Infamous (4 page)

Carl was watching her carefully. “Oooh. What are you thinking, honey? The look on your face . . . ”

Lille pressed her lips together, but the smile grew anyway. “I was thinking about how much Max would hate it if I brought Kim to the bar tonight to film me as I walk in wearing that outfit.”

Carl's eyes glowed with delighted mischief. “That is an
excellent
idea, though I don't know if he'll be at the bar tonight. He usually doesn't work on Sundays. But I'll call him, get his ass over there.” He continued with barely a pause, “But I say we record you demonstrating how to use the cat, maybe on Jordan, maybe on me, for the edification of our delighted audience, and then we can follow you over to the bar, where Max can see you.”

“He's going to be annoyed,” Lille warned, though she wasn't sure why she thought that. Maybe she just expected antagonism from him, and she knew he didn't like disruptions to his usual routine, but damn did it sound like fun. She was tired of worrying about her father, about her life.

Waving a dismissive hand, Carl laid the clothes on the desk in front of her. “Oh, it's good for him, gets his blood moving. I'm going to find the perfect lingerie to go underneath,” he announced, and disappeared into the closet.

Lille rubbed her lips absently, imagining Max's face when he saw her in the clothes.

He wouldn't like it—he absolutely wouldn't like wanting her, wanting her while she remained aloof (well, she would
act
aloof). She considered what he might do, what he'd be like when he was angry. Just the thought of it had her smiling and spinning a little in the chair.

CHAPTER
Thirteen

Kim thought she'd start the episode of the Fetish Box documentary with a close-up of Lille—the classic iconic beauty of an old-world film star, all luscious curves and a heart-shaped face. If jealousy ran in her nature, Kim decided she would be jealous of Lille, but it didn't, so she was able to admire the woman without too much angst.

She'd pulled the camera back from Lille slowly, so that the Fetish Box gradually opened up around her: the gypsy chic of the gilt-framed photos and paintings on the walls, the fantastical statue of the mermaid sitting on a horse, the costumes, and glittery toys, the bright silks and satins and lace. Lille was a queen in a jewel box, a dragon hoarding her treasure, a mythical creature of sex and magic, Kim decided, and went about making it so.

She captured Jordan in between customers, as he put away the stock or showed her where things belonged. In a glass case along one wall, he showed her a collection of antique statues of phallic symbols and sex toys that looked more like medieval torture devices. She eyed a set of nipple clamps that looked as if they could jump-start a car. Wincing, she unconsciously rubbed her right breast. Some of the antiques showed signs of damage. Jordan had told her about the break-in in detail, fury twisting his normally amiable expression. It surprised her to see so much negative emotion from him. Since he was so rarely serious, at least in the short time she'd known him, the anger he showed seemed out of character. He cared about this place, she realized; it was his home.

He looked away, and Kim let the camera linger a moment on his profile.

“How'd you get here?” she asked him finally, to regain his attention.

He frowned, tugging a little on the big gauge in his right ear. “Whattaya mean?”

Kim waved her free hand impatiently. “How did you meet Mary? How did you get this job?”

“Oh.” His expression lightened, and Kim could see his body relax, all loose limbs and lanky grace, unlike her short, sturdy body.

“Mandy found me passed out in her convertible one morning.” He smiled at the memory, which made Kim curious.

“Why are you smiling, you idiot?”

He shrugged. “She could have called the cops. Instead, she helped me, gave me a job. She was the best,” he finished.

“Lots of people seemed to like her,” Kim observed. “Maybe I should interview some of them. You know, try to capture what she was like. It would be interesting.”

Jordan raised an eyebrow. “Interesting wouldn't be the half of it, but you better run it by Lille.”

“Why Lille? Why not Mary?”

Jordan looked surprised. “Or Mary, I guess. I don't know.” He shook himself. “Lille is just so . . . take-charge, I guess.”

Kim nodded. Lille was one of those people who expected to be obeyed. Kim wished she were like that sometimes. She wondered if Jordan felt that way as well—she didn't think he expected to be taken seriously by anyone, even himself.

By noon,
Jordan and Kim were starving. Carl
had left to deal with something regarding his art gallery, and Lille had done her best to complete the schedule and compile a list of web-design companies that would do a better job handling the videos Kim was uploading than the one they had at present.

