by S. Ann Cole
“No, no, we’re fine,” Reuben tells him.
As the man nods and leaves, Reuben gestures for me to go in the other direction, toward a three-story attached condo.
“Who’s got you thinking you’re damaged goods, Lyra?”
I shrug. “Myself, I guess.”
“Well, you aren’t,” he says tightly. “You’re beautiful, and sexy, and smart, and any man would be lucky to have you.”
I snort. “What movie did you get that line from?”
“I’m serious.”
“No, you’re just trying to score bestie points,” I say. “In books and movies, that’s usually what men tell women to make them feel better about being rejected even though they themselves wouldn’t have her.”
“Someone rejected you?” he asks with convincing surprise. “And what about being on an anti-men wave and all?”
I stop and face him. “Would you date me?”
“In a heartbeat,” he replies without hesitation. “If I wasn’t already owned.”
“Someone’s actually claimed you?”
He laughs. “Body and soul.”
I make a face and start walking again. “Poor girl.”
“Girl Number 7,” he says. “She’s my wife.”
This stops me in my tracks again. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not. That’s how you know I’m not just saying things to ‘make you feel better.’”
I glance down at his hands—to the right that’s gripping the straps of my bags, then to the left that’s lax at his side. “I don’t see any ring, you dirty liar.”
He lifts his left hand and shows me the inside of his wrist. A tattoo is inked there. Two locked rings, with “J&R” above them, and a date below them. “More permanent,” he tells me.
“Wow, I...” I shake my head and blink. “There goes all my hopes of seducing you and hearing you use that sexy British accent during sexy times.”
“You mean this sexy accent?” he says in a deep, sultry English accent.
I shove his shoulder and we both laugh.
He leads me around the side of the building, up onto a small porch, and knocks on the door.
“You’re about to meet the family,” Reuben says, smiling down at me. “That alone should tell you all you need to know.”
This pulls a frown from me. “What do you think I need to know?”
He gives me a look that conveys he knows I know what he’s talking about, but I don’t.
“Just so you know, the boss never, ever takes his work home. Let alone around his family.”
I roll my eyes. “For what Daddy’s paying him, breaking his own rules is worth it, don’t you think?”
Reuben shakes his head at me. “Lyra, Henderson’s not even in Red Cage’s top ten highest paying clients. Trust me, he’s not making you an exception because of the money.”
This gives me pause. “Then wh—”
The door swings open just then, revealing a stunning older woman. Warm, chestnut complexion, tight dark curls, and big brown eyes. “Reuben,” she greets with a smile. “I’ve been waiting.”
“Good evening, Monica.” He leans in and kisses her on the cheek, then gestures to me. “This is the lovely Lyra.”
“I don’t know about ‘lovely’,” I say with a self-deprecating smile.
Monica regards me with an unreadable expression, though her smile remains kind. And I wonder how much she knows. “Nice to meet you, Lyra.” She steps aside and wave us in. “Come, come.”
“Where do I take these?” Reuben asks of my bags.
“Second floor. Room on the right,” she answers. As Reuben goes off with my bags, she asks me, “Can I get you something to drink, Lyra?”
“Oh, no, that’s fine. Thanks,” I say, looking around the condo. It’s narrow, but tastefully designed with teal and gold accents. Open plan, with the kitchen bleeding into the dining room that bleeds into the living room. French doors that lead out to the backyard... or the front yard? The setup is a bit confusing.
“Okay, Tillie, my daughter, is out with friends so you probably won’t meet her until tomorrow morning when she’s whining about a hangover,” Monica tells me. “But we’re happy to have you here. Torin tells me you’re vegetarian?”
“Kind of, yes.”
“That’s fine. We have enough natural produce here. But the B&B kitchen is open to you if you ever need anything. Vegan options are always on the menu.”
“Okay. Thank you very much.”
