by M. Malone
I look up and he’s watching me. The same current of heat passes between us and something clenches deep and low in my belly. “You didn’t bring me here thinking that we would … you know.”
Finn’s jaw tightens, the only outward evidence that he’s disturbed.
“Why would you think I wanted that from you? Men in my position stay away from gold-diggers if at all possible. You’ve already proven what you’re about.”
The pain comes out of nowhere, like a shot in the dark. I close my eyes. He’s so angry. This isn’t like him, not like the Finn I knew. He always had a smile for me. Always knew just what to say to make me feel better when I was sad or tired. He understood the frustration of wanting more and not knowing how to get it. And for a time we were each other’s shield against all the things that would attempt to hurt us. But then I met Andrew and everything changed.
He speaks and it’s like he’s reading my mind, as if my thoughts of the past have triggered his own.
“How is Andrew, by the way? I hope he’s well.”
His formal tone of speech just makes it clear that he’s mocking me. Finn was never formal with me, or with anyone really. I have no doubt that he already knows that we're not together anymore. He looks too pleased with himself not to have that information already. I'm sure he just wants to rub my nose in it, in how spectacularly wrong I was when I made my choice.
“He's just fine.”
“Of course he is. He has you, so why wouldn’t he be? You two are perfect for each other.”
I have to clench my hands beneath my legs to keep still. He has no idea just how deep his verbal barbs have penetrated. I’m sure he also has no idea just what a sadistic monster hides behind Andrew’s perfect face. If he knew, I don’t think he’d be saying these things. Finn was a jealous type but never evil. And even though he’d feel sorry if he knew the truth, I’ll never tell him just how imperfect things actually were. I don’t need anyone’s pity. I got myself out of that situation on my own and I don’t need anyone looking down on me or crying tears on my behalf.
“Anyway, I’d love to catch up but I need to show you around and give you your keys.” He stands, relying heavily on the cane. When he looks up and sees me watching him, his face hardens.
“And I need to tell you exactly what I expect from you.”
* * * * *
I follow behind as Finn shows me the rest of the building. The other apartments aren’t as stunning as his but they’re all newly renovated and spacious. He owns all this now. These types of apartments are the kind that we could only dream of living in as kids.
We’re standing in the middle of one of the vacant units when his phone rings. He holds up a finger as he answers.
I walk away slightly to give him some privacy but I can still overhear part of the conversation. It must be someone who works for him. It’s so odd to hear him talking with such authority. It’s like observing a stranger except this stranger looks like my Finn. Talks like my Finn.
I have to remind myself that he’s not. The boy I loved is gone. The Army took him just as surely as if he’d died overseas. And anything that was left when he came back, I killed when I gave him back his ring.
“Are you listening, Marissa?”
He’s watching me and I realize I’ve missed something he said.
“I’m sorry. This is a lot to take in. What time do you want your maid to come in the mornings?”
He tilts his head. “I expect you to be there by eight o'clock sharp, just like it says in the contract.”
I’m already shaking my head. Even though I told Daphne and Tara that I would do it, that was before I knew it was him. There’s no way that I can show up here everyday and be around Finn without the past crashing back in on me. I’ve worked so hard to move on and all of this has brought that pain dangerously close to the surface again. I’ll be lucky to get out of here today without breaking down completely. But I won’t let him have that victory.
“I’ll be sending someone else to clean your residence. Now that I’ve seen the place for myself, I’ll start assembling crews to handle the other floors.”
Finn just looks at me, his eyes blazing. The look on his face is so potent, so intense that I actually take a few steps backward. As if I could escape him that easily.
“It has to be you. You.”
“The contract said that we couldn’t send a different maid. I’m not here as a maid. I’m here as the owner.”
“It will be you or the entire deal is void. I want you here everyday. You’ll clean and decorate the place. The only area of the penthouse forbidden to you is the master bedroom.”
He’s being so unreasonable that I have to fight back a tide of curse words. It’s like he’s determined to make this as difficult as possible. Then I realize that’s exactly what he’s trying to do.
“If we're expected to clean the entire building then I’ll be of more use directing the cleaning crews.”
“It’s you or no one. Think carefully, Rissa. I don’t think the bank will give you any more extensions on your loan.”
His casual mention of my loan just confirms what I already suspect. He knows just how precarious my financial situation is and he’s using that to his advantage. I wonder if he laughed as he made the offer, knowing that I would have to take it. He probably thought it was amusing to dangle this big contract in front of me and then watch me scramble to meet all the requirements.
But I have no choice but to dance to his tune. Because he’s right, if I miss any other payments the bank might call my business loan. I have too many employees counting on me to fail now.
“Fine. I’ll be here tomorrow by eight.”
His face doesn't change but something in his expression relaxes. He was expecting me to protest again, to fight harder. Why is this so important to him? The vibe I'm getting from him definitely isn't romantic but his insistence on keeping me close doesn't make sense otherwise.
He gives me a small smile. "Don't be late."
Then he turns and walks away, leaving me standing in the middle of a beautiful vacant apartment all alone.
