by Jax Abbey
“Jacob, ultimately it’s your decision. But answer me this: are you willing to go to prison for this woman?”
Finn stopped at the door, his head bowed and his hand on the knob. “It’s complicated, but I think I have to go through with this; von Rothschild’s moving ivory. Maybe Claudia could make some kind of deal with the FBI, too?”
Even a week ago, Finn would have given Julian an emphatic ‘no,’ but now…it didn’t sit well with him. Not just because it was Claudia, but because he could clearly picture the disappointed look on Stella’s face. What was she—his conscience personified? What had the woman done to him?
STELLA, 7:08 P.M.
“So this guy on the dating site sent me a message asking if I would send him a picture of my feet,” Valerie said as she filled a third pint glass for Stella’s only table.
Thankfully it was a slow night at the bar, and Stella’s customers were easy-going. After her last few days, she welcomed the dullness of it all. Stella had tossed and turned all night, and then this morning Derek had stopped by to grill Phoebe about what had happened to her over the last few days. Stella had wanted to press charges, but it was tricky because she didn’t want Finn to get in trouble—and Derek wanted to wait until they got enough dirt on the Rothschild guy to stick him in prison for a very long time.
Stella leaned against the bar and forgot her own problems as she listened to Valerie’s latest drama. “That is definitely a red flag.”
“He said he would lick them. I might let him—he’s really hot.”
“Oh my God, Valerie, he sounds like a pervert! And that’s probably not even him in the photo!” Stella reached for the full glass with her left hand.
Valerie gasped loud enough for the couple at the end of the bar to look over in curiosity. “Where the hell is your engagement ring?” she whispered.
Stella quickly set the beer on the tray. “I gave it back.” She picked up the tray and maneuvered toward the back of the restaurant, Valerie hot on her heels.
“Stella Marie Carstens, you know that’s not an adequate answer. WHAT HAPPENED? Does it have to do with your super-secret ‘emergency’ trip? You never thanked me for covering your shifts, by the way.”
Stella spun around. “Aren’t you supposed to be behind the bar?”
Valerie made a show of looking around the nearly empty room, then back at Stella. She crossed her arms. “Lucy, you got some ’splainin’ to do.”
Stella sighed. “Give me a second, okay?”
Valerie narrowed her eyes but returned to the bar. Stella absently deposited the beers in front of her customers. It wasn’t that she had been purposely keeping anything from Valerie; there was just so much going through her brain, she barely had time to sort through it all and make sense of it herself.
Stella’s phone had been unusually silent all day. She’d found herself pulling it out every few minutes and checking to see if she had missed a text or call, but there was nothing. Derek had taken her need for space to heart, which Stella appreciated. But it wasn’t him she hoped to hear from. Why would she hear from Finn, though? She’d served her purpose in his grand plan, and that was the end of it.
Valerie grabbed her wrist in a vise-like grip. “Spill it. I need to know everything.”
Stella pondered how much to tell her best friend. Obviously she had to tell her about breaking up with Derek, but did she want to bring Finn and Phoebe into it? Valerie had a flair for hysterics, and if Stella told her the whole story, all of the restaurant patrons and staff would know within five minutes—maybe ten if Val was off her game.
“A friend’s car broke down; he needed me to drive him to Texas or he’d lose his job—”
“Wait a minute; you said ‘he.’ What male friends do you have besides Derek?”
“Bert, Arnold, Shane—”
Valerie threw her hands up in the air. “They work here; they don’t count! Who was it?”
Stella rolled her eyes. “Do you want the story or not?”
Valerie gestured for her to continue.
“Derek found us in Texas. And you’ll never believe this—he put a tracking device on Josie!”
Valerie’s mouth dropped open. “That’s right up there with the foot fetish guy! What did you do?”
“I told him I couldn’t be with someone who didn’t trust me. Then I gave him the ring back.”
Valerie pouted. “I really liked that ring. And I was looking forward to my maid-of-honor duties—namely, planning the bachelorette party.”
