At the Brink (19 page)

“My guy does fine, better than fine,” I said. “He’s more of an overachiever.”

And yet... Josh didn’t sleep much, was hyper vigilant about a lot of things and compulsive about details and plans. He needed to be in control at all times, something that had to be exhausting to him. He was a neat freak. He disappeared to his rooms at regular intervals, never undressed in front of me, and didn’t allow me to touch him. I was pretty sure he’d been wounded in battle, even though he didn’t want to talk about it. None of that detracted from the fact he was super accomplished and brilliant; but...yes, it was very possible. Concealed behind his extraordinary successes, Josh could be suffering from PTSD.

“If your guy is doing so well, then he’s one of the lucky ones,” Bree said, stuffing napkins into the holders. “In any case, here’s my advice: Stop looking for perfection and start living your life on your own terms.”

“You’re right.” I put away the sugar. “Still, these feelings are freaking me out.”

“What feelings?” Bree said.

“Up and down, confusion and certainty, cold and hot, joy and terror.”

Bree laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“You are,” Bree said. “After all this time, you’re finally there.”

“Where?”

“At the corner of Lust and Love, where you would’ve been years ago if Martin hadn’t shown up.”

Love and lust?

“Uh-oh.” Bree gestured to the group of people exiting the office across the street. “There’s our cue. Here comes the lunch crowd.”

“I’m ready.” I manned the coffee station.

“I’m not sure that you are,” Bree said. “But sooner or later, it had to happen to you. Personally, I’m glad it did. And Lily?”

“Yes?”

“Lust like that tends to evaporate quickly, so enjoy it while you have it, girlfriend.”

* * *

I ended up staying at the coffee shop until the afternoon. It was very busy and I didn’t mind. God knew, I wanted to make it up to Bree for my sudden absence. She was a good boss and an even better friend.

I had a couple of hours before I had to go see Vinnie, whom I’d called earlier and promised to help with his weekly order. I did some errands and walked home from the store loaded with a bag of groceries, only to find the silver Audi parked at the curb.

“Hi,” I waved to Amman, who stood by the sleek sedan.

“Miss Lily.” He nodded. “He’s in a mood. He doesn’t like to wait.”

“Uh-oh.” I rushed up the steps.

Josh was leaning against the door, tapping furiously on his cell. Amman was right. He was mad as a spitting cobra.

“Where the hell have you been?” he said. “I’ve been calling and texting and nothing.”

“My phone didn’t vibrate.” I put down the bag and pulled out the phone from my pocket. “Ooops.” The thing was dead. “It must have run out of juice.”

“Is the damn cell defective or did you not charge it last night?”

“Um, it’s very possible I may have forgotten to charge it.” I cringed in advance.

His brows clashed above his nose. “What did I tell you about the phone?”

“Keep it close?”

“Have you already forgotten everything I asked you to do?”

“N-no.”

“And yet you seem oblivious.”

“It was an oversight.”

“How am I supposed to find you if you don’t pay attention?”

“Sorry?”

“You could’ve been dead or dying in a gutter and I wouldn’t know it.”

“But I’m not,” I said. “I’ll charge the cell and everything will be fine.”

“Easy for you to say,” he muttered. “Give me your keys.”

“Only if you’re done with your temper tantrum.” I handed him the keys anyway.

“Temper tantrum?” He unlocked the door, grabbed the grocery bag and dropped it at the bottom of the stairs. “Is that what you think this is?”

I didn’t mention the words “hyper vigilance,”

“OCD,” or “controlling” but the situation did bring to mind my conversation with Bree.

“I’m sorry that you’re mad,” I said instead. “But sometimes stuff happens when you least expect it. It’s a fact of life.”

“You’re supposed to be on call.”

“Can you get over it?” I said, exasperated. “I’m here, now. What’s the big deal anyway?”

“The big deal is that I needed you and you weren’t there,” he said. “The bigger deal is that I still need you.”

He pulled me into the downstairs foyer and slammed the door shut. His mouth landed on my mouth. Ravenous. I understood the term now, not just because he hungered for me but because my body ached for him, squirming with an indecent rush of need.

