Because You're Mine

by Marin Montgomery

  Amada and I smiled at each other. Maddy had not given her my entire sordid history, but she knew I was in dire need of a job.

  She handed us all a sheet of paper with the villa name and the registered guest’s information. Dietary restrictions and their favorite foods were listed along with the clothing and shoe sizes and a snapshot of their lifestyles. It was a miniature bible on every client that was staying at the Triple T as they called it.

  From my list of guests, one was a recently married couple celebrating their honeymoon, another was a woman who was a keynote speaker at a civil engineering conference—no small feat I imagined—one was an old man who had recently been widowed, and the other was a man in his mid-forties and the CEO of a solar energy company.

  We went around and introduced ourselves. Lupita and Angela were the other two in addition to Amada and me. Lupita looked to be pushing forty and spoke little English. She had long, dark hair that reached her butt, and she kept it pushed off her face in a hair clip. Angela looked younger than her years—she could have passed for a high schooler as she barely made the five-foot mark. She was petite and had golden hair, bright blue eyes, and translucent skin. She was a high school dropout and seemed to use ‘like’ after every other word. Amada reminded me of Maddy—they shared the same laugh and some of the same mannerisms both picking their nails and playing with their hair. Amada also had the same body type as Maddy. I could have picked her out of a crowd anywhere.

  My first day on the job was getting acquainted with the property and checking on my ‘clients,’ as we called them. I spent the rest of my afternoon trying to take my mind off Alec. As I ran errands for the married couple, I couldn’t help but wonder why they had decided to get married. What was it about people that made them want to commit to someone else?

  When my mom died of lung cancer at the ripe age of forty-seven, I thought I had seen it all. She had been a smoker since she was fifteen, and her boyfriends either puffed on cigarettes or imbibed in harder drugs. I had taken care of her for the last few years of her life.

  The hours pass in a blur. It is a good distraction from the turn my life has taken, a rat race now instead of the straight and narrow.

  I spend my hours running errands for the various villas. The irony of switching places in life isn’t lost on me. I grew up poor, then did a switcharoo and hired the help—the chef and the trainer and the maids. Now I’m back to waiting hand and foot on people, some more appreciative than others. There are those who are born rich with all the opportunities life affords them and never have to struggle. I envy them at times, but also feel sorry for them, to never understand what it is like to count the days until payday as your bank account dwindles or to know what it is like to have Christmas on layaway.

  Most of these tasks are ones Alec refused to do for himself or allow me to do.

  There’s dry-cleaning to pick up, a couple of suits that need custom tailoring, and multiple drop-offs and pick-ups.

  One woman asks for a spa manicure and pedicure kit since she didn’t have time to run to the nail salon. Another wanted some magazines, so I made a stop at Target for some reading materials. Anything they wanted, they felt like they could ask for.

  In the afternoon, I helped one client with her wardrobe selections. It was a busy day, and it wasn’t long before my thoughts drifted off to what I was going to do here. How long could I stay before it was apparent I was being hunted?

  I knew Alec wouldn’t just accept that I was gone. He wasn’t used to people leaving him.

  I dog walked one of the client’s Dalmatians that came along to the resort wondering if he is a guard dog and can attack on demand.

  Olivia needed my help in the office in the afternoon with some spreadsheets, so I happily obliged. Anything to keep my mind off the personal vendetta Alec Durant would have against me.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Alec

  I’m pacing in my room wearing a hole in the carpet, edgy as I think about what she’s doing.

  Fuck it, I think. I know George is handling the situation and is capable, but I decide to take matters into my own hands.

  I drive to where the rental is located and park myself in a corner of the parking lot, an unassigned spot close enough to where she would enter the building but far enough away that she would not look straight into the vehicle. I’m in the black Suburban, so I know she won’t spot me even if she comes outside.

  If there’s a man who brought her here, I want to know.

  What if she’s pregnant? She’s been tired lately, pushing me away when I try to be intimate. She cringes at my touch.

  It might be better than her knowing about my past.

