Unmistaken Identity

by Marie Johnston

  Where was her dad? Another nasty divorce where the father hadn’t stuck around?

  He couldn’t afford to feel sympathy toward her. Mara was no better than his mother, going after Sam for money. But, in many other ways, Mara was way better than his gold-digging, heartless mom. He hadn’t witnessed one rude comment from Mara, not to someone’s face, not behind their back. Mara’s possessions were cared for, even if they weren’t high-end. His mother blasted through clothing and jewelry for the sake of her image.

  But then Sam probably hadn’t seen that side of Wes’s mom when he’d first met her, either.

  Mara kicked a foot against her leg and stirred. “When we found out what the cause was, we thought, okay, we can do this. Some people live a full life for decades.”

  His breath stalled. The rest of her story wasn’t going to be good.

  “But her relapses grew more frequent, more debilitating. Treatment helped, but eventually she grew so disabled I couldn’t take care of her by myself. She can barely walk.” She clicked off the stove and pulled out a couple of plates.

  The patterns didn’t match. Who had mismatched dishes?

  Eggs were piled onto his plate. She plucked some grapes out for each of them.

  “Voila.” She sat in the chair opposite him, tension dulling her eyes.

  “Where does she live then?” He should quit asking. Her mom’s health obviously bothered her, and he no longer doubted her mom was really in the hospital.

  “A nursing home one of my customers recommended. It’s been excellent for Mom. Her health is better with routine care and a steady diet.”

  They ate in silence. He thought of his mother and how she’d kill herself before she allowed him to put her into a home. She threatened suicide all the time. Wes suspected she thought of new and unique ways to off herself. The typical ways people killed themselves would be too gauche for Jennifer Robson.

  Dehydrate herself and sit hours in the spa’s sauna. Fabricate a parasailing accident in the Bahamas. Puffer fish poisoning. Crushed by a rack of designer clothing.

  It’d be in a way that wouldn’t appear to be her fault. People would utter that poor woman and talk about her for weeks, months if his mom planned it right.

  “What do your parents do?” Mara’s question was hesitant. Was she searching for family money?

  My mom is a viper who lives off of whoever will feed her gourmet handouts. “My dad passed away and my mom…does whatever. We’re not close.”

  Sympathy filled her gaze, but it didn’t make him uncomfortable. It wasn’t the I’m sorry your dad wanted nothing to do with you and passed away look. Or the poor kid, left with the bat-shit crazy mother one. She genuinely felt bad he’d lost the parental lottery.

  “I didn’t know my dad.” She shrugged and stabbed at her eggs. “Sperm donor.”

  “I feel like you’re fortunate. To know your dad and then lose him…it’s hard.” He wasn’t talking about Sam’s death, either. Going from spending all weekend playing games, watching movies, and hanging out to almost zero contact hit a kid where it hurt. Wes didn’t know what he’d done wrong, what his mother had done that was so horrible a man would cut off his child without explanation. Only as Wes had gotten older had Sam treated him more like a business partner and probably only because Sam had had no one to leave his empire to.

  “I can’t imagine how hard it must be. That’s what I’m going to experience with Mom and—” She sniffled and pushed back from the table. “Sorry. I don’t want to ruin a wonderful morning by bawling. Finish your food. I need to grab a few items before we go.”

  His appetite was gone. At least he’d eaten most of his food. Her plate was half full, but she carried it to the sink anyway and left.

  He picked up his plate and went to set it beside hers, but paused. Should food be left sitting on the counter? It never sat on his, but all he did was heat up his portions. Ms. Gibbons took care of the rest and his counters sparkled when she was through. And his kitchen sink didn’t leak like hers.

  Locating the garbage, he dumped the remnants and went in search of Mara.

  He found her in the only other room of the house he hadn’t been in. Another square room, only with superhero posters lining the walls. Mara was sifting through the DVDs lining a shelf.

  “Got a thing for Batgirl?”

  She spun around with a gasp. “For a big guy, you move quietly.”

