Darian burst out laughing on the other end of the phone. “Well, I’m thinking it just might be worth it, Alex.”
“Not likely. You know how I feel about that. I’d never let any woman lead me around by my dick. Ever. You need a distraction in a bad way.” His phone beeped as another call came through and interrupted. Fuck, it’s her again. “Hey, man, I have to go. Whitney’s calling again. I either have to talk to her or get my number changed. I’ll call you in a couple of days and we’ll set up the game.”
“I vote for the new number. Later, Alex.”
Alex slid into the back of the limo and clicked over to the other call. “Alexander Avery.” The impersonal greeting was deliberate.
“Hey, baby,” she purred on the other end of the phone.
“Hold on.” He put his hand over the phone so he could speak with his driver. “Martin, to Water Tower, please.”
He made the decision to spend the night in his downtown apartment, one of the most expensive and prestigious establishments in all of Chicago. It was right in the middle of the city, and it made getting to the office ten times easier than commuting from Evanston. However, at the moment, it was the promise of those photos that lured him there. During the conversation with his best friend, maybe he’d gotten just a tiny bit interested in the intriguing picture that Darian had painted.
“Okay, Whitney. What can I do for you?” Alex’s tone was unemotional and businesslike; his mind went blank as the lights of the interstate and other cars reflected off of the darkened windows.
“Come over. I’m lonely,” she said softly. He rolled his eyes in disgust. He wasn’t in the mood to repeat this scene.
“Uh, were you not there last week when we ended it? That was you, right?” he asked, his voice turned ice cold and dripping sarcasm.
“Alex…” she began pleadingly, but he cut her off.
“No. Whitney, I’m beat, and I’m not interested in a repeat performance.”
She didn’t say anything, and he grew uncomfortable with the silence.
He sighed. “Look, I thought we decided this was best, didn’t we?” He really didn’t mean to be a prick, but he had to be damn careful of what he said because if the door opened even a crack, she’d be through it so fast his head would be spinning.
More silence followed, except for the sniffling on the other end of the line. He decided to distract her, even piss her off a little bit, so he could get her off the phone. He was already thinking about Darian’s radio prodigy and used it for fodder.
“I heard about your call to that radio psychologist last week. Let me remind you of the delicate nature of my position on this. It had better not result in nasty rumors being tossed around in tawdry gossip rags. Keep my name and my company out of it, Whitney, or there’ll be hell to pay. If you need to see a shrink to feel better, then see one, but don’t distribute my private business all over town. You’d do well to get more respect for yourself as well.”
She audibly gasped on the other end of the line. “I didn’t call,” she lied, and Alex was exasperated.
“Look, cut the shit. I know all about it, and I expect you to handle yourself with more decorum.”
“How… how did you find out?” she stammered.
“It’s irrelevant.” Obviously, she was oblivious that his best friend ran that station. It only solidified his decision. “Just don’t let it happen again, or I’ll yank all the money immediately. Is that clear?” he said coldly.
“You never cease to amaze me how cold you can be, Alex. I should have listened to that host when she told me to dump your ass instead of trying to make things better. I’m such a fool!” She was angry, but her voice held some semblance of pain, too, and he just wanted to be done with her.
“No, you’re not a fool. But you’re trying to salvage something that isn’t worth saving, Whitney. Goodnight.”
So, Angeline Hemming told you to dump my ass, did she? Alex was tired, and now he was agitated as hell. Who does this bitch think she is, giving advice on situations she knows nothing about? Not that he was upset that things were over with insidious Whitney, but he’d be damned if he’d be painted as the villain in the whole thing.
It was after eleven by the time Alex walked into his apartment, and he tossed his suit jacket and laptop on the dark brown leather sectional. It sat opposite the large windows that composed the North and East walls of the room; one of them was fitted with a sliding glass door that led onto the balcony of his 23rd floor penthouse. He grabbed the remote and pulled his shirt free of his slacks as he flipped on CNN then walked to his well-stocked bar. He pulled down a glass from the cabinet and poured some scotch, downed it, and filled it again before he went in search of Darian’s little gift.
He found an envelope on the dining room table labeled KKIS FM 105.4. The building concierge was instructed to put his mail inside the apartment whenever he was traveling, and the large, white envelope easily stood out from the smaller ones.
He took it, with his scotch, and wandered back into the living room, sinking down into the luxurious couch cushions. He took a swallow and then ripped the end of the envelope open; anxious to be able to call Darian and tell him he was full of shit.
His full lips lifted in a mocking smile as he pulled the photos from the confines of the envelope and he was left looking at a black and white photo of a woman’s face, but only the lower half of it, her full lips pursed and her finger vertical against them in a shushing motion. The long dark hair draping down on either side of her smooth face fell in full, silken waves. The photo was cropped at the top of her cheeks and Alex found himself feeling very cheated that he didn’t get to see the rest. She had a perfect nose and high cheekbones accenting the flawlessness of her skin and those amazing lips begged to be kissed. Darian had succeeded. His interest was piqued and he definitely wanted to know more about this woman. Air left his lungs in an irritated rush, pissed that he’d fallen for it so easily.
The only color on the photo was her lips, the nail polish, and the lettering, Angel After Dark, Fridays 10 PM–2 AM, KKIS FM 104.5 and the scrawled slogan below it, What’s your Midnight Confession? All in blood red.
“Hmphhh.” He expelled his breath and carelessly tossed the photo on the coffee table. Alex frowned, just as upset with himself for being sucked in as he was with his friend for setting him up.
Screw Darian, he thought.
This gave barely a glance of what she really looked like, and Alex was still skeptical that it was even her.
“Pfffttt…” he muttered and then pulled out his phone and quickly banged out a text to his friend, never intending to tell Darian he actually liked the hints of what he saw in the promo piece.
D– Was this shit was supposed to get my dick hard? Seriously?
In thirty seconds, his phone vibrated in his hand as he walked into his bedroom, intent on a hot shower. He laughed aloud at the message.
Those are VERY luscious lips, asswipe. You should see what they’re connected to!
Alex was still smirking when his thumbs hammered out his response.
It’s probably not even HER. If you wanted me to squirm, you should have included a real picture, dickhead.
Darian quickly replied.
Just turn on the fucking radio, Alex. Listen and then we’ll talk.