Chapter 7 – Back in the Desert
Watching the anger rise in Derek’s face reminded me of the day I decided he could probably be one scary-assed motherfucker if he wanted to be. I was absolutely correct in that assessment. Not only did his blue eyes turn dark navy, but his brow lowered in a way that had my muscles tensing, preparing to take the hit. It was going to hurt like hell, too. I’d seen him work out.
“You did what?” His voice was quiet, way more controlled than I’d expected.
My stomach was tight. “I made a mistake.”
“A mistake?” He let out his breath and turned, looking through the windows of his apartment at the bright Sunday afternoon. “A mistake is Nikki sending my car to LaGuardia instead of JFK. This is more than a mistake.”
The comparison made me wince. I’d spent the weekend at his place, worked out on his Bowflex, lounged by the rooftop pool, watched his 110-inch flatscreen, tried to get my head straight. The more I’d thought about what happened, the more it didn’t make sense that Star would go from zero to on my dick unless she had an agenda. Sure, I’d grown used to panties flying at my command, but this felt contrived.
“What do you think about it possibly being a setup?” It sounded even more ridiculous when I said it out loud, and even if it was a setup, it didn’t change the fact that I’d slept with a subordinate. On her first day in the office.
As if remembering something, Derek turned and went to the hall, grabbing his briefcase. “With what possible motive?” He was distracted as he walked past me. I couldn’t imagine what he was looking for—unless he had standard resignation papers on hand.
“That’s the part I can’t figure out.” I exhaled, leaning against his leather couch. “But I swear, I was only planning to have lunch with her then go home. I’d gotten your email.”
“Instead, you decided to jeopardize the reputation of our agency—my reputation—to satisfy your dick.” Again I winced as he dropped the folder on the table. “You’re going to Scottsdale. Leaving Tuesday morning. Take Monday off.”
I nodded, expecting as much.
“Perfect timing,” he growled. “I just picked up a huge multi-agency phishing scam targeting seniors. I need you on this. Instead, I’ve got to figure out if we’re going to be sued for sexual harassment. Or if some asshole’s going to show up at the office waving a gun.”
My frown deepened. I still couldn’t believe I’d been so careless. “I guess it’s too late to apologize.”
“Skip it,” he said, picking up his phone. “I’ll call Susan and see if the girl’s reported anything.”
“Who’s Susan?”
“My aunt.” He walked back to the dining area. “She runs the temp agency.”
That one sentence made my setup theory DOA. Derek’s aunt would not be party to a setup. I watched as he listened and then put his phone down. “She’s not answering. I’ll follow up with her tomorrow. You get packing.”
I bent down and collected the few things I’d brought with me Friday night. I wasn’t sure what to say in my defense at this point. My credibility was at an all-time low, and I hated it. I nodded, picking up my keys and my now-quiet phone. “Thanks.”
“I’ll email you the agenda for the Scottsdale conference. It’s at the Windsor. Nice golf course, spa attached. Try the acupuncture.”
“Right,” I said, shaking my head. With the extra-sharp needles, I was sure. “See you in a week.”
Maybe a week in the desert was a good idea after all.
* * *
Two days later, I was at the outdoor bar at the Windsor resort, waiting for a bartender and watching the Arizona sky turn from orange and pink to purple and black. I was alone, and I contemplated being here, in the desert, starting over. I had my agenda for the week, and the plan was to bag at least five new clients as penance. This was me grabbing the reins, getting back in the saddle.
Out of the blue, Derek had emailed to say he was joining me on the trip. Something about a last-minute job and needing to be here. He’d arrived earlier this evening, but I wasn’t interested in socializing. This trip was about me redeeming my reputation.
And just like that, a vodka and tonic appeared in front of me. “From the lady.” The bartender pointed past me to a strawberry blonde with a sly smile on her face. She was slim and fit, and I could tell by the way she carried herself, she was older.
Damn, if this wasn’t a test.
I’d been with a few cougars after Stacy, and they were all crazy in the sack. They were experienced, confident, and usually not looking for anything long-term. Naturally, I felt a stirring down below, but I wasn’t getting sidetracked. My dick might be awake, but he was taking the backseat on this trip. I nodded and lifted the tumbler mouthing a thank you.
She slid off that stool and headed in my direction. Shit. The filmy black dress she wore moved over her slim hips like smoky sex. Yep, a challenge.
“Hey, handsome,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m Barbara.”
“Patrick.” I gave it a squeeze, and she leaned against the bar in front of me.
