Miss Behave Read online

  Tom glares till I drop my hand. He’s got this way of making me feel small and chastised—got to remind myself he’s not my father. “Ready to get serious ?”

  I nod, abashed .

  “I’ll tell you, getting married, that was a nice little PR boost. But if Nasmith wants to find something on you, he will. And when he does, you’d better look like a changed man—or at the very least, someone committed to reform. Rehab’ll help with that. Concrete steps. Things you can point to and say, look, this is me. Penitent. Contrite. Redressing my sins .”

  “And when they find out it’s fake?” I shake my head. “No. No way. Not doing that .”

  “Okay, then—your other option is, make it impossible for them to push you out without looking like monsters .”

  “And I’d do that by ...?”

  “Keeping the PR train rolling. That wife of yours—camera loves her. So don’t let her out of the spotlight. Have her read to sick kids, train seeing-eye dogs, feed the hungry with her own two hands—whatever it takes. Make her an angel. A saint. Someone whose good deeds outstrip anything you could possibly have done .”

  I don’t like this. “Sounds like I’d be setting her up for a fall .”

  “Not if she’s as perfect as you seem to think.” Tom plucks the one pencil from my pen jar. “I’m taking this .”

  “’Course you are.” I shake my head. This is all coming at me too fast. “Look, why don’t I just—why don’t I do it, read to the blind, or whatever? You and I both know whoever’s in the limelight gets the target on their back .”

  “Because you can’t. ” Tom scowls. “You need to be under the radar. Living in the lab. Keeping your work front and center. You do anything else, it comes off as a cheap stunt. She does it, she looks like a sweet girl who found herself with a bit of money and time, and decided to play Florence Nightingale .”

  “That’s....” Cynical. Manipulative. Wrong. “I’d have to talk to her. Lay it out—all the risks .”

  “Do it fast.” He tucks my pencil in his pocket. “And I’d downplay those risks, if I were you. She says anything other than yes, this is over .”

  “And what if something does go wrong? Say Nasmith finds what he’s looking for, throws it in her face—what happens then ?”

  Tom presses his lips together. “Then you’re shocked. Devastated. The injured innocent, taken for a ride by the charming con artist.” He turns his back on me. I peer at his reflection, but his expression’s unreadable, broken up by the shadows of the blinds. Can’t tell if that’s shame he’s hiding, or the lack of it. Either way, I don’t like this side of him. I’ve seen it before, but never aimed at someone I...someone I’m starting to care about. Someone I’d do a lot to protect .

  I look away, feeling sick. “Wouldn’t that be just as bad? I’d look like a moron .”

  “You’ll look like every housewife with a stolen identity, every sadass with his heart broken by a mail order bride—everyone who’s been lied to, cheated on, ripped off, left high and dry. They’ll be on your side. Especially if you’ve put a lot of money into her. A lot of trust. You’ll act shocked, humiliated—the selfless doctor who only wanted to save the world, thought everyone else felt the same. You’ll be golden .”

  “Golden...” I frown. “Not quite the word I had in mind .”

  Tom shrugs. “Potato, potahto .”

  “Don’t know I could even do that to her, turn my back on her like that. She’s not some lowlife scumming for a payday. Even if there’s dirt on her, somewhere—even if her halo’s kinda tarnished—she’s a good person .”

  “A good person walking away with a million dollars—don’t forget that little detail. Nobody loses here. Not really. And what we’re talking, that’s the worst-case scenario. Best-case, Nasmith finds diddly, you buy back your controlling interest, everyone lives happily ever after.” He snorts. “Except Nasmith .”

  I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. It’s not often I find myself at a loss for words. Even Tom can’t believe a million dollars could cover that kind of hurt. I’ve known him half my life. He’s not that dumb, or that cold .

  Something else has to be going on here. Feels like I’m missing something important, something that’s going to jump up and bite me on the ass, but damned if I can spot it .

  Think I might be in over my head .

  12

  D iana

  Something’s off with James. I can see it before he even gets out of the car, the way he fumbles with his keys, stares into the side mirror like he’s just spotted Bigfoot in the driveway. He even takes a couple of steps toward me before he remembers Percy in the back seat and doubles back to let him out .

