Anika:
I flip on the lights inside my dark living room, happy to see everything is exactly as I left it. I toss my bag on the floor beside the couch and head straight for my master bathroom, my boot heels echoing on the black stained wood floors. The steam begins to fill my bathroom after I turn the knobs to the hottest setting, and I peel off my clothes, carefully examining my bruises and scrapes as I go. Thankfully there’s nothing too serious here, and I’ll be perfectly healed within a few days. I step into the scalding hot water of the shower, enjoying the burn that reminds me that I’m alive.
I scrub my skin until it’s raw and red, but it isn’t enough. It will never be enough to wash away the memories of my life and all of the sins I’ve committed. As I’m running a conditioning mask through my long, dark windswept tangles, I let my mind drift. It’s something that I rarely let myself do considering I see their faces every time I close my eyes. Sometimes they’re the happy memories that I’ve forgotten purposefully, because remembering them is only a reminder of the life I lost – the one that was stolen.
Though, most of the time, the faces I see are the ones painted with fear and blood splatter as lives are being extinguished in front of me, while I kneel in the closet frozen in fear. I wish I could dismiss it, feed myself a few more lies to placate the demons inside me and tell myself they are just nightmares. But for me, those nightmares are drenched in reality. They weave together the dark fabric of my existence. They cloak daylight, snuffing the life out of everything around me and plunging me into an eternal darkness. It’s become such a part of me that I’m not sure I could shake it if I tried, and if I’m to be honest… I’m not sure that I want to.
This time though, I’m not plagued with the sick and twisted thoughts. I’m instead met with the memory of the guy in the coffee shop this morning. I remember his lean form and how he filled out that designer suit in a way that told me it was made to fit him. The messy but perfectly styled light brown hair and five o’clock shadow he sported so effortlessly says he cares about his appearance, but at the same time has more important things than his looks to worry himself with. And those piercing green eyes framed by serious, angular features that were so masculine yet uniquely beautiful. While his looks are something books are written about, it was his eyes that unsettled me the most. Usually when an attractive man approaches, I at least entertain the idea of a date followed by a casual fucking no matter how unfulfilling. Those men rarely satisfy my needs, but this man…if the way his eyes were devouring my body is any indication of the way he handles a woman behind closed doors, I have no doubt that I’d leave satiated in the morning.
It wasn’t his blatant lust that had me bolting for the door though. That had quite the opposite effect on me. It was the electric way in which we seemed to connect when our eyes met. I felt as if he was trying to put all the pieces of me together-like sooner or later he’d crack the code and uncover every dark and dirty part of me.
That can’t happen.
Not now…or ever. Not with him, or anyone for that matter. There’s a reason I don’t do people or lasting relationships of any kind that aren’t business related.
***
I sit down at my desk in my home office staring at the unopened folder before me. I’m not sure what is in there, but apparently it holds everything that I need to know about Carter Linwood. I swore to myself that I wouldn’t do this shit again, especially if it wasn’t for fun, but alas, here I am. If I had more self-restraint, I would just disappear, but now my curiosity is piqued and the thought of getting close enough to Lance Jennings to put a bullet between his eyes gives me the warm fucking fuzzies.
I take a sip of my water and flip open the Manila folder only to slam it closed immediately.
“Motherfucker!” I yell, pulling at the ponytail in my hair as the blood pounds violently in my ears.
I open the folder once again to take in the attractive photograph of Carter Linwood. The familiar face of the guy from this morning stares back at me. Although, this picture has him looking more like an owner and CEO than he did this morning, with his clean shaven face, short perfectly styled hair, and easygoing smile.
I thumb through the pages quickly as my eyes scan the documents. What amateur put this together? It’s as basic as it can get, and I’m pretty certain that any idiot could just Google this information. I toss the folder and papers into the trash can beside my desk and wiggle my mouse until my computer monitor comes to life. I’ll just have to do some research of my own to get the answers I need.
