THE MORE I thought about it, the angrier I got. Donnelly had some freakin' nerve.

First, he tries to make me into a nark, then he dumps me after he tells me he's falling in love with me... and yes, it was like that, and then he has the nerve to show up and ACT LIKE HE CARES when it's clear all he was trying to recruit me. Again. OMG.

I was... oh, I was angry, I don't even know if that's the right word... everything that had happened so far, waking up and having plans, and thinking, I'm going to make me life better, I'm going to live my best life because I CAN, and this MAN shows up to mess with my head?

On the other hand, it felt good to be angry. I'd so been sad lately. I'd read all these motivational books telling me to be my own truth, concentrate on the now, and live in the moment, but I hadn't gotten ANGRY. It was, like, like, inspirational. I got myself a car, lickety-split, and the next thing I know, I was lead-footing it down to McIver, Iowa.

The thing was, I really liked Jason. I could chalk it up to being a bad experience, if it weren't for Alex, which was a bad experience on crack. Still, all bad experiences can be redeemed if you learn something from them, or at least, that's what I read on GOOP.

The lesson I learned from Donnelly was if a man approaches you from the FBI and wants you to nark on your family was RUN AWAY. The lesson I learned from Alex was DON'T DATE A PSYCHO.

Not that I was capable of running away from Donnelly, or that I knew Alex was a psycho. Donnelly was appealing in a way that was enticing and confusing. When he left, I was utterly broken. I met Alex in Chicago when I was out to dinner with Sean, and he seemed so chill. Plus, he knew my family.

Nothing about him screamed psycho.

It did scream pervert. Dude propositioned me when I was fifteen. I called him out on it, and he apologized profusely. Sent a shit ton of flowers, the whole bit. When he called a few days later and asked me out, I figured why not?

At first, it was fun. We had fun. He took me on this aircraft glide that looked like a normal plane, but turned out it was a military aircraft he was selling to Pakistan or India, or something, I don't know, and it was AMAZING. He taught me to shoot an AK-47. I even got use a grenade launcher. He even showed me how to make a Molotov cocktail. That was the best. Blowing stuff up is AWESOME.

I wasn't attracted to him like I was Jason. Alex was good-looking in a pretty way. His hair was blonde, thick, and with just the right amount of curl. His eyes were this strange color of blue that could almost look white in the right environment. He worked out incessantly, but ate voraciously. He read Homer for fun. He could quote Machiavelli.

After a few months, he would hold me in his arms and read me the love letters of The Letters of Abélard and Héloïse. I remember being on his yacht on the Cote d'Azure, looking out at the setting sun as he whispered, "For I would, without hesitation, precede or follow thee to the Vulcanian fires according to thy word. For not with me was my heart, but with thee. But now, more than ever, if it be not with thee, it is nowhere. For without thee it cannot anywhere exist."

It was romantic AF.

He made me feel like I was special, like I was just as pretty as a certain elementary school teaching social media influencer, and that I mattered because I was me, and not because of my family, or my family's money.

At the same time, it was a little much. Romance is awesome, but it's like chocolate. One piece is fine. Three meals a day of it? Every day? 365 days a year? I don't think so. I mean, if it weren't for the sex, I don't think it would have lasted more than a month with the guy.

The man was into some serious kink. That, I kind of miss.

But even that got old, and I had to get back to school. In the end, I had fun. I felt better. Donnelly was fading into a distant memory. I was ready to rejoin the world. Start swiping right.

Then, he had to go and propose.

As far as proposals go, it would have been perfect, if I wanted to get married, or actually believed he was seriously proposing in the first place. We were in New York, on the roof of his townhouse, having this specially prepared farm to plate dinner. There was even a full moon. Then he got down on a one knee and took my hand.

"Siobhan, I've met so many women in my life," he said, his eyes shining in the moonlight, "but none like you. You are exquisite. My match, my perfect helpmeet. Marry me."

I burst out laughing. "Oh, come on! You're kidding, right?" I looked around. "Did Sean set you up to this? He's punking me, right? Because who says helpmeet?"

