Accidental Fiancé

by R. R. Banks

  “She's a – friend,” I say.

  Adam gives me a knowing look – the same sort of look Brayden had given me when he questioned me about Paige. Obviously, I'm not doing a good enough job of containing my thoughts or feelings about her. Not that I even know what they are at this point.

  “Anyway,” I say, “I'm assuming what you found out isn't something we'll be able to use. Legally speaking.”

  Adam sighs and leans back on the sofa. “Unfortunately, no,” he says. “I can't reveal the sources of my information because it's in something of a – gray area.”

  “Understood,” I say. “We'll just have to go about this another way.”

  “Any ideas about that?”

  I shake my head and give him a wry chuckle. “Not at the moment,” I say. “But, I need to talk to my lawyer. I still have her listed as the beneficiary on everything. I never thought to take her off.”

  “Well, that's something of an oversight,” Adam says and chuckles.

  “Yeah, tell me about it,” I say. “One that I will be correcting as soon as I can contact my lawyer.”

  Adam drains the last of his drink, so I walk back to the sideboard, grab the bottle, and give him a refill. He looks at the glass and grins.

  “Given that it's barely noon, I probably shouldn't,” he says.

  I shrug. “I'm the boss. I say it's fine,” I reply. “A little liquid grease for the gears. I find a little lubrication gets the mind working better.”

  “Good enough for me.”

  I pace my office again, sipping my drink as I play through everything in my mind.

  “Even if you do contact your lawyer and get that ball rolling,” Adam says. “Given your assets and the complicated nature of everything, it's probably going to take a little time to get it all worked out. She's going to be your beneficiary for a little while yet.”

  “Which means that until I have her removed –”

  “She's probably going to keep trying.”

  “Which leaves me in a jam,” I say. “I can't go to the cops with what I know. But, if I don't do something, she's going to keep coming at me.”

  “Bingo,” he says. “Have you considered hiring personal security? I know a couple of guys who –”

  I shake my head. “No, I'm not going to be doing that,” I say. “I don't want a bodyguard shadowing me everywhere I go.”

  Adam nods. “I can understand that,” he says. “But, it could be the difference between staying alive and catching a knife in the back.”

  I finish the last of my drink and look at the bottle on the sideboard. I know I probably shouldn’t but decide to have another drink anyway. I pour myself a glass and then raise the bottle to Adam, offering another refill. He shakes his head and raises his still half-filled drink.

  “Need to pace myself,” he says with a wry chuckle.

  I set the bottle back down and resume pacing my office. As I walk around, I feel like a caged animal. A caged animal with a big target on its back. And that irritates me. It irritates me to no end, actually. All because of Brittany. The more I think about it, the more I realize what she has done and is doing to my life, the angrier I get.

  “I swear to God, when this is over and I'm in the clear,” I say through gritted teeth, “I'm going to rain hell down upon that woman. She is going to pay for this.”

  “I wouldn't want to be in her shoes.”

  I stop and turn to Adam. “No,” I say. “You wouldn't.”

  He takes another sip of his drink and looks at me. “There's one thing we're not looking at here though. Something I think is actually kind of important.”

  “What's that?”

  “Well, we know the line from Waltham runs straight to Brittany,” he says. “Simple point A to point B. Or rather, point C to point B if you want to be more accurate.”

  I cock my head and look at him. “I'm not following.”

  “We know Brittany put Waltham on you in that alley. Simple deduction,” he says. “But the question I keep asking myself is this – who put Brittany on you? How did she know to track you down at Grady's? I mean, I'm assuming you didn't call her.”

  I shake my head, as the full impact of what he's saying starts to sink in. “No, I didn't call her.”

  “So, who did?” he asks. “Who told her you were there? If Waltham is point C and Brittany is point B, then who is the point A that completes that line?”

