THE RULE OF THREE_A.C.H.E., MOTO, and TRINITY

by M. Never

  I look up to find Shane and Chase standing there, arms crossed, clearly not amused. “You going to run out on us, just like that?” Chase asks matter-of-factly.

  I smile guiltily, walking backward. “Yes. I’m sorry. I have to go.”

  They both chase after me, catching up to me just as I put my hand on the front door.

  “Can we see you again?” Shane presses, imprisoning my forearm.

  I study both of their handsome faces. My heart and stomach and pussy flutter. “You know where I work.” I dangle the carrot alluringly, then disappear out the door.

  That was so mean, but I can almost bet money I’ll never see either one of them again. I don’t have much faith in people, men especially. I know what last night was. What I am to them. A story to tell. Sex with the trashy bartender in the stairwell of the dive on the Jersey Shore. And I’m fine with that. It was an adventure. A sexual experience I can check off my bucket list.

  Funny how a threesome with a hot bi couple wasn’t on my bucket list until last night, but hey, c’est la vie. Chase was right, though. No more steps—my back is killing me.

  I hustle the three blocks home. My apartment isn’t much. A three-story walk-up with a sliver of an ocean view. If you stand on a chair and lean to the left, you can catch a glimpse of the dark blue sea out the kitchen window.

  I shower quickly, using way too much shampoo because I’m not used to the short haircut yet. I blow dry, powder, and deodorize. Then dress in my nicest button-up shirt, pencil skirt, and conservative heels. Ugh, I hate business attire. I take one last look in the mirror, brushing my wispy bangs aside for the umpteenth time. Maybe I should have waited on the pink. The haircut is sexy; it’s definitely growing on me. For a moment, I flashback to last night, remembering the stranglehold Shane had on my short locks while he fucked me. My tummy twinges. Damn, that was hot.

  I shake the aroused feeling off as I rush out the door. I can’t think about them right now, even though all I want to do is lie in bed all day and touch myself, reliving last night over and over again.

  I hop in my vintage—okay, old-ass—Civic and head over to the north side of town where redevelopment of the beachfront has been running rampant. Tons of new condos, shops, and restaurants have been erected in the last three years. Our sleepy beach town is becoming a new hotspot, and the tourism is thriving. Don’t get me wrong, I like the changes. I just don’t like how they’re going about them.

  I pull into the parking lot of a satellite office of Winters Travers, the biggest housing redeveloper in the state. They’ve built beachfront homes worth millions upon millions of dollars on the pennies of property and homeowners. Swindling them by buying their land at a fraction of what it’s worth with bogus comps and lowball appraisals. It’s highway fucking robbery, and no one tries to stop them or even stand up to them . . . until today.

  I march through the double doors of the building and straight up to the receptionist, who is gleefully farming phone call after phone call.

  “Name?” she asks sugary sweet while sizing me up.

  “Jennifer Reeves to see Mr. Winters. I have an appointment,” I announce confidently. She can judge me all she wants. She’s a woman who puts one bra strap on at a time just like me, regardless if hers comes from Victoria’s Secret and mine from Walmart.

  She checks something on the computer in front of her and then smiles, disingenuously. “Mr. Winters is waiting. You’re late.”

  I glance at the clock over the receptionist’s head. It’s five after nine. Give me a break.

  “Shit happens,” I sneer. “Where am I going?”

  She cocks a penciled eyebrow. “Elevators. Third floor. The door on your right.” She points with the tip of her pen.

  “Thanks.” I continue to march, if for no other reason than to retain my confidence.

  I ride the elevator up to the third floor and walk through the glass door on the right. I’m met with yet another perfectly prim receptionist.

  “Ms. Reeves?” she asks cheerfully. Genuinely. She reminds me of Shayna. Blonde, bubbly, and doe-eyed.

  “Yes.”

  “He’s waiting.” She motions to the double doors behind her. I suck in a deep breath and prepare for war as I waltz through the entrance and into a gargantuan conference room with floor-to-ceiling windows and a backdrop of the glimmering Atlantic Ocean.

