BLIND: A Mastermind Novel (8 page)

“I don’t know,
”
Elliot muttered, skepticism clear on his face.

“Stick with the sword in the stone thing,
”
Jet said. “Girls dig a guy with a big dagger.”

“Real mature.
”
Elliot rolled his eyes.

Jet shoved him. “Oh, lighten up, Elliot. Maybe if you got your blade wet once in a while you’d remember how to laugh.
”

Asher chuckled, but Elliot’s expression remained unimpressed. “I’m merely suggesting a name with a bit more class. There’s no dignity in a name like Mr. Sword.
”
Glancing to Asher, he tapped his chin. “I dub thee, Mr. Stone.”

Hunter looked up from the novel. “Mr. Stone’s a pretty cool name.”

Ash grinned, liking the sound of that. “I have the means to totally redefine myself into everything everyone said I could never be. I’ll find a good nutritionist and get a personal trainer. It’ll be great. We could all benefit from this.”

“Sounds like a lot of work,
”
Elliot mumbled, his sole contribution complete. “I like my style.”

“You have no style, Elliot. You’ve been wearing ties since you were seven. It’s time to let the Alex P. Keaton thing go. I mean, why should Jet be the only face behind everything we’ve created? We’re major entrepreneurs. It’s about time we started looking and acting the part. No more making fools of ourselves.”

“Who you calling a fool?
”
Hunter snapped. “I’m a bad motherfucker.”

Jet shook his head. “Man, don’t try to talk like Samuel L. You can’t pull it off.”

“Sorry.”

Elliot removed his glasses and rubbed his face. “I don’t like this idea. I like who we are. Who cares what the rest of the world thinks? How many other people can say they have an exact replica of KITT from
Knight Rider
sitting in their garage, complete with a functioning artificially intelligent electronic computer module that’s more effective than Siri?
That’s
cool, Asher. All this other crap…it’s not us.”

“What we have is a 1982 Pontiac Trans Am that’s only a turn-on to nerds like us. Girls aren’t into that stuff.”

Elliot stood. “Whatever. I’m not changing. And I’m keeping my ties.
”

Ash looked at Hunter and Jet. “How about you guys?”

“I’m down,
”
Jet said.

Hunter voice was unenthusiastic. “I’ll feel it out, but only if you remember that all this was created by being exactly who we are. I’m not gonna regret that, Ash. We’re thirty years old. Who cares if we’re nerds? If this is something you need to do, fine, but don’t do it for some girl who thinks you’re not good enough just the way you are.”

****

The following day Asher’s house was flooded with boxes of items he’d ordered from the Internet. He had everything expedited and was quickly realizing he might not have thought his plan through.

That morning he’d tried to do the exercise DVD and had nearly broken his ankle. Dexterity and rhythm were immediately added to the list of goals. He decided he was more of a people person after all and took a trip to the local gym, a place he’d never visited in his life.

It was like walking into high school all over again, but if he was going to do this, the excuses stopped now. Every person there had a body bigger and harder than his. He nearly made it back to the exit when some large monstrosity of a man approached and asked if he needed help.

Swallowing back his trepidation, he said, “I’d like to speak to your best trainer.”

The man studied him, from his Clark Kent glasses to his Chucks, and nodded. “Right this way.”

The trainer he met, Steve, turned out to be a pretty nice guy. Asher didn’t go into much detail, but slipped him a business card with his home address scribbled on the back and asked him to meet him at seven later that night. There was no way Ash was returning to that gym. He’d create his own.

He’d spent the day reading romance novels. It was amazing how different women’s fiction was from the sci-fi novels he’d grown up on. More than a few times the words made him blush—and other things. Did girls really like hearing words like that? It was a complete contradiction to everything he’d always assumed. It was also the most erotic experience of his life.

Romance novels described some crazy situations. The bestsellers had girls getting their hair pulled, butts spanked, necks bit, and hands bound. It seemed every taboo was on women’s most wanted list. The more he read, the more he found his body reacting to the source material.