  Draining the last of my drink, I walk over and pour myself another. It's a damn good question and one that never even occurred to me. Ordinarily, if my head wasn't so filled with fluff and chaos, it would have been one of the first questions I asked myself.

  But, I've been so consumed with Paige lately that what should be obvious, fails to dawn on me. And it makes me want to kick my own ass.

  “That's a damn good question, Adam,” I say. “A damn good question. And I want the answer to that.”

  He drains the last of his drink and stands up. “Let me do a little more digging,” he says. “I'll find you the answers you want.”

  “You do that, I'll bring in a case of that just for you,” I say, pointing to the scotch.

  A broad smile crosses his face. “Done,” he says. “Don't think that gets you out of my normal fee though.”

  I laugh as he turns and walks out of my office, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Paige

  The Daily Cuppa is busier than ever and full of faces both familiar and unfamiliar. A booming business day should be a good sign for Mrs. Brenton. Something she'd probably be happy with. Unfortunately, I know that before long, Mrs. B. is going to move on and my favorite little coffee shop will be gone before too long – replaced by a Starbucks or one of the other ridiculously overpriced chain shops. Just another reminder of the slow death of the town I know and love. Well, mostly love.

  For now, though, as long as it still stands, I'm content to enjoy my coffee and brunch in a familiar atmosphere – where I don't have to pay five bucks for burnt coffee. Of course, the place is already starting to be overrun by hipsters and yuppies – who are the bane of my existence for what they're doing to my hometown.

  But, for the moment, it's still my familiar breakfast spot and no flannel-wearing asshole with a handlebar mustache or lumberjack beard is going to run me out of the joint. At least, not until the doors are shuttered for good.

  I do my best to shut it all out. To shut them all out. I lock myself away in my own little world and take a sip of my coffee, relishing the scent of Mrs. B.'s freshly ground coffee beans. Of course, the dark thoughts just have to intrude on my little moment of Zen by reminding me it's something I won't be able to experience for much longer.

  Dammit. I can't even give myself a moment's peace from my irritation with these people.

  I'm sitting in my usual spot near the back of the shop, tucked away in a quiet little corner with my book in hand when the door jingles and I look up. I groan to myself as Mayor Goodrich and Damon Moore, the predatory developer, walk in.

  I cover my face quickly, lifting my book a little bit higher, hiding behind it. The last thing I want, or need is the for the mayor and his pet developer – or is it the developer and his pet mayor – to see me. I know if they do, they'll both walk over like they own the place and try to browbeat me into selling again. That's just what they do. And I have zero desire to deal with that. Not while I'm trying to enjoy my brunch.

  Thankfully they somehow don't notice me as they take a seat in the booth next to me, ordering their beverages when the young barista swings by. The backs of the booths are naturally a bit high and we're separated by a large plant, which, along with the book I have over my face, gives me just enough cover.

  I hear them start talking in somewhat hushed tones, which automatically makes me perk up. They're speaking so low, it seems to me that they don't want anyone overhearing what they're saying. I know it's wrong, but I can't help but listen in. Call me morbidly curious, but I want to know what they ha
ve planned for my precious town – what it is that they don't want anybody else hearing.

  Most of it is boring shop talk – financial information, along with who has sold and who is still holding out. My name, of course, comes up briefly, which doesn't surprise me. I've been a thorn in their side and will continue to be as long as I possibly can. The last thing I plan on doing is making anything easy for these two.

  They, of course, call me a few colorful names but don't really say anything that I already didn't already know. Just that I was being stubborn. I snort quietly and shake my head.

  Oh, please. They haven't seen me at my most stubborn yet, I think to myself.

  Then another name comes up in their conversation – one that I wasn't expecting to hear…

  “What about this guy – Liam Anderson? I assume you know him, right?” Goodrich asks. “What's his play here? Is he thinking about jumping into the middle of the gold rush?”

  Damon laughs, but it's not a friendly sound – at all. If I have to call it something, I would have called it menacing. Almost like a caricature of an evil villain's laugh. I fully expect, that if I peeked over the booth, I'd see him with an evil grin on his face as he rubs his hands together.

