PANIC

Chapter Eighteen - ROOK

My life has gone from fast and fabulous to dead-ass boring in one week. Last week I was Rook, super naked model for Antoine Chaput and the human canvas for Spencer Shrike’s amazing artwork. Now I’m a receptionist who has no idea how to subtract negative numbers and requires a paid tutor even though she is twenty fucking years old. The phone rings and I pick it up. “Good afternoon, Spencer Shrike Bikes, this is Rook, how can I help you?”

You see? This is my new life.

“Yes,” I say back to the person on the line as I click through the bike production schedule on the computer. “We have a Skype conference scheduled for next Monday at ten thirty AM mountain time.”

I make appointments. I pick up tailpipes from the chrome guy down in La Porte and painted frames from the body shop in Fort Collins. Sometimes, if my day is really exciting, I also swing by the upholsterer’s shop in Loveland and grab a bike seat or two.

“Great, I’ll call you five minutes before the meeting and we’ll get your bike in production,” I say enthusiastically to the guy on the other end of the phone. “Thanks!”

I hang up the phone and turn back to the shop. Ford’s presence startles me because I didn’t hear him walk over. “What’s up?” I ask.

Ford’s job here is still undefined. I’m not sure why he’s on the show, let alone what his purpose is in Spencer’s shop. But no one cares what I think. I’m a fucking receptionist now, so I have to make coffee, and take sandwich orders for all these men, and when we have person-to-person meetings with important people who are gonna be on the show—we’ve got famous bikers coming out of the fucking walls already and we’ve only taped two days—it’s my job to flirt with them.

“I need to go town. Need anything?”

“Do I need anything? Yeah, you know what I need? A life, that’s what I need. Can you pick one up for me?”

Ford scowls at me. “Why are you such a bitch today?”

I sigh. “I have to take a test for math by tomorrow and I’m still confused. Plus, I’d like to go see Ronin early, but fucking Spencer has some guy coming in for the show, so they want me here until six tomorrow. So how am I supposed to get to Ronin’s early if I’m stuck here until six and I have to take a test after?”

“Cheat on the test and tell Spence to fuck off.” He shrugs, like that’s the most stupid simple answer in the world.

“Cheat? That’s real nice, Ford.”

“That’s why I hired that tutor in the first place, Rook. I never expected you to actually learn the shit. When he called Monday night and said you didn’t want him to take the tests for you I was appalled by your morals.”

I laugh a little. “I’m not against working the system, Ford. Seriously, I’m not some high-and-mighty moral fuck who looks down on people who take shortcuts or whatever. But if I am gonna screw up my karma with underhanded tactics, I’m gonna do it for a subject that is not pre-fucking-algebra, OK? I’m gonna do it for biology or the real algebra class I have to take next semester, the one that counts.”

“OK, I see your point for that one, but you can still tell Spencer to fuck off.”

I laugh again. “What are you getting in town?”

“An apartment.”

“What? Why? You’re gonna move out?”

He smiles coyly as his eyes dart around the shop. “No, not exactly. I just need a place. A place that’s not here.”

“Uh-huh. For that pet of yours?”

“No, I’m trying something different now.”

“Get the fuck out of my reception area. I’m busy.”

He walks out the front door laughing.

I shudder and try to get that image out of my head. I can’t stand to think of Ford with these girls. It makes me sick. He knows this too, and I think he likes making me uncomfortable with the notion of his personal life.

Or maybe it’s all in my head. Ford probably doesn’t give one shit about what I think of him.

I check the clock and it’s almost six, so I shut down the computer and clean up my desk so it looks presentable for the cameras. They’re not here today, but they will be tomorrow because that important biker dude is taping his show. My phone buzzes just as I’m about to throw it in my purse and I read the text from Ronin.

Working late. Call you tomorrow.

I don’t text back because that’s the second time this week he said that and it’s pissing me off.

This job sucks. The money is good, ten thousand dollars an episode, but do I really need another hundred and twenty thousand dollars?

I shrug to myself. It’s a lot of money to most people. Hell, it’s a lot of money to me, but it doesn’t mean much when I have plenty of money these days.

