Текст книги "Lovers and Reprisals"

Автор книги: Lori Turner

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

He stumbled over his words, when he replied.

"Uhm...maybe, you might be able to help me.”

His eyes studied her, and he noticed the light color of her eyes.  He took a whiff of her perfume when she stood, then leaned across the desk saying...

"I'd love to help.  I’m an all hands on deck kinda gal.  You know, when I was in college, I was always the one in charge.  Team captain was my nickname.  Some nickname, huh"

She was rambling again, so she redirected her focus.  Keep him occupied, she’d thought.  Then what?  At some point, he would seek the refuge of Ona’s room, if it meant not having to endure her nonsensical blathering.  In truth, Rachel felt like her efforts were being pulled in opposite directions.

Caleb lifted his hand, and it wasn't until then that she noticed he'd been carrying the iPad.

Flatly, he said...

"It doesn't work.  Stopped on me, right in the middle of my meeting at the Conclave.”

“Conclave?”

Caleb smirked, because this was the first lighthearted thing that had happened to him all day.  He supplied a brief explanation.

“Do you know what role the Vatican plays in connection to the Roman Catholic Church?”

Rachel nodded, then he said...

“The Conclave...  It’s the same thing.  Long story short–the Conclave council finances and oversee charitable projects.  Each commune has their own Conclave.”

He sighed, heavily when he said...,

“That’s where I’ve been the vast majority of the day.”

Rachel wanted to ask specific questions but she really didn’t have to.  Caleb was wound so tight, it was obvious that he’d endured a difficult day.  He said...

“Samaritan’s value spiritual birthrights.”

He said the words, and he could still hear the council members when they belittled him, using words meant to be diplomatic, civil and courteous.  He felt a tenseness in his neck; veins bulged, suffusing with blood.  He would never understand how he could be considered one of them, while at the same time be reminded that he wasn’t.  He didn’t say this because he knew that Rachel would never understand; because after all these years, for him, the duality was a brain stunner.

Caleb sat the iPad on the counter.  He hated failure, but he felt safe admitting this truth to Rachel.

“The Conclave is going to revoke Ona’s project.”

Rachel’s eyes went wide with shock.  Her words burst forth like misguided rocks pelleting an object.  Her thoughts were all over the place.

“Wait.  What did you say?  Revoked?  But...can they do that? I mean...she will do her project because she’s been working on it.  Surely they have to understand–for goodness sake, she was in an accident–and she almost loss her spleen.  Do they know that?  Are they aware of her injuries–and how far she’s come in her recovery?”

Caleb raised his hand to slow her down.  She was shooting questions at a rate of one per second.

“Rachel...the council knows about my sister.  Remember what happened on the day of her arrival.”

Rachel slowed her breaths, recalling that day.  She’d not been in the hospital, but on her shift, she’d been given the amended version; and it had not been pretty.  She wondered if On was being punished because she’d been cared for in a hospital that wasn’t a Samaritan hospital.  If that was true, that kind of behavior would go against everything she’d learned about this Sect.  They were kind people and she couldn’t imagine them punishing Ona for something that was outside of her hands.

“Rachel...I hate to say this...but it’s over.”

Caleb was stepping away from the nurses station, when Rachel hurriedly said...

“It can’t be over.”

He stared at her with pitiful eyes.

“Look...my sister needs a working plan, in action no later than the end of this week.  And I don’t mean a plan on paper.  I need–singers, artist, a place to house them...”

Caleb scratched his head, messing up his disheveled hair.  He felt so defeated, when he turned to face Rachel, the image elicited an immediate impression.  Seeing him this way; if he would have allowed it, she would wrap her arms around him, embracing him a big bear hug.

Caleb lifted his head and when he looked at her, he saw her pained expression.  He forced a smile when he said...

“Don’t worry.  Ona will be disappointed but...when she’s well enough, she’ll join me, when we meet our parents in the Congo.”