“Of course. No problem.” She glances down at her watch. “I have to head back across to start preparing for the evening. Please, make yourself at home. I’ll see you in a few hours—if you’re still up.”
“Do you own the B&B?”
She laughs lightly. “No, not me, my children. I’m the operations manager.”
“Oh, okay.”
“Be back later,” she tells me as she hurries out the French doors.
Reuben is descending the stairs as I’m ascending it. “How much does she know?” I ask him.
“Nothing. You’re just a client that needs a safe place to stay for a few days,” he replies. “Everything at Red Cage is confidential. Sealed. Not even family is privy to client info.”
My shoulders sag with relief. “Okay, good. That’s good.”
“On the topic of safe, this property is well-protected. Twenty-four-hour patrol, strong surveillance, and undercover guards. But even so, in case of an emergency, there’s a panic button in every room. Just look for the Hummingbird.”
“Got it. Thanks.”
He bops my nose. “Go get some rest, Bestie. Sure I’ll be seeing you again soon.”
“You’re far from bestie status, my friend,” I call as I continue up the stairs.
His deep laughter follows me.
~
I WAKE UP in an unfamiliar room.
I jolt up, panic erupting in my chest. Frantic, I stumble out of bed, the sheets tangling around my ankles, tripping me. Heart racing, my hair whips across my cheek as I glance around the room.
When my gaze lands on the hummingbird on the wall, I press my hand to my chest and exhale a long, mitigating breath.
Oh. I remember now. I remember where I am.
I slump to the side of the bed, relief rushing in. It’s been months since I’ve had a panic attack like this. I used to have them often. After being in the penthouse for so long, I’d wake up in my room, not recognize where I am, and immediately think, “It’s happening again.”
Strangely enough, this didn’t happen when I slept at Torin’s house for the first time. I’d woken up in that room and felt...safe. Like I belonged there.
As the panic in my chest subsides and my heart returns to its normal pace, I straighten up and pad to the windows. Lightly, I shift the sheer curtains aside and peek outside.
From this vantage point, I can see the front yard in its entirety. The gardens, the water fountain, all the way down to the palatial gates.
Life’s in progress. A couple holding hands over a fishpond. An older woman feeding birds by a smaller four-tier water fountain. The grass is so green, the plants so colorful, the sun so bright over it all.
So deceptively beautiful and peaceful. Life, that is. Had I not experienced life’s deception firsthand, a setting like this would so easily lull me into a false sense of security. I’d fall in love with life, with its seductive touch, its whispered promises.
Too bad I know better.
A black jeep pulls into one of the “reserved” lots, and a man and a woman get out. I recognize the man right away. One of the twins from a few days ago. The serious one.
The gorgeous woman appears to be going off at him about something, hand gestures and all. Though he appears completely unphased, his attention fixed on her like nothing else exists.
While she’s still heatedly mouthing off, he grabs her, drapes her up against him, and kisses her. Like that, she’s subdued. Melting against him like ice-cream on a hot pavement. When his hands drif
t and palm her ass, she shoves him away and starts going off at him again. He grins at her, and it’s only then that I realize I’m smiling.
I let the curtain fall back into place, drifting away from the windows as a pang of sadness melts inside my chest like butter in a skillet. I don’t begrudge anyone their happiness. Everyone deserves felicity, and love, and all good things, right?
So why do some of us get shit? What did I do that was so bad? What did Kristie do? Simone? All those girls in that building?
How does God decide who deserves a lifetime of goodness and who deserves suffering? Does he make random bets with the Devil when he’s bored, like he did with Job? Or are there angels in on-the-job training who occasionally muck things up?
I don’t allow the sadness to linger for long. Sadness is a visitor that I entertain for no more than a few minutes at a time. This much is in my control. I refuse to sit and break bread with it. So I bid it farewell for now, invite gratitude in to stay, force myself to smile, then pad to the bathroom to get ready for a new day.
~
SHOWERED AND DRESSED, I head downstairs with my laptop. I’ve just hit the landing when I hear his voice. Scolding someone.
