CHAPTER SIX

Paul Eames glared at the beautiful day. Showers of light came in through his office window, but he wasn't impressed. He looked at the view because he was tired of looking at the clock. The brunette in black had told him the contract would be by at four fifteen. He had twenty minutes to glower and contemplate the series of events that brought him to this moment.

He had worked hard to get where he was. Business didn't allow him to indulge in humane thought processes. It may have given him a mechanical quality, but he was rich from it. His success and wealth put a target on his head. The target welcomed gold diggers, parasites, and blackmailers. Yesterday he stopped himself from throwing a weasel he had of a coworker down the stairs—today he was a target for blackmail. If he was partial to 'signs', then hot coffee spilled on him that morning, warned of something destined to go wrong today. When the envelope arrived with no address he thought it was a curious addition to his formal mail. He made a point to finish everything he needed to do with his invoices and memos before he actually opened it. By that time he it was after two and he figured he had time enough to peek.

Opening it he saw pictures. The photos weren't flattering, not that would have been the photographer's intent. The faces were clear and easily recognizable. It wasn't good for business to be seen with a tech assistant of a competing company. The photos of the clandestine meeting were shot motion to motion until the final hand off. He had been uncharacteristically chipper that day, he had pictures for posterity.

He remembered that morning well. He stopped at his favorite restaurant for brunch before he left for, what he thought, was a secure bridge for the exchange. He hadn't thought to make sure if anyone was following him. It wasn't something that his job required. Obviously he was wrong.

He could lose his credibility and position with his company if the photos were ever found out. Insider trading was frowned upon punishable by time in prison. He hadn't given the contract a second thought the first time he'd seen it, but he recognized it. The document was the last thing he retrieved from the envelope. There was a call that he thought was odd, but he didn't think of himself as one to be bullied and threatened. The woman on the other end hadn't gotten her complete proposal out before he hung up on the phone. He hadn't taken a second thought with the envelope when it crossed his desk, but the photos had made an impact.

A short blond popped his gum annoyingly when Paul's secretary let him in. Hoping the messenger choked on it was wishful thinking that Paul allowed himself to indulge in. It lessened the blow of being caught with his pants down so to speak. He handed the envelope and the white collar professional signed with the ease of man use to signing his John Hancock. Within in moments the courier returned the contract to his yellow folder and went on his way. The brunette had promised him a hundred dollar tip if he returned with the signed contract within the hour. He had fifteen minutes by his watch so he hurried.

Paul watched the biker go eagerly. He sneered at the back. He would go home burn the pictures and entertain thoughts that there weren't any incriminating copies. When the second phone call came he made sure he listened to everything she had to say, the pictures garnered his undivided attention. He had asked if there were, but her answer was ominous. It was too good to pass up more blackmail from a man of her persuasion. He anticipated another call, not knowing his signature was the only thing wanted from him.

Jo watched the courier speed in her direction. She was outside a café she'd been sitting in earlier. She escaped the crowd inside to enjoy the weather. The sun was out and beating on the walking population. There were some clouds and Jo could've sworn on cluster looked like a donuts being eaten by a larger mouth with no teeth. His bike skid to a stop its rider delivered the package with a toothy grin. As a woman of her word she handed him an envelope with the extra tip. He looked inside his eyes brightening. Tipping his gloved fingers from his forehead to her he smiled wishing her a good day.

It was a good day.

"Two down," a thick Cajun voice rang from behind her. She hated when he highlighted his words using the rhythm of show tunes.

Jo didn't bother acknowledging the driver. Remy liked Jo. She was easy on the eyes with an attitude to match. Nothing was dull around the former cop and it worked out well, because he didn't like to be bored. He stood over her, but he had learned early on that his height and build wasn't something to rely on with her. He opened the door and she got in.

"Where to boss?" He already knew where they were going, but he enjoyed provoking Jo.

Jo for her part only responded with a glare. He knew how much she detested the frivolity of having a driver. Like nursing an open wound with vinegar he kept their relationship interesting by jumping into the role of manservant.

When Mr. Warner first gave him the assignment to work alongside Jo he was curious. Up until then he was basically an instrument with eyes and ears. His mouth wasn't all that important, but he took liberties with Jo. Deep down he thought Jo liked him. He thought he kept things pretty interesting, if anything interesting was a quality that worked for him. She threatened him a few times, and felt that he had read her right to mean that threats were a good thing.

