Bone Frog Bachelor (Bachelor Tower Series) Page 4

  I checked my rear-view mirror as I pulled into my driveway.

  Yup, I had perspiration on my upper lip. Good thing Judie couldn’t see the flush on my cheeks too.

  “So did you tell him who you were?”

  “Not on your life.”

  “So that’s it? You met him, what, and then walked away?”

  I saw myself hanging off the bed as he buried his face in my crotch. I could feel the smooth grey carpet with my fingertips, my back arched, my knees bent and spread wide for him. I didn’t walk away. I floated away. I vibrated all the way down the elevator. If I’d bumped into anyone, we would have both burst into flames, with how hot I was.

  “Yes, I met him, and left my phone number. If he wants to see me, he’ll call. But the next step is up to him. I just wanted to meet him and not have him feel obligated to talk to me because of Em. And he didn’t figure it out. Like I said, he was a real gentleman.”

  I had him in my mouth as his fingers lazily messed my hair in all directions. I pretended to hear him whisper, “Oh, sweetheart,” which of course didn’t really happen. But I got him harder again after our second or third round, and he showed his appreciation thoroughly afterwards.

  “You surprise me, Shannon. From all the talk—”

  “What do you take me for, Judie?”

  Again, my lies were making me a bit careless. But I couldn’t help thinking he’d recognize the scent of my body, too, if I were to casually pass him by in some hallway. That he’d be moved to slip me into a broom closet or bathroom for something dangerous and quick.

  I was every bit the slut she was thinking of. I was desperate to prove it too.

  No, something had been unleashed, and things were never going to be the same again. But that had been what I was looking for all along. I walked around like a marionette, my wrists and ankles tied with invisible golden threads pulling me back to Boston where I would watch the twinkle lights of the city until I could no longer focus.

  Judie paused. “You’re kinda breathing hard, Shannon. Are you okay?”

  “Never better.”

  Chapter 5

  Marco

  I took two days, reviewing the numbers carefully, and could see how Frank would come to the conclusion I needed to unload one of my entities in order to save the rest. My net worth was less than half what it had been before the divorce and resulting proceedings, something I hadn’t wanted to look at in black and white until now, but the biggest problem was that my much-needed cash flow had been consumed with legal fees and other restructuring necessary to protect me and the rest of my assets. All that would be on-going. And now she wanted the Florida project, the one entity that wasn’t going to make me money, but was the one thing I felt the most passionately about: getting homes for disabled Navy SEALs.

  I scoured the balance sheets, searched my records for details he’d given me online, backing up the summaries he’d presented. I looked for a flaw in his analysis.

  I didn’t find one.

  As I’d learned from my training, I began coming up with a plan by first filling out the knowns and identifying the huge gaps and unknowns before coming up with the plan I could dive feet first into. The list was growing the more I brainstormed. Prioritizing the most important, I began checking off the items as fast as I could re-allocate them, sometimes even changing their value. We used to do this all the time on the Teams, checking and re-checking targets and assets, evaluating and re-evaluating methods and task details. A successful mission was all about identifying the strategy needed so we wouldn’t have to think—we could just execute the plan. And all of it was always heavily dependent on the quality of the information used to create the plan in the first place. That’s what I was going for. Accuracy. Facts. Looking for problems and potential pitfalls so nothing would be unaccounted for.

  I spoke to several department heads and called a board meeting in D.C. for early next week, when I hoped to have a decision made so I could announce our new direction. I needed to touch base with my attorney about the new subpoena. I toyed with the idea of flying down to Florida to meet with the non-profit group working on the housing project, just to take their temperature and perhaps warn them.

  The comment Senator Campbell made bothered me, and I knew shirking that phone call would be a mistake. My heart and my gut weren’t up to it, but I manned up and dialed his personal number.

  “Hey, Marco. Long time no hear. You still got all your arms and legs intact?”

  I had been trained never to show emotion, so, even on the phone I wasn’t going to wince because I knew he’d hear it in my voice.

  “I picked her for all the wrong reasons, Senator. Thing is, I can admit a mistake when I’ve made one, and this one was colossal. But not fatal. You know what they say about a wounded bear?”

  Campbell had a belly laugh at that one. “Glad to say I don’t share your experience, Marco, knock on wood. Beth and I have been happily married for nearly twenty-four years.” He paused carefully, taking in a deep breath. “Frank told me about your meeting on Tuesday, and he mentioned he brought up my offer to make introductions to the sultan of Bonin. He said you might consider speaking with him.”

  “I am willing to listen. No promises.”

  “Of course. I think he’s been around long enough to understand this. But he is rather persistent and insisted that the two of you discuss your mutual futures in person.”

  I suspected the sultan was a heavy contributor to the Senator’s re-election campaign. Whatever mutual future there was between the sultan and I would no doubt include the Senator as well.

  “As I said, no promises. But yes, I’ll speak with him.”

  “Good. That’s good, Marco. I know you are busy, but when can I tell him you’d be available and are you willing to travel?”

