Zipper Fall (10 page)

He glanced at me and paused, noting my flustered state. “It’s embarrassing.” His voice was muted by a dry swallow.

“It’s from a nature video. You know, big cats.” I felt myself flounder in search of a feasible story. “Really big cats. I found it on the Internet. I love ’em… and besides, if you erase it, I’ll just install it again.”

He fought hard not to let a grin shine through. “You’re dragging me through hell, Gaudens. Here, done. All gone. You get a traditional ring tone, like an old phone.”

“Like in
The Matrix
?”

“Suuure,
The Matrix
. And I added my cell number.” He handed me my phone back. “I want you to follow these notes and redo that proposal, and I want you to deliver it to me in person as soon as it’s finished. I’ll be home tonight—and I want you to call before you come in. Understood?”

I leaned back a bit, savoring the view: he was tall and handsome with his broad shoulders and narrow hips. Even though he tried to maintain a fierce glowering expression, there was an undercurrent of boyish vulnerability, and part of me just lit up at the sight. I had never found his type interesting before, but to my surprise, he looked so hot when he tried to be all bossy like that. Something must have shown in my eyes.

“Stop that,” he snapped, looking away from my face, his voice a restrained hiss. “I’m serious. This project is….” He met my eyes again, and sighed. “I just want you to act normal when you come in.”

“Oh yes. Normal… yes, of course. Don’t worry, I will.”

I
PICKED
up some take-out Chinese food for dinner on my way home. My back was stiff from the hard chairs and I felt jittery from all that extra caffeine. Once Azurri wasn’t distracting me by breathing right next to me and almost down my neck, and once I stripped the tight business clothes and slipped into a pair of track pants and a muscle shirt, I got most of the project outlined the way he wanted it. I took a break to shower and eat and do another edit on the document, making sure the spell-check and the grammar-check weren’t flagging any stupid mistakes. I recalculated the numbers again, just to make sure. Once I printed the document, I put it back in its blue presentation folder.

But damn, did I ever feel sore after sitting for so long. I’d been busting my butt, and for what? I was being blackmailed into doing my best work ever for free, by a man who wanted me to “act normal.”

Booorrring!

I yawned and stretched my hamstrings.

The thought of being planted in his chair, still once again and waiting for his verdict on my work, well… it didn’t sit well with me.

What’s normal, anyway? Normal for me, or normal for his secretary?

I snorted at the thought of his current executive assistant—I imagined a fine young woman of exceeding capability, normalcy, and breeding—rappelling down his building, hoping to enter his bedroom window. That sure wouldn’t be normal for her, would it?

No.

I shouldn’t.

I really, really shouldn’t do this.

Yet it was just too funny—hilarious even—and I had always been pretty bad when it came to laughing at my own jokes. I changed into my black cargo pants and a long-sleeved Under Armour shirt. Once I put on my soft-soled climbing shoes, I slipped the completed report into my backpack and set out on foot. This time I didn’t have to worry about being spotted. This time I was invited to use the front door, and I didn’t even have to cover my blond hair to create a disguise. In fact, a glimpse in the mirror revealed I looked like an action movie stunt double, and that thought alone made me grin with delight.

I just want you to act normal when you come in.

Sure, Mr. Azurri.

R
ISBY
H
AUS
, former director of Provoid Brother’s collection’s department, was manning the front desk, his lanky figure slouching in a too-small rotating chair as he read his book. He paid no heed to the security monitors before him.

“Hey, what’cha readin’ this time?” I asked him, my voice conversational.

He straightened right up when he saw me and his eyebrows rose in surprise. “You again?”

“Yep. Same customer.”

He picked up the phone, not sparing me another glance. “It’s the front desk… yeah… this guy’s here…?” He cocked an eyebrow at me.

“Wyatt Gaudens,” I said. He scowled into the set and his voice sounded biting and sarcastic.

“Wyatt Gaudens, he says his name is this time around. He says he’s here to see you.” He frowned into the phone, nodded, and hung up. “Sign in here,” he said. “Oh, and I’m reading
War and Peace
.”

“Really?” I asked, shocked. “How is it?”

