Take Your Time (A Boston Love Story Book 4)

by Julie Johnson

  “So… rather than putting their money straight into the company accounts to keep them flush… I took a gamble and used it to buy a bunch of stock in a new form of e-currency. I figured I’d purchase early, wait until the values increased, then flip my shares for a huge profit. That way, I’d be able to pay back Mom and Dad but also save my company. Problem solved. A perfect solution.”

  “Clearly not, Duncan!”

  “It was supposed to be the new bitcoin,” he says defensively. “Every shareholder was projected to quadruple their initial investment. If things had gone as planned, I would’ve made more than enough to keep ManScents in the black. But… the market took an unexpected turn…”

  “How much did you lose?” I ask flatly.

  He hesitates.

  “Duncan.”

  “All of it.”

  My eyes lift heavenward.

  Jesus.

  “So… now you need another loan to make up for the loan you threw away on a shady trading opportunity,” I ask the ceiling, unable to look at him directly.

  “…Not exactly.”

  My eyes lock on his again, and I see he’s looking even more squeamish.

  “Duncan. Please tell me this story doesn’t get worse.”

  His jaw clenches. “The banks wouldn’t approve me for a loan. You’d already turned me down once. I lost the money from our parents. Basically, I was out of options.” His eyes press closed. “So, I did something stupid.”

  “Stupider than investing hundreds of thousands of dollars in virtual currency no one uses except nerds on the internet with too much time on their hands?” I snap.

  “Yes,” he says flatly.

  “Fuck,” I mutter.

  We stare at each other in silence for a moment, him searching for words, me holding back a few choice ones using all my remaining willpower. I could throttle him with my bare hands, at the moment.

  “Just tell me.”

  “There are other ways of getting a loan,” he murmurs finally. “The problem is, those ways usually involve some pretty scary guys who get even scarier when you don’t pay them back on time. Plus interest.”

  I feel my heart start to pound. “To be clear… are we talking about loan sharks?”

  “That’s one word for them.”

  “As in, the big mafioso-type dudes who break your kneecaps with a baseball bat if you screw them over?”

  “Well, I don’t know if they use a baseball bat, but—”

  “Christ, Duncan.”

  “I know! I know. Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what?” I screech. “Like you’re a total idiot? Because you are.”

  “I know I fucked up, okay? Trust me, it’s pretty hard to ignore that realization when there’s a guy taking a literal sledgehammer to your windshield as you watch from the bushes around the corner from your house, practically pissing yourself in the hopes they don’t spot you and decide to aim for a softer target.”

  My face pales. “Would they really come after you? Hurt you?”

  “These guys are not people you mess with, Lila. Not if you want to live to see thirty.”

  “I guess that explains the black eye, and why you high-tailed it out of California.”

  “I couldn’t stay at my place — they were staked out there all the time, waiting for me.” His voice gets softer. “I’m glad Susie left, to be honest. She’s safer with Al.”

  My eyes round with alarm. “And me? Touching as it is that you’re worried about the girl who left your ass… Am I safe, if they followed you to Boston?”

  “They didn’t,” Duncan assures me, but his eyes are shifty like the time he tried to convince me to give up my half of our lemonade stand profits in exchange for his commission fee from drumming up business in the form of two elderly neighbors.

  “Duncan.”

  “Really, sis, there’s no way they could’ve tracked me here. And even if they did, I’m positive they won’t come after you. Almost positive.” His eyes return to mine. “But, just to be on the safe side, if you see anyone lurking, following you, that kind of thing, don’t stick around to make small talk.”

  “It’s kind of hard to avoid someone when you have no idea what they look like.”

  “Giant.”

  “Could you be any vaguer?

  “Big, muscular Italian-looking guys in their mid-thirties.”

  “Oh, super helpful!” I droll sarcastically. “That only describes, like, half the population of the North End.”

  “Trust me, these guys don’t look like your typical Bostonians. The two that have been tailing me are pretty distinctive — always wearing black suits, each about six feet tall, one with an ugly birthmark on the side of his face, the other bald as a cueball. Usually driving a black-on-black SUV with California plates, though I doubt they’ll be using the same wheels they did back home.” He pauses. “You see them, you even think you see them, do me a favor and run. Run like hell. Hear me?”