  The dog makes a beeline for the house, ignoring James completely. For such a regal-looking beast, he’s surprisingly petty, making a show of snuffling at my hand, tail firmly pointed at his master. I scratch him behind his big ears .

  James leans past me to unlock the door. “How long you been waiting ?”

  “Just got here—five minutes, maybe .”

  Percy practically runs me down, hustling for the door. His huge hind foot comes down square in the middle of a box of donuts, squishing them all to hell. I grab for his tail, but it slithers through my palm. “Hey! Mind your manners !”

  “Sorry about that. He gets kinda, uh... Can you call a dog ‘bitchy’?” James offers a hand. I pull myself to my feet .

  “Don’t worry about it.” I grab a couple of grocery bags, and James takes the rest. “How was work ?”

  “Mm, let’s not get into that. Not now, anyway. I just wanna—oh, kitchen’s through there.” He gestures vaguely to the left, where a grand archway opens on what looks more like a dining room, complete with twelve-foot table and chandelier. “Through the double doors .”

  This place is ridiculous. The ceiling in the foyer’s got to be thirty-six feet high, three full storeys and a dome. I find myself wondering what he does when he gets a cobweb up there. He must have the mother of all vacuum attachments. Though...yikes. Looks like it doesn’t get much use. The dining room table’s got a dust-blanket you could lift off in one piece, broken only by what looks a lot like an ass print at one end .

  He catches me looking. “Yeah, uh—so, I don’t entertain much .”

  “That’s okay. I’m not exactly a social butterfly, either.” I do run a cloth around once in a while, but to be fair, I’ve got a lot less surfaces to worry about .

  He pushes through the French doors, into the kitchen. Here, at least, the dust situation’s under control, though the range hood could use a good Swiffering, and the coffee-maker looks like it was last cleaned when the Macarena was a thing. When I elbow the fridge open, a shrunken pomelo rolls out. There’s nothing else there, unless you count a stain in the shape of a pizza slice .

  “Wow.”

  “Sorry.” He hoists his bags onto the counter. “I eat out a lot .”

  I kick the pomelo to one side and start loading the fridge. “When we’re done here, maybe you could show me where you actually live .”

  “What?”

  “I mean, where your life happens—where you flop down at the end of the day, put your feet up, eat your takeout? Where would that be ?”

  “Aw, man....” James leans past me to slot a carton of eggs into the fridge .

  “What? What’s the matter ?”

  “You’re not gonna like this .”

  “How bad can it be ?”

  Turns out, pretty bad. His living room looks like his grandma might’ve decorated it, then died. A big floral couch faces the TV, from under a zip-up plastic cover. There’s a burned-out arc lamp, a knitting basket overflowing with old newspapers and takeout boxes, and a truly luxurious dog bed. The rest of the furniture’s sheeted over, with the exception of a once-shiny coffee table, now scattered with the remains of a very large, very dead floral arrangement .

  I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry. “So we sit...here?” I lower myself onto the couch. The cover crackles. I try not
to flinch as the cool plastic sticks to the backs of my knees .

  “You don’t have to actually....” Something helpless comes over him. He looks around like he’s seeing the place, really seeing it, for the first time. “Hold on. I’ll just grab that. Should’ve had someone in, while we were gone, made it—ugh!” He tugs at the zipper. It doesn’t budge. “Made it presentable.” He tugs again, harder this time. “Fuck—do these things even—“ He jiggles the tab from side to side. “Think it’s rusted shut !”

  I can’t hold back any longer. A giggle breaks loose, and another, and soon I’m bent over, gasping with laughter. I was so nervous about coming here, thinking it’d be—thinking I’d be the country mouse, gaping in awe at the big-city finery—but this is hilarious. He’s like a squatter in his own home .

  Percy comes over and jams his cold nose into my palm. That only gets me going harder, all the tension of my strange new situation coming loose at once. “It’s—sorry! It’s just, I...the zipper... Oh, my God!” I clap my hand over my mouth, fighting for control. “How long—how long’s it been like that ?”