“The translation sucks,” he groaned the words. “I can tell where the syntax is all wrong. Everybody’s depressed because of those long Russian winters, and everybody’s bitchin’ ’bout it. I may just skip ahead and read the ending first.”

“Okay,” I said. I’ve never even picked up a Russian book, so I really had no opinion, although if you asked me about the latest issue of the Locksmith Catalogue. I could tell you exactly what new, pickproof series of locks and bolts Schloss was selling at the time. Admittedly, that’s because I already bought one and took it apart for practice. From the look on Risby’s face, it must have been a lot harder to take apart
War and Peace
.

I
TOOK
the elevator all the way up and stepped out on the roof. The air hung thick with moisture after a storm had swept through earlier, and the surface felt a bit slick. The darkness was thin, diluted by the streetlights below, as I rubbed my foot against the edge of the parapet, reevaluating my plan. A bit riskier, perhaps, but I recalled the thrilled look on Azurri’s face as he watched me climb up to the roof last time around, and I knew I wanted to see that dizzying expression again. The rope was slightly damp from having been stored in the vent, but was neither wet nor slippery, and that did it. Instead of using my harness, I wrapped the climbing rope around my waist and between my legs and back again and self-harnessed with my own climbing line. I’ve always thought it was a pretty slick trick and looked sexy to boot, and I was only going down three stories, which was peanuts compared to my other climbs. Once again I leaned my back straight out above the street. A damp rope won’t slip through the loops of the harness as fast, so the rate of descent is a lot easier to control than with a dry line.

While I was self-harnessing, the clouds looked a bit low in the sky, but the weather still was good. I hung my butt off the edge and started rappelling, walking my feet down the carved decorations of the building.

It started to rain halfway down.

My grippy rubber soles stuck to the wet stone just fine, and I was grateful to be able to hold onto all that ornamented masonry, because without it I’d be swinging by the side of the building like a pendulum. A gust of wind forced me to bend my knees and wait for the air currents to settle; my rope was digging into my legs right behind my butt cheeks, almost too close to where it didn’t belong.

I felt like an idiot, not wearing a harness because I thought it didn’t look as cool. Then again, I was acting exactly according to Azzuri’s instructions: I acted normal.

Normal for me, that is.

The parapet of his bedroom window couldn’t have come fast enough. I dropped down onto it, letting my body settle into a gentle crouch. The sticky rubber of my shoes was gripping the wet stone for all they were worth. I held both ends of the rope with my left hand while I extricated my phone from the side cargo pocket with my right. I found his number and pressed the green button.

“Yeah.” There was a hint of impatience in his voice.

“Wyatt Gaudens here. Would you care to open up for me? My hands are full.”

“Took you long enough,” he groused. Another light went on somewhere within the dimly lit apartment, and I heard him open the door. “Where the hell are you, Gaudens?” He bellowed so loud, I almost dropped my phone to the sidewalk below.

“On your window ledge. Where else?” My casual tone was getting harder and harder to pull off with sheets of rain driving right into my back.

“You’re crazy! You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me!”

I peered through the rain-slicked window as the pristine surface of his armoire was illuminated by a small lamp clicking on; its light was soft and yellow. Intimate.

I shivered, and it wasn’t just because of the rain and the wind.

A shadowy figure approached my perch; a long arm thrust the sheer curtains aside. I stood up straight, cocking my hip just a bit and pretending for all I was worth to be just leaning against a wall somewhere. I saw his eyes run over my wet, dark figure. Grinning, I put my phone back inside my sodden pocket. “Open up, will ya?” I yelled, the wind ripping the words from my mouth.

Small, round objects began to pelt the back of my head and shoulders.

Hail drummed against Azurri’s window; a flash of bright blue lightning reflected from the vitreous surface and a crack followed on its heels, the thunderclap sharp and deafening.

He turned the latch and flung the tall casement window open, letting the weather inside. “Hurry up, dammit,” he said, alarmed.

The sodden rope of my harness got too swollen with water for its own good; it wouldn’t slide anymore. It was stuck.

I was stuck, too.

I tried to loosen it with my nails, but my leather gloves, which were soaked and plastered to my hands, got in the way.

