Bananapants: A Bonkers Romantic Comedy

“It is hard to fail, but it is worse never to have tried to succeed. In this life we get nothing save by effort.”

― Theodore Roosevelt, The Strenuous Life

Not flowers.

Flowers were fine. I had nothing against flowers, and I would buy her flowers. Yellow roses. At some point in the future. But not yet. And not jewelry either. I wasn’t against jewelry, and I’d buy her some. But not yet. Not a car either, not in Chicago, the public transportation was so good. Except it was hard to make out on public transportation. Making out in a car, however, more than feasible.

Then again, buying a car for someone was kind of a douche move. It was too big of a flex. Unless it’s a classic car. I lifted an eyebrow, considering the possibility. Ava would probably want a car related to a movie, like a 1958 Plymouth Fury from Christine, the Stephen King horror classic about a jealous, possessed automobile.

Aunt Shelly—my dad’s sister—could hook me up. She lived in Tennessee with her longtime partner and they both fixed up classic cars for fun. I tried to imagine what Ava would do if I gave her a 1958 Plymouth Fury, with that big back seat.

I nodded.

Okay, yes. I’d buy Ava a classic car, eventually, along with flowers and jewelry. But not yet. Too big of a flex before we were even dating.

What I needed was something unexpected and something she really wanted and something not too expensive. It seemed to me, though I didn’t have much experience, buying expensive things to woo a girl was like showing off wealth instead of thoughtfulness, making the gift about yourself instead of her. Ideally, it would be something she wanted but didn’t know she wanted. And I—being made of boyfriend material—would know she wanted it before even she knew she wanted it.

Makes sense?

“Are you listening? Desmond?”

I looked up, blinking the lounge of the Haewthorn Society into focus.

William Toussaint’s bitchy little mouth was pinched in disapproval. I swear, the man had a legit tiny mouth. How did he eat? Sue had once suggested his mother probably regurgitated worms directly into his mouth because he looked and acted so much like a baby bird. Ever since she’d pointed this out, I’d had a hard time looking at him without this visual.

Montgomery—Monty—Quail appeared to be as bored as I felt. He was on his third or fourth scotch and seemed more interested in picking nonexistent lint off his favorite blue suit than whatever was being discussed. As Henri’s number one lackey, he followed the guy everywhere. A monumental waste of talent.

Meanwhile, Henri Wickford’s sharp eyes were narrowed. On me. He must’ve asked me a question.

“Sorry. I guess I’m a little distracted.” I shrugged and smiled cutely, pretending to be embarrassed. “I don’t really understand what you guys are talking about. But if you think it’s a good idea, Henri, you know I trust you.”

So far, none of them had noticed I was wearing makeup to cover the bruises on my face and hands from yesterday’s activities. Hopefully this would be the last time I had to sit through one of these things. I’d worked so hard to be accepted inside Henri’s inner circle, it struck me as odd it would all be over soon. I’d never have to see these idiots again.

Now that I had the thumb drive—thanks to Ava—and Sue had scraped the contents of Henri’s servers before I’d set them on fire, ensuring he didn’t have a copy stored there, the last and final step was to secure the Caymans.

“I asked about your father,” Henri said, glaring at me like I was the idiot.

It’s okay. No feelings were hurt. Nothing I enjoyed more than being underestimated. Except maybe being kissed by Ava.

I’d decided to pursue things with Ava only if she was interested in pursuing something with me. I wouldn’t push her. I’d ask, keeping it straightforward and simple. That was my plan. If I left Chicago without asking her, I knew I’d regret it for the rest of my life. Especially since I was pretty sure she was interested, given that kiss she’d planted on me.

Presently, I had to clear my throat to mask my smile before asking Henri, “My father?”

“Yes.” Henri’s gaze lowered to the drink he held. “According to Quail here, before Cypher focused on corporate and umbrella services, they used to offer private security. Is that true?”

It was true. But Henri already knew this. In my earliest reconnaissance, I’d discovered my father’s company had once provided security for Henri’s father. I didn’t know many details, only what I could find in public records. I’d never asked my dad about it.

However, the irony wasn’t lost on me. My father hated that I was a professional thief. The last time we’d actually talked to each other, the conversation had ended in a shouting match where he’d been very clear about his thoughts on my chosen profession and how disappointed he was.

