..::.. Chapter 45 – Paper Bag ..::..

"All that time and you couldn't get off his dick long enough to look?" Jenks yells. Jenks is pissed.

I shift, pressing my thighs together unnoticeably. The ache there, I feel all of him still.

"Fuck you," I spit.

"No, thank you. I think we both know you've done enough of that!"

"Hey! I'm not at your service here, okay? You want proof, why don't you fucking seduce him yourself?"

He glares.

I wave a hand, bring it to my lips. "I can't. I … I'm not strong enough. I can't do this." My throat clogs up. I try to hold back the tears. There's no way I'm telling him what I dreamed—remembered? Who knows what that was.

Jenks sighs. He weaves his fingers together and combs over his head in a frustrated sweep.

"Bella…"

I motion him to stop. "I'm not a fucking FED, all right?"

His head hangs low, hands on hips. "I apologize."

"You're damn right, you should."

He looks like he's about to have a coronary, so I throw him a bone. "Look, I'll give you one thing. It seems they have many people manage their … income. I might be able to get in contact with one, very fine, very wealthy broker who might know a thing or two. But I have no clue what's involved. I just overheard."

Riley's father is ruthless, just like his son was. I don't believe he'll give anything away, but anything to get Jenks out of my hair. I need time.

Jenks gives me a side eye, skeptical. I shrug like take it or leave it. He snatches his hat off the deli table and walks to the back door by the dumpsters. He turns, ready to say something smart but doesn't. He walks out.

I sigh.

My heels clack back to Sue's shop down the street. A better outfit to please her today. But my stomach drops in an instant.

Edward's car is parked up front.

Fuck. I have no peace.

I take inventory of what's in my hands; the uneaten salad I bought for lunch. I dump it in a trash bin as I pass.

When I get to the car, I look inside; a guard sits behind the wheel, waiting. Edward must be inside. The bell chimes on the door above me, and he turns and looks serious. Sue is herself, but she's not showering him with compliments. She's a little wide-eyed.

"Ready to go?" he asks.

"I'm not exactly done here." I let my hands fall at my sides.

He's annoyed when nothing's at his pace. He comes close and asks with grit, "You haven't told her, have you?" I'm caught. I don't respond. "Do it now," he orders.

He walks out.

Claire watches from her desk. She blinks like she hasn't for hours, rapt with all the tension. She looks away. Yet, this time, she isn't full of disdain but shows a tinge of fear.

Then I wonder what he said when he came in here.

Sue is pulling on a client's sleeve. The shop has a few people milling about as she gets a fitting done.

I clear my throat, pull at my hair uncomfortably. "Um, Sue. Could I possibly have a few minutes?"

She tugs harder on the fabric.

"Honey, I get it. He has wonderful opportunities and offices all over the city. You can learn and excel. Go on, Mr. Cullen is waiting," she says, but she doesn't look at me. I purse my lips and nod.

"I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you. I'll … continue our work as freelance. I want to see this through."

She looks at me. "I don't think you'd have time for two jobs, honey. It seems like he'll take up all of it. This will be a new career challenge for you." Her hand cups my chin. "It's all right. This is your chance."

My chance to fuck this up, or take them all down. She's right one way or the other.

She lets go and sighs. "I knew this was temporary. I guess you've spoiled me, that's all. I need smart, hardworking people around me, something I never knew I lacked here. This is good. I'll be making changes to my life just like you." I glance at Claire from over her shoulder.

I hold back a laugh. Sue rolls her eyes and chuckles.

"You'll do great," I say.

"So will you." She nods once.

"But you're angry with me," I point.

She shakes her head, her hands moving as she works. Tugging here or there on the model. "No. Just … worried for you, like any mother would be." She says this with a glance outside the windows. She turns to me. "Just be careful. Use your gut instinct and go with it. I'll always be here to fall back on." She smiles.

I kiss her cheek hard and grab my stuff.