Rachel shook her head, while saying...

“That won’t be necessary.”

She grinned...

“If that Conclave of yours wants to see a plan in action–then, they won’t have to wait until the end of the week.”

“I don’t understand.”

Caleb stepped closer.  Rachel had come from behind the nurses station and they were standing only a few feet from each other.  She beamed him with one of her knockout smiles when she said...

“While you were off doing your stuff–we’ve been brainstorming here at the hospital.”

Caleb felt a ray of hope.  He stepped so close, that Rachel thought that he just might kiss her.

“What has Ona done?”  he asked.

“She put me in charge of finding people to help get the ball rolling.”

“You know these people–artist, painters, singers...”

She nodded, then she giggled.

“My roommate is one of the most talented musician’s in the city.  She attended Juilliard–and her brother is Judd Marko.”

Caleb could not believe his luck.  All day, he’d felt like he’d failed every member of his family.  He’d been informed by the council to notify his parents, and request them to return.  He’d been told that the only way to save Ona’s project; her parents would have to assume control.  This was impossible because his parents were elbow deep in mud, building a school from the ground up.  The idea of asking his parents to return home because he’d failed; the thought had weakened his stomach, making him feel ill all day.  Now, knowing that there was another solution; Caleb’s behavior leapt back into his past.  He felt like a little boy, recalling the first time he’d rode in his father’s private jet.  He set aside every thread of decorum practiced as a Samaritan.  Caleb lifted Rachel into his arms; he turned, and twirled with her, leaving Rachel with only one choice.  She held on for dear life.

Caleb sealed his lips on the soft warmth of her face.  He kissed her cheek, and this contact jolted him back to the present.  He was thirty years old, unmarried; with no woman on his radar.  He’d accepted his lot, and much of his resolve was that he was a deeply scared and confused man.  But for a few seconds, he’d felt a release; a sense of something other than his Samaritan self.

Caleb lowered Rachel slowly to the floor.  She was laughing, and it was clear that his impetuous behavior had not made her feel uncomfortable.

Rachel was a little unsteady from the spin.  She grinned, then she said...

“This is going to be so good.  Just leave it to me.  I know a lot of people Caleb.  And my friends–well, they know a lot of people too.  And I feel comfortable saying that they will all want to help.”

Rachel palmed her phone, while she talked.  She was in her element; sending off a group text message.

“Let me see...  I might know of a choir director...”

She was talking to herself, and Caleb knew this because now, she was seated at her desk.  He didn’t know what she was doing, and at this point; he really didn’t care.  Someone was helping him.  This beautiful creature, whose flesh felt like soft velvet.  He stepped away from the desk, because these were feelings that he shouldn’t entertain.  Now, he began noticing her cologne, and the aroma was like a beacon.  What was happening to him.  He couldn’t rightly say, then he imagined, that perhaps the strain of the day had overwrote every other thought; and now, he was finally thinking clearly.  But if that were true–that would mean...  That would mean, that...  Caleb wouldn’t dare finish that thought.

As he neared Ona’s room, he heard voices.  One male voice...and Ona’s voice.  He wondered who she was talking to.  Dr. Norma spoke with an accent and although this person’s diction was precise and possessed a blue blood educated quality; the longer he strained to listen, there was something familiar about this voice

Caleb knocked before entering.  Ona’s expression betrayed her.  She was shocked because she had not expected him to return today but after talking to Rachel, she wanted to share her good news.

“Caleb... You’ll never guess what happened.  Mr. Delors and Rachel have offered to help me carryout my project.  Rachel knows people who are artist and singers and Lucien has been so kind–he wants to house my program in one of his warehouses near the dock.  Isn’t that wonderful?”

Ona was overjoyed and she wanted to share her jubilation with her brother.  She was preparing the words to say, when Rachel dashed into the room, practically tripping over her own feet.  Her lips were preparing to say something when Lucien held up his hand...

