CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Owen
I was surrounded by blinking. The notification bar in the corner of my computer screen flashed with new email after new email. The little light on my landline business phone in my office turned red so often it could’ve sent an epileptic into seizures. My cell phone lit up so frequently I had to keep it plugged in to hold a charge. I was being pummeled with calls, texts, emails, instant messages — everyone was trying to reach me except for the only person I wanted to hear from.
Tabby wasn’t speaking to me. I’d called her almost every hour since I’d touched down in New Orleans two days ago, excluding the few times I managed to calm my brain long enough to sleep more than a catnap’s worth, and she hadn’t so much as sent an “I’m busy” text. I knew she was getting my voicemails because her mailbox hadn’t filled up yet, but not a word was replied. She was freezing me out, and I didn’t even know if it was because she was furious with me about omitting the Pippa visit, or because she didn’t believe me that nothing happened, or because she wanted to put some distance between us after learning she was being blamed for the heat The Club was under.
It even crossed my mind in some of my darker moments that my fetish was the catalyst for her cold shoulder. I had to remind myself that, not only had she asked to experience it, but she’d also very willingly engaged in it with me several times after the first.
I missed her. More than that, I needed her. I was facing a monster I wasn’t certain I could handle, and I needed her by my side. And I needed to know she didn’t hate me, that she still wanted me.
New Orleans had blown up overnight. The story was everywhere. The media outlet that had originally published the article had only been the start. Every other source in the city and surrounding areas picked up the story, and it was starting to go national. Why wouldn’t it? If public interest in a news story was an investable option, I would’ve thrown a check that way, even if it meant my own demise. It had grown to such an epic proportion in such a short space of time, I wasn’t even able to leave my office without being bombarded by a crowd large enough to stand-in as an audience for a rock band heading off for its first tour. And that was more blinking I had to deal with… cameras flashing in my face. I loved that Tabby was a photographer, but I was quickly starting to hate having my picture taken.
Howie was having the opposite reaction to the publicity. While I stowed myself away as much as I could and kept lines of communication closed, he’d been quoted dozens of times shouting at the paparazzi as he raced from one member to the other across the city. He was a lawyer, and a good one at that, which was to our benefit but also to our detriment. He knew the law and was compiling an excellent case in our favor for when the police inevitably opened up an investigation. Thus far, they’d dragged their feet thanks to a substantial number of members having provided them with funds, new equipment, and general support over the years. But he was highly volatile because there was a good chance a trial would ruin his career forever, no matter if we were cleared or not.
“Do you understand how many lawyers can just pick up and keep going after facing criminal charges?” he demanded of me as he paced my office. “Very few! Probably five in the history of humanity! What the hell are the odds that I’d be the sixth?”
“Well, you’re not helping by screaming at reporters on a daily basis,” I pointed out dryly. I didn’t have the energy to match his hype over the incident. I was worried about it, of course, but I was more wrapped up in Tabby and her lack of communication. Each time my cell glowed with an incoming call, I nearly leapt at it with a pounding heart in the hopes of seeing her name. So far, I was zero for a thousand.
“They’re goading me,” he snapped. “They’re trying to push me into breaking the law right in front of them. They want me to punch one of them right in the face just so they can turn this whole debacle into an even bigger deal.”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course they are. That’s their job, Howie.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve got a job to do too, but you don’t see me interrupting their lives to do it, do you?” he shot.
I didn’t bother replying. He’d been in such a short-fused state lately that combatting his rant with logic would only serve to ignite an explosion, and I had no patience for that. Frankly, I wasn’t overly concerned about getting nailed with charges and a trial. The Blackjack Club was power. There wasn’t a man amongst our ranks who didn’t have the ability to buy anyone off, if necessary, and our organization had done its job in making the right friends over the course of our existence. If the accusations against us had any merit at all, I probably would have felt differently, not in the least because it would have been immoral to pay off cops and investigators to bury the case, but there was no merit. We weren’t hosting a prostitution ring. Every woman who’d ever walked through that door had done so of her own accord, just like signing the NDA and participating in the auction. The only financial benefactors were the charities. There was no exchange of money for sexual services. In fact, it wasn’t even a requirement for the women to sleep with their bidders — though, it happened more often than not because the women had their own personal agendas. The most illegal thing that happened in those black walls was illicit gambling.
The true concern lay in the aftereffect. Each member had to worry about the stability of his business or position or career after the smoke cleared and we were left with the wreckage. I wasn’t an exception. A good portion of the calls and emails I was receiving were from associates seeking answers.
On cue, my cell lit. I’d almost stopped bothering to check to see who the caller was since my return to Louisiana, but a niggling in the back of my mind urged me to look. When I did, adrenaline zoomed through me, making my head light.
“Howie, I have to take this,” I said, interrupting a long bout of rambling. He waved a hand dismissively and stormed from the office without another word. Sliding my finger across the green phone icon, I put the device to my ear and asked disbelievingly, “Hello?”
“Hi.” Her voice was quiet, a little more emotionless than I would’ve liked, but it was hers. The familiar lilt fluttered into my brain and danced down to my chest, which had felt horribly empty for days.
“Hi,” I returned.
She took in a deep, slow breath, then said, “We need to talk.”