22

Office Politics

When he left Kelly’s house a few minutes later burdened with a box of cookies she’d urged onto him, Bryce’s car was no longer parked in the street. Drew climbed inside his Merc and sat parked for almost fifteen minutes before he went inside his own house.

He put the car into drive, coasted down the road and up his drive, and parked behind Penny’s car. The engine was still rumbling to a halt when Kelly appeared at the hedge between their two properties.

“Uh… Drew?” She held out a cellphone to him.

He shrugged at her through the car window, and she stabbed a finger at the phone and mouthed something he couldn’t understand. So he got out, walked around the car, and gingerly took the phone from her.

She shrugged again at him when he frowned at her.

He put the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“There you are.”

“Bryce?” He glared across at Kelly, who looked away. “How did you get this number.”

“Friend of a friend,” Bryce said. “Where you at, bro?”

Drew glanced to the side, fully expecting to see Bryce’s car materialize where it had been parked. But the street was still empty.

“I’m here. At home. You were just—”

“Listen, you have to get back to the office, Drew. I don’t know what you’ve done, but Trent’s spitting fire.”

“He is? Why?”

“Don’t you think I’d be telling you if I knew? He stormed into my office and told me to get hold of you any way I could.”

“But…How? You were here. You weren’t in the office.”

“I was where?”

“Outside my house.” He caught a glimpse of Kelly’s startled expression and turned away from her so she couldn’t distract him. “You were inside my house.”

Bryce laughed. Long, and hard. “Come, don’t come, I don’t give a shit. I’ve relayed the message; job’s done. Been nice knowing you, bro.”

Drew opened his mouth, but there was nothing more final than the emptiness of someone ending a call while you still had your ear pressed against your cellphone like a dumb ass. He handed the phone back to Kelly, licked his lips, and turned to his car. Then he swung around, pointing into the street.

“You saw, right?”

She jumped a little and swung to the road. “Saw what?”

“His car. Parked out here. It was right in front of mine.”

Her eyes went wide as she faces him. Even wider as she looked past him at his Merc.

“Yours is in your drive.” Her head dipped a little. “Are you… you feeling all right, Drew?”

“His car was here! Silver Z4.” He stabbed into the street. “Right there. When I drove up here, he was right there.”

“Okay. So now he’s gone. What’s wrong?”

“He just said I’m wanted at the office. But he couldn’t know that because he’s not at the office. Because he’s probably still driving back to the office. After being here.” Each sentence was accompanied with a stabbed indication of the street, his house, the general direction of Trent, Morgan & Associates.

Kelly took a step back, biting her lip. “I’m going inside. Goodbye, Drew.”

“Kelly, wait. I didn’t—” He ran a hand through his hair. “Kelly…”

But she hurried up her porch steps without looking back. He spun to face his house, almost expecting the front door to be open and Angel to be standing there.

Why in the name of Christ would Trent want to see him?

He would have to go back. To fetch his phone, for one. To see what the hell Trent wanted, for another. And to give his brother a black eye, just for the sheer hell of it.

Trent & Morgan was surprisingly quiet when Drew arrived. While most of the adjusters would probably still be out on late lunches, that didn’t account for the hushed, almost anticipatory air that he stepped through to reach his office. He glanced inside and then stopped. He’d expected to see his phone laying on his desk.

Where the hell was it?

He stormed up to his desk and rifled through the neat stacks of files. Searched the stationery holder. Scoured his inbox.

Nowhere.

He picked up his telephone receiver and began dialing his cellphone, hoping that its battery hadn’t been on the way out so it would ring a few times before it died.

A hand on his shoulder interrupted him.

He turned. Slowly lowered the phone. Stared warily at his brother until the man spoke.

“What’s going on, Drew?” Bryce didn’t smile. Instead, he gave his head a slow, sad shake. “This just isn’t like you.”

“What? What isn’t like me?”

“You know you can confide in me, brother.” Bryce hugged him close. “You know I’m always here for you.”

“What? What the hell are you—?” he pushed hard against Bryce’s chest. His brother slid an arm around his waist, squeezed him tight, and then patted his left breast as he stepped away.