“Rachel... Ona was just telling her brother about our discussion.”

“Oh...I...”  This was more than a discussion but for now, Lucien wanted her to remain quiet.  Rachel looked at Caleb and she didn’t know what troubled him most; the flowers or Lucien.

Caleb heard the slow steady countdown in his head; he was fighting for control.  Trying to find his zen to help him deal with this matter.  Before his parents died, Caleb's name had been Troy Sanford.  He recalled the pranks he would play on his nanny and one time, his antics had brought her to tears.  He'd been a spoiled difficult child, and when his adoptive parents had learned about his past, before adopting him; they gave him a name filled with promise.  A name linked to a powerful biblical patriarch in the bible.  Whenever he felt a surge of anger, Caleb would recall the day that two people he'd never met before sat him down in a cold conference room.  They introduced themselves as Zachary and Aldeara Zelle.  Then they continued, explaining that they wanted to remove him from the foster care system, and give him a home.  They told him if he agreed, they would also give him a name that would pave the path leading into his future.  That's where his thoughts were at this very minute.  He was thinking about his parents and the surname that they'd given him.  Within the Samaritan community, the Zelle's were well respected and he didn't want to do anything to stain their image.  Even though his anger had been unleashed, Caleb couldn't allow his emotions to dictate his actions.  He inhaled two deep breaths, then he focused on Ona, while trying to pretend that Lucien Delors didn't exist.  In fact, he tried to imagined that the man wasn't even sharing the same space.

Caleb shifted his stance, directing his focus on Ona.  This was a passive aggressive move; just short of giving Lucien a backside view of his behind.

Caleb said...

"Ona...I’d like to talk to you alone.  Could you please ask your visitor to give us a moment of privacy.”

The word ‘diplomatic’ beamed in his brain but she’d not been fooled by his Machiavellian maneuver.  Ona returned his gaze, and he could see the gears in her wheelhouse turning.  She was trying to figure out what was best in this situation.  Caleb imagined a rat pointlessly struggling to free itself on a glue trap.  He turned, adjusting his focus on the other faces in the room.  In his head, he could hear a repeating chorus; words suggesting that he notify his parents.  He didn’t want to accept that he'd been beat.

The emotional tone in the room was off the scale and Rachel sensed Caleb’s sour mood.  She also noticed Ona’s pleading eyes; a gaze that was begging her brother to hold it together.  She’d seen this before; siblings could communicate mountains of information without exchanging one word.  By the look of their strained faces, she could see that they were communicating nonverbally.  Even though an exchange was occurring, she stepped in Caleb’s line of sight; blocking out Ona and Lucien.  There was a lot at stake here, and she wanted to say something that would keep everyone on point.

Rachel said...

"Do you remember our conversation?"

This was a risk and she hoped that she would be forgiven.  She didn’t want to throw him under the bus–but she also needed to say something that would stop the bullshit.  Unfortunately, Rachel’s question had a broader stroke than she’d intended and Caleb had not been her only canvas.  A feeling of question had whitewashed Ona and Lucien as well.  Yet, in spite of her daring outburst; her ‘stop the bullshitting’ question had worked.  Caleb looked at his sister recalling how he’d felt before talking to Rachel.  The beautiful nurse had resurrected his hope, and she was the reason he didn’t have to tell his sister about his failures at the Conclave and the possibility of her project funds being revoked.  That had been hours ago, but the disappointment served as a sobering reminder.  He would bend; that’s what he told himself.  He would accept Rachel’s help–but Lucien Delors...  Now that was something he’d need to discuss with Ona–alone.

Caleb spoke in earnest to his sister

"Rachel told me that she and her friends want to help you...”

Ona replied....

“Rachel and Lucien.”

He didn’t like that she’d referred to Lucien, leaving out his surname–but for now, he would let that pass.  However...this issue of Lucien Delors...

Caleb said...

“Ona...if you don't mind, I'd like to talk to you alone.”