“Well, he’s single now. But keep in mind you’ll have to answer to Dragon Mama.”
“I think I’ll pass,” Valerie said with a grimace. She placed a hand on Stella’s shoulder. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m okay. At the time I really wanted it all to be over, but now I don’t know. Let’s just say this trip gave me a lot to think about. I don’t want to be a waitress forever.”
“So what are you going—” Valerie stopped mid-sentence, her gaze focused over Stella’s shoulder. “Quick, look at the door! We don’t get her type in here every day.”
Stella looked over her shoulder and nearly fell off the barstool. Diane Warner stood at the door in a beige pantsuit, clutching her purse to her chest and glancing around as if she expected someone to jump out and stick a gun in her face. Stella snorted; after her encounter with Finn in the parking lot, it was definitely possible.
Diane spotted Stella and speed-walked toward her with a relieved expression on her face. Stella straightened and wiped her moist palms on her apron. She hated the fact that Derek’s mother still got under her skin and intimidated her.
“Stella, dear, yoohoo. It’s Diane!”
“Does she think I have amnesia or something?” Stella muttered out of the side of her mouth.
“That’s Dragon Mama? I can’t wait to watch this unfold,” Valerie said, clapping her hands in glee.
Diane glided over to the bar and gently seated herself on a stool. She made a show of looking around and plastering a smile on her face. “This is quite the establishment…the deer head mounted over the billiards table is an inspired touch.”
Valerie leaned forward hungrily. “My bullshit meter is rocketing off the charts.”
Diane’s eyes cut over to her and then back to Stella. “Could we speak alone?”
Valerie crossed her arms. “Anything you say to her, you can say in front of me. She’s just going to tell me later on anyway.”
As Stella met Diane’s gaze, she saw a flicker of hesitation. It was then she noticed the older woman wasn’t carrying herself as regally as usual. Her shoulders were slightly hunched, and one hand kept reaching up to fumble with the pearls at her throat.
Stella turned to her friend. “Val, can you give us a minute?”
“But this is the most entertainment I’ve had—”
“Valerie!”
“Fine, I’m going. Jeesh!” Valerie moved to check on Stella’s table, but kept glancing back at the two women.
Stella crossed her arms. “I assume you’re here because I broke off the engagement. I would have thought you’d be waving pom-poms in the air and lighting candles of thanks in the synagogue or something.”
The faintest flush crept across Diane’s cheeks. “I guess I deserve that.”
“Are you here to ask for the wedding binder so you can put it aside for the next woman?” Stella’s voice was laced with an equal mixture of weariness and quiet fury. “Or were you going to present me with a bill for the missed florist appointment?”
“Heavens, have I really been that awful to you?” Diane asked, flabbergasted.
“Yes, woman! You’ve made comments about my appearance, belittled my life choices, and just generally made me feel like I’m not good enough for your precious son. Sorry, Diane, but I like who I am just fine. I don’t want to be your mini-me.”
Diane blinked, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “That’s not what I intended–”
“I was alw
ays taught that actions speak louder than words.”
Diane took a deep breath. “Stella, I expect Derek cares for you for the very reason that you’re nothing like me. He still loves you, you know; he’s terribly distraught. He didn’t share the details, but he’s been miserable ever since you broke off the engagement. I’m sorry I’ve offended you so, but I’m here on Derek’s behalf.”
“He actually sent you here?” Stella asked. She’d known Derek and his mother had an extremely close relationship, but she hadn’t exactly categorized him as a mama’s boy.
“No—not at all. He doesn’t even know I’m here. I just—I wanted to let you know that he’s a different person without you. Before you came into his life he was very serious and dedicated to his work. He was almost a recluse.”
“I bet everyone in the FBI is pretty dedicated to their work, if it’s anything like the movies,” Stella said.
Diane narrowed her eyes. “What does the FBI have to do with anything? Derek’s a business consultant.”
Stella repressed a smirk. It seemed Derek didn’t tell his mother everything. “Of course he is. You were saying?”
