Violets & Violence (11 page)

All I could do was nod, weighing the potential for conflict if Luke and I were to meet. I wanted to add that I’d love to take Violet off of his shoulders and put her in my bed, but I kept that part to myself. “I’m always interested in meeting new prospects,” I choked out, even though I knew that James wasn’t so stupid to think Luke was a true prospect for my firm.

James frowned. I could see his angle, it was so damn obvious; he wanted me to disappear from Violet’s life, and all of this talk about Luke and how much money he had was meant to beat my ego.

“I’d really like that,” he said, glaring at me as I struggled with all of his new information, “but I’m told you have something of a romantic interest in his girl.”

I sat back into the contoured sofa; I hadn’t seen this coming after all of what he had been telling me. “I… uh…”

James didn’t seem bothered by my discomfort. His entire demeanor darkened, though.

“I’d be real careful, Carter,” he advised. “They make for a rather unique couple. And Luke, well, he has a known history of violence. And I guarantee that you won’t see it coming.” He nodded at the door that led back downstairs to the mid-afternoon party. “I mean, how do you seriously think a guy like Bill got involved with the show?”

After backing the Camry into its regular, unassigned parking spot in the Kennedy Square parking garage, I reconsidered crossing Michigan to the office. Although I wanted to get Bill’s check out of my pocket—afraid I might lose it—my chat with James had unnerved me, and I wasn’t ready for work yet. So I turned back and headed to the Starbucks in the lobby of another building. I joined the line of post-lunch caffeine addicts and waited my turn to order.

My conversation with James was really bothering me. I had tried to maintain a professional, keep an even tone when thanking Bill for his time, shaking his hand and heading back down those walkways to my car. Now all I could think about was what had James’ motive been? Why threaten me like that instead of letting Luke do it himself? If Violet and Luke were a couple, why would she have kissed me like she did?

I ordered my grande non-fat cappuccino and settled at the other end of the counter.

The relationship with Luke explained a lot, though. Including why we hadn’t fucked yet. It also seemed like a valid reason for why she could go days between contacting me, while I struggled with thinking about her all the time.

Before my drink was ready, I heard that voice that both annoyed and melted me at the same time. “Carter, give me your money,” she said with a faux-brusque tone, then laughed as I turned around. “How
are
you?”

We hugged –
her
doing, not mine – and shared glances. I watched her eyes roll up and down my body for the same reason mine admired hers: she wanted to find a hint of misery in me. Unfortunately, I found none in her, but thanks to my “chat” with James, she probably found enough evidence to suggest I couldn’t survive without her. At least I could be honest and say that my ex looked fantastic, reinforcing once again that our separation had truly worked to her benefit. Her curves hadn’t looked this good since our wedding day, and the fact that she took such good care of herself now sort of annoyed me.

She nodded to the side, indicating the office building on the other side of Michigan. “Still working at…?”

“I am. But you… what are you doing downtown? I thought you worked closer to home.”

Shrugging, she put a big smile on her face and backed it up with an overenthusiastic tone. “I’m managing the branch in the Hammond Building now. It’s our biggest branch and something of a challenge, but I’m turning that ship around.”

Fake pleasantries and congratulations ensued while I quietly glared at the barista to hurry up the process of pouring the steamed milk into the paper cup with espresso at its bottom. My cap wasn’t a fancy drink, no syrups or sauces or sprinkles out of a bottle, so what was taking so damn long?

I forced a laugh, nodding. “You got this,” I told my ex. “If anyone can pull it off, it’s you.”
Especially with that husband of yours and his Rolodex of key business figures.

I watched the barista pour the steamed milk into the cup,
finally
, but she hadn’t steamed enough, so she poured more into the container and started steaming it.

“Sorry,” the barista said, but I didn’t believe her. I was tempted to take my half-grande cap and tell her to forget about the other half. Like a
keep the change
offer, but I didn’t because this wasn’t change, it was my indulgence in a cappuccino, and every drop mattered. So as much as I wanted to escape this interaction with my ex, I realized I had no choice but to stick around and torture myself.

Snapping my attention from the busy barista –
never watch a pot of water boil, they say
– I glanced over at my ex and caught her staring at me. She moved her attention away and her smile faded, replaced by a pensive, lump-in-her-throat frown.

“You look good, Carter,” she admitted before staring at the menu board now.

“Thank you,” was all I could respond. “Good” didn’t compare to how great she looked—still tall without a line of grey in her dark, almost-black hair, her body tight and slim in a skirt and jacket that suited sexy female bank managers—but it was a compliment all the same, especially coming from her. And in all fairness, my ex possessed more than just the physical beauty on display before me and everyone else at Starbucks. She had a way about her that, when she spoke with you, it felt like she truly knew and understood you. Without a doubt, that skill had assisted her while climbing the corporate ladder at the bank where she worked. That ability of hers, where she could lure you in with a smile or carefully chosen word, was the very reason I fell so hard for her in the first place.

Those early days still haunted me, the moments and memories of holding hands and running along the beach, of lying in bed and her fingertips rolling across my back at the exact moment when I ached for her touch.

She stepped closer to me, moving in a way that made it look natural, as if she had anticipated her drink coming up next. But I knew better, I knew her the same way she knew me. And she wasn’t stepping closer for her drink; she stepped closer because she wanted to.

“I’ve seen your car by the house a few times,” she admitted.

Bam
. Just like that, the rolling fingers turned into a balled fist that landed directly in my nuts.

I let out a long breath.