  “Jesus H. Christ, Duncan! I cannot believe you brought this to my doorstep!”

  “Don’t worry! I’m going to fix it. I told you.” He takes a deep breath. “They won’t come after you. It’s me they want.” He looks a little queasy at the thought. As if he might prefer them wanting me instead of him after all.

  “I just don’t understand why you would ever do something this stupid! I mean, for fuck’s sake, there had to be a better option than getting involved with men like this…” I run my hands through my hair, stomach churning with anxiety. This is a problem I don’t know how to fix. “You had to know these guys were trouble.”

  “They didn’t seem so bad, at first. It all seemed very above-board. A few months back I signed a straightforward contract, got my loan, and even made my first few installment payments without any problems.”

  “And then..?”

  He grimaces. “About two weeks ago, they started getting pushy. Changing the terms we agreed on. They hiked my interest rate to fifty percent.” His hands curl into fists. “It’s extortion.”

  “No,” I say calmly. “Actually, it’s just what happens when you MAKE DEALS WITH LOAN SHARKS!”

  He flinches as my yell pierces the air.

  “Of all the moronic things you’ve ever done, Duncan, this has to be the worst. Worse than your idea to sell women those mirrors that make you look thinner than you actually are—”

  “ThinFlection,” he murmurs. “And I still believe, given the right marketing—”

  “Oh, give it a rest! I don’t give a shit what they were called or what market they’d soar in!” I hiss, throwing up my hands. “How could you do this? How? Please explain it to me, because I’m struggling to comprehend the magnitude of your idiocy.”

  “I just…” His voice is raw with anguish. “I couldn’t fail again. Can’t you understand that? I couldn’t watch another company go under. Not again, Lila.”

  I blow out a breath. “I understand that. I do. But, to be frank, I’m not sure what I can do to help you fix this.”

  His eyes hold mine. “You can give me the money.”

  “Duncan, don’t you understand? I can’t give you the money.” A sob catches in my throat. “I don’t have any money left to give you.”

  His face goes blank. “But… your trust fund…”

  “What do you think happened, after you cleaned out Mom and Dad’s accounts? Who do you think they called to bail them out?” I shake my head sadly. “I can’t help you, because I already helped them.”

  “It’s all gone?” he asks in a dazed voice.

  “Look at this place.” I sweep a hand around. “You think I want to be moving? You think, if I had any other options, I’d be abandoning the place I’ve called home for the past three years?”

  “I…” He looks like he’s about to collapse under the strain of his own poor life choices. “I…”

  A pang of unwanted sympathy shoots through me.

  I know I should have zero pity for him, but I can’t help it. His last hope has ju
st been snatched away. It’s clear, as he sways on his feet and stares at my kitchen wall with unfocused eyes, that his demons are finally catching up to him. And clearer still, that he’s fully aware it won’t end well for him, when they do, considering said demons are armed with sledgehammers and rage.

  “I need a drink,” I mutter, not giving a single hoot that it’s barely eight in the morning.

  “I thought you didn’t have any food in the house?” Duncan asks numbly.

  “I don’t have anything with actual nutritional value.” I cross to the cabinet above the fridge and pull down a bottle of amber liquid with a black label. “But I always have whiskey.”

  Three hours later, I’ve traded my sea of moving boxes for an ocean of white taffeta, and sibling confrontation for best friend bonding. I take small sips of my mimosa and watch Phoebe pivot in slow circles in front of a full-length mirror. We’re camped out in the back of the boutique wedding shop on Newbury Street where she’s having her final fitting. As I watch her spin on an elevated platform, her stunning Vera Wang gown practically glowing under the lights, my eyes begin to sting despite my best efforts.

  “You’re really beautiful, Phee.”

  Her large hazel eyes meet mine in the mirror. “You think?”

