Absolute Power (Southern Justice #1 (34 page)

Once I left Austin’s office, I ran into Momma coming out of Dad’s office. She was on her way to have her hair done and, as usual, Dad handed her a wad of money and kissed her cheek.

“Baby boy, it’s been two weeks,” she chastised me. Dad grinning behind her.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“I haven’t heard any news.”

“I have been a complete and perfect gentleman, held doors, checked over her car, and made certain her cell phone is charged. I’ve kept my hands and other body parts to myself.” I held up my hand in the scouts honor display.

“Oh, my sweet boy, you will be so glad you didn’t hurry things.”

“I love you, Momma,” I replied, as she waved goodbye to the two of us.

“You do realize her comments will become more personal, until she has you and Claire over for supper.” Dad stood with feet apart, arms crossed and one hand under his chin. Cocky bastard loved every minute of my torture.

Claire was busy celebrating Lainie’s birthday. I missed her, never thought I would ever say that about anyone outside of my family. Granted, I could call or text her, but I didn’t want to appear clingy. Instead, I called the salon and paid for her visit, a benefit she would have to get used to.

Winning the contract for the custom bikes was just the beginning. Once tongues began wagging, folks started to drive by to check things out. Now, I spent most of my time answering the phone and setting up appointments.

Two days ago, I had placed an ad for a receptionist. I had five people come in, only two of which look promising. Claire offered to do the interviews, knowing this wasn’t something I was going to enjoy. She was more concerned for the interviewees, as my interrogation skills were not on the gentle side.

“My name is Tori Jefferson. I’m an Aries and a vegetarian. I love puppies, but not birds. Birds don’t care where they poo poo…”

“Thank you, Miss Jefferson. We will be in touch.” I couldn’t take anymore; they were all the same. Blonde hair, short skirts, high heels and low IQ’s. Forget Claire losing her shit, I would lose
my
goddamn mind.

My first interview walked into the shop and asked me if the smell was something permanent? It was a fucking bike shop for Christ’s sake. Maybe Claire was right; I should’ve left the interviews to someone else.

I had one last person, Audrey Helms; she currently worked three part-time jobs. In her cover letter, she found it was important to make me aware of this upfront. Considering how the first four interviews had ended, I didn’t have much hope.

Shortly after seven, the new alarm system I had installed, alerted me to the presence of someone approaching my door. I glanced at the monitor and noticed a young girl getting out of the back of a taxi. I watched, as she appeared to search her tiny bag for something, while the cab driver was getting frustrated.

This had to be my last interview, and by the look of things, her three part-time jobs weren’t very profitable. I opened the door just in time to hear the driver yell his opinion of her, which included stupid and bitch.

“Hey!” I shouted as I pounded on the top of his car. “You wanna keep that shit down. I’m trying to run a business around here.” The cab driver was a chubby, middle-aged man, with a receding hairline and a bad comb over. His dashboard was covered in Hawaiian girl bobble heads and the seat beside him littered with used food containers.

“Shit, man. You scared the piss out of me.” His breath smelled like he had just eaten a shit sandwich. I tossed a fifty at him, waving my hand in front of my face trying to dispel the smell before it collected in my clothes.

“Keep the change, buy a fucking tooth brush.”

The money landed on his massive gut and he struggled to catch it before it fell to the floor. He must have been successful as he shoved the car in reverse, leaving a slack-jawed girl in his path.

“T-thank you, I think.” Her blue shirt rippled in the breeze, brown hair pulled back into a low ponytail, and a short sweater covering her eyelet top.

“You think?” I growled, watching her flinch at my harsh words.

“I’m sorry, I’m already messing this up.” She turned and began to walk down the sidewalk, defeat in every step.

“You’re headed the wrong way,” I shouted with a friendlier tone than before. Audrey stopped, considered what I said, then slowly turned back around. “The interviews are held in there.” I pointed to the door of the garage.

Audrey stood in the center of what was becoming my office. At the moment it was what Claire had coined, my catchall room.

“Have a seat and we can get started,” I offered, showing her the couch against the wall. Once we both got comfortable, me with my boots on the top of my desk, and Audrey with her knees together, hands clasped on her lap, I began.

Audrey Helms, twenty years old, from Savannah, Georgia. She had moved here two years ago to attend culinary school. When her scholarship fell through, she’d had to quit school to earn money to live. Until yesterday, she worked four hours a day in a little coffee shop near the interstate, which unfortunately had closed its doors. Every Saturday and Sunday she worked twelve-hour shifts for a cleaning service. She lived in a one-room apartment over on James Island and had no car, but swore it will not keep her from doing her job.

Audrey was too young to be working this hard; she needed to get back to some formal education. She had an honest face and polite manners, but so did the majority of con artists. Hence the background check I had Austin run on her this afternoon, after failure number three.

She had no property in her name, no warrants or criminal record. She also had no living relatives. According to Austin, her father was never in the picture and her mother left her with her grandmother when she was three. Constance Helms, her grandmother, died a little over a year ago.

“Miss Audrey, if I were to offer you the position, there would need to be an understanding between us.”

She cocked her head in confusion, yet remained silent awaiting my clarification.

“You may or may not have heard of my family.” She shook her head in the negative, her expression unchanged. “Well, then you will soon enough.” I tossed at her, the implication enough to make me crazy. “I have a Momma who is beautiful, gracious, loving…” Audrey still looked confused and maybe a bit irritated. “And can be a complete pain in your ass. If you don’t want her knowing something about you, forget how you were raised and tell her to butt out.” Her eyes widened in shock, and I knew Momma would be all over her.

“Second, I have a girlfriend. I’m very happy with her and even though it is new, it’s permanent.” I was firm on this and I realized it was the first time I labeled what Claire and I had, but it didn’t matter. You could smear icing on a pile of shit, but it was still shit.