  “Ms. Reeves. Please have a seat. I’ve been waiting.” I’m reminded once again. Five minutes. You’ve been waiting five fucking minutes. Get over it. I walk assertively across the room and sit down adjacent to the impeccably dressed man. Ty Winters is nothing like I imagined. He’s much younger than I pictured, dictatorially handsome with his copper hair and bold green eyes, and way more intimidating than I was prepared for.

  “I was expecting a Mr . . .” He opens the red folder in front of him, disinterested. “ . . . Nathaniel Jackson.”

  “Mr. Jackson is presently in a nursing home in poor health. I’m here to speak on his behalf.” I latch on to the thin rope of poise I have.

  “Are you his power of attorney?”

  “In a matter of speaking.”

  “Ms. Reeves.” Ty sighs as if I’m wasting his precious time. “I’m uncomfortable talking contracts and negotiations with someone who isn’t legally authorized to speak on Mr. Jackson’s behalf.”

  “That’s fine, because I’m not here to talk contracts and negotiations. I’m here to tell you we’re not selling.”

  “Ms. Reeves—” he immediately protests.

  “Don’t waste your breath, Mr. Winters. The Corkscrew isn’t for sale.”

  “I advise you to reconsider. It’s a generous offer.”

  “It’s a crap offer, and you know it,” I snap.

  His green eyes sharpen to pin points. I surmise the young Mr. Winters isn’t used to people talking back to him. It’s clear he’s incredibly accomplished, well-educated, and an Ivy League asshole who wants for nothing. His suit is probably worth more than my life is. But I’m not going to let that intimidate me. Just because he’s powerful doesn’t mean he can ride in and steal from the poor to give to the rich. One percent of the population in Newhaven Beach can afford the condo compounds he’s building. Before Winters Travers swooped in, this area was peaceful and quiet. An unblemished coastline escape. Now, with all the new development, taxes are rising, the community is changing, and people whose families have lived here for generations are being pushed out because they can’t afford their beachfront homes anymore. I don’t know when the shoreline became strictly for the rich, but it fucking blows. That’s why I refuse to give up the Corkscrew. I have plans for the little restaurant, and I’m not going to let some greedy developer ruin them.

  “It’s the best offer you’re going to get. I urge Mr. Jackson to reconsider. Change is coming,” he threatens, vehemently sliding the folder in front of me. “The town wants this redevelopment, and your little establishment isn’t going to get in their way. Persuade Mr. Jackson to accept the offer.”

  I narrow my pale blue eyes at Ty Winters. “I don’t have to persuade Mr. Jackson to do anything. We don’t accept. So you can take your shitty offer and shove it up—”

  My tirade is interrupted when the door to the conference room suddenly swings open.

  “Ty, I have specs I want to show you—” A tall blond man in a tan suit barges in with a tablet in his hand. He stops short when he looks up to find Ty isn’t alone. Our eyes lock, and suddenly, I want to throw up. “I didn’t realize you were still in a meeting.”

  “He’s not. We’re done.” I jump up, sick to my stomach. I race past Shane without uttering a word and bang on the elevator button like it’s going to magically open the doors.

  “Jenn?” Shane voices my name from behind. I slowly turn around with a defensive look in my eye.

  “You work for him?” I hiss. “Is that why you came into the Corkscrew last night? Recon?”

  “No,” Shane contests. “Chase and I just got back into town. We’re starting o
n our next project.”

  “You both work for him?” I’m disgusted.

  Shane shakes his head at me incredulously. “Why were you meeting with Ty?”

  “Like you don’t know.” The elevator doors ding open. Thank god.

  “I don’t.” He stands there gaping as I press the lobby button.

  “Sure.” I cross my arms and glare as the doors slide closed.

  What a fucking idiot I am. The term sleeping with the enemy could not be more appropriate.

  The nausea rolls as I dart out of the building, into my car, and pull away.

  I chew on my anger like tobacco until I pull up to Magnolia Nursing Home. Taking a few deep breaths, I squeeze the shit out of the steering wheel to help pull myself together. I can’t go in there a frazzled mess. The last thing Pops needs is to start sniffing out trouble. He has enough to worry about.

