Torn (Lords of the City #1) (9 page)

“I’ll get you home,” Noah said and instructed the driver to take us to my apartment.

“Are you going home too?” I asked. “It’s after midnight. You’re off the clock.”

Noah laughed. “So I am. I think I will go home. For once.”

When the driver pulled up outside my apartment building, I grabbed a bottle of beer and jumped out before Noah could protest. As I walked up the steps to the building, I didn’t turn around to see if he’d left. I knew he hadn’t. I could feel his eyes on me, tracking me, making sure I was safe.

I
n the apartment, Julia was sound asleep on our large brown sofa. She was right. The sooner we added some color, the better. We weren’t Noah. We shouldn’t have to live by his tastes. We needed to express our individuality. On the coffee table in front of the couch were numerous hamburger wrappers and a bag that smelled like there was still food inside. Leaving the wrappers alone, I draped a knitted blanket over my roomie, then went to the window and looked out across the city as I drank my beer.

It was past midnight. Like Noah, I was free to do what I wanted. I could return to the streets, follow the city lights like a moth. This wasn’t Milwaukee, where the breweries sent everyone home at the end of the night. This was Chicago. It didn’t sleep. It thrived in the night, and I felt its heat. The city called to me, seducing me more than Noah ever could.

But that was probably just the beer talking, and my need to distract myself from the seed of doubt Noah had planted in my mind about Corey. I wanted to believe it was another one of Noah’s tactics, but there was evidence that supported his claim that Corey wasn’t coming back. Corey knew where I was, or where I could be. He could contact the company to see if I was there. We could talk. We could, but we didn’t, because Corey hadn’t made the effort to.

Maybe he only wanted me when I was lost,
I thought, taking a sip of the beer.
And now I’m lost no more.

On the couch, Julia turned and slowly sat up. “Why does my breath taste like pickles?” she moaned.

“I think your darker side had a bit of a binge fest,” I said, pointing to the hamburger wrappers. “I wish I’d known. I would have joined you.”

She groaned. “I only order fast food when I’m drunk and alone.”

“You’re not alone now.” I sat on the couch beside her and offered her some of my beer.

“No way,” she declined. “I’m never drinking again. Until tomorrow.” She looked at me uncertainly. “Did Mr. Stafford talk to you about anything interesting?”

“Just the nanotechnology. I guess that means I don’t have to lick envelopes anymore, now that I have clearance.”

“Good riddance. I’d rather do the menial tasks. I don’t want to be the one answering calls. I want to be the one making calls. Until then, send the invitations my way.” She tapped the arm of the couch as if she was nervous. “He didn’t talk about anything else? Anything more personal?”

“No,” I lied, twisting the beer bottle in my hand. I didn’t want to tell her about Corey. Unwilling to confront questions I didn’t have the answers to, I preferred she believed Corey and I were just friends.

Brightening, she snatched the bag from the table and pulled out a hamburger, apparently pleased by my reply. “Do you want to split this?”

“I thought you’d never ask. I’ll take the side without the pickles. I hate pickles.”

“Good, because I love them. A girl can never have enough pickles.”

Famished, I tore into the hamburger, but as I ate, my mind kept wandering back to Corey. Maybe he had been but a mere daydream. Thailand wasn’t my reality. Eating hamburgers with a new friend, a new sister — that was real. My happiness couldn’t depend on Corey. I had to be happy now. I had to free myself from him.

***

Work the next day was fairly quiet. I was alone in the office. Noah was with Julia and his executives within the business development department at a lecture at the local university. Some Nobel Laureate was speaking. It would have been interesting, but I was excited to have the time to myself. With Noah silenced during the lecture, unable to give his input on what was happening in the company, there wasn’t much to do. I wondered if he realized how counterproductive his need to control everything was.

It gave me the opportunity to explore the building. Many of the projects within the labs were confidential, but there were a few I was allowed to see, including the nanorobotics, now that I had clearance. In the nanotechnology lab, men and women in lab coats peered endlessly into bulky microscopes. Because of their size, the robots couldn’t be seen with the naked eye, but next to each microscope was a hologram of what the scientists were looking at.

“I knew holograms were real!” I exclaimed. Busy with their work, no one noticed.