Lille came out of the office holding a file, her reading glasses perched on her nose.

“Jordan, do you know where the digital images are for these pictures?” She pulled one out of the file and held it up; it was from a Halloween party several years before.

Jordan walked over and took it from her while Kim filmed their interaction. She caught the instant he recognized the photos and smiled at the image of Mandy dressed as Miss Hannigan from
Annie,
with Max and Jordan as gangsters, complete with slicked-back hair.

“This was great. John was in Afghanistan at the time, and Max's uncle had died a few months prior. Mandy had wanted to celebrate, so Max caved and wore a costume. It was awesome.” He frowned, considered. “I don't think there are digitals. Mandy liked to use film cameras—said they were more exciting, like a surprise.”

“Great.” Lille blew out a breath. “Don't suppose you know where the negatives are?”

Jordan nodded, hair flopping in his eyes, which looked increasingly tired as the day went on. “In the hatboxes on the top shelf in the closet.”

“Okay. Awesome.” She looked at him or, rather, at the camera. “You guys ready for lunch?”

Kim stopped filming and nodded. “Fucking starving.”

Lille's mouth twitched. “All right, then. Jordan?”

“I could eat anything right now.” He paused for dramatic effect, then locked eyes with Kim.

“Eeew.” Kim sneered at him, and he laughed.

Lille rolled her eyes. “Okay, why don't you two go get some food? My treat.” She held out two twenties.

Kim crossed the room and lifted the twenties before Jordan, who was standing right next to Lille, had even decided whether or not he would take the money.

“Thanks.” Kim took the money, then seemed to have an internal debate before asking, “You want something?”

Lille ignored the girl's reluctant tone. “Where are you going?”

“I know a good Chinese place. It's not too far.”

“Okay, something with chicken, white rice, and vegetables.”

“Fine,” Kim said, and turned to Jordan. “You have a car?”

“Yeah,” he said with a nod, and brushed his hair back. “Don't you?”

“No.”

“How'd you get here today?”

“None of your business, douche.”

“Did you just call me douche?” Jordan asked, mock offended, as he located his keys and sunglasses behind the counter.

“I did.”

“I think you're starting to like me.”

“Delusional douche.”

“Nice alliteration.”

“I try.”

Lille rubbed
the bridge of her nose. She
liked the two of them, but they were a little much. Especially together.

The bell over the door jingled, and Bambi and Atticus burst in, collars jangling.

Lille laughed and bent down carefully in her skirt, holding the folder with the pictures behind her back, while she petted their soft heads with her free hand.

They licked her happily and wagged their tails; she looked up, expecting to see John and Mary, though they weren't supposed to come in until this evening. Instead, Max stood there, his tall, dark form silhouetted against the bright blue Florida sky behind him.

Lille froze; she couldn't move under the power of those bright blue eyes. The dogs kept licking her hand until he called them off. She remained crouched, holding her breath, until he took one step, two, and the door closed behind him.

He stopped in front of her, her head level with his waist; he was wearing jeans again, and he looked uncomfortable, as if they were too tight all of the sudden. She expected him to say something surly and rude, something in keeping with his character, but all he did was hold his hand out to help her up.

She debated internally, but a lady never refused a gentlemanly gesture, especially from a man who was decidedly not a gentleman. She took it, sliding her smooth fingers into his rough palm and straightening.

Dropping his hand immediately, she stepped back and swallowed, moving the folder from behind her back to cover her chest protectively, though she wasn't sure why she was suddenly nervous.

“Max,” she said finally. “What are you doing here?”

The dogs were sitting at his feet, tongues lolling.

Max seemed quiet today but not angry, which left her unsettled. He was always a little angry. He raised one thick eyebrow. “I've brought the dogs for your keeping today. I've got to head down to the pub and take care of some things.”

“Carl said you didn't work on Sundays.”

“Carl's here?”

“He was. He ran over to his gallery.”

He grunted. “So yer here by yourself, then?”

She nodded. “But the security guard is outside, and Jordan and Kim should return from getting lunch in a few minutes.”

“Kim? The girl with the camera ever glued to her head?”