  I sign in at the front desk and give Daisy a small smile.

  “Morning, Jenn. You look nice today.”

  “Thanks. I just came from a meeting.” I inwardly scowl. “I hate business attire.”

  She laughs lightly. “Don’t we all. That’s why I became a nurse.” She tugs on her floral scrubs. “Casual Friday every day.”

  “That’s one way to choose a career. How’s our patient today?”

  “I’ve heard cranky.” She purses her lips.

  “So, normal?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Good to hear.” I tap on the desk before I head to room 404. My heels click on the tile floor the whole way, agitating the quiet hall. Agitating me. I try to forget all about Shane and Chase and who they work for as I enter the room. Pops, aka Nathanial Jackson, is resting peacefully, propped up in his bed. The television blaring Sports Center, as usual. After turning the volume down, I sit on the edge of his mattress and watch him sleep. His breaths are heavy and his mouth is slack. His dark skin is ashy, and the hair on his chin and head has turned almost completely white. He looks so different now compared to the first time I met him, nearly twelve years ago. A neglected teenager who was looking for attention and something to eat. My parents couldn’t be bothered with me, so I was a victim of circumstance and indifference. My father cared more about drinking on a fishing boat than anything else, while my mother worried who her next boyfriend was going to be. I have an older half-brother, Tommy, but I haven’t seen or heard from him in years. Once he turned eighteen, he joined the Marines and never looked back. Who could blame him? When my father did decide to make an appearance, Tommy was his personal punching bag.

  My brother did do one notable thing before he left. He protected me. Our father went after me one night, and Tommy made sure he never did it again. That was three weeks before his eighteenth birthday. I was eleven. He repaid my father tenfold for the years of abuse. I still remember the vicious beating and the bloody aftermath. Our father’s face was so swollen he couldn’t open either eye for days. I’ll always be grateful to Tommy for standing up for me. For protecting me. I wish he hadn’t left, but I understand. I just hope wherever he is, whatever he’s doing, he’s happy.

  Pop whimpers in his sleep but doesn’t wake. The tube in his nose provides the oxygen his lungs desperately depend on. I want to hold his hand, but I don’t want to disturb him. He hasn’t been sleeping well from the violent coughing and pneumonia. Just as the thought crosses my mind, he breaks into a coughing fit, which startles him awake. I grab some water, but he puts his hand up in protest as his frail body jerks from the vicious hacks.

  My heart breaks as I watch helplessly. There’s nothing I can do. There isn’t anything anyone can do.

  “Water, water,” he finally croaks, motioning for the small pink cup in my hand. I hand it over readily. I recall the first time I met Pops. I’d been stealing food from the Corkscrew’s pantry for weeks, sneaking in while the servers were setting up and swiping whatever morsels I could. One day, he caught me. This big, intimidating black man with a fedora and a cigar. I was thirteen and terrified out of my mind. I thought for sure the back of a cop car was where I was headed. But instead of calling the police, he handed me an apron and told me if I wanted to eat, I’d have to work for my dinner. So I washed dishes that night and every night after that for weeks upon weeks. I was Pop’s stray cat. Feed me once and I just kept coming back. After a while, he started to take an interest in me. In my schoolwork, my future, my happiness. He encouraged me, made sure I was on the right track, and kept me there. He was the only adult in my life who truly cared, and I grew to love him. Respect him. He was an incredible role model. Everyone adored him. Especially me.

  Throughout high school, he taught me the restaurant business, and as I got older, he let me branch out. Work on the line, wait tables, and serve cocktails. When I was sixteen and had enough of my turbulent household, he took me in. Gave me the spare room on the second floor of the restaurant. It wasn’t much. It was dusty, drafty, and desolate, but together, we fixed it up and made it livable. My own little safe haven. That solidified my loyalty to Pops. This man gave me everything and only asked that I grow up strong and stable in return. Which I have. Because of him.

  “You okay now?” I take the cup as his shaking subsides.

  “Fine.” He clears his throat, opens his eyes, and takes a good look at me.

  “What the hell did you do, girl?” He grimaces.