Ona was harmonious by nature, but she had a stubborn streak that ran a mile long.  He had hoped that being ill, and weakened by the accident; perhaps some of her determination might have mellowed out.  How foolish he’d been to imagine this.

Ona sat as far forward as her cast would allow.  Her eyes narrowed when she said...

“Caleb...do you have good news for me?  Were you successful in finding artist in the categories that I had listed?”

Long seconds passed, and when he didn’t respond, she said...

“We need them Caleb...and don’t forget; working with people outside of our community is a part of my project.  I cannot complete my project without the aid of artist, writers, singers, musicians and the like.  And Caleb...these good people are offering their help.”

That wasn’t up for debate; he knew and accepted this.  Caleb wanted to be sure that Ona understood the pros and cons that often times are serendipitous.  She might think that she’s in control–but in fact, ‘happenstance’ would be in total control.

Lucien couldn’t bare witnessing the standoff between siblings, so he made this easy for them...

“Rachel...let’s give them some privacy.”

He didn’t wait for a response.  Instead, he crossed the room, and he stopped, allowing her to exit first.  When they both were on the other side of the door; he closed it, giving them their privacy.

Ona blurted out...

“That was rude Caleb.  Those people are trying to help me...and it would appear by your empty hands; I am in need of their help.”

She was right, but he wouldn’t sugarcoat his objection.

“Ona...I am not the villain here; so stop pointing out my flaws.”

“I’m sorry if I offended you.  But Caleb...”

He held up his hand, and she stopped talking...

“Sister...calm down.  I don’t want you to concern yourself over my feelings.  And yes...my hands are empty.  Also...since it would appear that Rachel will be of tremendous help to you; I see no need to withhold the facts.  There was talk at the Conclave concerning your project.  If you wish to keep your funding, you’ll have to enact your plan.”

“Don’t you think I know that.  And with Rachel’s help, that’s exactly what I’ll be doing.”

“I understand Rachel’s involvement, but I do not understand why you must involve Lucien Delors.”

“He has offered one of his buildings to house the project.”

Ah hah; so that explains a lot.  Securing a location had been at the top of Ona’s list–and he’d bombed out on that as well.  He sighed heavily, but his concentration was broken when she said...

“What’s your real objection Caleb...be truthful.”

He blurted out...

“That man.”

“Who?  Lucien?”

“Yes.  And why do you insist on calling him by his first name only?”

“He asked me to.  He said that...he would prefer that I call him by his first name.”

Caleb was pacing the room, and before his return, she’d had good news to share with him.  She supposed that now was as good a time as any to share it.

“Dr. Stone came by this morning.  She said that my x-rays look good and that if all goes well, I should be well enough to go home next week.”

Caleb’s eyes brightened when he said...

“So soon?  Are they sure they aren’t hurrying things?”

What a change in moods, she thought to herself.  She’d been unconscious during the tug-of-war between the hospital and the Conclave.  From the beginning, it had been decided that she would remain at Lincoln Medical, until she’d fully recovered.  Rachel had told her how angry Caleb had been when he expressed to the doctors that they were to notify the Samaritan Conclave the moment his sister was stable enough for a transfer.  He was her brother, and he loved her but oh, what a difference a few months had made.

Ona said...

“I’m getting better Caleb and my doctors now say that there’s no reason to keep me here until all of my castings come off.  When I go home, my left leg will be fitted with a walking cast.  I’ll be able to get around, and I’ll still have to rest, and keep my casted leg elevated; but, as long as I follow these rules, it will be safe for me to work.  Now do you understand how crucial it is that I accept Rachel and Lucien Delors help.”

He noticed the use of first and last name, when she referred to Lucien.

“I don’t think the Conclave is aware of this.  Had they known, I don’t think they would have been so insistent that I call mom and dad.”

“The council members wanted you to call our parents?”

Oh boy; he’d done it now.  That part of the story had slipped out and he’d not intended to tell her.  Oh well, he thought.