CHAPTER THREE
FINN
I’ve been living alone ever since I was twenty. It's been a long time since I woke up to the sound of someone in my space. My dreams are still hanging in the back of my mind so I'm not sure how much is real. I can only guess what some of the sounds translate to. Faint shuffling sounds could be her feet moving over the hardwood. Something bangs. Probably cabinets closing as she looks for cleaning supplies. I can picture her in my mind, moving around my kitchen.
The image of her from the prior day is burned onto my retinas. It’s not that I didn’t know what she would look like. The reports I have on her are filled with pictures. Smiling pictures, angry pictures. Pictures of her from the society pages on the arm of the man she left me for.
None of them could have prepared me for the sight of Marissa Blake in the flesh.
I’d originally thought I’d sit out front and watch her clean but after yesterday, I find I don’t have the same level of enthusiasm for this plan that I thought I would. Punishing her sounded like such a great idea before this. I wanted to bring her here and show her everything she could have had. Show her that she chose wrong and that I’m not just some loser that couldn’t take care of her properly. But that was before I saw her. There’s something different in her eyes now. She looks like she’s been punished some by life already.
And now I just want to lie here with my eyes closed and indulge in the completely ridiculous fantasy that Rissa is in my apartment because she wants to be.
The fact that I even want to imagine that pisses me off so I throw the covers back and roll to the side. My leg aches like a bitch already and I haven’t even gotten up yet. Pain is so exhausting. It takes everything I have some days to fight through it.
I finally sit up and manage to stand. Luckily once I’m upright the sharp pains settle into a dull ache. Hopefully a hot shower will ease it a l
ittle. At least long enough for me to get through the morning. I don’t want Rissa to see me like this. Then I remember her shock and pity at seeing my cane yesterday. She’s probably already glad she didn’t end up with me. Andrew Carrington is a prick but at least he's whole.
There's another bang up front and I glance over at the clock. It's a little after seven. Clever thing. I can't help but be impressed. The contract specified that she was to be here by eight. It never stated that she couldn't come earlier.
I'm sure she was hoping to wake me up.
My mood darkens as I realize that Marissa is remembering the boy who loved to sleep in. The man is used to Army hours and waking at seven is considered lazing the day away. Plus, time doesn't mean the same thing when you have insomnia most nights.
By the time I emerge after my shower, everything is quiet. In a panic, I move down the hallway. The kitchen is empty and I whirl around, wanting to punch the cabinets. There’s no way she finished everything and the contract specifically states that she’s supposed to be here until noon.
“Finn, what are you doing?”
I turn at the sound of her voice. She’s using some kind of tool to brush the cushions of the couch. Relief sweeps through me.
She didn’t leave.
Then I take in the shocked look on her face. She’s very deliberately looking anywhere but at me. Her cheeks slowly turn pink.
I look down at the towel around my waist. I didn’t even realize that I wasn’t dressed yet.
“I was coming out here to … uh, tell you that I have some laundry that needs to be done.”
It’s the first thing that pops into my mind and I hope she doesn’t call me on the weak excuse. Why would I need to tell her that I have laundry that needs to be done? I’ve hired her to clean this place and laundry was in the contract. It’s hardly the kind of thing that requires a warning. But she’s still looking at the couch cushions as though they hold the secrets of the universe. Then she glances up at me, her eyes lingering on my bare chest before her gaze drops to where my towel knots low on my hips.
I guess I’m not the only one affected here.
Part of me wants her to come on to me, to try to use her body to get out of our arrangement so I can turn her down cold. But right behind that desire is the very real understanding that if Marissa Blake ever tries to use her body to get me to do something, I won’t be the winner in that scenario. I don’t have a good track record at denying her anything.
Finally she meets my eyes. “Laundry. No problem.”
She’s not the only one who can pretend to be unaffected. “I’ve also got some mail that needs to be sorted. Can you go through, pull out anything important? Shred the junk mail.”
I’ve already gone through all the mail so I know there isn’t anything in there that I don’t want her to see.
She nods. “Sure. Do you want me to get the laundry from your room?”
“The master is off-limits to you,” I remind her.
“Oh yeah.” She bites her lip. “I’m not going to go through your things, you know.”
“That’s not why it’s off-limits. I don’t let just anyone in my private space. And if you ever step foot in there, you’re going to be doing a hell of a lot more than cleaning.”
She stares at me so long I wonder that she doesn’t see right through me. At first, she looked like she was averting her eyes out of modesty. She was always strangely bashful about nudity, something I would have thought she’d gotten over as an adult woman. But when I step closer, she looks pained, like she’s trying not to flinch.
She doesn’t think I’d try to force her to do something against her will, does she? Maybe that’s happened before. If she’s cleaning for people in their homes, she could have been in this position with a man before. A rush of anger is followed by a fierce surge of protectiveness. I want her to pay but not like this.
Never like this.
I take a step back and her sigh of relief is audible. “I’ll just go get that laundry.”
Before I reach the hallway, the sound of her voice calls me back.
“Finn? Why did you give me this contract? I mean, what’s really going on here?”
