Your Favorite Girl (YFG Series) (21 page)

I didn't remember him being wet when he came lumbering down the corridor that night
, but he had been naked.  He could have stripped his clothes off, emerged from the pool somehow, and then toweled himself dry before coming after us.

If he was smart enough to think that far ahead.

Then again, he was doing a damn good job of keeping his entry point a secret.

I couldn't stand it.  The dumbest brother of five, the fattest, smelliest ninja in history, and I couldn't outsmart him.

It would take someone keeping watch in the night.  I needed help.  But Brian probably had Judy on lockdown now, and, coma or no, Kate would never cooperate with me again.

It would have to wait until Flora's graduation.

Sitting in the hot water made me sleepy, but I'd committed to staying up, so when I was certain six o'clock had rolled around, I returned to the room, changed clothes, and checked the door.  It was unlocked.

I had breakfast in the cafeteria for the first time.  Normally Kate and I ordered from the room, a
luxury none of the other employees enjoyed.  Luckily I was alone.  None of them knew what I'd done.  They might love me for removing Kate from the picture--at least temporarily--but they might hate me for killing Murphy.

The cafeteria food was subpar.  I choked down a dry biscuit, played with a solid mass of cold gravy, and
finally settled for a bowl of cereal.

I wandered aimless
ly through Level C, bored and anxious, wishing I'd fallen asleep when I tried.  My mind was racing.  Escaping was now a distant prospect, surviving this company even more so.

I needed to see Judy.  Patton aside, she was the only one left with whom I had any connection.

What research was Brian talking about?  It was obviously important enough to inspire restraint in Mr. Shriver.  Maybe she could tell me something.

The problem was I didn't know where she lived.  I couldn't just go knocking on doors all across Level C.

Brian could tell me, but would he?  Doubtful.  He was probably more pissed at me than anyone for jeopardizing his work.  Besides, I couldn't get to Level B without Kate.

Or her security code.

As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I bolted for the room, recalling when Patton spoke of her poor memory retention, her propensity for lying when she forgot things.

You can't lie your way through a secured door.  The code she'd punched in to grand us access to Level B had been at least ten digits.  She had it memorized, but that might not have always been the case.  At some point, Sean or someone else had given her a piece of paper with the code
written on it, and she might not have thrown it away.

It took me an hour
to find it, and in the process I tore the room apart, but in the back of a kitchen drawer, buried in old blunt wrap packages, dead batteries, pens, notes labeled To Kate, From Brian--I put these aside to read later--and empty cigarette lighters, I found a small sheet of yellow paper.  On the paper, a twelve-digit number.

In the lobby, I lounged by the pool, trying to muster the courage to get in the elevator.  A few people were busy at the computers, and occasionally someone passed through
from the rooms to the cafeteria, but it was still pretty dead.

The longer I waited,
though . . .

Just do it.  No one's paying attention.  They don't know shit anyway.

I went for it slowly, trying to be natural and failing miserably.  I didn't breathe until the elevator doors closed.

The short ride to Level B almost gave me a heart attack. 
I wanted to make it stop and take me back up.  Relief washed over me when I found the waiting room empty.  This was where I'd met Judy and Murphy, sitting among their coworkers waiting to be let in the door.

Thank God for the weekend.

I rushed past the benches to the panel by the doors and keyed in the security code.  The red light on the panel turned green.

I cracked the door open and listened for voices or movement on the other side.

How suspicious do you look right now, stupid? 
Storming in was better.  If I burst through the doors looking pissed off, most of the employees down here would probably be too afraid to cause me any trouble.  How in the dark and out of the loop they kept their staff around here was really working to my advantage so far. 
Remember not to tell them that.

I swung the door open and stepped in with purpose, putting on a scowl that I hoped didn't look ridiculous.

The hallway was empty, but I could hear voices now coming from the last door on the left before the intersection.  Two men arguing.

I recognized
Patton's voice immediately.

Brian's took me a moment.
  His were the first words I could make out.  "I don't care what Mr. Shriver says.  She either stays on D, or she's coming down here.  He's just mad because I back-talked him in front of people."

"Probably, but now's not the time to defy him.  We don't need any hitches.  Tonight's what we've been building toward, Brian.  You need to get focused."

"Easy for you to say."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

When Brian spoke again, it sounded like he was crying.  "All the work I do for this company, and the one thing I wanted in return got stolen from me.  First by Sean.  Then by you.  And now by that
bitch
."

"Now wait just a minute," Patton said impatiently.  "Let's get two things straight: first, I never stole her from you."

"She's
in love
with you, man!"

"That's not my fault.  Secondly, don't talk that way about Melissa. 
You don't even know if she's responsible."

Cynical laughter.  Then, "Bull
shit
, Patton.  Kate knows how to handle LD dosage.  She was trained.  She
knows
better."

"Why would Melissa do it?"

"How the fuck should I know?  Because she wanted a good laugh?"

Patton sighed so loud I could hear it. 
"Well, look, I'll try to help you with Mr. Shriver, but for now, Kate's going down to Level A, and there's nothing we can do about it.  I'm sorry, Brian."

There was a long pause in conversation, and suddenly I realized I was standing out in the open.

I slipped quietly back through the doors and ran to the elevator.  It opened immediately and I dove in and pushed the button just as the hallway doors flew open.  I stood against the side wall and closed my eyes.

"Hey!" Patton's voice called.  His footsteps quickened.  "Hold the elevator please!"

