Page 10 of Dirty Little Secrets
“What time is it?” I ask, disoriented, as I sit up straight on the couch.
“You didn’t sleep.” It’s not a question. It hasn’t been a question for a long time. Javier shakes his head and walks to the windows, opening the curtains and letting in the sunshine. “You need to shower now. The Li brothers requested a meeting. They want to go over the contract with you.”
“We already…” Exhaustion washes over me as I stand up and lose my balance. Javier tries to stabilize me, but I push him away. “I’m fine! I just need?—”
“Josie made a fresh pot,” Javier says, straggling behind me as I trudge toward the kitchen. “You need to shower.”
“No, I need coffee,” I grumble, pouring myself a cup until the rich brown liquid reaches the rim. Leaning against the island, I hold my breath. “Did you find what I asked for?”
“Yes,” Javier says, hesitant. “But…”
Energy bursts through me, and I suddenly don’t feel tired anymore. “Who is she?”
Javier gives me a conniving smile. “I have done my job, Damon. You must now do yours.” He checks the time on his Rolex. “First, the meeting.”
My lip twitches from his insubordination. “I think it’s time we have a talk, Javier,” I say, pushing myself off the island. Stalking toward him, I keep my voice firm and my body restrained. “I understand that I’ve given you a lot of leeway recently and that you’ve taken on responsibilities outside the scope of what you were hired decades ago to do, which, if I remember correctly, was to assist my father in whatever it is he needed.” Javier’s brows narrow as he puffs out his chest in vain. Stupid old man. “The key word here isassist, Javier. As in, you’re an assistant.Myassistant.” I cock my head. “So, no, Javier, you havenotdone your job quite yet. I asked you for a name…” Towering over him, I curl my hand around his collar and hiss, “What is her name?”
Javier swallows. “Emery Jones. She’s a private equity associate at CJ Piers.”
“What?” Taken aback, my hand drops. Javier adjustshis tie as I rack my head around her daytime profession. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” He clears his throat, reaching for something in his breast pocket. He pulls out a sheet of paper and hands it to me. “That's all the information I could find.” I frown at the limited details. “She, uh, she doesn’t have any social media presence. But that’s her address.” He points to the third line. “She lives in Connecticut.”
I knew there was something strange about her. Something that didn’t quite add up. It’sstillnot adding up. How does a twenty-eight-year-old woman with a degree in economics become one of Georgina’s most popular girls? And more importantly… Why? It’s always the why that creates chaos. It’s the why that causes sleepless nights. When the why is revealed, so is the who. Her name means nothing. The who is not the answer. And I need an answer.
“Push the meeting,” I state, grabbing a set of car keys from the table. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“Damon!” Javier calls out after me. “Where are you going?”
I ignore him, grabbing a sports jacket from the closet and flinging it over my shoulder before calling the elevator. I slide on a pair of sunglasses, impatiently pressing the call button repeatedly.
“Can’t this wait?!” The doors open and I step inside. “Damon!”
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” I ask as the elevator doors begin to close. “For me to leave these four walls?”
Javier doesn’t get another word in before I’m gone.
THE RED HAND
EMERY
There aretwo types of people in the world. Ones that slow down when the red hand at the crosswalk flashes, and ones that speed up. That take the risk. That believe they can make it to the other side in time and unscathed. I want to be the latter. I want to?—
“Woah!” Tom latches onto my jacket and pulls me back to the curb. “Careful!” A black SUV with tinted windows turns the corner, splashing fresh rainfall on the tips of my shoes. He frowns at me, shaking his head. “The light’s red, Em. Didn’t you see?”
“It was yellow,” I mutter, the water penetrating my shoes and soaking my toes.At least something’s wet. I glance down at his hand, which is still gripping my arm. “You can let go now.”
Tom sighs. “You need to be more careful, Em.Drivers these days can’t concentrate on the road. I read this op-ed last week that critiqued the built-in screens in new cars, arguing that it adds an extra layer of distraction. The guys in AnonCo were saying that…”
Tom drones on about the hazards of vehicular technology and his little hacker club for the rest of the walk to Thousand Words Book Store.Does he come with an off switch? Or a mute button?I inwardly scold myself. No, that’s stupid. Tom is passionate. It’s one of the many things I like about him.Hah. Sure. So passionate. He’s a regular old Casanova. Not that type of passion.No shit.
“After you.” Tom opens the door to the bookstore, the security system chiming as we enter. He removes his scarf, inhaling the scent of stories and fables. “Ahh… Never gets old. So, where should we start today? I heard there’s an excellent new spy thriller by?—”
“Why don’t we browse separately for a bit?” I suggest with a soft smile. “Ten minutes or so?”
“Sure,” he says, eyeing the fiction section. “You know where to find me.”
Tom likes to read about extraordinary people doing extraordinary things. A suave spy who saves the world from a nuclear attack. A fallen knight who restores peace to a sparring kingdom. A chancellor of a faraway planet ending decades of famine. It’s all fantasy. He gets a kick from putting himself in their victorious shoes. It’s because he’s not extraordinary. He’ll never do anything that changes history. He’ll never experiencewhat it feels like to accomplish the impossible. He’s ordinary.
