The Reclamation (The Club Trilogy Book 2)

by Lauren Rowe

  “In business, Sarah. Not with you. I can’t afford to take any risk, big or small, when it comes to you.”

  “Well, I can and will and you can’t stop me.” She smiles like she’s a kid taunting me on a playground. “It’s a free country,” she adds, just for good measure. “And anyway, don’t you have plenty of stuff to do? Like quitting your big, important mogul-job or running your new gyms or getting that flabby body of yours into shape or climbing a rock?”

  I sigh. “I don’t even have an address for Oksana. Stacy said she’s just got a P.O. box. I was just about to get Oksana’s email address, but thanks to my bossy girlfriend’s impeccable timing, we’ve got no way to contact her.”

  “Oh, Silly Rabbit, Trix are for kids. We’ve already got everything we need to find Oksana.”

  “We do?”

  “Of course, we do, rookie. Leave it to me.” She looks at her watch. “And in the meantime, I’ve got a constitutional law class to attend—alone.” She gets up from the table. “Oh, and by the way, to keep you company over the next couple days of our Delicious Anticipation 2.0, I made you a playlist—a little mix tape, from me to you.” She tosses a flash drive onto the table. “Tit for tat, baby.” She winks and turns toward the front door.

  “Sarah.”

  She stops and faces me.

  “Sorry to make you waste such a witty exit—‘tit for tat, baby’—mmm, it was sassy, clever, and flirty—everything I adore about you—the American judge rates it a perfect ten—but you can forget about walking out that door by yourself. No fucking way.”

  She groans and sits back down at the table. She opens her laptop.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Saving my sanity.” She clicks into her emails. “I’m gonna lob a Hail Mary.” She squints at her screen and begins typing. “Member Services at the club dot com,” she says as she types. “That’s the only email address I’ve got for them.”

  “What email address did they use to send applications to you?”

  “All applications and intake reports were delivered back and forth through a drop box.” She twists her mouth thinking for a moment. “Maybe your hacker could try to trace that?”

  “Good idea. I don’t really know how that works.”

  “Neither do I, but let’s ask him.”

  “Okay.”

  She looks back at her screen. “I’ll keep my email pretty vague—you never know who’s going to be on the receiving end of it or whether it might be confiscated down the line by authorities one day. Although, come to think of it, I’m already probably screwed if that ever happens.” She sighs. “I’ll just keep my cards close to my vest and say just enough to entice them to contact me.” She types, rapidly mouthing the words as she goes. “There. I told them I have something urgent to talk to them about—something they’re definitely going to want to hear—and to please contact me right away.” She clicks her tongue. “Okay. Plan A is to locate Oksana and scare the bajeezus out of her, face-to-face—never underestimate the power of in-person communication. But in the meantime, I’ll send this email and cross my fingers they reply. I’m not gonna just sit around and hope something happens—I’m gonna make it happen.”

  “Shocker.”

  She shrugs. “I’ve got to do something, Jonas. If every day for the next two years is gonna be Take Your Hot Boyfriend to Class Day, I’m gonna have a frickin’ nervous breakdown.”

  Chapter 22

  Sarah

  “Can’t you maybe just sit in the back of the class and pretend you don’t know me? Or at least try not to be so Jonas-y?”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “It means you don’t exactly blend.”

  “Really? You really want me to sit in the back of the class?”

  “Yeah, I really do. This is just so totally weird. I won’t be able to concentrate on what the professor says if you’re sitting next to me making me all hot and bothered. And I guarantee half the class won’t be able to concentrate, either. You’re just so... Jonas-y.”

  “Stop saying that. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “False modesty doesn’t become you.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Okay, I’ll sit in the back when class starts, okay? I’ve got plenty to do on my laptop, anyway—some numbers to crunch about the various gym locations. But am I allowed to sit here with you until class starts?”

  I look at my watch. “Yeah. We’ve still got plenty of time. But when the classroom starts to fill up, you best scoot your delectable ass to the back, big boy.”

  He pouts. “Okay.”

