just_1_word | 12.9. Unexpected
12.9. Unexpected
Co-written with straight2point
[Follows THIS, THIS, THIS & THIS]
Marc hated LA. No, scratch that. He fucking despised it, and he meant that in the nicest way possible. It was just so unlike his inner self that he had never managed to find a shred of tolerance in him to like it. Not as James Campbell and certainly not as Marcus Fraser. He had been here two nights and the work at the conference had swallowed up just about all his time. He knew Harri was here and they managed to catch a twenty minute lunch together earlier in the day (followed by a frantic quickie in ladies room for dessert), but the investigation had more than demanded he stay focused on this one. He was tailing another CEO from a company based in Chicago. The Department had intelligence that may indicate the guy was using his company exports to traffic heroine into Malaysia, but it was a fucked up lead and Marc realised that afternoon that the guy might have a bit of pot stashed in his briefcase, but he wasn't a damn trafficker. However, someone in the company was and that just opened a whole other can of worms.
He had the penthouse suite of some trendy five star LA hotel. The afternoon had come as a welcomed relief because his day had been a busy one. Not only was he trying to carry out an undercover investigation - meaning eyes, ears and even his dick had to be pointing in a hundred different directions at once - but he still had to be Marcus, owner of this multi-million dollar corporation. He had dragged himself back to his room utterly exhausted, making the executive decision to get out of the fucking suit and shower before he even checked in with his work. He was now in just one of the fluffy bathrobes, sitting perched on the outdoor table on the suite's balcony. His hair was clean, no contacts were in and for the first time in days, in the privacy of his suite, he had the luxury to let it all hang free.
He wet his lips and took an indulgent inhalation on his cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly, cell phone held to his ear as he watched LA sprawl before him. "I'm telling you, Jake, the bastard is cleaner than Mother Theresa. It's not him," Marc said, Aussie accent coming through with ease. It felt good. Like putting on an old pair of slippers after running a marathon.
Harri was going insane. No, not going. She was insane. She'd had nothing but pimply candidates to interview all weekend, and for future journalists who were supposedly straight out of college, they seemed to have the intellectual capacity of ten-year-olds. One guy even kept staring at her cleavage and smirking. By the time she and Marc had had that quickie, Harri was ready to kill someone. For a weekend that was supposed to be a trial getaway for them, it was falling pretty bloody short of the mark. And it was going to take a lot more than a quickie to keep her satisfied. Especially when any time she even clapped eyes on Marc from across the room she was ready to jump him and ride him into oblivion. And her heart seemed to always beat faster with him around.
That was why she found herself outside his penthouse suite, talking to one of the cleaners. She had on her best smile, and even managed to act like she wasn't a complete ballbreaker. She was sweet and funny, and had this whole story about how her husband was here for the convention and he'd been working so hard, and as his wife she just wanted to surprise him and help him relax a little. And of course it was only three months into their marriage, and surely she could understand what it was like to be a newlywed seperated from her husband and still enjoying the honeymoon period. The cleaner had been in her forties, but she did understand. She even laughed and told Harri that she and her husband were still like that. Harri couldn't help but smile, she thanked the woman so much when she agreed to let Harri into Marc's suite and even told her that she wished they were like that in fifteen years time.
Harri stepped out of her heels as soon as she was inside Marc's suite, and even stripped down to just her black silk slip, and underwear. She treaded softly through the room, trying to work out where he was. She could hear a voice, and saw the back of him through the sliding doors that led onto the balcony. She smirked to herself, the bathrobe he wore was just far too convenient. It was only when she got closer that something cold started to worm its way down into her stomach. Was that an Australian accent?
