The Great Below

The Boss: Part 2

The room she waited in might as well have been in a different building.

Outside, the hall and stairwell were as utilitarian as an unfinished construction site: exposed walls made of concrete and brick, heating ducts and water pipes lining the ceiling. The doors had durable metal frames and deadbolts. The rooms were labeled with letters or numbers in spray paint.

Inside, she could have been in a four-star hotel. The floor had been covered in hardwood, then oriental rugs, and the walls had been finished with drywall and painted as green as the underside of a forest. The wall opposite the door was something of a gallery, packed as it was with memorabilia from ceiling to chair rail. Octavia approached it, surprised by the sheer amount of framed photos, paintings, newspaper clippings and diplomas.

She leaned over the mahogany bed at her side, retrieving the silver-rimmed alarm clock. The head of a mighty stag had been mounted over the bed. How did anyone take joy in mounting an animal cut short in its prime? She tested the weight of the clock in her hand, then went back to perusing the wall. A photograph near the middle caught her attention. Though it was surrounded by other pictures, it was the oldest; a young man in military uniform. He had a broad, handsome grin.

At the other end of the room she spied a bar cart made of wood matching the bed, filled with crystal decanters. Clear liquids, amber liquids. A drink sounded pretty good. It was an old friend that said, lie down and forget about this for a while. It'll be good by morning.

There was a click at the lock and Octavia turned, straightening. She hid her hands behind her back. Alex had given her instructions before leaving, about waiting for her turn to speak and calling him 'Sir.'

A man entered without acknowledging her. He was in his late forties, if she had to guess, with brown hair parted sharply to one side. At his temples it had turned grey. He wasn't the grinning soldier boy, but he wasn't so different, either. He was still lean but firm-looking, and his posture was perfect. He wore a smoke gray suit without a tie and had undone a button or two at his collar.

"You must be Octavia," he said. He had a voice that probably tore through a pack a day.

She nodded.

"I'm Dominic Corvin. Did Victor tell you about me?"

She pictured Victor struggling on the floor of the van through the haze of her own panic. He was gone. When she weighed her current situation, he started to look better by the minute. She swallowed against a pang of remorse in her chest. "No, Sir."

Dominic removed his jacket, draping it over the foot of his lavish bed, then crossed to the bar cart. "Can I fix you a drink?"

"Please." The clock had gotten too warm in her hands and the skin there itched.

He brought her a short glass that smelled of whiskey. "How serious were things between you and him?"

She pictured the little black velvet box and could almost hear the rain falling, when she hadn't responded to his proposal. It didn't matter how much she hated him; his disappointment had been exposed and tender as a fresh wound. "He asked me to marry him," Octavia replied.

"Oh, did he?" Dominic smiled, reminding her of his grainy photograph. The proud soldier was still in there, but his grin had sharpened and grown bitter for the experience. "He didn't think I would honor our agreement."

She downed her drink in one go and she was wrong, it was amaretto. There was a sting as the sickly sweetness coated her throat.

"And how can I be expected to honor the agreement when he doesn't trust me? Or when you're so young and lovely? He must have understood that."

Octavia feared she might squeeze the alarm clock until it rang.

Dominic finished his own drink, and took both glasses back to the bar cart. "The bathroom is through there," he said, gesturing to the only other door in the room. "I'd like you to take a shower."

The warm glow of her slug of amaretto didn't last as long as she'd hoped. "I'm sorry?"

He crossed to the bed, sat next to his discarded jacket and began removing his shoes. "I'm not close enough to tell, so don't be offended, but I assume you stink of another man. I don't want someone else's woman. Do you understand? I'm old-fashioned that way. So allow me the illusion of your fidelity and go wash yourself." When his shoes were off, he looked up. "And as long as you're going to the other room, give me the clock you've stolen."

"A clock, Sir?"

"It belongs on the table next to the bed. If you know enough to call me 'Sir,' then you think you're clever. I'm here to tell you that you're not clever." He thrust out an empty hand. "If I have to say it again, I'll get it myself."

He didn't play games. Alex had all but said the same thing on the stairs. She could have listened. She might have cooperated in exchange for the pocket knife. She could have had a knife right now. If she was going to get the jump on anyone, she would have to start recognizing opportunities. Octavia offered him the clock from behind her back. "I'm sorry," she said.

"You're nervous. I get it. You'll feel better after a shower."

It might have been a nice sentiment under different circumstances. "Sir," she began, "I would like a job. Please."

"What?"

"It's just, I'm a hard worker and there must be something useful I could do. You were going to give Victor a job—"

"I've given you something to do. I've asked you to take a shower."

She felt it again, that little crackle of static electricity, and she thought of Victor. "I'd really prefer a job."

Dominic came up from sitting fast, grabbing her with both powerful hands. "You want a job?" he asked, the heat of his breath on her forehead. Their sudden intimacy was made worse by the way he inspected her, leaning in to catch the scent of her hair. He took one of her hands in his own and pulled it down his front: over the white dress-shirt and the hard, plastic buttons, over the glimmer of his belt, the scratchy fabric of his slacks and the metal teeth of his zipper. He rubbed her palm firmly on the front of his slacks, where a bundle of tissue stiffened under her fingers. "If you must work," he said, "if you need a job so badly, then I'll show you what you can do for me."