“Ona...today has been a nightmare of gargantuan proportions...and right now, I’d like to grab hold to whatever morsel of hope that can be offered.  And...I guess my hope lies in you and your nurse Rachel.”

Ona wanted to hear more about the council but she knew how best to deal with her brother.  She had to strike while the iron was hot.

“Caleb...don’t worry.  Believe it or not–everything will workout as I’d planned.  Being in the hospital has put me behind schedule, but I’ll make up for that, as soon as I’m free of these cast, and getting around much better.”

“If anyone can do it...I know that you can.”

He’d meant that.  Ona smiled, then she said...

“Good to have you on my side.”

“I’ve always been on your side...even when you make being there difficult.”

They were joking now, so she used this as her advantage when she shifted gears on him.

“That’s nice to know.  So...I’m sure you won’t mind, when I say this...  You must go and apologize for your behavior.”

Caleb’s brow shot up, then he smirked, because even though she was much younger than him, she always got the better of him.  He nodded, then wordlessly crossed the floor.

Caleb straightened his jacket, then he lifted his head.  Rachel had been standing out in the hallway, and he’d not sensed her presence until they were almost standing toe to toe.

“Is everything all right?”

Her nearness sent his adrenaline soaring and he did his utmost to contain his emotions.

He nodded his response.  She exhaled, then broke into laughter.

“I wasn’t sure.  For a moment, I thought that you were setting the stage to send me and Mr. Delors packing.”

Caleb wouldn’t have done anything of the sort; especially regarding her.

“Rachel, your help will be invaluable to my sister.  I will forever be in your debt.  You saved me.”

“Uhm”...  She thoughtfully tapped her chin with one French tipped nail.

“Debt...”  she sang the word.  “I kinda like the sound of that.  Repaying a debt might entail a meal–or maybe two.  Lunch in the park–Dinner at the Plaza.”

She was joking of course–but Caleb liked the sound of that; even though, the idea was impossible.  Like most Samaritans’ Caleb didn’t hold down a job in the true sense of the word.  Samaritan communes functioned quite similarly to socialist societies.  He didn’t have a bank account, but like every member of his Sect; his deeds were rewarded in housing, food and discretionary funds.  He had saved up a little; but not enough for dinner for two at the Plaza.  Now the park...that outing held promise.  He was smiling at her, then a random thought invaded his brain.  He’d never met any woman capable of putting him at ease, simply by a glance, a joke or witty banter.  If he closed his eyes, he could imagine the life that he’d been promised at birth.  A normal life, living in the city and sharing his success with the woman of his dreams.  He blamed Rachel for this thought because he was attracted to her.  He wished that his parents had not died because his life would have been so different.  He thought about the Samaritan Creed, and the oath that he’d freely taken.  Samaritan’s do not marry outside of their Sect; and for the first time, he hated the Creed.  Rachel had been the first woman he’d ever found remotely interesting and she was the first person he’d ever considered leaving the Samaritan Sect to be with.  He gave his brain permission to remain seated in a realm of impossibility.  He liked it there; but his peace shattered the moment his eyes caught sight of Lucien Delors.  He was talking on a cellphone.  Caleb didn’t have reason to doubt him; but he couldn’t allow himself to freely trust because Lucien was interested in Ona and there was nothing casual about him or his offers.

**********

Part 2

Subterfuge, deceit and deception: a turnabout in play.

Chapter 10

All good things

Bolden weaved through a sea of desk populated by assistants, interns and unimportant people.  He still didn't understand why he hadn't been wedged in with the over educated horde of Big Ten and Ivy league graduates.  He was a new lawyer, practicing his profession like the rest of them.  For all intents and purposes, this was his first real job and he'd fully expected to start at the bottom.  Errand boy, or some other menial nonsensical job.  During his interview with Eliza Pendleton, she had asked him a series of extremely personal questions.  Questions concerning his troubled relationship with his father.  Eliza had quizzed him when it came to the complicated interactions that defined his parents relationship.  He’d been confused, because each question had less and less to do with him, his education or his qualifications.  Then as strangely as the interview had begun, Eliza extended her hand, welcomed him to the team then asked if he liked calamari.