  I almost feel ashamed that I haven’t asked. It has been months since we became engaged, and she has stopped taking the pill. Maybe she freaked out because she was scared, maybe she felt alone, or like I didn’t care? I have been working an awful lot to try to stop the siphoning of money from the business account.

  It keeps dwindling especially now that Eric isn’t around to fill the coffers. Business has slowed down, and Eric had helped with bringing in a lot of our newest land development clients. A lot of my time was devoted to investing in our future trying to make money.

  Let’s just say managing our funds wasn’t my strong suit. I like to gamble in life—real estate and online poker—and sometimes you go in the negative. Eric didn’t appreciate my zest for taking blind leaps.

  I’m a likeable guy, always the life of the party, and I know I’m convincing. I tried to rationalize my spending with him. He wasn’t buying my reasons. Or excuses.

  Eric warned me about spending his money, the time I spent online, the risks I took. If

  only he knew the biggest risk I made—asking Levin to marry me and start a new life with her.

  If Levin’s pregnant, she needed me more than ever. Maybe she didn’t move here to start over with another man. Maybe she moved here to get away from me.

  I couldn’t think of any friends in Phoenix. I go through her Facebook friends one by one to verify there aren’t any Phoenix connections. It’s time-consuming but crucial.

  It’s all a mystery to me, but a mystery that would be unraveled shortly.

  My breath comes out in short spurts. I’m almost relieved that I might’ve solved the mystery of why she left. I imagine poor Levin alone with our baby in a new city.

  With a renewed sense of purpose, I sit and wait—wait for the love of my life, and possibly, the loves of my life, to come back. After all, life is all about waiting. Waiting for what you want. I would sit and wait. But only for a little while.

  I head to a local Home Depot and put on a ball cap and sunglasses. I don’t want anyone seeing my face or eyes. I’m low-key wearing sweatpants which are almost an embarrassment, my belly hanging over the waistband. A baggy t-shirt covers most of my mid-section. I can’t remember the last time I dressed down like this. My attire consists of three-piece suits on most days or the color black slimming my small gut. Dressing down for me meant slacks and a golf tee.

  Rope and duct tape is needed. A clerk offers to help me, but I decline his invite, his eyes follow me as I pretend to scrutinize paint samples, judging my color palette as I focus intensely on the color yellow.

  I glance at a row of cleaning supplies and grab some cloth rags. I purchase some bleach and a mop, so it doesn’t look as suspicious.

  The moving boxes can be used to help Levin move her items back home.

  Or they could have a dual purpose. I tug at my earlobe, the thought of her tiny body cramped and stuffed in the cheap cardboard box if she’s problematic.

  I’m not enthusiastic about rejection, especially from women who hold the purse strings. I’m in an impossible situation, and the loss of control is eating at me.

  She’s been acting off, and I imagine there’s more to her attitude than just hormones. That’s on her. I will find out soon enough.

  One last item is the bungee cord. I hum as I make my way to the front, m
y mood slightly on the uptick as I push the cart to the checkout counter. The thought of Levin tied up is enough to make my body react favorably, her sprawled out in front of me, my little puppet.

  I make sure to pay in cash, no paper trail, and the receipt is promptly chucked into the trash on the way out.

  There’s a place I rented here, a secluded house, a place where Levin and I can relax and re-group. Some R & R is a welcome distraction and much needed for the both of us.

  Fate brought me together with Levin. She can try and cheat destiny all she wants, yet she can’t avoid my plans for her. It’s all coming to fruition, the groundwork already laid.

  Now I just need to get my hands on my M.I.A. fiancée.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Levin

  As scatterbrained as I am today, I manage to help Olivia with the Excel spreadsheet that’s giving her a headache.

  The numbers blur, but I force myself to focus drowning out the thought of Alec strangling me to death, the same way he killed both Heidi and Eric.

  After I finish, I’m relieved to take a walk and clear my head. The fresh air helps, but my mind is buried in this scenario—an image of Alec behind me, holding on to me for dear life—that I almost lose my balance, narrowly missing Villa 19’s patron.

