Up in the Air

 

Don't settle. As with all matters of the heart, you'll know when you find it.

- Steve Jobs

 

 

RISKE

 

“We need to find the fucker. Now.”

I entered my office, throwing the newspaper aside. It screamed with a headline on the second page of the fire that had enfolded Kat’s apartment building last night, and just reading about the event made my blood boil all over again.

I called Chris and Griff late last night and told them the story, but reliving what happened to Kat and I was too much for me to take, and I was determined to find out who was playing games with us—plotting their revenge.

I was going to figure out who it was, one way or another, and I was doing it, with or without the Tampa police’s help. Obstruction of justice, be damned.

I stormed into Griff’s office, shutting the door.

“Nice to see you too, Foxx,” Griff griped from behind his desk. “But as you see I’m in the middle of something.” He grinned. “I’ve always loved redheads.” He looked down at his cell phone’s screen. “Shame I can’t do anything about it. She’s texting me.”

“Yeah, well, un-text her ass. I don’t trust her. Not after what she did to Kat,” I grumbled. “We have bigger fish to fry… like who the fuck is trying to smoke and fillet Kat and I for the fortieth time. In case you didn’t get it the first time, another fire started where I was last night, Griff. A huge one. Now unless I’m shitting lit matches all over the place, someone is making me the next item on the menu for their local barbecue… and I don’t fucking appreciate it.”

He put his phone face down on the desk. “I thought the cops were on it.”

“The cops don’t know a fucking thing,” I spat. “One investigator had the nerve to suggest that maybe it was all a coincidence—like I was drudging up theories. One fire is a coincidence. Three is a motherfucking plot, and I’m not going to wait around while Tampa PD figures it out on their own. I need all of our files…”

Griff’s eyebrows shot high. “Think it’s a business competitor?”

“Not ruling it out.”

“Is it possible that your father found out?” my best friend asked, staring at me as he stood. “‘Cause if he did… do you think it’s possible that he’s trying to put a stop to Tripping Out!?”

I shook my head. “No… This now seems personal. Whoever’s doing this probably doesn’t give a rat’s ass that Victor Foxx’s son is trying to break out of the family publishing business to start his own magazine. At least, not enough to murder me…”

Griff squinted at me, shrugging a shoulder.

“You sure about that? Greg Sears sure has a lot to fucking lose now that we’re dismantling the business, not to mention your father. And then there are the crazy fans, ones looking to get close to a Foxx or the disgruntled clients we’ve had in the past few weeks that have flown the coup once they figured out our plans… flocked to other presses.”

I tossed my tie. “Let them flock elsewhere.”

“Hell, I have. But kicking our best and brightest out of the door has probably kicked up a little suspicion, don’t you think? Your father would fucking kill you if he found out… that you were trying to collapse his beloved business from the inside out? Man, I know mine would…”

I snapped. “Hey! That’s his fault. Not mine. Never should have made me CEO of a company I can’t fucking stand.”

Griff looked grim. “Yeah, well, I’m getting the fucking feeling that we never should have picked a vendetta against Victor Foxx. I’m telling you, Foxxy. Someone knows what we’re doing, what we’ve done. Maybe the talent we’ve been trying to steal talked. Maybe someone revealed something they weren’t supposed to…” He glanced harder, his stare narrowing even more. “Have you told Kat? About anything? Laney, most of all?”

I didn’t look at him. “No, not yet…”

Griff snorted. “Looks like you’re going to have to. Too many enemies coming out of the woodwork now, kid. Gotta fess up. She’ll understand… She has to.”

“Yeah,” I looked out the floor to ceiling window behind Griff’s back. My Kat was out there somewhere; I hadn’t convinced her to come back with me. I should have thrown her over my shoulder when I had the fucking chance but I hadn’t wanted to push her. I didn’t trust her security, and the more I thought about the people around her I didn’t like (like Laney, for instance), the more I wanted to kick my own ass for letting her go, for the idea that was in the back of my mind that said I should let her go—permanently.

What mattered more—love… or loyalty? I’d paid the price to the latter, and it was a cost that was more than I could fucking bear. I looked at Griff.

“She might understand… but how can I tell her not to trust her own best friend?”

