Catching Avery Read online

  "Oh, alright," I conceded. Truth be told, it had been a long time since we'd all gotten together and actually went out. We weren't even thirty yet and already we were heading into a bingo living life.

  Quinn started clapping her hands. "Yay! We'll meet at Izzy's around six. That's early enough to get a few drinks in us and still make it around to Calico's, if Xavier's blows."

  "Fine." I waved her away. "Now, get going so I can close up this sweat shop that is my cubicle and we can get this night started."

  After Quinn sauntered off, I started to close down my computer and put my stuff away for the day. I was a public transportation type of girl. Whether it be cabs, Ubers, trains, buses, whatever, I preferred it over driving. I owned a car, but only used it in the event of an emergency or traveling outside of San Jose, so it stayed parked in the parking spot assigned to my apartment in the building I lived in. I lived ten blocks away from SMA Global, Inc.'s home office on Hostetter. I often walked, and on the rare occasions when I worked late, SMA had a car service for such occurrences. There was a strict policy that no employees were to struggle for a ride home if they were required to work into the night.

  I thought that was awesome.

  A half hour walk later, I was heading up the steps to my apartment building. I lived in a well enough neighborhood, but the building I lived in still had a security gate where you needed to be buzzed in if you weren't a tenant or had the code to get in. I didn't really consider it a safety feature when any of the tenants could give out the code to whomever they chose. Case in point, Q and Iz both had the code. But before you judge me on my lack of respect for safety, know that Quinn and Isabella have never murdered anyone. The only thing they have ever killed was great music when we were drunk enough to karaoke...talk about something being slaughtered. Of course, I've only known Q for three years and Izzy for two...so who knows what they did before then, but the past is the past, I say.

  Besides, if I ever needed to bury a body, it'd be comforting to know that one of them, if not both, had experience with this sort of thing.

  Nicholas~

  I had already put in over fifty hours at the office this week, so the last thing I wanted to do was go drinking at some annoying hipster watering hole. Sure, Chase assured me that this new place was hipster-free, but it wouldn't be the first time Chase has misled me so that he could get some pussy.

  Now don't get me wrong, I enjoyed getting laid just as well as the next guy, it just wasn't as much of a priority to me as it was to Chase. If a woman came on to me and I was in need, then I went with it. But no-strings-attached women were hard to find, and I just flat out worked too many hours to be a decent boyfriend to anyone. So I didn’t bother putting in the effort.

  The door to my office opened without a knock, so it could only be one of two people, Chase or Julian. Julian strolled into my office like someone who knew he could. "I think I'm going to stick with club soda this evening."

  I looked up from the Wall Street financial reports I was reviewing and chuckled at one of my best friends. "Why?"

  "I swear, Sav, if I overhear one more inappropriate comment out of that twit Spillner, there's going to be a court date in my future." Julian plopped down on the leather couch that occupied the left side of my office.

  "Jesus. What did that fool say now?" William Spillner was a division manager in SMA's accounting department. On paper he was everything we looked for in a manager and his interview with our former H.R. Manager had went extremely well by his accounts. William’s been with the company a little over six years, but it hasn't been until recently, that we've been hearing whispers of inappropriate behavior.

  The first time we heard something, we immediately had our current H.R. Manager, Cynthia Emerson, do an investigation on him. After a month, she came back and said she couldn't report anything definitive about his conduct. Most of the women who worked with him confirmed no wrong doing. The only two who did comment, played it off and claimed no offense in the least.

  We had also contacted his immediate boss, Ian James, and shared our concerns with him. He assured us that, moving forward, he would pay special attention to anything that struck him as odd. And because Ian was a standup guy, we knew he wouldn't hesitate to do the right thing.

  The corporate world was a vicious one, and as ruthless as we have been and could be, there was one thing Chase, Julian and I didn't bend on, and that was how we treated our female employees. Every woman alive was either a wife, daughter, mother or sister to someone, and while I didn't have a sister and my mother could burn in hell, I knew what I would do if anyone ever mistreated my wife or daughter...if I ever got myself a wife so that she could give me a daughter, that is.