“Mr. Sugar?” Trent’s voice made Drew turn his dumbfounded expression from Bryce to Gregory Trent, whose face he’d never seen so severe in all his years of working at Trent & Morgan. “Drew Sugar,” he added as if to clarify. “My office. Now.”

Drew threw a last glance over his shoulder, hoping to catch sight of his phone. Where the hell had he left it? Had it fallen out somewhere in the car? When he made to follow Trent, Bryce stepped in front of him.

This time, he did get the smile he expected, that lazy twist of the lips that oozed self-satisfaction. “I’m gonna miss you, bro. Truly.” With that, Bryce gave him a hard pat on the shoulder and exited his office.

Drew stared at him for a second before shaking himself from his trance. Then he left his office and went to Trent’s. The door was closed. When he opened it, his blood turned to ice. Then it began pooling in his toes and fingers until they tingled.

A pair of security guards stood behind Trent, arms folded behind their backs. Trent had a tablet computer in his hands, but his eyes were on the door, on Drew.

Drew took a step back, gaze flashing between Trent and the security guards.

“What’s going on?”

Trent said. “There are more out front.”

“Out front? Why—What the hell’s going on?”

Trent cocked an eyebrow at him. “What were you expecting to accomplish?”

His heart knocked so hard in his chest, he almost couldn’t hear Trent’s words. He took an unsteady step inside, and grabbed the back of the chair in front of Gregory’s desk.

“Please, Greg, I have no idea—”

Trent’s mouth twisted into a sour grimace. He glanced down, touched the screen on his tablet, and then glared back up at Drew.

Noise streamed from the tablet. Then a voice, so loud that he jerked.

“Smile, Angel. That’s a good girl.”

Bryce’s voice.

His heart rate soared until he could feel his skin vibrating with every single pounding beat.

“W-What are you doing, Drew?” Angel. Sounding surprised. Sounding wary.

“What, this? Just forget it’s even here. All I need you to do for me is spread those pretty little legs.”

A pause. Angel gasped, then moaned. Another pause, and then the sound of flesh meeting flesh. More moans, not all Angel’s. Drew forced his eyes up from the back of the tablet, right into Trent’s condemning gaze.

“I thank you for your letter of resignation, and I’ll waive your two weeks, Mr. Sugar,” Greg said quietly. “These gentlemen will escort you from the premises.”

One of the guards came around the side of the desk. Drew took a hurried step back, raising both hands.

“That—That’s Bryce! I would never—”

“I recognize the voice.” Trent rose to his feet. “She’s the one that called you during our meeting on Monday.”

“Yes, but—”

“Was that call meant for your brother too?”

“I—No, but—”

“The video came from your phone, Mr. Sugar.”

Realization was swift. Ice cold. “He stole it.” Drew stopped, inhaled sharply. “He stole it from my office.” He shook his head, tried to gather enough air to speak.

The second guard advanced on him, now both with their hands on their tasers. He lifted a hand to each, mentally willing them to stay. “I mean, I think I left it here, and Bryce must have found it. Taken it. He was at my house—”

Trent tipped his head, narrowed his eyes. “You should have gotten your story straight before you came back.” He set the tablet down on his desk as he reached for his phone.

Drew’s eyes dropped. He could see an upside down Angel, naked, spread out on a bed.

What the hell were they doing in Penny’s room?

The floor became spongy under his feet. Drew took another step back, wobbled, caught himself against the coat stand beside Trent’s door.

“That wasn’t me! I don’t have it! Search me.” Drew swung around, stabbed a finger down the corridor outside. “He’s got it!” A few heads stuck out of their office at the sound of his voice. Drew swallowed hard when Bryce stepped from his office and stared down the expanse of hall at him.

Suddenly, it didn’t feel like there was enough distance between them.

“More lies?”

Drew spun back at the sound of Gregory’s voice. The man lifted his receiver against his ear.

“No, I swear. This is all a mis—”

“You’re ringing, Mr. Sugar.”

“I’m… I’m what…?” But that sensation he’d been feeling against his breast suddenly wasn’t a side effect of his pounding heart. It was too rhythmic. Too familiar.

