"So she thinks she can just leave." Reggie said, tossing back his tenth shot of liquor. He sat in his office, pondering, replaying Nesca's words and actions. There was one lonely light on his desk, shinning on the many pictures of Nesca scattered everywhere. Not one single picture showed her looking towards the lens, which meant they were the work of one of his private investigators.
"After all I did for that little bitch. She thinks I'm not good enough. I gave her a job," he said, grabbing the bottle of scotch and pouring it into a glass, "and she treats me like I'm shit." He chuckled as he picked up the phone off the receiver.
"Well, let's see what daddy dearest says about that."
All of a sudden the door flew open. Joey, a security guard, walked in, grabbed the phone out his hand and placed it on the receiver. "I can't let you do that boss," Joey yanked the cords out of the phone. "You have worse things to worry about than her."
"Dammit Joseph, I thought I told you... not to... barge in on me. After what happened, huh," He scoffed slightly, his tongue becoming heavier with each word. Reggie tried to stand but failed, falling back in his chair.
"You're lucky I... kept your ass here." He said barely comprehensible.
"With all due respect boss, you're way too gone. I honestly thought she came here to finish what happened that night." Joey replied honestly then his eyes fell on the many pictures of Nesca on the desk. "If Omorose finds out she's even been down here again, he won't hesitate like last time. He only backed off because she was ready to slice you like bread."
Reggie sat forward angrily, as if he had not been falling over himself a couple seconds before. "Trust me, I don't care what that bastard does. And tell whichever one of the guys that took these photos to come see me."
"Yeah," Joey said walking toward the doors, then remembered something. "Oh, I almost forgot. Loraine is waiting outside."
"Who," he asked as he lounged back in the chair then he felt Nesca's punch settling in on his ribs for the eighth time that night.
"Loraine, your wife, is waiting out there for you. She thought that you might need a ride or something like that."
Reggie gave a distasteful look. "Tell her I passed out on the desk or something." He said quickly waving off the idea of seeing her. "And get out of my office, I need to make a call. This Jerome kid has to get some things done."
Joey took another glance at the pictures dispersed everywhere. "You know, you might want to stay away from her, Reggie, or you'll lose more than just the business," he said more forcefully.
"Yeah, well I'm running the best of the best in this business." He smirked as Joey was already on his way out. "Just make sure whoever took these... comes back... in one piece." Reggie called out to his guard, easily returning to his state of drunkenness.
* * *
Nesca hid her swollen wrist behind her clutch. "Nice place you have here." She said.
"Don't try to avoid the question Nesca." Johnny replied slowly peeling his jacket from her shoulders and dropping it on the sofa. "What happened to your wrist?"
"Nothing, It's just a little-- nothing." She replied nervously darting her eyes away from his challenging glare.
"Really?" he said as he carefully took her arm to examine her wrist, "so why've you been trying to hide your pain from me all night?"
I wasn't trying to- Ow!" she squeaked at the pain when he touched her wrist, then shook it off.
"Nothing, right?" he questioned.
Johnny steered her to the sofa; sat her down and began to remove her stiletto heels.
"It is nothing." She denied again, wailing in silence, holding her wrist behind his back as he bent to remove her shoes.
"I just had a little situation." She said, hoping she could steer him away from the subject. Johnny looked her in the eye. But all he saw was an empty stare he couldn't read. Annoyed, he gently but firmly took her arm, determined to examine her wrist. "Ow, ow, ow! Johnny!"
"It looks like it's just a minor sprain." Johnny said, examining her noticeably swollen wrist. "Come," he headed to the kitchen, pulling her along. "We got to reduce the swelling."
When she finally came to a stumbling stop in the kitchen, she couldn't help but notice the feel of his place change. The kitchen was warm and welcoming, as if it were where the happiness occurred.
Pots and pans hung over a functioning island that looked as if solid, home-cooked meals were prepared daily.
'Well I had to expect that.' Nesca thought, remembering he was a bachelor who ate nutritiously to keep trim.
She looked at the island, the counters. Suddenly, she found herself daydreaming about the things they could do on every surface of that kitchen.
Nesca imagined Johnny caressing her body from behind: leisurely licking and kissing up her shoulder to her neck, nibbling softly, hitting every nerve, fondling her breasts. One of his hands gradually makes its way down her dress, under the hem, then up her thigh, the other hand tweaks one hardened nipple, then the other.
So real was the fantasy that Nesca was shocked back to reality by a sudden icy sensation. "Peas?" she questioned.
"Sit down." He said as he guided her to the stool behind the counter. Nesca knew by the sound of his voice that he was about to do some serious questioning. She was a bit timorous, but also turned on by his demanding assertiveness.
"This must be specially made," she said, running her good hand across the counter top, still avoiding speaking about what had happened. But Johnny held the pack of frozen peas on her impaired wrist to grab her attention.
"This looks like some real damage." He was looking at her knuckles when he said the statement.
The way he peered at her made her tense. 'Please don't ask. Please don't.' She couldn't lie to his handsome face.
"Who'd you hit?"
"Wh-what are you talking about?" she stammered more breathy, glancing off, rubbing her earlobe between her fingers.
"Look, I know the effect of impact punches, from punching bags, walls, faces." He walked deliberately to her other side and leaned his back against the counter. "The way your knuckles are bruised and your wrist is swollen, I highly doubt it could've have been a wall or a punching bag you hit."
"Just what are you trying to say?" she snapped, but ended softly.
He shrugged his shoulders, "That you gave someone a quick shot to the ribs or jaw," he replied, demonstrating by throwing some blows through the air. "But I'm pretty sure you punched someone in the ribs. The only way you could have hurt your wrist and knuckles this way is with a twisting punch into something hard. Like this," he said, demonstrating a right hook to the ribs. He sat, moved closer to gaze into her eyes with a cool seductive look which always eased her nerves.
"So, who got in my baby's way?"
"Johnny," She looked away, kept playing with her earlobe. "It was someone who got what was coming to him."