His face went completely blank, and he yanked me off my chair... for a moment, I thought, I'm flying...

I can't remember the rest. Bits and pieces.

I remember the pain. God, the pain.

I woke up in the hospital, and Alex was there. "Pain is instructive," he whispered as he played with my hair. "That instruction is why governments use it to stop rebellions. Or why parents use it to discipline naughty children." I cringed as he kissed my temple. "I'm sorry you had to learn this way, but I hope the lesson sticks. For your sake. I truly do."

Then Patrick marched in, full of righteous anger, and Alex went away. Patrick got a restraining order against him, and he assured me everything would be fine. I wouldn't have to worry about Alexander Livingston ever again.

The thought crept into my head on tiptoes. What if Alex was behind this? What if he was the reason my trust was gone? The thought sent a chill down my spine.

No! No way! He couldn't touch my trust. No, this was a glitch. Patrick would take care of it. Everything would be fine. It's all fine.

___ *** ___ *** ___ *** ___

I PULLED INTO the Home Office's underground lot at half past four—a record, even for me. At first, I considered being a good girl and checking in at security, but logic dictated otherwise. If they didn't want to talk to me over the phone, it was unlikely they would want to see me in person. I would have wasted a trip. Instead, I used a service entrance in the back of the building.

Technically, this was a janitorial entrance, but it was also one of the many escape routes partners and associates could use in case of some kind of on-site attack. Not that there ever would be. The Firm's security was among the best in the industry. Some likened it to a private army.

I used my brother Aidan's access code to get in and call the elevator. I always used Aidan's credentials because he was the oldest, and therefore the lowest tech of all my brothers. His username/passwords were always his children's names and dates of their birth. I don't know how we haven't been seriously hacked. Again, it must be fear of security.

Anyhoo, Patrick was a senior partner, so his office was on the fifth floor. The bulk of the Home Office is actually underground; the highest floor is the seventh. Being on the fifth floor is quite prestigious. So is having a window.

When the elevators opened on the fifth floor, I thought I must have hit a wrong button. The waiting area was dark and there were no receptionists or administrative assistants in sight. I looked at the lit five above the door. It was the fifth floor. This was the right place.

Okay, what was up? Where was everyone? Where they renovating? Was he even here? Maybe I wasn't being ghosted after all. I took a seat at the reception desk and logged into the computer with Aidan's sign-in. From there, I logged into the security feed and clicked on the camera monitoring Patrick's office.

Patrick was in his office. He was meeting with my Uncle Leland, managing partner of the McIver Group, LLC, and my Uncle Daniel, who was ranked just under Leland. An unfamiliar redheaded man who was clearly family, if unknown to me, stood by the window, looking out.

Whatever they were discussing, it was heated. Should I interrupt? Umm, Patrick wouldn't like it.

I dug around in the receptionist's drawers and found a flash drive I could used to record the meeting. Then I plugged in a headset and started to listen.

"I disagree," my brother was saying. "I cannot, in good conscience, sign off on it."

My brother sat behind his desk with his tie and jacket off, and he looked tired. Poor guy.

Leland seethed and looked about to snap, but Daniel interceded. "Patrick, please. We have worked a long time on this deal, and to void the contract would have negative repercussions."

"There would be negative repercussions if we didn't void it," my brother replied, his face set.

Daniel glanced at Leland and frowned. Leland was tall and thin, like a walking skeleton, but Daniel was plump and pleasant, with a shock of white hair and a jolly laugh. He was the public relations McIver, the one the Firm set out to smooth people's feelings, hold widow's hands, and cheer up children. He was good at it, but that was because he was, for the most part, sincere. Except when he wasn't.

Daniel cleared his throat and straightened his tie. "Patrick, these concerns should have been voiced at the time of signing. Now, it's too late. We are under contract, and need I remind you? We keep our promises."

"Funny you should bring that up," Patrick snapped. "I wasn't there at the original signing, so you can't throw that at me. As for keeping promises, that is what I'm trying to do."

"Patrick, please, be reasonable..."