  “I was just outside the executive break room on the 4th floor and I overheard someone say, and I quote, ‘How are we expected to work around here when there’s so much prime pussy walking up and down these halls?’. It sounded just like Spillner, but when I walked in, all conversation stopped.” Julian laid himself out on the couch, until he was sprawled across it, which wasn’t an easy feat as big as he was.

  I swiveled my chair to face the couch. Leaning back, I asked, “Did you address the remark?”

  Julian sighed. “Of course, I did.” He threw his arm over his eyes as if he were about to take a nap. “As a matter of fact, I may be called into HR next week.”

  It wouldn’t be the first time. Chase and I were still working with Julian on his people skills. He hadn’t mastered how to choose his words wisely. A lot of people thought he was the moody, quiet type when in actuality, Julian just felt it was easier to not say anything rather than deal with the hassle of offending people. Julian didn’t suffer fools gladly.

  “What did you say to earn you a trip to the principal’s office this time?”

  “I may have said something to the effect of missing the memo where we’re allowed to bring our pets to work, because, surely, that’s the pussy they were referring to and that if it wasn’t, it had better be moving forward,” he answered.

  I really couldn’t fault Julian. I’m not sure I would have handled it any better and I know for sure Chase wouldn’t have. “How did they respond?”

  He lifted his arm a bit and picked his head up to look at me. “How do you think?” He dropped his head and arm back down. “Ha-ha, oh Mr. Moretti, just joking, blah, blah, blah, whatever. The thing is, I know it was Spillner’s voice, but they all played it off.” Another sigh. “I just hope we can get this fucker before he costs us a lawsuit or I go to jail for fucking him up.”

  Me too.

  “Maybe you need more than club soda tonight, actual alcohol might mellow you out,” I suggested.

  “Maybe. Or maybe Chase is right and we’re overdue. God knows a good fuck would definitely calm me the hell down.”

  I tried to think back on the last time I had sex, and admittedly, it’s been a few weeks. “Maybe, but don’t ever let Chase know that.”

  Julian finally sat up with a laugh. “I’m sure the fuck not telling him he’s right when it comes to anything relating to women,” he agreed.

  “No shit. There’d be no living with him after that.”

  Getting up off the couch, Julian headed for the door to leave. He looked back with one hand on the door knob. “Okay, so see you at Xavier’s at seven?”

  “Yea, I’ll be there.”

  “And you’re right. I don’t think club soda’s going to cut it.” Julian shut the door behind him.

  I tried to get back to the financial reports I had been working on before Julian’s little interruption, but my mind kept wandering back to what tonight could possibly bring. I couldn’t argue that all three of us had been putting in more hours than usual and were in dire need of a break, but it was hard to balance life and work when other competitors were always nipping at your heels. Someone was always out to get you….always.

  Julian, Chase and I grew up in Oakland, California, or more specifically, around the Deep East on High Street. Every day was a strugg
le and it didn’t help that we were the epitome of children growing up in the ghetto. The entire neighborhood damn near was. Believe it or not though, growing up in a poor neighborhood educated you in ways you wouldn’t realize until you were older. You learn what it is to truly be loyal. You learn what it is to truly feel fear. You learn what it is to truly understand sacrifice. You learn what it is to truly be honest. You learn what it is to truly experience gratefulness. And, my personal favorite, you learn how it is to know who is fake and who is genuinely real.

  Knowing the difference between fake and real people was what was at the heart of SMA’s success. Growing up in a poor, violent neighborhood, you had to learn how to judge people and situations. More often than not, your life could depend on that one skill alone. We were all pretty good with assessing people, but Chase was the better of us three, hands downs. We held on tight to SMA because we owed our lives to it. It was born in the minds of invincible sixteen year olds and it held our hands through the roughest of times. SMA Global was our saving grace and we poured our souls into it every day to make sure it won’t ever fail. Once SMA had become sustainable, we moved forward and never looked back. The only two reasons we ever went back to Oakland…business and to attend Raider home games. Chase moved his mother and brother out of Oakland within the first year of SMA’s success and they had been the only people worth keeping ties with.

