6

Mahogany & Brimstone

It turned out that the persistent, agonizing buzzing in Drew’s head came from his alarm clock. He levered open eyes that had been replaced with smoldering bags of sand and focused, after some concentration, at the digital readout on his alarm clock.

07:45

Thank God for Sundays.

He rolled onto his back, slid his hand over his eyes, and tried to imagine a world where pain didn’t exist.

“Coffee, Mr. Sugar?”

Drew started, shoved himself into a sit, and glared at Angel through slitted eyes. She wore a faded Hello Kitty t-shirt. Despite being four sizes too large for her — perhaps through some mysterious feat of design — it clung to her in all the right places. Her breasts, her hips, her thighs.

“Thanks,” he murmured when the girl put a steaming cup of coffee on his nightstand. She sat down on the edge of the bed, rummaged through the stuff laying on the table, and lit a cigarette.

Drew shuffled higher up the bed until his back was against the crushed velvet headboard, and let his head sink back as he sighed.

“Brought you some painkillers, too. Will you have them with the coffee, or do you want some water?”

“Coffee’s fine.” His voice was hoarse, his mouth dry.

He waved away the cigarette she proffered and took a swallow of coffee instead.

About ten seconds later, reality crashed back.

“Jesus, I’m late!”

Angel watched, nonplussed, as he slid out of bed. Cool air surrounded him in an instant, and he hurriedly yanked the sheet off the bed and wrapped it around his naked waist.

Angel’s eyebrows twitched.

“Why didn’t wake me? You must have heard—”

He glanced at the bed beside him. It was clear he’d been the only one in it — the other side of the duvet was still tucked in under the pillow.

“I only got you into bed like after two.” Angel shrugged. “Figured you needed the extra z’s. Don’t you have like a big meeting today?”

Drew stared at her for a moment, mouth open but unable to produce anything resembling words. A few waves with his arms in her general direction did nothing to convey his irritation.

He let out a strangled, “Exactly!”

“So that was today?” Angel took a deep drag of his cigarette. “You were slurring so much, I could hardly make anything out.”

“Yes, it’s today!” Shouting did torturous things to his head, but he couldn’t restrain himself. “And it’s in twenty-fucking-minutes.”

Angel blinked round, wounded eyes at him and pointed to the cupboard. “You just got to shower, Mr. Sugar. I got your stuff ready.”

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, and then swung to his cupboard. Through a haze of aching eyes and a throbbing head, he could make out one of his suits hanging on the cupboard door’s handle.

She’d even matched a tie and pair of oxford’s to it.

“You know,” Angel said, putting down the cigarette and climbing onto his bed, “Sex really helps with anxiety. Dopamine levels and shit.”

The girl hitched up her t-shirt, displaying a pair of pristine, white panties to him. A touch of lace fringed them.

He groaned, squeezed his eyes shut, and stormed blindly into the shower, wincing when it slammed shut behind him.

Was he still drunk? The floor was unmistakably too spongy and, once his eyes focused on the mirror, his reflection pulsated in time with his headache. A glance in the mirror confirmed that he did, indeed, look like regurgitated shit.

Promotion? There was a better chance of him getting a written warning today.

Even after a shower, the fastest shave he’d ever performed without injuring himself and running a comb through his hair, he still didn’t look like a bright-eyed protégé worthy of being bumped up any corporate ladder. He stared back at his reflection, trying to will his bloodshot corneas to whiten, for his wrinkles to smooth out, for the shadows under his eyes to disappear.

He failed.

Angel wasn’t in the room when he came out. He chugged down the rest of his coffee, glared at the cigarette burning in his ashtray, and put on his suit.

Then he took off his shirt and jacket again, walked back into the bathroom, and puked up everything he’d ever eaten. When it became apparent to his stomach that it wouldn’t succeed in retching itself into an early escape from his doomed body, Drew swooned back against the shower door and ran his hands through his hair again.

There was a knock at the door.

