For His Keeping (For His Pleasure, Book 3) (9 page)

“It’s finished,” Red said as he entered the hotel room, his face pale and somewhat haggard—eyes dry and bloodshot. “We lost another big client today. And Jameson International’s stock dropped over twenty percent during trading. Now I’m getting calls from our other offices. People are panicking. It’s like a run on the bank. All the confidence and trust we built up over the last decade is gone, just like that.” He snapped his fingers.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, getting up from the couch and moving to hug him.

“I can’t—not right now,” he muttered, shying away from the contact.

That was when Kane’s words from earlier rang in her ears.

To fall so quickly from grace will be a tremendous blow to his confidence. His
ego will be shattered.

She could see that already Red was changing. The stress of failure could do things to a person—and although Red might like to think he could rise from the ashes, Nicole was beginning to wonder. It wasn’t even about the money really. It was about losing. Red was going to think of himself as a loser from now on, and for a man like him who was used to being on top and in control—who depended on that sense of control and power—there was no telling what it might do to him.

“I need a drink,” Red told her. “Let’s go out.”

“Really?” she asked, a strange feeling in her stomach. “You want to drink?

Shouldn’t you just try and relax, maybe get some sleep?”

“I can go alone,” he said, his eyes restless.

“Of course I want to go with you.”

“Great,” he said, not sounding that enthusiastic. “Come on.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

And so they took a cab to a bar in Berlin, some place that Red said he’d heard was fun and unique. When they there, Nicole wasn’t sure it was such a great idea. Sure the place was unique—as advertised—but not in a good way.

The bar was dark inside, and the clientele seemed rough. Red and Nicole were far more dressed up than anyone else in the place. A lot of the people were young, some of them had a punk look going on—lots of piercings and tattoos and strange haircuts.

Red didn’t seem to care. In fact, she sensed that he was in a very dangerous mood tonight. When one of the men in the bar would give him a look, Red would glare back at them, as if daring them to challenge him in some way.

Nobody did—at least, not at first—but Nicole was uneasy just the same.

“Shouldn’t we maybe go somewhere else?” she asked, as they took seats at the bar and Red ordered himself two shots of vodka, and a cranberry and vodka for her.

He shook his head. “I like it here.”

“No you don’t. You’re just looking for trouble,” she said.

He glanced sideways at her, as the bartender handed him the first shot and he slugged it down. “Bullshit, I am.”

“This isn’t the way to handle what’s going on with your business,” she told him, knowing he wouldn’t want to hear it.

“I just need to let off some steam, Nicole. I can’t always play rich businessman, it gets old.”

“Couldn’t you just lift some weights or go run on the treadmill?”

Red laughed, did another shot. When he was done with that one, he ordered two more. The bartender gave him a look. “Zwei verschiedenen wodkasorten,” Red said, the volume of his voice rising slightly.

The bartender poured two more shots and slid them across the bar. Red drank one and then sat and looked at the second one.

Nicole sipped her cranberry drink, which was too strong for her tastes. She looked around the bar. People were all staring at them. She didn’t like this at all. Not one bit.

But after a time, it seemed the other patrons were losing interest in the strange Americans. The bar got more crowded, noisier, loud heavy punk rock music was playing over the speakers.

Red seemed to have relaxed a little, too. He rolled up his shirtsleeves, undid his tie, and began drinking vodka and cranberry with Nicole. He kissed her for embarrassingly extended periods of time.

But eventually she was starting to get a little bit tipsy as well, and her body was loosening up. She was starting to think that earlier in the night she’d been more afraid of this bar because it was so foreign and the people spoke another language. Sure, they were dressed kind of funny, and they looked intimidating, but most of them seemed to be having fun and acting like young people did in New York every night.

“I’ve got to go to the bathroom,” Red said in her ear. As it was, she could barely hear him over the noise.

She nodded.

“And then let’s get out of here, huh?” he said.

She nodded again, gratefully.

He smiled and kissed her cheek. “You’re the best, baby,” he yelled to her, and then pushed his way through the crowd to get to the bathroom.