  “Aw, poor Jonas with the sad eyes.”

  “I’ll survive.”

  “You know, you could hire a professional bodyguard for me if you’re really this worried. Problem solved. Then you could live your life again, and I could live mine, and we could attack each other like animals at home all night long like a normal couple.”

  “I like hearing you say that.”

  “Attack each other like animals?” I shoot him a wicked grin.

  “Well, yes. But that’s not what I meant.” He smiles.

  “Like a normal couple?”

  “No—and, by the way, I don’t think most normal couples attack each other like animals.”

  I try to remember what I just said. “All night long.” I smile broadly.

  “Nope.”

  I’m stumped. What else did I say?

  “Home.” He smiles shyly. Fourth grader Jonas has made yet another appearance on the playground. “I like hearing you call my house your home.”

  We share a googly-eyed, infatuated smile.

  “You’re a diehard romantic, you know that?” I say.

  “Shh. Not so loud.”

  “Mum’s the word.”

  He pauses. “So you’d be okay with me hiring a bodyguard for you?”

  “No, I’d be mortified. But I bet I could give a bodyguard the slip way easier than I could ditch your paranoid ass—I sure ditched Josh in record time.”

  “Okay, so much for that idea. Speaking of which, have you spoken to Kat? How’s the bodyguard working out for her?”

  “It seems her bodyguard is extremely attentive.”

  He rolls his eyes. “You’re telling me I’m paying some guy to screw Kat?”

  “Ew, Jonas, no. They’re not having sex. Give Kat some credit.”

  He smirks at me.

  “Well, okay, yes. She’d probably have sex with him, but the guy’s a professional. Sex with the client is against the Bodyguard Code, isn’t it? At least that’s what Kevin Costner said in the movie.”

  “Yeah, right before he slept with Whitney Houston.”

  “Oh yeah, I forgot about that part. But, anyway, never mind. All I meant was the guy’s not at all bummed about his assignment.” I laugh. “He should just get in line—it’s the way everyone reacts to Kat.”

  He laughs. “Yeah, Josh was pretty intrigued.”

  “Really? Aw.”

  “What did Kat think of Josh?”

  “She thought he was... a little Douche-y McDouchey-pants, to be honest.”

  Jonas looks disappointed.

  “Sorry. I think it was the Mickey Mouse roller coaster thing that rubbed her the wrong way.”

  “No doubt.”

  “But I reminded her that you were a cocky-asshole-motherfucker when I first met you, so you never know.”

  “Aw, how sweet.”

  “So how long are you planning to keep paying that guy to watch Kat, anyway?”

  “I don’t know. I hadn’t given it much thought. However long it’s necessary, I guess.”

  I consider his beautiful face for a moment, the earnest expression on it. The kindness in his eyes. “You’re so thoughtful, you know that? You say you’re not a natural to wear a red cape, but I think you sell yourself short.”

  He twists his mouth. “Thank you.” He blushes.

  Oh good Lord, this boy slays me.

  We stare at each other for a l
ong beat. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I’m sure as hell thinking, I love you.

  “If you were Josh, I’d have to slap my face right now,” he finally says.

  “What?” I laugh.

  “Never mind.”

  I look at my watch. Twelve minutes before the start of class. I’d better get my head in the game.

  “Okay, chitchat time over,” I bark. “I’ve gotta get crunked.”

  He laughs. “Do your thing, baby.”

  I go through my pre-class ritual. I put a bottle of water on my desk. I open my laptop and open a new blank document. I pull out my textbook, a spiral notebook, and a ballpoint pen from my book bag. (In case anything goes wrong with my computer, I always like to have a good old-fashioned pen and paper handy during class.) I begin writing today’s date at the top of my notebook page, but my ballpoint pen doesn’t work. Dang it. I rummage into my purse for another one... and discover an envelope. I pull it out, perplexed. Where did this come from? I open it. Inside, there’s a check made payable to me in the amount of two hundred fifty thousand dollars from one Jonas P. Faraday. I can’t breathe. I keep looking from “Sarah Cruz” to “two hundred fifty thousand dollars and no cents.” My brain can’t process what my eyes are seeing.

