Mica (Rebel Wayfarers MC) (37 page)

She could hear noise in the background before J.J. spoke, the sound of air wrenches, laughter, and deep voices calling in the distance. He must be at the shop in Milwaukee, calling from his office. “Just a sec,” he said, and she heard a door close, muting the background noises further. “Mica, its J.J.”

“Hey, J.J., how are you doing?” she asked brightly. “Work keeping you busy, now that the website is updated and all fancy-pants?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s good; you and Jess do good work. Hey, umm…yeah, that’s not why I called.” J.J. paused, and she heard him breathing and the rustle of clothing, like he had wiped his face on his sleeve. “Mica, I love my brother, but he’s become a real bastard over the past few weeks. I wouldn’t normally get in his business, but I’m really worried about him. Can you tell me what happened? I know you probably don’t want to talk about it either, but he’s killing us up here, and he’s killing himself too.” His voice tightened. “What happened between the two of you?”

She heard the conference room door open, and Jess walked in to lean against the wall. Glaring at Jess and shaking her head, she pointed at the door in a clear invitation for Jess to remove herself from the room. Jess laughed soundlessly and shook her head.

“Mica, are you still there?” came from the phone.

“Yes, J.J., I’m here. It—what happened—well,” she stuttered, hanging her head, her hair framing her face and blocking out the room, “it was me that happened, J.J.. Just me. I couldn’t be what Daniel deserved.” She tossed her head back, clearing her hair from her face, wincing as her voice began to shake. “There’s about a 757’s worth of baggage following me around, and he doesn’t need that. I wasn’t able to…well…I simply couldn’t anymore.” Taking in a ragged breath, she went on, “It’s not been easy for me, either, but it’s better to end things now…before he can be hurt.”

A growl of laughter came from the phone. “You don’t think he’s hurting now? Have you seen Danny since you left him? Look at the news reports about his game play, Mica, and then tell me that this is ‘better’ and that he isn’t ‘hurt’. If you can honestly tell me what he’s going through right now is better than the two of you together, then I’ll accept it. I think you love him, so you need to understand what’s going on—at least, I think you do…did. Hell, I don’t know anymore.”

The background noises on the phone got louder, and Mica heard Dickie’s voice in J.J.’s office. She started crying at the questions he fired at his brother. “Did you call her, J.J.? What the hell is her problem, man? Tell her not to come back around; he would’ve been better off fucking Amy at this rate.” The sound quality of the call changed, and J.J. said, “Mica, I have you on speaker; Dickie, close the door.”

A solid click sounded through the phone, followed by a loud crash that made both women jump. Then Dickie spoke, sounding like his mouth was very close to the phone, “Mica, what is your problem? We all thought you guys were good. Did Danny do anything wrong, did he hurt you, sweetness?”

She shook her head, and then realized they couldn’t see her. “No, guys, Daniel didn’t do anything wrong. He was upfront about everything about himself. He is right, and true, and good…and I’m all wrong for him. I can’t be what he wants. I tried, but I can’t be…I just can’t.” She was hiccupping with sobs now. “It’s better to end things now, before anything happens that’ll get him hurt. I don’t want him hurting, J.J.. I never wanted that. I do love him. Tell him I’m sorry—so sorry.” She was crying in earnest, unable to speak, and laid her head on her arms.

Jess reached over and disconnected the call before Daniel’s brothers could respond, gazing down at Mica’s head pillowed on the tabletop. Cocking her head to one side, she slid a box of tissues over to her and asked, “You never told him about the threats, did you?”

Mica shook her head, rolling it back and forth on her arms.

Tug spoke up from behind Jess, pulling a startled scream from her. “What threats?”

***

“Prez, I found out what our princess has been hiding,” Tug said into the phone without preamble.

“Go,” was the response from Mason.

“Fucker Nelms has been writing her for weeks. He’s threatened everyone close to her; some of them are fucking twisted, man.” He cleared his throat and continued, “She’s been trying to deal on her own, Mason. That’s why she looks like shit.”