“What?” The snap of his voice was only slightly spoiled by another dry retch at what he saw when he leaned forward to flush the toilet.

“I made you a sandwich, Mr. Sugar. And there’s some coffee in one of those travel mug things for you.”

His bedroom door closed quietly, the sound muffled by the en-suite bathroom door.

Drew got back into his shirt and jacket, attempted a Windsor knot that probably only looked slightly better than he did, and managed half the sandwich before his stomach gave a warning cramp.

He grabbed the mug, hurried downstairs, and came to a stop halfway across the carpet of his office. His briefcase stood in the center of the table. All the papers he’d been going through the previous day had been tidied. The plate had been taken away, his chair pushed back under the desk.

Since his cleaning lady only came in on Tuesdays and Fridays, he had to assume it was Angel’s doing. She wasn’t in the kitchen, and he was too late to go back upstairs to thank her. Instead, he grabbed his briefcase and practically ran out the front door, glancing at his watch on his way out.

He looked up at Kelly as she got out of her car, groceries in hand.

God, he had horrible timing.

When the woman spotted him, she gave him a big wave and an even bigger smile. She got a small wave in return. Kelly looked like she was going to say something, and then her eyes darted up.

Her smile froze before slowly sliding from her face.

He already knew he’d see Angel before he turned around.

The girl ran up to him, jangling Penny’s keys from a finger. Her only accommodation to the chill in the air was that she’d put on her pink, fluffy slippers before coming outside.

“Silly me,” she said, giving both him and Kelly a wide, disarming smile. “Forgot to move the car.”

She flashed him her panties — possibly on purpose — as she climbed into the car. She reversed the VW from the driveway. Then she had the audacity to toot Penny’s horn at him.

He turned to Kelly. Her eyes were the widest he’d ever seen, and she was clutching her grocery bag to her chest as if it was the only real thing left in the world.

“Kelly—” he began, but she was already turning away from him.

Angel tooted at him again, giving him a wave when he turned to glare at her.

“You’re gonna be late, Mr. Sugar!” She pantomimed pointing at a watch that she’d probably never owned.

He got into his car and slammed the door hard enough that Kelly gave him another wide-eyed look of surprise before disappearing inside her house.

Penny had better show up today. If she didn’t he’d be kicking Angel out on her ass. Her sweet, luscious—

He revved his Merc and sped down the road, trying to outrun the thought.

He almost succeeded.

His brother waited at the elevator for him.

“Rough night?” Bryce asked as soon as Drew stepped from the elevator.

“Yeah,” Drew said, hefting the travel mug to take a large swallow. “You could say that. Eaton Foods had a shit load of paperwork outstanding.”

Maybe his twin’s perfectly groomed face just made him that angry. Or the way Bryce tugged at his cuffs while he studied Drew as if it irritated him that his brother looked like shit on such an important day.

“Hell, now I feel bad,” Bryce said, falling in beside Drew as he headed for the glass doors etched with the words Trent & Morgan Loss Adjusters. Behind it, the granite slab of a reception desk loomed like some monolithic altar stone.

His brother laid a consolatory hand on his shoulder. “Should I get one of the admins to help—?”

“All done,” Drew said, taking another swallow of his coffee in case Bryce could see how blatantly that lie crawled over his face.

They’d never been the kind of twins that read each other’s minds. He’d always thought those that said they could were full of shit. He and Bryce couldn’t be more different. His mother had called them night and day without ever revealing who was who in the analogy.

“I hope you didn’t lose too much sleep over it.” His brother’s voice oozed fake concern.

He took another swig of his coffee. Jesus, had Angel put vodka in it? It had a nasty bite to it.

“Had company,” Drew said, trying not to sound sour about it. He was still struggling to figure out how he felt about what had happened last night. Sure, once his hangover realized it wasn’t welcome anymore and got the hell out of his system, he’d probably feel like a new man.