  “Six, maybe...eight years ?”

  “Eight years! ” I’ve got to calm down. This is getting mean: all this time, he hasn’t had anyone to spruce the place up for, any reason to make it his own, and I’m treating it like a joke. I scramble to my feet, swallowing the last of my laughter. “Well, look—this is all one piece. I’ll take this end, you grab that one: it’ll lift right off .”

  James hesitates. “It’s like...the end of an era .”

  “A very well-preserved era. Like, museum-quality.” I give my end a yank to get us started. James does the same. For a moment, the cover sticks, caught between the cushions. I give it one more tug and it pulls free, sailing over the back of the couch. Percy barks and jumps for it .

  “Hey! Down, boy !”

  It’s no use: Percy’s off, dragging the thing out to the foyer, shaking it like he wants to do it an injury. Maybe he does. Nobody likes a slippery cushion, human or dog .

  I plump down on the newly-liberated couch, patting the seat next to me. Part of me wants to go around the room whipping off the covers, tossing out the garbage, but James still seems tense. Whatever’s going on, I don’t want to make it worse .

  “So,” I say when he’s settled in next to me, arm over my shoulder. “Crappy first day back ?”

  “Not on the work side of things.” He shifts, groans, massages his forehead. “Actually, lemme....” He swivels around till he’s sprawled out on the couch, knees hanging over my lap. “Much better .”

  “What happened? Was it that, uh...that Nasmith guy ?”

  James winces. I run my hands up and down his calves, easing out the tension .

  “Let’s just say....” He closes his eyes. Wiggles his toes. “There’s some stuff I need to talk to you about, but for now, let’s sit. Let the world go by.” He looks tired, kind of beaten, a deep line etched between his brows where a frown’s settled in. His eyes, his jaw, even his lips are tight. I work my way down to his feet, kneading my way along the soles .

  Just when I’m certain he’s fallen asleep, James speaks up. “Been thinking about... How far is too far, when you’re trying to save something you love?” He sounds distant, like he’s thinking aloud, more than directing the question at me .

  So that’s what this is about. “You mean your work ?”

  He nods. “I’m—I feel like I’m about to compromise myself. Do something I maybe shouldn’t. Definitely shouldn’t. Probably .”

  “Something you maybe, definitely, probably shouldn’t?” I work my way back up his legs. His thighs are taut with the same tension pinching his face. “I suppose it depends what’s at stake, how far you should go.” I pause, digging the heel of my hand into his quadriceps. “And who stands to get hurt .”

  “Mm....” He opens his eyes, stares into the gathering dusk. “Guess that’d be everything. Everyone. Seems like either way I choose, someone’s getting screwed. Ah!” His thigh spasms. I keep the pressure on, easing him through the cramp .

  “You’re supposed to stretch after you exercise,” I tell him .

  “I did. Kinda.” His breathing returns to normal as his muscles go lax. “Shouldn’t even be talking to you about this. It’s like I’m...asking permission to hurt you, in place of a bunch of patients you’ll never meet .”

  “Don’t think of it that way.” I let my hands rest on his hips, choosing my words carefully. “I’m starting to get the picture. What you’re saying—it doesn’t exactly come as a surprise .”

  “No?”

  I palm my way back down his legs, slow and careful. “I’ve heard you on the phone. Seen how cautious you are. I mean, we just spent a week in the fine wine capital of the world, and you didn’t touch a drop. You drive like a snail, and... I see that knife’s edge you’re riding. I know we’re staring into the abyss .”

  “You have no idea....” His hands curl into fists. I reach up and coax them loose, one finger at a time .

  “Tell me about your work. What it’s all for .”

  The ghost of a smile flits across his face. “It’s all about death,” he says. “Well, on the small scale. Localized cell death .”

  “Go on.” I move my hands back to his thighs, with a light touch this time. He tilts his head back with a sigh .

  “Well, uh... There’s more than one mechanism for—oh!” He gasps as I loosen his belt. “Mm, that’s ....”

  “Don’t stop .”

  “Really?”

  I nod .