  The CEO of the solar energy company, Jake Hunter, is Villa 19.

  He’s smoldering, all man—tall, muscular, a short-sleeved polo shirt hugging his biceps and dress pants slung low on his hips enveloping his slim waist.

  I meet him as he’s headed out of his villa, Ray-Bans covering his eyes, brown leather briefcase in hand, Rolex on his wrist.

  I stumble off the concrete walkway, the thought of being reunited with Alec a harsh reality, and almost barrel into Jake.

  I’m relieved to be wearing Converse sneakers and not heels as I would’ve toppled over into the bushes. My face burns red, flustered as I bite my lip.

  Such a klutz, my mother used to tell me. She was right about one thing.

  Jake has a knee-jerk reaction and reaches out an arm, righting me. His strong arm is firm around my elbow. I mumble my thanks as he removes his sunglasses and sets down his briefcase. I introduce myself, feeling self-conscious in my short skirt and my graceless behavior.

  He doesn’t let go, and I’m facing the man whose life I’m supposed to help manage, yet I haven’t mastered walking.

  “Hi, Mr. Hunter, I’m Levin, your household helper,” I say, fingering the hem of my skirt, wishing I had tumbled into the bushes and been swallowed whole avoiding this debacle.

  There’s a moment of silence as he looks at me, giving me a chance to catch my breath. There’s confusion on his face as he contemplates my title, his head tilting slightly.

  He glances at me, amused. “Household helper?”

  “Basically, I’m your personal assistant.” I have the urge to run but don’t want to draw more attention to myself. Something about Jake is unsettling. It’s more than his impossibly good looks.

  The realization he’s still holding my elbow dawns on him, and he drops it, letting his arm fall back to his side. “A personal assistant, huh?” He whistles in appreciation, grinning at me.

  “Jake.” He reaches out and shakes my hand, the silver metal of his watch glinting in the sunlight. Since he took his sunglasses off, it’s impossible not to notice the flecks of gold in them. “You can call me Jake.”

  I nod. “Okay, Mr. Hunter, I mean, Jake.” I’m trying not to notice the way his six-foot-tall frame towers over me.

  “Before you go, I just want to make sure…” I ramble on. “Are there any foods you don’t like? What’s your favorite drink?” The list of questions makes me dizzy, but I want to do a good job and to do that, I need to be thorough. “Do you like wine or no? Any certain types?”

  “I like vodka-based drinks. Think vodka soda with a twist of lime. Usually Tito’s.” He stares at me, his liquid-gold eyes narrow. “I like white wine, but I’ll drink red depending on the mood.” With that, he gives me a flirtatious wink.

  I smile. I hope he’s my most easy-going client. “What about food preferences?”

  “I don’t like peas.” He’s solemn as he says this. “I also don’t like cabbage or pastrami on rye or anything that tastes like lamb.”

  I make mental notes as he adds, “I’m not a vegetarian.”

  “Duly noted.”

  “What, exactly, does a PA do?” His eyebrows knit together in curiosity.

  “Errands. Dry cleaning. Shopping. Stocking your room with food requests.” I tick them off on my fingers as I list them off. “If you call me at 5:00 a.m. and need Band-Aids and Alka-Seltzer, I’m your gal.”

  “Five-star service.” He purses his lips in thought. “I might need your help with shopping.”

  “That, I can do.” I rest my hand on my hip, staring at him, the idea of picking out his clothes or shopping for him a daunting task. What if he hates what I pick out? I always considered myself to have chic taste, but Alec told me I had no sense of style. Worse yet, what if it’s shopping for a wife or girlfriend?

  I glance down to check if there’s a ring. Nada. Which means nothing. Maybe he’s engaged?

  “I also might need your help on restaurant choices.” He motions with his hands. “I have a place here, but it’s being rented out, and my other home’s in the middle of renovations. Though I spend a decent amount of time here for work, I need some new go-to places.”