“Here, gimme that.” He stepped up and grabbed the rope with long, strong fingers, trying to loosen the stubborn loop. A gust of wind shook the window next to him. “Hold my shoulder, Gaudens!”

I reached out and grasped the warm fabric of his dress shirt. His hands skimmed the surface of my pants between my legs briefly, loosening the wet, stuck rope, and then I was free, leaving the rappel line swaying in the wind as he pulled me inside.

The noise of the storm was cut short as he closed the window and drew the sheers. Then he turned and looked at my soaked, dripping person and stepped close enough to grab my shoulders and shake me hard. “What the fuck’re you thinking, climbing in weather like that?”

Wait, he cared?

I shrugged. “It wasn’t raining when I started climbing. Hey… sorry about the mess. I didn’t really want to do that to you.”

“I don’t give a shit about the mess. Why the hell did ya do it, anyway?”

I summoned the last bit of spunk left in me, met his eyes, and smiled. “You told me to act normal, so I used my usual entrance, y’know?”

N
OT
much later, hot water rained on my head and shoulders. I had stopped shivering from the cold some time ago, and I was obviously clean—hiding in the shower was nothing but a stalling tactic. The saner part of me cringed at my undignified position. Soaking wet, on a window parapet, unable to untie my own water-sodden rope harness. Being pelted by hail surely didn’t help.

Way to go, Gaudens.

The nutty part of me—most likely the part I inherited from my estranged and eccentric father—cackled at being in the same apartment with the tall, handsome, and entirely enticing Jack Azurri. My nutty part was still trying to salvage the situation. I leaned against the moss-green tile wall of the old-fashioned bath enclosure in an effort to get a better sense of my current strategic position.

When he grabbed my arms, our faces were just inches apart.

He shook me while frustrated and concerned.

He yelled at me in a loud, scared voice.

He shoved me into the bathroom, being a bit gentler than I probably deserved.

He tossed a clean guest towel after me, followed by a curse.

He tossed his clean workout clothes after me, sans instructions.

He slammed the door shut.

Temperamental bastard, I thought. I wished he hadn’t yelled so much, because then I’d be better able to absorb the content of what he was trying to say. Like, I really wanted to know whether he was yelling over the sodden carpet—my late mother would have—or whether his outburst was a show of concern over my personal safety—my father tended to act like that. My heart sped up at the thought of the second option, but I had no way to be sure.

Once I got out of the shower, I toweled my hair dry, bending over and letting it hang upside down. Then I toweled the rest of me and inspected the garments lent me by my volatile host. His sweatpants were gray and washed into ageless softness; his T-shirt was one of those clingy black microfiber ones supposed to control your body temperature. White cotton socks. It seemed I’d have to make do without the dignity of underwear.

I hung the towel over the shower rail, opened the door, and padded out to the living room.

“Took you long enough, Gaudens.” Azurri sat on the sofa, watching the evening news. “You still cold?”

I shrugged. “It’s okay.”

He glanced over me, presumably to assess my overall condition, but I saw his eyes darken as his gaze lingered, examining the way the tight thermal tee hugged my torso and the sweats barely hung onto my hips. “You sure?” He drawled, his voice velvety soft and deep.

“I’m fine, really. Did you pull the report out of my backpack?”

“Haven’t touched your stuff.” He nodded toward the foyer coat rack, where my black, rip-stop nylon backpack occupied a place of honor, dripping onto the jackets. I took it down and opened it, half expecting it to be full of hail.

It wasn’t. The report was snug in its plastic cover, with just the edges of the paper wet.

“Here. It will need to dry a bit. I have a backup copy on my phone—I’d e-mail it to you, but I don’t know how wet my phone got.” I nodded at my cell, which sat on top of his glass coffee table.

Azurri picked up his phone and pushed two buttons. “Let’s see if it works, then.”

“Grrraahwrrr!”

Our eyes met; a motionless eternity passed. The lull before the storm.

We collided in midair with our arms extended toward my roaring phone. Our shoulders crashed as we landed on the dark blue living room carpet, the roaring cell phone still a whole two feet away. I scrambled for it, only to feel Azurri’s hand clench around my forearm and yank me off balance. As I fell, I grabbed him tight to take him down with me.