Chapter 7 : Shirley Miles

Chapter 7: Shirley Miles

Keava POV

My sleep was filled with unsettling nightmares of being followed by dark men in black suits. The ground would be concrete but have the texture of sand and I would sink and drown repeatedly until rescued by a boat made from 1920 newspapers.

A rapid knock on the door woke me up. The side of my face hurt, I had fallen asleep on my desk while trying to decrypt the flash drive. I was no expert with technology so needless to say I failed all attempts. I ascended from my Makeshift bed and wiped the sweat from my forehead that I was half sure was actually ink. Clearly I was not fully awake just yet.

More knocking.

Ugh was it Carol again? That woman was always losing her cat and kept accusing me of stealing it. For what reason I would steal the grumpy old fluff ball I had no clue. I had begun to suspect that Carol just wanted an excuse to talk to someone.

Or was it the ones who had gone after Atlas? Perhaps I had been seen yesterday and now they had followed me here…

But surely assassins wouldn’t knock. It was not as though I lived in a fortress that could only be breached from the front entrance.

Another knock, this time increasingly impatient.

“I’m coming!” I yelled.

I pulled a grey jumper over my head, unbolted the door and revealed the relentless knocker.

A tall blonde woman dressed in the most expensive designer clothing burst through the doorway. attacked me with a monstrous hug.

“Good Lord, Keeves! You look absolutely horrid!” My best friend exclaimed. “Just your look, not your face, darling.”

“Shirley!” I said in surprise, hugging her tightly, “I didn’t know you were coming to New York! Why didn’t you text me?”

Shirley glared at me, making her look like an angry Barbie. Shirley. had the textbook exterior of a model pulled straight from the pages of vogue, and that was without her even putting on make-ip.

“I did, multiple times,” she said, “I called, texted, emailed and I even faxed your office…and now I can see why.”

Shirley glanced at the messy desk behind me, her annoyance replaced with concern.

“Come on, shower and get dressed–we’re going for brunch,” she ordered firmly. “And no arguing!”

The protest that had risen in my throat died immediately.

Brunch it was.

Shirley and I had met at college as roommates. We were polar opposites so I never thought that we would ever become friends, let alone best friends.

When I had started my degree I had told myself that I would not distract myself with friends while I studied. I attended NYU on a scholarship, an opportunity that I couldn’t afford to waste.

Shirley on the other hand came from a wealthy family, she wore the most expensive designer clothing, had a personal driver, and flew to exotic locations almost every weekend. She looked like a Barbie doll; blonde hair, pale skin and almost always dressed in some form of pink.

On paper I disliked her, thinking that she was only here for “the college experience”.

But my judgement soon proved to be wrong when Shirley showed that she was not only intelligent, but also hard working. She said that while she enjoyed her wealth and was not ashamed of it, she also knew that money didn’t last forever and wanted to become someone who could add value to society and to her own life.

She was kind, generous and my rock whenever I was in a rut, though I always refused her when she offered me money or to take me with her on her exotic trips. I was successful in getting her to stop offering to pay for things, but I lost the argument of accompanying her on whatever holiday she had planned. Though I made the condition that it would always be local.

“So what new and crazy whirlpool have you gotten yourself into this time, Keava?” Shirley asked as she delicately buttered her scone. I had always been amazed at the precision she applied to every aspect of her life…including the way she applied condiments to her food.

“Is it that obvious?” I asked sarcastically, sipping my coffee, before sighing with pleasure at the taste.

It had been so long since I had a coffee this exquisite. This restaurant was one of the best in New York…I would have been fine with just a café but when it came to brunch, Shirley held the reins.

“Darling I’ve seen dumpster fires who looked more at peace than you do right now.”

“I was working on a story…this corrupt politician. My cover got blown while I was following him and now Helen wants me to drop it.” I sighed.

Shirley raised her eyebrow. Damn this girl was smart; she could tell there was more. So I bit the bullet and unloaded everything that had happened in the last few days. With anyone else I was always on my guard and extremely careful with divulging information.

But with Shirley I felt no such limitation, I could tell her anything and knew that it would remain safe until the end of time.

“Roman Cabot! Seriously? After what happened with his douche of a brother I would have assumed you’d keep your distance from that family,” Shirley exclaimed.

“Keep your voice down,” I hissed. “Besides, it's not like I’m dating the guy.”

“But he kissed you and now you're craving more of his affections.”

“Come on, it wasn’t even a real kiss,” I protested. “It was just a diversion.”

“Still,” Shirley said. “I don’t think being around him is a good idea, even if it is just for business. The Cabots aren’t really in my family’s circle but I know they have some complicated history. He’s trouble no matter how saintly he is compared to Andrew.”

“What about the case?” I asked, trying to divert the conversation away from Roman.

“Whether I say that I agree with Helen or I support you, you’re just going to do what you want to anyway,” Shirley pointed out. “So I’ll support you on the condition that you stay over at my place; I’m in New York for the next four weeks and would love it if you stayed with me.”

There was no way I could refuse, Shirley might even be able to decrypt the flash drive, since she was better with programming than I was.

“I’d love to,” I smiled.

Shirley squealed with delight and ordered a bottle of champagne despite it only being 10 AM.

“The way you’re celebrating people would think you just proposed to me,” I laughed.

In all honesty I was relieved that I wouldn’t have to bolt my apartment door with multiple locks every night, and that I would have my best friend with me.

We split the bill, which I was grateful for, and told her I’d be at her place by the evening after I gathered my things.

My boots crunched loudly as I waded through the snowy streets that had not yet been cleared. I was finally in a better mood than I had been in days.

And then there was that eerie feeling that I couldn’t shake. I was being followed again. I might have been wrong but there was no way I was going to find out. I had gotten lucky the other night with Roman’s driver and I was not willing to test that luck again.

I switched up my route home, taking the long way around and cutting through a busy street before finally arriving back home. If someone was following me they would have lost sight of me in the crowds. Hopefully.

It was a habit that I had picked up after having moved here and lived with my adopted parents. There had always been something in the news about kidnappings so I would always make sure to never take the same route home from school just in case I was the next target.

I bolted the door once more and went through my things to make sure that nothing had been tampered with or taken.

Everything was just as messy as I had left it.

Was I being too paranoid? Perhaps I was having spent most of my life wondering if I would ever be found by those bastards who stole my father’s estate and shares.

My phone began to buzz; Roman Cabot’s name appeared on the screen. A glimmer of hope and warmth spread through me mixed with caution.

I accepted the call.

“I take it you have an answer for me,” I said seriously, not wanting to give any emotion away. The man already knew more than I would like.

“I have,” came Roman’s reply. “When can we meet?”