Marc was oblivious to the fact he had a visitor. It seemed it just wasn't his week. He tapped his cigarette on the ashtray sitting beside him and watched the end as it burned down a little, listening to his partner on the other end of the line. He laughed and shook his head. "Fucking hell, mate. You really do want me to be trapped in LA for the rest of my fucking life, don't you? What part of 'no leads' don't you get? If even one of the prissy little PAs waltzing around this joint was snorting coke from her handbag in the bathroom, I would have known about it. Colquhoun is clean, mate. If it looks like he's running the show then he's being scapegoated. Hell, I don't think someone with glasses that thick would even be able to find Malaysia on a map let alone traffick hard stuff there. Come on, give me a break. The next fucking show is on your head, not mine. I got what we needed. A whole big pile of fuck all and the guy goes back to the Windy City tomorrow. I'm back to New York." His partner called him an arsehole and promised to make his life a misery next time they got pissed together. "Yeah, mate. Kiss my arse," he laughed.
Harri frowned as she listened, standing in the open doorway as she watched Marc's back. She was still trying to work out why he sounded Australian and not British. Everything Aiden had been trying to tell her replayed through her mind and her blood turned to ice. "Marc?" she finally said, not really sure if her voice had actually worked. Harriet Ryan the Unshakeable had been shaken.
That voice. He didn't quite link it to what was standing behind him at first and things suddenly felt like they had been switched into slow motion. His blood ran cold and it felt like someone had gripped his throat, shutting off his air supply. He froze and dropped the cell phone barely seconds after ending the call and his head whipped around to the door of the suite. Harri was standing there, and for a moment it all felt like a bad dream. As if dealing with Ali earlier in the week hadn't been bad enough on his nervous system. He still hadn't quite come to terms with all that yet. He had left without seeing the baby and still didn't know what move to make next. He shouldn't contact her again, but he didn't think that he could just walk away from her now that he had seen her again. She had been a fine thread to his old life that he desperately wanted to clutch on to. He just didn't know if he wanted to risk it any more.
His eyes were wide as he stared at Harri with a dead-cold shock pulsing through him. He stumbled up off the table and clutched at his chest. "Harri," he gasped hoarsely. "What the fuck are you doing here?!"
All muses referenced with permission and are from the princeton2nyc universe
Word Count | 1,328
Co-written with straight2point
[Follows THIS, THIS, THIS & THIS]
Marc hated LA. No, scratch that. He fucking despised it, and he meant that in the nicest way possible. It was just so unlike his inner self that he had never managed to find a shred of tolerance in him to like it. Not as James Campbell and certainly not as Marcus Fraser. He had been here two nights and the work at the conference had swallowed up just about all his time. He knew Harri was here and they managed to catch a twenty minute lunch together earlier in the day (followed by a frantic quickie in ladies room for dessert), but the investigation had more than demanded he stay focused on this one. He was tailing another CEO from a company based in Chicago. The Department had intelligence that may indicate the guy was using his company exports to traffic heroine into Malaysia, but it was a fucked up lead and Marc realised that afternoon that the guy might have a bit of pot stashed in his briefcase, but he wasn't a damn trafficker. However, someone in the company was and that just opened a whole other can of worms.
He had the penthouse suite of some trendy five star LA hotel. The afternoon had come as a welcomed relief because his day had been a busy one. Not only was he trying to carry out an undercover investigation - meaning eyes, ears and even his dick had to be pointing in a hundred different directions at once - but he still had to be Marcus, owner of this multi-million dollar corporation. He had dragged himself back to his room utterly exhausted, making the executive decision to get out of the fucking suit and shower before he even checked in with his work. He was now in just one of the fluffy bathrobes, sitting perched on the outdoor table on the suite's balcony. His hair was clean, no contacts were in and for the first time in days, in the privacy of his suite, he had the luxury to let it all hang free.
He wet his lips and took an indulgent inhalation on his cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly, cell phone held to his ear as he watched LA sprawl before him. "I'm telling you, Jake, the bastard is cleaner than Mother Theresa. It's not him," Marc said, Aussie accent coming through with ease. It felt good. Like putting on an old pair of slippers after running a marathon.