Lille hesitated. She'd never talked to him about the film she was working on for the Box, but Mary had. Apparently, he hadn't been pleased—shocker. Yet another disruption to his life to lay at her door. She'd wanted Kim to film at Max's pub—Jobman's—as well, but she had thought it prudent to put it off for a while.

“She's working here as well now. Kaylee decided not to come back.”

He made an indistinct noise. “Tough to blame her,” he said after a moment. “This Kim is the girl whom Carl is after saving, is she? She seems an interesting sort.”

Lille's lips twitched. “She is. Very.”

They fell silent, looking at each other.

Lille didn't know what he was thinking, but his eyes kept drifting to her mouth, which made her think of sucking his dick, of having him below her, at her mercy.

“Where are—”

“John and Mary—”

They both spoke at the same time, then stopped. Lille hated that she felt awkward and uncertain; it was ridiculous. It was just Max.

She decided she wasn't having any more of it. “Where are John and Mary?”

He patted his pockets restlessly, as if he wanted a cigarette. “They're at the house, shaggin' like rabbits, I assume. John asked me to take the dogs, but I don't like keeping them locked up at the pub during the day if I can help it.”

“Hmmm,” Lille murmured. “So you brought them to me. How helpful of you.”

“Don't be a bitch, lass. We both know ye like the dogs.”

Lille tossed her hair. “That doesn't mean I want to be responsible for them all day.”

“No, I suppose you wouldn't.” He looked disgusted. “But Jordan will be fine with it.”

He turned around to leave, and Lille hesitated, wanting to call him back, tell him she was happy to take the dogs, but she resisted; it was better if he thought she was a bitch, better if he didn't like her too much, especially since she planned on making a scene in his bar tonight. The angrier he was, the more interesting Kim's video would be. Nothing like a little drama to catch people's attention.

So he left, closing the door behind him, and Lille was left feeling alone in the quiet.

She turned smartly on her heel and headed back to her office. She planned to leave the door open in case any customers came inside, but she wanted the negatives. She wanted to add the images to the Web site—with everyone's permission, of course—but she needed them converted to digital files.

The dogs followed her, sniffing briefly around the office as if checking to make sure nothing had changed. She was reaching up on her toes to pull one of the hatboxes off the top shelf in the office closet when she heard the bell to the door jingle.

Max,
she thought, and her heart kicked up a beat.

She left the hatbox where it was and walked back into the store, following in the wake of the dogs. They were trained not to go beyond the counter unless it was someone they knew, but they both stood at attention next to the long table that served as the register.

“Sit,” Lille ordered, and both dogs obeyed, but Bambi's big shepherd ears remained fixed on the intruder.

A man in jeans and a polo was looking at the lingerie. Warily, Lille approached him and put on her best shopkeeper smile. Bambi and Atticus watched from the counter, alert with interest.

“Welcome to the Fetish Box. May I help you?”

He turned around and smiled warmly at her. He had dark eyes and very little hair on top of his head, but he had a pleasant face, a little bit like Stanley Tucci.

“You can. In fact, I was hoping you'd be here.” He held out his hand. “Benson Hunter. Ben.”

Even more wary, Lille shook his hand. “Lille Marceau. Tell me, Ben, why is it you were hoping I'd be here?”

He chuckled and said, “Are you kidding? I've been watching your online videos. This place is great.” He gestured around him broadly.

“I see.” Lille struggled with both discomfort—she didn't like people watching her online and deciding to come in to talk to her—and pride at the way the Box had turned out. “So how may I help you?”

“Well”—he ducked his head in an aw-shucks move that she felt was a little practiced—“I don't normally do this, but I'm a pilot on JetBlue, headed back to JFK tomorrow, and I was hoping you'd have dinner with me tonight.”

“You came here to ask me to dinner on your layover?”

“I did.”

“Just dinner?” She arched a knowing eyebrow.

“Well, a man can hope.”

Lille contemplated him without actually considering his offer. He seemed like a decent enough man, but she'd known enough sleazy pilots to be wary. If she were back in San Francisco, she would go to dinner with him, but not here, not where she was known as the Fetish Queen. Besides, she had plans to go to the pub tonight with a small Asian girl in tow and piss off a large Irishman with an unfortunate personality.