RASHID: HER RUTHLESS BOSS: 50 Loving States, Hawaii

by Taylor, Theodora

  The summer goes by in this manner, and the next thing I know it’s late August and time for Mika and her son to leave.

  I think Faizan likes the sister. By the end of August he no longer needs instruction, but every time she talks, he steps closer than necessary, as if intent on whatever she’s saying. Two days before Mika is due to leave I watch them from the lanai and wonder what will happen when Mika and Albie fly back to Connecticut this weekend. Will Faizan keep surfing without Mika’s pretty sister to encourage him? Will Jazz continue to stop by?

  Unexpected jealousy curdles my stomach. What would it be like to be whole? To fall for an alluring woman and have her fall for you? I am the boss, and Faizan is the servant, but in those burning moments while I watch him with the pretty surfer girl, it feels like he has everything, and I have nothing.

  “I think you should call back your friend Stone.”

  I don’t know what’s more jarring, Mika’s out-of-the-blue mention of my long-time friend’s name, or the fact that she appears on the patio wearing nothing but a red bikini.

  “What are you wearing?”

  She looks down and rolls her eyes. “Oh this? Albie’s been begging me to surf with him all summer, and I figure this is the last time we’ll have a chance.”

  “You don’t have a rash guard like your sister?”

  “Like my sister, the semi-professional surfer? No…no I don’t,” she answers with a laugh. “And it’s so hot today I’ll be more than fine in this. No worries, it’s all good.”

  She has the nerve to flash me the shaka, extending her thumb and finger out from her fist and shaking it, as if to say I have nothing to worry about.

  This isn’t Jahwar, but I want to roar at her to put some clothes on. I also want to tear the bikini off her body. Then I want to punish her for showing herself off like this. For tempting me and baiting me with her lush curves. I want that more than I want my next meal. Than my next glass of water. My next gulp of air.

  “But before I go, seriously, you need to call your boys, Stone and Keane, back. They’re blowing up your phone because apparently Stone just got married to—get this—the mother of his dead brother’s baby.”

  I squint, the fact that it is my phone she’s carrying her hand, finally sinking in. “Why do you have my phone?”

  “Why wouldn’t I have your phone?” she asks, looking side to side. “You’re not using it, and both these friends of yours, Keane and Stone, have, like, these epic sagas going on. I love reading the unanswered back messages during my breaks. Did you hear about what happened with Keane’s brother also having a secret baby earlier in the summer? Like seriously, how many secret babies can one family have going on? And you know, Stone only got this woman to marry him on the condition that he doesn’t tell his family. Which means I’m going to have to pretend like I don’t know he’s married the next time I see him with Luca. Dude, seriously, it’s a whole soap opera, and look…pictures!”

  She turns my phone around to show me an image of Stone standing in what looks like a courthouse wedding chapel with a plump brown-skinned woman wearing a green dress.

  I scrunch my forehead at her. “You shouldn’t have my phone,” I tell her. Slowly, because apparently, I must spell this out for her, as if she’s a child.

  “Okay, sure, you can have it back since we’re leaving in a couple of days anyway,” she says handing it to me. “But can you please, please, text Stone back? I’m dying to see pictures of the baby. I mean, who marries their dead brother’s baby mama without sending round pictures of the kid? Crazy, right?”

  “Mika, come on!” Jazz yells from the beach, her voice so loud it carries with the wind.

  “Coming,” Mika yells back, jogging off. “Text Stone!” she calls over her shoulder at me, right before jogging down the poolside beach steps.

  So she’s had my phone all summer and has been following along with my friends’ stories like they’re some reality show for her amusement?

  Rage at her audacity once again consumes me…along with a burning urge to command her back here. And do other things to her. Things that would walk a very thin line between pleasure and punishment.

  I hate this. Hate that instead of working on The Big Idea, I’m once again obsessing over Mika. I wish there was a way to put a stop to this newly rekindled carnal desire. To get Mika and that morning fantasy out of my head.

  A new idea suddenly cuts through the red noise of my rage. A new idea that might solve my Mika obsession once and for all.

