he'd said too much. But he reconsidered and continued:
“He succeeded. Once. When Lilith was sixteen or so. Had her committed to McLean. They...did things to her. No one really knows. Something about using electricity on body parts. Others say they filled her with pills all day to make her dull. Some say she was bound hand and foot to a wall. The gossips claim that they did things to her, you know –” Reed gestured to his groin. “Things that made her hard. She was always a big mouth then.”
“Who isn't? Aren't we all when we're sixteen? We think we know everything,” James laughed.
Reed's skeptical look shut James up. The two walked in silence for a few blocks, dodging stagnant water in ditches and fresh horse dung. Construction teams pulled wood and piping toward the river for some never-ending project that seemed to go on in some sector of the city. The fresh dung appeared in piles everywhere, making foot traffic a child's game of hopscotch.
Finally, Reed resumed, his face pensive. “Yeah, somewhat. But we don't all have daddies who can put us in the nuthouse for a few months to calm us down and make us obey. What Stone didn't understand was that all he did was make her more angry. You don't work a hornet into a frenzy and then let it go.”
James took it all in. The walk was helping his body to regulate. That woman had set his senses on full buzz, like a firehouse on a kerosene factory fire alert. Every bell and whistle in his mind and lower extremities went flush and hardened. Again. He'd felt like a schoolboy in that office, watching Lilith engage and defend herself.
What he'd expected to feel, the moment he walked into that office, was some sort of sympathy or chivalry for the woman. Years of living in South Boston meant he knew exactly who the Stones were, and Lilith had a reputation for being a modern woman who was a bit mentally brittle. When Reed asked him to scribe for the session he'd groaned inside, thinking the morning would be wasted with a preening heiress and her daddy. Instead, he got more.
Much more.
The erection faded as they walked, yet the flushed feeling remained. Miss Stone was unfinished business for him, an untamed heiress with whom he had no right to converse. As lingering as the ink stains on his hands and clothes. He hoped she wouldn't fade over time, yet he knew he had no chance. What could a billionaire's daughter want with a Southie bootstrapper? In society, he was no better than the horse dung he and Reed avoided.
A few more months and that would change. If his plan worked.
Deep in his own thoughts, James missed part of a sentence that Reed muttered. “What's that?” he asked.
“I said,” Reed cleared his throat, irritation and condescension quite clear, “that you need to understand that the wealthy aren't like you. Or even me.” He looked James up and down, unimpressed by the shabby woolen suit and the too-worn shoes that no shining ever helped.
“John Stone is different. He's not quite human. None of the families who own mansions up there,” he nodded back toward Boston Common as they approached Newbury Street, “really are. They think they are better than anyone else, and frankly, they are. They own the world. You'd better get used to it. And if you want to keep your job, you'll document only the professional parts of that conversation and forget the rest ever happened.” His eyes hardened and he stared straight ahead. “I will.”
“Yes, sir,” James said archly, standing straight and slowing his gait. When he spoke with his boss he typically bent his knees slightly and hunched over, helping to close the half-head gap. It seemed to make Reed more comfortable. Reed's comfort wasn't James' priority right now.
“I'll see you back at the office, James. I have another appointment, and I won’t need a scribe.” Reed ran, long, loping strides carrying the slim man to the retreating trolley car. He hopped on just in time and faded into the throng of riders. James knew he was going to find a quiet spot to have a drink. Or nine.
Alone now, James steeped himself in the memory of the morning meeting. Lilith's dress had been conservative, a high-necked white cotton Gibson Girl shirt and v-cut jacket made to emphasize broad shoulders she lacked. The gray heather jacket, made of a fine cloth James couldn't afford even