I hit my favorite caffeine supplier near the subway station and get myself a big, fat triple-shotter. I need coffee like air this morning. Even with the muscle relaxants and alcohol, I didn’t sleep well. I kept having dreams that Max was in bed with me, all hard and warm and smelling like a spring orchard, touching me like I was precious and making me feel like I could do anything as long as he was by my side. It was the closest thing to a nightmare I’ve had in years.
The only good to come out of it is that it kept me tossing and turning enough to make sure my back didn’t seize up, and even though I get twinges of pain if I bend the wrong way, on the whole I’m feeling much better this morning.
By the time I get to work the coffee has hit my system hard, and I practically bound through the doors to see Toby.
“Good morning, friend!” I hug his back as he continues typing on his keyboard.
“Good morning, friend-who-never-hugs-me-unless-she-wants-something. What can I do for you this fine day?”
I give him my best shocked face. “Toby! I resent the implication that our friendship is based entirely on favors.”
He spins around and leans back in his chair as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Oh. Okay. Then you don’t want something?”
I scoff. “No, I don’t. Only the pleasure of your sunny disposition and the sight of your handsome face.” I flash my most dazzling smile.
He raises his eyebrows and waits.
I look around at the hive of activity around me and say “Soooo ... I’ll just be ... you know, going to my cubicle now.” I roll back onto my heels. “Yep. Nothing more I want to talk to you about.”
I take a step away from him, and he cocks his head expectantly, maintaining his stony silence.
“Soooo, yeah.” I take another step. “Talk to you later, Tobes.” He watches as I reach the edge of his cubicle and play with an errant thumbtack. “Byeeee.”
I let out a sigh as I head into my office space and collapse into my chair. Within seconds, his head appears above our shared wall. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know. What do you want?”
I lean forward onto my desk. “You’re the best, Tobes. I don’t know who else I can ask about this stuff.”
He rolls his eyes and gives me the ‘get on with it’ gesture.
“So,” I say, “I need to find out more about Max, AKA Mister Romance, but the dude isn’t exactly forthcoming. I have to get inside that warehouse we found in Greenpoint, but it’s locked up tighter than my sister’s thighs.” I pull out my phone and bring up the picture of the digital keypad I snapped when I was there. “This is guarding the one accessible door, and it’s right below a camera that feeds to Max’s phone the second anyone activates it. Is there a way to disable it? Or work out the passcode?”
Toby takes my phone and studies the photo. “This looks like a pretty standard six-digit system.” He hands the phone back to me. “Hang on a second. I may have something.”
He disappears for a few seconds then pops up again and shows me a high-tech-looking stainless-steel rectangle that has a small digital display on one side. He looks around to make sure no one is listening before holding out the device like it’s the Holy Grail. “Take this. When you get it close enough to the keypad, press the black button. It will emit a high-density electronic pulse that should be powerful enough to knock out the lock and the camera in one fell swoop.”
I widen my eyes and reach for the device. “Holy shit, Tobes. Really?”
He slaps my hands away and laughs. “No, not really. Jesus Christ, Tate, I’m not James fucking Bond. What the hell do I know about covert warehouse infiltration?”
I point to the thing he’s holding. “Then what’s that?”
“It’s my portable phone charger.” He tosses it back onto his desk and laughs when he sees my crestfallen face. “Aw, don’t pout. You look ridiculous. Forgive me for not being a superhero security expert.”
I flop into my chair. “But you know so much about really obscure crap, I thought you might have had a clue.”
“Nope. Zero clues about these sorts of things. Hacking I can do. Anything else you see in spy movies, not so much. Couldn’t you just ask Max what’s inside the warehouse?”
“Sure, but then he’ll just tell me what he wants me to know, and I’m after the stuff he wants to keep hidden. If he has that much security, there must be valuable info inside, right? I just need to find a way to get to it.”
“Oh, you know I have your back as much as I can. If you can give me any solid facts about this guy, I can go to town tracking his real identity, but I need a place to start.”
“I know, Tobes. Thanks. I’ll see what I can find.”
Toby goes back to his computer, and I pull my hair back into a rough bun as I think about where to go from here. I need biographical info on Max, as well as testimonials from his clients. Then I’ll be able to start painting a balanced portrait that can serve as the jumping-off point for my story.
My computer beeps as an inter-office message pops up on my screen.
I want your first 800 words on Mister Romance on my desk by next week.
Derek.
Oh, goody. Right now, that will be eight-hundred words of filler and bullshit, and I don’t think Derek would be pleased with that.
I type my reply.
Sure thing, bossman! I’m on it!
I sign it with three happy faces, just to piss him off.
I’m still wracking my brain for a solution ten minutes later when my phone lights up with Max’s name.
I answer with, “Unless you start being more forthcoming, I’m going to give you a very unfavorable review on Yelp, Mister Romance.”
There’s an amused chuckle before he says, “Well, good morning to you, too. Would you like some cheese to go with that whine?”
