Zenith Falling (14 page)

Sommer Korte was
at her desk. Joelle was turning past the front desk when a voice stopped her dead in her tracks.

“Where the hell are you going?”

Nick was walking up to her, his stride long and hurried, his residual anger nearly throbbing from his body.

“I’m leaving, obviously.”

“The hell you are! Go back to your desk and get to work.”

“I think we both know I’m pretty much fired. Or else I quit. I don’t know. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. It’s over.”

“The hell it is. Get back to work.”

His voice was loud. He never spoke loudly,
or rudely, or aggressively, but he did now.

“What are you doing?”
she hissed.

“You still owe me, remember? So get back to work. When you fulfill your obligation, you’ll be free to do as you please.”

“You can’t keep me working for you like an indentured servant.”

“I think I just did.”

Before she could speak, he turned and strode away, leaving her fuming as curious onlookers stared at her. Sommer Korte nearly salivated with the gossip. Joelle wanted to kill Nick Lassiter. She was so angry, she nearly spat at the back of his head.

Bu
t! He also just kept her from losing the only sane thing she had in her life, and the only thing she had to keep her going: her job. Why? Even when she’d gone out of her way to do everything wrong, did he continue to help her? And seem to forgive her? And always do what was right for her?

And why did she feel like getting down on her knees to thank him, despite spending the last hou
r undoing what he managed to redo with two sentences?

Nick
stared out the windows of his office into the dark night. The city lights were twinkling like orange and white gems, looking, somehow, beautiful, but they evoked a lonely feeling in him. He’d been working late, and it was nearly eight o’clock. He still had to go out for dinner and drinks with a client.

“Nick?”

Bev’s voice shook him from the morose contemplations. “Bev? What are you doing here?”

“I’ve got a date tonight. Forgot my watch here. Wanted to look my best.”

Nick found it strange to think of Bev Richmond dating. He couldn’t quite envision the stern, pencil-thin woman as having a sex life.

He smiled wanly. “H
ave a good night.”

“E
rica called and said she will meet you at Delfino’s at eight-thirty.”

“Yes.
I already got the message. Thank you.”

Still
, Bev stood there, almost fidgeting, and Bev Richmond never fidgeted. Finally, she said, “I ran into Joelle. She’s burning the midnight oil tonight too, it seems.”

He stiffened. Bev had nerves of st
eel; he’d give her that. Only Bev heard his argument with Joelle. The idea of Bev meddling was unheard of. So uncharacteristic. Why she was now, he couldn’t fathom. Joelle hardly seemed like someone Bev would like, let alone champion for.

“Anything else
?”

“No. No I just thought you’d like to know,” she said, turning to leave his office. Nick stared after her
. Why the hell did she have to go and bring Joelle up? He purposely had no more contact with her than to pass her in the hall during the three weeks since their loud, humiliating fight. He walked past her, saw her, and deliberately ignored her. Once, he had to ask her where Steve was. But that was it, nothing more. Nothing she’d later construe as his controlling her, or trying to finance her, or buy her sexual favors. He seethed inside when he thought of Joelle, and of everything she said… And what he said. He lost control of his temper, saying things he never should have said out loud. He was angry at himself and at her for drawing it out of him. He never reacted to people, situations, or any conflicts like that. Not like how he reacted to her.

She did not, however, pay him back one cent
for the hospital bill. Not like she did with her car. Faithfully, every Tuesday, he received a personal check from her. He was a little surprised, and soon became almost curious, as to why she hadn’t even tried to pay back the hospital bill that she protested so much over. Not that he cared. It just seemed so important for her not to be indebted to him. His assistance seemed so abhorrent to her.

Nick shook off the
glum thoughts
. Joelle
. She was certainly not an uplifting person to be around. Or to think about. Much less, to obsess about.

He locked his office, pocketed his keys, and turned off the lights before making his way to the reception area. With only a few lights left on, it became very dark and quiet; his empire was sleeping. He surveyed it briefly, but stopped
short when he noticed her: Joelle. She was standing at the reception desk waiting. For him?

She eyed him up and down. “Why are you wearing a tuxedo?”

He clenched his jaw and debated whether or not to answer her. But that was just childish, and beneath him, and not how he’d react to anyone else. So, he decided to answer and treat Joelle the same as he would anyone else.

