Beck & Call (8 page)

Really, it was no wonder he’d fidgeted.

“The lights are on in your windows,” he said as they arrived at her apartment building. “Curtis must have used his key. Probably he wants to go over what happened.”

Mia gnawed her lip.

“He won’t be mad,” Jake assured her. “You know that fight was an act.”

She nodded like she wasn’t a hundred percent convinced. She got out anyway and led him up the three flights of steps.

Halfway up the second, she took her heels off and walked barefoot.

Curtis heard them coming and pulled the door open. Mia didn’t give him a chance to say hello.

“You didn’t tell me Jake was bi,” she said.

“Uh, bi-
ish
.” Curtis stepped aside to let Jake in too. He gave Jake a wide-eyed
here we go
grimace. “I’m pretty sure he likes girls better.”

“Whatever. You went to the club together. You knew he was playing with Gabriel. That stuff you said about not wanting to mess with your work dynamic was genuine.”

“Sort of. I mean, of course it makes sense to keep that option off the table, but we didn’t discuss it explicitly. I’m relatively certain we’re not each other’s type. Would you like a beer? I brought a few over.”

Her walk-up had a simple kitchen along one wall of the living room. Mia glanced at the refrigerator, clearly suspicious of his peace offering.

“I’ll get it,” Jake said. After the night he’d had, he could use alcohol.

He handed out the bottles, opening Mia’s for her first. Mia and Curtis sat like brother and sister on her beat-up couch beneath her vintage travel posters, their slouched-back poses identical. They balanced their beers at the same angle on their thighs.

“Are you upset that Jake is bi-ish?” Curtis asked.

Jake wondered that as well. To himself, he identified as het, or pretty near it on the spectrum. Now and then, a man made his radar ping. It didn’t seem a big deal to him. Interested to know how it seemed to Mia, he lowered his weight to the arm of a nearby chair.

“I suppose I’m not,” Mia said. “It wasn’t my business before. And it never bothered me that Mike was gay.”

“I always liked that about you,” Curtis said.

“I don’t think I deserve credit. Mike was impossible not to love.”

In Jake’s very private opinion, the same was true of her.

“Anyway,” Curtis said, turning more businesslike. “I want an update on what happened after I was kicked out.”

“Call offered us employment: a driving job for me and a personal assistant position for Mia. He admitted he hoped this would be a precursor to us putting on more intimate shows for him.”

“Really,” Curtis said. “That was quick.”

“We didn’t give him an answer. I figured we shouldn’t look too eager.”

“He knew Jake had security experience,” Mia added. “He must have researched him.”

Curtis spread his hands. “He’ll research you too, but it doesn’t matter. Your story is that you are who you are, and you do what you do. The only thing you keep from him is that we work for Raeburn.”

“Which maybe we don’t.” Mia rubbed the couch’s slipcover.

Jake had a feeling he knew what was bothering her. “Did Raeburn pay the retainer?”

“I put it in escrow,” Curtis said.

“You know this is a fine line we’re walking ethically.”

Curtis’s steady look said he knew it was. “I’ll be careful not to cross it. You be sure you don’t cross the line with Mia. And you—” He jabbed his finger at the girl. “Don’t forget you can tap out any time. It hasn’t escaped my notice that Jake interests you, but he’s a big leaguer.”

Okay, this topic of discussion made him uncomfortable, especially when Mia flushed bright red. “She held her own tonight. If she wants to, I think she can handle this. I could tell Call was impressed with her.”

“Apparently, he’s also impressed with you.”

Curtis sounded slightly annoyed. “Jealous?” Jake teased, hoping to defuse his boss’s irritation with humor.

“Screw you,” Curtis swore mildly. “Who needs a man who only wants to watch?”

He seemed fine, so Jake relaxed and sipped his beer.

“I want to see what you’ve dug up on Call,” Mia said.

“Thought you might.” Curtis handed the folder over. Mia took it with such eagerness he grinned.

