Under the Cover of Darkness

19 | Carson

My house was empty and cold as I stepped into it.

Throwing my keys I didn't bother to check where they landed with a forlorn jingle.

Not bothering to turn on a light I trudged over to the kitchen and opened the enormous freestanding fridge. The light from it filled the room with a ghostly white light as I reached in and plucked a beer from its place.

After closing the fridge I twisted off the cap and took a swig. I was immediately reminded of why I hated beer but I needed alcohol and I wasn't in my house back in Miami where I could easily get some whisky.

Drinking from the cold bottle I made my way upstairs.

Turning right in the hall I walked to the last bedroom and twisted the doorknob open.

The wind from the open French doors was kicking the white curtains up as I entered.

Since I'd arrived in Orlando yesterday I had set up shop in this particular room of the house because with only one window and a pair of French doors it was the least brightest in the entire house.

That and because technically it wasn't really my house.

Sure it was owned by Miller Inc. but by now it was abundantly clear that anything owned by the company was not owned by me. The last thing I wanted was to assume otherwise.

Dropping my now empty bottle on the table next to my MacBook I took off my smartwatch and dropped it beside the bottle. I removed my jacket and tossed it aside.

Plopping on the unmade king-sized bed, the bowtie was next.

I rubbed my hand across my eyes feeling suddenly tired. Like I hadn't offered to sit through a two hour movie.

Luckily for me Butterfly had let out one of her bewitching laughs and said it was best she got back to her hotel.

I was about dropping off to sleep when the muffled ring of my phone rang out.

Groaning, I patted the pockets of my pants hoping to find the irritating device.

Coming up empty I swore and sat up.

The ringing seemed to be coming from my jacket carelessly splayed on the black carpeted floor.

Scooping up the material I dug out my phone and answered without checking the name on the screen.

"Carson Miller, sounding sleepy and it's not even twelve-thirty, what sort of alternate universe did I wake up in?" asked the cheeky voice with the unmistakable British accent.

I chuckled. "Well, if it isn't Jamie Crawford junior, you finally deign me worthy of a phone call. When I told your office I was going to be in Orlando you replied with a text. A . . ." I stopped remembering the dare. Even though it was ridiculous I was determined to follow it. "freaking text!"

I sat on the bed and started on the buttons of my white shirt.

"Come now, Carson my love, there's no need to get all riled up. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

I rolled my eyes as I finished the buttons.

"Are you rolling your eyes at me now?" She asked like she was right in front of me.

Jaime and I went back a long time. My family - in other words, my mother and grandmother - collected art works for some weird, misguided reason and Jaime Crawford senior was the best art dealer ever. She would shadow her father most times and we would end up together when the grown ups wanted to talk alone. Just two lonely teenagers who got along.

"Why are you calling, Jay? Need someone to keep you company? You sound alone, where's Juliet? Are you two still together?"

"Jesus Christ you dipshit, keep my girlfriend out of this. And not that it's any of your business but we're still together, thank you very much. I'm planning on popping the question soon, so, there's that."