But h
ow dare she try to make polite conversation now after the horrible things she said to him? And accused him of? And hated him for?

“Meeting Erica and a client
.”

“In a tuxedo?”

“Yeah. It’s formal.”

“Do you live here? I mean
, how else could you manage to leave here in a tuxedo?”

“No
, I don’t live here.”

He passed her, walking to the elevator where he jabbed at the button.

“You look nice.”

He turned his head towards her, his mouth open in surprise. Was she for real?
“What?”

“In the tuxedo, you look very nice.”

He blinked and shook his head. Jesus, she was like dealing with a bi-polar. After no more than glaring at each other for weeks, now she offers him some banal compliment? He turned back towards the elevator doors.

“Nick?”

He ignored her and stared at the steel doors, tapping his foot, anxious for the elevator to fucking arrive. He could not deal with her, nor treat her the way he did everyone else.

“Nick, please. Turn around.”

He closed his eyes, then opened them, before finally turning around. “What?”

“I have the money I owe you. I wanted to give it to you in person.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise. She had his money? What the hell? Her voice was back to a whisper. A stutter. Not the inflamed, indignant Joelle who told him off not so long ago.

“Fine. Drop it off on Bev’s desk. Or mail it. Whatever.”

Nick faced the elevator doors.

“He got a job. Rob did. He’s been working at a tattoo parlor, so we could pay this back. I was saving it all up, so I could give you
a large chunk of it, all at once.”

Give Rob a fucking medal. He managed to hold a job for three weeks. Why was she telling him this? Like he asked for updates on her life. Or her marriage. Or Rob
-fucking-Williams. Instead, he said, “That’s fine. Just put it on Bev’s desk.”

“Nick?”

“What?” he snapped, finally turning fully towards her. What did she want? She had his undivided attention. There was no one else there.

“Please take it. It’s cash.”

“Cash?” He blinked. “Never heard of a bank? Checks?”

“Rob’s kind of getting paid under the table
.” She blushed and looked away. Of course, Rob was getting paid illegally. Nick took the envelope from her. He was silent, waiting for… what? An explanation? Instead, he turned back to the elevator.

Her feet shuffled behind him, and finally, she spoke quietly,
“I’m sorry. For everything I said to you that day. You’re, well, you’ve been the only friend I’ve had in years, and–”

“You forgot what it was like to have a friend? They can help you out, you know, when you really need it the most?”

“Maybe,” she said softly. “Or maybe I was afraid.”

“Of what? Why would you be afraid of me? That doesn’t make sense.”

“Not afraid of you, afraid I needed you more than I need—well, more than I should need you.”

Nick turned as the elevator finally opened; he knew exactly what Joelle feared. She was afraid he was right about her marriage, her husband, and her life. So she pushed him away to keep pretending,
and sink further into the quagmire her life and marriage had become. He’d thrown her a few lifelines, but she made sure to cut the final one. He was done. He got the message.

He stared at her through the elevator door opening, and finally nodded. “Fine. Apology accepted.”

“Nick, wait, please.”

He
hesitated, and told himself to ignore her, to stay in the elevator, and go down to see Erica. He wished he could just forget he’d ever met Joelle Williams, her problems, and the uncanny hold she had over him. But instead, he put his arm out to stop the doors from closing and stepped out.

“What
?” he snapped. His voice was too loud for someone who didn’t talk loud. Why was he talking so loud? Why was he letting her get to him? He took a deep breath, to calm himself before speaking, “Your job is yours for as long as you want. You don’t have to apologize. Just forget it.”

“Why didn’t you fire me?”

“Because what we argued about was personal. Not any reason to fire you. Your job performance is nearly perfect. That’s business. I know the difference.”

“We did more than argue.
I accused you of terrible things.”

“
You did. You made your point clear. And I think things between us are best left as nothing, but business.”

She looked at him, long and hard. He didn’t know what to make of her. Or why he put up with her.
She dropped her shoulders, and her head, as she nodded at the floor. “Yes. You’re right, of course. I deserve that.”

“
Deserve it? Isn’t this what you wanted? What you made sure happened?”

She nodded. “Yes. I didn’t know you knew that.”

“Why you did this? Oh, I know why you did it. But you don’t want my interference in your life, so your reasons are your own. Let’s leave it at that.”

