51 #SleepingWithJoeyBishop

 

Traffic was a bitch in New York City, and Jon swore under his breath as a crazy taxi driver cut him off in traffic.  Normally, it might not bother him so much, but he’d been a little on edge for the past hour or so – ever since Teddi dropped that little bombshell about belonging to him since she was sixteen. 

 

They’d barely reached the point of her considering him a man instead of a fantasy, and now he was stuck wondering about it again with a different slant.  Did she see the man or the job when she looked into his eyes? 

 

Jon didn’t waste his breath asking, because he was realistic enough to recognize what was probably unfounded paranoia when he saw – felt – it.  So he kept his reply limited to a kiss and casually hightailed it out of Jersey to get a grip on his paranoia.  Until he got that grip, he was going to work through his edginess in whatever way he saw fit, and that included screaming at the taxi driver that cut it too close for his liking.

 

“You goddamn piece of fuck!”

 

There were only a few more blocks before reaching his apartment building and, by the grace of God, he pulled into the garage without further road rage.  Now he could trade his Cadillac sedan for a hired Escalade to ferry him to the uptown lawyer’s office.  Yeah, it would be far easier to have a courier pick up the signed contracts, but he might as well give his legal team the pleasure of his frayed nerves in person.  It would only take a glare and barracuda smile for them to understand he was still pissed at their shoddy business practices.

 

He was trying to choose between a stink eye with a raised eyebrow and a narrowed glare when his phone demanded attention.  A glance at the screen had Jon hissing out a sigh. 

 

“Lema.  What’s up?”  Distracted by Teddi, traffic and his destination, Jon's voice was gruff and snipped.

 

"Oh, fuck.  You're in a mood."

 

Thumbing the edge of the contract envelope on the seat beside him, Jon rolled his eyes toward another kamikaze taxicab.  At least he wasn't the one dodging them now.  It allowed him the freedom to sink back into the leather and close his eyes.

 

"I'm not in a mood."

 

"Sounds like you're in a mood."

 

"Well, I'm not."

 

"Are you sure?  Because-"

 

"Jesus Christ, Dave.  Did you want something other than to annoy the hell out of me?"

 

"See?  You are in a mood."

 

The accusation was delivered with such drollness that Jon couldn't suppress a smile.  Sometimes the absurdity of David Bryan wasn't a bad distraction.

 

"I am done talking about it.  What's going on?"

 

"Mood,” David snuck in on a cough before launching into his reason for calling.  “I’ve been trying to get in touch with Teddi since yesterday evening, and she isn’t answering my messages again.  This is bullshit man, and you’re going to have to do something about it.  Posthaste.”

 

A sea of people filled the crosswalk next to the Escalade, rushing from one corner to the other as Jon disinterestedly observed through tinted glass.  “Posthaste” sounded like someone had been reading Regency romance novels again.

 

 

"What exactly is it you expect me to do?"

 

"Give me her phone number."

 

"It's attached to the same phone she’s using to ignore messages, in case you missed how that works."

 

"Hardee-har-har.  She may have notifications turned off on IG, but she won't have texts and calls turned off.  Gimme the damn number."

 

It was unlikely that notifications were disabled.  She'd just been busy – with him.  Jon didn't recall seeing her phone at all last night or this morning, meaning Teddi probably just hadn’t gotten around to messages yet.

 

"The lady wants you to have her number, she'll give it to you.  What's so urgent, anyway?"

 

"Joey Bishop."

 

Jon's attention reverted from the population of New York to the inside of the vehicle.  More specifically the man on the other end of this call.

 

"Joey Bishop's dead.  How urgent can it be?"

 

"Not that Joey Bishop."  Only David would be disgusted that someone couldn't read his warped mind.  "Well, kinda.  Teddi named her fish after the Rat Pack."

 

"Yeah, so?"

 

"So Joey Bishop was part of the Rat Pack.  She can't have a pack that's one rat – fish – short.   She needs another.  I'm just not sure whether she sees him as a calico or solid white, and since Gabby's going to the pet store this afternoon, I need to know."

 

And these are the days of his life...