  I was an only child and thank fuck for that. My mother was a stereotypical crack whore. She wasn’t a complete degenerate though. She managed to keep herself from being homeless and she did hold down a job. However, she wasn’t shy about her drug use, and she sure as fuck wasn’t shy about having male company all the time. When I was finally old enough to realize what my mother was and what she did, it destroyed everything young inside of me. Little boys’ moms were supposed to be beautiful and loving, sacrificing and loyal. Hell, before I knew her to be the monster that she was, I didn’t care that my father had split…she had been enough. But that had all came crashing down the day I walked in to our house after school to a full blown drug fueled orgy. I remember running out the front door, throwing up in the yard and then running all the way to Chase’s house.

  I didn’t go home for three days and my mother hadn’t even noticed. I was ten years old and from that day forward, I spent as much time as I could at Chase’s. And I thanked God every time I was able to spend time there.

  My mother and I became more like roommates after that. I left her alone, and unless she was on one, she left me alone. She truly had no conscience when it came to her son and she had no concern for how her lifestyle was shaping me. If anyone asked me today, I couldn’t tell them if she was alive or dead, and I didn’t care either way as long as she left me the fuck alone.

  Chase and Julian hadn’t fare much better. I would guess that Chase had it the best out of all of us. His mom, Teresa, was a sweet soul, unfortunately for Chase, she was also weak. His father cheated on her and beat her on a regular basis. Chase even had a half-sister somewhere, though he never cultivated a relationship with her.

  Growing up, Chase had tried to get his mom to leave his dad all the time, but she would never go for it. The only thing Chase was ever able to do for her back then was, when he got old enough, he was finally able to put himself between his mother and father and he stopped beating her. At least, until Chase had moved out at eighteen, then the job of protecting her was left to his sixteen year old brother, Kane, who did a good a job as Chase had. When Chase moved his mother and Kane to San Jose, he had left his father behind, and last we heard, he was still stuck in the Deep East.

  Julian had it far worse than the both of us. While my mother’s specialty was neglect and Chase’s father’s was abuse, Julian’s mother’s was neglect, abuse, mental torture and a whole basket full of other shit. Not only did she get off on beating and berating him, she’d allow her boyfriend of the week to beat on him, as well. She was a hateful woman who needed someone to blame for all her lousy life choices and that someone was Julian. Like me, Julian had always been grateful that he was an only child. He had always feared that had Sandy ever given him a little brother or sister, he’d have gone to prison protecting them. Where I may be hot tempered, Julian was violent when provoked, and yes, there is a difference.

  Now, Julian is a big motherfucker and he came into his size at fourteen. About a week after his birthday, one of his mom’s boyfriends tried beating Julian because he drank the last of the milk and it didn’t go well…well, for the boyfriend, that is. It took his mom jumping on his back and trying to gouge his eyes out to get Julian to stop pounding on the scumbag. But no one fucked with him again after that, however, the damage to his soul had already been cemented. And while the physical abuse may have ended, the verbal abuse and neglect had still run strong in his household.

  We knew our futures were bleak and we knew we couldn’t keep going the way we were going. So at the wise old ages of sixteen, we each got part time mini-mart jobs and put all our extra time into actually using school for what it’s intended and learned all we could about economics, finance and the stock market. We were able to save all the money from our jobs- because we lied and said we were working for school credit and not actual money-and the day Chase turned eighteen, we pooled together every dime we had ever made and invested it under Chase’s name. We made twenty thousand dollars off that first initial investment and the rest was history.

  And ten years later, there is nothing I wouldn’t do for those guys. Including going to a hipster watering hole so that Chase can get laid.

