“Save it, Augie!”
“Ha. Knew you were in there. What you doin’, honey? Havin’ a navel-gazin’ moment? Because people been worried about you, and it ain’t the Dali Lama.”
“Fuck you.”
“Well, that there gets zero points for originality. Mind openin’ up? I may be all about taking the wood, but talkin’ to a door ain’t my style.”
“Piss off.” I peeped out at him, his silver hair swept back, his suit pressed and perfect, but his eyes were shadowed, his face haggard.
“That’s more like it. Now let me in, or I will eat all of the donuts.” He opened the box and crudely licked a dollop of drippy jelly from a jam filler.
Fuckin’ Dunkin’ Donuts. He only bought them things because of the sexual innuendo...
dunkin’ donuts.
I unlocked the deadbolt and snagged the box.
Hot on my heels into the kitchen, he pointed an eclair at me. “Your Mr. Boone’s been callin’ me, pumping me for information.”
“You must’ve liked that, bein’ pumped.” I tried a feeble joke.
Setting aside the pastry, he daintily wiped his fingers. “What did Palmer do to you?”
“It wasn’t him. It was all me. I did it.”
“A picture worth a thousand words.”
“You saw the magazine.”
“I did. So…” He reached for a napkin. “It’s done.”
“Reardon know?”
“No. But y’all should be askin’ him, not me. Palmer leave you?”
I crumpled into a chair. “Yeah.”
Shoving off the sink, he smacked his palms together smartly. Had he hugged me, I would’ve lost it. Instead, he said, “I’ll be by with a case of fizz and that big ol’ fine woman, Addy, tomorrow night.”
“No. You can’t!”
“Shew, don’t give me no more shit now, Shay.” Marching me upstairs, he read me the riot act. “You’ll do what I say, since I been stood outside every day, not to mention all my phone calls. Worrying about you hasn’t exactly been a grand ol’ time for me.” He surveyed my slovenly bedroom, scorn dangling off his lips. “You want me to call Reardon?”
“No.”
“Then get in the shower. You stink to high heaven and look like roadkill.”
He made good use of my rinse-off, having an outfit ready for me, since I’d most likely shuffle out of the place in a housecoat and slippers with my toes poking out.
Before he left, Augie gave me a final what-for, his hug softening his words. “So what, honey? You got what you wanted, and now you gotta suck it up and eat the shit sandwich that comes with it.”
“I know, it’s just–”
“You better bury those excuses ’cause it don’t suit you to be such a sad-sack. And frankly, you still look like shit.” He compared his manicured nails to the ragged beds of mine. “Y’all can berate yourself, but if you think I’m gonna stand by while you drown in self-pity, you done hooked up with the wrong man. You got more backbone than you’re lettin’ on, so show me some damn gumption already.”
“But, but aren’t you on my side?” I wheedled pathetically.
Childishly,
my conscience pointed out.
“I am on your side,” he said. “But,
but,
all’s fair in love–”
“And whore?” Those words from Palmer cut me to the quick.
“You aren’t a whore. You made a choice, you fell in love, you hurt Palmer. There may be no love lost between him and me. However, you’re gonna deal with the consequences, or I’ll sure as shit make a sow’s purse outta your ears, and it won’t be pleasant.”
I gaped.
“Now shut your mouth and wipe the snot off your face. You’re puttin’ me off my pastries.” Augie stepped outside. “And get on over to Reardon’s. His hotness factor’s been drastically reduced with this heartbroken, lovelorn boy routine he’s got goin’ on.”
Half an hour later, Temperance met me at the door. “He’s been so worried about you, dear.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. It was my new mantra. I should get a tattoo of it.
A few steps behind Temp, Reardon roared out of the kitchen. “Where the hell have you been?” Worried Mr. Boone wasn’t half so
amenable
as Mrs. Bloom.
In no mood for his businessman bullshit, I handled his outburst with my usual aplomb. “He fuckin’ knows.” Dropped the f-bomb right off the bat. I walked into the lounge, bee-lined it to the bar and made myself a drink. “I’m sorry, I was busy. Destroying my marriage took some time, and I forgot to check the clock.”
“Jesus.”
“I don’t know. Was he a home-wrecker, too?”
Approaching me cautiously, he kneaded my shoulders. “That was quick.”
“It was, wasn’t it?” I took a drink, pressing Reardon back. I dumped my purse out over the Oriental rug. Kneeling, I scattered my lipsticks and chewing gum and travel tissues. “Here it is.” I pushed the magazine to him.
He sat beside me, fingering the
Charleston Magazine
. Giving me the
she done finally flew over the cuckoo’s nest
look, he asked, “It, what?”
Impatiently, I flipped it open to the spread of us.
He glanced down briefly, then took a closer look. Even with his skin paling, he denied it. “But that doesn’t mean anything, Shay. It’s a harmless picture.”
“Reeally,” I scoffed. “Tell me what’s written all over my face, why don’t you.”
He studied my expression and exhaled slowly. “I see.”
“Yeah, so did Palmer.”
His eyes crashed to mine. “Tell me he didn’t hurt you.”
I jumped to my feet. “Why is everyone askin’ me that? Palmer’s not a monster. I hurt him!”
“C’mere,” he beckoned.
“I can’t.” As I glanced over the pretty salt marsh, my mind filled with Palmer’s distraught face. “Such a mistake,” I mumbled.
