What They Don't Know (Won't Hurt Them Trilogy #1) (30 page)

Mr. Wilke stops in to
see how Cruz and Bryant are coming along. Since I really don't know
many details, I feed him what I do know.

“They are near
closing, Mr. Wilke, so it's coming along fine.”

“How's everything
with you, love?”

“Oh, a little of
this, a little of that. I'm great, boss.”

“So, I have a few
things for you to do this week. I've emailed you the details.” He
closes my door so this must be very private. “Morgan said he spoke
with you briefly about a possible event.”

“He did,” I say
simply.

“That's going to
happen this week for sure, for two days.”

“Oh,” I say,
surprised.

“Yes, so I'm counting
on you for all we spoke about.”

“Yes, sir, not a
problem.”

“Bria, in the next
few weeks, you will encounter all the clients I have set aside for
you. What you choose to do with them is totally up to you.”

I nod knowing that I
can't disclose any of this to anyone. It won't be hard because I
rarely keep a circle of friends; and the friends I do have, I'm
private with my endeavors. Cruz is be my biggest concern. If I choose
to cut him off completely, I will only open a door I don't want to
walk through. After the way he acted in the bar last night, I might
not have anything to worry about. That situation may have rectified
itself; but if I agree to his terms, he may eventually find out.

That, I don't want to
happen. Shit! This is going to be challenging.

This week is epic.
During the mornings, I make sure all Mr. Wilke's business dealings
are in order. He offers to finance a multimillion-dollar company. It
concerns me a bit, because now I have to be as discreet as possible
with my business. I will need to hire a private investigator who
specializes in just that, privacy. We will not have clients who are
so high on the financial hierarchy speaking about our side
businesses. Some of Mr. Wilke's clients think that because they are
well off, they have nothing to lose. He keeps those clients in class
by themselves. Holy hell, running a business is tedious.

I pay a visit to Cruz's
health club and I’m hit with a reality check. I ask to see him and
am informed he’s out of town on business. He couldn't inform me of
that? Come to think of it, he hasn't contacted me at all. I've been
too busy to notice that he hasn't; I wonder if he's still upset with
me.

Nah, he can't be. He's
Cruz King. I laugh to myself. I'm so giddy about how things are
going. Not too much of anything will bring me out of my mood.

I walk over to the
receptionist’s counter where Cruz's manager is.

“Hi, Bruce.”

“Hi,” he says.

“Do you know when Mr.
King will be back?”

“Yeah, tomorrow
evening.”

“Thank you,” I say
as I turn to walk away, then retract my steps. “Um, how long has he
been out of town?”

“He left in a rush
late Sunday.”

“Okay.” Wow. He
left right after he and Bryant were out.

I send a text to
Bryant.

He doesn't text back.
It kind of hurts like hell. I attempt to leave the club, but my phone
rings before I leave.

“Hello.”

“Bree, what are you
talking about?”

“Neither of you have
been in contact with me this week.”

“Okay, so what does
that have to do with you not being our analyst? Everyone has been
busy this week, Bree. This deal is closing on Tuesday; it's Thursday.
We're all a bit antsy. Cruz had to go to Chicago to deal with his
family; the man is stressed.” He laughs. “You shouldn't want him
to contact you after Sunday.”

“You know what,
Bryant, never mind me asking.”

“All I'm saying,
Bria, is you could have told the man you were seeing someone. Hell,
you could have told me; it would have…” He pauses.

“What Bryant? It
would have saved you having to hand me... no, trade me... no, let's
see. Sell me off,” I say through my teeth.

“Bree,” he
whispers. The way his tone has conviction, but I don't give a shit.
That action shows me the type of friendship that remains between
Bryant and me. He’s ruthless I have to admit, but a bitch scorned
throws fire.

“You know, Bryant,
the more I try to forgive you for that, it just pisses me off that
much more. So spare me.” I end the call before he gets the chance
to respond.