  I knew it would be far easier for me to travel with a small contingent than for the sultan to come with his harem, his princelings and several of his grandchildren. I also knew that I could slip in and out easier than he ever could, so our meeting could truly be done in secret. I agreed to let the senator arrange a meeting at one of the sultan’s properties, a luxurious palace on one of the islands in the Indian Ocean. I’d been there before once when I was still on the Teams and we helped with a sweep of the grounds when a suspected terrorist was smuggled there. We captured the bastard in a storage closet at the sultan’s enormous kitchen. The terrorist saved us a lot of time and trouble too, since his interrogation was done in secret aboard a Naval vessel nearby.

  I could arrange the transportation, thereby ensuring my safety, if the sultan could agree to the airdrop and the exact timing. Senator Campbell promised to get back to me within 24 hours. I asked him for permission to use Naval assets if need be for landing and he said he’d arrange it.

  Checking contract scheduling, I noticed I had a Little Bird, my pet nickname for one of my favorite little Sikorskys, safely stored in the Maldives. That might give me some luck with Diego Garcia friendlies, and besides, the Navy owed me some serious favors. If I could piggyback, an Indian Ocean meeting was entirely possible, and wouldn’t require much in the way of expense.

  So I was boxing myself in, fixing myself up not to be able to say no, since Senator Campbell had some serious Armed Services creds. But more importantly, his wife was the younger sister of the First Lady, which had even more weight.

  Barely four hours went by before I was contacted by “Harry”, the sultan’s gay bastard son, born of a favorite harem girl and never in line to the throne, partly because of his birth lineage but most certainly due to his sexual preferences. I’d worked with him before. He’d grown up as close to an American kid as possible, even attended NYU film school while living with his mother in a purchased brownstone in Brooklyn Heights. The sultan hired him right out of college to be his social secretary and trusted the kid with his life. In return, the son lived a lavish lifestyle he’d have never had and promised he’d never disrespect his father.

  “Well, Marco. I guess we�
�ll be working together again. My father is most anxious to get caught up.”

  “I’ll bet. So, which one of your idiot brothers is heading the project in Africa?” I asked. Harry, short for Hanarabi, and I had always been on close terms, not dissimilar to how I used to joke with my Teammates.

  “Oh, that would be Khalil and Absalom. You know they both graduated with advanced degrees in engineering and architecture at MIT.”

  “Glad to hear it. I was afraid they’d be tossed before they could finish.”

  “Hardly, Uncle Marco,” Harry resurrected that name I’d not heard for over five years. “They were way more serious about their studies and their legacy than I ever was. I’m still looking to make my directorial debut.”

  “Which means your father has turned you down another dozen times.”

  “Quite right.” He sighed. “But in the meantime, all this work takes the place of the bright lights on the marquee in Times Square. Someday, if my father doesn’t manage to live to be a hundred like his father, I might actually get a chance!”

  “In his line of work, that’s a good thing, Harry.”

  “You mean being sultan?”

  “I know men who would consider it a full-time job to keep all those women happy in your father’s stable. And I mean him no disrespect, Harry.”

  “Oh I get it. But he pays to play. Look at all the family he supports. So now he wants to see my brothers become successful businessmen, something he was not allowed to do by his own father.”

  “Do they know?”

  “Do they know what? Oh! That I am their brother? Oh heaven’s no! There are always palace rumors, but nothing he can’t quickly quash. My mother’s life would be in danger, and she has no protection.”

  “So he’s still kept that golden leash on you.”

  “Oh, Marco, you know I love the man. He’s always been good to us. I am a devoted sycophant, and he knows he can trust me with his life. I don’t think any of his wives he’d say the same about.”

  “Bingo. Women are complicated. I learned that lesson the hard way.”

  “I’ve heard.”

  I knew they’d have done their research before reaching out. “So, you have the dates and the arrangements figured out?”

  “I have them coming to you over a secure link, encrypted with your mother’s birthdate added to the date of your wedding.”

  “Grrr…” They really had stepped up their game.

  “Oh stop it, Uncle Marco. She can’t be that bad. You were with her for a long time.”

  “Too long. Tell me she hasn’t made any contact with him.”

  “Haven’t heard a peep. So you’ll be coming alone or is there a new Mrs. Gambini in the wings?”

  “I’m solo. Probably going to be that way for the remainder.”

  “So, we’re more alike than you realized, Uncle Marco.”

  “Watch it, kid.”

  We wrapped up and several minutes later I got the encrypted files giving me the time, place and several letters of permission and introduction to any of the government entities I might have to deal with to get permission to travel.

  At the bottom of the document was a figure the sultan was offering, which I knew I could bump up if I needed to. But it was a figure that would pay for all my business expenses for the next three years.

  I smiled, not at the number, but at the idea that I didn’t have to share one penny of that with Rebecca.

  If I took the job, of course.

  Chapter 6

  Shannon

  The newsroom was buzzing with local discussions and issues related to voter registration and challenges to politicians running in various runoff elections and pivots for posturing in the next general election, which was thankfully several months away. So of course weather was more important as residents of the greater Tampa area and beach communities planned their vacations, their fishing trips and outdoor events.

