My next call: Zoey. I share the news with her. To my surprise, her voice is flat and emotionless. Almost cold.
“Thank you for letting me know. I’m sure Pops will keep me informed.”
She hangs up.
That’s not the only time Zoey hangs up on me. Since the spanking incident, the dynamic in our relationship has changed. She avoids me as much as I avoid her, and when we do see each other, we avoid eye contact. I wish I never spanked her. I crossed the line. It was totally unprofessional. Yet, I think she enjoyed getting it as much as I enjoyed giving it to her. She refuses to talk about it.
It’s been three days. Zoey’s become totally closed off. I can’t even share her father’s latest findings about Scott. He’s a big gambler. Likes to play blackjack, the slots, and craps. Donatelli, however, was not spotted anywhere in Vegas. Pete’s not any closer to nailing Zoey’s mother’s murderer or solving my hit and run.
Whenever I begin a conversation, she merely says, “I know” or gives me the cold shoulder and walks away. Her emails and texts are equally terse. Every rejection of one of my advances shreds me. On Tuesday, Zoey delivers my Starbucks in the morning while I’m in the pool doing laps. I’ve decided I’m going to have a come to Jesus meeting with her. Enough with this shit. I want my assistant back. The way she was before. But when I emerge from the water, she’s gone. The sound of a car peeling out of my driveway screeches in my ear. What the f*ck
? Sopping wet, I hurry to the table where I’ve left my cell phone and where she’s deposited the Starbucks bag. I speed dial her. No answer. I text her. No answer. I call again. No answer. She’s playing games with me again, and it’s pissing me off. Mad as hell, I reach into the bag for my caffeine fix. To make me madder, there’s no coffee. Only a note scrolled in her elegant handwriting on a paper napkin.
Brandon~
I’m taking some time off. I’m using my vacation time. Please do not call or text me. I won’t answer.
~Zoey
PS I don’t know when I’m coming back.
I crumple the napkin in my fist. I’m so blood-curdling mad I can feel steam coming out of my nostrils. I should just fire her sorry ass. But I can’t. I love that ass. And that’s not all I love about her. I love her curves, her big brown eyes, those kissable lips. Her fire and pride. The way she laughs and makes me laugh. f*ck
. She’s under my skin and in my bloodstream. She’s everything Katrina isn’t. I relive the spanking. How she submitted to me yet stayed so strong. Obeyed without questioning. She’s awoken my sexual desire and made me realize I need to be in control. Dominate. With Katrina, I can never be in control. She submits to nothing and to no one. Including me. She’s either p*ssy
whipping me or busting my balls—and that’s when she’s not as frigid as Lake Michigan in the winter. How could have I fallen in love with her? Was I different before my accident? Did my accident change me?
A familiar voice cuts my thoughts short. “Brandon, that bitch assistant of yours almost ran into me!”
Damn. Katrina. She’s back from Paris.
I wish Zoey had.
I don’t know when I’m coming back.
A horrible thought hits me. Panic grabs me by the balls.
Zoey’s leaving me.
Zoey
I’m heading back to that spa outside Joshua Tree. The one that slimeball Scott banished me to, of all places, while Brandon was comatose in the hospital. Call me nuts but don’t shred me. As much as I loathed it the first time around, it’s exactly what I need right now. An escape. It was relaxing; it made me think clearly, and I shed a few pounds.
On the lonely drive down the 10 Freeway, I call only one person, knowing once there, cell phones are banned. Get caught with one and say goodbye to both the phone and the spa. Pops picks up on the first ring.
I tell him I’m taking a vacation.
“Are you having a problem with Brandon?” he asks, always so intuitive. My father knows how I feel about my boss and is convinced it’s mutual. I don’t agree.
“No, Pops. I just need to get away for a few days.” Far away from him.
“Where are you off to?”
“To the Vipassana Wellness Center. Don’t worry, Pops. It’s a retreat in the middle of the desert. I’ll be safe. Have you found out anything more about Scott?”
He updates me. Pursuant to his trip to Vegas with Auntie Jo, he conducted an investigation into Scott’s finances.
“Is he in debt?” My detective mind is at work.
“It’s hard to tell. All his credit card accounts have been closed, and he only uses debit cards. While his bank account is relatively small, he’s got substantial assets—including a two million dollar condo, a place in Aspen, and a fancy yacht. Plus, I learned Brandon pays him a heftier salary than you thought.”
“Like what?”
“A million bucks a year.”
“Wow!” I seriously didn’t think it was that much. Rage whips through me. The douche deserves shit. f*ck
ing asswipe!
“Interestingly, he asked Brandon to borrow some dough.”
“How much?”