  Four disk cases lay in a pile and a portable DVD player was at her feet.

  “Wouldn’t a tablet be easier to cart around and watch movies on?” He wandered around the room, studying the posters.

  “Yes, but these are already purchased and I can send them back to the nursing home with her.”

  Why didn’t her mom have her own tablet with movies on it? They only cost a few hundred dollars.

  Her cupboards were full of cheap food and the house barely broke four digits in square footage. A few hundred dollars meant more to Mara than to him. He could go out and buy all the tablets sold in the Twin Cities and not even flinch, yet Mara couldn’t afford one.

  For the first time, he felt a twinge that he’d done something wrong. His bottom line wouldn’t miss the strip mall that much, and he’d recover the loss with his other endeavors quickly enough. The tenants who’d move into the high-end condo he had planned would be financially well-off whether or not he built them a luxury home, but Mara would be out of an income stream. And that not only affected her but her mother.

  But that was how women like Mara worked. Prey on men’s sympathies, tug their heart strings. He shook himself out of his musings. He wasn’t responsible for Mara’s financial decisions and he’d never condone conning hardworking people out of their property.

  “As for Batgirl,” Mara retrieved her items and dropped them into a tote, “this used to be my old room and I was all about girl power growing up.”

  “Explains Supergirl, too.” He indicated the other poster hanging up.

  “Exactly.” She flashed him a smile and he saw the impish little girl who used to envision herself in powerful female superheroes.

  “Then why Star Wars?” He indicated the disks she’d packed.

  “Remember, I’m named after Mara Jade Skywalker.”

  He broke out in a grin. “You, too. I was named after—”

  Whoa. He’d almost said his real name.

  Her head tilted as she waited for him to finish.

  “Uh, I lost my train of thought. I can’t remember the story of where I got my name, but it wasn’t from Star Wars.” Star Trek and he didn’t dare say even that. She was smart enough to connect the dots. Named after a Trek character, a rich guy in sales with a driver, and a dad who’d recently passed away. Had Sam ever told her he’d named his son after Wesley Crusher from The Next Generation?

  “Sam. Hmm.” She tapped her chin. “I can’t think of where that could be from, either. I’d have to know your parents’ tastes. Lord of the Rings? Samwise Gamgee, perhaps?”

  His parents’ tastes were awful. Why his mom hadn’t named him Bentley or Tommy Hilfiger, he couldn’t guess. Maybe Jennifer had actually loved Sam once.

  “Before we get going, do you want to go out one night this week?” What did people do on real dates? His dates knew sex was all he was interested in, but he needed to see Mara again—but not at work. Would she keep storming into his office building, demanding a meeting?

  Her eyes brightened. “Sure. Catch a movie or something?”

  The way she hung onto the tote, gripped in front of her in both hands, she looked so girlish and full of hope. Like she thought this might be a relationship that was going somewhere. On his end, nothing had changed. He wanted answers—why Sam? Had she targeted him from the beginning? Had her run-in with his dad at the convention truly been a coincidence? Had the location of her comic book shop been a calculated move because she’d known a single old man owned the place?

  “What movie?” He hadn’t been to one in years. Sometimes, Flynn and a few of the guys
came over to watch a show in his home theater, but it was rare for all of them to have time off together.

  “I’ve been wanting to see the new Avengers.”

  He cocked an eyebrow and scanned her posters. “A DC girl wants to go to a Marvel movie?”

  “It’s my job.” She started for the door and he followed her all the way out to the car. “Have you ever been into Arcadia?”

  “I haven’t. My work doesn’t take me by there too often.” He almost went as far as saying he’d never heard of Arcadia, but he’d been obsessed with it since going through his father’s documents after he died; the lie would be too easy to slip up on. Until his father’s passing, that whole strip mall had been nothing but an eyesore he couldn’t believe Sam had hung onto.

  She tossed him the keys. “You’ll have to stop by so I can show you around before it closes.”

  “I think I will.” For the satisfaction of seeing her clearing her shelves and filling packing boxes.

