Bad Boy (An Indecent Proposal)

by J. C. Reed

  Her voice grew wary instantly. “Why? Where are you?”

  I tossed the chocolate on the coffee table and took my time swallowing the chunk in my mouth. “In Acapulco, but that’s not why.”

  She let out a laugh. “You are where?”

  “In Mexico.” I sighed. “Why are you surprised? It was your idea. And before you ask, yes, I listened to another one of your suggestions. I hope it does me more good than the last time. I’m sorry for not inviting you to come along.”

  “So you’re not coming back today.”

  “No.” I bit on my lip. My throat constricted. I took a sharp breath to calm the sudden tension in my chest. “Jude, I need this break. Clint, Chase, the whole marriage, heck my whole life, it’s all become too much. I never had peace. I realized that today. I don’t know who I am anymore.”

  “Of course you know who you are.”

  “No, I don’t,” I said, meaning every word of it. “I’m Laurie Hanson, this much I know because it’s my name, but I have no home. No place to stay. My parents are dead. I have no family.”

  “I’m your family, Laurie. You know that.”

  I hesitated. How could I possibly explain it to her when it took me such a long time to realize it myself? “I know. You’re my adopted family. You’re also my best friend—the best I could ever have. But you can’t help me when I have to find myself. This thing with Chase...I have to make peace with it. Everything in my life was built on struggles and survival. It’s not a very stable foundation for the future. I can’t continue like this. I have to stop being naïve.”

  “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” Her question came out of nowhere. The air I thought I was holding came out in one big swoosh.

  “I…What?” I frowned. “Of course I’m not in love with him.” My voice came out too high-pitched, the lie obvious.

  “Laurie.” Jude’s voice was soft. “I’m your friend, not your enemy. You can tell me anything. You know that. I might scold, but I’ll never judge.”

  I turned my face to the window and gazed at the sky for a few moments.

  Yes, there had been a time when I thought I could be in love with Chase.

  And there had been a time when I thought he could fall in love with me, too.

  A tear rolled down my cheek. I wiped it away angrily, but a few more took its place.

  I wasn’t crying out of pity for myself.

  I was crying to cleanse my heart. I was crying to get rid of everything that had been eating away at it.

  “I don’t love him, Jude. Period. You won’t ever hear me say it, so stop asking. Besides, what’s the point in talking about it anyway? It’s over. We’re done.”

  “He hurt you, and you feel the need to be alone. I get that,” she whispered. “But at least let me see you. It’s not a good time for you to be alone. I’m going to ask the producers to give me a few days off. We’ll take a vacation together.”

  “No.” I shook my head vehemently, even though she couldn’t see it. “I really need to be on my own, Jude. I need this break, if only to find myself. To think things through. I don’t think I’m strong enough to return to L.A. and face reality just yet. I’m not strong enough to read my mom’s letters just yet, or face more struggles.”

  “You really haven’t read them yet?” She sounded unconvinced.

  “No. I couldn’t,” I admitted. “I feel like I need to be in a different frame of mind to read them. It’s not the right time. It’s not something I can do right now.”

  “I understand,” Jude said.

  “You do?”

  “Yes. And I’m sorry, Laurie.” She paused, as though there was more she wanted to say, but didn’t know how. “It’s all my fault. If—”

  “No. Don’t,” I cut her off. I couldn’t hear another apology, another ‘if only.’ “I’m as much to blame as you. If I didn’t get involved with him and sign the contract, this would never have happened.”

  “I’m still sorry. I had no idea he was after your money. If I had known, I would never have given him your necklace.”

  My heart stopped.

  I sucked in my breath, my stomach clenching. “You gave him my mom’s necklace?”

  “I’m sorry, Laurie,” she said again. Her voice broke. Was she crying? “He said he wanted to get you a gift and asked me about your favorite kind of jewelry. I said it was your mother’s, and that the necklace was broken, and it was his idea to have it repaired, so I gave it to him. I’m going to call him straight away and ask for it.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “Don’t contact him. Please.”

  “But, it’s your mom’s necklace,” she protested.

  “I know.” My whole chest hurt. I closed my eyes and took a few shaky breaths, feeling as though there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room. “I’d rather we stayed away from him.”

  “I’ll get it back without talking. Okay? I promise.”

  I pressed my lips into a tight line. “I don’t want you to do anything, Jude. I don’t know who he’s involved with, but I don’t trust him. Until I have more information, please don’t cause me more trouble. Jude, repeat after me: I won’t talk with Chase.”

  “Fine. I won’t talk with Chase.” I could hear the defiance in her tone. “What’s your plan, then?”

  “I don’t know,” I said and shrugged. “Honestly, I’m not sure what to do anymore. I don’t know what I want. This thing with Chase…it threw me back in more ways than I could ever have imagined.”

  “You should consult a lawyer.”

  “I know, and I will, just not now. I couldn’t handle it.” Least of all talk about him or pour out all the details to a stranger. My mood plummeted at the thought. Time to change the subject. “On the bright side, I have a date today.”

  “Yeah?” Jude said. “With whom?”

  “Some guy who helped me with my bags. He’s staying at the same hotel.”