I'm standing in the
foyer of Cruz's health club. Bruce is still at the desk with whoever
the receptionist is. Christy, Chrissy... I'm bad with female names.
Women tend not to remember women’s names. We remember men’s names
easily. We associate physical traits that remind us of their name.

Bruce is walking toward
me; he seems reluctant, but what do I know. Hell, he is walking
toward me.

“Ms. Watts correct?”

“Yes, is there a
problem?”

“No, I didn't think
you'd be back.”

“Well, me either, but
I need to see Mr. King.”

“Can you walk this
way so we can talk privately?”

I'm confused. “Okay,”
I say as I follow Bruce toward some offices near the back of the
club.

We come to an office
and he opens the door.

“Ladies first,” he
says politely. I walk in; there's a desk, a few chairs, and a
computer on the desk. “You can have a seat, Ms. Watts.”

“Thanks, but I'll
stand. I need to be going soon.”

“Okay,” he
responds. He still seems reluctant. I wish he would just say what he
needs to. Before the thought leaves my mind, he begins to speak.

“Uhm, I-I saw the
video.”

“What video?”

“You know the one
with Mr. King in the steam room with you.”

I tilt my head. “I
thought that area isn't recorded?”

“It isn't. I just saw
him enter. There isn't a camera in the women's steam room.”

“Okay, so you brought
me here to say what, Bruce?”

“Well, nothing
really, Ms. Watts. I was hoping you weren't going to file charges or
have the club shut down. Mr. King treats his employees well. He's
very reserved. I've never seen him do anything other than work out or
train exclusive clients.”

“Okay, so?” I say,
annoyed.

“Look, all I'm saying
is I like my job as manager of this club. I've earned my business
management degree. I just need to keep this job; my student loans are
coming out of deferment soon. So I'm asking you to please not file
any charges.”

I take this opportunity
to pry into Cruz's life. “So honestly, Bruce, he's never had women
in his office?”

“No, none that I've
seen. I'm here every day... well, not every day. I work half days. He
doesn't even approach women. He schedules the PTs to take care of
them.”

“PTs?” I ask.

“Personal trainers,”
Bruce confirms.

“Right, duh,” I
respond.

“Honestly, you are
the first person, well, woman I've seen him notice here. He's here
just about every day of the week. Whether or not it's early or late
night. He's usually down to business. He just doesn't show interest
in women. I saw how he went in the steam room that day. He wasn't
hesitant about walking in. He didn't look around or anything. He just
walked right in. A few minutes later, he came out. He had a look of
contentment on his face. You... you came out pissed. I just don't
want to lose this job, Ms. Watts. I would like to apologize on behalf
of club.”

“Bruce,”—I hold
up my hand to stop him from any more pleading—“Don't worry about
that. I've changed my mind about contacting any authorities.”

“Thank you,” he
sighs.

I turn toward the door.
“I need to get going if you don't mind.”

“Okay, Ms. Watts.
I'll let Mr. King know you came by.”

“No, don't worry
about it. You don't have to tell him about this visit.” I nod at
Bruce.

“Okay,” he says.

“Thank you, Bruce.”

“No! Thank you, Ms.
Watts.”

* * *

At home at last, today has been
productive. All I want is a bath and bed, and I do just that. After
my shower, I lie back against the headboard with my laptop to check a
few classified lists. I filter the recent ones so I can delete the
expired posts. One in particular catches my eye. “
Finally
on my own now
”. I open the post, which says quite a bit
about this person. Maybe too much.

Glad you opened this post. I'm BP. I’m currently employed but
I’m looking for a part-time pastime. I'm 6 ft., dark hair, and
brown eyes. I'm looking to cater to older women from 37- 55, while
that is my preference but not limited to. I myself am 27 and my
duties are open for discussion upon initial meeting. Please attach a
picture with your response.

Well, okay BP, I'll
bookmark you for a save. I hope BP is his initials and doesn't stand
for something like bi-polar or some type of oil company. Some crazy
idiots are out there, but I got myself a Ford. I laugh at my own
corny joke. It was funny to me. I open the next post that shows a
picture of a younger guy. He looks at least 22, it's titled,
“Find
me a steady.”