I glanced out of the window again, feeling a familiar shiver, nine years old, shake down my spine.

 

***

 

I stepped out of the building, shades on—gloves off.  A hot September summer sun beat down my back, and with Griff at my side, I stalked my way over the heated pavement and towards the parking deck.

Ferrari doors open, I hopped inside the two-seater with Griff sliding in the passenger seat, and I typed the address into the GPS. I couldn’t believe where I was going.

I couldn’t help the feeling that I was falling into the past, but I pushed the sentiment aside. Hanging a right on the street, I headed into town, pressing the Ferrari faster past the speed limit.

I had to get to her… before he did. My father… or whoever was fucking with us. Sliding like a bead on a string, I slithered past the congestion and through Tampa traffic, my fingers tightening on the wheel, my will breaking with each mile.

Finally, we pulled into the hotel parking lot and I parked, barely throwing the gear before jumping out, my tie suddenly feeling too tight. Each step felt heavy and even when I made it inside the building and to the elevator, the weight on my shoulders didn’t go away.

Griff glanced at me, a curious look on his furrowed face, but said nothing. I exited the lift on floor twenty-two, tearing a path down the hall. One hand on the crumpled address in my pocket, I beat the other on the door, tempted to break it the fuck down.

I was getting ready to call out when I realized that the entrance was open. I pushed inside, with Griff at my side, my stare scouring the empty space. Silence greeted us on the other side, and our footsteps echoed loudly across the carpeted floor.

I listened closer, slowing my stroll as I sauntered into the bedroom. Nothing. Nothing… but the soft sound of shuffling in the closet. I stopped breathing. Stretching my hands towards the double doors inside the bedroom, I inched near, bringing my nose to the edge of the clothes closet.

Without warning, I ripped it open, grabbing towards the squeal that sounded in the open air. I snatched back a collar from inside, and there, dangling from my hoisted fingers, was Mr. Nervous himself, my assistant, David.

I dragged him into the bedroom, dropping him with a thud near the mattress’s four-post frame. He cried out, cowering as I towered over him, inching my face close to his.

Griff entered the room, speaking over my shoulder.

“Well, well, well… look what the hell we have here.”

The smaller man shook. “Don’t hurt me… please.”

I could hear the grin in Griff’s voice. “Hurt you? No… No way. Beat you to a bloody fucking pulp? Well… that’s a different story.”

David sniveled, drawing a sneer to my face. “Stop. Don’t. I promise…” He sniffed. “I promise I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

His nervousness was back, worse than it’d ever been. I looked closely at my assistant. He’d only worked for me for nine short months, and in that time, I’d been stupid enough not to recognize his unease for what it truly was—not to notice that the hobbit-sized subordinate was not gay…

He was a spy. Hence, the constant shaking in his boots.

It was my turn to talk. I straightened, standing taller. “You can start by saying what the fuck you’re doing here out by the airport on your lunch break… in the Hilton hotel… in Christy Nicolson’s room.”

David’s face scrunched. “Christy… Nicolson…?”

“Yes, Christy Nicolson, The blonde you let into my office not much more than a week ago? That one who’s room you’re currently in?” David gasped softly, seemingly grasping for answers. I was losing patience. “Forget it. Just start instead with where Christy is.”

My assistant shrunk under his collared shirt. Slight in height, slender in build, the tongue-twisted admin looked more turtle than man, and I would have pitied him… if I didn’t want to pummel him to that pulp that Griff mentioned earlier. I reached for him again.

“Wait, wait! I’ll tell you what happened. Christy… she’s… well, she’s…” He swallowed. “Gone.”

“The fuck do you mean ‘gone’?” Griff growled.

“I mean ‘gone’…” David repeated.

I started to draw back a fist. “What did you fucking do, you little…?”

“No,” David interrupted quickly. “I paid her to leave—to check out as quickly as she could. That’s what… That’s what I was told to do.”

I lowered my fist. Because, fuck, it was all coming together. Only one person knew what Christy knew, what the former blonde bombshell could tell. Only one person would know enough to get rid of her, and the thought made me reach new levels of rage, my fingers itching to hit something—anything. I tried to keep that something from being David’s face.

I pulled him close.

“You were told to get rid of Christy, huh?” I bared my teeth. “By who…?”