by Layla Frost
Cole: What?
Me: Backstreet Boys are on the oldies stations now.
Cole: Shit.
I pocketed my phone and turned back to Serrano. “Call me if anything comes up, otherwise I’ll see you this weekend.”
I walked through the other restaurants and the food court in Moonlight.
And just as I knew they’d be, all were spotless.
_______________
A Week Later
Looking up at the knock on my door, I called, “Come in.”
Marco opened the door and came in. “Keyboard ain’t her thing, boss.”
I wasn’t surprised. While she’d used the art supplies for hours, the keyboard had gone untouched after the first day.
“She want lessons?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Apparently listening to music is more fun than trying to make it. She’s worried about pissing you off, so she said she was going to work at it.”
His displeasure was clear.
Even after being there as long as she had, she was still skittish. She walked on eggshells. Worst of fucking all, there were times when she braced like she was preparing to get hit. Like she had experience with that.
And I was willing to bet her piece-of-shit father was to blame.
I’d long ago stopped wondering why Juliet didn’t hate me for killing him. The more I learned about her life before me, the more it made sense. One day when she trusted me, I’d make her tell me everything.
And then I’d dig the bastard up and find a way to kill him again.
“Tell her we can return it. No harm, no foul,” I said.
“On it.”
“Has she said what she wants next?”
He shook his head. “I get the feeling she thinks she’s pushed it enough already.”
“Find out and get it for her.”
“On it,” he repeated, leaving the room.
Sweet little dove, still so fucking broken.
Juliet
One Week Later
“To a B.” Ash lifted his Diet Coke float that was mostly vanilla ice cream with only a few drops of Diet Coke.
Sitting on the kitchen counter, I raised my float that was heavy on the Diet Coke and ice cream. “To being done with ratios!”
Vera and Freddy added theirs, clinking the glasses.
“Units of measurement and fractions will be better anyway,” Ash said, holding in a smile that his dimples betrayed. “We’ll get started tomorrow.”
I dropped my head back. “Whhhhhy? Just let me enjoy my treat and pretend we’re done with math forever.”
“Just think,” Freddy said, making quick work of his float instead of savoring it like I was. “Once you learn those, you’ll know how to double and triple ingredients to bake cookies with me.”
Few things could get me excited about math, but cookies did it. Especially if they were sugar cookies coated with sprinkles.
My gaze shot to Ash. “Want to dive in when we’re done? Maybe we can knock off the whole section in one afternoon.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Fine,” I drawled.
Conversation moved from math to the much more exciting topic of favorite cookies. I didn’t speak as I soaked in the happiness surrounding me.
Vera, Ash, and Freddy had busy lives. They had better things to do than to hang around the kitchen, drinking Diet Coke floats with me.
But they took the time to do it anyway. They noticed my hard work and celebrated my accomplishments, even if it was only a B. I’d never had that before, and it made me feel like Freddy’s hot coffee was in my veins, warming me from the inside out.
Conversation cut off as the kitchen door opened suddenly.
Wearing his signature suit and cold expression, Maximo walked to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water before leaning his hip on the counter near where I sat.
I wasn’t expecting to see him. I actually rarely saw him. If he wasn’t at work, he was locked away in his home office.
But at his nearness, shame and arousal bloomed through me in equal measure.
“What’s your favorite cookie, boss?” Ash asked.
I figured he’d say none since he wasn’t big on snacks, but after a long moment, he said, “Chocolate chip, but only the chewy kind.”
“A classic. Though thin and crunchy is superior.” Freddy set his empty cup in the sink and checked his watch. “I’ve got to run. I’m training the chefs not to butcher my beautiful risotto recipe.”
Ash scraped the last of his ice cream before adding his cup to the sink. “I’ve gotta get going, too.” He paused to give my shoulder a squeeze. “Good job again, Juliet,” he said before following Freddy out the door.
Even Ms. Vera was suddenly hellbent on escape, putting down her barely touched float. “That laundry isn’t going to fold itself.”
Oh no, I wonder if they’re in trouble.
I was sure Maximo paid them a lot to do their jobs, not drink floats with me. Maybe he was mad they were sitting around on the clock.
But when I caught a glimpse of Ms. Vera’s profile, it wasn’t fear or nervousness on her face. It was her sly smile.
What’s that about?
Before I could ask, she rushed out like the safety of the world depended on her folding laundry right that second.
Leaving me.
With Maximo.
Alone in a giant kitchen that suddenly seemed the size of a broom closet.
Before I could make my escape, Maximo asked, “You like the dress?”
Suddenly forgetting what I was even wearing, I glanced down at the casual skater dress. It’d been left on my bed a few days before with a note from Maximo congratulating me on the A I’d gotten on a Geography test—one of my strengths thanks to having moved so much.
It wasn’t the first time I’d been surprised with a gift for a good grade. Like the float celebration, it wasn’t the items themselves, but the thought behind them that meant so much.
“I love it,” I told him, “but you don’t have to—”
“Say thank you, Juliet.”
