See how she mimicked me from the cab the other night? We're mirroring each other. It's so gosh-darned cute, and I'm practically fucking bipolar. I am not, however, stupid. "There's a dinner coming up. A charity thing—animals who can't read or some crap. We can go together; we don't have to confirm anything. If she sees, she sees. She'll learn with everybody else."
What's she going to say to that? Okay darling, you keep your poor victim quiet again and I'll just sit pretty and do my job? It sounds ridiculous because it is fucking ridiculous. And unpleasant. And God help me, I want her all the more for it; I love her silence and its implicit honesty. Suddenly, we're in this together and there's this gorgeous cut on the inside of her thigh that is my handiwork, all mine, a cut below her cunt, and my hand roams up to pet the dressing and our mouths are painstakingly close. She smells like the sex we had at six a.m. this morning, sore and slow and smoky.
"You're nothing like I thought you'd be," she whispers, and she could mean a million things.
When her teeth close around my bottom lip in an echo of our first forced kiss, I could give up. I want to. But if I don't keep tabs on Leo and her desires, I'll probably end up as the meat in a vengeful bitch sandwich.
Still.
Look at that ass, people. What a way to go.
***
By the time I've showered and put on a fresh suit, The Break Up statement is on my desk: Aeron Lore, CEO of news giant Lore Incorporated, wishes to confirm his separation from long term girlfriend Tuija Klein. The couple, who dated for more than seven years, parted ways at the beginning of the summer and remain firm friends. Klein will continue in her position as personal assistant to Lore. Short, sweet and not overly revealing; it may not apply to Tuija's fashion sense, but it definitely applies to her PR. The piece goes on to detail some of our happier moments as a 'couple': charity benefits, company milestones. Suicide Balls. It's not even nine a.m. and Tuija's been a very busy bee. Either she's trying to make a point, trying too hard to seem unbothered, or she's jacked up on Red Bull and happy pills. A cocktail of all three, perhaps. Tuij loves cocktails.
It could be problematic if she finds a boyfriend or lover. Someone to trust. Of course she'd need time for that, and in her job, time is not in good supply. There will be speculation after Sunday, the cruel kind that will play with her emotions—people brushed off Leo's appearance with me on the red carpet since Tuija was right behind, but now there's that photo doing the rounds on Twitter. One way or another, Tuija will be humiliated when my relationship with Leo goes public. There's too much overlap. And I won't come out of this badly—I'm rich and hot and eligible, and it's damn well expected of me to swap her in for a younger model—but Tuij will be tainted goods.
Fortunately for both of us, she's used to that. And least now she has better tits.
There are plans to make today. I have to find with an outside company for web development so they can see a new SilentWitn3ss prototype; I can't have Leo talking to the wrong person in the cafeteria. Though I do like the idea of her *footing about the Lore Corp eatery downstairs, trying to walk in the heels she wore to impress me despite her wound—men look at Leo. They fantasise about her smudgy eyes and pouty lips; they can only imagine that *. God, I can't wait to show her off some more. I need to decide when I'll fuck her next just so I can concentrate.
Maybe I'll log on to those cutter sites again and refresh my memory on the safe spots. A true gentleman avoids main arteries, hmm?
At that moment, Leo's old Nokia begins to cheep from the depths of my bag. I dig it out, lay it on my desk, and watch the number flash up on the screen as it gently vibrates toward my keyboard.
Rachel fucking Fordham. I could answer this call and hear her sarcastic, breathy voice for the first time in what, fifteen years? I let my hand over the thing, my pulse thumping in the grip of temptation.
Then the ringing stops, and Rachel is no more. Something still doesn't fit here. Not quite.
Which reminds me...
"Chief," says Tommy Chavez as he picks up my call. "What can I do ya for?"
"Remember how you said you could follow Miss Fordham?"
"You want in?"
"I want in." I toy with the old Nokia, my fingers fitting to its plastic keys. "Stop tailing Leo and focus on Fordham. I want everything you can get." The last thing I want Chavez doing is sitting outside Leo's building while I screw her. Ew. "I need your best work here, Tommy. Rachel won't take kindly to being followed. She's paranoid as hell. I'd rather you lose her than you lose your cover, okay?"
He gives a cheap, high-pitched laugh. "Can do. I swear, you give me the best jobs."
"You have her address? Workplace?"
"Lower east side. And she works at the public library downtown." He tuts. "Now if you wanna excuse me, I'll get on it."
I stroke the screen of the phone. Missed call. "I want a report every morning. Email it over, even if it's only a record of when she goes to the bathroom." Time to play on Tommy's chick-centred sympathies. "I'm worried she's going to hurt Leo, and I can't have that. Do you understand?"