I slip on my Shrike Bikes leather jacket that Spencer had custom-made for my birthday, grab my purse and backpack, and peek around the wall that separates my area from the shop. They are all busy behind the glass, laughing and joking as they work. These fucking guys love their jobs. They stay until all hours—hell, they practically live here. I push the door open and the noise of men leaks out. “Hey, I’m taking off, Spencer. I have to meet my tutor, OK?”

All of them wave but only Spencer calls out a ‘goodbye.’

Yup. I’m no one special here, that’s for sure.

I walk up the driveway to my Shrike truck, throw my bag and purse onto the passenger seat, and climb in. I do love this truck, though. Although I’m careful not to speed on the road into town. That deputy who busted me for speeding is always on the lookout. I think he wants to date me though, not write a ticket.

I’d rather get the ticket. So I drive the fucking speed limit all the way into Fort Collins. And let me tell you this, living thirty minutes from town sucks. I hate it. La Porte is not very far, but that place has nothing, it might as well be Bellvue. It takes even longer to get to my community college because it’s all the way on the south side of FoCo, so by the time I make it to the math building, grab all my shit, and haul myself across the parking lot, my tutor Gage is already waiting for me outside.

“We gotta go somewhere else tonight, Rook. Water pipe broke and there’s a massive clean-up going on in there.”

Gage is kinda hot for a nerd. He doesn’t have those stupid black glasses and he doesn’t wear a pen protector in his pocket, but he’s definitely a nerd. I know this because I asked him what he does on the weekends yesterday and he said study. He’s in some special engineering department down at CU Boulder, not regular building stuff, but like robots or mechanical hearts or some shit like that.

“Well, where can we go? I’m not familiar with this area, Gage, sorry. You’ll have to pick.”

“There’s a coffee shop with wireless down the street. We could go there.”

“Great,” I say as we make our way back to the parking lot. “I’ll follow you.”

I have a better parking spot than he does, so I reach my truck first. He eyeballs it with a weird look on his face as he walks past. Probably wondering what I’m doing with a Shrike Bikes vehicle. It’s pretty conspicuous, this truck. I really need to buy a car of my own so I can blend in.

I pull the truck out and look around to see what he’s driving. There’s only one car on the move and that’s an old-ass light blue Camaro. He waves at me to follow and we pull out.

The coffee shop is busy and loud when we walk in, but Gage points to the back where there’s doors separating a section from the main room and a sign that says, Study Area.

We’re the only people in there, but he picks a table in the corner to get away from the noise in the other room.

“OK, here’s the deal. That guy who hired me for you called earlier and said you need to take that test tonight so you can leave town tomorrow. So we’re gonna pull up the test, you can do it yourself, but if you have a question, I’ll be here to answer it.”

“That’s cheating.”

“It’s an online math class, Rook. Everyone is cheating. It’s open book, anyway. What’s the difference?”

“I just don’t want help. I’d rather you check my work that I did last night and explain where I went wrong. I’ll take the test tomorrow night like I planned, my boyfriend down in Denver will wait and Ford can just butt the fuck out of my life. It’s none of his business, and just because he’s the one who pays you doesn’t mean you have to listen to him. I can pay you myself, you know. I don’t need his money.”

Gage is staring at me with another weird look.

“What?” I ask.

He laughs. Like loud.

“What?”

“I knew it!”

“Knew what?”

“Ford? The guy who hired me is Ford Aston, isn’t it?”

“Um, well, I don’t actually know his last name but—”

“Rich, pretentious asshole?”

I laugh. “Yeah, that’s him.”

“And you drive a Shrike Bikes truck because you’re working for Spencer Shrike?”

“Yeeeahhhh…”

“Please tell me the guy you’re meeting in Denver tomorrow is not Ronin Flynn. Please.”

“Why?” My heart starts beating super-fast at the mention of Ronin’s name. “He’s my boyfriend, why?”

“Are you from here?”

“No, what’s that got to do with anything?”

He shakes his head as he laughs, then huffs out a long breath of air. “Well, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but your friends are bad fucking news. And if I were you, I’d get as far away from them as you possibly can because they committed a high-profile murder a couple years back and walked away free and clear on a technicality.”