by Elise Noble
“Are you gonna go this evening?”
“Are you as crazy as Sofia? How can you even ask that question?”
“I hate to admit it, but she does have a point. She’s offered you the perfect sidekick for making Jean-Luc jealous. I know I’m engaged to Oliver, but I’m not blind, and Malachi’s ridiculously handsome. And safe.”
“Do you know much about him?”
“No, but nobody working for Blackwood would pull a stunt like Drew did last night.”
From everything I’d heard, Stef was right about that. And when Malachi rescued me before, he’d been the perfect gentleman and walked me right upstairs to my apartment before disappearing back to the Batcave or wherever it was that he came from. And—I wasn’t sure whether this was a plus or a minus—since he’d been on the team for the Carter case, which was what we’d all been wrapped up in at the time, he had to know my history. At least I wouldn’t need to pretend with him.
“What about this wedding?”
“Weddings are fun. Just go along, smile a bit, and eat cake.”
“You really think it’s a good idea?”
“I think it’s a better idea than trawling Richmond’s bars in search of a willing victim for our original plan. At least if it’s a fair trade with Malachi, you won’t feel guilty about using him to hook Jean-Luc.”
“Why do I feel like I just made a deal with the devil?”
“Oliver always says that on the streets of hell, there are angels in disguise.”
CHAPTER 7 - IMOGEN
WELL, I GUESS I knew where I fell in Malachi’s list of priorities. Instead of taking the time to meet me somewhere civilised to discuss tomorrow’s awkward arrangements, he’d made me venture far outside my comfort zone, all the way to Third Base on the edge of downtown. Why did he like this place? The name alone should have been enough to put any sane person off. And it looked awful from the outside, all peeling paint and dirty brick with an ancient neon sign that buzzed as it flickered.
“Shall I come inside with you?” Stef asked. “Oliver doesn’t mind waiting.”
“I’ll be fine.”
She gave me a dubious look.
“Honestly. There’re plenty of people around.”
“What time shall we pick you up?”
“I’ll get a cab home. There’s no need for you to come out late.” And they’d already gone out of their way to help me.
“But—”
“Get Malachi to bring you back home,” Oliver said. “You shouldn’t be walking around alone in this area.”
“What if he’s been drinking? Or he doesn’t want to?”
“Ask him to ride in a cab with you. He’ll do it if he doesn’t want to get his ass kicked by Emmy on Monday morning.”
Third Base stank of stale beer and second-hand cigarette smoke. All heads turned as I walked in, and the only other women in the place were the redhead behind the bar who looked twice my age and tough as old boots, and a skinny girl playing pool at the back. Her opponent rested his beer gut on the table as he stared at me too.
Where was Malachi? I didn’t want to make eye contact with any of these people, so I tiptoed around a puddle of something sticky and headed for the bar instead. Sports played on a TV next to the register, and I had to raise my voice to be heard above the commentator.
“I’m supposed to meet a guy called Malachi,” I told the redhead. “Do you know who that is?”
She extended one skinny finger past my left shoulder. “Over there, sweetheart.”
I turned and let my eyes adjust to the gloom. The table she’d pointed at had two occupants, their seats angled so they could see the screen. Furthest away in a gloomy corner was a young black man in his early twenties. A stranger. His companion watched me carefully, and even across the room, I felt his penetrating gaze.
Malachi.
I started towards him, my feet dragging all of their own accord. He waited until I reached the table before he stood up.
“Hey.”
“Hi.”
This wasn’t awkward in the slightest.
“You have this seat, and I’ll get another one. Wasn’t sure whether you’d turn up or not.” He jerked a thumb towards his companion. “This is Deon.”
I perched on the edge of the wooden seat, one of many that littered the room, and pasted on the fake smile I’d perfected during my time with Rubies.
“Hi, I’m Imogen.”
“Yeah, Mal said you were coming.”
“Are you watching the...” I glanced across at the TV. “Uh, the baseball game?”