  “Of course.” I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I’ll do some checking on Yelp and OpenTable and see what I can find.”

  “Are you a transplant or a native?” He’s taken a slight step forward, and I want to move back, the idea of him in my space makes me nervous. Not in a bad way, but there’s an energy I feel in his presence, and I’m trembling, my palms shaking as I try to hide them by my side.

  “No, I grew up in another state.” I give him a small smile, “Most recently lived in San Diego.”

  “Best weather.” He smiles at me, searching my face. I hold his stare before I glance down at the ground pretending to notice my shoelace is untied.

  I lean down to re-tie my lace, take a breath, and stand back up.

  This gives him the opportunity to take a glimpse at his watch. “Crap.” He looks at the time. “I gotta run, I’m gonna be late for the meeting I’m hosting.” He laughs, and the crease lines near his eyes crinkle. He’s the perfect specimen of a man.

  I shake my head in understanding.

  “So nice to meet you, Levin.” He touches my arm for a brief second. I might’ve imagined it lingers there longer than necessary. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing more of you than you’d like.”

  I laugh as he says, “I’ll try not to be the annoying one, that ‘one guy’ who’s the topic of all your convos here.” He pushes his shades down and strolls off, briefcase in hand, exuding an aura of confidence. I sigh as I remember that’s what I thought about Alec when I met him—his brashness a turn-on unlike my father’s weak backbone in life. Though his aplomb reminds me of Alec, he has a different essence—the ability to laugh at oneself, find humor in situations.

  Jake Hunter’s a head honcho, but there’s a quality about him that I’m attracted to. Magnanimous.

  Alec has an underlying tone—it manifests itself in anger—controlled, but manifests in his emotions or his body language. He’s a bully. And a killer.

  He can be brilliant but destructive. I fell in love with him but saw that his charm is forced. He’s selfish and egotistical to a fault. When you first fall in love, you ignore the negative, even though they flash like a neon sign in front of your face. I jumped in headfirst, seeing only the best. Now I’m prepared for the worst.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Alec

  I wake up to the sound of a car horn beeping.

  Disoriented, I rub my eyes. I passed out in the Suburban, not even staying awake to see if Levin came or went.

  This is why I need a PI. There are some chores I can’t do on my ow
n.

  Multiple missed calls are flashing on my phone.

  George.

  I pound the redial button and rub a hand over my face in frustration. I’m not patient. If I had my way, I’d grab Levin and drag her ass to the rental house.

  The business is going to go under if I don’t get a commission check soon.

  “Where the hell are you?” I’m cranky from sleeping in a cramped position. I rub my neck as he ignores my tone. “I need her back now,” I hiss.

  “AJ’s on 5th Street in Old Town,” he says and hangs up.

  A quick Google search shows it’s a dive bar not far from the vacation rental. I drive past it once, missing the obtuse lettering. ‘AJ’s’ is on a wooden, faded, nondescript sign out front.

  I pull into a parking space in front of an old and decrepit bar that reminds me of where I spent my college years. George is waiting in the parking lot, kicking at the curb in his worn-in cowboy boots.

  According to George, the best Moscow Mules were served here. I’m willing to take him up on his suggestion to try one considering my mood.

  I’m contemplative, the thought of Levin and how she calls Moscow Mules ‘Moscow Meows’ and then does a cat impression. I laugh to myself. George looks startled, and I just shake my head ‘no.’ There’s no explanation needed. He gets I’m a bit off at times.

  The fact that this place is not based on appearances is appealing to me at this moment in time.

  I step on something sticky on the ground and wrinkle my nose. Maybe not.

  We walk inside, and though it’s fairly dark, they have an enclosed patio that absorbs lots of natural light. George heads to the bar and orders two Moscow Mules while I find us a table. Usually, we avoid being seen in public together, but this place has a light crowd because of the hour. The happy-hour crowd hasn’t come in yet.

  Within minutes, he brings the cold copper mugs back to the table and sits down. He hands me one and says, “Cheers.”