  “Not a matter of opinion. It’s a plain fact.” I shake my head. “Nate is going to have a heart attack when he sees you hurling down that aisle toward him.”

  Her grin gets huge. “Good. That’s exactly what I was going for.”

  “Any signs of cold feet? You seem remarkably calm, considering the rehearsal dinner is one day away and you’ll be an old married crone in two.”

  She turns to face me. “Surprisingly, I’m not nervous at all. I thought I would be, but mostly I’m just… excited.” Her eyes sparkle. “I’ve wanted to marry Nathaniel Xavier Knox since I was five years old. I can’t wait to finally be his wife.”

  “Sap,” I accuse, sniffling like a wimp.

  “Priss,” she fires back, blinking away tears.

  We grin at each other.

  “Do you want to try on your dress again?” she asks, turning back to the mirror. “I can have them bring it out for you.”

  “I’ve already had four fittings,” I remind her. “Frankly, that was three too many, in my opinion.”

  She laughs. “I’m sorry if I’ve gone a little Bridezilla on you, these past few months. I just want everything to be perfect.”

  “And it will be.”

  She heaves a happy sigh. “I could live in this gown.”

  “You’ve tried it on so many times, I think you might.” Setting down my mimosa, I cross to a nearby mannequin where a beautiful, cascading sample veil is on display. I trace one finger down the delicate lace needlework. “What exactly is the function of a veil?”

  “It’s symbolic of chastity and virginity.” She tilts her head. “But since that ship sailed long ago, I’m just wearing one because I think they’re beautiful.”

  “Huh. I always thought they were to hide an ugly girl from her groom in arranged marriages, so he couldn’t back out until it was too late.” I drop my hand from the embroidery. “Or maybe to weigh down an unwilling bride, so she couldn’t run away.”

  Phoebe snorts. “Romantic.”

  “That’s me. Queen of romance.”

  “Speaking of…” Her eyes narrow. “Are you bringing a date to the wedding? You were supposed to tell me weeks ago. I love you dearly, but there’s only so many times I’m willing to rearrange the bridal party table. If you don’t fill your extra seat, we’re going to have an odd number during dinner.”

  “The horror!”

  She ignores me, fully focused on visions of her seating chart. “I suppose I could bump my great aunt Mindy…but she’s has cataracts in both eyes and never has any idea who she’s talking to, which could potentially make for awkward dinner conversation…”

  “Poor Mindy. Bumped from the family table?” I shake my head. “She’ll never even see it coming.”

  Phoebe refocuses on me. “Was that a blind joke?”

  “Of course not.” I smile. “I’d never resort to such visionless humor.”

  She shakes her head in disapproval.

  I sigh. “Jokes aside — I have no idea who I’m bringing to the wedding. I haven’t really been seeing anyone lately.”

  Phoebe’s mouth drops open.

  “What?” I ask, voice defensive. “What’s the look for?”

  “It’s just a bit out of character, that’s all.” Her head tilts to the side as she examines me like I’m a stranger, instead of her best friend since kindergarten. “You always have a line of eligible male suitors clamoring to escort you to fashionable events all across this fine city. What’s up?”

  “Nothing.” I take another sip of my mimosa. “Just haven’t been in the dating mood recently, I suppose.”

  “You? Not in the dating mood?”

  “Don’t slut-shame. It’s passé.”

  “I wasn’t! I was just pointing out that, in the two decades I’ve known you, I’ve never witnessed a time when you didn’t have a boyfriend. Or a potential boyfriend. Or a recently-dumped ex-boyfriend.”

  “So, I’m overdue for a solo period.” I shrug, striving for a nonchalant tone. “Don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of this.”

  Her eyes narrow. “So, there’s no one in the picture.”

  “Nope.”

  “No one at all.”

  “What part of nope was unclear?” My pulse picks up speed. “There’s no hidden agenda here, Phoebe. I’m single. Flying solo. Channeling my inner Cheryl Strayed in Wild…. But without the drugs or the hiking.”

  “You didn’t even like that book,” she reminds me. “And you only saw the movie because you have a girl crush on Reese Witherspoon.”