“I’m serious, Max. I agreed to your conditions, and you promised me full disclosure, but so far all I’ve gotten is a lot of talk and a night with a non-existent musician. I need more.”
“Such as?”
“Your history. A list of your clients. Testimonials. Interviews. You know, the usual stuff a journalist needs for a story. I have so many questions about why these ladies are so dedicated to you and how they feel about the whole situation. You telling me how they feel and me hearing it from their own mouths are two totally different things.”
“I’ve told you before, my clients won’t divulge anything to a journalist. Apart from the non-disclosure agreements they all signed, talking to you will jeopardize their identities.”
“Then you’d better come up with something that will help me, because I’m on a deadline, and I need to start showing results. If I get kicked from this story, I have no doubt Derek will put someone else on it, and you’ll lose whatever leverage you’ve gained with the whole being nice and taking care of me routine.”
“You honestly can’t comprehend I did that because I care, can you?”
“Pure intentions from a man who manipulates women for a living? Sure. That makes perfect sense. Now, about my story ...”
He pauses then says, “I have an idea that might work, and coincidentally, it meshes with the plans I had for our second date.”
“I’m listening.”
“I want to do an immersive date with you, which means you’ll also play a character.”
“Oh, Max, I don’t know. I’m not much of an actress. The only theatrical experience I’ve had is playing second turnip from the left in my third-grade nativity scene, and even then I was so nervous, I almost peed.”
“There’s nothing to be nervous about. None of my clients are actresses. You’ll be fine. Although, if you still have that turnip costume somewhere, let me know. I can always find a way to work it in.”
I laugh, and it’s a real, pure, girly laugh. I throw my head back and everything. Oh, Lord. What’s become of me?
“Be available Friday night,” he says. “I’ll send through details shortly.”
“Will I need to wear pant
s and a bra?” I ask. “Because that’s a whole other level of commitment right there, and I don’t know if I’m ready to be that intimate with you yet.”
“Then by all means, consider pants and bras optional. God knows, I won’t be wearing a bra.” He pauses, and it sounds like he’s covering the phone to talk to someone in the background. When he comes back, he says, “I’m sorry, Miss Tate, but I have to go. I’ll be in contact soon.”
“Okay.”
“Take care of your back, and have a great week.”
“You, too. I mean, the great week part. Your back’s fine.” Jesus, stop with the babble. “Okay, bye.”
I hang up, a grin splitting my face. I put down my good mood to being excited about finally moving forward with my story.
Yeah, of course. That’s the reason.
When I spin my chair around to go and get a fresh cup of coffee, Derek is standing two feet away from me, arms folded across his chest.
“Jesus!” I say, pressing my hand over my skipping heart. “Sneak up much, Derek? Isn’t that against company policy or something?”
“No, but do you know what is against company policy? Chatting to your boyfriend on the phone and making heart-eyes so big, I can see them from my office.”
“There’s a wall that blocks me from your view.”
“And yet, here I am to remind you that I don’t pay you to make personal calls.”
“I wasn’t –”
“Of course you weren’t. You just look like a giddy school girl because you were speaking to your accountant. I understand. Now, get the fuck back to work.”
Before I can say anything else, he stalks off toward Accounts.
I swear to God, that man gets more unpleasant every time I see him. If and when this story hits big, I’ll find incredible satisfaction in moving on to a new job where I never have to look at his bastard face again.
Heart-eyes. Pfft. I don’t even know what the hell that is, let alone how to make them.
THIRTEEN
Bon Voyage
“Do you have your passport?”
“Yes.”
“A photocopy of your passport? And your credit cards?”
“Yes, and yes.”
“What about antibiotics? Take them with you, just in case you catch a UTI from having crazy euro-sex with a dude named Jacques who has a monster baguette-dick.”
“Eden, chill.”
Asha grabs my shoulders to stop me from repacking her suitcase. Staying still isn’t fun for me right now. I need to keep busy.
“What’s going on? You’ve been on edge all week.”
“Nothing. I’m just nervous about my baby sister traveling thousands of miles in a flying tin can, that’s all.”
“You know I have more chance of being kicked to death by a donkey than dying in a plane crash, right?”
I look at her in horror. “Holy shit. What? Is there some sort of evil donkey cartel going around killing people? Where did this information come from? Do they have Mafioso donkeys in France?”
“Eden!” She laughs and squeezes my shoulders. “I’m going to be fine, both on the plane and around random donkeys. Stop panicking.”
I sit on the bed and drop my head into my hands. Honestly, I’m also on edge about Max. We haven’t spoken since Tuesday. It’s now Friday morning and still no contact. We supposedly have a date tonight, but I know nothing about it. Where, what time, how I’m supposed to dress. I mean, sure, I have that whole ‘pants and bra are optional’ directive, but that’s it.
I grab my phone and dial the movie information line again, just to make sure there’s no reason he can’t get through.
Nope. Everything’s working.
Then why hasn’t he called?
If I weren’t so badass, and he wasn’t completely off the grid, I’d be stalking every piece of his social media right about now to find out what the hell’s going on.
