by Fiona Keane
I imagined that if I allowed Julian Molloy into my apartment, he might tie me up and torture me for something I didn’t do. Or maybe he would shoot me and end it all. To be on the safe side, I pulled a pillow over my head, because if he was going to shoot me, I didn’t want to watch it happen.
Why isn’t he coming in? Sure, I had two deadbolts, but this guy clearly knew how to pick some locks and probably murder people without neighbors knowing. Why else would he carry a gun around and know where I was tonight?
I couldn’t hear him anymore, but I was terrified to leave my bed. I held the pillow over my head for at least two hours. I measured time by the program change blasting from my neighbor’s television, as sound returned to my ears. The eleven o’clock news began with its cheery jingle, informing me my neighbors would be going to bed in the next half hour. It was beyond pathetic that I knew the routine of my elderly neighbors, but when one is confined to their own predictable routine, life gets…predictable.
When the television clicked off, I wiggled from beneath my pillow and listened to the soundtrack of my building; snoring seniors on one side, crying toddler on the other, obnoxious sex fiends above me. Things seemed as they should be. I hesitantly glanced around my apartment, having seen too many movies and half expecting Julian to be leaning against a doorway, cutting an apple with a knife or sitting in my chair and pointing his gun, just waiting for my guard to drop. This guy scares the hell out of me. And thanks to my dearest Elliott, we were doing business with the Molloy family.
I woke the following morning to my buzzing phone alarm as it hummed from my coat pocket, tickling my thigh since I hadn’t found the courage to take off my coat before falling asleep sitting up against the side of my mattress. My neck is killing me. Hey, speaking of killing me…I’m alive!
Still worried about a likely murderer waiting inside my apartment, I was slow and cautious when getting up and searching every possible nook and hiding place before taking off my coat. My alarm rang three times, reminding me it was time for my buns to move. I crawled from the floor, depositing layers of clothing in my wake. I would have successfully made it into the bathroom for a much-needed shower had I not looked down and seen the envelope protruding beneath my apartment door.
I pulled it into my unit with my toes, not wanting to risk anyone grabbing my fingers. It was a heavy cardstock envelope, lined with bright gold inside, containing a single card with a phone number written on it. Right; a suicide call. Not happening, sir. Now that Julian Molloy knew where I lived, where I worked, and expected me to call him, I could not escape. All I wanted to do was disobey his command and call the police. Someone needed to know Malcolm had broken my restraining order. Someone did.
***
Sunday was always a storm of activity at the coffee shop, but I took my time getting there anyway. If Elliott knew the circumstances for my lethargic mood, he wouldn’t fire me. I was bundled for the weather, only my eyes threatened by the blustery winter wind as I walked to work. As I approached the intersection across from the coffee shop, all blood left my frigid core when I saw he was standing in the doorway. Waiting for me. Ridiculous. I couldn’t exactly run the other way because he would notice me flee, and then I would become an even more likely victim of his…charm? Intimidation? Stalkerness? Just be strong. You’re in public. He won’t kill you yet.
While I waited for the light to change, my heart stopped. I hesitated before leaving the curb, barely lifting my eyes to observe how Julian stood with his hands securely tucked into the deep pockets of his wool coat. His collar was flipped, preventing the wicked gusts from harming his ears. And his perfect hair. Shit. Aid. Stop. Seriously. I reminded myself that Julian followed me last night—twice—and was now waiting for me at work. Four times if you count the backroom incident.
“Good morning,” I grumbled, reaching for my key and swiftly unlocking the shop door.
“Miss Leary.” Julian’s throat cleared, confidence tumbling from his lips in greeting. I said nothing more to him as I walked behind the counter and set aside my coat and bag. I adjusted the length of my black cardigan over my hips before returning to the front, prepared to die of a heart attack from too much espresso…or Julian’s gun.
“You didn’t call me.” He was leaning against the counter, his arms folded across his chest. I clunked and clanked glasses, pieces of the espresso machine, anything to pretend I couldn’t hear him. His voice was deeper, gruffly gaining my attention. I looked up for a millisecond, taking note of his monochromatic blue ensemble. It made his eyes pop like vibrant magnets, forcing me to stare like a fool. I shook my head before steaming almond milk for my latte. Hurry, hurry, hurry. I reached for a glass and poured the scalding espresso.