The answer to that question is so complicated. It’s more than just wanting to show her what she missed out on, more than just anger, more than just revenge. The answer contains things that even I don’t want to contemplate too closely so I just settle for another question.
“Why wouldn’t I want to help out an old friend?”
* * * * *
“Come talk to me while I eat my breakfast.”
Rissa looks up from where she stands across the room. She’s moved on from her vacuuming and is now using a can of something to buff and polish every surface in the room. She's only been here a few hours and the place already looks amazing.
“I’m working, Finn.” There’s a subtle reprimand in her voice and it’s so familiar that I can’t help but smile.
“You can’t work and talk at the same time?” I sound petulant even to myself but I want her to talk to me.
Rissa isn’t having it. She rubs vigorously at a spot on the coffee table. “It’s not that easy for us poor, working folk. Not that I should expect better but considering where you come from, I guess I thought you’d get it.”
There’s a bit of disbelief in her voice that makes me feel a little ashamed.
“Where I come from?” I ask, pretending I don’t know what she means.
“Yeah. Working class. Just like me. How is your family doing? Your mom was always really nice.”
“Not so great, actually.” Normally I wouldn’t have even said anything. Most people who ask after my mom, I just say ‘she’s fine’ and keep moving. But Mom always really liked Rissa. It was a weird thing as a teenage boy to have a girlfriend who fit so seamlessly into my family but it was also confirmation of what I knew the first time I kissed her. Rissa was perfect for me.
“She’s in the hospital right now.”
That gets her attention. She stops her buffing and looks over her shoulder at me. “I’m sorry. Claire was always so sweet. Is she going to be okay?"
"I honestly don't know. She has a particularly aggressive type of cancer. We've flown in specialists and we're trying to find something that will help her. Something that will keep it from spreading. But I honestly don't know."
She's watching me closely. Her eyes on me feel like a balm to nerves that are suddenly raw. "I really hope you find something that will help her."
"Yeah, me too."
"What about your brother? Is Tank still around?” Suddenly she pauses and leans against the couch for a moment. Her eyes close and only then do I notice the shadows beneath. I recognize the signs of exhaustion. I see them everyday in the mirror.
"Rissa?"
She opens her eyes immediately and starts moving again. "Yes?"
"Did you eat this morning?"
She shakes her head. "No, I didn't have time to stop for anything. But I ate last night when I got home. That wasn't that long ago."
I narrow my eyes at her. "How was that not that long ago? Unless you ate in the middle of the night?"
"Well, yeah. I usually get home a little after midnight and eat before I go to bed."
"Midnight? Late night partying?"
She gives me a disgusted look. "Working. Do you seriously think taking care of you is my only job?"
Due to the extensive research Patrick Stevens did on her business, I'm well aware of how many other clients she has. Not that I want her to know that. So I hadn't thought I was her only job but I had thought that once I hired her, she'd assign her previous work to someone else.
"Wait so you’re cleaning my place until noon and then what, you go to another cleaning job in the evenings. Which means you get home late every night? When do you sleep?"
“Sleep is optional at this time in my life. Paying my bills isn’t.” Suddenly she bolts straight up. Then holds up a black thong with the tips of her gloved fingers.
“Are these yours?”
Oh hell. I actually forgot I left those there for her to find. Suddenly my plans seem petty and juvenile, especially in light of what we were just talking about. But then I remember watching her walk away and into Andrew Carrington's arms.
She didn't just hurt me when she gave me my ring back. She crushed my pride by making me watch her with the guy who taunted me for being trailer trash. The guy who'd looked down on us both at one time. Before she grew up and he noticed how beautiful she was.
So I shrug, as if finding some random woman’s thong in my couch is an everyday occurrence. Then I smile knowing it’ll just piss her off.
“Well, in that case I won’t bother saving them.” She shoves them deep into the trash bag at her side and resumes looking through the cushions. She pulls out a condom wrapper and tosses it in the trash bag as well. There’s no mean looks or snide remarks but I can feel her shutting down the longer the silence stretches on.
I feel the loss of the connection acutely. For a moment, it felt the way things used to feel between us. Easy. Like we could talk about anything. It’s the kind of thing you take for granted until it’s gone. Until you spend years having unimportant conversations with people who don’t matter and remember what it was like to have someone who really heard you.
"Rissa. You should eat something. You know you get migraines when you don't eat."
She shoves something else into the trash bag. "I'm fine, Finn. You don't need to worry about me. I'm not your responsibility."
I open my mouth to say something. I’m not even sure what, but before I can get it out, the sound of the vacuum drowns out anything else I might have wanted to say.
Rissa doesn’t look my way again.
* * * * *
“Hello? Finn, are you here?”
My eyes open at the sound of her voice. Confused, I turn to look at the time. After Rissa left, I went to visit Mom and then came back home to take a hot bath. My leg was aching so took a few pain pills and let the jets in my soaker tub work their magic. I look down at my state of undress. I hadn’t bothered putting clothes back on rather had just pulled on a pair of boxers and settled in the chair to watch a little television. I must have fallen asleep.
