The General (Professionals 4)

“Right,” I agreed.

And fifteen minutes later, that was exactly what everyone thought.

I was swarmed right at first before Maren moved in, pressing a white wine into my hands, whisking me away to a corner, keeping a running monologue about the club until I loosened up enough to start responding.

“How are things going really? Did you fire the staff yet?”

“No,” I admitted. “I am thinking of having them cut down on their hours first.”

“You don’t have to give loyalty to people who have never given any to you,” Maren reminded me. “But I get that this is a process. I love your bracelet,” she said, changing the subject, not pressuring me, something I appreciated.

“Oh, thanks. I made it last night,” I admitted, shrugging it off even if my heart was soaring a bit.

“What? No way. I didn’t know you made jewelry.”

“It’s been a hobby the past several years. I am thinking about opening an Etsy shop now that… now that I will have more time,” I rushed to cover.

“That’s a fantastic idea. You’ll have to let me come over and pick some pieces too.”

“I’d like that.”

And I would.

Maren had proven the only genuine person in my social circle, the one person who actually cared about how I was instead of how they could position themselves to be most important in this situation.

“Jennifer,” Bertram’s voice called hours later after Maren had been dragged away to discuss stock options for her company, leaving me to sink down in one of the seats, the night of sleeplessness catching up to me. “I think it would be wise to get home and rest. It has been a trying day for you,” he said, voice booming enough that everyone nearby could hear his faux concern. “Let me walk you to your car.”

“No, please, stay with the guests,” I insisted as Smith moved in a bit, getting protective. I got the feeling that if Bertram put a hand on me again – even gently – Smith might pounce. “I have the guards to help me out,” I added as Lincoln moved in as well.

“Of course. I am proud of you for holding it together. Get some rest. You are looking tired.”

I bit my tongue, letting Smith guide me outside where Lincoln took a call, making him turn to Smith.

“New case,” he said to Smith. “Miller and I need to catch the next flight to Florida. She’s coming to pick me up now.”

“It’s not Fenway, is it?”

“For once, no,” he said, smiling a little and I suddenly wished I knew who Fenway was, why the idea of it being him was funny.

But then a car was pulling up, a pretty brunette woman calling to Lincoln, making fun of his suit.

“Sorry to leave you like this, angel face. But work calls.”

With that, he was gone, and Smith and I were making our way to my car.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” Smith asked when I rested my head against the window at my right.

“I’m tired. But I don’t want to go home.”

I expected him to tell me it would pass, that I would feel better when I got in my new clothes, when I got a cup of tea in me, when I got into my bed.

But he didn’t say any of that.

He put the car into reverse.

And he said okay.

SEVEN

Jenny

He took me to his house.

I had no idea where we were heading – possibly considering the idea of him dropping me off at a hotel or something – when we pulled away from the club, taking the turn in the opposite direction of my house.

Navesink Bank was a melting pot of every type of home available on the market – from the lush, palatial estates in the neighborhoods such as my own to the middle-class suburbs, townhouse communities, apartments in the less desirable areas. One turn of the main drag could make you sure you entered another town entirely. But it was all our one, big, mixed bag of a community.

Smith drove me through the main area of town, through the more inner city type area where young men hung out on street corners just a couple yards away from groups of scantily-clad women whose job was the oldest in the world. I’d never had anything against prostitutes. Not after living in my lifestyle for as long as I had. Because, quite frankly, the trophy wives were doing the exact same thing. The only difference was they demanded Chanel and Gucci for a chance to take a tour of the sheets.

“Wait,” I said, something catching my eye right after we passed the men who were clearly handing off little baggies of drugs – making me wonder a bit fleetingly if Teddy had ever slummed it in this area, getting whatever he flooded his system with from these gang members. What might Bertram say about that?