  I raise the phone. Not to text Stone a congratulations, but to call Faizan.

  “Come to the house immediately when you get this,” I instruct him when I get his voicemail. “I have a request that must be filled tonight.”

  14

  MIKA

  “For someone who supposedly doesn’t want us anywhere near his house, the Broken Billionaire sure does watch us a lot,” Jazz says, as soon as Faizan’s out of earshot.

  We’d just gotten done surfing, and Faizan had gone from laughing to taking off after issuing us a “His Excellency wishes to speak with me.” At times like this, you could really see the former soldier in him. He looks like a total man on a mission as he runs back to the house.

  “In all fairness, he said that Albie couldn’t be noisy in the pool,” I say, defending Rashid to Jazz. I have no idea why after an entire summer of putting up with his short dismissals and grunted commands through glass. I guess I’m choosing to see him in a better light now that it’s almost over.

  And maybe Albie feels the same way. “I think he just likes sitting on the lanai when he takes his breaks,” he says to Aunt Jazz.

  “And what exactly is he doing in that office again?”

  Albie and I exchange a look. The fact is we’ve been here all summer and we still don’t have a clue what he spends all day working on in there.

  “If you ask me that’s chokes creepy,” Jazz says. “Don’t you think it’s weird the way he watches us from his house? And did you see the way he beckoned Faizan earlier? Like he’s his manservant or something?”

  “He is his manservant,” Albie points out. “And mom’s his momservant.”

  I laugh, but Jazz shakes her head, frowning in Faizan’s wake.

  “I just don’t understand why he puts up with his bullshit,” Jazz says. “I mean, he’s a former commando, he deserves better than being at that surly dude’s beck and call. I don’t care how rich he is.”

  I side-eye Jazz. “Okay, are you saying this because you’re honestly mad about Faizan’s work sitch? Or are you mad because you like Faizan and he left without saying goodbye?”

  Jazz smiles and rolls her eyes, neither confirming nor denying.

  “Eww, you like Faizan?” Albie asks. “He’s, like, old.”

  “You need to C your way out of your aunt’s and my A-B conversation,” I say, playfully shoving at Albie’s shoulder. “And didn’t you promise you’d go straight up to your room and pack if I went surfing with you?”

  “Aw, Mom…” he starts.

  “A deal’s a deal,” Jazz cuts in. “And if you don’t do it, she’s not going to let you come hang with me at the North Shore tomorrow.”

  I seal Jazz’s point with a mom look, and that’s enough of a threat to make Albie turn and run ahead to the house like he’s doing a half-sized impression of his new former SSG best friend.

  “He’s only in his mid-forties. He’s just had a hard life,” I tell Jazz when Albie’s out of earshot. “Maybe that’s why he’s pretty happy and grateful to be getting paid a lot to do a relatively easy job.”

  “Whatever,” Jazz grouses. She can never admit when I’m right. “How much you want to bet the Broken Billionaire will roll away and shut himself away in his office before Albie makes it up the steps?”

  As if on cue, Rashid unlocks his chair and rolls off just as Albie’s foot touches the first stair.

  “See? He’s so creepy! I honestly don’t know how you put up with that all summer,” Jazz says as w
e cut right to the set of steps that lead directly to the carport.

  Funny she should say that. Zahir and Jazz talk about me like I’m a saint. But with only two days to go, I don’t feel like I did enough. Rashid still hasn’t left the house, much less allowed one of the PHU physical therapists who do house calls to visit for a consult. He’s gained a lot of needed weight and he’s getting up every day to work in his office instead of shutting himself away in his bedroom. But I’m worried he’ll revert back to the Gollum who somehow cracked the code on Faizan’s gun safe after his enabling housekeeper returns.

  However, Jazz has enough on her plate right now. So out loud I say, “It’s just one more day, then I’m all done.”

  “Yeah, speaking of which…” Jazz shifts the two different-sized surfboards under her right arm, readjusting her hold on it so that Albie’s smaller surfboard is on the inside. “I don’t suppose you got paid the rest of the money and that bonus early?”