Up close, Deon looked younger than I’d first thought, maybe seventeen. Should he even be in a bar?
“Lady, everyone here’s watching the baseball game. That’s the whole reason you come to Third Base.”
I squinted at the screen. The Washington Nationals were beating the Chicago White Sox with three innings left, according to the caption at the bottom. I wasn’t about to admit I didn’t know what an inning was.
“Who are you rooting for? The Nationals?”
He pointed at his White Sox jersey, and I awarded myself zero out of ten for observation.
“Oh. Of course. Do you play yourself?”
This time, he pointed lower, and I groaned out loud when I realised he was in a wheelchair. Dammit. Couldn’t I manage to say one thing, just one thing, without putting my foot in it?
“I’m so, so sorry.”
“Forget about it.”
“I should have noticed.”
“I’d rather people didn’t.”
Thankfully, Malachi came back to save me from myself. Earlier, I’d dreaded the prospect of being alone with him, but now I wished I was.
“What do you want to drink?” he asked as he dumped a battered chair beside mine. “They don’t serve cocktails here.”
“Just water.” No way was I getting drunk again, not after last night’s experience. In fact, total sobriety looked like an excellent option. “Do they have sparkling?”
“Who knows? I’m not sure anyone’s ever ordered water in here before.”
Deon snorted out a laugh, and I wanted to sink into the floor. Eyes on the prize, Imogen. Survive the next week, and I might get Jean-Luc. Then I’d never have to meet another man for dinner or drinks ever again.
Malachi headed to the bar, leaving me alone with Deon again. Somehow, this managed to be more awkward than my “dates” as a Ruby, and considering I’d once been to dinner with a man who forbade me to make eye contact and insisted on talking about himself in the third person at all times, that was a big statement to make.
“Do you come here often?”
When all else failed, resort to what sounded like a terrible pickup line.
“Whenever Mal has time to bring me. Once a month, something like that.”
“You’re friends?”
“Why the fuck d’you sound so surprised about that?”
“I’m not. I mean, I guess… Isn’t he quite a lot older than you?”
“We’re neighbours, okay?”
“I’m sorry. Again.”
The grease-stained menu took on a new fascination as I waited for Malachi to come back, although I felt too sick to contemplate eating anything. Half of the words were obscured by questionable splodges anyway.
“Hungry?” he asked, setting a glass of water down in front of me. Still, no ice, no lemon. And the glass was chipped. “They didn’t have sparkling.”
Was it too late to change my mind about Matthew? Even acting like a Stepford Wife was preferable to this, and I’d only have to keep up the pretence until the cooking contest was over.
“I’ll eat when I get home. Could we just quickly go over the plan for tomorrow? Then I can leave you to watch the game in peace.”
Malachi raised an eyebrow to Deon, who shrugged. They were speaking a strange form of sign language I didn’t understand. Was this something they learned in high school while the girls were having the talk about periods?
“Sh
e’s not Erin,” Malachi said.
“She looks like Erin.”
“What? She looks nothing like Erin. This is a favour for a friend. That’s it.”
Deon glowered at me. “Bitches are all the same.”
I tried for another smile even as tears pricked at my eyes. “Perhaps it’s best if we just call this off. There’s obviously been some sort of misunderstanding.”
I got halfway out of my seat before Malachi shook his head and fixed me with those piercing blue eyes. Against his brown hair and a day or two’s worth of stubble, the effect was striking, and it reminded me why I’d never quite forgotten him. But I’d changed in the time since we first met. With every day that passed, I felt more tired, and it became harder and harder to keep projecting the fun persona I’d adopted as a shield.
Nobody liked a misery-guts, that’s what my mom always used to tell me. Too bad she’d contributed to that misery, first by turning a blind eye to the abuse I’d suffered, and then with her continued support of a husband serving life in the Stateville Correctional Center and a son who should have been alongside his father.
When I left Ohio, I’d vowed to put the dark times behind me, but life still had a way of wearing me down around the edges, even when I’d come so far.