He slapped a hand over his chest, feeling the hard corners of a phone digging into his pectoral muscle. “How… This is—”

A hand closed around his wrist. Yanked his hand away. Drew yelled at the stab of pain that shot through his elbow. He twisted, trying to fend off the guard fumbling between his suit and shirt.

“You’re making a mistake!” Drew yelled.

Another hand closed around his other wrist, twisted sharply enough to bring him spinning around. Twisted again, so he had to fall to his knees to get away from the pain. “It wasn’t me!”

The man fumbling in his pockets got hold of the phone and pulled it out. Ended Mr. Trent’s call. Then held the phone in front of his face.

“Is this your phone?”

Drew grimaced at it. Glanced up at the guard and dropped his head, giving it a shake. “You’ve got it wrong. This isn’t—that wasn’t me.”

“Is this your phone?” the man demanded, shoving it in front of him again.

“Yes,” Drew whispered, the same time Mr. Trent called out, “Of course it’s his goddamn phone, I just called his number.”

The guard straightened, gestured at his friend behind Drew. The man holding him hoisted him up using that same grip as before — wrist awkwardly pressed against the small of his back. It was follow or experience excruciating pain.

On his way up, he saw Bryce standing a few feet away, eyes wide and a hand in his hair.

The perfect picture of disbelief and almost catatonic shock.

A few seconds later, that video began playing again. This time, from his phone. The guard ended it after Bryce’s last words to Angel, his face tightening into a disgusted sneer.

“Get him out of here.” Greg’s mouth twisted as if he’d just taken a shot of tequila and was still sucking on the lemon. His voice, when he spoke again, was low and tight. “I’ll have HR call about the paperwork. Not that it’ll help; you won’t find a job in this state again, not as a loss adjuster.”

But Drew couldn’t give a shit about paperwork. He glared at Bryce, staring at that all-too-familiar face. And he could see the smirk buried beneath that faux-shocked expression of his.

“You’ll pay for this,” he hissed. “I’ll make you fucking pay for this you piece of shit.”

“What—?” Bryce held out a hand to the cop that was busy cuffing him. “What’s going on? Drew? What’s happened?” Somehow, his goddamn twin even managed to make his voice all unsteady, like he was on the verge of tears.

Drew spun around and spat as hard as he could. “Fuck you! You did this. You fucking did this!”

Gregory sidled in between Bryce and the door, glaring after Drew as the guard tried to hustle him down the hall.

“Enough with your bullshit, Drew. He’s been here the whole day.”

Most of the doors on either end of the hall were open, loss adjusters watching wide-eyed and confused from the safety of their offices as the guards dragged him down the hall.

Drew could only manage a splutter before the guards pulled him out of sight of Trent and his now openly smirking brother.

Bryce caught up with him in the parking garage and tried to grab his arm as he stormed up to his Mercedes. He yanked it free, spun around, and took a breath so deep it hurt his lungs.

“Fuck off!” he yelled.

“I’m just so shocked, bro.” Bryce was practically skipping. His perpetual grin spread wider. “I mean, what’s going on with you?”

“You stay the fuck away from me,” he said through his teeth. “From my house. From my life.”

“Hey, come on.” Bryce hurried in front of him, walking backward with his hands in his pockets like he was in some eighties music video about the good times and how they just kept rolling. “You know Trent’s busy jerking off to that video right now. You should feel motherfucking blessed knowing you’re banging someone hot enough for amateur porn.”

He knew the man was baiting him. Knew it, and still couldn’t stop his hands curling into fists. Because, by God, he craved nothing more than to swing those fists into Bryce’s grinning mouth. Knock out as many of those perfect teeth as he could. He wanted to destroy that chiseled face, if only so something like this could never, ever happen again.

Fumbling his keys from his pocket, Drew unlocked his car.

Bryce came up behind him, leaning with a hand on the door so he couldn’t open it.

“Told you she was a gold digger.”

Drew bit down hard on his lip, trying to ignore the words Bryce put so close to his ear.

“Wanna know how much it took?”

“Get away from me.”

“Five grand. That’s all. I’ve paid more for hookers. Guess she wanted to fuck me, just like Kelly wanted to fuck me. Just like Juliet.”