Up close, she was even prettier. High cheekbones, bright hazel eyes with faint lines in the corners, and the sharp features that came with maturity. The little guy below was shooting all kinds of messages to my brain, but I was ignoring them.
“Are you here for the banker’s conference?” Barbara signaled the bartender before turning back to me.
“As a matter of fact I am. You?”
She shook her head before ordering a glass of Chardonnay. “My youngest daughter’s getting married tomorrow. I’m just in for the night.” Following an obvious glance at my left hand, she gave me a wink before continuing. “Any plans for this evening, Patrick?”
Trust me, I’d already checked for rings on her fingers as well—burn me once—but none of that mattered. “Just finishing my drink here—thanks again—then headed up.”
“Alone? Haven’t you heard the expression, ‘All work and no play’?” She made a pretend-scolding face before the smile returned. Her hazel eyes sparkled, a cool ivory hand slipped that almost-red hair off her shoulder. It was a very nice shoulder.
Yes, sometimes it was just that easy, dammit. “I’ve been living by it. In reverse. Now I’ve got to make amends.”
“And how are you planning to do that?”
It took all my will-power to say it. “All work and all work. And my timing feels particularly shitty at this moment.”
“I’ll say. Are you sure you won’t make an exception?”
“I can’t believe I’m saying no.” Standing, I signaled the bartender and then passed over two bills. “For this and whatever else she’d like.”
Then I squeezed her arm gently, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. “I’m willing to bet you’ll be prettier than the bride tomorrow,” I whispered next to her ear.
She shook her head, but I knew I was leaving her happy—no harm, no foul, my resolve intact. And now I was headed back to my room, pissed off dick and all.
One of the best parts of being sent to Scottsdale was all the beautiful women on relaxing spa vacations, but I steeled myself. I had to redeem my reputation with Derek and by extension Stuart. I didn’t want to hear any big-brother bullshit about how I’d screwed up a gig he’d dropped in my lap, or how I’d lost my girl and lost my edge. I’d done great work handling the Alliance case, and I was following it up with more great work. When I returned from this trip, I intended to be too valuable to lose.
* * *
Two nights down, and two highly productive mornings were under my belt. I’d landed analysis meetings with five financiers once we got back, two of which were big-wig corporate-banking types, and I’d picked up cards from five more I’d touch base with post-con. I was moving back to the top of my game. The Closer, getting it done.
Derek texted last night. We were meeting for a recon in the fitness center before lunch. I was freaking walking on air and feeling more in control than ever. My confidence was even restored about handling the Star situation. A week of distance, a return to normal office behavior, and we could put what happened behind us. Or work out a financial settlement.
The same was not true of my senior partner. I didn’t know what, but something was off with him. For starters, he hadn’t overloaded the bench press bar. He didn’t even seem to be paying attention to what I was lifting. Granted, I’d only known the guy a month, but I’d never seen him so distracted. I did a full set of eight reps and then guided the bar back to the rack—without my spotter’s help.
Sitting up, I threw the towel around my neck. “You going to tell me what’s up?” I asked after several quiet moments.
He blinked to me as if coming out of a daze. “Sorry, what?”
I watched him pick up the dumbbells and slowly curl one then the other. It was half the weight he normally used.
“What’s the case you’re working on?” I picked up my water bottle and went over to where he stood, studying his expression. I couldn’t put my finger on what was different, but he seemed more relaxed somehow. Possibly happier, definitely troubled.
He put the weight down and went over to sit on the bench. “Domestic case,” he said, not meeting my eye.
“I thought we didn’t do those.” I put my stuff aside and lifted a dumbbell.
He wasn’t working out, and I was ready to finish my set and get lunch. I’d been up since eight sitting through meetings, and I wanted to spend the afternoon by the pool or possibly hitting the links.
“It’s for a fellow I used to know,” he said. “But I’m not sure I can help him now.”
Again, I heard that tone in his voice, like he was surprised. Or bewildered. I couldn’t put my finger on which.
“Can I help?”
He glanced up at me, then stood. “I can handle it. Things just got more complicated than I expected.”
“Hey,” I threw my towel at his head, hoping to snap him out of it. “Meet me at the Bluefin Grill for lunch. We can talk about it. And about what’s going on back at the office.”
“Sure,” he said, folding the towel and setting it aside.
Something was definitely off with Mr. Control. But if I’d been sent to the desert to get my head straight, there was no reason he couldn’t do the same.