Next I knew, I knelt on the third step with my jeans and panties bundled around my boots. I groaned like the boards beneath my knees when he entered me with a sturdy shove. I braced my hands on the higher step and absorbed his blows gratefully. I cried out in pleasure because he rubbed me just right and even though he’d just started, I had no hope of stopping the massive orgasm that struck me on the spot.

“You will not disappear on me,” he said, thrusting in and out of me, intensifying my climax. “You will not keep me waiting. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I rasped, convulsing beneath him. “I promise.”

His mouth landed on my back. His teeth raked the curve of my neck. I twined my fingers through the railing and buttressed my body. Was this right? Was it wrong? Did I care?

I had been craving him all day. I needed him as badly as he wanted me. He gnawed on me, inside and out, provoking me again with a steady knocking, a ruthless hammering that rebuilt my need into a teetering scaffolding.

My knees ached on the hard wood. The sounds of our flesh clapping echoed softly in the tiny foyer. The smell of old lumber and wood polish combined with my need’s heady scent. Surely Mrs. Walker would object to us using her stairwell for this and yet I couldn’t muster the will to object. I wanted more of this madness, all of Josh’s madness, to squelch the madness in me.

At last the hammer struck a final blow. Whether I came undone first or he did, I’d never know, but it was indeed a spectacular demolition. It left me sprawled on those stairs, breathless, shuddering and grateful for a second release.

And then, without a word, Josh straightened his clothes and left me there, as if I were nothing but another bag of wilting produce.

Chapter Twenty-One

Josh

What the hell had I done?

I sat in the back of my car trying to figure out the mess in my head. I’d been busy, in a hurry, and half mad with worry, afraid Lily had bolted or that something terrible had happened to her. But I had no right to treat her carelessly. And even though I knew her body had taken as much pleasure as mine, I also knew I’d screwed up. To top it all, I had left without so much as a thank you or good-bye. What was wrong with me?

It went against every grain of my being, but I dragged out my cell and forced my fingers to type in the word.
Sorry.
It was a lame attempt, but I sent the text anyways.

It took a while, but she finally answered
. For what?
The letters glared in the screen.

I know better.

Do you?
She wasn’t in a forgiving mood and I didn’t blame her.

Next time I’ll help with the groceries.

No answer. She wasn’t cutting me any slack.

Do you want me to come back?
I wrote.

No.

Can I make it up to you tomorrow?

Day off.

Jesus Christ. I wanted to do the right thing, but she wouldn’t let me.

It’s what you wanted me for
,
she wrote.
Going to work. Text break.

Amman turned onto the airport exit. The jet waited on the tarmac. I had to go to Philadelphia for a meeting I couldn’t miss, but I swore I’d make this whole thing right for good. I fired off a flurry of emailed instructions.

By the time I got on the plane, Thomas was already on board. “The numbers for the Philly Gas presentation are in your inbox,” he said. “Did you have a chance to look at them?”

“Right now,” I said, taking a seat and booting up my tablet.

“Did you read the reports from China?”

“Next on my list.”

“Did you get my text about the Brazilians?”

That caught my attention. “Where are they?”

“Miami,” Thomas said. “I told Mr. DaSilva that we would fly down on Friday.”

“Friday’s out. I’m busy.”

“You mean you’re disappearing again?” Thomas shook his head. “Jesus, Josh, we’re talking about the deal of a lifetime here.”

I had to check my temper. “How about tomorrow?”

“DaSilva is in Boston tomorrow, but he’s busy, probably talking to Ernest Chamberlain.”

“Then get him up to Philly tonight so we can preempt Chamberlain. I can take him out to dinner after we finish with Philly Gas.”

“All I can do is try.” Thomas opened his laptop and typed frantically.

My inbox was crammed with emails that needed immediate attention. There was no way I could spare the time to fly the jet today. I buckled up for the ride and began to work my way through the pile. We were airborne by the time Baez’s voice came over the intercom.

“Alice is on the line.”

“Put her through.” I picked up the receiver by my seat. “Alice?”

“Alaska wants to know if you’ve approved their development allocation.”

“Tell them I’m looking at it as we speak.”

“The Arizona team needs authorization to integrate their servers with California.”