 

"I doubt she cares."

 

"Give me the motherfucking number and I'll know for sure."

 

"No."

 

"Prick."

 

That amused Jon enough to warrant both a laugh and a little leniency.  "I will throw a bone and say you did good with the fish, though.  She really likes them."

 

"You're just lording it over me that she answers your messages."

 

"No messages.  I caught her talking to them this morning."

 

"This morning?"  Jon could easily imagine the other man's ears perking up.  "Since it's still morning and there's city traffic in the background, you must've left Jersey at least an hour ago.  Another minimum of thirty minutes at her house means you would've gotten there outside socially acceptable visiting hours.  Or..." 

 

"I spent the night."

 

Dead air hung on the line long enough for the traffic light to change and the next surge of pedestrians to move from one sidewalk to another. 

 

"Is that a statement of fact or the other half to my either/or musings?"

 

"Fact."

 

"Well, hot damn," came the crow of satisfaction.  "You actually listened to me."

 

Technically, he hadn't.  Jon had already been sleeping with Teddi before his friend ever mentioned it, but he didn’t bother divulging that.  It was easier to throw the guy another bone and let him think what he wanted. 

 

Left to his own psychotic devices, David shifted from thrilled to threatening with, “This isn’t a one-night stand that you’re letting her think is something more, is it?  Don’t be pulling that crap, man.  Her head is messed up enough on its own, and besides that, I like her.”

 

Jon’s sigh was ten times louder than the wheels gliding to the curb in front of his lawyer’s building.  He grabbed the contracts and pulled the door handle while deciding to ignore the psychoticism in favor of simple directness. 

 

“I like her, too, but keep that shit to yourself for now, okay?  I gotta go.” 

 

"But what about Joey Bishop?"

 

And they were back to a fish.  Jesus.

 

"Calico," he answered with certainty before disconnecting the call.  Teddi would like the damn thing no matter what color it was, and if she ever checked messages, she'd probably give that whack job her phone number, too. 

 

His duty was done, and dismissing all things David from his mind, he primed himself to take care of business. 

 

Elevator doors slid silently apart on the thirty-fourth floor, revealing an elegantly understated reception area.  Jon had no doubt he'd contributed his fair share to create the ambiance of comfortable luxury, but he scarcely saw it when approaching the wide-eyed receptionist with determination.  

 

"Good morning, Yvette."

 

"Mr. Bon Jovi," she greeted warily.  "Did I miss your call?  There's a courier waiting on standby to pick up your documents."

 

He eased into the fan club smile to project a feeling of warmth and friendship since she wasn’t on his shit list.  “You didn’t miss a thing.  I just decided to bring them myself.  The old man in?”

 

“Just a moment and I’ll check.”

While she was busy dialing the phone, Jon's attention wandered the reception area and down the labyrinth of hallways beyond Yvette's station.  Women strode purposefully from one office to another, their stodgy suits offset by fashionable Manolos and Louboutins, while men bounced along the carpet in Brooks Brothers, designer haircuts and clean-shaven jaws.  The exception to that rule stepped out of an open door, looking both ways while stroking a dark beard peppered with gray.

 

Pierce.

 

He never would've sought the man out on his own, but he sure as hell wasn't going to disregard the gift of providence. 

 

"Yvette."  Reaching across the reception counter, Jon landed his middle finger on the receiver button and aborted her dialing.  "Never mind the old man.  I see the guy I was working with on these.  I'll just hand ‘em off to him."

 

Her mouth gaped like that fish Dave was going to get, but she didn't dare intercept when he took a confident step into the inner sanctum.  This wasn’t a scenario he’d imaged when making the decision to deliver the contracts himself, but damn if it wasn’t a nice perk to see whore dude’s mouth tighten before shifting into a forced smile. 

 

“Mr. Bon Jovi.  What a pleasant surprise.”

 

“No, it’s not, but kudos on playing nice for the client,” he complimented flatly before jerking his chin to the open office door.  “I think my business is better discussed in private.”

 

“Of course.  Please…”  A tilted hand gestured for Jon to lead the way.

