Chapter Five

Life was good. At first, I was hesitant to say so. Feeling on my back foot at work. Vaguely disturbed by the Quinns. But things turned out all right. Work continued to be good. Hard, but just in an interesting and focused way. I wasn’t being followed any more. If Declan had spoken to Kieran, it worked. I had my eyes up and open pretty much anytime after sunset. Sometimes even twitching my curtains aside or just wandering up and down my sidewalk a few times. But I didn’t see any suits. 

I felt healthier and I was sleeping better now that I’d started the new job. Stress dropping, exhaustion falling away. 

And I felt at ease until I saw Declan again. 

Our building was old. There was still a buzzer system on Becky’s desk at the front of the office but it wasn’t hooked up any longer. We just used an instant messaging system. Her go-to to get our coworkers' attention was just typing their name in all-caps. And then giving some kind of background information on what was going on: JACK: your ten o’clock is here.

Today it was: POPPY: RIGHT NOW.

That made me a little bit anxious. I couldn’t imagine what would be “right now.”

I stood up and headed out into the shared space and stopped half-way to Becky’s desk. Arrested in my movement when I saw Declan.

“Good morning,” he said smoothly, holding out a hand to shake. “I know I don’t have an appointment but I only need three minutes or less, so I was hoping–”

“Come on back,” I said, after weakly shaking his hand. 

He settled easily into the “guest” seat in my office. Looking around. Smirking a little over my candy jars and rose-gold pens. I rolled my eyes. I stood at the corner of my desk watching him carefully. 

I felt none of the vulnerability we’d both had the last time we talked. Maybe we were just incapable of it in person. Only able to be combative and brave when we faced each other. 

“This is a test of your intelligence,” he said. 

“Fuck you,” I whispered, glancing around as though some coworker would be hiding in the corners of my office.

He just laughed, hands resting on the arms of his chair, totally relaxed. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve already failed. Tempting you is my stop-gap solution,” he said.

I opened my hand in an impatient ‘go on’ kind of way.

“The Humane Society is having their charity ball,” he said.

“Mmm,” I said, waving more violently now. 

“Come with me,” he said. “I have to make an appearance at all of these things. Be my guest… Be my date.”

He grinned at me. I leaned back against my desk, folding my arms over my chest. I was standing above him and he still made me feel small. Or, more correctly, he made me feel like a prey-animal. Something small, edible. Something that could be dragged back to a den and devoured. 

“See?” he said, opening his own hands in an 'all’s-revealed' way. “I’ve already failed at my attempt to stay away from you. I showed up here. With the hope that I’d be able to spend an evening with you. Maybe even get my hands on you again. I’m hoping you can put-paid to my temptation by saying ‘no’ and firmly ejecting me.” 

I bit my lip and then instantly released it, remembering my lipstick. He made me forget myself. God, I wanted his hands on me again. 

“I have an actual appointment in ten minutes,” I said.

“That’s not a ‘no’,” he said, grinning ferociously.

“Out, out, out,” I said, walking to my door and opening it back up. 

He laughed and made his exit. Waving to me as he went. I almost snarled when I watched him leaning on Becky’s desk. Her smiling up at him. I could just tell they were about to align themselves against me. She was charmed utterly, I could tell. Doing that little Kewpie-doll upturn to her eyes, resting her face prettily on her fingers and gesturing to the corner which had held the bouquet he’d presumably sent. 

I watched Sarita approaching. Declan and her passed what was obviously a greeting. I leapt out onto the floor and went to the little knot of them.

“–and so when I heard that Lychon Bank was also a large sponsor to the Humane Society, I thought I’d ask Ms. Jones to act as a representative and as my guest,” Declan was saying as I approached. 

Fuck. I thought quietly. Well. I’d been ambushed. And I would most certainly lose. Sarita turned to me, smiling.

“Excellent,” she said to me. “That should be a fun night.”

Then she turned back to Declan.

“You can always go to our community outreach to discuss our charitable work and–”

Declan cut her off, nearly rudely, I thought.

“I assumed Ms. Jones was community outreach. Since she was out in the community,” he said, rather pointedly. Making further reference to the lack of safety I had. I swallowed a sigh.  

“Thank you,” I said, raising my eyebrows and getting rather pointed myself.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said. He just smiled in a passing, mild kind of way. Apparently that biting grin was only for us in private. 

“Good work,” Sarita said briskly after he’d left.

“Oh, but–” I began saying.

“I’ll get you some of the business cards for the PR department before the ball,” she said.

“Oh, but–” I tried again.

“Just a good idea to have some with you,” she said, and was gone. 

“God dammit,” I sighed under my breath. 

When I looked up, Becky was wiggling happily in her seat, doing a little dance and grinning.

“Up yours,” I said, going back to my office as she giggled. 

As I was leaving the office that day she hooked her arm around my elbow and grinned up at me.

“I’m angry with you, Beck-aloo,” I said.