  “Is he hot?”

  “Does it matter?” I tried to recall his face and his dark hair. Was he? I couldn’t tell for sure because his image had already become a blur of a memory. “He’s kind. Something Chase will never be. This time I’ll do it all differently. I want to take it as things come. I’m going out with him and see where that might lead us. I won’t make the mistake of hoping for more. I won’t expect anything.”

  “Will you be careful?” she asked, her worry palpable in her tone.

  “Of course,” I said. “After Chase’s betrayal, I doubt any other man could be worse. I doubt anything could be worse.”

  We talked some more, then I finished the call. My own words kept circling in my head for a while longer.

  I wished I hadn’t said that, because as bad as Chase was, at least I knew where we were standing and how to deal with him.

  Chapter 6

  By the time I was done unpacking and had taken a shower, it was already early evening. I locked my few valuable possessions in the safe, squeezed into a black dress, and then gave myself a critical look.

  Did I look hot for today’s date?

  Did it matter?

  It was just a date—one of many I was going to have. Chase was a bad boy, so I’d turn into a bad girl. If being a jerk was all that it took to get someone’s attention and make them fall in love hard and fast, then it wouldn’t be so difficult for me to do the same.

  At least that was what I thought as I headed out in search of the restaurant.

  I found it just around the corner. What gave away the food’s price tag were the cheap “open” neon light in the window, the well-populated bar area in the corner and the music playing in the background. I sat down at one of the empty tables, my back turned to the door. After all, I didn’t want to look desperate. You know, the kind of desperate that ended with me in Chase’s bed, moaning his name.

  At least five minutes passed.

  Fifteen.

  My date didn’t show up.

  From my table, I couldn’t overlook the entrance area, so I changed to one facing the d
oor, my whole ‘not desperate’ resolve flying right out the window.

  Another fifteen minutes passed. I began to scan the menu, my feet tapping the floor impatiently.

  Had he forgotten about our date? Or had he been too much of a coward to decline my invitation? I mean, how hard could it be to say, “Sorry, but I’m not interested.”

  “Can I get you something?” the waiter asked me again—for the umpteenth time. He didn’t look older than twenty.

  “Yeah, scotch on the rocks, please.”

  Sighing, I scanned the menu again, which I was sure I could recite by heart.

  The waiter brought me my drink, which I nursed for all of five minutes before dawning it in one gulp.

  I had enough—of men, of dates, of anything that involved romance and sex and everything else that tended to mess with my life.

  I ordered the restaurant’s ‘special’ and a glass of red wine. I had just finished my dinner and was halfway through my glass of wine when the door swung open and in walked three guys. The moment the door closed I could feel their gaze on me, scrutinizing the fact that I was in a bar restaurant sitting at a table alone.

  “The curse of the single woman,” I muttered under my breath and slumped deeper into my seat in the hope I’d magically develop the ability of turning invisible.

  “Hola, señorita.”

  I turned sharply to regard the uniformed guy in his mid-thirties. He was standing so close his naked forearm almost brushed my shoulder. Even in the dim light the gun holster around his waist was clearly visible, drawing my attention to it, and for a moment my heart picked up in speed and my brain struggled to make sense as to what I might have done wrong to catch his attention.

  The guy was a cop, so I must have done something.

  “Sorry, I don’t speak Spanish,” I said.

  “You’re lucky I speak English.” He plopped down in the seat opposite from mine and waved at his colleagues who were busy ordering drinks at the bar.

  “You can have the table. I was about to leave.” To prove my point, I slung my handbag over my shoulder and sat up when he leaned over the table, his hand clasping around my wrist.

  “Not so fast.”

  My pulse started to race.

  I stared at his fingers as they remained wrapped around my skin.

  “Excuse me?” I asked.

  “You’re such a beautiful girl. Why leave so soon? The night’s young.” He pointed to my half-finished glass. “And you’re not finished.”

  I frowned at him as I watched his tongue run over his lips.

  Oh, for crying out loud.

  What was it with me and my tendency to attract all the wrong guys?

  First, Chase turned out to be more of a frog than a prince, metaphorically speaking.

  Then, my date stood me up.

  Now, some cop was trying to chat me up.

  And not just any cop.

  A Mexican cop who had probably participated in his fair share of dangerous busts and was most certainly used to violence. Or seeing that things went his way.

  Something was wrong with the world—or me.

  Under normal circumstances I would have told him to get his dirty hands off me but I was in a foreign country and drawing attention to myself was the last thing I wanted.

  “You’re really pretty,” he said and leaned closer until I could feel his breath on my skin. His fingers trailed along my arm. I flinched when he touched my hair to brush it away from my face.

  “What do you want?” I asked warily, frozen to the spot as his hand moved from my hair to my shoulder.

  “Just a chat?”

  He made it sound like a question. Like there’d be way more than a chat later on.

  As if.

  I swallowed hard and forced a cold smile to my lips. “It’s been a long flight. I need to get back to the hotel.”

  “Where are you staying?” someone asked behind me.