Drew 2.0. Reborn, revitalized—

And a pervert. A thought he couldn’t shake, despite every reasonable, logical excuse he threw at it. They hadn’t fucked — at least, the memories lurking in the alcohol-induced fog of his mind didn’t contain anything that perverted — but did it matter? Every time she’d bent over to fill up his glass, he’d mentally been banging the girl from behind.

In his defense — because he felt he needed one — the girl wasn’t precisely jail-bait. He hadn’t been the one coming onto her. Well… technically he had cum onto her. But she’d wanted him to—

“—you even listening?”

Drew couldn’t remember the seconds that had passed between them going through the entrance and ending up at his office.

“I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

“I managed to stall Trent.” Bryce stepped into Drew’s office. Everything in the firm was monochromatic; from the ash-gray carpets to the darkly stained oak furniture – his office was no different. “Said you were caught in traffic. But we have to get in there and—”

“Right behind you.” Drew slugged back the rest of the coffee — why not; it had almost annihilated his hangover.

Bryce gave him a considering frown. “Penny, right? Didn’t you say she’s coming back for Fall break or something?”

“She’s shacked up with some blond guy in a villa somewhere.”

“Then who?”

“You don’t know her.” Drew set his briefcase down on his table, travel mug beside it. “Do you have the claim form?”

“Of course. Ready?”

Drew gave him a thumbs-up.

He wasn’t ready. Not even close. Preparing for this meeting had been on his list, of course… right after his paperwork. He’d done neither. Which meant he didn’t have a strategy. Nothing to use to impress Trent in handing him back the reins.

Before Juliet, he’d always been the one to take lead.

He’d been ruthless back then, tearing apart claims and reducing them to husks of their former selves. And, to Trent’s glee, all in one-hundred percent legit ways.

He’d lost that burst of confidence his wife had given him every time he’d stepped out the front door of their house. The kiss she’d given him, the whispered encouragement in his ear; it had been his fire.

Until today.

The entire drive to the office, he kept rehashing those bits of last night he could still remember. He’d kissed that blue-eyed beauty, that she’d had her hands around him. She’d been so wet for him he’d felt it through her yoga pants.

Angel had done him a tremendous service.

Bryce frowned at him when he led the way into the conference room. Here, the walls were a dreary gray that almost matched the slate carpet. Most of the loss adjusters were in today; there were only four empty seats around the gleaming conference table. Bryce unbuttoned his ink blue Gucci suit with exaggerated care as he sank onto the padded chair.

“Did you dress in your car?” his brother murmured. “Fix your tie.”

Drew ran a hand through his hair and tugged his tie into some semblance of order. “I know we discussed this yesterday.” Drew leaned close to Bryce so their conversation could be quasi-confidential. “But I think it’s best if I take lead on this.”

Bryce gave him a curious, sidelong glance. “You? You get here late, looking like shit—” Bryce dropped his voice to a hiss “—stinking of booze—” he straightened again “—and you want to take lead?”

Just like a balloon animal the day after the party, now limp and barely resembling the proud poodle it had once been, the last vestiges of his courage deflated.

“I thought you were off the sauce?” Bryce shifted in his chair before tweaking his tie. “What happened? You run into an old drinking buddy? I told you to call me if you ever—”

“I’m not an alcoholic!” he whispered furiously. “You’re not my fucking sponsor. Yes, I had a few drinks last night.” He glanced at the other loss adjusters, who had all coincidentally gone quiet. “I can handle it.”

“Sure doesn’t look like it from where I’m sitting.”

He opened his mouth, ready to lash out, when the conference room door opened again. Gregory Trent stepped in, gave the room a disinterested once-over and sat at the head of the long, oval table.

“Glad you could join us, Drew.” The man’s platinum-blond hair and sun-darkened face spoke of many hours on the deck of his yacht. Yet he’d attended every Monday morning meeting for the past seven years.

He gave the man a small nod

“So, now that we’re all here…”

Trent began the litany of follows ups, moving onto each investigator and loss adjuster until he came to Drew and his brother. There, his eyes took a moment to weigh the two of them, as if deciding who he would be addressing.

