I take the phone and watch some of the videos. I'm no prude by any means and have even been to a couple of BDSM clubs in the city, but this chick definitely got caught doing the wrong things with the wrong people.
"I have photos, too, which are just as bad as these. The bondage, spreader bars, labia clamps, the list is endless."
"From these, it looks like it." I hand him his phone. "How're you going to fix it?"
"It's fixed. Tomorrow, she makes a statement, then we check her into rehab. They delay filming for a while. She takes a huge hit on her fees, but it saves her career. We've built a story about how she was abused as a teenager and never told anyone."
"Is it true?"
"Yeah, but she's reluctant to talk about it. It happened in foster care. I had to wheedle it out of her, but I'm the fixer. It's what I do."
Our plates are both polished, so the waiter swoops in to clear them away.
"Harrison, what happens to the people she was with?"
"We're working on that."
"Like what are you going to do?"
His expression loses every sign of friendliness. "I'm not at liberty to discuss it." He won't bend on this.
"Fair enough. I don't want to know anyway."
"No, you don't."
"So let's blow this place and head to mine. I have some great weed at home."
"Actually, I need to get back. We have an early morning call to run through how her statement is going to go and then the cleanup. You know?"
I don't, but I act like I do.
"Hey, come out to the west coast. It would be a good trip for you."
"Yeah, I might do that." It's one more thing I have no intention of doing anytime soon. Not that I don't love Harrison as a brother, because I do. But right now I need to fix my own shit before I can take off and enjoy myself, and part of my shit is finding Vivi and fucking the pleasure out of her. I want to hear her begging for more and screaming my name as if I were the only man on Earth who could give her what she needs. At the moment, that's all I can think about.
Chapter 5
Vivi
Prescott was right. I did use my fingers. Not once, but three times. And every time, it was his face I saw when I came.
This morning, I ache. For him. What the hell has he done to me? Every time I think of those wicked words he spoke to me, wetness pools between my thighs. My legs clench together more times today than I care to count. To my horror, I even find myself in the bathroom on a break, frantically rubbing myself, just to relieve the pressure that's built up there.
Why did he have to come into the coffee shop that day?
Today is endless. Then, of all days for him to drop by, Joe prances in and pesters me about some inane issue that isn't an issue at all. He only wants to check on whether or not I'm still doing my job. My brain is everywhere but on work and I'm clearly not on my game.
"Vivi, I was wondering when you'll be finished here," he says.
"Joe, as I explained to you earlier, on Monday. Then I'll be rotating to each of the stores next week."
"Then this is perfect timing."
"For what?"
"I'm having some problems implementing your program."
He's not that stupid. "I believe you need one of the employees to teach you how to use it. It really is quite simple and streamlined."
Then I sense it. He leers at me. Shit. Man, did I walk into his trap.
"I think I'm looking at the perfect person for that. Why don't you come to my office on Monday? I think you'll be the perfect instructor for me."
"Um, actually, as I mentioned, I'll be visiting the other shops to get a feel from the employees what they need from me. You know, a sort of best practices thing."
"You get one week, Vivi. Then I'll consider you all mine." Our stares connect and I nod briefly.
I have one week to find another job.
When I get home, I don't bother with dinner. I get online and immediately apply for jobs again. My résumé is in so many places, I'm not sure where else I can post it. My hand itches to call Prescott. I know he's expecting me to, but finding another job is more important right now. The frustrating part of job hunting is the wait. However, I'm resourceful and willing to do menial work until something better opens up. I'll scrub floors or be some kid's nanny if I have to just get away from the scumbag. Joe makes my skin prick when he ogles me.
By the time I turn off the lamp, which sits on the floor next to the air mattress I sleep on, it's close to 2:00 a.m. I see it then. A text that nearly burns a hole in my phone glares at me accusingly. I can almost hear his voice, saying those dirty things to me all over again. And worse, I can hear him scolding me for not calling.
Vivi, it's after midnight, which means today is FRIDAY. You were supposed to call me YESTERDAY. I meant what I said. You owe me a phone call. And I expect to get one. CALL ME! I don't like being ignored.
Shoving the phone under my pillow just to get the damn thing out of my sight doesn't help a bit. It actually makes it worse. I imagine the damn text attacking my phone, infecting it like a virus, sending all sorts of malware throughout it. Oh my God, this is ridiculous. I have to be up in four hours, and Prescott Beckham is fucking with my head. If I didn't live in such a dangerous area of Brooklyn, I'd put on some running shoes and work out my frustrations pounding the streets. But the way my luck runs, I'd get kidnapped, fall into the hands of human traffickers, and no one would ever hear from me again. The thing is, who would give a flying fuck? I have no family, expect for one distant aunt who I rarely speak to. I could be shipped off to some remote corner of the world and that would be it for Vivienne Renard.
When my phone beeps, I'm still wide ass awake. This is going to be the day from hell. By the time I get to work, my stomach is a raw bundle of nerves. Vince is off this morning and won't be in until one. Jackie is here and greets me as I enter.
"Good morning, Vivi."
"Morning, Jackie."
As I get behind the counter, she asks me if I'm okay. "Yeah, why?"
"You're as pale as a ghost. Are you coming down with something? The flu is going around, you know."
"Yeah, I know. I'm fine, though."
Her hand snakes out to land on my forehead. "You don't feel feverish."
"Like I said, I'm fine. I didn't sleep well, is all."
She launches into a long drawn out explanation of why I should take melatonin and how it would benefit me in getting a better night's sleep. All I want to do is yell at her to shut up because what I need is a better job that doesn't require me to work for pervy Joe. But I bite my tongue and smile because she's only trying to help.
"I'll give it a try." Then the issue of Prescott nags at me, but I sweep it under the old rug again.
"How 'bout a cup?"
"Make that a jug," I say.
Jackie laughs. "Latte sound good?"
"Please. Would you mind if I pick your brain?"
"Sure."
Between customers, I question her about the new system-specifically her likes and dislikes. Most of what she doesn't like has to do with her unfamiliarity with certain aspects of it. After I explain things and walk her through everything, she has better opinion of the system.
"Joe should've hired you a long time ago."
"He couldn't have afforded me back then," I mutter.
"What's that?"
"Nothing. So what are you studying? You're at NYU, aren't you?"
"That's right. I'm in the creative writing program. I want to work for one of the Big Five one day as an editor."
"The big five?" I ask.
"You know, one of the big trade publishing houses."
"Right." I take a huge sip of my coffee to cover my idiocy. I hate looking stupid. I should've known what the Big Five were given how much I devour books, or used to anyway.
As I'm sitting here jotting down everything she told me, the bell over the door rings, indicating another customer has entered. It's close to noon, which means the soup crowd will be in. The "More" in Java Beans & More is the soup, bread, and other lunch items the shop serves. It's not the traditional fare, like sandwiches and salads. Joe got it right when he negotiated with one of the local Italian restaurants to sell their soups and bread. He also contracted with one of the local bagel companies. That's what makes us a hit for the breakfast crowd. If you don't get here early, you're out of luck.
"Can I help you?" Jackie asks.
"I'd like Vivi to wait on me." He pronounces every single letter of my name with precision.
Fuck me sideways. Prescott.
Glancing up, I look directly into a pair of angry golden eyes. The pen in my hand shakes, so I set it on the counter to hide my fear.
"Um, hey there." Maybe if I act jovial, he'll get over his anger. "How're you today?"
"You were supposed to call me. Did you forget? Or … wait. How could you? I texted you, let's see"-he pulls out his phone and silently ticks off the number of messages he sent-"six times, Vivi. I texted you six times."