  I sit back down on the edge of the bed and twirl a short blond lock around my finger.

  “I cut my hair.”

  He curls his lip. “Did anyone tell you a unicorn shit on your head?”

  “Pops!” I burst out laughing. “You don’t like it?”

  “Is that Janine’s doing?”

  “She was there, yes.” I giggle, accountable.

  “I don’t understand. What’s with you girls and your ever-changing hair colors?”

  I shrug. “Personal expression.”

  “You want to express yourself, write a book. Cook a meal, play a song.” He lectures me. Yup, that’s Pops.

  “I have been cooking,” I inform him. “A lot.”

  “Good.” He settles on the mattress. “Keep at it. You love it. You’re talented. You’ll go far.” He closes his eyes.

  “I’m only any of those things because of you.”

  He grins. “I’ll take the credit.” The man isn’t modest by any means.

  “I’ll gladly give it.” I take his hand.

  “How did the meeting with Winters go?” He pops open one eye and reads my facial expression like a book. “That good, huh?”

  “I told him we weren’t selling. He didn’t like it.”

  Pops sighs heavily, gripping my hand. “Jennifer, take the money. Sell the place. Start brand new.”

  “No. The Corkscrew is my home. It’s all I have left. I’ll never sell it to some sleazy developer who’s just going to tear it down and build a condo in its place. This state has enough of those,” I fume. “I’m going to pay off the liens and remodel. You’ll see. I have plans. I can do this.”

  Pops shakes his head at me, his lip curled on one side. “Stubborn girl.”

  “An attribute I can also claim from you.”

  “Do what you think is right, but don’t let pride blind you.” He starts coughing again. Hard, body shaking hacks. I hold him down until the fit subsides. “Everything has its time.” He looks up into my eyes, and I nearly burst into tears. I know he’s alluding to more than just the restaurant. He doesn’t have much time left, and it’s destroying me.

  “I need to try.”

  His face softens. “I was mad at God for so long for not blessing me with children. I didn’t understand it then, but I do now. He was saving me for you. You may not be my flesh and blood, but you are mine. Hard head and all.”

  I stare down into his cloudy brown eyes. His health deteriorated so fast, I almost still can’t believe we’re in this place.

  I will not cry. I will not cry. At least, not in front of him.

  “Fight, old man.” I kiss his forehead. />
  “I know no other way.” He coughs some more.

  “Good,” I tease as I stand up. “I have to get over to the Corkscrew. Straighten up after the party.”

  “How was Janine and Jack’s last hurrah?”

  I pause, awkwardly. Fighting off illicit images of me, Shane and Chase in the stairwell. “Eventful.”

  Pops lifts his white eyebrows. “Eventful? Is my restaurant still standing?”

  “It is,” I confirm. “If there’s any alcohol left? That’s a different story.”

  He groans.

  I laugh, blow him a kiss good-bye, then leave the pale yellow room.

  Even in his present state, a short visit with Pops always makes me feel better. Too bad the feeling is short lived because when I walk outside, two men are guarding my car.

  Fuck. How the hell did they find me?

  I march straight for the driver’s side, hoping to avoid any and all confrontation. I don’t want anything to do with either of them.

  Not after I found out who they work for and can guess why they’re in Newhaven Beach.

  I hit the unlock button and look straight down, reaching for the door handle.

  “Is that how it’s going to be?” Chase demands with his hip securely fastened to my driver’s side door.

  “Please get off.” I jerk at the handle, but the door remains closed.

  “Not until you talk to us,” he objects sternly. Obstante man.

  “There’s nothing to say.”

  “There’s a shitload to say, Jenn.”

  “Look,” I put him in his place. “Last night was fun. Amazing even. But it’s over. You go your way, I’ll go mine.”

  “Nope. Not gonna happen,” Shane contests, creeping closer behind me.

  “Why?”

  “Because last night was amazing. And we want it to happen again. With you. Over and over.”

  “You’re out of your minds. It was a one-time deal.”

  “Why?”

  “Conflict of interest,” I seethe.

  “Because Ty wants to buy you out?” Shane questions.