After a few hours and a few pots of coffee, I have nearly all of the information I need. Carter Raymond Linwood. Age, thirty-four. Birthday, June seventeenth. Owner and CEO of Linwood Technologies, better known as Lintech. Undergraduate degrees in Cognitive Sciences and Mathematics, Master’s degree in Biophysics, both from MIT. Carter started Lintech eight years ago with money from his trust fund and the money he earned from selling a Nano-technology that he developed alongside some classmates. The device was an implant that supposedly helped to generate organic tissues. He’s propelled Lintech to the top of the market, and landed it among Forbes Magazine’s top fifty as a multibillion dollar tech company. They develop everything from software and hardware to medical technologies, and now apparently have branched out into super computers and quantum computing. To say that I’m impressed would be a gross understatement.
Of course, I’ve heard of Lintech. I use plenty of their products on my systems in my own business, but I never really thought much of looking into the company or man behind it. He’s obviously very intelligent and philanthropic. I also now know the other things about him – the things I shouldn’t know. His address, social security number, blood type, food allergies, the results of his last wellness check, the balance in all of his bank accounts, how all of his investments are doing, and what gym he goes to. I also know that Lintech is looking for a new president for their web and application development division.
I guess it’s time that I create a resume and cover letter.
CHAPTER THREE
Carter:
“Dammit, Kline! I told you not to have that position posted. I had a list of people I wanted to seek out. It shouldn’t have been an open application.” I lean back in my leather chair and swivel it to stare out at Elliott Bay, watching the ferries cut through the water. It does little to calm me like it usually does. I’m on edge, and I don’t like it.
Kline Mansfield is the head of Lintech’s HR department, and I know he’s perfectly capable of doing his job, but there are times when I feel like wringing his neck. He has this tendency to disregard my orders and just do what he likes. While I appreciate his experience, this is still my company, and there’s a certain way things need to be handled.
“Carter, look…” he sighs in exasperation, and I swivel back around to face him. He folds his wiry body into one of the leather chairs in front of my desk as if he’d been invited to and he scratches the top of his shiny, bald head. He stares at me a moment longer than necessary before tossing a paper clipped stack of documents across the desk.
“What’s this?” Reaching forward to pick up the papers, I ignore the fact that he knocked over my desk clock and sent countless other papers fluttering.
“That’s a short list of candidates that my team has compiled for you to sort through.” I shake my head and begin to shut him down, but Kline isn’t having any of that. “Now, I know you had your own list, and that’s perfectly fine if you want bring some people in, but I don’t think strategically it’s a good idea to bring in someone from a competitor. Especially not with the launches we have on our plate. I think fresh blood is a smart idea right now.” With that, he raps his knuckles on my desk in a way that grates my nerves every time he does it, and he stands to leave.
“Just give it some thought, and let us know when you’ve got it narrowed down so we can run the proper checks.” I nod slightly, and I’m left alone once again as the heavy wooden door to my office closes behind him.
I toss the papers back onto the wooden desktop and spin around to stare out the window again. Truth be told, the list of people I have for the job is short. They are good candidates with excellent track records, but they’re almost too seasoned. Kline is right, and I know he is. I just like having control of situations – especially when it’s regarding something I worked my ass of for. I was blindsided when Trent, the former head of our web and application development, decided to quit to travel and “discover himself” or whatever shit excuse he gave. I should be more on top of this situation than I am, but I’m distracted and restless.
My usual excuse for ineptitude would be that it’s because I’m overworked and my mind is on overload with the amount of research and design I’ve been involved in, but that’s not it. The source of my mindlessness is easy for me to pinpoint because I haven’t been able to think of anything other than haunting blue eyes, tight leather wearing asses, and ‘go fuck yourself attitudes’ for a week now. I should be ashamed of how many times I’ve jerked off to her memory since that morning, but I’m not. I’ve been too busy with work to get away at night, not that it would help anyways. I’ve nearly killed myself at the gym, trying to work her out of my brain. I’m becoming borderline obsessive with seeing her again. Every morning since, I’ve gone to that same coffee shop. Every motorcycle that passes, I nearly give myself whiplash trying to see if it is her. I would track her down if I had any discernable information to go off of, but I don’t.
“Fuck it,” I say when I realize I just wasted another hour fantasizing about a woman I’ll probably never see again. I shut down my computer and grab my keys. I’ve got to unload somehow, and lifting weights isn’t going to fucking cut it anymore.