"You know you're a product of your surroundings," he talked while he drove them through traffic.

Jo stared out the window pretending not listen. This could go on all day considering whose mouth it was moving.

Silence didn't faze the driver, "the only healthy emotional outlet of your emotions in your adolescence was violence. It's your comfort zone, hence your choice of a career that sees your aggression as a positive contribution to society."

The brunette sighed heavily drumming her fingers on the glass. Glaring at traffic wouldn't make it go faster, but it wasn't for her lack of trying.

"….insults, threats of bodily harm are really extensions from that comfort zone to show affection."

Jo smirked meeting his eyes in the mirror, "why don't you come back here so I can show you how much I like you."

Laughter rang from the front seat, but he kept his mouth shut for the rest of the ride. He consoled himself with the fact that Jo liked him, even as the divider was being rolled up.

Since enlisting the help of a nanny, Natalie took full advantage of the cooking skills via Bailey. The little girl didn't mind being helpful and often enjoyed the food that Natalie hinted she should ask the nanny to make. On such a night Natalie had been in the mood for lasagna. It was still hot when Natalie relieved the nanny smiling happily at the wonderful smell of cheese and meat. Blair usually came home minutes after she did. Bailey was in the den playing with her dolls and jewelry. She was the only kid she knew that had real diamonds hanging from the necks of her dolls.

"Hey kid," Natalie dropped her satchel by the couch.

"Hello Natalie," she picked up her princess doll, "Princess say hello to Natalie," on cue the little girl changed her pitch greeting the writer.

"Will Princess be joining us for dinner?" Natalie played along with Bailey. She knew what it was like to have an inanimate companion. She shared some of her most intimate hopes with her purple hippo Hal. He was great as a pillow too.

The young blond looked to Princess and declined graciously befitting a princess. She wanted to watch her figure. Natalie nodded and smiled. Sometimes it was easier to speak through something else than take responsibility for the words yourself. Natalie wasn't a parent, but it didn't seem like a good parent would push their health issues on their own daughter. She smiled indulgently before she headed into the kitchen to taste the spoils. Opening the oven the smell of lasagna filled her lungs. Her stomach grumbled reflexively.

"Third degree burns are in your near future if you decide to climb in there Nat," Blair's warned amused. Natalie greeted her with a grin of chagrin as Blair leaned against the counter top.

Natalie closed the door sighing, "Some things are worth getting burned for."

The flicker of humor faded. Natalie realizing what she just said opened her mouth to change the subject, but Bailey beat her to it.

"Smells yummy in here, I don't think Princess really cares about watching her figure anymore."

Blair looked questioningly at Natalie, who answered by turning and retrieving plates from the cabinets. She and Bailey helped set the table, while Blair went upstairs and dressed down for comfort. She leaned into a Langley sweat shirt she stole from Jo when they started dating. She brought it to her nose and inhaled.

The finest smells in the world had nothing on perfume Polniaczek, a heathen and feminine blend she wouldn't bottle up to share. Jo still loved her, or at least still wanted her, from her reaction in the ice cream parlor. She smiled into the shirt. Thoughts of Jo led to more thoughts of Jo leading to the interesting question of why she was working in a garage. She was focused on keeping busy with her career and flaunting new men every other day in her social life. It was easy to lose track of someone she was trying desperately to get over.

Natalie nor Tootie had said anything. They all had aspects of their careers they tended to, but they kept each other current. Surely Jo would have said something after making a drastic career change. Jo didn't talk to her anymore unless she had to. It took Tootie's scheming to get them in the same room together, and she wasn't even sure how well that went. If anyone knew about what was going on with Jo it would be Tootie.

She frowned at the thought. For the longest time it was Jo and Blair. Tootie and Natalie were of course valued members of the musketeers, but they were each closer to the other. She felt foolish to be jealous of Tootie, but she was. She had been Jo's shoulder for a long time. Was she so easily replaced? By Tootie of all people she groused to herself. The woman had a mouth that could run a marathon with all the secrets she couldn't keep.

Sighing heavily she decided to arrange a friendly lunch to get Tootie talking. It wouldn't take much once Blair worked her magic, not that she would need to work hard.

"Jo," she moaned. Looking longingly at the shirt she had plans for later that evening. For now she had an adolescent to amuse and a nosey roommate to keep at bay.