Chapter 5
“Liv.” Roxie's rebuke trails from my living room, into the closed-off white kitchen. “If this is how you treat my handiwork, I'm never shopping with you again.”
She's no doubt referring to the gown I've stripped out of and abandoned near my couch after returning home from the party. I should laugh while pouring our wine. Hell, in most cases I would, but right now, it's impossible. My stomach, nerves, and well … everything, are far too jumbled to humor a scolding.
“Oh, Rox, don't even start with me,” I say, storming out into the kitchen, with two chilled reds in either hand. I know it’s not proper to drink red wine cold, but room temp is disgusting to me.
“How about you not start—”
“Shut up and drink.” I shove a glass her way. That's what she's here for anyway, after working her ass off at the event.
Angry, confused, and frazzled, I toss my head back and guzzle away.
“Shit.” She wraps her fingers around the stem. “Someone’s touchy.”
“Damn straight I am.” I take a much-needed intake of air. She's not kidding either. I've drained my glass. It’s already rim dry, and she’s taking her first sip. “Tonight blew. Plus, you woke me up.”
Sure, sleep had been crap, but I was getting some rest until I heard Roxie's secret knock at two in the morning. I should be in another land, forgetting about my ordeal with Brexton. Instead, I've been forced to relive it in full detail. Roxie asked for full details, and this girl doesn’t stop pushing until she gets them. I’ve probably told her enough to write a novella by now.
“Geez, excuse my concern.” Long pencil legs extend as she dangles her feet over the armrest of my love seat. “How was I supposed to know what happened? You’ve heard about all the disappearances going on lately here in Seattle, right? When I got done, you were gone, and I freaked. Sorry.”
“No, just forget it.” Massive regret for my attitude and temper smacks me upside the head. I normally don’t snap since I hate making a fuss. Getting angry while growing up was a quick way to be told I was overreacting—so now I try not to act like that. Blame meeting my latest wrench, Grant Brexton, for my already shot nerves.
I plop down on my couch and sigh. Roxie isn't doing anything out of the ordinary. This isn't our first late night wine session, and it won't be our last either. And she’s right. Women have come up missing as of late, so she grew concerned out of that awareness. I'm the one freaking out here. While I should apologize, it's the last thing on my mind.
“What do you think will happen?” I lie on my back and face her. My arm dangles down, the empty wine glass gently gripped between my thumb and middle finger while I swing it back and forth. “Do you think he's mad?” If he is, make that another problematic addition not needed in my life.
“I've never been introduced to Brexton, only seen him twice, so I don't know. But I know he's complicated.”
My mouth falls open. “But that’s impossible. You work there. How could you never have met him?”
“You give me too much credit,” she says. “I work two floors below the big dogs. I'm a PA for one of their many office managers, and I've met Mr. Hall once.” She tilts her head back, bringing the rim of the glass to her polished red lips and partakes in a slow sip. Her tongue flashes out after, soaking up any droplets. “I help with a lot of events, but the only reason I get to attend any of them is because of Nick and I's … arrangement.” She clamps down on her lower lip and smirks.
Looks like someone's sparing me her own lewd details tonight. Maybe I should be grumpy more often.
“Most of the time, the two never show to smaller things I attend. They only bother with the big stuff, like tonight. Now, Nick, on the other hand, meets with them all the time.”
“And?” One of my brows cocks up. “What does he think of them?” Nick must talk to Roxie about something other than sex.
“From my understanding, Mr. Hall is terrific and loved by everyone and their grandma. He's the friendly, older, wiser figure. The whole face of the operation.”
“Well, that's great.”But all I can think of is good cop/bad cop. A pit settles in my stomach, quickly twisting and churning into a knot. “And Brexton?” I know what to expect but brace myself all the same.
“Nick is low-key terrified of him.” There's no humor in her voice. It’s as dry as this red. “If Mr. Hall is the face, then Brexton is the body powering it all.”
“I bet.” I’ve seen no one dominate a space like Grant Brexton. The whole room was in awe of him … myself included, even if he did piss me off.
She polishes off her glass before standing to fetch another. “Here, I’ll refill yours.” A slim hand reaches out to take mine.
I shouldn't, but it's the weekend, and times are tough.
“Did I tell you the hot gossip of last year?” Her hips sway while she crosses the living room, displaying once again Roxie is never showing off. It's just who she is. Even at two in the morning, she struts like a catwalk is around the corner. “Because I think that's when Nick became afraid of Brexton.”
“Last year?” I push up on my elbows. My shoulders peel away from my blue leather sofa while the straps of my silk tank indent in my skin. Usually, the sticky smack would drive me crazy, and I'd put a tee-shirt on, but tonight I don't care. “What happened?”