“Third, from your résumé, you say you work for a cleaning service on the weekends.” She nodded her head in confirmation. “How much are they paying you an hour?”

She looked at her fingers for a split second, then back to me. “Nine dollars.” She was embarrassed and I didn’t blame her, nine dollars was shit.

“All right, if I offer you this position, I will hire you as a salaried employee, at forty-five thousand a year. I will need you every Saturday and maybe a Sunday here and there. While you work for me, you will have access to the company car.” Her eyes were gleaming and I could see how hopeful she was. Being with Claire was softening me. Before her, I would have made this poor girl wait a day or two before I offered her the job.

“Do you have any problems with anything I have said?”

It was late, after ten before I’d finished showing Audrey around the office, calling my insurance to put her on the policy and having her sign all the paperwork. She tried to argue that she didn’t need the car, but I told her it was only taking up space in the back. It was something the old owner used for part runs. I had checked it over the same day I did Claire’s car. It wasn’t much, but it was safe and reliable.

I couldn’t remember being so fucking tired, but I wanted to talk with Claire before she went to bed. I knew deep down she was having fun and that was the reason she hadn’t called me today. I sat back on the couch, popping the top off a bottle of cold beer. Just as I was feeling the relaxing sensation the beer provided, the alarm in the front went off.

I jumped to my feet, thinking it had to be Claire, and hurried to the front door. What waited for me on the opposite side wasn’t the beautiful girl who had stripped the calluses from my nearly dead heart.

Smiling like a prom queen, her teeth taking up so much space on her face they needed their own zip code, was the one person I wanted to avoid. “Hey, Dylan,” Portia said, eyes sparkling under her dark-haired wig.

I recalled a time where I would have found this a turn on, a new tail with a built in memory of what I liked. Now I found it ridiculous, a play for my attention.

“Portia, what the fuck do you need?” I asked. I felt really pissed off, hoping she could take the hint from the tone in my voice

“Oh, baby, don’t be like that.” She reached out to touch my chest, using her skills to get past my front door. “It’s what you need.” Her face was inches from mine, pink tongue licking her front teeth, bright red lips glistening in the lights from behind me. She ran her nails down my chest, circling around my left nipple. “What I can give you.” She tried to be seductive.

I swallowed hard as my body reacted to her touch. It had been a long time since I had partaken in a good, hard fuck. Since I’d had anything besides my hand wrapped around my cock.

“Don’t worry, baby. Your little girlfriend will never know.”

Words meant to green light her intentions, only helped to clear the fog from my hormone filled brain. From God’s lips to my ears, taking a detour through Portia’s mouth. I pulled back; I had given my word to Claire, to myself.

“Oh, yes she will.” I warned her, leaving no room for argument. The look on her face told me she couldn’t believe this wasn’t going down like she had hoped.

“You can’t tell me you’re seriously happy with vanilla sex.” She wrinkled her nose as she pointed her neon green fingernails in the vicinity of my dick.

I’d heard enough. This was the part of my life I wanted to leave behind, so that I could have something real with a genuine person.

“I can tell you, my happiness is no longer your motherfucking concern.” Her mouth dropped wide open. Whether it was an invitation to stick my cock in or to start an argument, I wasn’t sure, but I wasn’t interested either way.

“Men don’t turn me down, Dylan, it doesn’t happen,” she screeched.

“Well, you crazy bitch, this man just did.” I shut the door in her face and hopefully out of my world for the last time.

I had the overwhelming need to see Claire, so I picked up the phone to call. Her phone rang several times and went to voicemail. Ignoring all reason, I dialed her number again, only the voice that answered wasn’t my Claire’s, not even close.

“Hey, Dylan. Claire isn’t here.”

Lainie sounded as though she was a combination of drunk and tired. “Where is she, Lainie?”

“Letting her back water roots come out.”

Her tone told me she was absolutely serious, and I was clueless as to what she meant. “Fucking English, Lainie.” I spat, more than likely a bit too harsh. She told me about the great day they’d been having, only to be sidelined by the verbal diarrhea of an old fucking biddy.

“Goddamn, old fucking, hag!”

“Stay where you are and call me if she gets home before I speak with her.”

Lainie agreed and I headed out to get my girl.

I pulled up to the hospital and found Claire’s car parked haphazardly in a space. It was clear she was on a mission when she pulled up. I smiled, as I would have to give her a little ribbing for her failed attempt at a NASCAR finish.

Just as I went to open my car door, Claire came huffing out of the automatic doors. It was evident she was still madder than a wet hen, not to mention, cute as fuck. I couldn’t wait to wrap her up in my arms and confess to her the bullshit Portia just pulled.

I caught a flash of movement from the side of the building, a shadow of what appeared to be a man moving toward her. He was trying to remain in the shadows, keeping his identity hidden from her. Just as he passed the edge of the building, I got a clear view of him—it was Cash. I grabbed my gun and handcuffs and got out of my car. I was going to kill the fat motherfucker for even thinking about her.

I’d taken less than two steps when she saw him and stopped in her tracks, processing what was in front of her.

“Claire!” I shout, more to get Cash’s attention than hers.

Cash stopped his slithering as he saw me. Claire, however, had a fire in her and she was obviously still very riled up from confronting Notre Dame. I ran toward her as she began to swing at Cash with her purse and fists, finally kicking him in the groin.

As I reached her, Cash managed to get away from her and was pulling his arm back to punch her. He would regret even having the thought of hurting her. I grasped her around the waist, avoiding her flailing arms as she fought me, and pulled her back behind me. I reared back and connected with his face several times, blood spraying from his nose, which was unquestionably broken. Cash fell to the ground, grasping his face with one hand and his balls with the other.