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“Fine, Jesus, keep your pants on.” Danny turns to me, putting his hand on the plexiglass. I put mine on the opposite side of his, pretending I can feel it. It's been six years since the last time I saw him, and I can't even give him a hug. There's nothing I won't do to get my brother out of here. “Remember your promise, Mini-mi. Okay? Don’t take unnecessary risks.”
I nod, not trusting my voice not to break. He understands. He always did. There are some things that don't change. One more long look, then he hangs up and allows the beefy guard to guide him out of there. I watch until the door shuts behind him with a slam I can feel even through the plexiglass.
Once I'm outside, I turn my phone back on and it dings like ten times. What's going on? Who's trying to get hold of me?
I tap the notification that tells me that I've got new messages, and find a friend request and a message from an account called FixerUppers.
Oh no.
Saw you liked our little video. Had you known you were gonna run off on us, we would've gotten up earlier to give you a good sending off.
I bet they would've. That was part of the reason I got out of there. I'm not sure I would have made it home the next day, or even the day after that if I’d let my ovaries make the decision for me.
It's followed by a whole series of closeups of flexed muscles and hard abs. You know where we are. Come by anytime if you want to play with our hammers.
I should ignore their messages. Maybe delete my account and make a new one. I tap my fingers on the back of my phone.
Does that line work for you often?
I can’t help but laugh at the reply.
It only has to work once.
9
MILA
City hall looms over me, a tower of black marble and tinted glass.
Meghan said all it would take to get an interview with Hank Mullerby was to be young, female and flattering. She was right. The moment I emailed him about being a journalism student and wanting to interview such a successful local attorney, he was happy to work me into his busy schedule. I’ve done my research, and while I’m pretty sure he’s a corrupt bastard, I’m having a hard time imagining anyone whose biggest kink is pudding as dangerous. Still, between Danny’s warnings echoing in the back of my head, and Meghan’s bad impression of him, I have pepper spray in my purse. Better safe than sorry.
My phone dings. It’s a message from TheFixerUppers.
Oh my. I lick my lips as I watch their latest video. It’s Scrapper, with his shirt off and his nipple rings in full view. Sexy music plays as he works on a new wall. and it involves an impressive amount of muscles. This time when I like the post, I do it on purpose, and it feels a little flirty. I scowl at the impressive number of likes and comments it’s already gotten. They’ve gained a ton of followers since the first video, too. Sheesh, I know why it’s popular, but I’m not sure I like sharing.
Looks like you have a lot of fans, I message.
Jealous? You’re the only one on the VIP list, comes back quickly, along with a photo that involves Scrapper and a tape measure.
What am I doing? I have more important things to focus on than—I look at it one more time. No. But…
I duck out of sight before going into the building and adjust my shirt to show off my cleavage before replying with a quick picture of my fingers trailing down my breast. Are you saying I’m your only fan?
Aaaah! Why can’t I stop encouraging them? I set my phone on Do Not Disturb and jam it into my purse before I can see what he sends back. I need to be focused. One deep breath and a silent, “You can do this.” Then I paste on a smile and walk into City Hall.
Mullerby opens his door with the smile of a kind gentleman, but the eyes of someone who is waiting for the chance to let his hand slide a bit too low. He’s carrying a few extra pounds, but his suit is well fitted so he pulls it off. His hairline has probably seen better days, but he's clean shaven and professional. It all balances out to nothing worse than what I usually expect from the kind of middle aged man who is a little too eager to impress much younger women. I specifically dressed to show off a little skin just so he would be more likely to talk, but when he looks at me, it’s like having ants crawl all over my skin.
“Ms. Cole?” When his eyes finally come up to mine, they're watching me greedily. “It’s so nice to meet you. I think it’s wonderful that you are taking such an interest in what we do here. So many young women don’t appreciate how much they can learn from those of us with a little more experience under our belts.”
Did he seriously just say that? Ugh. Now I feel even worse for Meghan, knowing she had to deal with him for an entire semester. “Mr. Mullerby, it's nice to meet you, sir. I’m so glad you feel that way because I have so many questions for you.” I reach for my little audio recorder, making sure my pepper spray is safely on top in my purse. “Is it okay if I record? It'll make it a lot easier for me to write it up cleanly afterwards.”
“Of course. Anything for you, honey.” He gestures at a chair as he settles behind his desk, dropping into his chair with a little grunt. “Have a seat.”
The urge to call him something silly like sugar tits is strong, but I keep my customer service smile on and sit down. The only positive here is that being underestimated gives me an advantage. That's what I'm counting on, anyway. “I'm just going to jump right into this, if that's okay.”
“I love a girl who knows what she wants. Go right ahead.” He leans back and locks his fingers behind his head.
Maybe, but he loves a good butterscotch swirl even better. I ask him a bunch of really basic questions first to establish a rapport and let him get comfortable. Stuff like why he wanted to get into law, where he went to school and when he started working as a public defense attorney.