“Mr. and Mr. Sugar.” There was a very faint, very brief murmur of mirth from the other claims adjusters. It never got old. Not if it was the boss. “You two look thick as thieves this morning. I assume you’ll be double-teaming VDK Manufacturing?”

Bryce sat forward in his chair and folded his hands in front of him on the table. “Actually—”

“I’ll be heading up this one, Greg,” Drew cut in, giving his brother a light pat on the shoulder. “Bryce is a bit overwhelmed with paperwork at the moment.”

There was a moment’s hush in the room. He could feel his brother’s shoulder stiffening under his hand. “That’s not—”

“You know what?” Gregory said in a light voice, “You two sort it out. As long as the preliminary lands on my desk first thing Thursday morning, I don’t care if you outsource to India.”

Gregory stood, gathering up the papers he’d been passed by the various reporting adjusters. Then he looked up and fixed Drew and Bryce with a hard stare. “Clearly, you can’t outsource to India. I’d fire the lot of you faster than—”

A cheery, electronic jangle cut him off.

A cellphone? In the conference room? Anathema!

Drew glanced around, giving Bryce a double-take when he saw the man’s astonished face.

“What?”

“You brought a phone in here?” Bryce widened dark eyes at him, and then stared pointedly at Drew’s pocket.

Jesus fucking Christ.

His hand darted into the breast pocket of his suit. It came back holding a glittering, diamond-encrusted phone.

Angel’s cellphone, blaring out a hip-hop ringtone.

What the hell was her phone doing in his—?

He stabbed at the screen with his thumb, all too aware of the deafening silence that the phone’s hip-hop ringtone kept slicing apart.

Facetime? What in the name of—

“Hey, Mr. Sugar.” Angel’s face bloomed into view as her voice, husky and loud as shit, flooded the conference room. “Thank God. I thought I lost it.”

“Angel?” It was more a whisper than anything else. He stabbed at the cellphone’s touch screen, trying to get the call to end, to lower the volume, fucking anything. But his hands were shaking so badly, he had trouble even holding onto the phone.

“Drew?” Bryce’s voice was urgent and low.

“Are you going to be home soon?” Angel said, completely nonplussed. “I thought we could go for a swim.”

Angel’s bikini-covered breasts filled the screen.

Drew closed his hand over the phone, yanked it away, and managed to find a button that — after he’d held it down for a heart-hammering few seconds — made the screen go black.

When he looked up, Gregory’s pale eyes were unreadable. The man cocked an eyebrow at him.

“I’d have been late, too,” Gregory murmured as he exited the conference room. “In fact, I’m surprised you even made it to work.”

And with that, the loss adjusters of Trent & Morgan Associated filed from the room.

He could feel his brother glaring at the back of his head. Drew slid Angel’s cellphone into his pocket, adjusted his tie, and turned to face his brother.

“Who is she?”

Drew shrugged. “Angel.”

“I got that,” Bryce said. “Who is she? And why the hell is she video calling you in the middle of—”

“Does it matter?” Drew straightened his shoulders and pointed at the file. “Trent said we had to sort this out between us. I’m taking lead on this.” Drew flicked his fingers. “And, this time, you can do the paperwork.”

His twin smiled at him, but there was no mirth on those lips. “I’ve got better things to do.” Bryce walked past him, slamming the Van Der Kloof folder against Drew’s chest. “It’s all yours, big brother.” Bryce paused at the threshold of the conference room’s oak paneled doors. “You do realize she’s a gold-digger, right?”

Drew stared at his brother’s departing back, pressing the claim file against his chest. His fingers tapped a slow tango on the plastic.

That garish cellphone was a lead weight in his pocket.

He was right of course. Bryce. But to hear it being said made it real. Made it a problem. Made it something to be dealt with so he wouldn’t look the fool… Or, more of a fool.

Grimacing, he inhaled a sharp breath and stalked out of the conference room.

Angel had to go.