Housebroken (8 page)

“Cyndi. Let Jim know my guest and I are on our way to his office.”

“Well, your guest will need to sign in.” She brought out a thin tablet they used as a digital clipboard. All about presentation.

Blake’s eyes never left hers. He supposed some men got off on reigning in that kind of attitude. “Don’t ever talk down to me again.”

He ushered Joje past the hall to the glass staircase leading up to JT’s office. As they began their ascent, he noticed Cyndi on the phone, watching them go.

“Do you always lie at your job,” Joje asked.

“You haven’t left me much of a choice. Unless you want me to tell them the truth?”

Joje’s left eyed twitched, blinking rapidly. His face drew down in an awkward yawn. “I want this to be as close to real life as possible.”

Blake suddenly shoved Joje up against the side of the staircase. They were in that perfect position where no one could see them, from above or below. Blake held him close, the back of his arm pressed against Joje’s throat, faces almost touching. He could feel the tremble in Joje’s frame.

“What the hell do you think this is? Real life . . . ? I’m doing what you asked, playing by your rules, but here, you play by mine. I’ve got one chance here. One!”

Joje’s lips curled up in a tight smile as if he were enjoying this display. Blake pressed harder against his throat. It took every ounce of constraint to allow Joje to keep breathing; he wanted to close his hands around that neck and never let go.

His phone suddenly buzzed. In Joje’s pocket.

“You want me to respond,” Joje said.

Blake released his grip, disgusted with his companion, more disgusted with himself for playing along in this mad charade.

He continued up the stairs. Joje followed, typing a response one finger at a time into the phone. The smile that crept over his face was more frightening than the realization that Blake could have ended Joje’s life—had, in fact, wanted to. And strangely, he didn’t think Joje would have stopped him.

It made Blake shudder. What outcome was Joje hoping for in all this?

One chance. That’s all he needed. It just had to be the right one.

A light breeze carried the smell of the ocean mixed with the gargled taint of car exhaust. Still, Jenna sensed drifting on that breeze a freedom she could almost reach out and grab.

Across from the small sloped parking lot, past the Pacific Coast Highway with its occasional passing car, she stared out at the end of the world. At least that’s how she pictured it.

The ocean shook, roared, consumed.

She breathed deep, inspired—feeling braver, stronger.

The Escalade chirped, alarm setting. Turning back to the one-roomed wooden building that was Sunrise Yoga, faded blue paint now an almost colorless gray, Jenna felt the breeze die, air turn stale.

First, her morning runs. Now these bastards would take this from her. One less hour in the day to lose herself; how desperately she needed to remain lost.

Drew stood on the cracked sidewalk, watching her, his eyes never leaving her chest. She shuddered, a cold sweat trickling down her back as she thought about last night. Drew might not have touched her, but she couldn’t escape the feeling of having been raped.

Where has that breeze gone?

“So are we doing this today?” Adam stood next to Drew by the side of the building, sulking even more than usual. Not that she could blame him. Reluctantly, she joined them.

“There’s a skate park in Santa Monica I wanna check out when you’re done,” Adam continued.

“I’ve got a hair appointment after this,” Jenna said. Adam rolled his eyes in response. “This is a women-only facility. You’ll have to wait outside. It’s one room. There’s nowhere I can go.”

“I’m supposed to stay with you,” Drew said.

“And I’m telling you if you want me to maintain my routine, we’ll need to compromise. Your . . . brother was adamant we keep our schedule.”

Drew ran his hands through his greasy hair. “I should call George.”

Adam’s face suddenly lit up, his eyes brightening. “I thought he put you in charge of us? You call the shots. You don’t need his permission.”

Careful, Adam
.

Jenna reached out to put her hand on his shoulder, but he ducked her, drawing closer to Drew.

“It’s not like you can be with both of us at all times anyway,” Adam continued. “Think about it—Jenna runs around to a million places, I’ve got my things that I do. You’re going to have to trust one of us to be on our own. Unless you keep us both locked up at the house.”

Damnit!