A couple of minutes later, a young man wearing a sleeveless t-shirt and heavily tattooed arms plopped down on the empty stool next to her with his beer. He looked at her and grinned. She saw he had two or three gold teeth, and some kind of tattoo around his right eye. “American?” he asked.

She nodded nervously. “My boyfriend’s—“

“My name is Karl,” he said, holding out a large, calloused hand to her.

She didn’t want to touch him at all—he was giving her a really bad vibe. But she told herself to calm down and just try and end this as quickly and politely as possible.

“Hi, Karl,” she said.

“Do you like boxing?” Carl asked her.

She shrugged. “I—I don’t really know—“

“Because I’m a boxer.” He smiled again. “What about your boyfriend?” he said.

His accent was thick but he spoke perfectly reasonable English.

“What about him?” she said.

“He looks like a fucking twat,” Karl replied, grinning. He glanced back and she saw that he had a couple of goon friends watching nearby.

Nicole’s heart started to speed up. She didn’t want Red to come back and see this idiot giving her a hard time. “I really should go,” she said.

“Why?” Karl asked. “You one of those stuck up Americans?”

“No. But you’re being rude and you’re frightening me.”

Karl smiled. “Awww, I’m really nice, sweetie. I swear I am. And I got a big motherfucking schwanz, too.”

“Get away from me,” she said, as he leaned in.

That’s when Red appeared, pushing through the crowd. When he saw Karl on his stool his eyes turned cold and hard and she knew he was furious. “Are you okay, Nicole?” he called out, not taking his eyes off the punk.

“Yes,” she said.

Karl turned, saw Red and grinned. He stood up, and he was big, at least as big as Red. On top of that, he looked mean, as though he fought a lot and quite enjoyed it.

Nicole realized that he hadn’t truly been interested in her at all—talking to her had merely been a means to an end. He’d wanted to start a problem with her boyfriend.

“Red, don’t do anything,” she said, getting up and grabbing his shirtsleeve.

“Did he touch you?” Red asked, his eyes still unwavering.

She leaned in to talk to him. “He didn’t touch me, and besides, he’s a boxer. He wants to fight you.”

Karl grinned at Red, mocking him with wide eyes. “What a fucking twat you look like,” he said. Behind them, his friends laughed and closed in.

“You box?” Red asked.

“Enough to knock the teeth out of rich American faggots.”

Red grinned and nodded. “Good for you, man.”

“Good for me, not so good for you, son.” Karl took another step closer.

Red put out a hand and lightly pushed Nicole out of the way, and she knew something was going to happen.

And then it did, as if in slow motion and fast-forward all at once.

Karl threw a quick punch that caught Red on the nose, snapping his head back.

Nicole screamed.

And then Red threw two powerful punches. One of them landed on Karl’s chin and the other seemed to hit his temple. His head flashed back as if he’d been shot, and the big German dropped like a sack of potatoes.

Karl’s friends grabbed Red and tried to throw him to the ground. Red swung an elbow back and smashed one of them in the nose, knocking him over like a bowling pin.

Yet another attacker punched Red in the face.

Red kicked him in the stomach, grabbed him by the hair, and planted a powerful punch down onto the side of his face, causing him to fall to the floor. Red delivered yet another kick to his ribs. Then he spun on the remaining friend, who threw up his arms and babbled in broken English for Red not to hurt him.

“Come on, Nicole,” Red said, taking her by the arm and leading her outside.

They hailed a cab just as three or four large and menacing men came running out of the bar behind them. As the cab drove away, beer bottles smashed on the hood and the street next to them.

And then they were out of reach.

The cab driver’s eyes were wide and spooked.

Red spoke to him in German and quickly handed him a wad of cash for his troubles.

He held Nicole close, she buried her face in his chest.

“I’m sorry I brought you to that shithole,” he said, eventually.

“I told you I didn’t want to stay there,” she cried.

“I should have listened. I was being an asshole.”

“Yeah, you were.” She sat up and wiped the tears from her eyes. “You can’t do that to me again.”

He nodded. His nose was bleeding, a slight trickle down from one nostril, and she grabbed a tissue from her purse and wiped the blood away.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said.

When they got back to their hotel room, she looked at him. “We need to talk,”

she said.

“Yeah?” he sat down heavily on the couch and put the TV on.