I bit my lip waiting for the doors to close and the sensation of rising to hit me.  By the time I reached Level C, I could taste blood.

I went back to the room and lay on the bed with Kate's collection of notes and lette
rs piled up in front of my face, still unnerved by almost getting caught.  I would have to wait to see Judy and hope Brian didn't put her in solitary confinement.  He seemed preoccupied with protecting Kate from Clifton anyway.

Brian's notes to Kate confirmed his love for her, but he made all the standard mistakes: trying t
oo hard to impress, dancing around his affections instead of being direct, focusing completely on himself and not at all on her.  No wonder she didn't take the bait.

Each note was dated, the latest one nearly two years old.  At some point he'd given up trying and decided to suffer in silence.

I'd hoped to stumble across some kind of useful information--Judy's "research," what Brian and Patton were up to, anything--but came up short.  Despite his shortcomings with respect to girls and flirting, at least Brian knew better than to fully trust Kate.  The notes left me wondering why he cared about her at all.

At some point I closed my eyes and began to write up a To Do list in my mind: talk to Judy, find out how Clifton is getting in the room, get my hands on more of the Libido Drug, the only defens
e I could use against him, learn more about Patton, talk to Patton, get closer to Patton, put my hands on Patton . . .

I fell asleep and dreamed of him.

─Mergers─

PATTON PICKED me up at five till six.  I wore the most comfortable dress I could find, one that came down below my knees.  I didn't even want to attend this party now.  When I awoke in the early afternoon, my mind focused on my conversation with Mr. Shriver and the assertion that I'm the biggest schmuck on the planet.  Tips for success to the CEO of the most sophisticated sex slave operation in the history of the world.  They should have just killed me.

When I opened the door, Patton stood there in a brand new black suit with his hands in his pockets, hair slicked to the side, revealing his sky blue eyes.  He was wearing a bowtie.  A fucking bowtie.

"You look stupid," I said, immediately covering my mouth.  It's a problem I've been dealing with my whole life.  The more comfortable I get around someone, the more I insult them.

Patton was busy inspecting himself.  "You don't like the suit?"

"The bowtie.  I'm sorry.  I run my mouth sometimes."

I had to admit the inanity of it did have an appeal.  It's sexy when a man doesn't know how to dress himself.  A girl might even toy with the idea of stripping him naked and making him try again.

What he did next made me feel like a jerk.  He stretched his neck out and ripped the bowtie off, folding it and putting it in his pocket.

"Better?" he asked.

I stepped forward, nervous as hell, and reached up to unbutton his collar.  A tiny modification, a little messiness, a little intrigue.  It suited him.

"That's perfect," I breathed
, and when I inhaled I took in an array of fragrances: a sweet cologne, a breath mint, and something I couldn't identify, something medicinal.  We were standing so close I could feel the heat coming off his chest.  I got lost in his eyes, studying them closely.  I swear the patterns in his irises drifted like clouds.

By the time I realized I was moving in to kiss him, he broke the spell by backing away. 
"I've never worn a bowtie before," he fumbled to say.  "I read in a magazine that they're 'in' right now.  That's the last time I try to be fashionable.  Come on."

He took my hand, and I thought my heart was going to explode.  All this back and forth.  I couldn't tell if
he
felt anything or not, but me?  I felt like a freshman invited to senior prom, thrilled to be entering a world I didn't yet know but terrified I would be fucked senseless and laughed at the next day.

In the elevator, things turned somber.

"Listen," he said with a long sigh.  "I know you've had a rough weekend, but we need to go over a few things.  This will be unlike any party you've ever attended.  You're going to see some very bad things.  Mr. Shriver always brings out these . . . displays . . . of decommissioned Favorite Girls, for everyone to watch.  Things can get a little crazy.  I need you to be prepared.  I need you to act unaffected, okay?  It's essential."

I took a deep breath.  "Okay, I can do that."

"I'm also going to show you some things, when I can find the right window to slip us in and out.  Mr. Shriver doesn't like anyone snooping around on his floor.  We have to be careful."

"I got it.  Act like a sociopath, and when you say jump, I jump."

He smiled.  "I think you're going to do just fine."

We stepped out of the elevator into exactly what I'd imagined the party would be: lots of businessmen in business suits talking business.  A piano playing in the background.  Caterers pranc
ing about with trays of Champaign glasses.  The cacophony of ice sloshing in bourbon and scotch glasses.  The smell of expensive cigars.

Lots
of deep, phony, masculine laughter.

Lustful glares.

I was the only woman.  No women caterers, no women guests, no businessmen's wives.

Just me.

Fuck.

"Don't be nervous," Patton whispered.
  "They'll eat you alive."

I quickly made the decision to collect myself, calm down, and put up an emotional barrier.
  I'd meant to tell Patton about my conversation with Mr. Shriver, but I hadn't had a chance in the elevator, and now definitely wasn't the time.

"They can eat each other's balls," I said, a little louder than I'd intended.

Patton laughed and put a hand to my back, leading me into the horde of horny monkeys.

"Patton," they said, nodding their heads.

"Evening, Patton."

"Patton, my man, how are you?"

Most of them were offended by my presence.  This party might as well be taking place in a tree house with a sign on the trap door saying NO GIRLS ALLOWED.

At the bar, someone finally acknowledged me.  He was foreign.  Russian, maybe.  He held a glass of straight vodka and was chatting with the bartender as we approached.

"Patton, my good friend, you must introduce me to this lovely young lady."