  I allowed the makeup artist to finish, curling my hair and doing a soft blowout, when I removed the drape and stepped into the green screen. I demonstrated that the next hurricane would be heading west of them, heading right up the middle of the Gulf to land perhaps on New Orleans or Galveston, and not anywhere near my sleepy beach bungalow. I gracefully pointed to the string of “recruits” as I called them, lined up to run in and wreak havoc right behind Hurricane Eloise. Everyone was praying that Eloise would change her temperament and become a tropical storm. I told my audience that I was hoping she’d be a good girl and winked. The Program Director gave me a wide smile in return, followed by a thumbs up.

  Of course, I couldn’t get off the stage fast enough to avoid bumping into Clarence Thompson, who pretended he didn’t see me. It gave him a change to feel my tits with the flabby upper chest of his. If his hands had been used to stop his forward momentum, I was prepared to slap him. Hard.

  Luckily, Clarence was creepy, but somewhat on his better behavior. Besides, there were ten sets of eyes staring right at both of us.

  “Shannon, glad you made it back to our beautiful little paradise. How was Boston?”

  I was surprised he knew anything about where I was going.

  “Colder,” I said, and made sure it sounded that way too.

  He blushed pink from my subtle insult and then broke out in a wide smile. “Well, we’re all very glad you’re back. Things are just never the same when you’re gone.” He had placed his palm over his heart. He should have just been honest and grabbed his dick.

  I imagined the scent, the feel of Marco’s strong body on top of me, beneath my undulating hips, and how he made me feel, and took secret pride in the knowledge that this cretin couldn’t take any of that beautiful memory away from me. It would forever be my secret, the most valuable thing I owned, at least for right now.

  I ignored the comment and walked back to the green room for something to drink, awaiting my next performance. The room was plastered with big screens which not only showed content of tonight’s broadcast in three sizes, but several other news channels, several of them national and cable.

  One of the stories a competing station was running was a story on the housing project Marco Gambini had started in Bellaire Beach and how there was some concern the project would no longer be built, due to complications resulting from Marco’s recent financial setbacks, without mentioning the contentious divorce. I listened by walking closer to the screen with my water bottle, as the newscaster played a quick clip of Rebecca Gambini’s interview done earlier that day. I watched the woman with new appreciation for what a mismatch she was for him, and it made me smile.

  “Yes, well, there have been some restructuring measures taking place at the present time. Some of the Bone Frog Industries projects have been sadly neglected, and I’m rushing in to see what I can do to rescue them,” she said, her lying eyes trying to look all wide and doe-like. I knew exactly what kind of poison was brewing in her belly and I said a secret prayer that those acids would become lethal.

  The interviewer asked her a question. “Forgive me, but wasn’t this a project your former husband had been working on alone? So now you’ve been given authority to carry the ball, so to speak?”

  Rebecca clearly didn’t like that comment and glared at the young interviewer. She throttled the microphone placed toward her, squeezing her fingers over the young woman’s, leaned in, and said, “It’s called fruits of the marriage, Gaylee. I’m passionate about this work and how it is to go forward, so that’s why I’m here.” She outstretched her many-ringed and diamond-encrusted fingers with the bright red nail polish, motioning over the vacant lot that had an acre of palm trees cut down behind her.

  The woman was here! She was in this area, spreading her venom all around her. I shouldn’t have been surprised.

  This gave me an idea.

  My Program Director, Jared Newsome, was shutting down his office when I arrived after my third weather report. His warm handsome face didn’t hide his appreciation that I’d graced his doorway.

  “All
done tonight?”

  “You know I am.”

  He shrugged. “Care to join me for a cocktail? You can tell me about your trip.”

  Why was everyone at the station riveted on my personal life?

  “No, thanks. I appreciate it, but I’m going to lay low for a few days and get my land legs back. I really don’t like flying.”

  “Really?” He gave me a quick look over and then shut his eyes tight. “I’m sorry. That was—”

  “What I would have thought too,” I answered for him. “And no, it’s not a sexual thing like they say. I’m just tired from the travel and being jammed into small spaces. I always get this way when I come back from a trip.”

  “Of course. So, what’s up?” He closed his laptop, pushed it into his padded case, tucked his rolling chair into his desk and came around to stand in front of me. I could tell he was going to ask me again, and again I would be turning him down. But I liked him. I genuinely liked him, and I was hoping that we could maintain the good friendship and trust I felt we had together. I considered him sort of a mentor. “You’ve not been looking for greener pastures, have you?”

  Now I understood his concern. He was wondering if I’d interviewed at the larger Boston market. It would be an obvious step-up in my career, although perhaps a bit soon.

  “No, Jared. You don’t have to worry about anything like that. I’m extremely grateful for everything you’re doing for me here at the station. I’m not looking.”

  Well, it wasn’t a lie. I wasn’t looking for a new job, at least.

  “Okay, that’s a relief. We think you fit in nice here. We’d certainly hope you feel the same way.”

  “I do, Jared.”