I give her a few suggestions, a couple of taglines, and draw up a rough article for the pre-production pitch meeting in a few weeks.
The afternoon flies by as Bea looks at her watch. “Oh, my!” she squeals. “I best be on my way. I have taken up more than just a sec. Thanks for your help and the chitchat.”
“Anytime, Bea.” I smile as she leaves my office and I’m feeling good that I could help her out.
I realize I haven't completed some tasks and decide to work from home. I slip my laptop into my bag when the office phone rings. I check the time, for a split second I'm tempted to let it go to voice mail since it's past office hours. I'm already late to meet Sydney for an early dinner at Tawney's then she’s coming with me to my weekly group session. And although I sent her a text earlier to let her know I was still at the office and running late, she's probably calling to see what my ETA is.
“Hello, this is Delilah Marshall speaking,” I answer.
“Hey, babe. Damn, it’s so good to hear your voice.” My spine stiffens, muscles lock, and I’m battling whether to say something or just hang up. Time stops and all I hear is his breathing as memories collide and the bile creeps up my throat.
“Todd . . . h-how did you get this number?”
“It’s not hard to find you when your face is plastered on a few articles and tabloids.” His voice is low and yet it echoes in my ear.
“What do you want?” I sneer, trying my best to sound unaffected and that I’m not scared of him anymore.
But I am.
Every fiber of my body recoils at the sound of his voice. And even though he can’t hurt me, I can feel the stabbing pain and the slicing to my spirit as if he’s in the same room with me.
“I’ll tell you what I don’t want . . . is to see you with that bastard again. It’s not going to happen, Dee.” His warning voice is icy, and chills creep up my spine.
“It’s over, Todd.”
“The funny thing about being incarcerated, you have time,” he snarls. “Time to think, reflect, and like I told you before . . . You. Are. Mine. And that fucking Saint Clair asshole I saw you with . . . let’s just say he’ll be forced to say goodbye to you.”
His snicker rumbles and fills the line as my heart bangs against my rib cage.
He’s capable of anything. I have witnessed too much. The beating of a man that owed him money. The gun I found in his apartment. Blood drenched clothes I knew he wore when he ended someone’s life. And the raise of his hands, the threats he’s made to me that he’d hurt my family if I ever told anyone.
All the horrible memories barrel my thoughts. Tears pool in my eyes and my hands shake holding onto the receiver against my ear.
“What do you mean, Todd?”
“I’m never letting you go. Don’t you see? We are meant to be together. For better for worse. Sickness and in health, till death,” he pauses for a beat, “do we part.”
Silence fills the line when I realize he’s hung up the phone, leaving me frightened once again.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Brody
“This mini drone is the new technology and a prototype of what’s coming. With its quiet engine and solar panel plate, it has an extended battery bank giving it an airtime of about six hours.” Natalie holds up a miniature black plastic airplane that looks more like a toy from a Cracker Jack box.
“And we get to test out this new toy,” I say, stretching out my arm as Natalie hands it to me. “Who gets to play first? Me or Twilight?”
“Wish I could.” Mark raises both his hands. “You know that saying ‘you break it, you buy it’ . . . The way Charlie’s been lately, throwing anything she can get her hands on. I swear that woman is PMS-ing all the time.”
“Well, stop pissing in her Cheerios,” I say, examining the drone.
“And knowing Charlie, you probably deserve it,” Natalie adds as she pulls out another device from the silver case.
“Whatever to the both of you,” Mark pipes up then turns to me. “Listen, Zac Efron, Ben’s working on another mission and Quinn is on a special assignment, so it looks like you just won a brand-new airplane,” Mark says in a game show host voice. “But wait, there’s more . . . Vanna White, show our contestant what’s behind door number two!”
Natalie raises the wristwatch and makes a show of it as she hands it to Mark with his palms up.
“That baby flying hummer comes with a high-tech, luxury watch worthy to wear to the Oscars,” Mark continues. “With a press of a few icons, you can see what’s going on in the air and control its course.”
Natalie screams as Mark tosses the wristwatch at me to catch. “Mark, are you crazy?”
Mark and I laugh. “Sparkles, calm your britches. Mike Piazza caught it,” he says, winking at her.
“So, you’re saying I can take this bad boy back with me and give it a test run?”
“Muff is expecting a full report to see if we should invest in this plaything.”
“It’s hardly a plaything, Mark,” Natalie huffs as she hands him an invoice.
“Are you fucking kidding me? This piece of plastic is costing us a hundred thousand?” Mark yelps and points his finger at me. “You break it, you buy it, James Bond.”
I chuckle. “Okay, Lee, tell me how this expensive Cracker Jack toy works.”
Natalie programs the watch and the tablet with the drone, then we head outside to give it a test run. The wristwatch lights up after the drone lifts off in the air and we see ourselves on the small screen. Natalie works the tablet to record our analysis as I work the watch to control its course. And Mark, well, he waves at the drone floating in the air as his contribution.
After testing the drone over the clear skies of Virginia, we’re back in Natalie’s office going over the recording, device specs, and listing suggestions it may need. I glance at the clock on the wall and all I can think about is getting back home and seeing Delilah. I shoot her a quick text letting her know I miss her.
“There’s a bit of a delay, but the clarity of the picture isn’t all that bad,” Natalie says, writing on the survey form.
“The airspeed is good too,” I tell her as I motion her to jot it down. “As well as how quiet it is.”
“The only thing missing is to test it for a longer time period,” Mark suggests. “We have this bad boy through next week. It was only in the air for about thirty minutes and we need to see how long it can stay up there till its juice runs out.”
“My sister’s fashion show is tomorrow night. How about I test it while it hovers over the location? I’ll launch it before I head over there, watch the crowd and venue, play Where’s Brody? and . . .”
“And that may be a brilliant idea, but what if it starts to lose its juice and the five hours or so is actually only two or three and you’re stuck inside ogling?” Mark asks and raises a brow. “What then, Einstein?”
“I’ll monitor the battery level through the watch. If the battery starts to die, I’ll head outside, grab the drone, and lock it up with my driver,” I tell them.