“You’re too paranoid, Grandpa,” replies a weary female voice. “You seem to think everyone in the world is evil and out to get me. I like it better when you’re away. Such a killjoy.”
“Tough luck,” he returns in that growly voice of his. “Stop being so fucking reckless. You’re not a child anymore. Grow the hell up and start acting more responsibly.”
“Ughh, gawwd. You’re so annoying!”
With soft, stealthy movements, I direct my steps toward the French doors, hoping to slip out without them noticing.
“Hey,” the tired female voice comes at my back. “You’re Lyra, right?”
Well, damn.
On a deep but quiet breath, I brace myself, then turn.
I should have taken a deeper, more fortifying breath, because it’s knocked right out of me when my eyes fall on him.
He’s leaned against the kitchen peninsula with his legs crossed at the ankles and his arms folded at his chest. Black cargo pants, black boots, and a chocolate-brown tee that clings to his muscles. He looks so damn good it makes me angry.
His gaze, as it glides over me, is like the tip of a finger whispering delicately across my skin.
Resisting the urge to squirm under his attention, I drag my eyes from him and to the girl sitting at the breakfast bar. Her entire upper half is slouched over onto the counter, a large mug of coffee in front of her face. She’s almost an exact replica of the woman I met last night, just a younger version, with longer, looser curls, and brown freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheekbones.
“Oh, yes, that’s me. Sorry, I didn’t want to intrude on a family moment,” I say, ambling to the kitchen. “You’re Tillie?”
“Yeah, sorry I can’t get up to greet you properly. I’m so hungover right now I could die,” she drawls. “And my brother here is only making it worse.” She elevates her voice to a half-shout on the last four words.
Torin snorts. “Good, I hope you puke your guts out. And you’ll know to drink responsibly next time.”
“Oh my gawwd, can you please get out of here?” she whines. “Why are you even here? Didn’t Lexi warn you to stay off her property?”
Lexi.
The name hits me like a bag of bricks.
Lexi. The “mind-blowing” ex he loved.
This is her property? I thought Monica said it’s her children’s. I’m so confused. And peeved that he’s put me up at his freaking ex-girlfriend’s property. Just when I thought I couldn’t hate him more…
Though, it really shouldn’t matter, should it? I’m a job, not his girlfriend. And a safe place is a safe place, no matter who it belongs to. Right? Right.
Now, if only my heart could get on board with my brain.
He’s not yours.
He’s nothing to you.
Stop romanticizing him.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Tillie,” I say with forced cheer. “I hope you feel better soon.”
“You have really nice legs,” she tells me, looking me over from her half-prone position.
I do? “Oh, um, thanks,” I mumble, slightly self-conscious. Then jab a thumb over my shoulder. “I’m gonna take a look around. Maybe find a nice place to read.”
“Okay, see you at lunch...” She groans miserably and grips fistfuls of her own hair. “Maybe.”
As I turn to go, his voice stops me. “Lyra.”
I close my eyes and breathe. Deeper this time. Of course he wouldn’t just let me leave. I turn. “Yes?”
He jerks his head to the peninsula he’s leaned against, which prompts me to look down.
My purse.
“You left it behind,” he tells me.
Oh. That’s why he’s here. “Thanks. Appreciate it,” I say. “Just leave it there. I’ll get it later.”
Again, I turn and start for the doors, picking up the pace this time. I’m almost out the doors when I feel him behind me. His presence is so weighty, so hot, so…there.
Hand on the knob, I pause and glance over my shoulder at him. “What?”
“What what?” he returns, voice flat. “Just tryin’ to get out the door like you are.”
I dagger him a glare before I turn and step out onto a terrace that flows into a flourishing yard garden. A low hedge fencing separates it from the grander, double-pooled posterior grounds of the B&B.
I spot an umbrellaed table with two chairs plus a bench and start toward it.