Princess Leia was always one of his favorite images when it came to masturbation, but this stuff blew those schoolboy fantasies out of the water. Once he imagined wielding that sort of authority over Scarlet, he was done. His inner caveman was born and banging on the walls to give this sort of kink a try.

The problem was, he wasn’t exactly sure how to execute his plan. He wanted to contact her soon, but if she saw him now he’d likely fail. He needed to go about this in a surreptitious manner. One novel he’d read,
Master of Mystique,
spoke to him more than any other.

The main character was a scarred warrior that captured the heart of a blind female. If Scarlet couldn’t
see
him, it would be a lot easier to seduce her mind—not to mention he’d have a bit of a defense against those enchanting eyes of hers.

The one thing he’d learned from reading so many romances in one sitting was that women could be patient—or conditioned to be patient, like in those kinky BDSM books. He idly thought about his sister’s reading material, curling his lip at the distasteful image and forcing it away as his plan took shape.

Later that night, the bell rang. Steve, the trainer from the gym, stood outside his door. “Mr. Roan.”

“Call me Ash. Come in.”

The giant followed him to the den. He wasn’t much taller than Asher, but outweighed him by at least a hundred pounds of lean muscle. Once they settled in, he looked the man in the eye and said, “I’d like to offer you a job.”

“I have a job.”

“How much do you make? I’ll double it and pay for any benefits you need.”

Steve frowned. “What sort of job?”

“I want you to change me. I want a body women will notice, a body I can be proud of. I’m doing a little experiment and I’ll be hiring a team of people to help me in my transformation. I’m prepared to offer you a place to stay in exchange for your training over the next while.”

“How long?”

Asher wasn’t sure. “How long would it take to make me look more like you?”

Steve’s brows shot up. “I’ve been athletic all my life. I think you’d see a change in a matter of weeks with the right regimen and diet, but for big changes…maybe three months.”

He nodded. “Three months then.”

“And what happens after that? I can’t just leave my job at the gym—”

“Steve, look at me. If you had to make one assumption about the man I am, it would probably be that I’m intelligent. I know we just met, but I assure you this is an offer you won’t want to turn down. Are you familiar with GeekPeek?”

“Yeah. Who isn’t?”

“My friends and I invented it.”

The man’s eyes bulged. “Holy shit.”

“Exactly. I’ll double your annual salary for a quarter of the time. I’d want you available, so I’d ask for you to stay in the guesthouse. You’d have use of the pool and the rest of the grounds in exchange for your service. Aside from work, I don’t have much of a social life, so I’d like to work out as much as possible. My three partners at GeekPeek also might take advantage of your services while they’re available. I’ll be hiring a nutritionist and personal chef, so your meals would be taken care of. As long as we had an early work out on the weekends, you’d have the majority of your Saturdays and Sundays off. If you can actually pull this off and make me take pride in the reflection I see in the mirror, we can discuss further investments down the line. Perhaps you’d want to own your own gym someday?”

“I don’t understand. Why me?”

“Because you were the first person I found, and I don’t have a lot of time. You also haven’t acted like anything I’ve asked is impossible or laughable.”

“It’s all possible. You just gotta want it.”

Asher nodded. “I want this. Do we have a deal?”

Steve grinned, showing the slight gap in his front teeth. “When do I start?”

“Now. I’ll grab you a spare laptop and you can use the library. I want you to design the perfect personal gym. I want to get started tomorrow morning bright and early. I’ll set up an expense account and you can order all the equipment you need. Have it expedited. I’m not worried about shipping costs.

“Tonight I’ll show you the basement where everything will go so you have an idea of the size room you’re dealing with. Everything should be here by the weekend and we can really get started on our training. Tomorrow you can move your stuff into the guesthouse. I’ll have a key made up for you. I’d also like you to sit in on the interviews for the nutritionist.Ther
e’
s a woman named Carla coming for an interview tomorrow at noon.”

“This is insane.”

It was, but it felt right. Asher was riding a tide of adrenaline and his confidence was flowing. “I’ll go grab you that laptop.”

“Mr. Roan?”