“What are you making?”
“Latte,” I mumbled. Shit. Why am I talking to him? To buy time before he kills me, I guess.
“Oh? What’s in it?”
“Honey.” I nodded to the jar in front of him, but he only smiled while he leaned over the counter, his hips pressing into the edge. Julian’s teeth sparkled like he must have a live-in dentist. They were blindingly white, the perfect companion to his defined pout. Screw yourself, Aideen. You’re going insane. Stop thinking about this creep like that.
“Yes, dear?”
I stopped mid-pour and grimaced. “Honey goes in the latte, Mr. Molloy.”
“I see.” Julian bit his top lip in thought. “Miss Leary?”
“What?” I reached for the jar inches from Julian and poured more than required into my drink, as usual.
“You didn’t call me.”
“I didn’t receive a mandate, just a phone number,” I said through clenched teeth. Julian chuckled under his breath and looked down at his phone, scrolling along the screen.
“You have a smart mouth.” His laugh diminished, and his piercing eyes returned to mine. “I was only trying to help.”
A nervous giggle slipped from my throat as my lips met the glass while I sipped. “Stalkers don’t usually help me. I’m doing fine by myself. Thanks for the offer.”
“Good morning,” Emma sang as she bounced into the coffee shop. She was turning the corner around the counter when she looked at Julian and then at me, her sparkling eyes questioning.
“Goodbye, Mr. Molloy.” I smiled, waving my free hand and turning around to finish sipping my latte in peace.
“We’ll be in touch,” he promised, then noticed Emma’s paused steps, “about the order.”
Chapter Five
Emma’s hand glided a towel around the steam nozzle, preparing for the newest round of drink orders. The morning was unproductive, an enormous waste of life, but as the rush of lunch increased, our feet began to ache. The line of patrons extended through the front door, everyone eager and desperate for Emma to cure their daily addiction to caffeine. I stepped away from the espresso machine, having handed Emma three cups for the latest order, when Elliott finally appeared.
“Worry not,” he announced, meandering through the crowd of people lining at my register, “I’m here to save the day.”
“Excellent,” I muttered sarcastically, allowing him to nudge my hip and push me out of the way. “I have to finish running purchase orders. Can you handle it up here without me?”
“Always.” Emma smiled from the espresso machine, her right hand pouring steaming froth into a mug. “Ell, you’re late.”
“I know, but wait until you hear why.” I escaped their banter, but not quickly enough. Emma placed two drinks on the counter, calling out their names, before grasping my left arm.
“He’s going to die when we tell him Julian Molloy was here this morning,” she purred, her cheeks blushing crimson, sickening me. I tried to smile, letting a fake laugh puff from my lips.
“What’s going on?” Elliott inquired, buzzing between us to reach for a latte mug. His blue eyes were expectant, waiting for one of us to divulge the secret.
“Nothing.” I brushed it off, hoping Emma would get the hint it wasn’t something to
discuss. But why not? She didn’t know their cousin attacked me and the only reason I was semi-alive was thanks to Julian Molloy. Thanks. Sheesh, what-the-hell-ever.
“Well, then let me tell you just how beautiful Nicky and I looked this weekend.”
Emma’s eyes squeezed shut while she giggled, her tongue sticking out. “No. Thank you, but no.” Elliott cringed, shaking his head while a brilliant chuckle returned to his throat, invading our ears as a delightful distraction from the soundtrack of the coffee shop. My brows met instantly, the signs recognizable as my vision blurred.
Emma’s hand squeezed my wrist. “Another headache?”
I nodded, reluctantly pulling my hand from her grasp. “I just need a minute. I’m going to get some water and be right back.”
“No.” Elliott patted my shoulder. “You go take a break. We’ve got this.”
Migraines were a chronic, almost daily, symptom. I recognized immediately how my eyes blurred while listening to Elliott and Emma beneath the buzzing roar of our shop. If I was going to make it out of there alive, I needed some peace. Alive. Just keep my fingers crossed someone isn’t going to jump me, or kill me, or threaten me.