“Oh, I know,” she said with a dismissive wave. “But I’m pretty decently sure you need to get a dress and I sure would like to take a trippy-trip to get some bubble bath, and so don’t you think we ought to go shopping?”

I heaved a sigh. Thought about shaking off her little clutching paw. She wasn’t wrong. I definitely didn’t have anything that would suit for such an occasion. Maybe an old bridesmaid dress shoved to the back of my closet. Probably nothing I’d choose to wear again, though. 

“Fine, fuck, okay, let’s go,” I said. “Although you’re buying me dinner.” 

She was squealing through most of what I had to say, though.

“Mhmm!” she squeaked. “Whatever you want.” 

It wasn’t that I dressed modestly– hardly, in fact. I joked that my fashion sense was simply buying one size too small. I didn’t like showing off skin, though. I’d wear skin-tight, but not bare. I was always irritated with formal wear options. Why was it that the only thing for evening-wear was strapless? Who decided that? No one liked strapless. 

Everything Becky flourished at me was far too flashy or with odd slits or cut-outs. Nothing I would feel comfortable wearing at what was ostensibly a networking evening. It was perhaps disingenuous of me to call it that but I was firmly keeping myself in hand and pretending that was the case no matter what. 

Besides, she was picking what I could only think of as “prom” colors. Fuchsia, brilliant blue, cherry red and an odd medicinal pink. I reminded her of what my closet looked like, and she sighed. Moving towards the creams and pastels.

Finally, I found an off-white dress that I liked, tea-length but with long-sleeves and a high collar. Becky nodded her approval, especially over how slim it made my waist look. But she squealed when she found it in black.

“If you wore black, you could wear gold jewelry,” she wheedled. “You know… to stay in theme?”

“I’ll wear gold jewelry regardless,” I said.

“Hmph,” she sighed, turning up her nose.

“I’m not going to play dress-up for him,” I said.

“Why not? Dress-up can be fun,” she teased.

I sighed over the expense and wandered around the mall with her for another hour while she picked out bubble bath and tried to get me to buy a few hundred dollars worth of perfume and clutch bags.

Declan called me while I was at work the next day.

“What color are you wearing, Puppy?” he asked.

“Try again, dickwad,” I said, and hung up.

I picked up when he called back. He was still laughing.

“What color are you wearing, Ms. Jones?” he asked.

“Better,” I said and hung up again.

He wasn’t laughing when he tried again.

“Now my patience has worn thin,” he said, sounding a little growly. 

“Good,” I said. “For once, I’ve irritated you as much as you’ve irritated me.” 

“Well?” he prodded.

“Cream,” I said. Wondering if he was really going to do the matching shirt and tie thing.

“Would you say approximately the same colors as the lilies that were sent to your office?”

“Approximately,” I muttered. 

“What a lovely color for you,” he said. “And I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“You most certainly will not,” I said. “I can just meet you there.”

“I’d rather we did this right,” he said. “Or not do it at all.”

“Let’s not do it at all then,” I said.

“Do you really want to not have this date?” he asked. 

I heard us sliding into a tense quiet. Seeing who was going to break the stalemate. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to not go with him. I wanted, unfortunately, to see what he was going to do next. How he was going to push me and frustrate me. I wondered how to tell him I actually felt safe play-fighting with him. I never felt that way with a man. Worrying always how far I could push him until violence spilled on me. Not with him. He was safe– he would be violent, but not with me. 

“At least let’s not call it a date,” I said.

“Absolutely not!” he said. “No, this is a work-function, Puppy–”

“Poppy!” I cried. “Or even PJ but not–”

“I’ll see you at seven tomorrow night,” he said, hanging up.

I stared down at the blinking end call screen. How did he know where I lived? I guess it was just a matter of asking Lucky.

I sat in my front room the next day to wait for him. I’d sort of rushed home from the office to have time to get ready. Putting on what I thought of as my vampy lipstick. Removing it, using a more subdued pink. Sighing, removing that and going back to the vampy wine color. It looked better with the dress, anyway. 

I had bought a new necklace to wear with the dress while I was out with Becky. I kept waiting for her to make some comment about it. But then I remembered that while I’d told her about the Hound moniker, I hadn’t told her that he kept trying to call me Puppy. 

It was a broad half-circle gold choker with a chain closure. I suppose you could call it a choker but I knew why I’d picked it up– it looked like a collar. 

I saw a car pull up– black, of course. I was about to walk out to my porch but he parked. He stepped out first. Apparently escorting me. I hadn’t had that kind of date in a while. That kind of work function, I corrected myself mentally. 

He knocked and I gathered my things purposefully slowly. I was about to step through the door to him when he pushed me back with a hand on my forearm.

“Let me in,” he grinned at me.

I narrowed my eyes at him. Not frightened but wondering what he was up to. Laying two flowers against my shoulder he tossed one behind him.

“This goes better so,” he said, twirling the flower that matched better. “Help me with the boutonniere, dear, I always stab myself.” 