“Have you eaten?” His voice slides over me like a silk robe.
“Yes,” I lie.
“When?”
“Earlier.”
“It’s quarter to nine. You get up at eight AM every morning without fail. Never earlier, never later. So when did you eat?”
“Maybe I got up earlier this morning,” I bite out as I reach the table, setting my laptop down. “What do you care?”
“I care that you don’t starve on my watch.”
“I’ll eat when I’m hungry.” I sit down in one of the chairs. “Now can you please leave me alone? I have work to do.”
His brows raise. “Work?”
“Yes, I’m writing a book.” I cross my legs and his eyes fall to them, lingering for longer than they should. “You’re in it,” I say, dragging his attention back to my face. With a sweet smile, I tell him, “You die in the end.”
Something glints in his eyes. Is that amusement? “Sounds interesting. Won’t hold you up much longer then.”
He turns and strides toward the fence, then unlocks a small gate I hadn’t noticed before. He slips over to the other side and walks away from me without a backward glance.
And I loathe myself for leering after his retreating form until it’s no longer in view.
God, I’m pathetic.
Here I sit salivating after him, when he’s probably gone over there to try and win Ms. Mind-Blowing back.
My life sucks.
Big time.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Business first, pleasantries later.”
Torin
THERE WAS A TIME WHEN I loved her so much it was hard to breathe.
But giving her up in exchange for a wholesome relationship with my brother is a decision I have never, or will ever, regret.
I see the moment she spots me in the mirrored wall of the B&B kitchen, her beautiful features rearranging into a scowl. She hates me for a lie I’d made her believe to be true. And I’m fine with it. She’ll never know the truth. It’s better that way.
She curses in Spanish and Monica slaps her arm. “Lexi!”
“Sorry, Monica,” she says, rubbing her arm. “But that’s what happens when demons are around.”
Monica, who still hasn’t noticed me, spins around from where she and Lexi were poring over a menu with the chef. When her eyes land on me, her frown melts away, understanding her stepdaughte
r’s outburst. Lexi’s enmity toward me is common knowledge in the family.
I walk up and plant a kiss to Monica’s cheek. “Morning, Mon.”
Lexi scowls at me. “How many times do I have to ban you from my property?”
“You’re cute,” I tell her, knowing it’ll only piss her off more.
Nostrils flaring, she tells the chef, “Give us a moment, please.”
Once he’s gone, she asks, “Is this about that girl I hear is staying in the condo?”
“Yup.”
“Listen, Tor, I allowed you to run me over with all this ridiculous amount of security on the property only because Monica and Tillie are here, but I’m not about to have you start using my place of business as a safe-house, do you understand?”
“Perfectly.”
Her eyes narrow to slits. She’d been expecting a fight, so my acquiescence has thrown her off. “Who is she anyway?”
“Just a client who needs a safe place to lay low for a bit.”
“Is she in some sort of trouble?” Monica asks.
“Working on figuring that out.”
“Considering she’s going to be in my home, is there anything I should look out for with her?” she asks. “Anything important I should know?”
“No.” I almost smile. Almost. “She’s actually really easy to like.”
Monica and Lexi exchange glances, but I ignore it. “Just do me a favor and make sure she eats. She’ll sometimes...forget to.”
Lexi makes a disbelieving expression. “Who forgets to eat?”
Monica asks, “Is it like an eating disorder thing?”
“No, just...just send her small fruit bowls, salads, or smoothies throughout the day. I’ll pay for whatever.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I get it out, check the screen.
Stefano.
“Gotta go,” I tell the women. “Call me if you need anything.”
Lexi mutters one of her usual hate jabs as I exit the kitchen and answer the call. “Yeah.”
“Ciao, cousin,” Stefano greets, about to start with some bullshit, no doubt. “How doth thou doeth?”
“Cut the small talk, Stefan,” I say, and find myself moving to the back of the B&B instead of the front. “What’ve you got for me?”
