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***
The morning after I visit Leo's apartment, I get into work just before eight a.m. and summon Tuija. She bursts into the office a few minutes later, my black coffee in one hand and her iPad in the other. Her hair is tied up today, some complicated kind of bun, and she has applied too much makeup to hide her hangover. She looks like a ballerina in drag.
"Are the news editors still using conference suite three for their meetings?" I ask, not looking up from the computer.
"Good morning to you, too." She places my coffee on a glass coaster. "And yes, they are. Why?"
"Clear it out." I flick off my email screen and sit back to appraise her. "It'll hold, what, sixteen desks? I want Silent Witn3ss in there."
She blinks matted black eyelashes against circles of too-pale makeup. "What? I thought—"
"No contract yet, I know. But there will be."
"She wanted to keep her downtown offi—"
"She wants an office in my building. On my floor." I click my fingers. "Oh, and clean Stefan out of the single office beside it. Leo should have her own space."
Tuija sets her iPad down on my desk, her brows furrowed in confusion. "Are you practising some kind of Jedi mind control?"
I snort. "No."
"So how the hell have you pulled this off?"
"Persuasion." I hope.
"Oh, I see." She gives a slow nod. "Right. Okay. So let me get this straight: you want me to throw a dozen pissed editors back into the main newsroom to make space for your little camera cartel?"
"I'm glad we understand each other."
"Where are they meant to meet?"
"They can use one of the conference rooms downstairs." I shrug. "Although it's really not my problem, is it?"
"They could make it your problem. You know how shitty they get."
"Then they know where the door is." I pause for a sip of coffee. "Harvey get back to you with anything?"
She grabs the iPad again, skimming through screens with a finger. "Yep. Nothing to be excited about, though—just a general update, no evidence yet, yada yada."
"How reassuring."
"You want the rest of your itinerary?"
"Already read it." I grin, and she blossoms at the sight. "But you do perform it so nicely."
At that, she turns to leave, but I reach across my desk to yank the hem of her skirt.
"Tuij."
"Mmm?" She glances back, her face falling.
"Stop drinking. I'm not going to ask you again."
It's not the first time we've been through this. Tuija has relapsed two or three times in the years I've known her; she'd tell you it was stress-induced. I, on the other hand, call bullshit. Look at the way she softens in the caress of my concern.
"I'll try," she says quietly.
"No rehab this time. I've got too much going on to lose you."
"Okay." She presses her lips together. "I get it."
"Now go fix our little office problem, and tell Fliss to buzz me as soon as the contract comes through."
She raises two fingers to her forehead in a good-natured mockery of a salute. "Yes, sir."
Indeed.
Sir.
Perhaps I'll make Leo call me that.
***
Two hours later, there's a signed contract on my desk. Leontine Reeves, reads the top signature. Fluid, soft-fingered writing; a flourish around the foot of the R. I run my thumb over the words the same way I did along her inner thigh, mourning the lack of goosebumps, the absence of her trembling flesh.
A strange taste blooms on my tongue; Leo and sweat and the orgasms she hasn't bled for me yet. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
Our lawyers will spend the next few days handling the paperwork, but by next Monday, SilentWitn3ss will be legally mine. Leo will take longer, but not by much.
My phone call is picked up in three rings.
"Hello, SilentWitn3ss," says a polite female voice. "How can I help you?"
You can start by changing to SilentWitn3ss, a division of Lore Incorporated. "Miss Reeves, please."
She clears her throat. "Who's calling, please?"
"Aeron Lore."
Here it comes: the hitch in her breath. Never fails to arouse me, just slightly. "Of course. I'll put you through."
There's no on-hold music at the company, which is somewhere between refreshing and irritating. Not to worry; in a week or so, they'll be in my building and they'll share the same on-hold news updates as everyone else who calls.
"Hello?" says a man, coolly. I recognise the sulky tone. "Finn speaking."
Is he, now? "Is Leo not available?"
"She's in a meeting."
Funny—she wasn't "in a meeting" just two minutes ago. I could bait him, ask him if he'll fetch her regardless because I'm on the line, but it would be pointless when she's already trying to bait me. "I need to speak to someone about office arrangements."
"Then you can speak to me. I'm on the board of directors."
SilentWitn3ss is so small, they're all on the fucking board. Please. "Well. Finn. Do me a favour, and tell your boss to submit her office requirements via my assistant. She's preparing a space for you as we speak."
Finn splutters. "But—I don't think—Mr Lore, relocation wasn't part of the deal."
"It wasn't on the contract, no." I smile to myself. Run my thumb over Leo's signature. "But trust me, given the level of my investment...Leo is aware of the stipulation."
"She hasn't said anything about it," he retorts.
Snotty little shit.
"No, I doubt she has. Anyway. Pass on the message, please. The space will be ready on Monday, and you're all welcome to visit in the meantime."
"Uh...thanks."
Who will hang up first, I wonder?
"Actually," he says, "if you could just—"
Oh, look at that. It was me.
***
The rest of the week crawls by on its hands and knees.
Finn emails Tuija with a list of requests for the office: furniture, equipment, layout suggestions. Part of the space will need altering for workstations and a small lab, but it's nothing unreasonable. I'm almost disappointed; part of me wondered if she'd push for her own floor. I do have a floor for her, but that pun is way too predictable.
Finn visits the offices. Leo does not.
I release Tuija from her day-to-day duties to project manage SilentWitn3ss's relocation, partly because somebody with a brain needs to do it and partly because I think we could use some time apart. Let her yearn for me a bit so she's grateful for my eventual presence. I'm not an idiot—she's drinking because of me. Flattering as that is, I can't have my inner circle implode just because I've dared to show interest in a woman. The jealousy bus, sports fans: it has two stops only, Purgatory and jail. And Tuija already got off on the first one.
In the meantime, I'm interviewed by Forbes magazine, and a journalist accompanies me to one of Ash's little league games for a semi-biographical feature where I come out looking like a man you could take home to grandma. I want Leo to see these articles. I want her to pass a news stand on her way home and catch a glimpse of the creature who put a gun to her throat while he finger-fucked her sore, only to see what a wholesome role model the public thinks he is—and I want her world to snap shut.
Friday comes and there's been no contact from Leo. Each night, I've spent long minutes thinking back to our encounter in her apartment, touching myself to the memory of her scent. Her voice. The feel of her, deep inside. Surely, she knows that my shadow aches for hers; this is all part of a tease I promised to quit.
But a man has his vices, and mine won't shut up until it has been fed.
I leave the office an hour earlier on Friday and drive to a parking lot downtown, where Tuija reserved a space for me. The streets are crowded—people finishing early shifts, or on their way out to meet friends and lovers—and with my head down, it's easy enough to blend in. I pass restaurants and cocktail bars already filling up, art cinemas with irritating, makeshift signs outside, and delis selling off the last of their cupcakes. New York is a haze of old and new cigarette smoke, traffic and bodies; a warm, acrid sludge of air.