  “Truer words, never spoken. Hey, speaking of Reese, do you want to go see her new rom-com with me—”

  “Don’t try to change the subject.” Phoebe pins me with a look. “Why do I get the sense you’re keeping something from me?”

  “Maybe you’ve breathed too many nail polish fumes, it’s making you delusional.”

  “Uh huh. This sudden…” She waggles a finger at me. “Dry spell… wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain redhead, would it?”

  I blink vacantly, to cover the sudden thumping of my heart. “Ed Sheeran?”

  “No.”

  “Rupert Grint?”

  “No.”

  “Sam Heughan?”

  “God, I wish. That kilt! Yum,” she murmurs, then recovers herself. “But, again, no.”

  “Well, then I have no idea who you’re referring to.”

  “You do so,” she insists. “In fact, you denying to know who I’m talking about only reinforces my belief that this — you, suddenly impersonating a nun — has something to do with him.”

  The tempo of my heartbeat kicks up a notch. “You’re crazy.”

  “Am I? Because, I’m pretty sure, as your best friend in the entire universe, I know you better than anyone. And whenever I mention Luca Buchanan, you act…”

  My brows lift.

  “Strange,” she finishes lowly.

  “Strange?”

  “Twitchy. Flustered. Uncoordinated. Almost… unrecognizable.”

  “Gee, thanks!” I roll my eyes. “Maybe I’m strange around him because I don’t like the man! He’s arrogant and insufferable.”

  And handsome and funny and alarmingly kind, when he wants to be.

  “Uh huh,” Phoebe repeats, sounding unconvinced. “So, he has nothing to do with the fact that your constant stream of man candy has dried up, in recent months.”

  “It hasn’t dried up,” I grumble. “Not completely.”

  “Well, it’s gone from a waterfall to a trickle. When was the last time you went on a date?”

  “I don’t know,” I hedge, not wanting to admit the answer.

  “Liar.”

  “I don’t see how this is relevant. At all.” />
  “I’ll decide whether or not it’s relevant. When was it? Just tell me.”

  “Fine!” I toss my hands up. “If you must know, my last real date was probably… December.”

  A slow smile works its way across Phoebe’s lips.

  My answering frown is severe. “Why are you grinning at me like the Cheshire Cat?”

  “December.”

  “Yes, that’s what I said.”

  “You know who we met in December, don’t you?”

  “No,” I lie. My heart is pounding double-time. “I can’t be expected to remember the exact date I met everyone in my life.”

  Her grin, if possible, gets bigger. “Allow me to refresh your memory, then. We met Luca Buchanan in December. He flirted with you, after we watched him fight against that IceMan guy. He asked if you’d be at my Christmas party the following night. Any of this ringing a bell?”

  “Nope.”

  “Uh huh. Well, as I recall, the morning of my party I got a call from you, saying you couldn’t make it. Something unexpected came up. Very light on the details, but you wouldn’t be in attendance.”

  “Is there a point, here?”

  Her smile widens even more. “Yes. My point is, you missed my party after you found out Luca was going to be there. And you’ve never missed one of my parties, even when you had a hundred degree fever that one year and almost passed out in the punch bowl.”

  “I…” I swallow. “You’ve got it all wrong.”

  “Do I?” Her eyes start to glimmer, like a bloodhound who’s caught the scent of its prey. “In fact, now that I think of it, every party I’ve had since we met Luca Buchanan, you’ve found an excuse to bail on.”

  “I’ve been busy,” I say weakly. “It has nothing to do with him. You’re seeing patterns that simply aren’t there, Phoebe.”

  “Actually, I think I’m seeing things pretty clearly.” She leans toward me. “I think, if we’re being honest, your sudden vanishing act has everything to do with him. Because I think it’s finally happened.”

  My brows lift.

  “Delilah James Sinclair has an actual, real life crush on a man!” Phoebe squeals and fans herself. “I never thought I’d live to see the day!”

  “A crush? What am I, fourteen?” I scoff. “Plus, weren’t you just saying that I always have a boyfriend?”