Jenna almost slapped Adam; the kid had no finesse. As soon as she got inside, she’d be able to get help. Sure, it’d be embarrassing, but there were far worse things to worry about. Their bedtime routine, for one.

“I’m going to be late.”

“Wait,” Drew said.

Jenna continued toward the front corner of the studio. From there, she could sprint to the building, get inside before he even realized what was happening.

“Ow!” Adam cried out.

“I said wait!”

Drew had Adam’s arm twisted behind his back, causing Jenna to halt. The boy was up on his tiptoes, trying to release the pressure, a grimace on his face. The parking spaces in front of the bike and surf shops were empty, not a single passerby or witness around.

“You want to see your son, get back in the car.”

Jenna hesitated. And Adam saw it.

“She doesn’t care,” he said. “She’s not my real mom.”

His words couldn’t have been more damning. She left the side of the building, rushing to Adam and cradling him in her arms. He pulled away from Drew, returning the embrace.

“I am your mother. And I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Adam responded with a choked gasp, his head resting against her bosom. Despite having made the right decision Jenna couldn’t help but feel like an invisible glass had just been lowered over her, walling her in on every side.

A gear ticked another notch closer to a darkness as consuming as the ocean, an ink stain sickness that knew only how to feed and multiply.

“Get in the car,” Drew said. “I’ll drive.” He took the keys from her, opening the passenger door. A true gentleman.

She slid in, the closing of that door sending the gear tumbling yet another notch.

“Love you, Jenna,” Adam said from the backseat.

“You too, kiddo. You too.”

The clear glass walls of JT’s office transformed to an opaque beige, something accomplished with the push of a button. He closed the double doors behind him, rubbing his hand against the gray-tinged goatee on his pocked face, the only hair on his head that still grew. He was young to be the CEO of a global company, the framed
Forbes
issue with the cover story “Thirty CEOs to Watch in Their Thirties” hanging in the hallway a sign he was not only aware of it, but defined by it.

Blake noticed he was wearing his suit jacket. Not a good sign.

“JT, let me introduce you to a . . . friend. A potential partner.” He motioned to Joje who looked as confused as Blake’s boss.

JT shook his hand and nodded, turning his attention back to Blake. “A word?” He nodded to his office.

Blake pressed forward. “George, this is Jim Tanner, or JT. He’s the vision behind the numbers and science. One of the youngest CEOs to build a Fortune-Five from the ground up. If things progress like I believe they will, he would be the one to carry this deal through.”

He turned to JT. “This is George. I’ve . . .” He paused. “It’s a little complicated. I promised not to reveal his last name or the . . . company he’s associated with but—”

“I didn’t know we were looking for partners,” JT said.

“A partnership is where both parties mutually benefit,” Blake quipped. “Sometimes they’re not sought after. They just appear, knocking at your front door. But only a fool turns away what he hasn’t considered.”

JT looked Joje over once more, no doubt noticing the same discrepancies Blake had upon their first meeting. Blake could only hope he ascribed them to eccentricities.

He took JT aside, speaking softly, but still in range of Joje being able to overhear. “Look, you hired me not only because of what I can do, but who I know. This is big. It could change everything.”

“One of my many concerns,” JT whispered back, the menace in his words not lost in the lowered volume. He smiled briefly at Joje, then continued. “I run this business. I make these decisions. Maybe that wasn’t clear when you interviewed.” He spit out this last word as if it were the most horrendous curse in a sailor’s dictionary.

Joje’s left eye started blinking rapidly, his mouth opening in a constant yawn—the hushed tones were becoming a problem.

“I don’t want a fricking excuse for yesterday, and I don’t want to be accosted by some freak show clown you owe a favor to. All I want is for you to invent a damn time machine so you can bring my presentation to the meeting that happened twenty-four hours ago! And maybe, just maybe, you’ll even travel back to a time when you were still employed here!” JT’s voice had risen so loud his entire frame was shaking. “I want your phone before you leave. I’ll send a driver to pick up the rest.”

Blake forced himself to remain calm. A shouting match would only seal his fate. He pointed instead toward the
Forbes
article, hoping to God his hand would stop shaking.