Meanwhile, the mighty and upright Quinn Sullivan built his business and eventual empire protecting and taking money from people like the Wickfords? Right. Sure. Oookay, buddy.

“I don’t know.” I scratched my cheek and scrunched my nose. Cutely. “I guess I could ask him about it. Do you want me to?”

“Yes. Please. Do that,” Henri drawled, evidently needing to tap into a well of infinite patience when dealing with me. “And see if he’s offering private security services to anyone, if Cypher is accepting new clients.”

“Uh, can I ask why?” I leaned forward and picked up my drink. Decaf Earl Grey, watered down to look like whiskey. On the rocks. Aged zero years. “In case he asks, I want to give him an answer. He doesn’t like me interrupting him at work. But if you tell me why, I’ll go over there today.”

I’d already planned to pay my father a visit. Henri didn’t need to know that. He could think I was doing him a favor.

When Ava had left the safe house yesterday after kissing me and therefore changing the course of both our lives—which she would discover soon—she’d asked to be dropped off at the Fairbanks Building downtown. The building housed the headquarters of my father’s company, which specialized in providing comprehensive security for large corporations.

Ava’s mom, Fiona Archer, was my dad’s COO. The Fairbanks Building was the safest place she could’ve chosen as a destination. I’d expected Ava’s mom and my dad to send her on an extended vacation while they dealt with Henri Wickford. Fiona Archer had been my sensei for nine years, mostly during my childhood, but then off and on when I’d been in and out of jail as a teenager. For the most part, she was a law-abiding citizen. However, if someone messed with her family, the woman was terrifying.

Ava hadn’t been sent on an extended vacation. According to my guy on the ground, she’d left the Fairbanks Building last night in an armored car with a security detail of four. They’d taken her home to the apartment she shared with her sister, Grace. The first guard shift switched at 2:00 a.m. They’d then taken her to her firm’s office this morning. She was at work even though it was the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend. Sue had texted me at 10:00 a.m. when the second guard shift switched.

I’d run checks on each identified member of her rotating detail. They’d all worked for my father’s company for ten years or longer. Solid guards. Good people. Trustworthy. If I had to guess, I would say they’d been handpicked by Alex Greene. Which meant Ava hadn’t told her mom or my father—or anyone else—about what had occurred at the Harding Building except Alex. Not yet.

Ava likely hadn’t told her mom or my father because they’d want to send her on an extended vacation while Henri Wickford was investigated and dealt with. She’d have to tell them eventually. When she did, I wondered what she’d say about my part in it. I wasn’t too worried. I didn’t care what my father thought.

But Mrs. Archer . . .

Hmm. That might be a problem. I needed her to like me. Ava wouldn’t give us a real shot if her mom disapproved.

Greg, obviously, would be on my side.

“Desmond? Are you listening?” Henri slammed his glass on the wooden table, making Monty and William flinch. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Earth to Desmond. Is anyone home?”

“Yes. I’m listening.” I nodded, shifting in my seat. “Sorry.” For once, I didn’t have to pretend to be distracted, which had me wondering if I’d taken my ADHD meds this morning.

I was certain I’d taken them. Like, 97 percent certain.

“I said, tell your father you know someone who wants to hire a private security team stateside, two properties in Europe, and another for a compound in the Caribbean. Feel free to give him my name.” Henri added this last part like he was doing me the favor, allowing his precious name to pass from my lips.

I inclined my head in a small bow. “Oh! Thanks, Henri. I’ll do that.”

I wouldn’t do that. When I visited my father today, I planned to ask him about his company’s proprietary anti-theft system for large compounds. Henri might not have realized, but the security system installed at his Cayman property had been designed by my father’s company, which was likely why I’d had no luck breaking into the compound. I wanted the details so I could quickly wrap up this job and, since Ava’s kiss yesterday, I was now desperate enough to ask my father for help.

The kiss had changed everything. Absolutely everything. In the span of five seconds, Ava had grabbed the steering wheel of my life. My future direction was up in the air. Nothing was decided anymore. Life was a blank slate. All plans and assumptions had been erased. Everything was now possible and on the table.

