Professional Integrity

Blackmail

"I'm going to have to resign."

"Why?" Her eyes were huge, luminous in the cab light of the RV. "Is something wrong?"

"Something came up. I have a few other contacts I can recommend you to, if you need someone still to finish out the length of my contract."

She didn't answer him. He wished to God she would, but she just stood there, driver's seat door propped open with her foot and looking terribly close to crying.

"Are you okay?" He asked, and wished he hadn't. There was no way he could just rip off the bandaid if she looked at him like that.

"Have I done something?" She asked him.

"What?" Mitsuhide wanted to laugh at the ludicrousness of the idea. "No. Nothing. I just have something urgent that came up is all."

She fell quiet again. Chicago mist swirled around her feet. "Is there anything I can do? I'd... I'd want to help you out."

"Unfortunately, no."

"Okay. Can I even drive you to the airport?"

"I've got an Uber."

"Alright." She sighed, long and sweet and slow, and slipped from the cab to him. "Can I give you a hug?"

It felt a little like the Devil was offering him a deal, but Mitsuhide measured the possibilities and decided that one hug–just one hug–wouldn't kill him. He held out his arms and she slid neatly into him. Oh, and she fit perfectly there, the dash of color to his kaleidoscope of grey, and he almost recanted his resignation on the spot.

"I'll miss you," she murmured into his shirt, and Mitsuhide wanted to beg forgiveness.

"I'll miss you, too," he croaked, hoarse and honest, her hair trailing through his fingertips like the last breath of air before the fall.

He spent the majority of his morning alone scanning through websites for cheap plane tickets back to California, but every time he grew close to purchasing one, something stayed his hand.

What's up Ghost Rider. Masamune texted him around noon.

About to fly back to Cali. Sup.

Wait, not on a road trip with the kitten anymore?

Mitsuhide physically cringed. How the hell was he supposed to explain this to Masamune, of all people? Fortunately for him, he didn't have to think about it for long. The man called him.

"Hello?"

"What's going on, Mitsuhide?"

"Nothing. Resigned. How are things up in New York?"

A scoff. "Don't deflect, dude. Why'd you resign?"

"The usual stuff. I wasn't getting a daily allotment of cookies. You know how important that is."

"Okay." Masamune cleared his throat. "Since you're not going to shoot straight with me, I'll shoot straight with you. You'd better not be running from that lady cause you like her."

"Pretty sure that's my call to make, not yours."

"Sure. But you'd be an idiot. That's all I'm saying."

"Then what would you recommend, oh love guru?" Mitsuhide snapped. "Since clearly you have a bigger bead on what's going on than I do."

"You didn't even tell her, did you?"

"No." He answered, sour, Kennyo's words floating back to him.

"Why not?"

That–that, Mitsuhide didn't have an answer to. He spun his coffee around on the table in silence.

"Okay. Since you're not answering me, here's what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna give you like, twenty-four hours to fix your mistake. If not, I'm gonna go after her myself. She's a catch. Got it?"

A violent, knee-jerk surge of disgust rose in Mitsuhide's mouth at the thought. "Are you trying to blackmail me?"

"I'm just laying the score."

"Fuck you." Mitsuhide hung up.

Two hours later, he called the Princess.

"Hello?" Her voice was thin and tremulous. It sounded like she'd been crying, and Mitsuhide was suddenly aware he was the likely cause.

"Hi." He hesitated. "Um, is it too late?"

"Too late for...?"

"I..." He huffed a laugh. "I'd like to take back my resignation."

A long silence greeted him. "Mitsuhide, I don't even know why you resigned to begin with, but I'm gonna be really upset if you walk this back again and leave only a few days later."

"I don't plan on doing that," he soothed her. His insides danced a jitterbug, but he kept as calm as possible. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you."

"I... I, um, I'd like to do a thing for you, if you'd be willing to take me back as your bodyguard."

A tiny laugh greeted him. "What's that?"

Mitsuhide shut his eyes and swallowed every last inch of his reservations, holding onto his hopes with butterfly nerves. "I"d like to take you to Mackinac Island."