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Drake

 

 

 

A few days later Sam stuck her blonde head in through my office door. Colleagues of mine always assumed I was fucking my assistant. She was attractive in an LA way: tanned and blonde, a standard beauty. I didn’t get to where I was by being stupid or following my dick. I don’t fuck around where I work.

I hired Sam because she was clever. Clever and very, very cunning. Many a time I needed information about what a competitor was doing that no amount of money could squeeze out. Sam was able to extract that information with a hair flick and a flash of leg. She was completely loyal to me. After all these years together, I had learned to trust her.

“Drake, there’s a courier here with a package.”

“Tell him to leave it at your desk.”

“He won’t.” I could hear the annoyance in her voice telling me that she tried that already. “He refuses to leave it with anyone except for you and he won’t go away until he delivers it.” She screwed up her nose. “He smells funny.”

I laughed. “You’re mad because he won’t bend to your will.”

Sam made a face at me.

“Where is the package from?”

“A company called GW Agency?”

I froze. It was from Isabelle. “Send him in.”

“Drake—”

“It’s not a bomb. It’s not anthrax. Send him in.”

She stared at me. I knew she wanted more information on the GW Agency. I wasn’t going to give her any. I also knew that the first thing she would do after sending the courier in was to look them up online. She could try. I already had. She would find nothing except for a website as simple and nondescript as their business card.

As the uniformed courier stepped up to my desk, I pushed aside the papers in front of me, starting to run red with my corrections. I grabbed a dark fountain pen. “Where do I sign?”

“You don’t.” The courier, a clean-shaven youth who looked more like a bouncer than a messenger, held out a machine about the size of a card reader with a shiny square screen in the center. “I’ll need your right thumb and forefinger.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your fingerprints.”

I blinked. “Are you serious?”

“No fingerprints. No match. No delivery.” He spoke with a calmness that relayed to me that this wasn’t the first time he had to explain the deal to a surprised customer.

Ms. Taylor had my fingerprints now, did she? This made me even more impressed than before. And uncomfortable. Isabelle Taylor was not someone to be trifled with.

I pressed my thumb and forefinger onto the screen. I was rewarded with two green ticks and a thin package about the size of a slim booklet. It itched under my fingers as the courier guy took his sweet-ass time repacking his machine in his backpack. Come on. Why can’t he do all that outside? Finally, he saluted me goodbye and left my office.

I tore open the package. Inside was a slim silver tablet. I turned it on, tapping my fingers on my desk as I waited for it to load.

The screen lit up, GW Agency scripted across the center in silver lettering. There was a single file named Open Me.

Here we go down the fucking rabbit hole.

I pressed the file and the program launched.

 

Welcome Mr. Blackwell

Please tap to continue to your personalized catalog

 

I stabbed my finger to the screen. Four portraits in color laid out in a two-by-two grid appeared. Four faces. No names. Just the letters W through Z underneath them. My eyes darted from W to X to Y…

They were all beautiful. Indeed, Ms. Taylor only selected beautiful girls. There was something about this one…the one labeled X. There was something in her eyes. Something that held mine. Like two black holes drawing me in. While the other three girls smiled with their perfect teeth, this one’s smile was serious and reserved. I sensed something deeper behind her expression. Something…complex.

It was like looking upon the face of the Mona Lisa. I was drawn in, not really knowing how or why. Tell me, what’s the sadness behind your smile?

I spotted the text along the bottom.

 

Please tap on the individual photo to learn more about each candidate.

 

My eyes flicked back to the girl with the Mona Lisa smile. I didn’t need to know anything more about her.

My phone rang. I picked it up without taking my eyes off the lovely X. “Yes?”

“Mr. Blackwell.” I recognized Isabelle Taylor’s distinct voice right away. “I trust you’ve received my package.”

“I’m looking at it right now.”

“Excellent. I would tell you to sleep on it but if I know you at all, I believe you’ve already made your decision.”

I traced my finger across the face on my screen. “I want X.”

“Excellent choice. Now if you—”

“I want to know her name,” I interrupted, still staring into X’s silent eyes. I needed a name to go with this face. A name. Give me her name. Like knowing her name would make her mine already.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“What?” I finally tore my eyes off X. Nobody said no to me. Nobody. I opened my mouth to yell when Isabelle spoke.

“Mr. Blackwell. I’m sure you understand what a sensitive matter this is. Protecting the privacy of my girls is as important as protecting your privacy. I’m sure you, of all people, would understand that. Only once the papers have been drawn up and signed will her name be released to you. You’ll see all you need to know about your future fiancée in her dossier.”

My fiancée. Something kicked in my chest.

Fear reached out through me like a clawing hand, trying to take back what I was about to do. I should pick one of the other girls, one who I wasn’t so damn drawn to. It would be less complicated that way. Less chance of any complicated…feelings arising.

I almost snorted at my own silly thoughts. I was Drake Blackwell. If anyone knew how to keep their emotions in check, it was me.

“Fine,” I said. “Send the papers through.”

“Excellent. Congratulations on your engagement, Mr. Blackwell.”

I hung up and traced my finger across her face again. Until then, my mysterious X.