“Derek was, for lack of a better term, a robot…much the same as his father, to be honest. And then one night he stopped in here, and from then on his entire demeanor changed. He called more often, usually singing your praises. He was more relaxed at Sunday dinner…those kinds of things. I fear that he’ll regress. Will you call him? Perhaps you could come to Sunday dinner this week?”
Stella rubbed her temples. She’d been to Sunday dinner at the Warner household before, and she could think of a million things she’d rather do on a Sunday—like play piñata with a beehive. She did have to give it to Diane, though; normally, she grudgingly tolerated Stella’s presence at the table, but here she was, inviting Stella over. “I can’t be single-handedly responsible for Derek’s happiness. That’s something he should find within himself.”
Diane stared at Stella for a few seconds, then stood. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time,” she said stiffly. “Have a good evening.” She turned to leave.
Stella stifled a groan. She hated the part of her that couldn’t stand to let someone down. “Hey, Diane—”
Diane turned around at the door and raised an eyebrow.
“I’ll think about it.”
Diane gave her a tight-lipped smile. “I really hope you two can work things out,” she said, exiting the bar.
FRIDAY
..................
FINN, 10:33 A.M.
After being fitted with the wire, and following a lengthy lecture from Cameron, Finn got into his car and made his way to von Rothschild’s mansion. He was in no hurry to see Billy or von Rothschild, and hoped he would be able to pick up Claudia and make a hasty exit. He felt a twinge of guilt; it would be his fault if Claudia were implicated in von Rothschild’s schemes.
Claudia buzzed Finn through the gate, and Finn wound the Roadster up the drive. By the time he crested the hill, Claudia had walked outside and stood next to her car, a white Vanquish Volante. Seeing as Claudia could be a spoiled ice queen, it was the perfect vehicle for her. She glanced at her wristwatch and arched an eyebrow as Finn parked.
“I got here as fast as I could,” Finn said. “Hop in, and let’s get this show on the road.”
Claudia shook her head. “No way; I’m driving.”
“Look, I’m already in the car. Just get in.”
Claudia opened the door of the Volante and got inside. “I’m in charge, so I’m driving.” She put on a pair of ridiculously large sunglasses and started the car.
Christ, she always had to be in control. That was one of the major reasons he’d called it quits with her. He thought about arguing further, but the sooner they made this drop, the sooner he could go back to his condo. He sighed and got out of his car.
In the driver’s seat, Claudia sat ramrod straight. Even though the top was down, not one hair on her head dared escape her ponytail. She wore simple pearl studs, and her white dress seemed to meld into the seat. She was perfect.
Finn looked in the other direction. The last time he’d been in the passenger seat of a car, it was the Beetle. He wondered if Josie had safely made it back into Stella’s possession. Riding in the Volante was a completely different experience. The Volante purred and glided over the street. Its interior was so pristine he was scared to touch anything. It was funny; his relationship with Claudia had been like that—he’d always felt like he was walking on eggshells.
When he’d started his journey with Stella, the Beetle was so cramped, he truly felt he couldn’t spend more than ten minutes in it. But by the end of their trip, the small, funky car had grown on him, despite its inclination to be fussy—much like its owner. Finn pictured Stella behind the wheel of the Beetle, her strawberry-blonde hair dancing around her face as she sang off-key along with Madonna. He recalled her eyes sparkling as she glanced over at him every so often and tried to get him to sing along. Finn racked his brain—he didn’t think he’d ever heard Claudia hum a note, let alone sing. Ugh. He had to get Stella out of his head…but he had to deliver her share of the money first.
“What are you thinking about? You only brood when you’re pissed off about something or working on your plan for world domination. So, which is it?” Claudia asked, risking a glance in his direction. Her tone was playful, but Finn couldn’t see her eyes behind those damn glasses.
“Neither. I wasn’t brooding. You never did learn how to read me.”
Claudia pursed her lips and didn’t respond.
Finn sighed. He was starting to think he’d prefer being back in jail to working with the von Rothschild family.