“Get the shit from her; tell her not to open any more of them. She just needs to…fuck it, I’ll tell her,” Mason growled. “Be there in ten. You don’t fucking move.”

Tug walked back into the conference room, shaking his head at Mica and Jess. “Mason isn’t happy, ladies. He’s on his way, and we,” he motioned to the three of them, “are to hang until he gets here.”

Jess lolled her head back on the chair, rolling her eyes at the ceiling. “Fine, but if I havta pee, I’m going alone.”

Shifting his gaze to Mica, he noted her hands shaking as she pushed her hair back from her face. She opted not to say anything, and they sat in silence until Mason walked into the room a little while later.

“Babe,” he stood in the doorway, arms folded across his chest and eyes narrowed, looking at Mica, “you can’t fix everything by yourself. Don’t you fucking know this yet?” he asked her, watching as she closed her eyes and nodded. “Babe, look at me.” He took a step into the room, relaxing his stance as she opened her eyes. “Better. Now, tell me.”

“Ray sent letters. There’s a lot of them, Mason,” she started, her voice pitched low. “He’s threatened everyone I love in some way or another. I’ll give you the letters.”

“And you aren’t going to open any more,” he ordered. “You are going to call me or Tug, and we’ll pick them up. You don’t need to invite that shit into your life. Let us deal; let us take care of you.” He opened his arms and she stood, hurrying into his close embrace. “Let me take care of you, babe.”

Turning his head, he told Tug, “Tell Slate we need a meeting.”

45 -
            
You go, I go

“Slate, you don’t understand. I have to go to this meeting at my client’s office.” Mica dragged her hands through her hair anxiously. “I can’t miss this meeting. Thomas Donnelly is set to give final approval on the software we developed for him, and once he gives approval, I can invoice him,” her tone took on a sing-song cadence as she continued, “and once I invoice him, he can pay me, and once he pays me, I can buy groceries, and once I buy groceries, I can feed you and the other guys more than peanut butter sandwiches.” She held up her hands in supplication. “So now, would you pretty please get the heck out of my frickin’ way, jerkface?” Her voice rose in volume.

Staring intently in that way he had, Slate shrugged his shoulders and said simply, “You go, I go.” Bending to pick up her bag, he adjusted his suit jacket and stepped out of the doorway. He waited there for her to precede him into the foyer, and then followed her to the elevator.

Mica glared at him. “You can’t go with me, Slate. You don’t work for me.”

He shrugged again. “Mason’s decree, princess, so I can’t let you go without me, especially not now. You go, I go—simple as that,” he shifted the bag higher on his shoulder, “so deal.”

“I hate this sometimes, Slate. Don’t ya get tired of babysitting me?” She stomped over to the elevator, pushing the call button fiercely.

“More than you fucking know, princess,” he drawled, trying for an imitation of her accent, which was slipping out because she was frustrated, “more than you will ever fucking know.” He ran a finger around the edge of the dress shirt collar, slightly loosening the tie knot at his throat.

They took the train over, Slate insisting on schlepping the bag for Mica. Stepping off the elevator and pausing for a moment outside Donnelly’s office, Mica smoothed her hair and skirt. She took the bag from Slate, and hitched it up higher on her shoulder.

She pointed at a row of chairs and couches arranged near the glass wall to one side of the receptionist. “Sit, Slate, this shouldn’t take more than an hour at the most.”

He shook his head pensively. “Naw, don’t think so, princess. I can’t keep an eye on you from out here.”

He’s got to be kidding
, she thought. She really hoped he was yanking her chain, rather than being serious. She thought he might have lost his mind. He held the face for a second more before he broke into a small, sexy smile that tipped up one side of his mouth, letting her know he was, in fact, just joking. She thought if he smiled more often, he would be a nice looking guy, but his typical scowl had already settled back into his features as if the cloud had never lifted, and he made his way over to the couch, which had a perfect view of all the doors anyone might be able to…snag her from, she supposed.

Rolling her eyes towards the ceiling, she turned back to the receptionist. “Mica Scott, MishMash Development, I have a two o’clock with Mr. Donnelly.”