I simply had to convince Ava to give me, and us, a chance. I only needed one chance. I knew I’d be able to win her over if she’d⁠—

“Well?”

I blinked, finding Henri glaring at me. “What?”

Shit. I laughed inwardly at myself. Thank God distraction tracked for the character Henri expected me to be. But I made another mental note to triple-check that I’d taken my ADHD meds.

He huffed, rolling his eyes. “Never mind. Just—” He flicked his wrist. “Go. And let me know what he says by the end of today. I want to switch my current firm as soon as possible. They’re all useless.”

“Oh no. Did something happen?” I asked, glancing between Henri and Monty. So innocent. Like a wee little baby.

The two men shared a look. Monty Quail looked pissed, but he said nothing.

I knew why he was pissed. He’d convinced his father, Mr. Quail Sr., to give him the offices at the Harding address before the building officially opened. Henri’s shitty security team had shot everything all to hell yesterday. Also, I’d set fire to their server room. But what I didn’t understand—and couldn’t ask about—was why they hadn’t evacuated? I thought for sure they would, which was why I’d set the fire in the first place, hoping to drive Ava and everyone else out.

The fire had burned for hours. I’d made sure it would. All those machines, tens of millions of dollars, a total loss. So sad.

“Never mind about that.” Henri was the first to look away, breaking eye contact with Quail and pointing his vacant stare at me instead. “Say, Desmond. I do have a question. It’s about that woman from a few weeks ago, the one who was impersonating someone else.”

Covering any inadvertent reaction I might have, I took a sip of my watered-down iced tea before responding. “Who?” So innocent. Like a kitten with no claws.

“Ava Archer. You knew her.” Henri sat forward and picked up his glass again, eyeing me. “She’s the tax attorney.”

I couldn’t play dumb about this without raising suspicion. “Ooohhh! Ava. Yeah. I know her.”

“Well, I had her for a visit yesterday, and—um.” He cleared his throat. “Let’s say she left without saying goodbye and under suspicious circumstances, making me question her character and who she might be actually working for. I believe you mentioned something about her mother working for the CIA.”

Stalling, I took another sip of my tea. Fuck a duck. I should’ve foreseen this.

Yesterday, my only thought had been to keep Ava safe. When Henri’s guards had shot at me and therefore at her in his office, and again as she stumbled into the hallway clutching her belongings, I’d had trouble comprehending what I’d seen. In this case, Henri was correct. His current security firm was worse than worthless. What would they have done if she’d been killed?

I needed to play this just right. Henri was asking about Ava because he suspected she had something to do with Raziel’s visit. Even though Sue had knocked out all the security cameras, I’d taken Ava when I escaped. Of course this would raise Henri’s suspicions.

Now it was time for damage control. “Yeah. Her mom worked for the CIA, like, thirty years ago I think. Now she works for my dad. I’m not sure what she does at the company. I can ask.”

“Hmm.” Henri nodded, his eyes on me, but I got the sense his thoughts had turned inward. He blinked once, his stare sobering. “When was the last time you talked to Ava? Have you talked to her today?”

“No.” I shook my head. “But I think my mom said something about her being in an accident of some sort yesterday. Like, she was injured or something. Was she okay when she left your office?”

Henri seemed to squirm in his seat, making a face like he’d swallowed something bitter. “I didn’t see her when she left, I was busy.”

“Can we forget about Ms. Archer?” This came from Quail, and his glare—pointed at Henri—was just as stern as the set of his mouth. “Let it go, Henri.”

“But I don’t want to,” he said with a smirk. “She’s interesting.”

Quail made a short grunting sound. “Nothing good ever comes from you finding a woman interesting.”

“Unless you lot consider restraining orders ‘good,’” William chimed in, as though Henri’s history terrorizing women was a good joke. This earned him a side-eye from Quail.

Henri, meanwhile, huffed a laugh. “What can I say? Women are emotional creatures prone to hysterics. But Ava Archer . . .” He shrugged, his eyes thoughtful. “She seems different.”

I cleared my throat, wanting to yank Henri back into reality and away from whatever sick thought he was having about Ava. “Well, if you want, when I go see my dad today, I’ll try to see Ava’s mom too. I can ask about Ava, see if she’s feeling better. You want me to?”