At his tone, my body tightened in a not unpleasant way and a tremor ran down my spine. My hands grew so clammy, I worried my drink would slip from my hold. I did as he ordered, my voice airy and softer than intended. “Thank you.”
He didn’t respond as he eyed me with an unreadable expression.
The room no longer felt like a broom closet. It was even smaller. And someone had sucked all the air from it. There was none left. That was why I was suddenly lightheaded and breathless.
I needed to get out before Maximo heard how embarrassingly loud my heart pounded.
Or before his too sharp eyes noticed the effect he had on me.
Gripping my cup, I started to slide off the counter. “I’m going to get started on—”
His tattooed hand came down on my bare thigh, his fingers curling around to keep me in place and send a rush of emotion—and inappropriate arousal—through me.
My wide eyes shot to his arctic dark ones.
“Stay and finish your ice cream,” he ordered—calm, collected, and unaware of the riot he’d started within me. “You earned it.”
His hold tightened before he removed his hand and stalked out.
Holy.
Shit.
I had work to do, but I wasn’t sure I could walk on my Jell-O legs or focus on anything other than the phantom sensation of his hand on me.
Staying where I was, I grabbed Freddy’s handwritten recipe book and flipped through to the baking section.
And then, for reasons I didn’t want to acknowledge, I searched for chewy chocolate chip cookies.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The One with Even More Time Jumps
Maximo
One Month Later
WALKING AROUND THE empty makeshift arena, I double checked that everything was in place.
It was going to be a wild night.
If boxing at Moonlight brought out everyone’s primal side, t
he matches I held at the warehouse brought out their basest instincts.
No-holds-barred.
No bet restrictions.
No regulations.
The first two bouts were amateur. It gave my guests a sneak peek at up-and-coming fighters. Ones who were desperate for a sponsor to get them on the map.
And the rich motherfuckers who would pack the seats were desperate to live vicariously through them.
The event was exclusive. No one got through without an invite. Every guest had to be vetted. Security was tight and unbreachable.
That VIP feeling, the knowledge they were a have and not a have-not, added to the night. As did the less-than-ideal surroundings. It was dirty and raw.
Wrong.
The illegalness was the high the bastards needed to feel something again.
Checking out the other side, Serrano met me in the middle. He gave a low whistle. “It’s going to be a moneymaker. Ortiz said one of the guests has already dropped a couple hundred grand at the blackjack tables.”
“Good. Hopefully he’s got enough left to lose here, too.”
The heavy door opened, and my hand went to my Glock until I saw it was Ash.
“One of your VIPs at Nebula wants a meeting with you,” he called to me.
“Handle it.”
Because I sure as hell don’t want to.
“I tried, but he insists on talking to the big boss.”
I dragged my hand down my face.
All my properties were upscale, but Nebula was my luxury resort. It was the best of the best, which was why it cost a fucking shit-ton to stay in a basic room. A night in one of the suites or penthouses was more than most people’s mortgage for a couple months.
The majority of my guests were happy to make their own trouble, but there was always one who wanted to feel like the ultimate VIP.
“Did he say what he wanted?” I asked.
“No, which means Mr. Dicky-doo probably wants pussy, dick, drugs, or all three at the same time.”
“Mr. Dicky-doo?” Serrano stupidly asked.
“It’s when his stomach sticks out more than his dicky do.”
“Fucking hell,” I muttered, shaking my head.
Ash smirked, but it was about more than giving me the heebie-fucking-jeebies.
I almost didn’t want to ask. “What else?”
“She wants to learn to cook with Freddy,” he shared, not having to say who he was referring to.
The same she I hadn’t allowed myself to see—in person, at least. Not since I’d fucked up by wrapping my hand around her thigh, finally feeling her soft skin.
“I’ll have a different chef come by,” I said.
“Tried that. She wants to cook with Freddy.”
I scowled.
Between his kitchen skills and his accent, Freddy had women throwing themselves at him. He could get even more if he was so inclined, but his passion was food.
I trusted him, but I still didn’t like the idea of her spending time with him. And his accent. In his kitchen.
Especially when I knew how easy it was to lose control in there with her.
It was wrong to be jealous, but it was there like a punch to the gut.
“Fine,” I gritted out. “Tell him to keep his damn hands to himself.”
“Already done.”
“Then why’re you here?”
His smirk spread to a shit-eating grin. “And miss seeing your panties in a twist about it?”
“You’re fired,” I said though he didn’t look fazed.
“Worth it.” Heading toward the door, he called over his shoulder, “Don’t forget to deal with Mr. Dicky-doo. I’ll text you his room number.”
Fucking Christ.
I need a vacation on an island with no cell service and a supply of whiskey…
And a pretty dove.
Juliet
Three Weeks Later
I did it.
I stared at the screen, blinking rapidly to see if it changed. When everything remained the same, I rubbed my eyes.
Still the same.
Even pinching myself didn’t change anything.
I graduated.
