Page 37 of At Her Pleasure
Ros frowned. “She hasn’t acted like…”
“No. She seems fine. I have no doubt she’d say so herself and believe it. Cyn doesn’t think she has any complicated layers, but we both know she’s a black hole, even to herself.”
Ros tapped her pen on the desk, like a slow metronome. The thoughts hovered in the air between them, the shared history and experience with the woman in question.
“I’ve never seen a man cause her emotional disruption,” Ros said. “But that can precede good things. A relationship like I have with Lawrence. Or Abby and Neil, Skye and Tiger. So…”
“I agree. But there’s something about him. It’s like a snake waiting under a rock. I’m not so sure she knows what’s under the surface.”
“Well, she’s Cyn. She dives deep into subs. He may not be a clearcut bottom, but they went off together last night and she had bruises today, so he’s the kind of power alpha masochist she likes.”
“You noticed.” Vera gave her a tight smile.
“I’m the boss. I notice everything,” Ros said loftily. “Cyn will dig into a man well beyond the six feet of a grave. If there’s something there, she’ll find it. On her terms, which usually involves pain. If he can’t handle that, he’ll back off.”
“What happens if she can’t handle it? She doesn’t know how to back off.”
“That’s why she has us.” Ros met her gaze. “Whether she has full faith in it or not, we have her back. Always.”
“Yes. True.” Vera rose. “I have no recommended action. Just wanted to voice my gut feeling.”
“Which I respect, and you have given us a course of action. We’ll all keep an extra eye on how it goes.”
Vera nodded. “All right. Thanks for the ear. I better get back to reference calls. Cyn liked the new marketing hire.”
“Don’t bother with the calls, then.” Ros chuckled. “She hasn’t been wrong yet about anyone she approves. She has good judgment.”
“For a lot of things, yes. I just… There’s this part of her that’s unfinished, if that makes sense. A part she locked away somewhere, and I have this uneasy feeling he has the key to it.”
“I’m aware. Cyn and Skye are close in age, but Cyn has always seemed like the baby, because of how volatile her emotions can be.”
Vera’s lips tugged. “She’d give you that death look of hers if you called her that.”
“I know.” Ros smiled. “Doesn’t make it any less true.”
Her phone buzzed and Bastion’s voice came through. “Ros, Gene Trelwood is on three to talk about his account.”
“Understood.”
Vera made an “ok” gesture and slid out. Their business was done, nothing more needed. Not yet.
However, after Ros finished her call, she rocked back in her chair and turned toward the window, considering. She trusted her HR manager’s instincts. Because she did, she picked up her phone and dialed. When the caller answered with a greeting, she came right to the point.
“Dale, I need a favor.”
* * *
Mick left his motorhome at the campground he’d selected, hitching a ride into town and picking up a trolley that had a stop near the address Cyn had left him. On the way, he sat on a bench by himself, listening to tourists chat excitedly about what they were going to see today. He watched service workers, like maids, waitstaff and contractors, reading or scrolling through their phones. Some gazed out the windows as they listened to podcasts, music or audio books.
One of them didn’t do any of that, a middle-aged Latina woman with expressive eyes in a fleshy face. She wore jeans and a smock over a purple T-shirt with a dance club logo. A plastic bucket of cleaning supplies rested next to her white, thick-soled athletic shoes. She probably worked at one of the hotels. She was people-watching, likely for the same reason he was. Clearing her mind before facing a demanding environment. Their eyes met, and she offered a reserved smile before her gaze moved on.
Cyn’s text was sending him to a warehouse in the industrial district. He’d done a quick search and found it was owned by an LLC, with Cyn the sole owner behind it. The layers hadn’t been that difficult to push through. She wasn’t trying to hide herself. The LLC was likely for tax purposes.
Mick got off at the stop and walked the several blocks to the warehouse. It was humid today, but a breeze filtered through the buildings from the nearby river. In the young oak trees lining the sidewalk, he saw the inevitable strands of beads hanging from branches. This place was close enough to the casino, restaurants and hotels that tourists had passed through, leaving the colorful additions.
He thought of the voodoo doll he’d given her, and the skeleton necklace she’d left for him and Cissy. It was the kind of macabre whimsy New Orleans was known for. He’d worn the necklace ever since he’d found it, and whenever he looked at it in the mirror, or focused on how it felt against his chest, that scar, he thought of her. He’d liked imagining that skinny, angry, hungry girl in baggy clothes, standing in some cheap marketplace, finding the necklace and thinking of him.
Though he’d accepted the possibility she might have stolen it, it didn’t change his attachment to the trinket.