Page 13 of Skeletons in the Closet

I rolled the suggestion around my sleep-deprived brain, stifled a yawn, and squinted at the burly man across the desk. My eyes burned. “You want me to act. Couldn’t you play the part of press and get yourself inside without me?”

Diem deadpanned, and I laughed. “Fair enough. Stupid suggestion. But won’t press need passes or invitations too?”

“Yes, but that’s where your skills and smile come into play.” He poked at the tablet and spun it around. “I have a list of pressand magazines who’ve been invited. Pick a name. Play a part. So long as we get there early, I’m sure you can weasel your way in.”

“And do my walk and smile my smile?” I offered a disarmingly sultry one as Diem had suggested.

His throat bobbed, and he looked away. “Yes. I’m sure that face gets you whatever you want in life.”

I huffed. “Not even close, Guns. Sunday?”

“Three o’clock.” He shifted in his seat, reached for the spinner, but folded his hands together instead. “I can pay you thirty percent of my fees.”

“I need to think about it.”

“Forty?”

“It’s not the money. I’m not making a decision of lawbreaking proportions with alcohol in my system and at the ass crack of almost dawn when I’m starting to get a headache. Let me sleep on it.”

Diem gave a sharp nod, only then seeming to realize the time. Under the wash of the yellow lamp light, his facial scars stood out. They told a violent story.

“Can you please take me back to my car?”

A deep frown drew his brows together, and I chuckled.

“Or to my apartment if you don’t think I’m suitable enough to drive yet.” Because that was what the look was about. Diem might have been a man of few words, but he was easily understood.

“When will you—”

“I’ll text you tomorrow afternoon when I wake up and reevaluate my life choices.” I sighed. “You know I could have gotten laid tonight, but I came here instead.”

It was a lie, but I was curious how Diem would react. His discomfort all evening was in part to do with our history. Anyone with half a brain could tell Diem didn’t know how to act in my presence.

“I’m sorry,” he sputtered. “Bad timing.” Then he busied himself, putting the iPad away and finding another piece of gum. Snagging his keys, he pushed back from the desk and headed to the door. Not once did he look at me, but the tightness in his shoulders spoke volumes.

It was a quiet ride to my apartment. Diem could barely muster a proper goodbye when he dropped me off, but he didn’t drive away until I was inside the building. I wasn’t sure whether he was looking out for my safety or admiring the walk he claimed I’d perfected. I might have added extra swagger to be an ass. So what if I liked the attention? Sue me.

5

Diem

Tallus made me wait until six o’clock Saturday night for an answer. I refused to text first, partly because I didn’t want to add pressure and fuck my chances but mostly because I didn’t want to say the wrong thing. When his text came through—I’m in, but you’re acting along with me, so be prepared. No arguing!—I wore a hole in the floor from pacing.

What the hell was he talking about? That wasn’t the plan. I didn’t act. Twice, I almost texted back and told him to forget it. Twice, I managed to stop myself before hitting Send. How was that for self-restraint? It didn’t mean I hadn’t spent the night in a twist of blankets and with high blood pressure, wondering if I’d made a huge mistake involving the hot-as-fuck records clerk with a case.

On Sunday morning, I spent two hours at the gym, taking out my stress on a punching bag and fighting the craving for a cigarette. The bag was a tool I used to alleviate anxiety, andit took a licking almost daily. I was doing my best to adopt healthier habits. According to my therapist, I was doing well.

By the time I was done, my knuckles ached despite the tape, but it was a good ache. A healthy ache. It wasn’t broken finger joints from hitting a brick wall. I’d done that a few times and regretted it. It wasn’t lung cancer from chain-smoking a whole pack of Players. It wasn’t alcohol at eight in the morning—breakfast of champions, according to my father, and look how he turned out.

More importantly, it wasn’t picking up the phone and yelling at Tallus until I was blue in the face because he was fucking with my carefully constructed plan, and why couldn’t he do as I asked?

By the time I got home, I was calmer. I drank a Dr Pepper for a hit of caffeine and spent time with Baby, my four-foot-long red-tailed boa. She liked attention, especially as feeding time grew closer. More alert, she squirmed and slithered around my arms, listening to my voice when I talked softly and quietly. She was the only friend I had. For anyone who thought snakes didn’t have personalities, they were dead wrong. Baby had all kinds, and she was about the only living thing I could tolerate—after Nana. Which reminded me I had to pop over for a visit soon.

Tallus agreed to meet at my downtown office at one o’clock to review his supposed game plan before the gala started at three.Hisgame plan. Like this wasn’tmycase. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Tallus had done something similar with the Aurelian job before Christmas. He’d waltzed in with his too-perfect body and sinful smirk and dictated what needed to be done, and because I failed at knowing how to communicate, I’d let him.

And it had nothing to do with the stranglehold the man had on my libido.

A rap at the door drew me up short. Knowing Tallus didn’t approve of Baby, I put her back in the aquarium before stalkingto the other room. I’d had enough time to ponder Tallus’s text from the previous night and his suggestion that I wasactingalong with him. I was ready to give him a piece of my mind and inform the nobody, hot-as-sin records-clerk, wannabe detective thatIwas in charge, andhewouldn’t be dictating anything.

---