The robots were bulbous with hinged legs, like a cross between a squid and a spider. Their bellies were their brain, providing them with the information needed to make their repairs. At one table within the lab was a rat with a tumor on its side. I watched as a woman injected the rat with the robots.

“The tumor is natural,” she explained. “Mr. Stafford insists we only experiment on rats that are already deformed or diseased. It’s the only way we’ll know for sure that the robots will work on humans who are affected by injury or illness.”

“I dually believe it’s also his way of being philanthropic,” I stated.

“I agree,” she said as she measured another dose. “One more injection should do it.”

The poor rat was curled up, clearly frightened and in pain. “How long does it take for the nanotechnology to work?” I asked.

“A few days. You’re welcome to come back and check in on the little fella’s progress.”

“Thank you. I’ll do that,” I promised and returned upstairs to my office to read up more on the technology.

Later in the afternoon, there was a bang on the door. “Come in, Peter!” I hollered from my desk, recognizing the pattern of his knock.

“Special delivery,” he said, carrying a picnic basket in with him. “I hope you like chicken sandwiches and cheddar soup.”

I saved the paper I was reading and closed my laptop. “It’s my favorite, but something tells me you knew that already.” I stood and took the picnic basket from him. “That was very thoughtful of you, Peter. Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. Mr. Stafford organized it for you.”

Ignoring how happy that made me, I invited Peter to join me. “Are you busy?”

“Not at all. With Mr. Stafford gone, there’s no one to attend to.”

“Then have lunch with me. The weight of this basket tells me you packed enough to feed an army.”

“Guilty,” he said, laughing. “Excessiveness is the trademark of an overachiever.”

We sat on the couches in the lounge area. “How can you do this?” I queried. “How can you be a butler? I know what you said about everyone having to start at the bottom to prove their loyalty, but you’re a kid genius. Isn’t it demeaning?”

“You’re a personal assistant,” Peter countered with a mouth full of chicken sandwich. “Do you find it demeaning?”

“I was desperate for a job. You probably have tons of opportunities waiting for you.”

“None that I want. I like working here. I don’t mind Mr. Stafford testing my loyalty. It’s a test that comes with great reward. One day, I’ll be head of one of the departments here, and that’s when I can apply my smarts. I want to help people the way Mr. Stafford does, use my superpowers for good.”

“You’re speaking my language, kid,” I said. “But you could have asked to be a personal assistant instead of a butler.”

Peter almost choked on his food. “No,” he said, his eyes wide. “I don’t roll that way.”

I was confused by his reaction. “Roll what way? You don’t think guys can answer phones?”

“Of course they can, but Mr. Stafford has a reputation… never mind. It’s not my place to say. I’m very happy being his butler. Let’s leave it at that.”

He quickly redirected the conversation. “Being a butler gives me a lot of free time. When I’m not attending to his guests or to him, I work on my PhD. In a way, I think that’s why Mr. Stafford asked me to be his butler. He doesn’t want too much responsibility on my shoulders. He’s trying to give me the time to study and to work.”

“I get it, but the rules we have to follow are absurd, don’t you think?”

He grinned. “I don’t know how you can complain. You break the rules all the time. How do you get away with not calling him sir?”

“I refuse to. He’s not a king.”

“He is here. This company is his kingdom.”

“Well, he’s not the king of me. I won’t call him sir. It’s wrong, and it’s weird. I’m friends with his brother.”

Peter wiggled his eyebrows up and down. “Good friends.”

I laughed and threw a piece of lettuce at him. “That’s none of your business, but don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t,” he vowed. “I’m surprised to hear he has a brother. The Staffords are super wealthy. A few years ago, Mr. Stafford’s parents moved to New York after buying a mansion near Central Park, but they keep to themselves. They’re not in the public eye as much as Mr. Stafford is, but he only talks about his work, never his personal life. I’d heard a rumor that there was a sibling floating around, but I didn’t think it was true.”

“A twin brother, no less.”

His eyes went wide. “Do you think one could be the clone of the other? Or what if they’re both clones, and the real Stafford son is hiding away somewhere.”

“I thought the same thing!” I exclaimed. “It’s hard not to be suspicious when you work in a company like this.”