“Authorized.”

“Mrs. Artiaga called. She wanted to remind you of the benefit tomorrow night.”

“Is it for the guys?” I asked.

“Let me see.” I heard rustling on Alice’s desk and then “Future Leaders of the World.”

“That’s a no.”

“She dropped off the invitation personally.”

“I don’t care.” I said. “Patch me in with Lily Boswell, please.”

“Sure, Mr. Lane. Right away.”

“DaSilva is a no,” Thomas announced, looking up from his laptop while Alice worked on the connection. “His son might be willing to come up tonight, but DaSilva says he can’t meet with you in Boston tomorrow because he has an engagement.”

“Son of a bitch,” I said. “He’s playing hard to get.”

“You were the one who blew him off.”

“Let me have a go at the son.” I tapped my fingers on the seat’s leather arm. “Maybe I can squeeze some useful intel out of him. The meeting with his father will happen.”

“I sure hope so,” Thomas muttered.

“Mr. Lane?” Alice came back on the line. “She’s not picking up.”

Christ. “Keep trying, Alice. Call me back when you get her.”

“Yes, Mr. Lane.”

I hung up the phone.

“How’s WindTech coming along?” I asked Thomas.

“Bleeding red,” Thomas said. “Poe needs even more money than he thought, but Sylvia says they’re making technical progress.”

I didn’t like either piece of news. “How’s Poe behaving?”

“Like a saint with horns in the back of his head.”

“Signs of scams?”

“Sylvia keeps him on a short leash.”

“Messing with the staff?”

“Always, but that’s none of our business, is it?” Thomas said. “We’re all going to be dead by the time those prototypes work.”

“Tell Sylvia I want to see the specs,” I said. “Tell her to send me everything she’s got, including the schematics.”

“Right away,” Thomas said.

I worked on my laptop until about an hour later, when Baez announced that Alice was back on the line. I picked up the phone.

Alice was hoarse with relief. “I’ve got her, Mr. Lane.”

I turned away from Thomas and lowered my voice. “Why didn’t you pick up right away?”

“I’m working.” Lily sounded irritated, but at least she’d accepted the call.

“I sent Amman to get you after work.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“I don’t like you walking alone at night,” I said. “He’ll be waiting when you’re done.”

“Fine,” she said.

“Don’t be mad at me.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t like it.”

She sighed and surprised me yet again. “Me neither.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. “We’ll have to fix this.”

“This?”

“You—me—us.”

“Um, okay.” She sounded mighty skeptical.

“Got to go,” I said. “On approach to Philadelphia.”

“Are you flying?”

“Just riding at the moment.”

“You didn’t tell me you were leaving the city.” She sounded as if she might care.

“I’m telling you now.”

“Fly safe.”

“Talk to you in a little while.”

* * *

We nailed the deal in Philadelphia. DaSilva’s son was sharp but inexperienced. He indulged in his wine enough to give me what I needed—his father’s whereabouts for tomorrow, in Boston, at the Future Leaders of the World benefit. Change of plans. I texted Alice with instructions to RSVP to Lisa Artiaga’s invitation. I would be attending that party after all. Mr. DaSilva’s son also confided that Chamberlain had already made a generous proposal. Damn. I was running behind the curve on this one.

I got to my hotel somewhere around midnight, in time for the videoconference with the Hong Kong group.

“We’re ready,” Thomas said as I entered the suite. “Should I click them on?”

“Give me a sec.” I went into the bedroom. “I need to check on something.”

“On something or someone?” Thomas said sourly.

“Watch it, Thomas.”

I shut the door and dialed Lily’s number. I wasn’t dealing well with the changes in my life. Thomas brooded like a goddamn adolescent. Work piled up. Lily wasn’t getting the kind of attention I wanted to give to her. My stomach churned with acid reflux. I got worse when I stressed and, by my own standards, worse wasn’t acceptable.

As I waited for Lily to answer the phone, I fired off an email, requesting an appointment.

It had been a while. What the hell. A man had to do what he could to get by.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Lily

“Will you come next Tuesday to help me with the inventory again?” Vinnie said, walking me out.

“Sure, I should be able to do that.”

