Two days and I was solidly back to my pre-Perrin routine of barely sleeping more than a couple hours a night. Before I met Perrin, I was prone to not sleeping, and letting work or other stress overwhelm me. The very morning I met him I had been letting thoughts of my inability to have a relationship overwhelm me. Perrin next to me took all that away.
That’s how my life divided itself: pre-Perrin and after, with that beautiful span of time in between I couldn’t think about without falling apart, and the possible hope of something down the road that I couldn't even see. I figured the day’s task would be to exhaust myself so I had a chance in hell of being able to sleep that night.
Maybe it was the look on my face, I certainly tried to be polite to everyone when they came in but even my PA was tip-toeing around me. As soon as she came in for our morning debriefing, I knew no business I did that day would be worthwhile, so I told her to cancel anything that actually involved me meeting with people. I still had a life and responsibilities, tasteless as it was, but I had to try for the sake of those counting on me, but for today, I could do the tasks to those ends that were solitary.
It was just a few moments later, while I was pacing my office, trying to make sense of what Perrin wanted me to do, what I could do, and trying to outstep the helplessness I couldn’t help but feel that I heard a commotion in the hallway.
I was itching to do everything Perrin had warned me not to and insert myself in some way. The helplessness was turning to anger in record time. I didn’t get angry often,but when I did, I wasn’t always the best at controlling it. So, when my PA came back into my office ten minutes after I had given the directive to clear the day, I was not prepared to hear that someone was out front demanding a meeting with me.
“Are you serious?” I asked. “No meetings today, with anyone,” I growled, then running my hands through my hair in impatience.
“I think you will want to take this one, Mr. Mann,” a deep voice said from the door. I knew she hadn’t let him, whoever this guy was, come back with her, the arrogant asshole had just followed her to my office like he owned the place.
I snapped my head up, and focused my anger on this jerk, not the competent and efficient May.
“You should probably leave us,” the man said to her.
“What the actual fuck do you think . . . .” I snarled, taking a step toward him, ready for a target for my anger. I took in the guy, slightly shorter than I was, broader, with All-American good looks. He looked like the guy who should be giving Sunday pro-Football commentary on ESPN, not standing in the doorway to my office in a suit. The man calmly adjusted the black frame of his glasses and interrupted my lashing out. There was something dangerous about him, though. Like he had some hidden skill under that suit.
“It’s about Perrin Thayer,” he said, shutting down whatever I was going to say.
May closed the door immediately and left. As soon as he heard the door close, the man tossed me a leather wallet. I opened it, to reveal a badge on one side andidentification on theother, claiming him to be Bishop Frost, agent of the FBI.
“Would you like a drink?” I asked.
“It’s barely past eight in the morning,” he responded.
I shrugged, making my way back to the small table and chairs I used for impromptu meetings that didn’t require the conference room. I gestured for him to sit, but the arrogant prick was already taking a seat.
“Mr. Mann,” his eyes were gray, and serious. “Or is it Mr.Biandi?”
“Call me whatever you want, asshole,” I said, taking a drink and sitting back. “I get it, you did your homework. Congratulations. Why is the FBI here and what does it have to do with Perrin?” I knew it was my cold boardroom voice, but I just wanted him to get to the part about Perrin.
He placed a leather bag on the table that I hadn’t noticed him carrying before, and he pulled out a folder from it, but didn’t open it.
“You and Mr. Thayer, or is it Stephens? Lots of names to keep up with it appears, if I were to include your brother Baylor Mann in that . . .but, back to Perrin Thayer, you two are in a relationship, is that correct?”
I studied the man, and the urge to punch him for his tone certainly was not lessened as he spoke.
“Get out,” I said. Iwasgoing to punch Agent Bishop Frost if he didn’t get the hell out now.
“I want to talk about Holden Davis,” the man said, and I instantly froze, my blood running cold.
“What?” I asked.
The man almost smiled, but held his hands up in a defensive gesture. “Mr. Mann, I work for the FBI. The bureau needs your help . . . .” he began.
“You have a hell of a way of asking for it,” I said.
“You and Mr. Thayer have both done things to conceal your true identities. I need to satisfy myselfwith somethings before I can move forward, that’s all,” he said.
“Is Perrin in danger?” I asked, because I couldn’t keep it back any longer. As if he wasn’t in danger every moment he was around Holden. I got up to make another drink.
“The Bureau believes Holden Davis is a potentially dangerous person in general,” Bishop said carefully.
I made my way back and sat down heavily. I was too tired, too worried about Perrin to play these games. My elbows were on my knees, and suddenly I didn’t have time for the bullshit cat and mouse. I ran my hands through my hair.
“Look, Agent Frost, I don’t have a hell of a lot of cards to play here and if Perrin is involved it’s not a game to me. If you need my help I’ll give it, but I need to know what the fuck is going on.”