“You didn’t send one fucking letter. Not even an email or a text. Nothing. I waited. For months.” Claudia’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “I heard from Alex, but that’s not who I wanted to hear from.”
“I tried to call—”
Claudia ripped off her glasses and the car veered scarily close to the shoulder. Finn grabbed onto the seatbelt across his chest, closed his eyes, and crossed himself.
“No, Jacob. You did not try. Not where it mattered, anyway. You tried so hard to fit in with the high society crowd that you didn’t have enough energy or time to try with me.”
“What are you talking about? I worked DAMN hard to get your parents to like me, Claudia. I tried to be someone you deserved—not just some orphan kid Julian rescued from the streets, like everyone sees me. And it still didn’t work.
“You only liked me because I wasn’t one of the pretty trust fund boys you grew up with. You wanted to be a rebel and slum it; I happened to be in the right place at the right time.” Finn grimaced. He was wearing the wire, and imagined the smug smirk on Derek’s face as he listened in.
Claudia slammed the wheel to right and whipped the car into an empty church parking lot. She took off her seatbelt, turned in her seat, and punched Finn in his chest.
“Jesus!” What was it with all these women wailing on him? Did his forehead say “Punching Bag” or something? He was satisfied to see her flex her fingers as if she had hurt herself as well.
“Stop making yourself a fucking victim. I would’ve thought after five years you would have grown up and gotten over yourself.” She shook her head in disgust. “You’re still the same old Finn.”
That was it. He was done. With this charade, with these people, with everything. He clearly didn’t belong in this world, even after spending years learning and assimilating into their stupid highbrow culture. He opened the door and leapt out of the car. Wrestling off his shirt, he ripped the wire from his chest, the tape pulling at his chest hairs. He clenched his teeth against the flash of pain and slammed the device into the ground over and over again.
“Get back in the car, Finn. You’re being ridiculous.” Claudia put her sunglasses back on, buckled her seatbelt, and looked forward.
“I’m being ridiculous? I’M BEING RIDICULOUS?”
“ARE YO
U DEAF?”
Finn picked up his shirt from the ground. Slinging it over his shoulder, he strode away from the car, the late morning sun toasting his skin.
“Jacob Finley Gilroy, where are you going?” Claudia shrieked. “You are so immature! It’ll take you hours to walk back! Get back in this car.”
He gave her a middle-fingered salute and continued on his way.
“Don’t make me call my father; this won’t end well for you,” she threatened.
Finn really didn’t care anymore. About this job, about these people, about his life anything. He’d been living a transient lifestyle for the last few years; it would be so easy to pack his bags and be gone in a few hours. He could go hang out in Florida with his Gram for a while. Was there anything worth staying in Vegas for?
STELLA, 1:29 P.M.
Stella absently wrapped paper napkins around silverware for the expected dinner rush. It was a good thing it was such a mindless task because she had plenty of other stuff to keep her mind occupied, like the fact that she was sitting here when she could be learning how to cook an impeccable pepián in Guatemala or mix the perfect pisco sour in Chile. But no, she was here. Rolling cutlery.
Finn kept creeping into her thoughts. It had been nearly two days since they’d gotten back to Las Vegas, and she hadn’t heard from him. Stella had forgotten all about his promise to share some of his earnings with her until she opened her mail last night and laid eyes on her water bill. That reminded her. She needed to speak with Phoebe about taking shorter showers—was the girl part fish or something?
Stella sighed. Despite his choice of profession, Finn was unlikely to pull one over on her; he was probably just busy. Busy enough not to call after she’d finally crossed the line and kissed him. She’d only done it to diffuse all the sexual tension, of course.
Yep, that’s the only reason it happened.
A large mitt of a hand entered Stella’s vision and waved frantically in front of her face. “Earth to Cadet Stella. Earth to Cadet Stella! You’ve wrapped five napkins around that fork. I asked you to wrap the silverware, not mummify it.” Bert stood rooted near the booth, arms crossed, a no-nonsense expression on his face.