Drew shouldered Bryce aside and ripped open his door. He collapsed inside, yanking it closed.

But Bryce caught the door, opened it, leaned inside. He put his foot up on the step, flashing his teeth at Drew as he folded forward.

“Face it, Drew. They always choose me in the end. They always choose me.”

Drew grabbed the door handle with both hands and jerked. Bryce fell away with a laugh, lifting his hands in mock surrender as the Merc’s door crashed closed.

Bryce was still grinning at him as Drew peeled off in a squeal of tires and started down the road. He rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger, trying to will away a sudden pounding headache.

Would Angel still be there, waiting for him?

Or was it Bryce she was really waiting for now? If she was there, would she always be wishing it was Bryce, and not him? Would she be panting his name while she heard Bryce’s in her head? What if she did? Would be able to put up with it?

He ran his hands down his face and squeezed his lips together.

He’d put up with it for Juliet. But would he do the same for her?

Penny’s car was gone. Drew stared at the spot where it had been as if, if he looked hard enough, he’d see it. Eventually, he realized he must look like a crazy person — idling his car halfway up the drive — so he accelerated until his nose was almost against the garage door.

He’d silently hoped that Angel wouldn’t be here so he wouldn’t have to answer the burning questions playing on repeat in his head.

Drew climbed out of his car and glanced over at Kelly’s property. There was no indication that the woman was home — but, then again, there never was.

He let himself into his house, drawing a deep, involuntary breath as he tested the air. There were no strange smells in the air. Nothing looked out of place. But the house still felt violated.

His skin began crawling the deeper inside he stepped, and those steps sped up until he was doing a brisk walk to his study to toss down his briefcase, and taking the stairs two at a time to reach his room.

In the shower, he used the nails on both hands to scrub at his face and neck. He subjected his hair to a furious lather and three washes; he wanted to be rid of Bryce’s oily, pervasive aura.

It was only when he came out of the shower toweling his hair dry when he saw the note taped to his cupboard door.

He tore it free, scowling at it.

We have to talk.

I’m at the bar down the road,

the one with the red neon.

It wasn’t signed, but it didn’t have to be. There was no mistaking the owner of that scrawled, cutesie cursive.

He inhaled hard and deep and crumbled the note in his fingers. It missed the wastebasket when he threw it, and it took him considerable mental effort not to walk over and put it inside. Instead, he grabbed a navy golf shirt, a pair of chinos, and his sports jacket and began tugging them on.

His tennis shoes came last. He sat for a moment on the bed, staring down at them and wondering when in the hell he’d last worn them. Trying to remember took all of three minutes before he gave up and got to his feet. He walked over to a large painting hanging opposite the bed; a dreamy sunset over a quiet, mirror-like lake. In one corner, a small hut jutted out from the suggestion of foliage.

He took down the painting, rested it against the dressing table, and opened the safe hidden behind it. After moving a few files and some stacks of money out of the way, his fingers closed on something small, soft, cubic. He drew it out, running his thumb over velvet. Then he slipped the box into the breast pocket of his jacket, closed the safe, hung the painting back, stood back to make sure it was straight and headed downstairs.

In the confusion at Trent & Morgan, he’d never gotten his phone back from the security guard. And it would be anyone’s guess when they’d be delivering his things to him. If they did. If they didn’t just decide to dump it.

Drew went into his study and rifled through the second drawer in his desk. There was a cellphone in it — one of several — and he plugged it in to charge.

His phones were always in immaculate condition when it was time to upgrade. And he had no one to give the old ones too. No reason to sell them. He’d always thought the spares would come in handy.

Fancy that.

He poured himself a gin and tonic, stared at the alcohol swirling colorlessly in the glass, and then downed it. Grimacing, he poured himself another, hesitated, and then let himself back into his study.

He stared out the window, into the slowly-darkening garden outside as thoughts flashed through his mind like cars on a midnight-empty motorway.

Thoughts about Angel.

His brother.

Juliet.

A plan slowly began unfurling in his mind. Taking shape. Then transforming. Becoming as solid as the padded leather chair he sat in.

The gin and tonic was finished long before the phone had reasonable battery life, but he forced himself not to go back into the kitchen to pour another.