  “Yeah, I know the prick,” he says. “Look, don't worry about Liam Anderson. I know he's in town, but I don't know what his plans are. It doesn't matter anyway. I've got it all under control already.”

  “Oh?” Goodrich asks.

  “Yeah, you don't need to know the details,” he replies. “Just take comfort in knowing that Liam Anderson and ADE will not be getting a piece of the Port Safira pie.”

  “You're sure of that?” he says. “I mean if he starts working deals –”

  “I'm positive of that,” Damon says. “He's not going to be a problem for us. Trust me on this, Brian.”

  Goodrich lowers his voice, and I have to lean closer to the edge of the booth to hear what he's saying. Even then, it's not easy to make out every word. I lean even closer – which means I'm practically sitting in the plant because I figure it has to be important if he's being so secretive about it.

  “He better not be,” Goodrich hisses “This deal is between you and me, and if another player enters the game now – we're both going to lose in the end.”

  Damon nearly growls in response. “Like I said. I've got it under control, Brian,” he snaps. “It's not a problem. I'm going to take care of him and make sure he doesn't get a seat at the table.”

  A heavy, oppressive weight settles down around my shoulders. I don't like the sound of what they're saying. The way that Damon mentions taking care of Liam and that he's not going to be a problem has a sinister ring to it. And honestly, it sends a chill down my spine. Call me paranoid, but something just doesn't seem right. Something is definitely going on here.

  Eventually, their conversation returns to more mundane topics and I'm forced to remain in the booth while they finish their coffee. I don't want to walk by them and alert them to my presence. I sit there, sipping my own drink, trying to figure another way out, when I hear them stand up and end their meeting.

  Thinking I finally have my chance to get out of there, I scoot over to the far end of the booth and prepare to make my break. Unfortunately for me, I nearly knock the plant sitting on the back of the booth down. Because I'm just that graceful.

  Thankfully, my reflexes are quick. I reach out and grab the plant before it can go tumbling down to the ground and shatter. But, as I'm steadying the wobbling ficus, I slowly become aware that the mayor and Damon are standing there, staring at me.

  “Oh hey,” I say, sitting up straight and trying to act casual like I hadn't just heard these two men talking about “taking care” of their competitor. “The two of you decide to enjoy this place one last time before demolishing it? Change your mind at all?”

  Damon's eyes narrow as he looks at me. Or more like, looks through me. I stare back at him, unflinching, and smile brightly. It seems to irritate the piss out of him, which makes me a little happy inside.

  “Very funny, Ms. Samuels,” Goodrich says. “No, quite the opposite really. Mrs. Brenton, as you're aware, sold to Mr. Moore here. So, we're just chatting about the plans for this beautiful city of ours.”

  Damon, clearly agitated, butts in. “Plans that would come to fruition much faster if you'd work with us, rather than fight against us, Ms. Samuels,” he says. “Don't you want what's best for your hometown? We certainly do. That's why we're doing what we're doing here, believe it or not.”

  “Hear, hear,” Goodrich says. “Well said, Damon.”

  I roll my eyes so far back into my head, I fear they may get stuck like that forever. Which, if it means not having to actually see either of these two assclowns standing in front of me again, it might be worth it.

  “Let me think about that, Damon,” I say. “Oh, guess what? The answer is still no. Sorry if that makes your plan of destroying my city any harder for you. No, wait, I'm not sorry. Not at all.”

  Damon's cheeks color and his eyes flash with a look of white-hot rage for a second before he's able to rein himself in. He dials it back and in the blink of an eye, he's composed, and his expression is one of pure patience and compassion.

  But, then he sneers at me, shakes his head, and blows the whole patient and compassionate vibe he was going for. It's interesting, however, that as this whole drama has played out over the past few weeks, how often his mask slips around me the angrier I make him. He may not believe it, but I actually see him for what he is – a monster.