  “I don’t get paid until my last day of August. Why? Is there something that can’t wait?” I ask as we hike up the stairs.

  “No, it’s fine. I just took out a loan to close a few gaps. And I’m trying to figure out when I can pay it all back.”

  “Wait, you borrowed money?” I ask. “From what bank?”

  Jazz technically owns her own business, but it’s sporadic at best, and I know for a fact, she’s in a lot of personal debt, which is why she still lives at home with our parents. Last Christmas, she asked if I could just give her cash because she couldn’t get a waterproof iPad for her surf school financed. I highly doubt any bank would be willing to loan her the kind of money she’s talking about.

  “It wasn’t exactly from a bank,” she answers. “More like a person.”

  “What person?” I demand as we reach the top of the carport stairs. “Who do you know who could afford to let you borrow that much?”

  Jazz opens her mouth to answer but stops when she sees something in the distance.

  I follow her gaze and still myself.

  There’s a man leaned up against Jazz’s Jeep. Asian like mom, but a lot taller and paler. Maybe Chinese? Whatever, his background, he has a lot of tattoos. They snake up and down his arms and around his neck, not stopping until they reach his hairline. He’s technically handsome. If not for the tattoos, he’d plug right into one of those Asian dramas I love to watch on Netflix when Albie’s not around. But there’s something sinister about him. I don’t like the way his eyes flicker over me, before lasering in on Jazz.

  “Jazz, who is that?” I ask, sotto voce.

  “A client,” she whispers. “I um…told him to meet me here.”

  “A client…” I look at my little sister then back at him. Yes, he’s wearing a loose tank and board shorts, which is fine for a surf lesson, but… “Tell me he just really likes tattoos, and he only looks like he’s part of a Chinese mafia.”

  Jazz reaches a hand behind her neck and rubs. “I haven’t talked with him about his work. You know I don’t care about stuff like that. Money’s money. Especially right now.

  She’s trying to assuage me, but I grab on to her arm, all my older sister protective instincts rising to the surface. “Is he the one you owe the money? Is he harassing you? Stalking you? If he is, you can tell me.”

  “No,” Jazz answers. “He’s just…a client, I swear. And I’m supposed to be giving him a lesson, right now. So please let me go. You’re making me look bad, and like I said, I really need the money to pay back that loan.”

  I look at Jazz, then back to her “client.”

  Something inside of me is telling me not to believe her, but if she is telling the truth…

  I reluctantly let go of her arm.

  “Promise to call after you’re done with your ‘lesson.’” My tone puts lesson in all sorts of air quotes, but I hand her back the extra surfboard she brought for me to ride today.

  “I promise. Bye, love you,” she answers quickly, before rushing off.

  I watch her exchange a few terse words with the guy before they hop in the car. Him in the Jeep’s driver seat and her in the passenger seat. What the hell? Why is my sister letting a criminal drive her car?

  After they disappear, I push open the carport door and pull out my phone to text, “You had better call me tonight. I’m not even kidding.”

  I hit send as I enter the kitchen, but nearly drop the phone when I run straight into Faizan.

  “Oh no, has your sister already left?” he asks when we’re done with our apologies.

  “Yeah, she had a surfing client stop by,” I answer, the obvious lie sticking in my throat. “But you can tell her goodbye tomorrow when she drops Albie off after taking him up to the North Shore.”

  “No, that is not exactly why I wanted to catch her,” Faizan says, averting his eyes. “I was hoping you and Albie might agree to spend the night at your parents’ house instead of here. I know Albie sometimes comes downstairs for water. Tonight I think it would be best if he…ah…did not do that. So if you don’t mind, I will drive you right now to Pearl City.”

  “Faizan…” Somehow I suspect this isn’t a needlessly complicated scheme to find out where my sister lives. For the second time today, all my “something’s super sketchy” alarms go off.

  I crook my head at him. “What’s going on?”