He knew what was inside. He’d done his own background check. Damien Call had been born in Pacific Palisades, California to upper middle class parents. He’d attended exclusive charter schools where he excelled beyond the norm. Now 29,
Forbes
estimated his personal net worth at 5.2 billion. He was single and never married. Current residence: Manhattan. Attended MIT but didn’t graduate. Generous sponsor to green-related charities. Parents divorced when he was seventeen. Formed his first company, Sun Motors, a year later. The IPO had broken records, which whetted his appetite to break more. Damien Call was coder and engineer—accomplished on both sides of the equation. He had complicated and expansive holdings around the world. Though viewed as eccentric, he commanded fervent respect from his employees. Sometimes referred to as the Twenty-Four Karat Ice Cube, he was famed for his dispassionate negotiating style. Rivals called him a calculating bastard but admitted he knew his stuff.

Public record of his activities at Diogenes seemed not to exist at all.

Jake wondered which of these facts was causing Mia’s brows to furrow. Watching her read was always interesting. She turned pages faster than most people skimmed—and with total absorption. There was no denying her brain was different then. Other things about her too. Jake had never met anyone like her.

Cut it out,
he ordered his wandering mind.

Thinking about Mia as one in a billion didn’t help him stay businesslike.

DAMIEN
Call’s corporate HQ took up five of his Manhattan skyscraper’s sixty floors. The building was one of the financial district’s newer builds. Its boldly curving architecture was very airy, very sleek, and exemplified the Call aesthetic. In case people didn’t recognize the streamlined shape of one of his jets in it, the WORLDWIDE logo wrapped the topmost floor. The giant letters were brushed silver, their edges lit up at night to help approaching pilots orient themselves.

Okay, really the lights were for him. Damien liked seeing his company’s name glowing above the great city.

He also liked the amazing view the building commanded at the island’s tip. Battery Park and the harbor, the East River, even the Brooklyn Bridge was laid out for him. He only had to stroll a different length of windows in his office to admire a new vista. His personal corporate space was bigger than many homes. The custom tiles on its floor—brick sized and laid out in herringbones—bore the same matte silver finish he used on his concept cars. The furniture was modern and spread apart, the rugs antique and understated in soft blue tones. His scattered knickknacks adhered to a navigation theme: mostly old compasses and gyroscopes. His prize possession was the door from an 1890’s electric cab with SAMUEL’S ELECTRIC CARRIAGE COMPANY on its side.

Looking at it reminded him he was bringing electric powered vehicles back to the forefront where they belonged. Someday fossil fuel reliance would go the way of the dinosaurs.

Leaning back in his state of the art ergonomic chair, with a brand new sunrise piercing the clear glass walls, Damien could convince himself his spirit was as serene as his surroundings.

“Good morning, Mr. Call,” said a smoothly professional—and unwelcome—female voice. “Would you like me to get coffee?”

It was his secretary, Ms. DeWinter. Though it was literally the crack of dawn, she stood a few steps inside his door, notepad at the ready, every wave of her naturally russet hair perfectly arranged. She’d been with him six months now. During the last two, this had been happening more often. No matter what time Damien arrived, Ms. DeWinter would appear within the quarter hour. Though the assistant didn’t know it, he’d determined she’d come to an arrangement with José in Security, whereby the guard informed her if Damien’s private elevator descended from his penthouse residence to this floor.

Ms. DeWinter seemed to hope Damien would think she was psychically attuned to him.

He didn’t want to fire her. She was highly competent, hardworking, and—he’d thought—happily married. His colleagues enjoyed that she was easy on the eyes. If, however, he couldn’t break her of this habit, he’d have to cut her loose.

“Ms. DeWinter,” he began resignedly. “I didn’t call for you to come in.”

“No, sir. I was simply trying to anticipate your needs.”

Was she flirting? Her cream silk blouse seemed more unbuttoned than usual.

“I don’t pay you to anticipate my needs outside of normal working hours.”

“Of course, sir, but—”

“No ‘buts,’ Ms. DeWinter. I’m sure your husband would rather you spend your mornings together.”

“He understands, sir. He knows you’re an important man.”

Damien sighed internally. This would require bluntness. “Ms. DeWinter. I don’t want you here unless I’ve called you. You should also know that, as of today, José is no longer a WorldWide employee. I don’t appreciate my comings and going being shared, no matter how benign the intention.”

Ms. DeWinter’s flush was unmistakable. “Forgive me, sir. I—”

“Go home,” he said, cutting off her apology. “Don’t return before 8:30.”