Shaking off the trepidation in my memory, I headed to the office and nestled into the rickety chair behind the desk, willing it all to end. That’d be okay, as long as I got the say.
I lifted my head from the desk, listening attentively to the voices coming from the front of the shop. Emma mumbled something, followed by Elliott’s coos. I reached for the tablet when his feet scraped along the floor with his approach. I want to slap that smile off his pretty face.
“We can discuss how you still hate me later, but might you explain why Mr. Fancy Pants is asking for a moment of your time?”
I spun around, staring at Elliott with confusion. “What are you talking about?” I placed the tablet on a shelf, along with bags of espresso and coffee beans.
“Julian Molloy is here to see you.”
“You can tell him I died.”
Elliott squeezed my shoulders. “What’s going on with you, Aid?”
I looked at Elliott, groaning with displeasure, and snapped. “What’s going on is that I spent Saturday night running from your crazy and unpredictable cousin who, by the way, tried to assault me.”
“Oh, Aid! Why didn’t you say anything?”
Emma poked around the corner, her cheeks blushing. “Can you come out here?”
“No.” I growled, returning my gaze to Elliott, who raised an eyebrow at me, demanding an explanation.
“What’s going on, Aid?” he probed, arms crossing tightly along his chest. “Is this about your dream? Honey, get in line.”
“I am never confiding in you, never again.”
“Aid,” Elliott groaned, grabbing my wrists. “You’re the billionth person to think he’s hot. Believe me. It’s normal. And besides, it’s been like…holy shit. When is the last time you got any?”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“Don’t,” he whimpered pathetically. “Nicky would die without me. Nobody would do the wash, take care of the dog. Emma wouldn’t be able to run this place with me dead and you in jail.”
“It wouldn’t matter, would it? Considering we don’t really own this place anymore, right? Am I right, Elliott?”
Emma giggled from the doorway. “Okay. I seriously can’t handle it. Please. I beg one of you to come out here. Now.”
I grumbled while passing Elliott, praying my heart would merely stop and do me in while I walked out of the office.
“Mmm.” Elliott giggled. “Loverboy.” I couldn’t roll my eyes any harder as I tried to shake Elliott from my shadow.
Julian’s back was toward us, arms crossed against his chest while he sat at a small table by the window. Personally, I felt his presence alone would have been enough to vacate the entire building, but it appeared his groupies disagreed. Hordes of people surrounded Julian while he sipped from a mug of coffee.
“I’m not talking to him,” I mumbled to Elliott once I turned around. Elliott’s hand dropped to his hip, ready to insult me or remind me how ridiculous it was for me to not want Julian the way half of our shop currently did. I’m going to be sick.
“Why are you acting so weird? I’ll go talk to him. Jesus,” Elliott moaned, shoving my shoulder as he walked by me.
I reached for something, anything, to appear busy while Emma resumed taking orders and making coffee for customers not fainting from Julian’s presence. I stuffed my head into one of our massive cans of tea, inhaling the black warmth of an English Breakfast. Closing my eyes, I let the scent weave into my mind, calming the subdued pound within my brain. Crap. Why did I need to open my eyes? I made the mistake of glancing over the lip of the jar, catching the disturbing image of Elliott completely enthralled with Julian. Elliott was resting, too comfortably, against the edge of Julian’s table. His arms were waving animatedly, gesturing as if the words of his story weren’t enough to keep Julian entertained. I couldn’t pull my eyes from Julian. His body was relaxed as he skillfully laughed at the appropriate moments, his mouth widening with humor at whatever Elliott had said. He was a perfect actor. Meanwhile, nobody else knew that beneath his soft black sweater, a sparkling silver pistol was pressed between the waistband of his pants and the warm, bare skin of his back.
***
I made it my mission in life to avoid Julian, or any of the Molloys—which would be difficult, considering how close the coffee shop was to downtown and that family practically owned anything around or near Boston Common. Fortunately, I found success in the last week. Okay, lies. The only reason I avoided the Molloys was because migraines consumed my life over the last week and Elliott worked double because he loved me. I didn’t know what they wanted from us, but I needed to find the best way to ask Elliott what happened…and maybe why the hell those wasps were tailing me.