 

A quick scan of the eight-by-eight office revealed that it wasn’t much more than a glorified cubicle.  There may be solid walls separating him from the neighboring co-workers, but Jon would bet there wasn’t much soundproofing between them.  The crystal-clear thud of an adjacent door closing confirmed it.

 

“What can I do for you, Mr. Bon Jovi?”

 

Taking a sleek leather chair on the visitor’s side of the glass and chrome desk, he kicked an ankle up onto the opposite knee and balanced the manila envelope on his thigh.  “For starters, you can put on some music or something to camouflage our conversation.  That’s for your benefit, not mine, in case you were curious.”

 

Pierce pulled a frown but tapped his oxford-shod foot against something similar in size to a short spindle of blank CDs.  The small space filled with the soft drone of white noise.

 

“That’ll work,” Jon approved and lightly tossed the envelope on the desk.  “First off, there are the signed contracts for my business acquisition.”

 

The other man wasted no time folding open the flap and scanning the documents.  When he found everything in order, he returned them to their sleeve with a nod.  “I’ll take care of it.  Everything should be finalized in two to three weeks, I would think.” 

 

“That’s what the old man told me.”

 

With a pointed look at Jon’s unmoving form, Pierce laid the paperwork aside and intoned, “I’m guessing there’s something else of a more personal nature that you wanted to discuss?”

 

“There is, and I don’t feel like bullshitting through polite formalities, so I’m just gonna be blunt.”  White noise machine or not, he lowered his voice.  “Stay away from Teddi unless you want me to tell your employers about that sideline gig you’ve got going.”

 

To the guy’s credit, he didn’t flinch.  Hands remained still on the desk and his gaze was as level as his tone when refuting, “I no longer have a ‘sideline gig’.”

 

“Doesn’t matter.  You and I both know how conservative this firm is.  They make Billy Graham look like a liberal radical.  Past or present, they won’t condone you fucking women for money.” 

 

“Woman.  One.”

 

Teddi was his only customer?  That was an unexpected – and bothersome – twist, but it didn’t change the facts.  Jon lifted two carelessly upturned palms and pointed out, “A whore’s a whore.”

 

“Yes.  Well, I appreciate the loan of your moral compass, but I will be seeing Teddi again.  At the very least, I have business to discuss with her.”

 

Letting his hands fall, Jon tucked them into his elbows when crossing both arms.  “What?  Peabody upping the offer for her share of the company?”

 

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

 

“She won’t accept it.”  

 

He wasn’t totally confident in that statement, having gotten the feeling more than once that Teddi was just retaining ownership to appease him, but that didn’t bother him much.  Jon would make sure this venture was a success, and she wouldn’t have to worry about finances again.  The end justified the means.

 

“It would be foolish not to.  The Peabodys are being exceptionally generous only because she’s family.  They want to provide her with a financial security that ensures she’ll never have to work again.”

 

Dropping his foot to the floor, he transferred folded arms from his chest to the sparkling glass desk and leaned on them to grit out, “Endicott Peabody doesn’t give a damn about her or her financial security.  He’s is a cruel motherfucker who’s made it his life’s mission to torture Teddi.  Whatever his deal, you can bet it’s wired to blow up in her face.”

 

“That’s not going to-“

 

“Read the offer again, Legal Beagle.  Read it with a healthy dose of skepticism and see if I’m not right.”

 

Pierce went quiet, obviously doing a mental recount of the terms to see if Jon’s warning was justified.  Good.  He could spend the rest of the day stewing on that.  It would keep him busy, and just maybe he’d figure out that Endicott Peabody really was a piece of shit.

 

“In case it needs said, the details of my acquisition are confidential.  Peabody in particular better not find out about this deal unless I tell him. Is that clear?” 

 

A dark head dipped once in understanding and satisfied that his time today had been wisely spent, Jon rose to leave.  With The Godfather still fresh in his mind, he couldn’t resist delivering a final ominous, “Stay away from her, man.  I mean it.”

 

He did refrain from adding “or you’ll be sleeping with the fishes” – just barely – but the theme song played in his head as he swaggered from the office with a craving for pasta and red wine.