  15

  RASHID

  I’m already raging hard by the time I hear the doorbell. Who am I kidding? Not already, still. It’s been hours since I saw Mika in that swimsuit, yet I remain rigid. Unable to work, unable to think clearly…

  But she’s here. Relief in the form of the escort I asked Faizan to arrange for me. Back before my marriage, I’d preferred a bed with posts for tying my hired company up. But tonight is about relief. One blowjob. That’s all I need. For her to act out the morning fantasy so that I can finally expel it from my head.

  I roll away from my desk and put my chair back to the wall, getting as close as possible to the same position as that night Mika took the gun from me. The night we kissed.

  The kiss that launched a whole summer’s worth of fantasy…

  I made sure Faizan knew I wanted someone who looked like Mika, but I turn off the desk lamp, enveloping the room in darkness. This will make the fantasy more real.

  The scene all set, I wait in the dark.

  And wait.

  And wait.

  Did Faizan forget that I asked for her to be sent into here and not my bedroom? Just as I’m about to turn back on the light and text Faizan, there’s a short knock and the door clicks open before I can invite her to come in.

  For once, I’m not irritated. In fact, I make a mental note to tell Faizan to tip her well, for committing to the character. The hallway light silhouettes her from behind, and though I can’t make out her features, her outline looks Mika enough for the fantasy. She seems to have on some kind of lingerie, that frames her sides and flares out just below her rounded hips. Good, good…

  “Leave the door open and don’t talk,” I instruct. Giving her just enough light to navigate, but not enough to ruin the fantasy. “I’m over here. Follow my voice until you get to me. I’ll instruct you from there.”

  I stroke myself through my pants, already imagining what will come next. I’ll fist my hand in her hair. Make her kiss me and then force her head down so that I can pretend it’s Mika. Mika wrapping her lush lips around my dick. Mika sucking and gagging until I spill in her mouth—

  “Seriously? You weren’t even going to let the poor girl talk?”

  The fantasy cuts off abruptly as bright light floods the room, revealing Mika in the doorway in a romper. Not the lookalike escort in lingerie.

  Rage, red and blinding, nearly consumes me. “You!” I choke out. “What are you doing here?”

  “Seeing if you still wanted dinner,” she answers, leaning against the door jamb. “I figured I shouldn’t go through the trouble of making it for you if you were just going to end up throwing another tray because your ‘hire a
lookalike Mika hooker’ plan didn’t work out.”

  Strangely, I have the urge to sweep my desks right now. Destroying thousands of dollars’ worth of electronics, just to expel some of my fury.

  “What did you do with her?” I demand instead. “Where is she?”

  “Oh, Blessica? She went home after having a very nice conversation with me about how to suck off a paraplegic who’s so petty, he would try to hire an escort who looked just like his temporary housekeeper. Apparently, it’s all about figuring out the right compliments to give you, listening, and reassuring you that you’re a man with needs, not an inappropriate asshole. Super-illuminating convo. I really enjoyed myself.”

  Shame wars with frustration inside of me, in a battle of what I should feel worse. “Where is Faizan?” I ask. He needs to come in here. Remove her from my sight.

  “Driving Albie over to spend the night with my parents and sister,” Mika answers, her tone casual as if she’s filing her nails.

  I let out a frustrated growl. “I am going to fire him as soon as he returns. I cannot believe he could be this inept.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she says, pushing off the door jamb. “You’re the one who told Faizan to get a hooker who looked like me. He was just trying to figure out how to get me and my little boy out of the house after he arranged for your ‘company.’”

  She screws up her face and makes quotation marks with her fingers around the word “company.”

  Then she walks further into the room to say, “Don’t blame him for taking me up on my offer when I volunteered to send the escort away and do the job myself.”

  “Don’t tell me who I should and shouldn’t blame for this debacle…” My words trail off when hers sink in.

  Did she just say she volunteered to do the job herself? I still, everything inside of me suddenly dropping like a roller coaster.

  Mika walks across my stunned silence, closing the distance between us. For the first time, I notice all the details my fury wouldn’t allow me to see before. Her bare feet, free of the sensible shearling slippers she usually wears around the house. The small package in her hand, square and covered in foil. The fact that she’s still wearing the red bikini underneath that romper.