She practically bowed as she backed away. To his relief, she shut the door behind her.

This was the problem with running a huge company. Even when you signed the checks, some employees inevitably strayed from their assigned course.

He squeezed his temples between the thumb and middle finger of his right hand, blowing out his breath in an attempt to restore his calm. He needed to let this go. He’d never control everything.

Interestingly enough, control was the topic he’d come here to contemplate.

He hadn’t slept much last night. He couldn’t get what he’d witnessed at Audition out of his mind. Mr. R’s new sub had climaxed from a kiss. Not sex. Not a spanking. But from a kiss. He’d watched Mr. R work his wiles before. The man was a master in every sense of the word. Too much of one, maybe. He’d intrigued Damien—men sometimes did—but Mr. R’s façade had never betrayed the cracks it did last night.

Last night, something magical had happened. Despite the dom’s clear experience, the girl he’d been whipping nearly unraveled
him.
He’d been so hard the back rows could have counted up his inches.

Damien sincerely hoped Mr. R hadn’t fucked the girl when he took her home.

He shifted in his chair, now uncomfortably hard himself. He wanted to see it; wanted to watch every millimeter of that raging organ slide into her. The girl was incredibly responsive. Damien knew she’d enjoy it.

He remembered the silken feel of her palm as he gave her his business card. Her big brown eyes had seemed so startled when they snapped up to his. She was an innocent with just enough spirit to make things interesting. He sensed she’d been tempted to accept his offer. Mr. R was possessive—as indeed he ought to be. The girl was a treasure, and Mr. R wouldn’t give up control of her for a job. Damien’s best hope was that the dom would realize she wanted to explore the exotic world he’d introduced her to with Damien’s hand joining his on the steering wheel.

Unless Mr. R were an idiot—which he didn’t seem to be—he’d do a quite a lot to keep his young friend happy.

Suddenly, Damien had to know her name. He grabbed his phone, doubly glad now that he’d sent Ms. DeWinter home. Though it wasn’t generally known, Damien owned Audition. Not Diogenes, which annoyed him; the sister clubs really should have been guided by the same person. This morning, thankfully, owning one club was better than none at all.

He had to wait a few rings. The individual who picked up was sleepy but alert enough to recognize his voice.

“Sir,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“I need our background check on the guest known as Mr. R. Please forward the encrypted file to my secure email.”

Damien heard computer keys clicking. “Anything else?”

No file would yet exist on the girl. She’d only attended once that he knew. “That’s all,” he said. “Sorry to wake you.”

The girl was Mr. R’s work colleague. Damien knew how to do a search. Finding her name—and most everything else about her—would be a piece of cake.

~

The buzzing of a wasp pulled Mia from the depths of a pleasant dream. In it, Captain America had escorted her to her high school prom where, despite her hopeless unpopularity, she’d been voted in as queen. Classmates watched with envy as she and her handsome tuxedoed date gyrated on the dance floor.

The band’s sexy lead guitarist looked a hell of a lot like Jake.

You can hold your own
, he was singing raspily.

“Mmph,” she said, reluctantly pushing up from her tangled sheets. The buzzing noise that had woken her grew louder, as if someone nearby were using a weed whacker. She twisted toward her bedside window and nearly choked on a gasp of shock.

A helicopter style drone was hovering outside her third floor ledge. It was shiny black, about the size of a fire escape barbecue, and had four bright blue insect legs. The silver WorldWide logo stood out on its dark surface. Beneath its belly, a parcel hung.

Mia tried to get her brain to make sense of what she was seeing. Was it even legal for a drone to be flying here?

As if the thing could tell she was looking at it, a small red light flashed three times at her.

Okay, maybe that’s how it asked if it could come in. Glad she didn’t sleep in the nude and not sure what else to do, Mia hauled the window open and backed up to make room for it. The drone bobbled slightly but buzzed through the opening without hitting anything. More sensors blinked as it dropped its package gently onto her mattress.

Then it zipped out the same way it had come in. Mia watched it disappear above the roofs with her jaw hanging.

The box sitting on her bed assured her she hadn’t been dreaming.

FOR MIA BECK
, its plain paper wrapping said.
PLEASE OPEN IMMEDIATELY.