Violets & Violence Read Online Free PDF Page A

where two industrial elevators and a maître d’ in a tweed jacket with elbow patches and jeans greeted us.
    “Welcome.” He had a West Coast accent, which seemed to emphasize the recent rise in Silicon Valley immigration to my old-school city.
    “Ted Baxter’s party.”
    The youngish man who seemed to be playing the part of a 1990’s professor nodded. “Of course.” He pointed us to one of the elevators.
    We rose to the third floor and noticed the long boardroom table, set in the middle of this loft-like space that looked out to an alleyway scattered with abandoned rusted metal crates with greenery growing through.
    The ambience on the third floor merged the formal elegance that one would expect from a corporate boardroom with the progressive trendiness of today’s hottest architecture and designs.
    The rest of our colleagues—vice presidents, business heads, relationship managers like myself, and analysts—had assembled near the bar. They were sipping fancy drinks. I saw scotch, gin and tonics, even a couple of martinis, and the occasional mojito from the usual cowboys who ran our commodities unit.
    Ted Baxter, the company’s President and CEO, strode over with a white-teeth smile flashing through his big, grey-peppered goatee. As a larger man, he offered a bulldozer handshake and told me he was happy I’d made it, but I knew he had delivered that same line to everyone else.
    “Grab yourself a drink, Carter, we’re going to get started in five,” he said, then headed off to the bathroom downstairs.
    Jonathan and I ordered drinks and eventually settled down at the big table with the others. Before our heavy lunch arrived, Ted discussed several business matters, and then I excused myself to go to the bathroom. I took the big wooden stairs that looked like something taken from a rail yard, and noticed that the other, smaller rooms on this level had their doors closed for private functions.
    The bathroom consisted of fancy urinals, an elegant, trough-like sink, and a counter with real towels, mouthwash, and gum. The private stalls had full-sized doors and locks. It was the kind of place my ex would’ve probably had sex in with the man she had chosen over me before he was cursed with ED.
    You don’t know that, but it sure serves him right for stealing a married man’s wife.
    For the record: I didn’t like the man she had chosen over me.
    While I relieved myself at the urinal, I heard one of those stall doors open and close behind me. Then the clacking of heels; high-priced dress shoes, I figured.
    But then I heard her voice.
    “Mr. Carter.” I didn’t have to see the eyes or recognize her smile. “You come here often?”
    I finished before I really got started and tucked myself back into my pants. Shy bladder.
    “Only when I need to pee,” I answered. I turned around and had to remind myself to breathe. She was wearing those tight black pants, a mask straight out of a Batman movie, and a sexy blonde wig. Her eyes were just as I remembered, but different—smart and sexy with a little more gray in them.
    Clearing my throat, I stepped around her to the sink to wash my hands; they were trembling.
    “Violet, this is the men’s bathroom.” I smirked at her in the mirror.
    She nodded, stepping up behind me. “I know.” She indicated the bathroom door, the hallway beyond it and the private rooms with their functions even farther. “I’m working this afternoon.” She punched me in the shoulder, from behind, and stepped back, crossing her arms over her tight shirt. “Just waiting for my cue.”
    “In the men’s room?” I touched my arm, curious why she hadn’t struck me as firmly as she had at the airport earlier this week. Had I winced? She seemed like a different woman now, even though her grey eyes with the hint of green suggested I was wrong about that.
    “Nobody expects me here, Carter.”
    I wiped my hands with a towel, then tossed it into the dirty laundry basket. “But now I