He whistled, taking in the car. “That’s a sweet ride. And a driver too?”

I was at a loss on how to explain. “It’s just a temporary thing.”

“You’re dating that guy from the other night, aren’t you?”

“Kind of.”

“Hey, no need to blush, girl. This is Vinnie you’re talking to.”

“It’s just that—well—I never thought I’d do this, you know?”

“Everyone is entitled to their happiness.”

“I feel kind of wretched about it.”

“Yo, Lily, I’ll be honest with you. I don’t know about Mr. Audi here, but this deal with Martin Poe has gone on way too long. I’ve got a feeling you’d feel mighty different about yourself if those misguided marriage vows weren’t in the middle.”

Vinnie didn’t know the half of it and yet he’d hit the bull’s eye.

“Think about it.” He beat Amman to the car and opened the door for me. “And whatever else you do,” he winked, “be happy.”

The conversation weighed heavily on my mind as I rode in the back of the car. It was late, but I typed an email on my phone and sent it off to my attorney. Vinnie was right. I had to find the courage to tackle the problem.

Amman dropped me off at the curb. When he tried to walk me up the steps, I insisted he go home. I had kept him waiting for too long. I felt better, lighter, as I climbed the steps to my apartment. But any spark of bravery I felt disappeared as I approached my door. An ugly scribble marred the door, red glaring on white. My stomach turned. The keys fell out of my hand.

I blinked several times, trying to dispel the appalling sight. It didn’t work. When I opened my eyes again, the word was still there, confronting me with a malevolent glower.

Slut.

And in smaller letters:
You’re nothing but a shameless whore
.

If my Puritan subconscious could’ve sent me a message, it would read just like this, which might explain the tightening in my throat.

The insistent gong echoing in my purse startled me out of my state of shock. I realized it had been clamoring for a while. My hand trembled as I groped for the cell. My voice wasn’t any better.

“Hello?”

“What’s wrong?”

“What?”

“What’s happening?” Josh said. “Why are you so upset?”

“Upset?”

“Yes, Lily, you’re very upset, I can tell, any idiot could tell. You sound as if you’re on the verge of a panic attack, which you’re not going to have, not while you’re on the line with me and not after we hang up.”

A panic attack, yes, that’s why I stared at those terrible words without a prayer for escape.

“Breathe, Lily. Breathe.”

I took a deep breath and then another.

“Can you hear me?” he said. “Are you breathing?”

“I’m breathing.”

The sound of Josh’s voice comforted me. It stood like an invisible shield between me and that door. It supported me like a strong shoulder as I gathered my wits. It got my brain jumpstarted.

“Lily?” Josh said. “Are you there? The hell with the Hong Kong group. I’m coming over.”

“You can’t come over.” I pulled it together. “You’re in Philadelphia. Remember? Besides, there’s nothing wrong with me. I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine to me.”

“I’m just tired, that’s all. I put in a long evening at Vinnie’s.”

“I told you to quit.”

“He needed my help,” I said, speaking above the blaring siren of a passing ambulance.

“Why are you on the street?” Josh said “Where the hell are you?”

“I’m standing safely on my porch.”

“Is Amman with you?”

“I just sent him home.”

“For God’s sake, Lily, get inside, now. Don’t you know any better? It’s not safe for you to be outside alone at this time of the night. Go into your apartment and lock the damn door.”

“I’m fine.”

“You won’t be safe until you go inside,” he said. “See? This is why I wanted to have someone watching over you.”

Boy, he was high-strung tonight. But so was I. Overcoming my fear of the door, I retrieved the keys, unlocked the bolt and stepped into the tiny foyer. I made sure Josh heard the lock clicking in place behind me. I feared he might recall Amman, or worse, call in his security team to make sure I was safe.

“I’m in,” I said. “No need to worry anymore.”

“You’re a damn worry factory to me.”

“Sorry,” I said. “Nothing I can do about that.”

“You could follow directions.”

“I try, but you give a lot of those.”

“You could also tell me why you were so upset when you answered the phone.”

His ability to recognize my distress struck me as uncanny as his capacity to talk me out of a panic attack. Sometimes I swore he knew me better than I knew myself. I didn’t want to sound weak or pathetic. Not to him. I didn’t want to bring him into this either. This was my problem and I had to solve it.