"Don't forget the package you received this morning," she reminds as she presses a few pins between her lips.

I wedge the bulky envelope under my arm and kiss her again. "I love you," I say. Her demeanor changes. She smiles, warmly. The fabric in her hands drops, and she hugs me tightly. I have never said those words to her out loud.

"Dinner this week? Yes, your father included." She bops my nose with a finger.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Perfect!"

I roll my eyes and hear her chuckles all the way to the door.

"What the hell did you say to her?" I ask when the door to the SUV shuts behind me. Edward is reading a newspaper.

My next protest dies at my lips when I notice him. Glasses sit over his nose to help him read the newsprint.

I lean in. The frames are dark rimmed. He looks…

"Glasses? To read? Since when?"

"I just inquired about you, nothing else," he answers, ignoring my question.

I pull off the glasses. His eyes turn to ice with his glare, and he lets the newspaper sag. I place them on my nose and look at him, a slightly-magnified, angry Edward through the lenses.

I slowly give them back.

He snatches them away to slide them on. "First things first," he says, flipping a page. "I'd care for you to be punctual, respectful, and professional." He starts to lecture. A new hire orientation?

I sit back and straighten my spine. "Yes, sir." I utter softly.

He cuts his chilling eyes to me. I feel the weight, so I look over. "That wasn't sarcasm," I clarify.

He flicks the newspaper in his hands and continues to browse and rattle his discourse. "Respect at all times is vital. No games, no flirting, no giving me smart looks …"

"Flirting?" I scoff, jumping in.

"And definitely none of that smart mouth," he points out. "There are consequences just like with any other employee."

I'm watching the streets go by out my window when I feel him pull me.

"I will hurt you, Bella," he enunciates by my ear. "Understood?"

My eyes widen, watching his dark ones through his Clark Kent glasses. I yank my elbow away. "Understood," I mirror.

His lips catch mine without warning. "Good." He brings his thumb to my lips to dampen the tip and turns a page on his newspaper.

"Lunch?" he asks.

"I already ate," I lie. My stomach twists on cue.

"Watch me eat then."

We sit at a deli downtown, and I'm surprised he chose this place and not a restaurant he owns. The back table cleared out before we walked in; others don't seem to notice they have a cruel mobster in their midst. I guess we blend in with other patrons in work clothes stopping in for lunch.

He sits, jacket off, sleeves rolled up to elbows as he bites into a sandwich. I do watch him eat.

My damn stomach growling. I sip on coffee.

"What are we doing today, Boss?" I lean on knuckles.

He rubs a few fingers to rid perfectly toasted buttery bread crumbs. I watch them land on the brown paper wrap. I drum my fingers on the tabletop close by, holding myself back from dabbing at them and licking my fingers clean.

"We? You mean you," he says after swallowing a mouth full. His tongue makes an appearance with a swipe. I watch that.

"Okay. So what, then?"

He shakes his head slightly. "Always so eager." He takes a bite.

I observe him. The memory of me getting in his car in the middle of the night for the first time to see what he really does, filters back.

"Yes, I remember," I say.

"Do you?"

"The woman in charge of that building we went to. The one you used to sleep with." I jab with a smirk.

He pauses in the middle of chewing. He thinks. Then he continues with a hum, remembering.

"Older women." He mutters.

I chuckle. I was right. The bastard was sleeping with her. I was definitely the domestic, naive girlfriend.

"Was I just your backup, your … constant?" I ask. "What was I?"

"You called yourself my girlfriend, so I went with that."

I laugh incredulously. "You mother fucker."

"They came at me. Let's make that clear."

I roll my eyes. I'm bothered, but I don't show it. I watch the customers. The girl behind the register ringing people up. The middle-aged man who passes by and pats her shoulder. She smiles at him. I'm guessing it's her father; their nose the same shape, though it looks best on her delicate profile as she looks back. A jar sits by the register with tape around it. 'College fund' written on it, and folks drop bills into it. I catch her glancing over once in a while, hopeful, as the jar fills. It'll likely fill up to the rim by the time lunch ends. She's happy.