That had been weeks ago, and Bolden still had not recovered.  He was doing his part clocking in, even though he wasn’t expected to swipe his ID, logging his comings and goings.  Even so, lunchtime at the capital was when most of the work got done.  Or at least...that’s what he’d been told.  Eliza had put him in an office directly next to hers, then she’d told him that she would be his mentor.  She added that soon he'd be as good as her, and that's when the real work would begin.  Bolden had snuck out to steal a smoke on the stairwell, right along with all the other outcast smokers.  He was steps from his office door when he heard Eliza’s summons.

"Bolden...could you come here please."

Could he or would he...and why did she add the please.  After working with Eliza, Bolden had concluded, that she was more than she seemed.  For weeks, his orientation had been a series of lunches and dinners, coupled with introductions.  Most of these people had been donors, or interest groups whose funds had played a crucial role in securing the governors election to office.  Then the craziness started...and Bolden became suspicious.  He had so many questions, yet to date Eliza had not supplied him with any answers.  Today, he'd been invited to join Eliza at the Tea Room, and when he arrived, what followed left him leery.

Eliza was at work on her computer so Bolden hesitated before entering.

"Did you need me Eliza,

Of course she did, you fool.  That's what he felt like, and there was no one to empathize.

She lifted her head, gesturing at a large chair that had seen more ass time than the chair in his office.  Bolden took the seat, like a kid being called into the headmasters office.

She smiled and he wondered what did she have to be so giddy over.

"I'd like you to join me on an out of town trip."

His immediate response was to frown, then he drained the vexation from his face.

"Okay." He said, then he added "May I ask..."

Before he could finish, she said...

"I've emailed the itinerary to your personal email account.  This trip is off the books...so, there can be no mention of it on any government sources."

Now, his curiosity was off the scale.  If he worked for the governor–and he did; then his position made him a government employee.  Since that was true, how did Eliza plan to fund this trip?  Was their outing one of those trips that the tax payers weren't supposed to know about?

Eliza cleared up some of his confusion.

“Bolden...by now, I’m sure that you’ve realized that my job is...special.  Actually, my primary purpose is to protect the governor’s reputation and to safeguard the integrity of this office.”

Her eyes were grey, and he could swear that the hue dimmed darker.  She continued...

“I like taking a proactive approach.  In other words...I clean up, when it’s needed.  Clean ups involves knowing people...it also involves knowing things about people.  Secrets.  For the past few weeks, you’ve joined me, at dinners and lunches, and I’ve introduced you to people.  Basically, I’ve been making the rounds, introducing you to my resources, so to speak.  Soon, you’re going to become my arms and legs.  If the governor has a problem...or if he wants us to find out about something...you’ve got to know where to go to get the information.  You also have to realize that there will be times when we won’t be free to tell anyone what we’re doing, or why we’re doing it.  Most times, these situations will occur without government involvement.”

Bolden tried not to appear surprised when he said...

“So...you’re talking about covert missions.

Eliza calmly said...

“Yes.”

“When you worked for my father–is that what you did?  Covert business transactions.”

“Bolden...when I worked for your father, I signed a disclosure agreement.  In other words, I am bound by a contract...even though I no longer work for your father’s company.  As a matter of fact–the contract prohibits me from revealing which of your father’s companies that I worked for.”  Eliza locked eyes with him when she said...

“I may not be able to expound on my employment...but I can say, that what I learned there was extremely helpful–and you should have accepted your fathers job offer–if there’d been one.”

Her eyes grew stern when she said...

“But that boat has sailed...and now you work for me.”

Bolden felt his chest muscles flex when he said...