“Go talk to your Hong Kong group,” I said. “I’m fine and I’ll be in bed in the next ten minutes.”

“I wish I was in bed with you,” he said.

The wistfulness in his voice echoed through my body. “Me too.”

The silence on the other side of the line was deafening. “Thursday,” he finally said.

“Thursday it is.”

“Keep the phone close by. Rest.”

“You too,” I said as we hung up.

Despite the circumstances, the conversation felt routine. Now I had to decide what to do about the door. I grabbed a sponge and a pail and made my way down the stairs. I took three pictures before I scrubbed the door clean. Just as I finished, my phone screen lit up again.

Good night
, Josh texted.
Everything will be all right.

I so wanted to believe him.

* * *

I woke up smiling. Wednesday was my favorite day of the week. I got to teach. I actually got paid to share my passion with students. It wasn’t a lot of money, but I didn’t care. I would’ve done it for free.

My good spirits waned when I remembered the door last night. Oh, God. I had to deal with that. I reached for the cell on the night table. Josh’s text was already waiting for me.

Morn.

Morning
, I typed the greeting that had become part of my morning ritual.

The reply came back in seconds.
Rest?

Yes. You?

@meeting.

I rolled out of bed, got dressed and made my way to the nearest police station. The officer at the desk was on Facebook.

“Excuse me,” I said. “I’d like to report a crime.”

“What type of a crime?” the guy said, without looking up from the screen. “Robbery, assault, murder?”

“I would have called 911 for any of those.”

“Good for you,” he said flatly.

“Somebody wrote on my door.”

“A threat?”

“A slur.”

“Community relations.” He stuck out his thumb. “That way.”

I filed a report with the community relations officer. When she finished gathering my information, she asked. “Is there anything else that you might want to contribute that may be pertinent to this investigation?”

That I was in a pseudo-contractual sexual relationship with one of Boston’s richest businessmen, and he’d banged me on the staircase just a day or two ago?

I decided to pass, although my blush was in full bloom.

She promised to investigate as soon as she could, which, judging by the pile on her desk, would be in three or four years.

I visited Mom and then headed back to the community center, where I arrived with time to set up for my day. I taught seniors in the morning and the kids’ afternoon class, which was one part riot, one part birthday party and one part mess, but really fun. It was almost four thirty and I was about to start my adult advanced class when my cell rang.

“Hey,” Josh said. “I’m back.”

“Welcome,” I said.

“I’m going to need you tonight.”

A delicious shiver tickled my toes. “You are?”

“I need you to come with me to an event.”

The word “event” set me off. “But I’m off tonight.”

“You’re also on call.” He sounded annoyed.

“I can’t go.” I broke into a cold sweat. “I’m teaching a late class. I don’t have time to get ready and I don’t have anything to wear.”

“I’ll take care that you do.”

“But Josh—”

“No buts, Lily.”

“You don’t understand,” I said. “I don’t like big, stuffy parties.”

“I met you at one such party.”

“I told you, I threw up before, after and while I was there.”

“You’ll do fine.”

“Please, Josh, don’t make me go.”

“If I have to go, then you have to go,” he said. “Amman will pick you up at six.”

“But—”

“See you tonight.”

The phone clicked off.

I had a mind to call him back and tell him off, but my class was about to start and I knew better than to antagonize Josh Lane when he was in one of his moods.

By the time I finished teaching, Amman waited parked by the front doors.

“Miss Lily.” He nodded as he opened the Audi’s door.

“Hi.” I climbed into the car. “I have no idea where we’re going.”

“Don’t worry, Miss Lily,” he said. “I’ve got detailed instructions.”

“Of course you do,” I said. “Why don’t you just call me Lily?”

“No way.” Amman took his place at the wheel. “I like driving Miss Lily. It reminds me of one of my favorite movies,
Driving Miss Daisy
.”

“Oh, I liked that old movie too.”

“Besides, my new bride will like it a lot better if I’m driving Miss Lily as opposed to just plain Lily.”

I laughed. “So you just got married?”

“A year to the day.”