“What’s his brother like?” Peter asked, returning to his sandwich.

“He’s impassioned. In that way, Noah and Corey are the same, except Corey shouts his feelings out loud while Noah keeps his locked inside.”

“I’d like to meet Corey. Does he plan on visiting anytime soon?”

Looking down, I set my sandwich aside, no longer hungry. “I honestly don’t know what Corey’s plans are.”

“Julia is pretty amazing, isn’t she?” Peter asked, his eyes full of adoration.

“Peter, she’s like five years older than you.”

“Age is only a number,” he protested.

“I think it would be a problem for her,” I said, worrying my bottom lip, unwilling to hurt his feelings. “But I’ll help you find someone just as smart and beautiful.”

He accepted my offer. “I like Julia, but I also like redheads, like me. Do you think that’s odd?”

“Redheads are very attractive. I think it would be odd not to like them,” I assured him and picked up my sandwich once more.

***

“It’s as if the last year meant nothing,” Julia babbled as she stormed into the office, her bad mood evident in her scowl. She threw her bag down on her chair and paced in front of her desk, shaking her head.

“Did Mr. Stafford upset you?” I asked, hoping I didn’t make it worse.

“No. I upset myself. I should have known better. It’s time to move on. That’s for sure.”

“Sometimes his demands are impossible,” I said, trying to comfort her. “He expects so much from us, but he has so little to give in return, except for a healthy paycheck.”

She stopped pacing. “You really don’t know the full extent of it, do you?” she asked with what could only be pity. “I hope you never do.”

“Why don’t we get a drink?” I encouraged. “In a couple of hours, we’ll be finished here. Let’s go drink mojitos and dance our blues away. I have a great recipe for a Thai mojito. It’s made with lemongrass and—”

She cut me off. “I’m forbidden to drink. And so are you. It’s a new rule.”

My mouth dropped open. Closed. Opened again. “W-we can get a drink after midnight,” I sputtered. “We’re off the clock then.”

“No, we’ve been forbidden to drink at all. He doesn’t want either of us to touch it.”

“He can’t do that!” I cried. “Let’s be rogues. When we get home, I’m going to make us the best damn mojitos we’ve ever had.”

Julia pointed to the door that divided our office from his. “Are you going to tell him? Because I’m not. I’m not pushing anything until I’m out of here.”

“But you’re only moving to a different department. Can’t he still forbid you to drink?”

She looked down. “As soon as I’m in a new department, he won’t care what I do outside company hours. That’s the way the rotation works.”

“That doesn’t mean he has to be a jerk until you go.”

She sighed and slumped into her chair. “I don’t really want to talk about it.” She took a deep breath, composing herself, and then she flashed me her Work Julia smile. “Are you excited for the World Science Convention?”

“There’s not really anything to be excited about. I’ll be run around ragged.” I lifted my foot off the floor. “You’ll have to massage my flippers when I get home.”

“You won’t be coming home. Mr. Stafford, Peter, and you will be staying at the hotel where the convention is being held. That way, there’s no issues with transportation. You’ll be right there. Then there’s the gala. Mr. Stafford always takes his personal assistant as his date to the gala. People think it’s charity, those who don’t know.”

“You mean those who don’t know what a tyrant he can be?” I asked. “It’s no charity. It’s a mandate. Did you go with him last year?”

“It was in Rio de Janeiro, and it was amazing. Brazil is such a beautiful country. And hot.” For emphasis, she fanned herself.

“I guess I should start looking for a dress,” I mused.

“No need. Mr. Stafford will have a dress waiting for you in your room at the hotel.” Her eyes lit up, matching my mischievousness from before. “But we’re in charge of booking the room. I already did, before you arrived. The room is pretty boring because I didn’t know how awesome you are, but reservations can be changed.” Like a frog catching a fly, she grabbed her phone from her desk.

“Julia, what are you doing?”

She ignored me. “Hello, this is Mr. Stafford’s office calling. We’d like to change around a few of our reservations for the convention. Please upgrade Imogen Clare to the best suite you have.”

Anticipating disaster, I ran over to her and tried to grab the phone from her hand, but she was too nimble, sliding easily from my grasp. “Julia, no,” I protested.