Asher turned. Steve was likely twenty-five, so he’d have to remind him to call him Asher. “Yeah.”

“Thank you.”

Asher grinned eagerly. “If you can do this, I’ll be the one thanking you.”

Chapter Three

Stimulation

Scarlet plopped on the couch with Thor and scooped up the remote. “What sort of excitement lays ahead for us tonight, sweet love of my life?
”
she asked her cat as she thumbed through the channels.

“Ooh, a Harry Potter marathon.
”
Tossing the remote aside, she got comfy and glanced at Thor as he curled into the cushion. “Is it totally pathetic that my Friday night excitement includes young adult movies and my cat? No, don’t be offended. You’re the nicest guy I know.”

Thor’s eyes shut in contentment as he curled into her hip. Scarlet reached for her laptop and checked her email. Nada. “Let’s see what all the cool people are up to.
”

Signing into her GeekPeek account, she pursed her lips as she scrolled through the feed. Someone got engaged, so-and-so sold their house, there was a new picture of an ultrasound, blah, blah, blah, blah.

When she saw the post of a newborn from a college friend her vision blurred.
Will I ever hold my own?
Her knee jerk indifference faded to the honest envy it was and she wrote a heartfelt congratulations below her friend’s post. She then jumped over to Amazon and ordered a gift from her friend’s wish list for the little one.

“There,” she said, checking out. “They should get that in a couple days.”

Hopping back on GeekPeek, she “liked
”
and commented on what she should and was about to log off when a notification caught her eye.

She had a friend request. Clicking on the notification, she frowned. “Mr. Stone?
”
The profile picture was just a large boulder bathed in a ray of dusty light with a relic sword impaled in the rock. “Do I know you?”

It was probably some spammer. Her notifications chimed again. She had a private message. Her brow lowered when she saw the sender was the mysterious Mr. Stone.

Good evening, Ms. Farrow. Care to chat?

~Mr. Stone

Rather than answer right away, she went back to his profile. There wasn’t much, being that his privacy settings were pretty tight and she hadn’t accepted his friend request yet. Who was this guy? This was GeekPeek, not a dating site. It seemed odd to chat with a perfect stranger.

Clicking on her messages, she typed.

Do I know you?

His message popped up only a few seconds later.

That’s your decision. Would you like to know me? I find myself very curious about you.

“Ew. Stranger danger,” she mumbled and rolled her eyes. The guy didn’t even have a real picture. He could be a five hundred pound predator camped out in a shed wearing stained boxers, with Cheetos crumbs sprinkled in his hairy chest.

No thanks. I don’t talk to strangers. Have a nice night.

His response again was immediate.

Pity. I was hoping to have a discussion with you, L.R. Riding Hood. My apologies. Enjoy your evening.

She froze, lips parted, as her gaze drilled into the name he’d used. L.R. Riding Hood. “What the hell?
”

Frowning, and breathing a little rapidly, she returned to his profile. Was this a joke? Whoever this was, they’d obviously read her stupid letter in the paper and pegged her as the author. How, though? She decided to play dumb.

I’m afraid you have the wrong person. I don’t know L.R. Riding Hood.

Her messages chimed.

Tsk, Ms. Farrow. I assumed a woman brazen enough to ask for exactly what she wants would have the courage to be honest. I’m not interested in games. Enjoy your evening.

She scowled. Who the hell was this? It was creepy, not knowing who he was, but at the same time, his response provoked her to reply, prove she wasn’t L.R. Riding Hood—which was bullshit—but he couldn’t possibly know it was her. More importantly—

Who are you?

She waited.

You may call me Mr. Stone.

What’s your first name?

I’m afraid not, Ms. Farrow. Mr. Stone is all you get. Now, shall we be honest, since we’re sharing names, L.R. Riding Hood?

Her heartbeat quickened. She was safe in her home under Thor’s protection. Her privacy settings were solid, not giving away her address or too much personal drama. What harm was there in entertaining herself for a few minutes with a stranger? There really was no difference between this and talking to a man she never met on a dating site. Besides, she really wanted to find out who’d figured out she was L.R. Riding Hood and how.