I stuffed the dangly keychain into my rear pocket, prepared to make the trek home and spend another evening in solitude, listening to my neighbors and zoning out in front of the television before a migraine interrupted. The snowplows couldn’t keep up with the latest accumulation, my feet barely able to trudge through depths along the sidewalks.
“Miss Leary!”
Closing my eyes, I fought to ignore the mouse calling out for me. My boots weren’t tall enough; their fur lining welcomed plenty of wet snow around my ankles, chilling me.
“Miss Leary!”
Can’t you see I’m ignoring you? Listen. Plows. Do you hear them? Me too. That’s why I can’t hear you. Oh, and I don’t want to die.
“Miss Leary.”
I had to finally acknowledge her, as bony fingers wrapped around my wrist. I glanced down, observing the leather pulled tightly over the hand that released its strength once she noticed my pause.
“I’m so sorry to catch you off guard like this.”
I followed the sleeve entirely woven from the fur of a bear or fox, maybe even a mink. Whatever it was, it was thick, posh, and reeked of affluence. Her lips were painted a dark crimson, a shade I wouldn’t ever try, considering I preferred not to look like a well-fed vampire.
As Maureen smiled, the red lips parted, pulling my attention to the soft porcelain skin of her face. Are these people real? Seriously. This must be a hologram.
“You startled me,” I lied, swallowing regret that I wasn’t able to walk ahead of her. Stupid snow catching me in this mess. I’m moving to California. It’s settled. Maureen held my wrist while her smile softened. Okay, lady, any day now.
“I went to your shop with my brother on Tuesday.” Maureen’s eyes flickered with amusement. “We were both disappointed you weren’t there. Mr. Daly said you were ill. I was just on my way there. I’m glad I caught you.”
What the hell did these snobs even want with me? Was this some twisted game?
“I just closed. What do you need?”
“Simply a business consultation.” Maureen smiled, her perfectly outlined pout mocking me while I sto
od in the falling snow, freezing my ass off, waiting for her to get to the point.
I glanced around her, watching the few slow pedestrians struggle to traverse the snow. Their faces were burrowed into lifted collars, all covered with soft flakes of white. My gaze returned to Maureen’s hand, which she must have forgotten was wrapped around my wrist, because upon our mutual glance, it dropped into the warm security of a fur-lined pocket.
“May we walk, dear?”
Dear? She looks close to my age and she’s calling me ‘dear’? Well, that’s fantastically demeaning. I worried letting her follow me home would give her too much access, but then I remembered her stalker brother practically knew how many deadbolts to pick on the door of my unit.
We were already walking in the direction of my apartment, her arm guiding me like the manipulative crutch that it was. Four more blocks. We walked in silence for the first half of the peculiar journey, my mind on overdrive while it plotted escape routes and Maureen smiled like the perfectly proper granddaughter of a politician.
“So…” I pulled my body from her side, pleasantly surprised when she didn’t flinch to maintain her proximity. “A business consultation? With coffee?”
“And baked goods.” She giggled, a surprisingly girly sound I didn’t expect to hear from those stained lips. “Our uncle is turning seventy. It’s a big deal. We wanted to throw a party, but he wouldn’t allow it, so we settled on a nice brunch at one of our residences.”
One of their residences? I suddenly craved the closet I called a home, from the mold along the bathtub caulking to the kitchen window that refused to close.
“And considering we’ve got a contract with you,” Maureen pressed, “I’d really love it if you could cater.”
“Sorry, Ms. Molloy. We don’t cater.”
“You must!” Her palm clutched my left elbow, drawing my eyes along the fur sleeve to where she held me. “I insist. It’s in the contract, after all.”
I closed my eyes, rolling them snugly within their aching sockets with anger toward Elliott. I hadn’t reviewed the contract; in fact, Elliott hadn’t even shown it to me. How could I be so stupid? I need to quit. I didn’t care about the money I invested with Elliott and Emma. I had to wipe my hands and move the hell forward. But first, I need to get away from Maureen. And maybe take a nap.
