The Position (5 page)

I shake my head, at a loss for words. I want to throw something. To break something. I want to scream until my voice is gone. “Fuck you, Lazarus!” I shout, feeling the tears burning hot in my eyes. It’s the first time I’ve called him anything but Jude, and he flinches. I spin and head for the doors, but Lazarus rushes over and grabs my wrist.
 

“Wait,” he growls. “Why are you acting like this? It’s just sex.”
 

I press the heels of my palms to my eyes but the tears come anyway. My whole body has gone ice cold and I’m shivering so much my teeth chatter. In that moment it’s clear that something has shifted in me. Something vital and irreversible.
 

“No, not to me.” My voice is quiet now and trembling with emotion. I turn my watery green eyes to him and refuse to look away. “Don’t you see that I’m, like, crazy mad in love with you?”
 

Lazarus is statue still. For a hopeful moment I think I see a shimmering light in his eyes. But then a shadow falls over them and his face goes stony and cold. He clears his throat and looks down at the floor, unable to meet my gaze.
 

“Michaela,” he says with an eerie calm. “That’s not going to work.” He stares at the floor for a long time, working his jaw like crazy. I stand waiting, shivering, feeling as if I’ve taken off all my clothes and am standing naked beside him. Finally, he lifts his eyes, and they’re thunderstorm dark. “Collect your things.”

A black crater opens up inside me. I blink at him, stunned. “What do you mean? Why?”

Lazarus straightens up, averting his eyes again. He turns back to his office, making it clear that he’s done with the conversation. “I’m letting you go.”

Chapter Eight

I race through the dark, deserted streets of downtown, tears streaking my face. In my arms is the only thing I took from my desk at Lazarus & Smith—the portfolio of my designs. I clench it close to my chest like a security blanket. My body has gone from searing heat to bleak, winter cold in record time. My teeth chatter and my breaths come in irregular gasps. Every ray of light that had come into my life is gone. No job. No money. No chance at a home. No Lazarus.
 

In that moment, the collective misery of my life mounts into a towering pain. I feel hopeless. Why bother? Why bother trying to claw my way out of poverty? Why try to make a decent life for myself? Why let myself fall in love? A cool wind tosses my hair and dries the tears on my cheeks until the skin is tight and stinging. My bus rolls past, mostly empty, but I don’t care. I want to feel the skeleton moving inside me, reminding me that I’m still here, that I’m strong. Before I know it, I start to run.
 

The sound of my heels against the pavement echo through the quiet streets. I suck in the air, filling my lungs until I’m dizzy from it. All I am is this body, these muscles and bones moving through space. I don’t want to think. If I think, I will give up.
 

Suddenly, I’m tumbling. The concrete comes up fast to meet me, skinning my palms and cracking against my knees. My portfolio flies from my arms and skitters across the sidewalk. Papers scatter. It takes me several moments sprawled on the ground to realize that I broke a heel. I push myself up and pull one bloody knee toward me, studying the gash. But I like the pain. It’s powerful and distracting.
 

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” The voice seems to come out of nowhere.
 

I look up to find a man rushing from the door of a building, portfolio case in hand. He drops it on the sidewalk and kneels beside me. He has dark hair that is a bit shaggy and long, and a plaid Yorkshire flat cap. His eyes are kind and blue. He’s wearing a very expensive looking leather jacket and scarf wrapped several times around his neck, like a Parisian. He is handsome and refined. Probably gay. He puts a hand on my back and gazes at me with concern.

I nod and brush the grit from my hands. He glances briefly at my strange attire—the skirt with the man’s sports coat—but says nothing.
 

“Here, let me help you.” He takes me by the arm and helps me to my feet. I stand listing to the side of the broken shoe and the man shakes his head. “Maybe not a good idea to run in those shoes, sweetie.” He signals to someone behind me and I turn to see a beautiful black town car with tinted windows. A man in a black suit climbs out of the driver’s side and opens the back door. The man with the scarf puts a hand on my arm.
 

“Please let us take you home.” He dips into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulls out a business card. He hands it to me. “This is me. I’m Nathan Klein. Not a serial killer or pervert. You’re safe with me, I can assure you.”
 