  Damon fucking Moore puts on a good show and can play a role with the best of them. He portrays a kind and compassionate man almost flawlessly. At least, while things are going his way. When they're not, the real Damon Moore – the monster – comes roaring out of the darkness.

  The latter of the two Damon Moore's, his face twisted with rage, his eyes narrowed with hate, stands before me. Giving me a good look at his real, true nature.

  “We'll get your property one way or another, Ms. Samuels,” he hisses. “I was just hoping we'd be paying you for it instead of the bank.”

  “Huh, the funny thing about that, Damon, is that I own the property outright,” I say. “My parents paid for it in full years ago. No bank holds a loan over my head. If you'd have done your research, perhaps you'd know that. What sloppy, careless work. And quite honestly, gentlemen, that sort of sloppy work really worries me about what kind of plan you have for this town.”

  The fact that I know something he doesn't or rather, that I corrected him about something he didn't know – in front of the mayor, his business buddy, of all people – not only makes him look like an idiot, it also makes the white-hot anger in his eyes burn brighter than before. He glares at me for a long time, and that look almost makes me want to hide in fear. Almost.

  “There are other ways, Ms. Samuels,” Damon says, his voice low. “There is always another way.”

  “Are you threatening me, Mr. Moore?” I ask, feeling my own anger ignite.

  “Not a threat, Ms. Samuels. Just food for thought,” he says. “Have a good day.”

  Damon and Goodrich turn and walk towards the exit without saying another word. I can't help but watch them and wonder what they have in store for Liam. And what the ominous ‘other’ ways to steal my shop from me might entail.

  Whatever it is, it does not sound like good news for Liam or me. As I stand there watching them through the front windows, I decide I need to tell Liam what I'd just overheard. He needs to know.

  Chapter Twenty

  Paige

  I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. I hate waking up before my alarm. Glancing at the clock, I see it's only a few minutes early, but God, I hate getting cheated out of those minutes. Dawn is beginning to break outside and I know that I should get up and go for a run. I'm just feeling incredibly unmotivated this morning. Sleeping in and then having a leisurely cup of coffee sounds heavenly to me.

  But I have work to do and can't be a bum all day long. As muc
h as I'd like to. I have a shop to run, after all. So, while I might forgo the run, I can't afford to lay in bed all day. Besides, I need to make sure that I see Liam today. I need to talk to him, tell him about what I'd overheard.

  As I think about it though, I actually have no idea what I overheard. Neither that developer guy, Damon, or the mayor was exactly – specific. From where I sat listening, it sounded pretty ominous and foreboding. It sounded to me like thinly-veiled threats or as if they had some sinister plan in the works. And the fact that they had mentioned Liam by name is what made it all the more worrisome to me.

  I mean, after all, he was recently attacked in Seattle by some unknown assailant. And although he may not be ready to believe it, I'm more than convinced that his ex-wife had a hand in it. Based on some of the things he's told me about her, there is no doubt in my mind that she's behind it. In fact, she probably had her boyfriend do it.

  I can't say with any certainty that Liam's attack is in any way connected to what Damon and the mayor were talking about, but the whole thing has left me feeling really unsettled. It's like I'm looking at all these different pieces of a puzzle. And I know that once I start putting the pieces together, everything will come into focus and I'll have a coherent picture. I just don't know where to begin.

  I don't believe in coincidences and nothing that is going on has changed my mind. And although I have nothing concrete to give him, only my wild speculation, I feel like Liam needs to know. At the very least, he needs to know that Damon Moore and Mayor Goodrich are speaking about him and apparently have something in the works with him in mind.

  My alarm goes off, so I reach over and turn it off. A few minutes later, the aroma of brewing coffee saturates the air. Inhaling deeply, I savor the scent. Now, if I could only find a robotic butler to bring it to me, I might never have to leave the bed again.