“Go right in, Ms. Scott. Mr. Donnelly is ready for you,” answered the pretty blonde sitting at the desk. “Are there any special technical set-ups you need assistance with?”

Mica shook her head, reaching for the door handle. “Thanks, but no. I’m good.”

Nearly two hours later, she was finally on her way back from the meeting. Mica was pleased, but exhausted by the meeting. The reaction to the development on which she and Jess had worked so hard had been overwhelmingly positive.

Donnelly’s head of technology had asked a lot of good questions, exhibiting a breadth of knowledge and understanding that validated all the decisions she had made when developing the software. It wasn’t often a client could understand the nuance of things like he had, and his glowing recommendation that the software be accepted right away, as-is, had her soaring emotionally.

Looking over at the chairs for Slate, she was surprised to see a pretty, petite brunette sitting next to him, turned sideways in the seat with one leg folded under her. She had a long red fingernail tracing the ink that showed on the back of his hand. His forehead was crinkled in a hard frown at the woman, and he looked to be shifting away from her in the chair. Mica caught his eye and flashed a smile, nodding at the elevator. She could swear a look of deep relief flashed across his face as he prepared to stand.

The woman turned and frowned deeply at Mica, whining, “Aww, are you taking Mr. Slate away?” and then she pouted. Like…really pouted, sticking her bottom lip out and everything. Mica nearly couldn’t control her face and thought she might die from choking down the laughter.

“Yes, unfortunately,
Mr.
Slate,” emphasis on the ‘mister’, “and I have completed our business.” Mica stepped over to the elevator, pushing the call button. She felt Slate tug at her computer bag as he came to stand close to her side. Surrendering the bag, she half-turned and looked over her shoulder at the door where Donnelly was standing, watching her with a covetous look on his face.

The petite brunette stood and sauntered over towards Donnelly. She was short, even in her tall heels. When she reached him, she asked with a hurt tone  , “Thomas, aren’t you glad to see me?”

Donnelly never took his eyes off Mica and Slate, responding, “Sure, Amy, I’m always glad to see you.”

The receptionist interrupted, “Mrs. Rupert, I have a delivery for you,” and handed her an envelope.

Mica and Slate were unwilling eavesdroppers while waiting on the elevator. They both heard the brunette, Amy Rupert, laugh as she tore the envelope open. “Maybe Daniel is giving me the Mallets, Thomas. I’ve been working on him for weeks now.”

Donnelly kept staring at Mica, even as he reached out for the brunette. He pulled her hard against his front, brazenly grinding his pelvis against her. “I hope so; that would be a good present for his wife.” He stepped backwards into the office, pulling Amy Rupert with him and kicking the door closed.

The elevator doors opened, and Slate’s hand on her back pushed Mica into the car. It was a good thing, because otherwise, she didn’t think her feet would have been able to move.

46 -
            
Cut a rocker

“I know, I know. Honestly, I really do know I have absolutely no right to be upset. No right at all,” Mica shouted towards the kitchen
from her bedroom. She was changing into comfortable clothes, holding a one-sided conversation with Slate.

“And yet, I’m pissed. Really pissed. Do you know I did a Google search, and sure enough, he has a wife…well, an ex-wife. I remember when Dickie said Daniel would be ‘better off with Amy’. He was talking about that woman, Slate.” She tugged her shirt over her head, walking up the hallway.

Stalking into the kitchen, Mica glared over at Slate. He felt the weight of her stare on him as he leaned against the countertop. She’d been doing this the whole way home, like it was his fault the hot brunette was Daniel’s ex-wife. Slate normally liked hanging with Mica because she was funny. He could also nearly always get a rise out of her by teasing the shit out of her, but this babysitting shit was getting old, and Mason needed to figure out things soon.

Leaning back on the stool, Slate looked at the ceiling for inspiration. He could not get used to this woman. She was full of serious contradictions—seemingly all strong, owning her own business and taking care of shit on one hand, and in the next second, she’d simply bow down and do whatever Mason said. She never bucked Mason, even if it meant she had to deal with rough ass bikers virtually moving in with her for months on end, and being treated like everybody’s little sister.