  Chapter Seven

  Mara blasted the display case with cleaner. If it weren’t for the fact that 60 percent of the clientele were grown-ass men, she’d swear fifteen preschoolers had been pawing the glass.

  She scrubbed the greasy prints off and blew a pink bubble half the size of her head with her gum. It made the most satisfying smack when it popped.

  “Good one.” Chris, her only employee, was sorting and organizing titles behind her.

  “Thank you.”

  They were both subdued. She’d just had the shut-down talk with him before they opened.

  She eyed her work. Stalling, that’s what she was doing.

  “I guess I’d better go make those signs.” She straightened and wrapped her arms around herself. Her store wasn’t chilly, but a gray cloud hung over her now when she was in it. No more orders. No more excitement about opening more days, hiring more workers, thinking of new ways to expand and stock and broaden their services.

  “Mara.” Chris shoved a comic into a box. He must be upset; he never mistreated a comic book.

  She studied him while she waited for him to continue. Normally, he could pass for late twenties, with his rich brown eyes and shaggy blond hair, but his pensive expression aged him until he looked every day of his thirty-seven years.

  Still not old, but not the guy who normally came to work with the enthusiasm of a seven-year-old.

  He stared hard at the box in front of him, his hands settled on his hips. “Would you mind if I did some checking?”

  “On what?”

  If Chris wanted to check on something, she’d let him. He was only the third person she’d ever hired, but he was fantastic. Smart, organized, knowledgeable, responsible. The two employees before him had possessed one or two of those traits. No application had been required for Chris. He’d come in to shop, they’d gotten to talking, he’d wanted a lower-stress job—boom. Employee of the year.

  “I still know some people on the city council. One of my good friends is in zoning and planning. Let me talk to her.” He blew out a breath and raised his gaze.

  “Still know? You used to work for the city?”

  He nodded. “I was on the council, but life got in the way. I finished my term and had to step back. Anyway, it’s a long shot, but it wouldn’t hurt to ensure Mr. Robson has the permits he needs.”

  Don’t get my hopes up. “Because he’s planning housing along with a new retail center?”

  Chris bobbed his head. “With his money, I’m sure his people know what they’re doing, but what-if?”

  Yeah, what-if?

  The door dinged and Ephraim breezed in. “Hey, guys.”

  Mara mustered a smile for Ephraim.

  He slowed and glanced back and forth between her and Chris. “Y’all okay? There’s a heavy vibe in here.”

  Chris looked at her, waiting for her lead. Mara explained everything to Ephraim, including the almost-papers that would’ve handed her the mall.

  “So the three stores in this place, Arcadia, New Treads, and McGuilley’s Drink, have to shut down or find new locations.” Shaking her hair out of her face, she continued, “I can’t afford to relocate, so Arcadia’s doors are closing.”

  Chris’s brows shot up. “What about if you and I went into business together?”

  Mara’s heart slammed, then raced as if the men had backed her into a corner. She covered her reaction with a sad smile. “Thanks for the offer, but I put everything I could spare into this place. The rest is dedicated to medical bills. You could strike out on your own.”

  As much as she liked Chris, a partnership with any man would give him the chance to use her again. Not enough capital, and he’d have the upper hand. If she ran into problems with her mom again and Chris had to take over, what would she have to do to get her share of the store back?

  We need to talk about your grades, Mara. You can’t complete your degree without this class and you mentioned not being able to afford another semester. Let’s go in my office and talk.

  Chris wasn’t her college professor, but she hadn’t allowed herself enough therapy to go into business with him. Being a business owner was more than a professional endeavor, it was survival. Sam Robson had almost restored her faith that a man could have an authoritative role over her and not abuse it, but his son had torn it back down.

  At least Wesley Robson wasn’t degrading her body while he did it.

  Chris’s face fell, but his expression turned contemplative. “If I did open my own place, I would definitely pick your brains for advice. But I wouldn’t move forward unless you were sure you couldn’t reboot Arcadia.”