“But I thought that I work for the governor.”

She shed light on reality when she said....

“Don’t be fooled by your title, the name on your paycheck...or the fact that you’re here, in the governor’s office.  Let there be no bones about this; you work for me.  You come when I want you to come.  You go where I want you to go.  You report to me–and only me.”

Eliza noticed his expression, so she added...

“I’ve heard about you.  You’ve got that officer of the law mentality–well, you can stow that shit because there is the law, and there is a way of interpreting the law.  For us–we’ll be working somewhere in the middle–and I need to know that you’re okay with that.  If not–”

Eliza let her words hang.  She studied his face, while recalling his father’s impression of his son.

Bolden said...

“So...in other words; we’re going to be breaking the law.”

“I didn’t say that and you know as well as I do; any attorney worth his salt knows that sometimes the law is grey–and it has to be left to interpretation.  So you might as well get use to this because, that’s the side of the law that we’ll be operating on.

Eliza studied him, and she waited.

Bolden said...

“When are we leaving...?”

And that was all that it took.  From the moment Morpheus  had singled out his son, she’d known that Bolden was the man for her; in more ways than one.

**********

Bolden didn't know the name of the person responsible for souring Eliza’s mood and frankly, he didn't want to know.  From the moment they boarded the Boeing private jet, and before they took off, she’d been horn locked on the phone, telling someone what they would and would not do.  In truth, listening to her issue demands, then alternate her mandates, using colorful antics and mixed metaphors; Bolden had to bite his lip to restrain his laughter.  But the exciting part about watching Eliza in action was in the way she used profanity.  The woman was fluent in several languages, and she used this to her advantage to spice up her gritty side.   When she added flavor to her ultimatums, she would cuss like a sailor, using varying languages to stir the pot.  On more than one occasion, while listening to her, Bolden had been forced to straighten his leg, because her tantrums elicited a response, swelling his length.  The woman was the total package.  Brains, brut and beddable.

When they landed, then the pilot followed the towers directions; finally the plane came to a stop in a private hanger.  Eliza switched off her business manner, abruptly disconnecting the call.  Her eyes brightened when she said...

"I know of a great sushi bar.  The chef is a personal friend of mine."

And that was all it took; one plane ride witnessing Eliza in her environment–and he was hooked.  Bolden didn't know if it had been genetics or if there was an actual attraction; because his father had been known for sleeping with his employees, their spouses and any number of other women.  Of course...he didn't concern himself with the specifics that had brought him and Eliza together.  He’d followed her to her hotel room because she'd asked him, and that had been hours ago.  Now, it was three in the morning and he was wide awake, while Eliza snored like a woman who'd been thoroughly fucked; thank you very much.  And as for him; Bolden was still trying to make sense of the days events.  He stared at this woman and–yes, she was damn beautiful; but he couldn’t staunch the questions.  Why had he done this?  Why would he jeopardize everything before giving this job opportunity the true chance that it really deserved?  A part of him wondered that perhaps he’d subconsciously accepted Eliza’s offer because instinctively from the very first day, he’d entertained ideas that would sabotage his employment.  He still hadn’t gotten over Eliza’s overt deception.  When she’d interviewed him, she had cloaked her real reason for hiring him, and part of his brain told him not to trust her.  But–here he was, and Just looking at her, even in the darkened room; Bolden understood his reasons for joining her.  She might not have wanted him for the same reasons–but he didn’t care.  Even if their reasons for being together were one-sided, some marriages are based on far less but he questioned if it was wise to give in to this feeling that nagged at him to trust her.  He'd grown up learning about his father from the words of his mother.  According to his mother, Morpheus was the devil incarnate and after this flight, Bolden knew enough about Eliza to tell him that she wasn’t a saint or an angel.  And after sleeping with her, he would swear on a stack of bibles, that the woman was a cross between a tigress and a plumber.  She’d scratched him up and thoroughly cleaned his pipes.