Page 116 of Damaged

“So, what’s your idea?”

“Greasy dollar slices. Followed by people watching in Central Park.”

“I was wondering when you’d take me on a proper date.”

He puts on his undershirt and then his watch. The work phone on his desk buzzes again, and I watch him look at it far too quickly. His movement is nervous.

He picks the phone up, taps in the code, and scrolls. “Ah… shit.”

“What?” I ask. I stand up straighter, as if it would help me see the phone screen that’s angled towards him. I’m curious if I’m about to get the whole truth. If he’s about to tell me what it is I don’t know.

“I need to see a client tonight.”

“How come?”

James looks up at me from the phone. I never question why he has to go out. I never ask for more details.

“A client from Japan is in town. Their license on our software expires next month, and it looks like I’m going to have to convince them to renew.”

“Fun stuff.”

“Yeah,” James says with a sigh.

If he was just lying about all that, he did it with such precision that I should run for the hills. But I can’t be paranoid just because I think I saw a flash of nervousness on his face.

“At least we got that in,” James says, referring to the sex, and then he leans in and kisses me on the cheek.

I turn my cheek, a little cold to his lips. I won’t lie. Getting strung up and used during sex is fun, but not so much when your partner bails for the evening afterward. We were supposed to go out.

“Hey,” James says, trying to catch my eye.

I stare back. I can feel my worry flexing the skin of my forehead.

“Tomorrow morning, I’m all yours.”

“Sometimes I feel like I rent you.”

James leans back. I meant it partly as a joke, but he looks offended. “Look around this place, Sophia. When I leave, that’s what I want you to do. Go into every room. Open every closet. I may be rented, but that’s the tradeoff. That’s why I’ll never have to worry about eating expired soups from the food pantry again.”

“I know it’s not easy.”

He starts putting his suit coat back on, but I point to the stain on the knee of his pants from where I rubbed myself.

“You may want to change suits.”

“Oh. Right.”

He leaves me to go to the bedroom and takes his work phone with him. Ten minutes later, I kiss him at the door, still naked, as he leaves.

Another evening by myself. I’ve been spending some time job hunting when I’m alone. I’m still technically employed at McMurphy Beaumont, but work has come to a standstill since the heist. The leads have all gone nowhere. The dead man is yet to be identified. Impressive in this day and age. And a little horrifying.

I’m taking a few free college classes on maritime archaeology. While I started up a dialogue with Claude Bernard’s company, I didn’t take the job Caribbean treasure hunting, but it did start a fascination.

I set up in the sitting room and watch about fifteen minutes of a class before I get distracted and close my laptop.

I stand up and take James’s advice. I know he wasn’t being serious, he was just making a point, but I still walk through the penthouse.

There are five bedrooms. We use one of them.

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