“You’re on that wall because when the stakes get too high and others fold, you go all in. You know when to stay in the game. And this—right now—is a moment you will always regret. If you back out.” Blake lowered his tone to a whispered hush. “Without even knowing what’s to gain.”

Joje cleared his throat, glancing down, then spoke. “Wiw find someone else.” He gave a dismissive glance toward JT and started down the stairs.

Blake realized he was holding his breath. He let it out, counting the seconds. He only got to four, but it felt like hours.

“Your argument better improve from here,” JT said. Then he was pounding down the stairs in pursuit of Joje.

Forty minutes later, they left JT’s office. An assistant in tight snow-leopard pants and a loose blouse cut so low it left little to the imagination led the way, showing them to Blake’s office.

It had worked. JT had bought the pitch, the potential for an earth-shattering transformation enough to keep his interest piqued. He hadn’t been thrilled with being kept in the dark, had demanded information, but Blake had finally convinced him he had no option. It was play by their rules or they would move on to one of his competitors. Lying to his boss on the first day was not the way he wanted to start with this organization, but he had to remember all he was really doing was buying time.

Joje had performed unbelievably well, his nuances accentuating the fact that this “partnership” was real. And somewhat frighteningly enough, it actually felt like a partnership—the give and take, the playing off each other; Blake had to admit he was impressed. He never would have guessed Joje had that kind of potential. To sell someone at JT’s level on any amount of bullshit was difficult at best. To get him to purchase the whole dung pile? Next to impossible. Joje had truly done well.

As they marched down the hall, Blake couldn’t help but feel the elation that always came after closing a deal—a high that would carry him for days. Usually, this would mark a night when he would take his wife to bed, one conquest followed quickly by another. That feeling of near invincibility always translated well in the bedroom.

But not tonight. Whether Joje and friends were staying or not.

Joje’s hand almost hit Blake in the head—not in an attack, but in what was meant to be a high five. So much for the class he had shown earlier.

“That was amazing,” Joje said as they followed the brunette, his smile pure jubilation. “This is so right, I can tell already, I’m gonna learn a lot from you.”

“We’ll be learning from each other. Especially if the trial period’s a success and both parties decide to make the partnership official.” Blake nodded toward the assistant, hoping Joje would understand. He hoped she had been hired for her looks, not her cognizant abilities.

“You want us sticking around longer than seven days?”

Blake’s reaction must have been horrific, because Joje laughed, punching him in the shoulder. “Just messin’ with you. Even if you asked, I couldn’t possibly fit it in my schedule.”

He laughed again, then skipped down the hall. Actually skipped. They were attracting more than passing glances from the offices and associates they passed.

Joje cleared his throat, staring at the assistant leading them, her tight rear end swishing back and forth like a metronome. He reached out, pretending to grab her ass, but instead tapped her on the shoulder. To her credit, she didn’t jump.

“Uh, miss? I’m sorry, what was your name?”

The assistant lowered the digital clipboard she was holding in front of her chest and smiled. “Lucy.”

“I wove Wucy,” Joje said, trying out each word as if sipping at champagne.

“Like the TV show.” She was good. Blake barely noticed the scowl on her face as she turned around and continued forward. They arrived at the door to Blake’s office.

“JT asked me to apologize. Your actual office, Mr. Crochet, is in renovations. He hoped this would suffice until your—little partnership—is cleared up.”

Apparently she had been paying attention.

“I’m sure this will be fine. Thank you,” Blake said.

“JT also asked for an update each day, keeping him abreast of the situation.”

“A breast?” Joje asked, his impediment making the inference even more idiotic.

“Two, actually,” Lucy said, anger like a passing cloud flashing across her face as she stared at Joje, whose eyes still had not risen from her cleavage.

“You’re stunning,” he said with his lisp. “Forgive me for taking notice.”

Lucy paused as if unsure whether to thank him or slap him. Probably the latter.

“I would love to get coffee with you sometime.”

“I don’t drink coffee. As of right now. Have a good day.” She left them there, walking briskly back down the long hallway.

“You can’t tell me you wouldn’t sleep with her, given the chance?” Joje asked. “She’s gorgeous!”