Running Away With You (Running #3) (28 page)

“I don’t understand.  Why did he send you that photo?  Has he called you or sent you any more pictures?” 

Dammit, I hate lying to Auggie.  But the fewer people who know about my rendezvous, the better.  “David’s always been a control freak.  I think he just wants me to know that he can still push my buttons.  But I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of a response.” 

“I dunno.  Maybe you’re right.  We still don’t know what he wants, so maybe it’s best if we wait for him to make his next move.”  I have no intention of telling Auggie about the second picture and the Denver deal. 

Hoping to change the subject, I say, “Have you figured out where we’re going yet?”

“No clue.  How about a hint?”

I love playing guessing games.  “Okay.  What we’re doing today won’t cost us any money.  It’s something not enough people do, but everyone should do this at least once in their lifetime.”

“Hmm.  It’s free and not enough people do it.  Are we going to a museum?”

“Nope, not a museum.  It’s a place you never want to need, but lots of people go there anyway.”

Auggie thinks he has it.  “I know, are we volunteering at a hospital?”

“You’re wrong about the hospital, Auggie, but right about volunteering.  Look in the back seat for your last clue.”

He turns around and sees shopping bags filled with boxes and cans from the restaurant and home.  “We’re going to a volunteer at a food pantry, aren’t we?”

“We are.  I made arrangements for us to work at the Community Kitchen of West Harlem.  We’re going to spend the day bagging groceries for needy families, restocking the shelves, and maybe even helping to serve some hot meals.”  Since the colleges closed for the semester, the restaurant has significantly slowed down.  I don’t have a lot of funds available to plan expensive or extravagant outings.  I know if I asked Evan, he’d be more than happy to finance anything we’d ask, but I’d rather not ask.  “What do you think?”

“I think you’re making me look bad.  How am I supposed to top that one next month?  Sign us up to be organ donors?”

“C
all when you’re on your way home,” I tell Evan as I kiss him goodbye.  Tomorrow the Sentinels are playing at home against the Steelers.  That means he’ll have a nice easy day of watching game film, working out, and planning strategy.

I get to work much earlier than usual.  The restaurant is empty and the first shift isn’t due for a couple of hours.

This past week has been a roller coaster, full of ups and downs.  If it wasn’t for Marcus holding down the fort here at work, I know the business would be falling apart at the seams.  He’s been taking care of the scheduling, the ordering, and managing operations.  It’s time for me to sit down and take care of the rest – paying the bills, returning emails, and doing payroll. 

I’ve given Marcus the morning off as my way of saying thank you.  He deserves a Saturday afternoon off to take Camilla out to brunch or just lounge around the house.

It takes over an hour to get through all my emails and complete payroll.  Reporting tips and wages to the government is much more complicated than I ever imagined.  We had a class on it in school, but it wasn’t nearly enough.

Finally I can focus my attention on paying the bills.  One by one I go through them, double-checking and in some cases, triple-checking before writing the check.  I meticulously keep track of my expenses as well as our income.  December is a difficult month to run a business at the beach, especially since the local colleges sent their entire student body home for the holidays. 

Our covers are down by almost half.  We’re barely making payroll. I look at the unopened envelopes and quickly do a few calculations in my head.  I have enough to cover the electric, the laundry service, and the alarm company.  There’s one envelope left to open.  If this bill is more than one hundred dollars, then I’ll have to borrow some money from Evan to pay it.

I slice open the envelope and slide out the contents, only to discover that this is not a bill.  It’s a thank you card, the kind you buy from Hallmark.  My momentary relief is quickly replaced by outrage when I open it and see the signature.  It’s signed
Love, David
.  The prick is now sending mail to my restaurant.

There’s a hand-written note and a small envelope tucked inside the card.  My blood pressure rises exponentially as I read the message. 

THANK YOU FOR THE EQUIPMENT.

IT’S A GREAT START.

~D

I open the small envelope and pull out another photograph.  But this one’s different.  There’s no red chair, just a bed.  This picture is clearer than the last, and there’s no mistaking me, naked, bent over and leaning on the bed while getting fucked from behind, my face twisted and contorted.  Chills run down my spine as I stare at David’s face glaring back at me, looking directly into the camera with a wicked, evil smile.  On the back is another Post-it note that simply says,

DID YOU THINK WE WERE DONE?

GUESS AGAIN.

SAME DEAL AS BEFORE.

I decide to call David right away.  I’m not going to let this hang over my head.  I need answers.  I can actually hear my heart beating wildly in my chest.  I’ve never wanted to hurt someone so badly in my life.  I want to make his heart stop beating.  I want him to go away – forever.

Before I call him, I have to decide how I’m going to play it.  I could put on the tears and beg him to stop and leave me alone.  But that approach never worked with him in the past.  The harder I cried, the more demanding and cruel he became.  Showing weakness seemed to spur him on.  It was like he got a rush out of breaking me down.

I could threaten him right back.  Remind him that my fiancé has access to the best lawyers money can buy and we could put him behind bars as quick as a flash.  There are laws against extortion and it wouldn’t be hard to prove my case.  But that would mean going public right before the playoffs.  It’s out of the question and he knows it.

My last hope is to negotiate.  I have to find out what his end game is.  How far is he willing to take this?  How far am I willing to let him go?  Time to find out. 

I dial his number and wait to hear his voice.  He doesn’t answer right away.  After the fifth ring, the phone finally clicks.  “Hello, Kitten. I thought I might hear from you today.  Did you get my card?”

“You know I did.”

“That’s good. I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful.  I thought I should thank you properly.”  If I could reach through the phone and strangle him, I would.

“And you think threatening me with another photograph is the best way to thank me?  I’d rather you just disappear.”