“No, we’re good. My ex…”—Malachi grimaced—“said some shitty things to Deon, and I didn’t find out until recently. Neither of us wants that to happen again.”
“It won’t. I want this week to be over as much as I’m sure you do.”
“Sofia said you needed a date for a fancy dinner to make some guy jealous?” Malachi ran a hand through his scruffy locks. “Apparently, I need to dress smart and get a haircut.”
“I just don’t think he sees me as girlfriend material at the moment.”
“And you want to show him otherwise?”
“Yes, and that way if he splits up with the horrible Brazilian girl he’s seeing, he might give me a second glance.”
Malachi snorted. “Any asshole that doesn’t give you a second glance is either blind or gay. Guess I’d better dig out a suit.”
“Don’t you need the suit for the wedding we’re supposed to be going to tomorrow?”
“Uh, no? Sofia didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“Fuck.” Malachi raised his eyes to the ceiling. “My buddy’s marrying a porn star he met playing an online video game, and they’re having a beach wedding.”
My brain didn’t even know where to start with that. I was still stuck on “porn star” when my jaw hit the damn table.
Malachi just looked resigned. “Yeah, that was pretty much the reaction of all of us who know him too.”
“But… But… Richmond doesn’t even have a proper beach.”
Only the occasional strip of sand along the James River, but I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to get married there. If the weather was good, every spot would be crammed with picnicking families, teenagers drinking beer they shouldn’t have, and dogs shaking dirty water over unsuspecting passers-by.
“The beach is in Fort Lauderdale.”
“Florida?”
“The wedding doesn’t start until three. We fly out at ten.”
“And when do we fly back? I have work on Monday morning. My first appointment’s at eleven.”
“We can leave right after dinner if you want. I have to be in the office for a meeting at ten.”
“Why exactly do you want me there? Sofia said you needed to prove you moved on?”
“Because Erin’s a psycho,” Deon put in, and Malachi’s jaw clenched.
“That’s not helping, bud.”
“Is it true?” I asked.
Before either of them could answer, a waitress slid two plates of food onto the table—giant burgers dripping with cheese, sizzling onion rings, and a mountain of fries. Malachi’s came with a side of pickled jalapeños, and he popped one into his mouth before stacking a pile inside his burger. My mouth burned just watching him.
“How can you eat those things?”
“I’ve always liked spicy food.”
“He ate a habanero once,” Deon said. “A whole one, seeds and everything.”
“The moral of that story is never make a bet with Emmy. You know Emmy?”
“I’ve met her. Isn’t eating habaneros dangerous?”
“I spent the next fifteen minutes in the bathroom, alternately blowing my nose and scrubbing my tongue with soap.”
“Soap?”
“It doesn’t taste so bad once you’ve scalded off your taste buds.” He pushed his plate an inch towards me. “Want a French fry?”
Had somebody told him that they were my kryptonite?
“Maybe just one.” Or two. Or three… “We were talking about the wedding?”
“Yeah, we were.” His sigh hinted at the unspoken word at the end of the sentence: unfortunately. “I can’t skip it. Archie’s always been there for me, and I also want to find out whether this woman’s likely to take him for everything he’s got.”
“You haven’t met his fiancée?”
“He only met her six weeks ago.”
“Holy shit.”
“Exactly.”
“And your ex is going? Is that Erin?”
“She’s friends with Archie’s sister. They’re both bridesmaids. She keeps telling everyone I want her back and won’t leave her alone when it’s the other way around, and it’s getting embarrassing.”
“Do you think she’ll be nasty to me?”
Silence from Malachi, but Deon spoke up.
“She’s a two-faced bitch. Watch your back.”
On the plus side, it seemed Deon didn’t hate me quite so much now. But did I really want to jet off to Florida to be a target for a crazy woman? Staying single for the rest of my life seemed like a more appealing option with every passing moment.
But I’d made a deal, and now acquaintances of Stef and Roxy’s were involved in my problems too. If I backed out, I wouldn’t just be letting down Malachi, I’d be letting down my friends.