  “That’s considerate, but I really need to think about what I want to be when I grow up.” Get a job. Have a boss. She’d look for a female boss. But what if the female supervisor was replaced by a male?

  Ugh. Mara might have to kick in a few bucks for a couple more therapy sessions before she started interviewing.

  During their exchange, Ephraim hadn’t said a word. Nor had he moved. His dark eyes were narrowed on nothing, like he was thinking hard. “How close was Sam to completing the paperwork to give you this building?”

  Mara frowned. “No clue. He was going to sell it to me, actually. For a dollar.”

  Ephraim’s eyes flared wide. “You could file a lawsuit against Robson Industries for falling through on the deal. If he told his closest advisors about his plans and reasoning, just maybe the judge would be sympathetic.”

  “That’d cost a fortune.” Chris’s dubious expression had to match Mara’s own. “And it’s almost guaranteed she’ll lose.”

  Her heart ached at the loss. Sam would’ve been so disappointed her store didn’t survive.

  “Sam loved this place.” Her voice was almost a whisper.

  “Why?” Ephraim’s eyes were bright. “Did he tell you? It’s the why that matters most.”

  She clamped down before she said why. Guessing only from what Sam had said, it was because of his son and what had gone down during the ugly divorce, and she wasn’t the person to fling dirty laundry in public.

  “He didn’t give me specifics. I think it reminded him of better times, and he sympathized with my situation.”

  Ephraim waved it off. “We’ll be a pest regardless. As for the cost, let me approach my firm about taking it on pro bono.”

  Her eyes widened and she stepped back. “No, I couldn’t.”

  He’d grown to be her friend, and she knew he was a lawyer, but not that he was the top dog of a law office. Ephraim and Chris were not Dr. Johannsen, and she couldn’t let another man’s actions define theirs. Besides, they were more like surrogate fathers, like her old friend Sam had been. But being beholden to a man sent fear racing through her. And what about Ephraim’s job?

  She shook her head. “Wouldn’t angering Wesley Robson be a bad career move for you and the lawyers you work with?”

  His expression hardened. “Keeping greedy people like him in check is exactly what my firm’s objective is. Did you hear about New York?
” At their blank looks he continued. “He had eight people arrested and rumor has it, he’s in a bidding war for the property next door. I hope someone’s richer than him, otherwise he’ll control that whole neighborhood.”

  Chris snapped his fingers. “Is that the place with the low-end housing? He has big plans to revamp the neighborhood. No one currently residing there could afford to live there anymore.”

  Ephraim turned a beseeching look on Mara. “I’d love to say I have altruistic goals, but it’d be a career high if I could raise Wesley Robson’s blood pressure. That man has more money and power than he deserves.”

  Mara contemplated her options. Do nothing or go down swinging. How much would she owe Chris and Ephraim? They had both offered to help. She could walk away at any time. But she wouldn’t. She might not have a leg to stand on, but she didn’t need to make it easy.

  ***

  Wes stood, glaring out the window of his office. Arcadia had two cars parked in front of it. The shoe store had just as many and the pub didn’t open until the evening. What had Sam been thinking, letting that place stand?

  “It would seem we have a slight problem with one of the permits.”

  Wes spun around to face Franklin.

  Unperturbed, Franklin pushed his glasses up and refocused on the documents in front of him. “It’s a minor matter, but it may push the demo date back.”

  Wes snorted. He didn’t care. Arcadia had to evacuate in less than five weeks regardless. “You’ve taken care of all involved?”

  “I have. There will be fees.”

  A hazard of the business. “What’s the rest, Franklin?”

  His somber assistant had been especially subdued all morning. If Franklin weren’t the best at what he did, and trustworthy, Wes wouldn’t have kept him on. For something to bother Franklin, it bothered Wes—only if it was about work.

  Franklin sighed and folded his hands. “I’ve been contacted by a legal firm. Johnson, Harwood, and Crest have launched a lawsuit against Robson Industries about the unresolved sale of the Heart of Downtown Mall.”