Chapter 4
“Y
es, I’m here and I’m doing fine, Ry,” I tell her for the tenth time over the course of our conversation.
“I guess I have no choice but to believe you. And don’t sound so condescending. I’m your sister – I’m allowed to worry about you. It’s just…” Her voice fades off. “With everything that happened with Stella, I’m…”
“I’m fine. I promise. I’m not taking any unnecessary risks, but I’ve gotta go. I’ll talk to you soon.” I know never to give her a date or time because if I don’t call by then, she’ll get even more worried.
“’Kay. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I end the call and look at the time on the screen. It’s ten fifteen. So first day on the job and I can’t say I’m too impressed with the new photographer they’ve assigned me, considering he’s already late.
Add to that this room makes me antsy as fuck. The last time I was in here was with Stella. We’d fought. She stormed out. Goddamn ghosts.
So I pace back and forth for a few minutes, constantly checking my watch, with my irritation growing each time I change directions. Ten more minutes pass and I’m pissed. I don’t have time for an unprofessional person without courtesy. The world outside the window passes me by as I wait for Rafe to pick up the damn phone.
“So you’ve met?” There’s amusement in his tone when he answers the phone, and my chafed nerves get even more ruffled.
“Nope. Didn’t show. Glad to know you hired a real professional.” Sarcasm is thick in my voice as I lean a shoulder against the window and watch a woman struggle to carry her wares from the market on the dirt-covered street below.
“What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. That’s what you get for hiring a goddamn rookie, Rafe. This is —”
“I told you Bo’s not a rookie. She has a great portfolio, security clearance for the base too. Just because she hasn’t been —”
“Wait, what?” There’s not a goddamn chance in hell I just heard him right. I close my eyes and shake my head. “You meant he, right? Just because he…?” Silence passes through the line. I can picture Rafe leaning his hip against his desk, lips pursed, and the furrow in his brow that he gets when he’s put on the spot. “Last night you referred to Bo as a he, so why today are you using the pronoun she?”
“No.” He clears his throat. “Last night you referred to Beaux as he. Not me.”
“What kind of name is Bo, anyway?”
“The kind that’s spelled B-E-A-U-X,” he says, amusement thick in his tone, and I’m not too thrilled about being mocked. Images of a rough-and-tumble tomboy come to mind, and I hate her out of reflex.
“Isn’t that a guy’s name?”
“I assure you, she’s all woman, all right,” he murmurs, shattering the image I’ve created in my head of her and concurrently pissing me off because he acts as if the fact she has tits and ass will ease the sting of what I feel is his deception. “And it’s on you that you assumed Beaux was a male.” His chuckle grates on my nerves.
“And what? You didn’t correct me because you knew I was going to flip my shit and tell you to go to hell?” My pulse thunders and my hands shake with anger. “What the fuck, man?”
Snapshots of Stella flip through my mind. My promise to never let anything happen to her. Her body covered in blood while chaos swirled all around us. White flowers on her black casket. Having to look her parents in the eye and explain the circumstances and that ultimately it was my fault.
“What’s your problem, Thomas? Male or female… The sex of your photographer shouldn’t affect how you do your job.”
Shouldn’t affect me? He’s crazy.
“That’s bullshit and you know it!” I shout, fist pounding once against the windowsill.