Page 3 of Hero & Villain
What I really needed was chocolate. And my cello. Did I truly want Haverscorp, or did I want to run away and join an orchestra? It was as ludicrous as joining a circus would be, and the price of freedom was too high when others would pay for it.
It would be difficult to find another teacher at Maestro’s level, and I’d grown so much in the last two years, to the point where I could control the emotion my playing evoked, to connect with my audience, even if it was only him. But all good things must come to an end. No sense in giving myself heart failure about it.
I took my music out of my briefcase and glanced at it before turning to my laptop and the business documents on my fiancé’s upcoming acquisition. There was no sign of Scooby Doo or Clint’s files. Did someone steal them?
That…I sputtered as I searched everywhere for the files that were absolutely not on my computer. Someone had stolen fromme while cutting me off from what I was trying to steal. Now that was a hacker.
I flopped back against the seat and chewed on my bottom lip. Maybe I could turn someone that talented to the dark side. But I wasn’t sure I could put up with the annoying Scooby-Doo theme. It reminded me of Ferris wheels and cotton candy.
When Clark pulled up at the tallest apartment building in the city, I stepped out, not waiting for him or the doorman to get the door for me. Hesitation was death. You had to strike first and hardest.
“Good afternoon, Miss Delavigne,” Mr. Malony, the ancient doorman, said with a wide smile that showed his gapped teeth.
“Good afternoon. Is Maples feeling better?” Maples was his part cocker spaniel mutt, the sweetest creature in the world, but not the brightest. One and a half years ago, I’d chased him down the sidewalk and caught him before he ran out into the road. We’d been on pleasant terms ever since, both the dog and the doorman.
“Oh, I’m afraid not. I think it’s time to put him to sleep. The vet says the tumors are inoperable, and I don’t want him to suffer.”
My heart sank, and I gripped my computer case tighter. “Oh, no. Have you gotten a second opinion?”
He blinked at me. “He’s had a long life, ninety-two in dog years. A second opinion isn’t going to change that.” He patted my arm.
After I took a shaky breath, I walked across the polished tile to the elevator, trying to catch a remnant of the strain I needed to help me get through this day. The only thing in my head was the Scooby Doo theme. Beyond irritating. Maybe I’d just track down the hacker and kill him. Not that I’d ever killed anyone, but it was Thursday.
I pushed the button and waited for the metal box to come down to my level. Sweat beaded up on my forehead in spite of the Nor’easter blowing in.
Today had been a disaster. I needed chocolate, preferably with cherries, and I wasn’t going to find any in my apartment since I’d eaten my last stock this morning. I hadn’t ordered more because it wasn’t good for my skin, and my skin had to be perfect, but promising myself chocolate helped me ride up the elevator every day, particularly on Thursdays. And Maples was dying. Who would I snuggle on days when everything was too bleak? Boston got so bleak, particularly in the winter. Especially on Thursdays.
The doors opened, but instead of stepping inside, I turned around and hurried out into the cold, heading for the corner drugstore across the street and its mediocre chocolate on my five-inch heels. I must have looked like an idiot, too much makeup, ridiculous shoes, but at least my ‘clothing’ was covered in the trench.
Why was my life so ridiculous? I hadn’t meant to play the part of dominatrix to the black sheep of Boston Society for two years. It was supposed to be a short engagement that ended with his business in my pocket before I moved on to my next corporate acquisition. But Clint wasn’t that bad. For all his degenerate ways, he loved his mother, had a good sense of humor, and never hurt anyone. Not physically, not mentally. With my encouragement, he’d shown more ambition, made more of his business so it was more valuable to me. After one year, he’d pressed for marriage. After two, he’d started talking about eloping. Sharing one room. Having children.
Can you imagine? Me, the child left in the hands of Louis Haversham the IV since the age of four, raising another human being? What would I teach them? How to dislocate fingers and take down opposition without mercy? The idea of childrenwas more terrifying than the wall of windows that looked over Boston.
I lengthened my stride as I hurried across the street. I barely got out of the way of a honking taxi before I made it to the curb and then the drugstore a few steps away. Finally. Sweet, beautiful happiness.
I picked out their best individual chocolates and then a few of each kind of bar they had before I carried my booty to the cash register.
The girl behind the machine gave me a dead stare. “Cash or credit?”
“Credit,” I said, fishing in my pocket for my wallet.
“I’ll take care of it,” a low man’s voice resonated in my ear before he dropped bills on the counter and took me by the elbow.
I glanced up at my grandfather’s favorite enforcer, Harlem. His moustache was longer than I remembered, his face stubbled, hair unkempt. My grandfather never would have allowed him to become so disheveled. Was he here on my grandfather’s order, or Philippe’s?
Either way, this put the cherry on my perfect, eye-smarting, puppy-dying day. Yeah, we really cherried up this day.
“What do you want?” I asked as he led me outside.
He gave me a grim smile. “I don’t want anything. Your grandfather would like a word.”
I held up my phone. “He could just call. No sense bothering you.”
His smile faded. “You’re delicate these days. I’m here for your protection as I escort you back home.”
Escort me back home.
I had a flash of my grandfather’s four-story mansion, the muffled screams, and his gentle smile as he cut up a bloody steak and ignored the body on the floor.