I look at the card, which is printed on heavy stock. It reads: City Design, Nathan Klein, CEO. To be honest, I hardly care if he is a pervert. I just want to get as far from here as possible.
 

“Thanks,” I say, graciously. “That would be great.”
 

Nathan and the driver walk around picking up the papers from my portfolio. I snap out of my daze and help them. As Nathan picks up each page, he looks at it with curiosity. When he sees the newest drawing, the exterior design with a humming bird garden, he stops and stares.
 

“Are these yours?” he asks, arching his eyebrows.
 

“Yes.”
 

“Are you an architect?” He looks carefully at the other designs as well. “These are spectacular.”
 

I smile shyly. “I’m just an assistant. I mean, I was. I just got fired.”
 

Nathan looks at me with surprise. “Well, the hell with them!” He carefully slides the pages into my portfolio and hands it to me. “Whoever the hell they were, they sure didn’t know how to value talent. I mean, an assistant!”
 

He escorts me to the open car door and makes a welcoming gesture with his arm. I climb inside, grateful for the warmth and the comforting smell of leather. The engine is so quiet I can’t even tell it’s idling, which is the exact opposite of my own grumbling junker. When the driver asks me where to go, I give him Travis’s address.
 

As we drive through the empty streets, Nathan seems lost in thought. After several minutes of silence, he turns to me with an earnest expression.
 

“I’d like you to give me a call on Monday.”

“You would?” I ask stupidly, unsure what it is he wants.
 

“Those drawings are quite excellent. Imaginative. Elegant. But fun.” He nods to himself as if he’s just made up his mind about something. “I may have a project for you.”
 

I stare at him in amazement. “A project? You mean, design work?”
 

He smiles reassuringly, a twinkle in his eye. “Just call to schedule an appointment when I’m in front of my calendar. We’ll talk then.”
 

When we reach Travis’s, the driver climbs out and opens my door, just like they do for movie stars on the red carpet. Everything has happened so fast, my head is spinning. My own design job? It seems too good to be true.
 

I step out of the car and turn to wave at Nathan, giving him a grateful smile.

“You have no idea how much a project like that would mean to me, Mr. Klein.”
 

Nathan returns my smile. His expression is warm and sincere, and even my street kid skeptical side trusts him. “Nate, darling. Please.”
 

“Thank you,
Nate
.”
 

He looks me up and down and shakes his head. “I can tell you this, young lady,” he says, his voice serious and low. “Whoever fired you tonight is very much going to regret it.”

Chapter Nine

It’s past ten o’clock when I knock on Travis’s door. He’s usually a night owl, but the lights in his house are all dark, and I’m afraid he’s not at home. I pound louder, feeling self-conscious. I told Nathan Klein that I forgot my key, and now he’s made his driver idle at the curb until I get safely inside.
Come on! Come on! Come on!

Finally, the door opens and Travis appears wearing only his boxers and a tee shirt. I turn and wave at the waiting car and push my way inside.
 

“Sorry,” I mutter. “I told them I live here.” I turn and regard his disheveled appearance with surprise. “Were you sleeping? At ten o’clock?”
 

Travis sighs and closes the door. He looks terrible. There are dark circles under his eyes, as if he hasn’t slept in days. Still, he stares at me as if I were a stranger, his mouth ajar. “Mickey?”

That’s when it occurs to me that this is his first glimpse of the great Mickey Makeover. I drop my portfolio on the floor and collapse onto the sofa, giving him a weary grin. “Yes, there has been some mild renovation work going on in Mickeyville.”
 

“I hardly recognized you.” He crosses the room without taking his eyes off me, nearly missing his chair. “Holy shit. It’s like the Twilight Zone. Like I’ve woken up in some parallel universe where you look like a fashion model and I go to bed at eight.”
 

I let myself sink back into the cushions and close my eyes. “Can we not talk about it right now? I’m really not in the mood. I just got fired.”
 

“Damn, Mickey. That sucks.” Travis gives me a sympathetic look, but it still feels like he’s gawking at me.