She stared after him, seeming so lost, and so unsure. Biting
her lip, she looked away, and said, “You’re right, Nick. Goodnight.”

Joelle followed Nick down in the elevator and was only a few moments behind him. She saw him meet Erica, who was as tall, elegant and blonde as any model, in a gorgeous blue dress. They were a striking couple. Really, they were; both expensively clothed and immaculately groomed. She hung back, hoping Nick wouldn’t realize she was right on his heels. Shame burned her cheeks when she thought of what she’d done to him and said to him. Still, he let her keep her job, and didn’t demand payment for the money she owed him. Money she practically threw in his face, as she taunted him over it. Money he should have reneged on, and should have demanded she pay. He should have fired her and had her thrown out by his security officer.

Instead, he… what? Did nothing, but compliment her on her perfect job performance and treat her with respectful,
albeit detached distance.

And she hated it. She hated herself. For what she’d done
and what she said to him. For what he said to her. For how much she missed him. Nick, not Mr. Lassiter. She missed her friend, Nick, who noticed her, cared about her, and watched out for her.

For weeks after that, she worked late as often as she could, trying to stay away from her house, and Rob, and what awaited her there. She saw very little of Nick. There was no changing what she’d done to their relationship. She smashed it beyond all recognition, and Nick kept his word. He was professional, detached, and barely said hello the few times since then that she passed him. He was cool, polite, and pleasant. And she couldn’t stand it. She wanted to yell at him for being exactly as she demanded that he be.

By then, winter was setting in; the days were getting shorter, colder, and stormier. Joelle switched to taking the bus months ago, and each evening, when she left the beautiful downtown area she worked in, she had to ride two different buses to return to her house.

One evening, when she was coming out of the
reception area to the elevator, she had to run, and called for someone to hold the door from closing. She stopped short when she found Nick holding the elevator for her.

“Working late again?” he asked mildly after the doors closed.

“Don’t you ever not work late?” she countered as she leaned nonchalantly against the wall, in the opposite corner from him.

He shrugged
, his gaze sweeping over her, as his mouth tightened. “This isn’t late for me.”

“Are you aware that you’re a workaholic?”

He nodded. “Well aware.”

“Why? You could travel, buy yourself a small island to spend your winters. Why don’t you? Go have fun? Live? Live like all of us would love to if we only had the chance.”

He stared at her. She wore her coat, a big, gray, puffy one in the chilly October weather. She had a stocking hat over her head, which she wished now she hadn’t put it on. Nick would never look so grungy. He wore a long, silver trenchcoat over his usual immaculate suit, a navy blue scarf wrapped around his neck, and tucked stylishly into his buttoned coat. She was sure he never wore the same shirt and tie twice. He looked like a dignified college professor while she personified the lackey college dropout.

His voice was low, and the tone vibrated in her belly and through her nerve endings when he finally spoke,
“Because I don’t want to buy an island, just to sit and do nothing. I like my work. That’s why I do it. It’s all I have to do. The money is second to my motivation, and it just came as a lucky afterthought.”

“If I were you, I’d never come back. I’d disappear, buy everything I ever wanted, and do whatever I chose.”

He smiled and shook his head. He raised his eyes above her, and his thoughts seemed far away, unseeing of the elevator walls in front of him. His smile was weird too, very different from his usual. He usually seemed to be close to her age, but just then, he looked much more mature and genuinely amused by her childish wish for his money. “It’s funny, before I was rich, I used to think the same thing, then you get all this money and you realize it still can’t buy everything you want.”

“What doesn’t it buy?”

His gaze shifted back to her face, and his blue eyes gleamed behind his glasses as his jaw tightened. What was that look? It was long, hard, and intense. It was as if he were staring into her very deepest, darkest thoughts. In the weeks following their pseudo truce of agreeing to be professional, he did no more than give her half a glance, as if he couldn’t see her. And now? What was this? This was no casual, polite, professional look. This was a soul-searching, soul-searing, declaration of something, kind of look.

She was captivated by his intensity. Luckily, t
he elevator dinged and opened. She turned toward it, her breath rushing out of her in “whoosh!” of relief. God, what just happened?

T
hey both exited, walking towards the front doors together, but not together. He paused at the entrance, and held the door for her, always polite, respectful, and courteous. She liked that about him, and missed it. Like she missed everything else about him.