Not gray-area-graduated or symbolic-graduated.
I actually graduated from Melbrook Academy.
Mr. Reed may have finessed logistics behind the scenes, but working morning, noon, and night had earned me the credits. And all my studying had prepared me for finals.
I’d been stalking the online grades, and they finally posted.
“Well?” Ash asked from the doorway.
I’d planned to give him the sad face and pretend I’d failed. But when it came time to execute my prank, I was too excited.
Jumping out of my seat, I turned the computer to face him. “I passed!”
“Even math?”
I’d cut it close with a seventy-six, but didn’t matter—a pass was a pass was a pass.
A huge grin split my face, making my cheeks hurt. “Even math!”
Ash came over and pulled me into a bear hug. “Proud of you.”
Maybe it was because I hadn’t ever heard those words before.
Maybe it was because I was so damn happy.
Maybe it was because I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had hugged me.
Or maybe it was just because Ash had worked hard to find a teaching method that clicked in my brain and then had busted his ass to make sure I could pass.
Whatever the reason, tears streamed down my face as I choked out, “Thank you for helping me.”
He pulled away to grip my shoulders. “Hey, this was all you. You were so determined, you’d have done it with or without me.”
I laughed and hiccupped, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand.
There was a throat clearing behind him, and he dropped his hands like my shoulders had burned him.
When Ash moved to the side, I saw Maximo standing on the other side of the table, his arms crossed over his broad chest. “Well?”
When I didn’t answer, Ash nudged me. “Tell him.”
“I passed,” I said, grinning despite being completely intimidated by Maximo and his brooding black eyes.
“Everything?”
“Everything. Mr. Reed said I’ve officially met the criteria to graduate.”
“Reed keeps his knees then,” Maximo said, as if that were a normal comment.
At the reminder of all he’d done for me—from extorting… er, utilizing Mr. Reed’s debt, to buying my supplies, to roping Ash into helping—I did something stupid.
Rounding the table, I got into his space and wrapped my arms around him. I hugged him.
His body was rigid and his arms were still crossed.
I didn’t care.
In that moment, the hug was for the hugger, not the huggee.
He uncrossed his arms and lowered them to grip my waist. I thought he was going to shove me away, but his palms slid to my back as he wrapped his arms around me and returned my embrace. “I’m proud of you, little dove.”
Ash hugging me and telling me he was proud had meant a lot.
Maximo hugging me and telling me he was proud meant the world.
Letting me go, he backed away. “Do you want to walk the stage? I’ll arrange it with Reed.”
I’d had to physically go into Melbrook Academy to take the proctored final exams. The kids had gawked and whispered, and the overwhelming smell of Axe body spray had given me a headache.
I had no interest in walking the stage with people I didn’t know in front of an audience of strangers.
“No,” I said. “I’m good.”
“You’ll still celebrate,” he stated, sounding more like a threat than a plan.
“I’m going to ask Freddy to teach me his mac and cheese recipe and then beg him to make me funfetti cake.”
Freddy had said it was an abomination against his French ancestry, but I’d graduated. That had to count for something, right?
“He’ll do it,” Maximo said,
his tone again making the words sound like a threat. He gave Ash his attention. “Ready?”
Ash nodded but shot me another smile. “Congrats again, Juliet.”
“Thanks.”
I watched them leave before plopping onto the chair.
Well, shit. Now what do I do?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Last One with The Time Jumps
Juliet
Four Months Later
WELL, DAMN. THIS sucks.
After showering, I’d gone into my closet to get dressed, only to find a couple new items. It wasn’t the first time, but it never failed to surprise me.
One of the outfits was a gray romper I’d immediately tried on, but the fit was all wrong. I was too petite, so everything hit at the wrong spots.
Frowning, I checked myself out in the mirror to see if it was really as bad as I thought.
It was worse.
I looked like a kid wearing her older sister’s clothes.
Actually, thanks to the weird poofiness at the butt, I looked like a toddler with a full diaper.
Maybe I can ask to have it altered.
Or maybe I can alter it…
I had no clue if I could even do it. It’d been a while since I’d sewn anything—and that’d just been small mending or patching jobs.
But it’d also been a while since I’d tried a new hobby. I was getting restless.
After finding out I’d graduated, I’d looked up some colleges. I hadn’t known how the logistics would work since I was a penniless minor, but it hadn’t mattered. I’d been far too late to apply for fall semester. Without school to focus on, I’d rotated through a variety of hobbies I’d never had time or money to try.
I’d given the keyboard another shot, that time with lessons from a patient music teacher. It hadn’t taken long to figure out lack of instruction hadn’t been the problem.
Not by a long, badly-rhythmed mile.
I’d practically handcuffed myself with yarn when I’d tried knitting.
Crocheting had been better, but not by much. Even going slow with a video guide, my scarf was less scarfy and more knots and tangles forming an abstract rectangle.
Freddy had taught me to cook and bake some basics—including chewy chocolate chip cookies.
It was time to try something new.