“Now you know I can’t do that, Kitten.”  The phone goes silent for a moment while we both consider our next move.  It’s like a game of chess and I’m afraid he’s playing me like a pawn.

“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” I tell him.

“I’ve been thinking and I’ve decided I’d like to see you again.  The Sentinels are playing in Indianapolis next week.  How about we meet there Saturday, one week from today?  I’d be willing to sell you some more of the memorabilia I’ve collected from our past.”

It’s taking every ounce of my inner strength to stay calm.  “I didn’t realize you were such a romantic, David.  I threw every single thing away that you ever gave me.  I even burned a few of them.”

“I’m full of surprises.  Now, I don’t want to frighten you, but I’ve asked around and found out that there are a good number of people prepared to pay me big bucks for this sort of thing.  But in light of our long history together, I’d be willing to sell it to you at a discount.  I don’t really see the need to invite other people into our lives at this point, so close to the playoffs and all.” He laughs derisively and it sends chills down my spine.

“Same deal as before?” I ask.

“Same deal.”

“I get the original?”

“I just got done telling you it was the same deal as before.  Don’t ask stupid questions.”  Now that’s the David that I remember.  Calm and cool one moment, then turning angry and demeaning on a dime.

“One more question, how do I – ”

“No more questions.  We’ll talk in Indianapolis.” He hangs up the phone.  God dammit.  How am I supposed to come up with another ten thousand dollars when I can barely make payroll? 

Then it hits me – my Christmas ornaments.  Evan paid exactly ten thousand dollars for them at the gift auction.  I could tell him that I dropped them or that Maddy knocked down the tree and they broke.  I can find a way to sell them.  I have to.

I quickly open my laptop and do a search for Baccarat Christmas ornaments.  My momentary hope is quickly wiped out when I find that each ornament is worth only a few hundred dollars.  The entire collection is worth no more than two thousand.

Fuck.
I should have known he paid more than they’re worth.  That’s the whole point of a charity auction.

I take out my frustration on the first thing I see.  I grab the glass of cranberry juice sitting on the desk and throw it against the wall.  “Fuck!” I scream as I throw and break anything I can get my hands on – my phone, paperwork, picture frames, a cup of pens and pencils – all go flying across the room.

As the adrenaline leaves my body, I break down into sobs.  Heavy, heaving, blubbering sobs.  My hands are shaking uncontrollably and I cannot control my body’s reaction.  I fall to the floor, unable to stand.

The door bursts open and Derek rushes in, his eyes frantic when he sees the red liquid dripping down the wall and shattered glass everywhere.  He runs to my side, grabs my hands and searches for cuts and injuries.  “Jette, what happened?  Are you okay?”

I can’t answer him, so he wraps his arms around me and holds me as I cry uncontrollably.  Derek is so good to me, much better than I deserve.  He looks around and finds a box of tissues on the table beside the couch.  He reaches over with his long arms and grabs it, handing me first one, then two tissues.  He brushes the hair off my face and I do the best I can to calm down, blow my nose, and wipe away the tears as they continue to flow. 

My bawling slows, and Derek gingerly lifts me and places me on my couch as he gets up and begins to clean up my mess.  When I see him collecting the papers strewn around the room I panic.  “No!  Stop!”  I can’t let him see that picture.  He can’t see it.  Ever.

Frantically, I run around the room collecting paper after paper until I find it.  Derek watches me apprehensively as I snap up the photo and stuff it into the top drawer of my desk.  With trembling hands, I grab another tissue and blow my nose.  The fog begins to clear and I can see with clearer eyes the mess I’ve made.  I can also see Derek’s concern.  I’ve frightened him.  Hell, I’ve frightened myself too.

“Derek, I’m so sorry you had to see me like that.  It’s okay now.  I’ll be all right.” 

“Jette, sit down.  I don’t know what just happened, but I will find out.  I’m coming back with a glass of ice water for you and a bucket to clean this mess.”  He walks out of my office, turns back, and offers one final thought before disappearing.  “And by the way, if I don’t get some answers, I’m calling Mac.”

Fuck a duck.

When he comes back, he hands me the glass of water and begins cleaning up my mess.  He doesn’t ask any questions.  Not yet.  But I know it’s coming.  Derek sweeps up the broken shards of glass while I wipe the cranberry juice off the wall with warm, soapy water.

It took less than sixty seconds to create the mess, and it takes nearly fifteen minutes to clean it.  We finish just as the rest of the crew begins to arrive for their shift.  Reese sticks her head in to say hello and quickly retreats when she sees Derek with me.

When the last piece of paper is picked up and the other desktop items are returned to their proper places, Derek closes the office door and takes a seat on the couch.  It’s confession time.  I have to come clean, but there’s no need to tell him any more than he needs to know.

Slowly, I piece together an explanation about how I’m having trouble paying my bills and how I received an unwanted invitation to see my ex-boyfriend in Indianapolis.  I tell him I overreacted because I don’t want Evan to think that I’m incapable of running a business or that I’m untrustworthy.  Derek listens attentively and carefully considers my narrative.

“So you threw a tantrum because business is slow and because someone you dated in college sent you a letter.  Is that right?”  Derek is looking at me in a way that tells me he’s not buying what I’m trying so hard to sell.

In a shaky voice, I answer him.  “Yes.”

“Okay, then.  Show me the letter.  Or whatever you shoved in that drawer that you didn’t want me to see.”  He leans back on the couch, waiting for my response. 

Shit.

I can’t show him the thank you card.  He’ll want to know more.  I can’t show him the Post-it note. He’ll want to know what the deal is.  I’m fucked.  “I can’t show you, Derek.”

“Can’t or won’t?”  Derek leans his elbows on his knees and watches me carefully.

“Both.”

“Fine.  Have it your way.”  Derek reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone, swiping through his contacts, looking for Evan’s phone number.