  My head swivels to look at Jonas.

  He’s engrossed in something on his laptop, totally oblivious to what I’m holding in my hand.

  “Jonas.” I hold up the check with a shaky hand.

  He glances over at me. His cheeks burst with sudden color.

  “Jonas,” I say again. “I can’t. What . . .?”

  I’ve never held this much money in my hand in all my life. I’m trembling. I can’t believe he did this.

  “I didn’t intend for you to find that right now,” he says.

  “Jonas,” I say yet again, my vocabulary apparently having been reduced to the developmental level of a toddler’s. “No.” I can’t accept this from him—but I’m electrified that he wanted to do it for me.

  “Let me explain my thinking on this,” he begins.

  “I couldn’t possibly accept—”

  “Just hear me out, Sarah.”

  My mouth hangs open. This is crazy.

  “You were right. Anything could happen in the next six months. You could decide I’m too fucked up for you, after all. You could get bored with me. You could decide I don’t give you enough space... or that I’m not able to express my feelings the way you need me to... Or that I’m too intense.” He swallows hard. “Anything could happen. But no matter what might happen between us, I want to make your dreams come true, regardless—even if it turns out I’m not destined to be a part of them.

  “So this money is yours, Sarah, whether or not you wind up winning that scholarship, whether or not you wind up wanting to be with me. Put it in your bank account. It’s yours from this moment forward, no strings attached. If you get the scholarship and don’t need the money for school, then use it for something else that will make your life easier. Donate it to your mom’s charity, whatever. But if you don’t get the scholarship, then use it to pay for your schooling. Given who you are and what you plan to do when you graduate, this money will ultimately wind up making the world a better place, either way.”

  I burst into tears.

  “Don’t cry. I did it to make you smile—not to make you cry.”

  I can’t speak. I’m too overwhelmed with emotion.

  “Oh, baby, don’t cry.”

  It’s several minutes before I can carry on a coherent conversation.

  “But why so much?” I ask. “It’s so much money, Jonas—too much. Even if I were going to accept tuition from you, which I’m not saying I’m going to do, I could never, ever accept this. This is crazy.”

  “Well, now, think about it for a minute. You’ve got student loans for this first year, right?”

  I nod.

  “And then you’ve got tuition for years two and three, if the scholarship doesn’t pan out. Plus, you’ll have to pay taxes on the money—and trust me, taxes are a bitch. You’ll be shocked about how much of this will go to Uncle Sam.”

  I wipe my eyes, shaking.

  “It’s really not an excessive amount, considering all that.”

  I’m speechless.

  He reaches over to me and strokes a lock of my hair. “I didn’t pick that amount at random, Sarah.” He flashes me mournful eyes. “It’s my penance.”

  I shake my head. He owes me nothing—least of all penance. When I whispered into his ear about his “penance” last night in bed, I was just being naughty. This man owes no penance to anyone, least of all to me.

  “I’m ashamed I was willing to pay that ridiculous sum to feed my demons. Maybe this small gesture will help balance out my karmic ledger somehow. Or, at least, help me clear my conscience.”

  Tears gush out of my eyes.

  “Good actions give strength to ourselves and inspire good actions in others,” he says.

  I grin through my tears. “Plato?”

  “Plato.”

  I take a deep, shaky, tearful breath. “Thank you so much, Jonas. There are no words to describe how grateful I am. You’re a beautiful person, inside and out. But—”

  “No but. Please. Just say yes. Just once in your goddamned life do what I want you to do, woman.” His voice is tender. “Please. I beg you, don’t be a pain in the ass this time. I need to do this.”

  I’m gaping like a fish on a line. This money would change my life, there’s no question about it. But it’s just too much to accept. I look into his eyes, perhaps searching for a sign—something to guide me in my decision-making—and I see love in his eyes. Pure, unadulterated and unconditional love.

