The Original Sinners: The Red Years

“No,” Grace finally said. “I have the torch now. Thanks again.”

“Sure. Right then,” Zach said, his stomach falling and taking his heart with it. “Of course.”

Zach didn’t hang up the phone. He held his breath and listened, waiting for that awful little click. When it came he flinched as if he’d heard a gunshot. He held the buzzing receiver until the line died and then finally hung it up.

25

Nora woke up on Thursday morning with a smile on her face. She dressed in her favorite suit—her business kink black skirt, her knee-high black boots and a white blouse with a black tie. She heard a whistle as she walked past Wesley’s door.

“Did you just whistle at me, young man?” Nora asked, pausing in Wesley’s doorway.

“I did,” he said as he stuffed his laptop into his backpack. “Where are you going today looking so nice?”

Nora came close to blushing. She knew Wesley was attracted to her. He was nineteen, after all, and she wasn’t hideous. But he always tried to treat her as just a friend and roommate. But since their intimate encounter Monday night, he’d been more playful with her, more flirtatious. She was starting to like it.

“I’m going to Kingsley’s.” Wesley’s smile faded. “To tell him I’m quitting.”

The smile came back.

“Zach signed the contract?” Wesley looked so happy and hopeful it broke her heart.

“Not yet. But he will.”

Wesley came over to her with his backpack slung over his shoulder. He looked so cute and young right now with his baseball cap on his shaggy hair that she wanted to throw him down on his bed and put her tie to better use.

“I’ve gotta get to class. But maybe we can hang out later today. We should celebrate you quitting your job.”

“What did you have in mind?” Nora stepped closer to him. In her heels she was tall enough to kiss him.

Wesley leaned close and put his mouth to her ear. “I was thinking…we could…”

Nora held her breath.

“…rent a movie.” Wesley slapped her playfully on her bottom and brushed past her.

“Sadist!” she yelled out and took a breath, her heart racing. The door opened and closed and Wesley’s car started. She tried to remember what she was doing. Kingsley—that was it.

Nora drove the Aston Martin to one of Manhattan’s oldest and most elegant town houses. It wasn’t just a private home but the headquarters of New York’s most thriving underground business. She handed the keys to the doorman and climbed the front staircase to the third floor. Striding down the hallway, she went through the double doors at the end without knocking.

Four huge black Rottweilers charged at her.

“Down, kids.” She laughed as she petted the massive beasts.

“Brutus, Dominic, Sadie, Max, down,” the man behind the desk ordered tiredly and snapped his fingers. All four dogs sat and stared up at Nora as if waiting for her to countermand the order.

Nora left the whimpering dogs by the door and headed to the ebony desk. Behind it reclined a man she knew no one would believe owned such a posh establishment. He’d pulled his long dark hair into a low ponytail tied with a black silk ribbon. He wore a stylishly rumpled black Victorian-era suit with a long tail and a black vest with silver buttons. His cravat was carelessly tied but that was nothing unusual. On his feet he wore his signature black riding boots. He looked like a handsomely roguish pirate someone forced into a suit and acted liked one, too—the one and only Kingsley Edge in person.

“I was at the window when you pulled up.” He paused and sipped his cocktail. “You drove the Martin, maîtresse. You really are a tease.” He didn’t so much speak as he allowed words to saunter out of his mouth.

“I only tease the ones who pay me to tease.” Nora came around the desk and sat on the top. Not even Kingsley had an Aston Martin. She liked to remind him of that. “Miss me?”

“I miss you. My bank account misses you.”

“Your bank account is bigger than the GDP of Luxembourg, King.”

“Oui, maîtresse.” He took a bigger swig of his drink. “But Luxembourg is such a small kingdom.”

“Cough it up,” she said. “I’ve got news.”

Sighing, Kingsley slowly rose out of his chair and strolled across the room. He picked up a small black briefcase and handed it to her. Nora tossed it aside and wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders.

“None of that,” Kingsley said as Nora nibbled delicately on his ear. She wanted him in a good mood for the bad news. Her hand wandered down his taut stomach. Damn beautiful Frenchman, she hated to see him pout. “And none of that, either. What’s this news of yours?”

“I quit,” she whispered.

Kingsley pulled back and raised his eyebrow at her.

“Quit?”

“Oui,” Nora said. “I adore you, Kingsley. You are annoying and frustrating, and I don’t know what I would have done without you. But my editor’s going to sign my contract. It’s time I started behaving like a real writer. Comprende?”

Kingsley sighed and kissed both of her cheeks.

“Notre prêtre will be thrilled to hear that. And God knows I’ll be happy to go a day without him threatening my life and manhood on your behalf. It wouldn’t be so troubling except—”

“Søren means it.”

“Bien sûr, ma chérie,” Kingsley said and kissed her on the lips. Nora tried not to enjoy it but it was Kingsley after all. The man was half-French but his tongue was all-French. “Now that you’re a free woman, care to spend a little free time avec moi? I’ll tip you for old time’s sake, oui?”

“Je suis désolée. But I’m seducing my editor this week. And besides, we both know you’re a terrible tipper.”

Nora pulled away and headed to the door.

“Elle?” Nora turned around to face him. Kingsley had changed her name to Nora Sutherlin four years ago. If he ever called her Elle anymore, it was because he wanted her complete attention. He sat on top of his desk with his cocktail again. “I tease you but your books… You make us all proud, chérie. La communauté. Bonne chance avec le roman, ma belle dame sans merci.”

Good luck with the novel, my beautiful lady without mercy. Nora smiled.

“La belle dame avec merci,” she replied with a curtsy, touched by his kind words. Usually Kingsley had nothing but disgust for the other job that often kept her from her clients. “Merci, monsieur.”

He was still laughing when she left him.

* * *

Nora drove to Zach’s building, parked in the garage and tipped the attendant a hundred dollars to keep an eye on her car. Tipping generously came easily with the ten thousand dollars in cash Kingsley had just given her.

She tipped Zach’s doorman with equal generosity and claimed she had something to drop off at his apartment. Good thing Zach had a male doorman or sweet-talking her way inside might not have worked.

Nora found number 1312 and knocked lightly, praying Zach wasn’t working from home today. She waited and heard nothing. Opening her bag, she pulled out her small lock pick set.