"I will not," Patrick replied. "The contract is void because it is blatantly illegal, and it cannot be enforced. Nothing you can say, or do, will change my mind." He pressed a button and an intercom on my desk sounded. "Jessie, have my car pulled around, please."

My brother didn't know his administrative assistant had left for the day? An empty floor, all the lights off, completely empty... my stomach started to knot.

Daniel turned to Leland. "He has a point. I recommend we re-open negotiations."

"There's nothing to negotiate," Leland replied tartly. "Think of the all the good that will come out of it's enactment."

"Good can't come from evil," Patrick retorted sullenly. "There's always a price."

For a moment, Leland looked genuinely sad. "If that's your choice, so be it." He nodded at the redhead.

Quick as a flash, the redhead moved behind my brother, grabbed his head, and twisted. My brother dropped, limp, to his desk.

I stared at the screen, frozen. I should be doing something. What should I be doing?

Daniel crossed himself. "It's for the best. You know his cancer was back."

"I know." Leland stood up and buttoned his jacket. "Why do you think he was taking a stand? Because he cared? Hardly."

"Oh, I don't know," Daniel replied. "Patrick was always a complicated boy. I liked him."

"You like everyone," Leland sneered.

Daniel nodded. "That's true, too." He cocked his head. "Ian, my boy, is there a problem?"

The redhead—his name must be Ian—was listening to an earbud. "The girl's onsite. She slipped in through a service entrance."

"Oh, dear." Daniel's eyes grew wide. "It would not do for her to find Patrick in this state."

"Find her." Leland headed towards the door. "We'll alert—"

I ripped off the headset, turned off the monitor, and dove under the desk.

"When you speak to him, Daniel," Leland was saying as the men walked past the desk, "assure him there will be no more obstacles on our end, and that we look forward to a fruitful, long-term partnership."

Through a crack in the desk, I watched as the men got into an elevator. The doors closed.

Silence rained down.

I sat very still. Patrick. Oh, Patrick.

Hands shaking, I stopped recording and disconnected flash drive, which I shoved into my bra. I dug out my phone and dialed 911.

My phone was dead. Of course, it was dead. I picked up the desk phone. It was dead, too.

I collapsed back under the desk. Time to go. Move, I told myself. Move.

I crawled out from under the desk as an elevator chimed. I cursed and dove into a small kitchen area around the corner.

"Miss McIver? We know you're up here. Come on out."

I picked up a silver coffee pot and held it at the ready. A youngish security man—not the redhead—walked past. "Miss McIver, you're not in any trouble. We want to talk. That's all."

I smashed the pot on the man's head and headed for the stairs on the other side of the room.

"Miss McIver! Stop! Stop now!"

The redhead man stepped into the room from the stairwell, blocking my exit. He had gun, which he pointed at me. "Hey there, cuz," he said. "I'm Ian. What'd you say we have a little sit down?"

I threw the coffee pot at his head. "You bastard. You killed my brother!

He dodged it as strong arms reached around me from behind. "Calm down, Miss McIver," a voice said in my ear. I tried freeing myself, but it was impossible.

"He... you... Patrick! PATRICK!!" Why was I screaming for him? He couldn't help... Something sharp poked my neck.

The redhead man picked up the coffeepot and walked over to me. "Aw, man. You saw that? Bummer."

"I'm... I'm going..." I stared at the redhead man until my eyes got too heavy to keep open. "I'm going to kill you back."

"Aren't you cute?" He began to blur out of focus. "Nighty-Night."

___ *** ___ *** ___ *** ___ *** ___

One of the comments I received on the original FlyGirl was how most, if not all, the men were pretty bad. I agreed, and so I made some changes. You'll still see Leland and Daniel as amoral, but Patrick and the other brothers are much more affectionate towards her in this one.

Thank you so much for staying with the story. I would love to hear from you, so please feel free to leave a comment. Also, if you liked it, please remember to vote.

©Copyright Liz Charnes February 2020

This work is protected by copyright and cannot be copied or used in any way without my express consent. Please don't steal it. Thank you!