  “Jonas,” I whisper, my head swirling.

  “Sarah, I insist,” he says, softly. And then he graces me with his most dazzling Jonas Faraday smile.

  I laugh despite my tears. What mortal could possibly resist this man?

  “Oh, well, if you insist,” I say.

  He smiles.

  I shake my head. “Just give me tonight to sleep on it,” I say. I put the check back into my purse. “It’s just so much money.” I put my hand on his cheek. “My sweet Jonas.”

  I lean forward to kiss him. His lips are magical. I love him with all my heart and soul. I don’t know what secrets and pain he continues to harbor deep inside himself, and I don’t care—whatever it is, we’ll excavate it together. However long it takes, however slowly he needs to go, we’ll take it one step at a time. We’ve got all the time in the world, after all. I’m not going anywhere. I wipe my eyes and my fingers come away blackened with mascara.

  “Oh, jeez,” I say. “Tell me the truth—does my face looks like the BP oil spill right now?”

  He laughs. “No, not at all. You look beautiful.”

  “I’ll be right back.” I stand.

  Jonas stands, too. “I’ll come with you.”

  “Oh my God, Jonas. The restroom is literally right outside the door—right on the other side of the hallway. Relax. I’ll pop in there, pee really fast, wash my face, blow my nose, and come right back here in record time. I promise. I’ll be greased lightning. Sit down.” I grab my purse, just in case I want to reapply a little mascara after I clean myself up.

  He vacillates.

  I throw up my hands. “You can’t come into the women’s restroom with me, Jonas. This is a college campus. They’ll put up posters warning students there’s a crazy bathroom stalker on the loose. Come on, babe. I know you’re paranoid, but please try not to be crazy paranoid.”

  He sighs. “Hang on.”

  I watch as he strides to the back of the classroom, pokes his head out the door, looks up and down the hallway five or six times, and comes back.

  “Okay. All clear.” He grins. “I can never be too careful when it comes to protecting my precious baby.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’ll be right back.” I kiss the top of his head. “And when I come back, I want you to move to the back of the
classroom, okay? This whole I-can’t-go-anywhere-without-my-hot-boyfriend thing is starting to embarrass me.”

  Chapter 23

  Sarah

  “Oh jeez,” I mutter aloud, looking at myself in the bathroom mirror. Despite what Jonas said, my face does, in fact, look like an oil slick.

  That check from Jonas really threw me for a loop. I can’t remember the last time geysers spontaneously shot out of my eyes like that. It was like I’d been crowned Miss America, received a marriage proposal, given birth to quintuplets, and won the power ball lottery all at once. I’ve got so many emotions bouncing around inside my body right now, I can’t think straight. The only coherent thought I can muster is, “I love you, Jonas,” over and over. Damn, that boy is a dream come true.

  I turn on the faucet and splash cold water onto my eyes and scrub the errant mascara off my face. I grab a paper towel and wipe my face dry and then blow my runny nose. I’m a train wreck. A mushy pile of goo. The luckiest girl in the world.

  I pull a tube of lip gloss out of my purse and apply a little shimmer to my lips. Meh, I think I’ll skip reapplying mascara—at the rate I’m going, I’m sure that wasn’t my last good cry of the day.

  I head into one of two empty stalls, lock the stall door, and sit down to pee.

  I hear the bathroom door open. Footsteps enter the room and stop. No one enters the empty stall next to me. That’s weird. Whoever she is, why is she waiting on my stall when there’s an empty one?

  I bend over to peek underneath the partition, but I can’t see all the way to the door from this angle. I’d have to get down on my hands and knees to see that far. But there’s definitely another human being in this bathroom with me. I wait. No more footsteps. Why is my bathroom buddy standing just inside the door? Did she stop to look for a tampon in her purse? Or is my stealthy bathroom visitor my gorgeous but highly paranoid boyfriend checking up on me?

  “Jonas?”

  There’s no reply.

  “If that’s you, wait for me outside, you creeper-weirdo.”

  I hear the lock on the bathroom door click.