Free Naomi & Bradley, It All Comes Down… (Vodka & Vice, the Series Book 1) by Angela Conrad, Kathleen Hesser Skrzypczak Page B

kissing, sucking, touching, or feeling any part of your anatomy.  Please keep in mind that I have in my possession a few recordings of some of your livelier suggestions.  I expect a good reference.  Yours, sincerely, Naomi Swanson.”
    It was probably professional suicide but God it felt good to say it out loud into my phone.
    Now I lean back against my stainless steel countertop, take a giant sip of my coffee, and make another call.
    “Mr. Darren Broderick please, Naomi Swanson calling.”
    “Naomi, hi.  I was just getting ready to call you.”
    “I’d like to return the favor.  May I take you to lunch today?”
    “Sure.  Want to meet somewhere?”
    “No, I’ll drop by your office.  Pick you up.  One o’clock okay?”
    “Fine.  You intrigue me Miss Swanson, what are you planning?”
    “A surprise Mr. Broderick.  Quite the surprise.”
    “Now you really have me interested.  Why not pick me up earlier, say eleven?”
    “I’ll be there, and Darren, can’t wait.”
    I hung up before he could reply.
    I’m running on a high-octane mixture of adrenaline, newly found pride, inspiration, and balls.  Whatever happens now will all be up to Darren.
    I take a long shower and give myself the full body shave, lotion, spit and polish.  I take my time applying my makeup.  I go heavy on the eyes and lips, blues and reds, like a patriotic flag of womanhood and apple pie, with an edge.
    I tangle my hair; fluff it full and wild.
    I wrap a colorful scarf around my neck; wear a tight red top that shrunk in the dryer, and my skinniest jeans.  I climb inside the back of my closet and find brown suede half boots.  I decorate one with a gold chain; and slip them on.  They have high heels, perfect.  I add hoop earrings, and my oldest leather jacket.
    Then I look in the mirror.
    Wow!
    I wonder if anyone I know will recognize me.
    I hope not.  I am not the old Naomi anymore.  I never want to be her again.
    I go downstairs with a sassy walk and go quietly up to Gus, our doorman.  I place my hands over his eyes from behind and whisper in his ear.
    “Don’t be alarmed Gus, it’s me Naomi.  From now on, I’m going to look different.  And…Bradley Dobrov no longer lives in my loft.  I’m single.”
    Gus slowly turns, grins wide, and winks.
    “Yes Miss Swanson, and might I say, ya look hot as hell.”
    “You may Gus, you may.”



Chapter Sixteen
Frozen nuts
 
     
    BRADLEY
    Monday, February 8th
     
     
    I’m at the rink early, freezing my nuts off.  One of Manny’s many sisters is married to the Zamboni driver and he gets me in at five in the morning so I can practice.  I used to skateboard, back in the day, and I have done some blading, so I’m not too worried.  It’s just a different surface, right?  Wrong.  The Great Zamboni, as I’ve come to think of him over this last half hour of me falling and him helping me up has a suggestion.  I’ve got two days till my shoot and there’s a guy who gives lessons every afternoon.  So, I pack up my skates and head back to Manny’s for a hot shower.  I undress and see constellations of black bruises dotting my body.  Good thing this is a winter shoot and I’ll be mostly covered. 
    After the shower I sit down with a huge mug of Bustelo coffee, and scroll through my phone.  Ronnie, Ronnie, number I don’t know, Ronnie.  No Naomi.  I’m not surprised.  It’s as if she fell off the face of the earth.  I went by her work and they said she quit, just like that.  Wouldn’t say where she went either.  I keep finding excuses to be in her neighborhood, but she never makes an appearance.  Sometimes I catch sight of the creepy guy from the gym, Chase?  I think that’s what she called him.  He seems to have moved on from watching Naomi to watching this crazy hot black-haired chick.  Man has good taste, at least.  I just don’t trust him.  Why does he keep showing up in weird places?  Our building, I mean Naomi’s building, my gym, Molly’s