Asha clips shut the Ziploc bag containing her toiletries and gives me the side-eye. “You know, I can’t help noticing you haven’t seen Max this week. What’s up with that?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.”
“Uh huh. Because to someone who knows you, it seems as though you might actually miss him.”
I roll my eyes multiple times before checking the time. “Wow. Would you look at that? Your car will be here soon. Better get that case shut.”
She gives me a knowing look before pressing her last few items into the overflowing suitcase and gesturing for me to push it down, so she can zip it. “Have it your way, but I hope you realize that denial isn’t healthy. He likes you, and you like him. Story or not, you two have issues to sort out.”
Her phone buzzes with an alert at almost the same time mine does. She checks her screen. “Ten minutes.”
I check mine and get a vicious flutter in my belly when I see it’s a text from Max.
I tap into my email app so fast I almost drop the phone, and sure enough, there it is. A fresh, shiny email.
I click it open.
From: Maxwell Riley
To: Eden Tate
Subject: Behavioral Guidelines
Date: Friday May 12
Dear Miss Tate,
I apologize for not contacting you sooner. Something came up unexpectedly, and I’ve been indisposed for most of the week. I hope your back has recovered and that you’re feeling well.
Regarding tonight’s date, please read the following guidelines and let me know by reply email if you have any questions.
First, I’m confirming that this is an immersive date, in which you will step out of your own personality and into someone else’s. Your character description, along with mine, is detailed below. Read it carefully. Understand it. Live it. For this to be a success, you will genuinely have to try to be someone else for the night. I have faith that you can do it.
Character: Eden Crane, a top-notch New York journalist with a thirst for the truth. (Very much like yourself.)
Personality: Open-minded. Unguarded. Craves intimacy and intense connections. (Totally unlike yourself. These traits are your Everest, Miss Tate. Embrace them.)
Setting: Black-tie charity event
Background: You’ve been invited to the event by Maxwell Roberts, a wealthy philanthropist who also runs a successful escort business for high-profile clients. (Don’t think too much about the logic of this. It’s a fantasy, after all.) You met Maxwell earlier in the day when you were interviewing him for a feature story for the online news source, Pulse. (Sound familiar?) When you met, you both felt an instant attraction, and he’s invited you to the charity gala to get to know you better. You’ve accepted his invitation, because you need more information for your story, and also because, despite your best efforts to remain impassive, you feel a powerful and passionate attraction to him. (Use your imagination if you must.)
Please note: You may ask me real-world questions about my business in this scenario, and I will try to provide answers. I won’t consider this breaking the reality of the scenario. The people you encounter will give you real information. By the end of the night, you should have increased your research file substantially.
Existing guidelines regarding physical contact apply, as do the procedures for canceling the date should you become uncomfortable. I will continue my promise to not kiss you unless invited to do so.
I would advise you to call in sick to work today. I need you well rested and prepared for tonight, and you will need to be home in the afternoon for reasons that will become clear. So, Miss Tate, try to relax. Take off your pants and bra, if you wish. Watch a movie. Eat some ice cream. I look forward to seeing you later this evening. Or rather, I’ll enjoy spending time with your alter ego.
Have a wonderful day.
Warmest regards,
Max.
As I finish reading, I hear a shutter go off and turn to see Asha pointing her phone at me.
“What are you doing?”
/> “Nothing. Capturing a moment.” She puts her phone away. “Walk me down?”
I take the suitcase as she grabs her computer bag and giant purse, and within a few minutes we’re waiting on the sidewalk.
“Edie?” When I turn to look at her, she smiles. “I hope you know I only want the best for you.”
I take her hands, already feeling a painful lump forming in my throat. “Of course I know that. I feel the same way about you.”
“Good, because I want to make sure you know how much I love you before I do this.” She slaps the top of my head.
“Ow! Ash!”
“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Opportunity is not a lengthy visitor. Fortune favors the brave. Big risks lead to big rewards.”
“Do you want to inform me why you suddenly turned into a talking fortune cookie?”
She sighs. “I know that preaching gets nowhere with you. Just know that if I were you, I wouldn’t let my stupid pride and self-preservation mess up something that could be amazing.”
I open my mouth to reply, but she holds up her hand. “No. Don’t tell me I’m wrong or make excuses. Just think about it.”
Her car pulls up to the curb, and we hug as the driver loads her gear into the trunk.
“I’m going to miss you, Edie.”
“Not as much as I’ll miss you.” I swallow and blink to push back the tears. Crying isn’t something I do. I learned a long time ago that it hurts less to keep it in than let it out. Also, Asha cries less if I’m strong, and I’d do pretty much anything to prevent Asha from crying.
“Take care of Nannabeth while I’m gone. See you in a couple of weeks.”
“I’ll be here.”
She climbs into the back seat of the slick SUV, and I stand at the curb and wave until she disappears into the rush-hour traffic.
When I get back upstairs, I slump into the sofa, already feeling her absence. It’s so quiet without her, I jump when my phone buzzes with a text. It’s from her, and there’s a picture attached.