  Chapter 2

  Sloth: Because if I'm not on a mission to get laid (like some people I know), why aren't sweats and a t-shirt acceptable attire?

  Avery~

  After I got home, I made a quick dinner of Hamburger Helper Lasagna, because until a family comes into the picture, boxed dinners worked just fine for my life. Once I cleaned up dinner, I didn't have time for that bubble bath I was wanting, so I had to cheat on my tub with my shower.

  Goddamn Quinn.

  Now, I usually wasn't big on caring what people thought. And while I wasn't the stunner Quinn was or matched the beauty that Izzy had, I wasn't hopeless. I had black hair down to my waist that had a natural curl. I loved that about my hair because, if I was in a hurry, my hair curling itself helped give me the look that I actually took some time with my appearance. And the natural curl helped with the messy bun look. I loved the messy bun look. I wasn't tall at all. In fact, I was shorter than Q at my 5'3", but that's what heels were for. There wasn't anything fabulous about my figure. I was so adequately proportioned that nothing about my body stood out. I had decent sized boobs and hips, and as long as I could be identified as a female, I was happy. The only odd thing about me was my eyes and they sort of gave me a minor complex. They were this weird sort of silver.

  Yep. Silver.

  Not a normal grey like most human beings, but a metallic looking silver. People always asked me if they were contacts and when I would say they weren't, they always looked at me like I was an alien life form...or a liar. I started letting people just believe they were contacts. It made me feel less self-conscious. They sat below dark brows, that by the grace of God, didn't need plucking, and the rest of my face was pretty unremarkable. Normal slender nose, pink cheeks, full lips and a slight tan complexion made up what is Avery Christine Ellis. Thankfully, I wasn’t one of those women who worried about every little imperfection; I wasn’t beautiful, but I wasn’t ugly either.

  Once my hair and makeup were completed, I went to my closet to find the perfect outfit. I didn’t overdo it with the makeup since I was there for moral one-night-stand support only and wasn’t actually looking to get some vagina love. Some eyeliner, mascara and lip gloss were enough to do the job. I didn't realize how sad the state of my social life had become until I saw that all my going out clothes were hidden behind the stay at home t-shirts, lounge dresses and work outfits. But in all honesty, why couldn’t I wear sweats and a t-shirt if I w
asn’t looking to get laid?

  After twenty minutes of sifting through my closet, I finally settled on a nice pair of black, hip hugger jeans and a button up charcoal grey short sleeve blouse. I finished off the look with a pair of four inch black heeled ankle cut boots. Casual enough for an after work lounge, but stylish enough for Calico's, if need be.

  I left my hair down and let it do its thing. I threw a clip in my purse in case I decided to get drunk later. Being the evil genius that I was, I always carried a clip in my purse in case I found myself hugging the toilet when I got home. Being single, I lost out on those special moments when the man you love has to hold your hair back while you puke out tequila shots.

  I decided to take a cab to Izzy’s, and while I knew public transportation could add up, it was just so much easier than driving. Jesus, I think I really needed to re-evaluate my level of slothiness. I was starting to wonder if I was reaching intervention status.

  While Quinn and I both lived fairly close to SMA Global, Izzy lived about a fifteen minute cab ride away on Junipero. I texted both ladies that I was on my way, so using her genius math skills, Q opened up the door right as I was lifting my arm to knock. Full disclosure, it could also have been my hollering ‘I’m here bitches’ as I was walking up to the door that clued her in to my arrival.

  “You guys just about ready,” I asked, walking in heading towards the kitchen.

  “Yeah, Iz is throwing crap in her purse then we can be on our way.”

  I followed Quinn towards the kitchen bar and saw that there was already a bottle of wine open. “Getting a head start?”

  “Don’t judge.” Q sat down next to me and took another drink from her wine glass that has been sitting on the bar. “Don’t forget, while you were hidden away safely in your cubicle all week, I actually had to sit in Douche Canoe’s office for three different conference calls this week and he sat next to me for one of them.”