  “Hm, well... When cells break down, there’s more than one way that can happen. Some of those paths lead to... Oh, wow, that’s—Fuck, that’s good !”

  I sweep my fingers along the hollow of his hipbone. “Those paths lead to ...?”

  “To...to recycling of cellular components. And that’s— That’s — “

  “Concentrate.” I wink at him. He shudders as my fingers vanish under his waistband, grazing the tip of his cock. He’s hard already, straining in his briefs. I tug at his jeans. He lifts his hips .

  “Concentrate, uh.... Well, you—that’d be a bad thing, in terms of...in terms of tumor cell mortality. You wanna limit that recycling, get those cells to—to—ah! Destroy themselves !”

  “Sounds dramatic.” I slip one hand between his thighs, cupping his balls. He’s trying to restrain himself, keep from thrusting into my hand, but he’s not having much luck. I thumb at his cockslit, slow and firm, till he’s slick with precum and biting his own hand. “Go on .”

  “I—Well, there’s a few people working on the same pri...the same principle, but I—“ He’s breathing fast, losing composure. “Got a more—Got a targeted—ah! Can’t—“ He grasps my hand in his, squeezing it tight at the base of his cock. “You’re getting too good at that .”

  “Ssh—relax.” I peel back his hand and stroke him slow and loose, enough to drive him crazy without taking him to the edge. His reactions are amazing, the way he groans and squirms and lets his eyes roll back into his head. His free hand scrabbles at the couch, disturbing the fibers for the first time in years .

  I run my hand under his shirt, dragging the backs of my nails over his belly in that way that makes his skin jump and twitch. He stiffens all over, eyes squeezing shut .

  “Later on, when I’m not all...helpless and angst-ridden... I’m gonna get you for this .”

  “Oh, yeah ?”

  “Uh-huh. Gonna — “

  I cut him off with a series of quick, fluid jerks, fist tight around the head. His cock swells, and his hand flies up to catch my wrist .

  “Mm—no, not yet!” That wicked look’s sneaking into his eyes again—a look I’m starting to know all too well. “Before you make me cum all over this fine floral sofa—which, I might add, I’ve kept pristine longer than Justin Bieber’s been famous—I gotta tell you....” He gasps as I squeeze his shaft, rippling my fingertips along the throbbing vein. “My revenge!—gonna wrap a scarf round those pretty b
lue eyes, so you won’t know—Won’t be able to— Ah ! ”

  James bucks up into my fist, back arching as he shoots all over himself, narrowly missing the upholstery. I let him recover for a few moments. His chest’s hitching and his gaze has gone foggy, but that deep tension has melted out of him. It doesn’t look like he’s going to move, so I use the tail of his shirt to wipe him clean .

  “You were saying ?”

  “Mm. Revenge .”

  “Yeah, I gathered that much .”

  “You’ll just have to wait, now... Find out....” His head lolls to one side. “Sleepy now .”

  “Hopeless.” I wait till he’s dozing, and wriggle out from under his legs. A good dinner should get him the rest of the way back to normal, and then we can talk about who he’s going to hurt, and how bad .

  13

  J ames

  The worst part is how easy she went along with it all, like quitting her old, familiar jobs to plunge headlong into public life was just part of our deal. She does this thing, sometimes, where I can’t tell whether she’s really smiling, or that’s just the expression she hides her feelings behind .

  Diana swears she knows what she’s signed up for, but how could she? She went straight from high school to college to full-time employment, with her dad’s slow decline swallowing her spare time all the way. She’s strong, but she’s sheltered .

  Wish there’d been some way to ramp up to this, take it slow .

  Someone’s cloying cologne washes over me, almost making me sneeze. “Quite a night.” Ugh. She invited Nasmith ?

  “Jim! Place looks great!” And Tom. Thank goodness for Tom .

  I shake his hand warmly, glad of the opportunity to snub Nasmith. “Pretty great, huh? She did all this herself .”

  Tom cranes his neck, taking in the crowd, the musicians, the makeshift runway with its smooth surface reflecting the fairy lights strung above. “Gotta admit, I’m impressed .”