Harri was going insane. No, not going. She was insane. She'd had nothing but pimply candidates to interview all weekend, and for future journalists who were supposedly straight out of college, they seemed to have the intellectual capacity of ten-year-olds. One guy even kept staring at her cleavage and smirking. By the time she and Marc had had that quickie, Harri was ready to kill someone. For a weekend that was supposed to be a trial getaway for them, it was falling pretty bloody short of the mark. And it was going to take a lot more than a quickie to keep her satisfied. Especially when any time she even clapped eyes on Marc from across the room she was ready to jump him and ride him into oblivion. And her heart seemed to always beat faster with him around.
That was why she found herself outside his penthouse suite, talking to one of the cleaners. She had on her best smile, and even managed to act like she wasn't a complete ballbreaker. She was sweet and funny, and had this whole story about how her husband was here for the convention and he'd been working so hard, and as his wife she just wanted to surprise him and help him relax a little. And of course it was only three months into their marriage, and surely she could understand what it was like to be a newlywed seperated from her husband and still enjoying the honeymoon period. The cleaner had been in her forties, but she did understand. She even laughed and told Harri that she and her husband were still like that. Harri couldn't help but smile, she thanked the woman so much when she agreed to let Harri into Marc's suite and even told her that she wished they were like that in fifteen years time.
Harri stepped out of her heels as soon as she was inside Marc's suite, and even stripped down to just her black silk slip, and underwear. She treaded softly through the room, trying to work out where he was. She could hear a voice, and saw the back of him through the sliding doors that led onto the balcony. She smirked to herself, the bathrobe he wore was just far too convenient. It was only when she got closer that something cold started to worm its way down into her stomach. Was that an Australian accent?
Marc was oblivious to the fact he had a visitor. It seemed it just wasn't his week. He tapped his cigarette on the ashtray sitting beside him and watched the end as it burned down a little, listening to his partner on the other end of the line. He laughed and shook his head. "Fucking hell, mate. You really do want me to be trapped in LA for the rest of my fucking life, don't you? What part of 'no leads' don't you get? If even one of the prissy little PAs waltzing around this joint was snorting coke from her handbag in the bathroom, I would have known about it. Colquhoun is clean, mate. If it looks like he's running the show then he's being scapegoated. Hell, I don't think someone with glasses that thick would even be able to find Malaysia on a map let alone traffick hard stuff there. Come on, give me a break. The next fucking show is on your head, not mine. I got what we needed. A whole big pile of fuck all and the guy goes back to the Windy City tomorrow. I'm back to New York." His partner called him an arsehole and promised to make his life a misery next time they got pissed together. "Yeah, mate. Kiss my arse," he laughed.
Harri frowned as she listened, standing in the open doorway as she watched Marc's back. She was still trying to work out why he sounded Australian and not British. Everything Aiden had been trying to tell her replayed through her mind and her blood turned to ice. "Marc?" she finally said, not really sure if her voice had actually worked. Harriet Ryan the Unshakeable had been shaken.
That voice. He didn't quite link it to what was standing behind him at first and things suddenly felt like they had been switched into slow motion. His blood ran cold and it felt like someone had gripped his throat, shutting off his air supply. He froze and dropped the cell phone barely seconds after ending the call and his head whipped around to the door of the suite. Harri was standing there, and for a moment it all felt like a bad dream. As if dealing with Ali earlier in the week hadn't been bad enough on his nervous system. He still hadn't quite come to terms with all that yet. He had left without seeing the baby and still didn't know what move to make next. He shouldn't contact her again, but he didn't think that he could just walk away from her now that he had seen her again. She had been a fine thread to his old life that he desperately wanted to clutch on to. He just didn't know if he wanted to risk it any more.
His eyes were wide as he stared at Harri with a dead-cold shock pulsing through him. He stumbled up off the table and clutched at his chest. "Harri," he gasped hoarsely. "What the fuck are you doing here?!"
All muses referenced with permission and are from the princeton2nyc universe
Word Count | 1,328