“That’s foolish, and you damn well know it.” He stopped a few steps off. “This isn’t a mistake.”
“Leila said you couldn’t love me.” Admitting it made me feel like a weakling.
“Leila?”
“Your wife.”
“My ex
.
” Hurt bloomed in his eyes. “When did you talk to her?” He figured it out quickly. “At the restaurant, in the bathroom. She’s why you were so upset. Why didn’t you tell me?”
My chin jutted. “Sometimes you need protectin’ too.”
A half smile played on his lips. “You’re such a fighter.”
“I could just be your folly.” I snuck away.
“Folly?” He prowled to me and brought me back against his body, his hard muscles teaming with my curves. “I don’t think so. I’m sorry Palmer found out this way, but I am not sorry it’s over. And Leila was wrong, by the way.”
Was he saying what I thought he was saying, without actually saying it? My heart beat so fast we were about to need a defibrillator.
Until I remembered Palmer.
I shrugged him off. “It’s no good.” How was this for irony? All the time I was gladly fucking around behind Palmer’s back, and now the cat was out of the bag, pussy didn’t want to be petted.
He lifted a hand, let it drop. “What have I done to you?”
“We did it together.”
Bringing his thumbs to the corners of my mouth, he asked gently, “Can I kiss you? Let me show you we’re good.”
I stopped resisting. Pushing to my tiptoes, I took his lips with mine in a kiss so soft and loving it made my heart thump-thump-thump in excitement instead of all the dread threatening to pull me under.
Sliding my mouth to his cheek, I whispered, “How can this feel so right, Reardon, when everything we’ve done is wrong?”
“Feeling isn’t wrong, you told me that.”
“Doesn’t excuse my behavior.”
“Our
behavior.” Before I could extricate myself, he lowered us to the floor, backs against the windows, his arm around my shoulders.
After a while of sitting hip to hip, I kicked the offending magazine away. “I don’t understand how the photo got leaked. You took the camera, you approved the pictures.”
He charged to his feet. “Goddamn it, I knew Slaughter was up to no good.”
“Surely not. Not even he would–”
“You’ve met the man, Shay.”
He had a damn good point. “How could he have gotten hold of the photos?”
“Money buys everything.”
“Not everything,” I significantly stated.
He halted long enough to stroke my cheek. “No, not everything,” he agreed, then headed toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Hello? Having a breakdown here, and he was unrolling his sleeves, searchin’ his pockets for cufflinks, and reachin’ for his jacket.
“The office. Slaughter’s at Rad-Slaughter.”
Temp handed him the car keys.
He commanded, “Make sure she stays put.”
What was I? A frickin’ dog named Marley, made to heel? Only heels I knew about were carefully displayed in my closet.
I grabbed his arm, my bag, and kept up with him. “No way. Don’t you be treatin’ me like I’m some damsel in distress. I’ve got as much right confronting him as you.”
“Just trying to
protect
you
.”
Rotten Rat Bastard, using my words against me.
Narrowing my eyes, I swatted his butt to get him into the corridor. “Nice try, babe. Nothin’ doing. I’m coming.”
Even in the midst of the crisis, a smirk twitched over his lips.
Men. I should smack his fine ass more often.
On the ride downtown, Reardon appeared at ease. He draped a wrist over the wheel and snuck peeks at my legs, as if we weren’t about to go head-to-head with the original asshole himself.
Men, again.
Parking in his spot, he advised, “I’ll do the talking.”
Uh huh, yeah, that’s gonna happen.
Taking a leaf from his daddy’s book when dealing with Charley, I simply smiled and nodded.
She-Rah popped out from the reception, all propped-up tits and sticky lip gloss. She probably moonlighted at The Southern Belle gentleman’s club. “Mr. Boone, we didn’t expect you today.”
I stabbed her with my eyes, pretending they were poison-tipped arrows deflating the silicone valley of her chest.
At the door of his office, Reardon demanded, “Shepperd. Have him in my office ASAP.”
“Of course, sir.”
I hoped she didn’t think she was getting extra stars for the
Yes sir
routine, because I owned that shit.
She rounded her desk. “Will Miss Greer be joining you?”
“Of course.” He was already leading me inside.
Five minutes later–southern time–Slaughter slithered in, barrel of a booze belly making way for his porcine eyes. He stopped short when he saw me.
Covering his surprise, he conveyed all his spite in one sentence. “Is she sitting in on all your meetings now? I know she’s on payroll, but that’s just for a roll in the hay, isn’t it?”
Reardon snarled. “Shut the hell up and talk.”
“No matter how talented I am, it would be impossible to do both those things at once.”
“I’ll keep it simple for you. Sit and talk.” Reardon coiled with power, capable of cutting this man to shreds.
I couldn’t frigging wait.
Placidly, he sat his ass in a chair. “What do you want to know? The Dow’s off 25 percent. The recession is killing us, banks have no capital, we can’t get credit, and housing prices are plummeting. How’s that?”
“I’m more interested in the photograph in the
Charleston Magazine
.”
“Local periodical widely read by those who want to live the life of Charleston’s pampered elite. The photos appearing in this month’s edition? Easy as signing a check.” He showed no remorse.
“You admit it, then.” Reardon calmly buzzed Cheryl. “The company contract, please.”
At those words, Slaughter back-pedaled faster than his pig trotters could keep up. “No, I admit nothing.”