I stepped to him, fastening his choice to his chest and stepped back. Stepped forward again to adjust. Suddenly I noticed how close we were together. This wasn’t just a handshake, or even my hand on his arm but close enough to embrace. I took a big step backward. I hated how my body wanted to sway into him and how I wanted to tip my chin up to him. 

I couldn’t quite divine how he had this pull on me. Something to do with teasing me, something to do with how he kept trying to hold us apart. Deeper still, an odd little adolescent thrill knowing what his surname meant. Something to do with his teeth or with how gently he could touch me. The barely-seen tattoo, how tired he was with the part he was playing. 

He made it worse by chuckling when he saw the stumbling step backwards I had taken from him. My stupid too-sexy shoes sliding on the tile of my foyer. 

“I won’t eat you, Puppy,” he said, holding out his elbow. 

“Hmph,” I huffed, taking his arm, letting him lead me out to his car. 

We drove in near-silence toward the convention center further downtown. I’d forgotten how long the trip would be from our neighborhood to anyplace they’d be willing to hold such a function. I crossed and uncrossed my ankles. Clasping and unclasping the little lock at the top of my bag. Feeling like a middle schooler on a date with a boy her parents wouldn’t approve of.

“You said you grew up two blocks down Saint’s,” he said into the quiet.

“I did,” I said.

“Calvin Coolidge high school?” he asked.

“Saint Catharine’s,” I said.

“Ah, poor thing,” he said, grinning at me briefly. “I, too, was stuck in the Catholic schools.”

“I can’t picture you in a uniform,” I said.

He just laughed. 

“I don’t remember seeing you running around the streets,” he said. “I think I would have remembered you. I know you’re younger than me… And I guess I wouldn’t have noticed a kid… Still though. I was barely inside my house between sunrise and midnight.”

“My childhood was… The opposite,” I said. “I was with my grandparents and it was all very… straight to school and straight back home for them.” 

“Were you actually a good girl?” he asked.

I grinned a little fiercely and then hid my face.

“I never got into any trouble,” I said carefully.

“Obfuscation!” he cried. “Most assuredly you were a little snake in the garden, then. Forever up to no good, and tracking down yet more trouble at every available opportunity.”

“No!” I teased back. “It was home, school, library, church, for me. I don’t know what kind of alleyway nonsense you got stuck in, but I was hardly allowed to run wild.”

“Ah-ha,” he said, glancing into the rearview mirror at me. “Princess in her tower while the hound plays in the dirt.”

“Not a princess,” I muttered.

“No,” he agreed. “A puppy.”

In a huff I angled my whole body toward the passenger window. Dropping my clutch into my lap and crossing my arms. He just sort of laughed again. 

“Do you like playing with me?” he asked, after another three minutes of silence. 

“Like you mean… Um…” I tried to search for words. Because when he first asked the question, his tone and how seriously he said it made me think of sex. And we hadn’t had sex. We hadn’t even kissed yet. I wouldn’t count his lips on my fingers. Then I realized he meant the tease. The push and pull and arguing.

“Yes…” I said hesitantly. “I do… I–”

This was my chance to tell him. I never had this kind of fun with someone, not with a man. This bratty flirtation. This stupid lack of wariness. And I couldn’t explain it. I’d never had this instant, sighing click with any other man. This surety about him.  

“I like playing with you… because it… It feels safe,” I said.

I was expecting to hear a snort from him. Some sound of derision or another “dumb puppy.” He sighed, eyes flickering to his mirror again to clock my face. I ducked my head, feeling my cheeks flush.

“I don’t know what to say to that,” he said heavily.

“I mean I… I mean, I’m not scared of you. I wouldn’t tell other people to not call me by a certain name. People screw up my name all the time! I’ve had clients who have known me for five years who call me Paige. Or people who insist on calling me by my first name when I introduce myself as Ms. Or just… But I mean, I yell at you about my name. I… I’d never hang up on another man. I’d never fight with them. I… I hate how I don’t fight anybody. I don’t stick up for myself. When people say something awful or offensive, I giggle or keep quiet or just… I just try to push through it. But with you, I can. I can say no to you and I know you won’t hurt me and–” 

I sighed, raising my hand to the roof, my clutch clattering to the floor. I was embarrassed and didn’t know how to explain to him exactly what I meant or how I felt and I was sick of chattering. Voice getting shaky, getting hot and flustered.

“No I… I understood you,” he said. “When I said I didn’t know what to say I just meant that… God, I… I like to hear that… so damn much.” He actually lifted a hand off the wheel long enough to thump his fist into his chest, punctuating the last three words. “But you know it’s not… It’s not true that… It can’t really be that way.”

“It already is, though,” I said quietly.

“I like that you feel safe with me… that I’m not a hound with you. But Poppy, I am. Feelings don’t really change that. I will hurt you. Not on purpose, not even directly. But it will eventually happen,” he said.

“Then what are we doing?” I asked.

“Fucking everything up,” he growled.

We subsided into tense silence until we pulled up to the hotel.