  I turned and realized that his two friends had joined him. Unlike the cop, they were wearing jeans, but their hard faces looked threatening enough, as if they would not hesitate to drag someone through the backdoor to beat them to a bloody pulp and then fill out a report about how they acted in ‘self-defense.’

  “Hey, didn’t you hear him? Where are you staying?” the left guy asked, repeating his friend’s question.

  The alarm bells in my head went off all at once, as my heart started to thump harder. I had nothing to hide. I had done nothing wrong. And yet, here I was, being harassed.

  Maybe this restaurant usually attracted only local clientele.

  Maybe those guys didn’t like Americans.

  Maybe women weren’t supposed to sit by themselves.

  Heck, maybe it was an offense that I didn’t finish my glass of wine.

  I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and regarded them for a split second, unsure how to deal with the situation. Finally, I decided I was just going to walk away from a confrontation because, damn it, I had rights.

  “None of your business,” I said through cringed teeth and tried to get up.

  “Answer his question,” the cop said. His hand slammed against the table.

  I jumped up, scared, and almost knocked over my glass of wine.

  Whoa.

  Did I detect a hint of a threat in his voice?

  And most importantly, what was happening?

  “Where are you staying?” the guy asked again.

  As if I was so stupid that I’d tell them.

  “I’m staying with my fiancé and his parents, “I lied, trying to infuse some confidence into my voice.

  “You heard the American,” the cop said to his friends as his arm draped over my shoulders. “She’s staying with her fiancé.” I could hear the sarcasm in his voice. “There. Was it so hard to answer the question?”

  I swallowed. “Any other questions? Is this some kind of interrogation?”

  “Interrogation?” He frowned. “Who said anything about an interrogation? We’re just having a little chat.”

  “If you’ll excuse me. I’m very tired.” I pulled away from the police guy’s grip a little too forcefully. His eyes narrowed on me. After a short glance to his friends, a pulse began to pound visibly in his left temple.

  Someone couldn’t cope with rejection. Too bad.

  “You gentlemen have a lovely evening.” I shot them a cold stare and headed out the door, aware of the venomous looks piercing a hole in my back.

  Only after I was outside, I dared to exhale the breath I didn’t even know I had been holding. This could have ended badly, so I was glad that I was out of there. Shaking my head, I started to walk.

  I couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel.

  Night had fallen and the streets had filled with tourists. Making my way back to the hotel, I pushed my way through the gathered crowds. The moment I walked through the gate I felt a hard grip on my shoulder.

  My heart stopped dead in my chest. I turned sharply, a startled cry lodged deep within my throat. But it wasn’t some random guy or a mugger.

  It was the cop from before.

  Alone; his friends nowhere in sight.

  “Did you follow me?” I asked the police guy through gritted teeth, barely able to contain my flaring temper.

  Who did he think he was, stalking me?

  “Show me your bag,” he demanded.

  “What? No way. It’s my bag.” I clutched it tighter against my chest, instantly fearing he might be about to rob me, even though that would make no sense. Why would a cop rob me? Unless he thought I had lots of money, which I didn’t.

  “I said open your bag now.” His hand went to his holster, and my eyes widened at his threatening tone.

  “Okay.” I spread out my palms. “Just relax, dude.” My fingers shook as I opened my handbag, exposing its contents for all the world to see. “See. Nothing special. I’m just a tourist. Not even a rich one.”

  He inched closer to me and grabbed my bag out of my hands. I watched in horror as he
began to spill its contents on the street: my calendar, my lipstick, a mirror.

  “You don’t call this nothing?” He picked up something white.

  A card.

  On it was a stripper, or maybe not a stripper, but someone who was naked. And a number.

  I stared at it, unsure. Where did I get that? I couldn’t remember.

  “Interesting,” he said and flipped it over. Now I saw what he saw.

  It was a card from some sex worker or a pimp.

  Even though the text was in Spanish, I was sure that I wasn’t wrong.

  “Um”—I stared at it, taken aback—“That’s not mine.”

  “Does it matter? All that matters is that it was inside your bag.” A strange smile played across his lips.

  My eyes narrowed as realization dawned on me. “You son of a bitch. You put it there.”

  “I want to see you proving that, my little American friend.” His grin widened as he turned me around.

  His hands on me sent my pulse racing, and not in a good way. My heart jumped into my throat. I opened my mouth to protest, but the shock coursing through me rendered me speechless.

  “You’re coming with me.” His left hand wandered down my arm to my wrists and he held them in front of me as his right hand fidgeted at his back. “I’ll teach you to be reasonable.”

  “Let go of me,” I screeched, struggling in his grip. I didn’t realize what he was doing until cold metal snapped around my wrists, the pressure both painful and surprisingly numbing.

  I blinked in disbelief as I peered down at the handcuffs. Was he arresting me?

  “What the—” My words died in my throat as I was pulled forward toward the waiting police car and pushed into the backseat.

  “You need to come with us on suspicion of soliciting a client and working as a prostitute without a valid work permit,” the police guy said and slammed the door behind me.

  Fuck!

  I had heard of situations like this. People were wrongfully incarcerated. Or kidnapped. Or worse. Why the hell was this happening to me? My breath hitched as my throat constricted with panic.