingers between her legs, teasing her soft folds, dipping a finger inside—I could almost hear her satisfied sighs. Sure I played the field, but at least I was a gentleman about it. Ladies always came first.
Watching her derriere sway a bit longer, I wondered how I could get a read on her feelings about the matter. I was pretty sure she was considering it this morning. Just then, I noticed Derek standing in the doorway watching us.
“What happened?” His voice sounded more annoyed than concerned.
“Stress balls don’t bounce.” I tossed it up and caught it as I stood. My fantasy of fingering Nikki had me feeling better as I went back to my desk.
She switched off the vacuum. “That should be all of it,” she said, carrying the appliance to the door.
“How much longer on those emails?” Derek asked as she passed.
“I’ll have them to you by lunch.” I could see she was irritated by his question, but I was pretty sure he couldn’t. “I can’t predict when one of you’s going to tear your office apart.”