Page 124 of Damaged

“No,” I say, stepping backwards so I don’t do anything stupid. My anger is building. “You’redead, Cody.”

I start back towards the car.

“Leave The Society, James. Or tomorrow this video is everywhere. You may not care, but I bet the girl does.”

The thought of Sophia being exposed in this makes me want to draw my pistol. But there are apartments across the river. Witnesses. This meeting looks comically nefarious. Three men on a rainy wharf. Two black cars. All we’re missing is a fucking black briefcase.

“I promise you, if you release it, it will be among the last things you ever do.”

“Six in the morning. I need an answer by then, James. Sleep on it.”

I climb into the back seat and slam the door shut, but Cody doesn’t seem fazed by my words. That or his sly smile is a bluff. But I don’t think it is.

He knows I can’t risk letting the tape out. I don’t care if my naked body is shown to the world. I might lose a few of my more prudish clients. My own board might attempt a mutiny. But these are things I feel capable of surviving.

But Sophia… How would this make her feel?

“The airport, sir?” Brock asks me.

“Yes.”

The car starts to move, and I clench my teeth and fists. I think of everything I’ve already subjected her to. The Russians in Egypt. The heist. Now she’s implicated in my blackmail. And in three months flat. My life has been a menace to her, and yet she has been nothing but loyal.

Faithful to the belief that love is enough. And all this on the very day those words escaped both our lips…

I get back to the airport, and soon we’re in front of my hanger. “How soon can we depart?”

My pilot isn’t my regular. He’s a tall, skinny Hispanic man with a black mustache named Emmanuel. He’s flown me once or twice. “Twenty minutes,” he says. “We’re still waiting for fuel.”

I wasn’t even gone long enough for the plane to get fueled. As impatient as I am, I take this as a good sign.

We’re in the air in a half hour, and by my calculations, I’ll meet Sophia at the Orchestra Hall with fifteen minutes to spare. That’s it. That’s all the margin for error. I do not want to be late strictly out of principle.

I bounce my leg the whole flight. Constantly turning my wrist to check my watch. I’m a fidgeting portrait of impatience. It’s soon night. The anti-collision light strobes in the dark cabin every few seconds.

Ineedto make it to the orchestra on time. But that’s hardly the only thing torturing me. If I don’t give in to Cody, he’ll post the video. There’s no explaining that to Sophia. The pros and cons.

“It’s going to be a rough descent,” Emmanuel says over the intercom. “There’s a storm over the city. Might be ten minutes late on arrival time. They’re plowing the runway before every landing.”

I lean my head back and watch the clouds fly by the wing. I’d almost rather risk it and not text Sophia that I might be late.But I have to let her know. I try to text her over the Wi-Fi, but the message still fails to send.

There’s a storm over the city.

“Of course there is,” I say aloud.

It matches the one in my heart.

Sophia

I stare out of the broad windows of the hotel suite. The snow falling over the turrets of the Chateau is beautiful. The flakes are thick and lazy until the wind blows and whips them into a frenzy.

Romantic is the word.

I’m picturing being next to James right now. His strong hands on my bare shoulders. It’s where he should be. We would’ve made love all day during the blizzard. The sex would’ve felt different. The eye contact. His touch.

Knowing this passion was deeper than lust.

Now I’m worried that this snow is going to affect his flight. He hasn’t texted me yet. I thought he’d text me when he took off again, but he must be distracted. I wish I remembered the tail number of the plane so I could track it. I should’ve put it in my phone notes.

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