Edward starts on the second half of his delicious sandwich. He points an index toward the counter. "Monthly tax collection. Go. I'll wait here."

I'm confused. I raise my brows at him. "What?"

"Go ask the man behind the counter for the collection."

I do a double take. "You mean they give up money? To you?" I point a thumb.

He gives me an annoyed look.

"How do you think we run business in this town? It's always been done. No questions asked. Go and do what I've asked."

My heart speeds. I look over at the girl behind the register. My stomach is lead.

"Wait, wait," I pause. "You mean to tell me you guys have always done this? Monthly? Since when? How many establishments?"

He doesn't respond.

"You do this yourself?" I push.

He tilts his head. "You actually think I personally make these rounds? Don't be ridiculous, Bella. I have better things to do. I have employees who do this. One of them being you—right now. Stand and go do what I've asked."

I'm frozen in place.

"This is what you did in high school," I deadpan. "Your first job. You'd hurt them if they didn't pay up." This explains all the scabs and marks he always had on him. He'd lift his shirt in class to wipe his face, and I'd get a peek at all the ominous marks on his skin.

He takes a bite of his sandwich. I suddenly feel nauseated. I watch the family up front as they go about their hard-working day, completely oblivious; trying to make a living.

"I'll take you back to Sue's," he says with a wipe of his mouth on a napkin.

I give him a look.

"When was the last … pickup?" I ask.

"Last week."

My eyes widen. "You're asking two payments from them … in one month?"

He sighs. "Bella, either get your ass in the car or do what I've asked. Don't waste my time."

This is his introduction into his … mess. A test. My loyalty, his validation.

I tremble. I feel angry, sick, devastated.

He throws his napkin on the table and begins to stand. I beat him to it as I rattle the chair under me.

I walk up to the counter, surpassing all the people in line.

"Get your father," I tell the girl. She's taken aback. She hesitates. I point. "Your dad. Get him." She flinches at the sharpness.

The man is bewildered, but there's a familiar dread in his eyes. "What can I do for Mr. Cullen? Soup to go with his lunch? We have refreshments."

I sigh. I look over my shoulder. Edward is nonchalantly popping the last bite into his mouth.

"Collection," is all I say.

He pales. "Forgive me, maybe you're mistaken. A young man came in just last week. He counted every bill."

"You're saying Mr. Cullen is mistaken?" I ask. He goes red. "Should I have him come over and clear up the confusion?"

He lifts his palms. "No, no. No need to. Uh …" He fumbles. He scratches his balding head, looks around. He quickly takes the jar and pulls out the bills.

The girl sucks in a breath. She takes a step. He pushes her back with an arm. He raises his voice at her to go to the back and get more supplies. She swallows up all the protest and keeps silent. But she doesn't leave until she gives me a look that could kill, and I respect her all the more. I keep my face straight and stare her down even though I die inside.

He dips from the cash register as well and stuffs it all in a paper bag.

He hands it over.

"Next in line, please?" he says, dismissing me. He's angry. As he should be. The crowd barely notices our transaction with the orders being shouted and the noise in the deli. But I'm shaken. I know exactly what this was; an invasion, terrorism.

I turn to the table, and it's empty. I head out the door expecting him to already be in the car.

I throw the bag on his lap and sit back.

"Your chump change," I say.

He gives it back. "Your reward for a job well done." I don't touch it, but he does touch me; my cheek. A feathered graze. Edward is soft.

"Easy," he murmurs. I take a deep breath so I won't kill him. "And just for the record, you took up all my time back then. When we were together, we were together. Don't insult me." He says about older women.

I let that sink in, just like my hand against the cushion between us. He holds on, fingers woven through mine, the entire car ride.

He makes me collect all afternoon. Paper bags pile up on the floorboards by my heels. My heart among them as I remember the shock of every face when I asked.

I remember every face.

….