I wanted to grumble at him, tell him I wasn’t the kind of person who was bought with gifts, but then I just felt bad about the idea of him losing his job. So I let him in and took him to my bedroom, where I stripped the bed. Another man came in, and together they took apart the old bed and carried it out before they came back for the ratty mattress. I watched with shock as the couch I bought in college was hauled away, and soon they were bringing in the new furniture. It didn’t take them long to assemble everything, and once they’d done their jobs, the first man thanked me and then they were gone again, leaving me in the empty apartment with new furniture I didn’t buy.
I squeezed the bridge of my nose and cursed Vane. I didn’t know what he was thinking, but when he got here, we’d be having a serious conversation that probably wouldn’t end well. But there was no way in hell someone was going tobuyme. The only currency I took was climbing the career ladder.
Why did he have to go and make a good situation so difficult?
8
Vane
Nightcore blasted in my ears, and I felt like I was flying as my feet thudded along fast. My breath rushed from me as I dug in and pushed myself on the treadmill, nearly at my limit. I wanted at least one eight-minute mile. My entire adult life I’d chased that fucking eight-minute mile, and maybe once a week I actually hit my goal. That’s the kind of person I was, though. Once I decided I wanted something, I never let it go.
The private gym on the second level of city hall had floor-to-ceiling windows and gave me a very unsatisfying view of the street below, and much more importantly, I could see the sign for El Sabroso Sur, one of the best Mexican restaurants in the city. People kept going in and leaving with huge paper bags stuffed with spicy deliciousness. I groaned and turned up the speed on my treadmill. I wanted the queso blanco. I wanted a margarita the size of a fishbowl. Today, I wanted everything that was bad for me, and that included plowing Jaxson’s magnificent ass.
Of course, maybe Jaxson wasn’t bad. Could I count spectacular sex as stress relief?
I’d had plans on going to Jaxson’s house to cook for him after my time in the gym, but the Mexican food might end up being my gift to him instead. Well, another gift. I checked my phone. I’d expected a text or something when the furniture arrived, but so far nothing. Maybe it was running late? I hoped he liked the bed. He deserved to have something comfortable. My mouth watered as I thought about the chilaquiles and tamales, but really, the only reason I wanted to indulge was because I could imagine the excited face he would make when eating such good food.
After all, a pregnant man would appreciate food more than another man would.
My phone rang and interrupted my music. I answered without checking the screen.
“Speak. Now.”
“It’s me.” Ross’s voice was raspy, like he’d been yelling at someone… or doing something else that might have wrecked his throat. There was no telling what he’d been up to because he gave me a run for my money as the Manwhore of City Hall, and that was saying something.
Stumbling, I swore and hit the red panic bar on the treadmill, bringing the belt under me to a stop. “Fuck.”
“You okay?”
“I was doing my Saturday ten.” I didn’t bother trying to rein in my irritation, and he only laughed.
“You masochist. I need you.”
“Don’t get sweet on me now.”
Ross snorted in a particularly unattractive way that I knew was below Jaxson. He was too classy to make that sound. I growled under my breath, not about my interrupted run, but because I hadn’t been able to have more than three thoughts in a row today that didn’t end with Jaxson. Maybe it was because I knew I was going to his place later. “I’m at the hall, what’s going on? I have plans this afternoon.”
“Cancel them.”
I groaned. “No. Why? This better be important. I’m not fucking off my plans just to go to the Courtesan. My dick is happy at the moment.”Although I’ve probably spent more money this week than I would have on the rent boys.
Ross sighed and my blood ran cold. He’d only done that a couple of times, and the last time he sounded that bad, six police officers had been shot by members of a motorcycle club. The entire police force had been frothing at the mouth.
“Fuck’s sake, don’t keep me in suspense.”
“Police officer.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.” I snagged my towel from where I had it hanging on the railing of a nearby treadmill. I was the only sucker in here on a Saturday, so it didn’t matter how far I spread out my gear. I wiped off my face.
“An officer out of the Collingwood Station has been picking girls up on minor violations, raping them, and then dumping them on the street. Four girls came into the Downtown Station today. Commissioner Johnston just called me so we can try to get ahead of it with the media.”
“Fuck. When you say girls, are they at least legal?”
“Does it matter?”
“Not really.” I dabbed at my forehead and tried to take deep, even breaths. “But, you know, we want to stay out of the national media.”
He sighed, and my stomach dove. “Oh, we don’t have a chance in hell of that. The women were legal age, but they’re all under twenty. Definitely a parent’s worst nightmare. And they were raped by a cop. It doesn’t get much fucking worse than that.”