Fine. How did you find me, Mr. Stone?

His reply stank of arrogance.

It wasn’t difficult. I’m quite adept at getting what I want in life. Your letter intrigued me. Care to discuss it?

Her eyes shot to his picture.

How come you don’t have a real picture up?

You should never end a sentence with a preposition, Ms. Farrow. Why are you avoiding my question? I expect an answer.

She slouched in her seat. Was he a teacher, correcting her grammar like that?
Oh, my God, does he work with me?
Crap. The idea of someone from work discovering her letter was troubling in more ways than one.

Everything suddenly became too real as she stared at the screen, unable to move or think what to do. After several minutes the messages chimed again.

Have your fears gotten the better of you, Ms. Farrow? Pity. I was starting to enjoy myself, hoping we could have a stimulating discussion about all those delicious needs of yours and how I might satisfy them.

Her breath sucked in and she slammed her laptop shut. Her skin prickled with awareness as she fought the urge to close the curtains. It was a joke. Someone was teasing her. Probably a friend that read her article. They’d have to know her well in order to suspect she was the author of such a letter. Someone was screwing with her.

Slowly, she grinned. “Nicole.” She chuckled. “You think you’re so sly.”

Taking a deep breath, she hunkered down and decided to have some fun of her own. The screen refreshed as she signed back onto her page. Pretty impressive for Nicole, making up a fake account and messing with her like this. She almost got her too. A muffled chuckle slipped past her lips as she wrote back.

Oh, Mr. Stone, I’d love to discuss you satisfying my needs. How delicious. Tell me more.

You’re not scared?

Oh, no. As a matter of fact, I’m intrigued and eager. Please…stimulate me.

Very well. I’ll give you a word and you tell me the first word that comes to mind. Agreed?

You bet.

I’m being quite serious, Ms. Farrow. While the satirical tone of your responses may be cute to some, I have no interest in juvenile defenses. If Ms. Farrow—the woman—would like to step forward, I shall continue.

She snorted, amused and a bit shocked at the response. Her friend had her thesaurus handy. Talk about being chastised. This guy—or Nicole, to be more realistic—was really playing the part. She toned down her mocking attitude, wanting to see where this was going before she called her friend out on her prank.

You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m ready now.

Good girl. We’ll start with the word, benevolent.

Kind.

Good, Ms. Farrow. Next word. Own.

Car.

Car?

Yes, car. You said the first thing that pops into my head. Most people own a car.

I want you to think about the actual word, not the possessions linked to it. Apply the word to yourself. How does it make you feel?

She chewed her lip. Was this a test? Breathing out an amused puff of laughter, she decided to play the game.

Sexy.

Interesting. Why sexy? Is it that you want to own someone, a part of their soul, or perhaps it’s you who would like to be owned, that irrevocable sense of belonging to one person, treasured, cherished? Exactly what makes the word sexy?

It was an interesting query. She wasn’t sure. Forgetting this was possibly her friend messing with her, she gave the question considerable thought and wrote her honest answer.

He’d have to be quite incredible to accomplish that, knowing how to reach my mind, treat my body, and touch my soul. Any man able to get to that level with me, could definitely have me—own me.

The second she hit send, reality crashed over her and she cursed. Nicole was probably rolling on the floor laughing at that ridiculous answer. Unintentionally wrapped up in the game, she’d betrayed her personal secrets. Her eyes searched for any possible way to revoke the sent message, knowing there wasn’t one. As her humiliation spiked, the computer chimed.

You expressed that beautifully, Ms. Farrow. Indeed, he should be quite a capable male to earn such a gift. The surrender of an intelligent woman is priceless.

Okay, Nicole didn’t talk like that. Something wasn’t adding up here. His next message distracted her worry.

Next word, Ms. Farrow. Claimed.

Hot.

The idea of being claimed makes you hot, Ms. Farrow?

Her body heated, nerves coming to life. This
conversation
was starting to make her hot, which was a really bad thing if this was Nicole. Her face tightened as she did what she had to do.