There's nothing quite like the feeling of a safety being disengaged at the back of your head. I felt it before I heard it. The heaviness. The coldness. It's twice the rush when someone else's finger is on the trigger.
"So fucker, what the hell did you say to Kate? There's little opportunity for bullshit right now."
"Put the gun down Joe," I warned.
More pressure on the back of my head, pushing my face down further into my puddle of drool on the desk.
"Gladly," he agreed. "But first tell me. Now."
"Fine," I sighed. "I asked her if she was there against her will, and offered to help her leave if she wanted. Speaking of which, can I get Kate's number? I'd like to check on her."
I could sense him changing his stance, preparing to shoot.
"Why?"
"Why do you think fucker?" I laughed. "You fucking raped her! I was trying to do the decent thing. Maybe save both our legal asses in the process?"
>Clunk<
Joe set the gun down next to me before he rounded the desk.
"Jesus fuck Joe, what did I tell you about doing that?" I cursed, rubbing the back of my head instinctively.
"Relax Curt, it wasn't loaded. You think I want both rape and first-degree murder on my rap sheet? I'm good, but I'm not that good. I don't think, anyway."
"Shit," I muttered in annoyance.
"Next question, what the fuck are you doing here, drooling all over your desk? Did you work late last night or something?"
I'd fallen asleep at my desk apparently, after choosing to come in on Sunday—when yard work hadn't proven enough of a distraction. But Joe didn't need to know that.
"Yes Joe. You see,
someone
has to worry about the status of our cases. That extra week you took really fucked me in the ass."
"Ha, sue me for needing more than a fucking week off in a year that grayed half my head," Joe sneered.
I nodded.
"Yeah, as soon as this case is over with Ruiz, I'm gonna get away. Don't know where, but I need some time for myself as well."
"Yeah, you do," Joe agreed. "You might find a woman for yourself too, you know?"
"I can have women whenever I want," I growled.
"I'm not talking about women you share Curt.
A woman
. For you only."
I smiled condescendingly at him.
"Not everyone is cut from the same cloth Joe. I don't need to be exclusive with a woman to be happy."
"Then maybe you don't know what happy is," he smirked. "To look in a woman's eyes, and know she is
only
for you, that she adores you, and wants you more than anything, would do anything for you, Curt, there is nothing like it. Nothing in the world."
I flinched, and glared at him for getting under my skin.
And Joe got
the look
. The look he was notorious for, when he was just about to go in for the kill.
"Or maybe, you already know."
"Get out of my office Joe," I spat. "I need to work. Check your fucking emails and help me out around here for Christ's sake."
Joe's face was serious. He knew he had stumbled on something huge, and was not done with me. But he relented.
"Fine," he sighed. "I'll check in with you after lunch. Get yourself some coffee—and preferably a shave. You look like hell."
I shook my head after him bitterly before reloading my gun and stowing it back in the safe.
---
"Well if those are the only options, then I guess I'll have to go with the Henredon piece. I'm not willing to compromise on fabric. On anything really. This customer wants the best. Thanks Terry, I'll see you tomorrow and we can review materials. Bye."
I sat back with a sigh and observed my shit-storm of an office. Slash bedroom. I hated it, and loved it at the same time.
There was so much
stuff
involved when you decorated a large house. There were catalogs, material samples, purchase orders, work-orders, blueprints...just a ton of
stuff
.
In my case, it just ended up everywhere. And oddly, I could keep track of everything. It worked for me. No one ended up in my room anyway, so I didn't have to worry about offending any neat freaks.
My face soured at the thought.
No one ended up in my room anyway. And no one would.
So when the heck was I gonna lose my virginity anyway? How was I supposed to meet anyone, and have that magical connection?
Most of the men I interacted with were either contractors who were married, or salesmen who were gay. Online dating was always a possibility, but to me it signified the end of the road—when one couldn't get the job done in the real world, and needed to resort to online shopping.
My journey had barely begun. I wasn't about to throw in the towel. So, what to do?
I thought of Curt. Handsome. Rich. Caring. Sexy beyond reason.
What if he
did
want me? Would it really be so bad? Would it really bring my career to a screeching halt? Would the skies crash down from the heavens? Or would I just be out one client in hundreds—a mere bump in the road when it didn't work out?
But this wasn't just any client. This was the big time. The rich client that could afford to do all the nice things that designers get published in magazines for.
My work thus far had been impressive, for the budget. But nothing worthy of Architectural Digest. And anything that came close would never be done justice by anything less than a professional photographer. Which I couldn't afford. It cost thousands of dollars to book a good photographer, which was such a huge chunk of my earnings, I simply couldn't swing it.
Put it out of your mind Beth. He is the client. You are the designer. He is...perfect. You are not. Just forget it. Put your freaking libido aside, and focus.
Okay, what now...
I had a meeting tomorrow in the city to confirm furniture and fabric selections, and my drapery installer this afternoon at two to do a final measure at the house.
At the house.
His house
.
Shoot. So much for putting him out of my mind.
And don't forget, you have to measure his closet. The one with no clothes in it.
Sighing, I finished my cup of noodles.
I might as well get going early and avoid the traffic.
Checking the clock, which showed 12:52pm, I tossed the cheap Styrofoam cup in the wastebasket and sought out some junky clothes.
It was hot out, and humid, so I picked some old denim shorts and a Cubs tee shirt, and finished with my hair in a couple loose buns. 'Pig buns' I called them.