“W
here are you parked?”

“I’m not. I ride the bus now.”
She kept her head down. She could not risk having him see her eyes. He saw too much, and knew too much… and it made
her
feel too much.

“And it’s where?”

“Down the block.”

Pause.
“It’s raining.”

“I won’t melt.”

“No, I guess you won’t. I could give you a ride though.”

She shook her head.
“No. I don’t need a ride.”
I need so much more.
But, of course, she didn’t say that.

He hesitated,
tapping his foot. Finally, he asked, “Everything going okay?”

“Yes. Everything’s fine,” she lied.

He stared, and she could feel his eyes on her, boring into her, seeing every lie and every mistake she ever made, while she stared down at the wet, slick pavement.

“Glad to hear it.”

He didn’t believe a word. She hated how they suddenly started to talk like she was his little sister’s, one-time, best friend. She hated they were now just acquaintances: nice, polite, banal. They were uninvolved, uncaring… nothing. She had become nothing to him.

She started walking, putting her arms around herself for warmth
, and he watched her leave. The evening was bitterly cold and dark. She headed towards the bus stop, wrapping her scarf around her neck and ears, huddling into it for warmth. She thought about lying to Nick. But Nick seemed to always know the truth about her, no matter what she told him. The difference was, now she finally understood what Nick saw.

She felt miserable. Exhausted. Aching. Tired. She couldn’t shake it.

Nick was right about everything he’d ever said to her. She was a naive little girl. A stupid, blind, little girl. She was being used, and worse, she nearly invited people to use her. Rob. His friends. The band. She managed to alienate herself from the one friend she had outside of them because her intense need of his company scared her. She started missing him when she missed work. He left her with an ache she couldn’t explain. An ache she should have felt for her husband. It scared her. Confused her. Made her miserable. So she lashed out at Nick. And she succeeded in driving him away.

She was trying
as hard as she could to make things better with Rob. She had sex whenever he wanted to, attended all his gigs, listened to his songs, watched him drink, and watched him party. And she never said a word about it.

R
ob did get a job; she didn’t lie about that. He started working at a tattoo parlor, and was soon coming home with more money than she could reasonably see anyone getting as a new hire, an inexperienced one at that. Rob was into something bad. She just didn’t know exactly what.

She sank down onto the bus seat. How could this have become her life? A husband who drank t
oo much, was gone too much, noticed her too little, yet compensated with his talent, his voice, and his music. And now she was convinced he was doing something bad, something illegal, and something much worse than just being too lazy to work.

She got off at the bus stop near her house, walking onto the dark, s
hadowed streets and waiting for a few cars to rattle past. She shivered, feeling slow, and very tired. Dreading the moment she would get home, she cursed herself for having nowhere else to go.

Things were unraveling. She felt it in her bones. Rob was coming undone.

The house came into view, and up the hill she trudged, slower than usual. All her energy seemed to have abandoned her, and even this walking, sauntering really, was becoming too much. She came to the front door, and entered quietly. Where was everyone? She was surprised to find the house empty.

No one was home!
There was nothing to deal with, just herself. She started through the hallway, crossing the dirty floor. When was the last time anyone bothered sweeping? Dust balls followed her. She’d given up housecleaning months ago. She was too damned exhausted.

She stepped into the
ir bedroom and threw her purse down on the floor next to the dresser. She started to turn when she heard a noise. Startled, she thought the flash of movement she glimpsed was Rob, and stopped dead, unmoving.
There was a man standing there.

He was tall, and all of his muscles had gone to fat. He was
wearing stained sweats and a dirty t-shirt, with long, stringy hair. His stink permeated the room.
Holy shit. There should not be a strange man in her room.
She opened her mouth to scream, but never got to.

He crossed over to her in seconds, and grabbed her, slamming her back into the door. Her neck snapped and her head banged against it. T
he first punch landed on her jaw, and, jerking her head back, the excruciating pain exploded in her brain as her eyes filled with tears.
Holy Christ, it hurt.
The unexpected, intense pain caused by someone
hitting
her came as a shock. She whimpered, and raised her hands to protect herself from his relentless, pummeling fists.

Was this how she would die? Sinking down to the floor, the strange man sank with her.