“You ought to be celebrating instead of driving me around.”

“We’ll celebrate,” Amman said. “And I don’t mind driving you around. In fact, I like it.”

Amman negotiated the rush hour traffic with impressive dexterity. He double-parked on Newberry Street and escorted me to the converted townhouse which housed Antoine’s, the most luxurious beauty salon in town. It was also the most expensive. Black marble floors and creamy silk drapes framed the expansive reception room, where affluent socialites sipped on champagne as they waited for their appointments.

The receptionist raised her already upturned nose. “Boswell?” she said, making a show of consulting the schedule. “I’m afraid I don’t have your name in the book.”

“Miss Boswell has an appointment,” Amman said.

The detestable woman looked me up and down then shook her head. “She? Here?”

Was it my clothes? Was it my fake Louis Vuitton that gave me away? Was it me?

A tall man wearing studded designer jeans rushed the desk. “Hello, Amman,” he said. “Is this Lily?”

“The one and only,” Amman said.

“I’m Antoine.” My hand looked miniscule in his grip. “Come on back.”

The snooty receptionist protested. “But she doesn’t have an appointment!”

“She does now,” Antoine said in an acerbic tone. “And since it’s my name on your paycheck, I’d zip that sassy mouth of yours if I were you.”

I gaped at this giant of a man who stood almost seven feet tall. His massive shoulders contrasted with his narrow hips just as his Zebra striped blouse contrasted with his combat boots.

“We better get started,” he said. “We have little time and much to do.”

After the attendant washed my hair, I found myself back in Antoine’s chair, pumped four feet above the ground.

“Who the hell does your hair?” Antoine pulled my wet locks this way or that.

“Fantastic Dollar Cuts?”

Antoine grimaced. “Have some self-respect. If you’re going to date our Josh, you better put a little effort into it.”

Our Josh?

“I’ll have to do a quick repair job before we get to styling,” Antoine said. “Symmetrical, I think, just like Josh suggested.”

It irked me that Josh had discussed
my
hair with Antoine, but I knew better than to protest. I didn’t think Josh could help himself from taking care of everyone and everything to the slightest detail. In fact, he thrived on it. Antoine’s scissors whirred in the air. Hair started flying every which way. At this rate, I feared I’d end up looking like Antoine, with my head shaved smooth as a baby’s bottom.

The dog tags tied to Antoine’s boot laces read
Anthony Chiarelli
. I ventured an educated guess. “Weren’t you with Josh in Afghanistan?”

“Did he tell you that?” Antoine said, clicking away.

“Do you know Mac and Baez as well?”

The scissors almost fell out of Antoine’s hand. “Have you met Mac and Baez?”

“Josh introduced us.”

“Damn, that’s unusual,” he said. “So you know about him being a SEAL and all that?”

“I do.”

“In that case,” he said, “you have to stop judging me. I might not look and sound like Mac and Baez, but honey, I’m a SEAL too.”

“Under all that silk, you’re a hundred percent SEAL,” I said. “And after taking on the wreck that is my hair, you’re already a hero in my book.”

He laughed like the Green Giant. “You’re funny. I see why Josh likes you. Sorry, but I hate stereotypes.”

“Me too.”

“Josh saved my life,” Antoine said. “Twice. He probably didn’t tell you that part.”

My interest perked up. “What happened?”

“IED in Fallujah, sniper’s ambush in Afghanistan.”

“Were you hurt?”

“Me?” He looked up sharply. “No, not me. Oh, God, look at your nails.” He examined my fingers. “What the hell do you do for a living?”

“I’m an artist,” I said, a little self-conscious. “I paint and I taught today.”

“Irma!” Antoine called one of the nail techs over. “Take care of that mess, will you? Quickly, please. We don’t have much time.”

Antoine’s powerful blower drowned out my efforts to ask more questions. He wielded the blow-dryer like an automatic rifle, firing bursts of heated air instead of bullets. By the time he finished, my nails had been filed and polished, and my hair was shiny, sleek and smooth, cut straight, blunt and precise at shoulder length.

“Much better,” Antoine said. “Josh was right. Symmetrical does bring out that amazing jaw line of yours. Our boy is quite smitten with you.”