And then she touched me. The same hand that had fondled and touched and loved a man nearly twice my age now rested on my shoulder and shot a jolt of electricity through my arm. “It’s okay, Carter,” she confided. “I look for you. Still.”

The barista finally showed up and saved me. “Grande non-fat cappuccino for…” She tilted the glass to read my name. “…a, uh, Mr. Carter.”

I thanked her and grabbed the cup, but my ex’s hand reached out for me. Chancing eye contact, I immediately regretted my decision. I saw the pity and doubt in her face.

She doesn’t love you, she never did. Let her go
.

“Take care of yourself,” I told her.

She grinned. “I’d like to have lunch sometime. We work so close now…”

My legs felt heavy, slow to move. It seemed that the stare I gave her lasted forever, but it probably lingered for less than a few seconds.

“Sure,” I agreed with a dumb nod. “Sounds good.” Without elaborating, the barista announced my ex’s drink and name, and that seemed to distract her long enough that I could find my common sense, swivel around on my heels and leave. I didn’t look back, didn’t think too hard and, most importantly, didn’t run; I would’ve hated spilling the hot cappuccino on my hands and wasting it.

A few minutes before packing up my desk for the day, my phone buzzed with an incoming text message. I pulled the device from my pocket and held my breath while studying the screen. My heart hoped for something from Violet, but my mind feared a follow-up message from my ex.

I’m sorry it’s been so long. Come to the show tonight. Your ticket is at the box office. Then drinks and a sleepover? I have something I need to show you.

Even after that last part, I couldn’t suppress the grin from rising on my face. I missed her. And after this afternoon’s conversation with Bill’s friend, James—not to mention running into my ex—I hoped that spending a bit of time with Violet might clear up some of my confusion and uncertainty.

I tapped out a quick response.

Looking forward to seeing the show.

When I saw that she read that message, I fired off a quick:

And you too!

She responded with a heart symbol as Ted Baxter walked past the office, then returned to poke his head back in.

“What’s got you smiling, old man?” he asked.

At fifty-six, Ted was not only extremely handsome and approachable, but he wasn’t the kind of boss that spent Fridays on the golf course. It amazed me that he stood at my office door this late in the day; most boss’s would’ve been gone a long time ago.

“It’s Friday,” I answered. It was as much a statement as a question because I didn’t understand why Ted, of all people, hadn’t gone home yet.

He smiled through his perfectly trimmed goatee. “It is, Carter. I think we both need to pack things up and get on with our lives.” He tapped on the doorframe twice, gave a quick nod, and told me to go home. “Market’s closed for the weekend, so are we.”

And then Ted was gone.

Within a heartbeat, I was gone, too.

Pushing through the crowd assembled outside the Fisher Theater’s entrance, I wondered why there were so many people, why they had arrived so early. But once I collected my ticket at the Will Call station, it made sense. Being one of the last shows before it moved on to its next venue, Violet had decided to add a couple of illusions and start the show a touch earlier.

The time printed on the ticket read 7:30 instead of the regular 8:10 start.

“Hey, hey,” I heard behind me, recognizing the voice based on the goose bumps it aroused. Spinning around, I gave James my professional nod-and-smile combo. We shook hands like big people do. “Fancy finding you here, Carter.”

“Likewise, James.” I studied his easygoing, slack face that seemed so different from the last time I had seen him. “So, what brings you to the show tonight?”

“You,” he said with a hint of bitterness. Back to his old, character, he narrowed his eyebrows. “You need to walk away from this girl. Not because she’s already taken, but because we both know that you’ll never get past those lies.”

I tried to shrug off his little jabs with a chuckle, but even I wasn’t convinced. I doubted he was. “I’m here for the extended show,” was all I could say.

“You know what, I just saw Luke backstage,” James added. “You really need to meet him.”

I gulped, curious about where he was headed with this. “I don’t know how I can provide any kind of financial assistance for the show,” I admitted. “My investors need over a million and a half, just to get started with my firm.”

“Then maybe you can invest like Bill did,” he said with a crooked smirk.

If what James had told me about Luke’s relationship with Violet was true, I might want to break Luke’s neck rather than give him a dime. Plus, after losing my marriage and pretty much all of my financial assets at a time when my IRA took a beating and our house value had dropped to the point where we ended up splitting a pathetic check for $10,000 after real-estate commissions and legal fees, I couldn’t afford to invest in a gumball machine. Forget the show.

To this day, I made mortgage payments and leased my car like everyone else, putting aside as much as I could in case I lost my job or some big expense jumped out of nowhere. But I sure as hell didn’t have a hundred thousand dollars to throw at a magic show.

James chuckled and then punched my shoulder playfully, the same way Violet would. “I’m joking.”

Did this dickhead read my mind?

Just then, the lights began to flicker, calling people to their seats. James disappeared into the crowd, and I didn’t make much of an attempt to find him. I wanted to be as far away from him and his propaganda as possible, I didn’t want to meet Luke or invest in the show or hear about how he and Violet were soul mates.

Once I was inside the theater, I found James again. Not on purpose, but he seemed to have the seat next to mine.

Did Violet set aside a ticket for you, too?

“Well,” he said, allowing a wink. “We’re seeing a lot of each other this week, aren’t we?”

I allowed a quiet nod, keeping my attention focused on the stage. My eyes were jonesing for a glimpse of Violet, her legs or arms, even just her face peeking out through those velvety drapes; big-time performers always seemed to do that in the movies, why not Violet? Especially now with this jerk sitting next to me.