Page 24 of Dead Serious with Benefits
By all accounts, Olivia Thorne was a successful, happy young woman making her first real steps in the world and putting her stamp on it. Until she wound up dead, shocking everyone by suddenly taking her own life.
A rhythmic but rapid tapping pulled me from my thoughts until I realized it was coming from me. I frowned at the pencil as if it were somehow its fault when I couldn’t immediately figure out what had me so restless. Nothing in the file was particularly distressing, nothing that reminded me of my own life beyond the distinct feeling of loneliness I got from her.
Perhaps that was what it was. No one else in her life seemed to have noticed her loneliness. She was punctual, always showed up for birthday parties with a gift, always there when someone needed help or a shoulder to cry on. Yet there wasn’t one person who claimed to be close to her. But they clearly missed the woman who was missing something so dearly in her life that she?—
My eyes fell on my phone, and my frown eased, a sigh slipping from me as I understood. I was exceptionally close to the truth. There had been nothing particularly upsetting about her file, but it was where thinking about her made my thoughts drift to...that was a different matter entirely.
I stared at my phone, brow wrinkling and irritated that I had broken my workflow. It wasn’t often that something was so distracting that I couldn’t lose myself in my work. Now I had something bubbling away in the back of my head, and it wouldn’t be ignored for long.
I wasn’t one to believe in fate or destiny, but I did notice that the universe had a certain degree of synchronicity, evencoincidence. Not just my thoughts, or this woman, but the fact that Mitchell had decided to ask me about my love life when it was a subject he didn’t usually bring up with me. Yet he had, and now the subject was burned into my brain, leaving me wondering...curious?—
Curious about the strange man with gray, almost sad eyes. A man who had seemed bright, cheerful, and even a little uncaring about the world around him. Yet I had sensed a deep well of sadness and loneliness in him. He hadn’t been shy about mentioning how bored he was, and his constant need for something interesting to happen, good or bad, just so long as it was interesting. It was, to some, the behavior of a bored, spoiled socialite who didn’t want to take responsibility for the consequences of his actions or had bought everything but meaning. I suppose those things could be true, but I saw a man in constant battle with a devastating state of ennui.
So why was that intriguing to me? Why did it hold my attention?
I didn’t know. But there was only one way to find out.
With a sigh, I opened my contacts and scrolled, going down to W and staring at the name...and the green call button. There were several reasons I should call and at least talk to him. He had intrigued me, different from what I was used to, and not at all what I expected to find that night. And yet here I was, hesitant to call, knowing he couldn’t take the decision out of my hands and call me instead, as I was the only one with contact information.
Sowhy was Iso hesitant? Was it because we were that different? Was it because I was worried? Worried about what? There was nothing to worry about in a simple phone call. It wasn’t as though he presented a real threat to me or offended me. All he had done was...what? Show an interest in me? Ask me out on a date? Sheesh, the man had even tried to be respectfuljust in case and backtracked enough to say that it didn’t have to be a date if I didn’t want it to be.
So, why the hesitation?
It was like trying to figure out why he was so enticing; all I could do was find out. Boldness didn’t come easy, but I suppose I wasn’t being all that bold. It was simply finding the courage to hit a button and call someone who had already taken the first steps. God, if there was one thing I could trust myself to do, it was dial a number. I apparently had to hit the button and panic as I figured out if I should go with the speaker or the regular phone microphone before it stopped ringing. I watched the call counter begin.
“Hello?” came his voice, and I fumbled with the phone, feeling my face warm as I remembered the sound quality would be terrible in this echoing room, and stuck the phone to my ear.
“Hello,” I said, thankful I had trained my voice to sound calm and in control when called for. “Ward?”
“I could check my ID, but I’m sure that’s who I am,” he said, and I couldn’t help but smile. One didn’t grow up with a family like mine without an appreciation for a dry, smartass sense of humor. Or at least, I hadn’t.
“Well, hello,” I repeated, wincing at the stupidity. I was as awkward and at a loss for words as the night I’d met him. It was a miracle I had managed to talk to him without losing all dignity, and apparently, I was going to need that miracle again before I got off this phone. “This is?—”
“Arlo,” he said smoothly, and I envied his calm. “I recognize that voice.”
“Really?” I wondered, feeling a flush of excitement. I wasn’t sold on the idea of doing more than talking to him on the phone, but being recognized was a nice feeling. “Phones usually distort how someone sounds.”
“Usually, but you have a distinct voice...and manner of speech,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m certain I could pick your voice out of a crowd, blindfolded in a ballroom full of people.”
“I...will be honest, I’m not sure how to respond to that,” I told him, falling back on being honest rather than trying to find the right thing to say to keep the conversation going. It wasn’t a tactic I had to use often, but as I had discovered a few days ago, he had a way of making me fall back on my emergency plans. Which I suppose went a long way toward explaining why he was interesting and unnerving to me. It wasn’t often that a person made my carefully arranged social ‘plans’ fall apart just by existing.
“Interesting,” he said, and I wondered if that was a catchphrase of his. “You called me, so I assume you knew what you wanted to say.”
“Hmmm, you assumed wrong, it seems. Though my mother certainly had an opinion on the matter of assuming.”
“As does mine, perhaps it’s even the same one.”
“That it leads to certain people looking...not the best?”
“That’s the one,” he snorted. “Ironic, considering she’s prone to assuming. But self-reflection and evaluation have never been her strong suit. Well, I suppose that’s not necessarily accurate either.”
“How so?” I wondered. It was obvious from our first conversation that his relationship with his mother was not good. I had no idea if he had a father, let alone how he felt about him.
“She is the sort of woman who will not miss a wrinkle in a skirt, a curl out of place, or a misstep in a conversation or political maneuvering. She’s not looking to evaluate kindness, compassion, or improving oneself in a manner any therapist would approve of. No, she looks for someone of strong will, sharp mind, self-control that would put a monk to shame, anda ruthlessness mixed with diplomacy that would leave Kissinger green with envy.”
“I see,” I said with a smirk. “So would that make your mother a businesswoman?”
“She certainly is, but her main profession is politics.”