The title says it all.

I'm seeking employment maybe from an older woman for special
services. Must be able to call or meet at some point soon after going
over details, please respond, no spammers or men.

Look forward to hearing from you.
Mr. C

I go through many
posts, a few of them are creepy, but I can distinguish those types. I
can feel myself falling asleep before I do. I save my searches, clean
up my history, and lock my apps. I'm exhausted when I hear my phone
chime. It's from Stone.

Shit, I forgot I set
him up an appointment yesterday for tonight. I even had a car pick
him and our client up. She needed an escort to a fundraiser.
‘Fundraiser’ yeah, right.

Sleep is overtaking me.
I can't do anything. It's consuming my body, so be it.

I awake to my alarm
screaming in my ear. Cellphone alarms are obnoxious little things.
Getting up is harder and harder every day. From time to time, my body
doesn't like early morning wake ups. Winning the lotto is out of the
question, so daily grind here I come. I finally prise myself from my
bed to dress. Today I'm going to go lady business-like. I have an
appointment with a PI today. Mr. Wilke will be out of the office most
of the day so this is the perfect opportunity to meet with him in my
office. Most of the office will be off for the next two days, so I'll
have some privacy.

After my many returns
back to my house because I kept forgetting items, I go to my usual
café but it looks as if it's closed.

Dammit, I have to go to
the bakery a few doors down on Broadway. They have awesome pastries
but no special coffee blends. I find a parking space across the
street. I perform my usual U-turn to park, so I can just pull out
when I get back. I'm on my way out of the café when a car horn gets
my attention. I notice the car immediately; it's Shanna's. My blood
instantly starts to boil. I open my car door to set my coffee in the
holder. I wave just out of common courtesy. She double parks behind
me and gets out to greet me. I'm a bit reluctant though.

“Hi, Bria, how are
you?” She leans in for a hug, but I don't budge.

“Hi, Shanna, I'm
fine.” I'm so dry with my greeting she notices. She takes a step
back and eyes me.

“I do apologize for
the other night. I had to leave.”

“Is that it?” I say
to her.

“Yes, why? Would
there be something else?”

“I don't know,
Shanna. You seemed to be very interested in how long and how I knew
Cruz.”

“Oh that,” she
chuckles. “I know Cruz from back home.”

“Back home?” I
repeat.

“Yeah, I lived in
Chicago for seven years. I might be on my way back,” she informs
me.

“Where did you live
before Chicago?” I narrow my stare at her.

“California,” she
answers.

“What brought you to
Minnesota?” I question her further.

“Someone's full of
questions this morning,” she jokingly implies.

“Well, Shanna, just
like you. I want to know things so I ask.” My tone is accusingly
harsh, but I don’t give a rat’s ass how I come off. My
‘watch-a-chick’ radar is in full effect.

“Oo-kay,” she says
sarcastically.

“Well, I have to get
going; work awaits.”

“Oh, yes absolutely,
maybe we can go out again. I enjoyed myself.”

I turn lowering myself
in my car. “Yeah, maybe,” I answer as I close my door. The only
thing that comes to mind is reversing my car to back over her little
petite ass. Then drive back over her when I pull forward. I despise
sneaky bitches... she's one of them.

* * *

I'm in the office
earlier than usual. I can hear my boss in his office, but his door is
closed. I have a flashback of the day he had a late night with the
French lady. I didn't think he was going to be in. Oh well, I close
my door hoping not to be disturbed. Only that thought goes away with
Lisa bursting in with a horrified look on her face. She shuts my door
immediately.

“What the hell's
wrong with you?”

“Mr. Wilke is in his
office,” she says in a panic.

“Is he supposed to be
somewhere else?” I ask.

“No, but he's in with
a female. I think he's having sex.” Her eyes widen as she reveals
that tiny bit of information. So do mine.