“Yes.” Henri leaned back in his chair, his attention moving over my shoulder. “If you make contact with Ava, ask her to give me a call. I’d like to see her again. Ask her a few questions. Take her to the island, perhaps.”

Like hell you will, you fuckstick dickweasle.

I smiled, making it the cutest fucking smile I’d ever smiled. “Okay. Then consider it done.”

So innocent. Like a cozy, cuddly, coiled rattlesnake.

Henri had me followed. It was the first time in three weeks and honestly overdue. When I’d first made a point of catching his notice months ago, I’d been tailed constantly.

This guy today must’ve been someone from Henri’s current clown security team because he was ass at being sneaky. No matter. I left the Haewthorn Society and took a car to the Fairbanks Building, swallowing an olanzapine on the way since I’d be in the same room with my father soon.

I hadn’t made an appointment. Part of me hoped he’d be too busy to see me. He wasn’t. As soon as I gave my name to the security guy at the desk, they’d escorted me right up and straight to his office.

On the way, the guard said, “You look a lot like him.”

“Thank you,” I said, not fiddling with my cuffs or watch or the buttons of my jacket. Instead, I counted each breath and cleared my mind, reminding myself that I had no control over what the old man said or did or thought.

The place looked more or less the same as it had when I was a kid, which was interesting to me. Nothing looked old or out-of-date, everything looked new, and yet it looked the same. The layout hadn’t changed either. That would make things easy for me when I left. I wanted to stop by Alex’s office, ask him about Ava.

We approached the anterior secretarial office, and that’s when I noticed the first big difference between now and then. A lady I didn’t recognize sat in Betty’s spot directly outside my father’s door. She stood as we approached and walked around her desk, her hand extended.

Five foot eight with two-inch heels, salt-and-pepper gray hair to her chin, steely gray-blue eyes. And pearls. Apparently, my dad had a type when it came to administrative professionals. I wondered if her name was also Betty. It seemed like something he would do.

Her smile softened her eyes and it looked genuine. “You must be Desmond. I’m Patricia. So nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”

I found that unlikely.

Accepting her handshake, I said, “It’s nice to meet you, Patricia. I hope I’m not interrupting his schedule. I didn’t make an appointment. It’s no problem for me to come back later.”

“Not at all, not at all.” She stared at my face for a beat too long, like she was fascinated by it, or looking for something from it, and then glanced at the guard. “I’ll take it from here. Thanks.”

The guy left without a word and she didn’t speak again until the door closed. Her gray-blue eyes tangled with mine, assessing. Her smile was smaller but genuine. “He already knows you’re here. He’s expecting you.”

“Of course he is,” I said, deeply inhaling breath number four. I counted my breaths to ten and then started at one again, a common meditation technique.

She looked like she wanted to say something, or ask something, which made me wonder if she actually had heard a lot about me. My mom and my dad’s OG secretary—the aforementioned Betty—got along really well. She’d been present at all my birthday parties until my eighth and had babysat me and my sister a few times because she liked babies.

When Patricia continued to study me without speaking, I lifted an eyebrow. “Patricia, is there something I can help you with?”

Her lips pressed together for a brief moment, her expression tinged with sympathy. “How are you doing?” she asked. “How are you feeling?”

I blinked at her. “Pardon?”

“Your mom talks about you a lot. I feel like I know you. And⁠—”

“But you don’t,” I said, careful to keep my words gentle so as to not upset the woman. It was amazing to me how easily people got upset about facts, so I always tried to be gentle when pointing them out.

I loved my mother. She’d saved my life more than once, but she seriously needed to stop oversharing details about her family. She was too trusting and didn’t understand social conventions.

Patricia’s head tilted back, like she was taking my comment on the chin, and her smile turned a little sad. For some reason, that irritated me.

“Forgive me,” she said, her tone pacifying. “I’ll take you in now.”

I nodded, forcing myself to return her small smile, and fell into step behind her as she walked to the door and knocked. “Mr. Sullivan. Your son is here to see you.”

“Let him in,” came my father’s voice from within. He sounded far away.

She turned and stepped to the side, allowing me to open the door for myself, which I did without pausing. I didn’t like delaying uncomfortable tasks. Time spent in anticipation of unpleasantness, for me, could be dangerous to my mental state.

Better to get it over with.