I was tough. I could do this. After escaping the horrors of Cleveland and surviving my time as a Ruby, a few hours at a wedding should be a walk in the park.
“Where do I need to meet you tomorrow?”
“I’ll pick you up at nine.”
CHAPTER 8 - IMOGEN
“I’M COMING, I’M coming.”
Five past seven, and Bradley was already trying to hammer my door down. It had been almost midnight when Malachi and Deon dropped me home in Malachi’s truck, and I’d even go so far as to say I enjoyed myself at Third Base. Once Deon realised I wasn’t a permanent fixture in Malachi’s life, he’d taught me the basic rules of baseball, and the White Sox had turned it around and won. I’d celebrated with my own plate of perfectly crispy French fries while Malachi bought a round of drinks for everyone. Due to the debacle with Drew, I’d stuck with lemonade, and Malachi had Coke because he was driving. Only Deon drank beer, and nobody seemed to care he was underage. I’d kept my mouth shut too, not wanting to ruin the truce he seemed to have called.
“Hurry up,” Bradley shouted. “These bags are heavy.”
Only because he’d brought half a department store with him. Shoes, purses, make-up, and…twenty different bikinis?
“Didn’t you get the message? We’re going to a wedding.”
“Yes, on a beach. I love your nails, by the way.”
I’d fixed the broken one and repainted them in fuchsia. Marelaine’s words got to me, okay?
“But I still need to wear a dress or something.”
“Nuh-uh. The dress code is ‘strictly swimwear,’ and I didn’t think you’d be a one-piece girl. They’re doing photos of everyone in the sea afterwards, so I haven’t brought anything white just in case it goes see-through. Plus people might think you were the bride.”
“Swimwear?” That had to be a joke, right? “Who has guests wear swimwear to a wedding?”
“The future Mrs. Archie Cur
tis. The invite’s in one of the bags if you want to check. Didn’t Malachi tell you?”
“No, he conveniently forgot to mention that part.”
“You might be able to wear a sarong for the reception. I’ve brought a selection. Plus some floaty tops, sunglasses, and a whole rainbow of flip-flops. And sunblock! You must remember to wear sunblock. Your skin’s so pale—you’ll burn otherwise. Now, sit down so I can sort out your hair.”
“A bikini?”
“Think positive, doll. If you’re not wearing a cover-up, then Malachi has to go shirtless, and that man is fine.”
Okay, so that was a small plus point, but he still should’ve warned me. That way, I could have gotten a spray tan at least. And avoided eating those fries last night. Never again would I make a deal without full disclosure of the facts first, no matter how desperate I was.
“A bikini?”
Malachi closed the truck door, put my bag in the back seat, and climbed into the driver’s side before he answered. Today, he’d worn a pair of shorts and a tight white T-shirt that proved Bradley wasn’t lying about his chest, which went some way to mollifying me. Yes, I was aware of how shallow that sounded, but there had to be a few perks to this stupid arrangement.
“Are you mad at me?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He glanced across, sheepish. “Sorry. I didn’t think you’d come if I told you in advance. But I figured wearing a bathing suit wouldn’t be a problem for a girl like you.”
He…what? Oh, no, no, no. Tell me he did not just go there. A girl like me? Just because I used to be an escort, he thought I’d be happy to parade around half-naked? That… That… I didn’t even bother to finish the thought before I tumbled out of the truck and slammed the door so hard the glass rattled. He could take his “strictly swimwear” and shove it up his ass.
I fumbled in my purse for my keys as I ran back into the building. Forget the elevator—I took the stairs two at a time, heart pounding as Malachi’s footsteps sounded behind me.
“Imogen?”
“Get lost!”
I didn’t breathe again until I’d locked my front door behind me, and then I sucked in ragged gasps of air because the sprint up the stairs had highlighted my total lack of fitness. Would I ever escape from my past? Bad enough that I still looked for my brother in every dark shadow without being bulldozed by my reputation when I least expected it.