“So what’s with the early bedtime?” I ask, nodding at his crazy bedhead hair. “You used to give me shit for going to sleep before midnight. It’s for old people. Isn’t that what you always said? What’s happened to you, old man?”
 

Travis sighs and finally looks away. “Liz and I broke up.”
 

“Seriously?” I feel truly sad about it. I like Liz a lot and she seemed perfect for Travis. And here I’d thought he was easing up on the wild oat sowing. “What happened?”
 

But I can see that he doesn’t want to talk much either. He just shakes his head and waves it away with his hand.
 

“You want some tea?” he asks instead.
 

I know I should get back to the car and get some sleep, but it’s so warm and cozy in Travis’s couch.
 

“Why not.” I unbutton the sports coat and start to take it off when I see Travis’s eyes go wide, and they’re fixed right on my boobs. Following his gaze, I see my buttonless blouse hanging open, exposing my black lace-clad breasts. Oh yeah. That’s why I was wearing Lazarus’s jacket.
 

“Whoa!” Travis gasps before he can stop himself. “What the hell’s going on there?”

I yank the jacket closed and jump to my feet, mortified. My face is burning as I turn my back and quickly button it up again. When I turn around, Travis is staring at me. Something in his old-college-pal-eyes is heating up, like that time he walked in on me in the shower. His face is reluctant and pale. I can see the sweat breaking out on his forehead and upper lip.
 

For a long, awkward moment, neither of us says anything. Then Travis shifts uncomfortably and I see the erection in his boxers. He clears his throat. “So, did the bossman do that to your clothes? Is that why you’re wearing that jacket?”
 

I cast my eyes away, embarrassed, and say nothing. When I glance at him again, Travis’s jaw is stiff, his eyes fierce. He’s jealous.
 

“Is…is…” He stammers, afraid to say it. “Is that why you got fired, Mickey?”

What the fuck? Who cares? I nod.
Yes. Yes, I let myself get sucked into whatever sick games Jude Lazarus plays with the young women he hires, the ones who want to take him to court now. The red flags were waving in my face, but I just pushed them aside.
 

“I’m an idiot.” I sit down again, hunched on the sofa, feeling tears burning in my eyes. “Why am I such an idiot?”
 

“You’re not an idiot.” Travis gets up a little gingerly and comes around to sit beside me. He puts an arm around my shoulders, just as he’s done a million times. I let the tears come.
 

“It’s none of my business what happened. But I can tell you, that asshole is the idiot. It makes me want to go down there and bust his head open.”
 

I look at him with surprise. “Travis, you’ve never said anything like that before,” I splutter through the tears.
 

He shrugs. “Well, you’ve never been with another guy before. I mean, you’ve never even been on a date as long as I’ve known you. And now this happens, whatever this is. I want to tear that douchebag apart.”
 

 
I smile sadly and lean against him, letting my tears soak his tee shirt. It feels good to have someone want to protect me, someone who cares about me. I’ll bet Travis wouldn’t push me over a desk and smack my ass with all his might. I ignore the horrible thrill that zaps through me at the memory. It’s not sexy. It’s demented. Jude Lazarus is demented.
 

Travis and I sit like that for a long time. I’m aware of his deep, even breaths and the hard on that we’re both pretending to ignore. For a moment, I wonder what Travis would do if I reached out and touched it. A part of me wants to make him gasp. What is wrong with me? I’ve never thought that way before. It’s like something inside me is changing, corrupting. I’m tainted now. And I want more. I never would’ve even known this heat if Lazarus hadn’t pulled me into the fire.
 

I flash back to the scene at the office. The mind-blowing sensations. The panting. Desperate groping. Unbearable desire. I have to face it. I’ve woken up from my lifetime stretch of innocence and there’s no going back.

Fortunately, I still have some common sense left unburned and I know better than to ruin the best friendship I’ve ever had for a thrill. I mean, come on. Travis is a horn dog who would pop a boner if any girl flashed her boobs at him. It’s not going to change things between us. Not if I get out of here now, anyway.
 

I pull out of Travis’s arms and stand up. “I’ve got to get some sleep.”