“I think you should reconsider Kane Wright’s offer.”

He laughed.

“I’m serious,” she said.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Why would you even say such a thing to me?”

“Because,” she told him, walking closer, “I don’t think you could stand to lose Jameson International completely.”

“Well maybe I don’t have a choice.”

“But you do. You—“

“Nicole, don’t push me on this,” he growled.

“All I said was you should consider it. Maybe Kane Wright is a bastard, but the other possibility is that you lose your company and go crazy. You’re already acting out, fighting, drinking. I won’t stand for it, Red.”

He didn’t reply.

“So now you’re going to ignore me?”

He still didn’t answer, just stared straight ahead at the television, watching a show she couldn’t even understand.

For a moment she considered really letting him have it, really saying something awful to get his attention. He was being a big, selfish baby, and taking it out on her.

But then Nicole thought better of it. She was angry, too angry to deal with Red in his current mood.

So instead she went to bed, thinking he might wake her in the night like he had yesterday.

His touch never came.

***

When Nicole woke up, Red was coming out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist. “Morning, sleepy head.”

She yawned. “Are we still fighting?”

He stopped and smiled at her. “I sure hope not. The last thing I want to do is argue with you during our meeting with Kane Wright today.”

“What? What meeting?”

“I thought about what you said to me last night, and I realized you were right. I should at least consider partnering with that bastard, even if it’s the last thing I want to do right now.”

“Oh, Red. Don’t do it because of what I said!”

He laughed at her anxiety. “Don’t worry, I’m a big boy and I make my own decisions. But I’m smart enough to know good advice when I hear it.”

Now she felt distinctly guilty about what she’d said to him, most of which was just parroting what Kane Wright himself had told her over the phone. It was as if she was in league with Kane—a double agent—and she didn’t like the way that made her feel inside.

“I’m not so sure if it was good advice,” she said, sitting up. “Maybe you should just trust your instincts.”

He shook his head, moving to the closet, where he took a freshly dry-cleaned suit off the rack. “You sure do like to confuse a guy,” Red said.

“I’m sorry. I just—I was drinking last night. I don’t know what I was saying.”

“Whatever. I already made the meeting and my instinct tells me we should go.

Let’s play this thing out, see what he’s willing to do.” Red threw the suit across the bed, then went to the dresser drawer and grabbed an undershirt, boxers, and sox. “Kane Wright doesn’t want some drawn out battle that bleeds Jameson International dry before he takes it over. He’d much rather get the company now, while there’s still something left of it.”

“Okay,” Nicole said, debating about whether or not to tell him about the phone call she’d gotten yesterday.

And then Red turned and looked at her, and his eyes were bright, shining—like his old self. “For the first time since things went bad recently, I finally feel clear,” he told her. “I think I can see the road in front of me again. It’s a nice feeling and I owe it all to you, baby.”

She sighed and fell back against the pillow, knowing she couldn’t possibly bear to tell him now and see the look of disappointment on his face as he realized that he’d simply been outmaneuvered once again by Kane Wright.

The truth was, Nicole still thought it was the right thing to do. And she’d find an opportunity to tell Red about that phone call—when the time was right.

***

“This is the way to begin a great partnership,” Kane Wright said, as the three of them stood on the deck of his private yacht, sailing down the Spree River and watching the buildings and streets of Berlin as they passed by.

People standing on a bridge overlooking the water waved at them as they sailed underneath.

“Very nice,” Red agreed, watching the scenery with a smile on his lips. “I’ve always wanted to buy a yacht.

“Soon you’ll be able to buy two or three of them,” Kane replied, glancing at Nicole, who had chosen to speak as little as possible on this excursion.

“I could buy two or three now, if I wanted to.”

“Still?”

Red looked at the older man. “Still.”

“Certainly,” Kane agreed. “The billionaire mogul Red Jameson is never at a loss for words or for funds.” The wind blew Kane Wright’s light brown hair, ruffling it as he stood and opined on the deck of his massive boat. He was wearing an open collared, blue and white striped Polo shirt, white pants, and immaculate white shoes. He looked vibrant and muscular, betraying the fact that even for a man nearing senior citizenship, he was obviously in tremendous shape.