She reemerges with two full glasses in hand. “Brexton was dating a hot-to-trot older lady, and then dumped her for some foxy twenty-something year old. Not uncommon. From what I've heard, he cycles through his ladies fast.”
She retakes her seat after passing one glass off. “This time, though, the one he dumped had a real bitch fit. She wasn't one to screw around with either. The lady was a big shot. A prestigious attorney in New York. Guess when he broke the news, she threatened to expose him as a cheat, and even said she'd have Hall and Brexton closed down.”
A weighted pause fills the air while Roxie takes a sip for far too long, so long that anxiety jolts through my nerves.
“And?”
She lowers her glass and locks eyes with me. “She was disbarred the next morning for life and arrested by the FBI for tax fraud. The woman lost everything. Her job, home, even her friends. Like that.” The air cracks as she snaps her fingers.
My chest tightens, my eyes widening. “Wh-what did he do?”
“I don't know.” She slowly shakes her head. “But let me tell you, Nick walks on eggshells around Brexton.” Eyes glaze over while she stares at the floor. “Though from what I hear, he’s not your typical power tripping asshole.”
I sit in silence, not wanting to speak. All I want is to hear more about the man who’s branded himself into my brain.
“Hell, from my understanding, he doesn’t even yell.” The wine glass touches her lips, but she doesn't drink. She gazes into mid-air. “Nick tells me stories. Meetings and confrontations. People cursing and screaming, threatening to sue the company, or expose them. It never happens, obviously. Grant Brexton is always there, listening, hardly saying a word, then something inevitably happens to the other people involved.” She lowers the glass. “Nick calls it the 'button-up.'”
My head cocks. “The button-up?”
“Yeah.” A long finger taps the rim of the wineglass, causing a chime in the room. “Nick says Brexton leaves his suit jackets open. But if he's in a meeting and buttons the middle button, something bad always happens to the client afterward.” Her full lips pull down with a stoic pout. “According to Nick, it's a bad omen, if you believe in that crap. But he tells me one dude even died after he made a threat against the company and Brexton buttoned his suit. They found him three days later with his skull bashed in.”
A chill runs up my spine, sickness swirling in my stomach.
What if I messed with the wrong person at the worst timing possible? What if instead of working for him, he somehow finds out who I am and exposes it everywhere for turning him down? Men in power do funny things. Bile climbs up my throat at the proof I have.
I witnessed it in my stepfather when he was disobeyed. The retaliation was real. Extra chores, less sleep, more homework, not as much food—talking back and refusing meant consequences, so I learned to silence myself.
That way of living has stuck with me. Unless it’s Roxie or Kitty, overall, I do stay quiet. I ruined that tonight. Broke out of that mold because I was afraid at how unsettled Brexton made me feel—of the thoughts he planted in me. Hearing Roxie’s story, I know the power I felt radiating from him at the party was hundred percent real, and he's dangerous, even more so than I thought, and that means…
“Fuck, I’m an idiot.” All I can recall is the way I left him standing there on the dance floor, alone. Although that wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I clutch the nearest pillow on my sofa and wring the tassels in my hands until a few break off. “I didn’t threaten him, but I did tell him to 'piss off,’ then I walked out on him.” I place my hand over my stomach, hoping to stop the somersault happening deep inside. “Do you think a jilt would cause him to provoke?”
“Nah. I think you're good.” Hair tumbles off her shoulder as she stretches a kink out of her neck. “Sounds like he wants to fuck you, and I'm sure that's not a bad experience at all.” Her head bobs. “I bet that man knows what he’s doing.”
“Like I’m finding that out.”
“Hmmm, just saying.” A sly twinkle plays in her gaze. “You seem pretty shook up for someone who's pissed off. What if he propositioned you? Would you say yes?”
“No!” I shoot to my feet quicker than the flames rocketing through my body. “That will never ever happen. I don’t have time.”
She tosses her head back and laughs. “Sure.”
“It won't, I’m telling you,” I say, resting my hands on my hips. My eyes roll when she laughs again, and I decide I'm done here. “Good night, Roxie.”
“Good night, Liv.” She laughs and stands. “You got any makeup wipes?”
I nod, accepting her drained wine glass that I drop off at the sink for a suds bath. “You want to crash here?”
“Yeah.” She's already peeling down a white spaghetti strap. “I'll just pull out the sofa bed, no biggie.”
“K.”
I set Roxie up, and once she's comfortable, I return to bed myself. But sleeping isn't easy, and despite the sleeping pills I've been popping, I think it will stay that way for a while.
And so, it does. I spend my night tossing.