“About time you left in time for dinner,” Leanne, my secretary says as I walk past her desk. Her eyes wrinkle in the corners as she smiles.
“Yeah. I need to get out of here. Why don’t you go ahead and take off early too? I’ll just have our phones forwarded to my cell,” I tell her, and her eyes light up.
“Oh, are you sure you don’t mind, Mr. Linwood?” she asks.
“Not at all. You deserve it.”
“This just works out perfectly! My granddaughter has her first ballet recital tonight. I need to get home and over to Redmond. Maybe I’ll have time to catch dinner with them beforehand now!” Her excitement is almost palpable as her face lights up and she shuts down her computer.
“Well, be sure you get some of it on video so you can show me tomorrow. Let me walk you out.” I help her put on her jacket, and open the door for her.
Leanne was one of my very first employees when I started out, and to me she’s invaluable. She’s more than a secretary to me at this point, she’s family. She never fails to make sure I’m taken care of at work, and tries her best to make sure I don’t push myself too far. She’s most certainly more mothering than my own mother is. My own mother’s interests consist of Carrie Linwood, her social circle, and money in no particular order. But the fact that Leanne does all of these things without expectation other than her salary and benefits is one of the things I love most.
“You’re too good to me, Mr. Linwood.”
“Please, Leanne… I’ve been trying to get you to call me Carter for almost eight years, and it’s you who is entirely too good to me.”
She laughs softly as we get into the elevator. “Oh, honey. When people work as hard as you do, they deserve the respect that they earn. I just like for you to know you’re important.”
“I appreciate it, but you know it isn’t necessary. I hope you know that.” I smile at her.
She reaches her weathered hands up to up my cheeks. “My sweet, Carter. How have you not found a nice woman to share your life with yet? You aren’t gay, are you?” She seems suddenly very concerned that she hasn’t accurately assessed my sexual orientation.
I can’t control it. I throw my head back and laugh a full laugh, something that definitely hasn’t happened to me in far too long. I pull her in for a side hug around her shoulders. “No, I’m not gay. I’ve just been focusing on success for so long that I haven’t had time to date much. I’m also quite picky, as you know, and I just haven’t found the right woman yet.”
“Well, don’t give up my sweet boy. She’s out there somewhere. You’ll find her when you least expect it.” Leanne pats my shoulder as we step off the elevator and she heads towards where she parked.
“I won’t get my hopes up.” I mutter under my breath as I head towards my red and black, sixty-nine Plymouth Roadrunner. She’s pure Mopar power that my father and I built and restored from the ground up when I was in high school. It was a kind of therapy to help restore me in a way too I suppose. She doesn’t get out of the garage as much anymore, but on nice days like this, it would be a crime to keep her locked up.
I slide in behind the wheel and let the vibrations radiate through the steering wheel for a moment before I drive to one of the only places in this city that I can completely unwind.
***
I work my way through tangles of people in the dim lighting of Obsidian Lounge. It’s unusually busy tonight, which for me is both good and bad. Bad because it increases my irritability and decreases my ability to relax, but it’s also good because there’s variety. And right now, what I’m craving is indefinitely off the menu.
My eyes scan the crowd as a tumbler of Macallan 55 is placed in my hand by the bar tender. My eyes lock on a head full of dark hair that falls in waves, and my heart rate ticks. They travel down to a sinfully tight red dress, and a smooth, long set of legs.
It couldn’t be.
And it isn’t.
The woman turns and locks eyes with me, but rather than the spectacularly beautiful features I was anticipating, I’m greeted with someone that dulls in comparison.
While very attractive, the woman has brown eyes that have thick false eyelashes glued to them and a button nose. I try and reel the smile back in that was forming on my face seconds ago, but it’s useless. This woman already thinks the smile is for her. I’m an idiot. Men would trip over themselves to get this woman’s attention, and I’d typically be one of them, but not when I can’t seem to get over a five-minute encounter that was barely an encounter at all.
I will get that girl out of my head, though. Even if I have to fuck her out, and that is just what I’m going to do. And I think I just found player number one.