The Rebel: A Bad Boy Romance

by Aria Ford

  “Yeah,” she said softly.

  We’d gone to the football. Then to dinner. Then came that night, a month after we’d met, when I’d taken her to a fancy restaurant and we’d walked in the park after, kissing under the stars. That was the night I would never forget. The night I was her lover.

  After that, things had got confusing. Pressure from my friends wasn’t helping any: They kept on pointing out that I wasn’t good enough for her. And her family too. They actually hated me. I could feel it. On the odd occasion I saw them, they were rigidly polite. I felt as if I might be able to crack the air around them like glass or ice. The Boy from Vermont Hills was not for their little girl.

  It was after a family dinner that I’d walked away. It was at The Walton, an unimaginably fancy restaurant. And I’d embarrassed myself profoundly in front of her family. I thought Macy would never forgive me. So I’d hid. Not returned her messages. Blotted the whole experience out of my life. It was the last in a series of promptings that had made me decide she’d be better off without me.

  Now, I wished I hadn’t.

  The sound of a motorbike blasting down the street brought me back to the present moment. I sighed, rolling stiff shoulders, and went through to the kitchen. Made myself another cup of coffee.

  Somehow, no matter how many years passed, I still found a small corner of my heart belonged to Macy. Now that I was single and feeling sorry for myself, more than ever I found myself talking to her.

  “Macy,” I sighed. “If I hadn’t walked away, would you have pushed me out?”

  I was in some ways glad that I would never know—but in other ways, deep down in my heart, I wished I had stuck around to find out.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Macy

  I sat on the leather couch in my top-story apartment and checked my phone. I drew in deep breaths of the lightly floral air freshener and tried to relax. I felt jittery. Dad is coming back from overseas on Friday. That thought had occupied me for the last three days. I always felt like that when he left me in charge: I suppose it was my own sense of inadequacy to the task, and I kind of dreaded his assessment of my management.

  He trusts me way more than I do.

  I drew my focus to my phone, breathing deeply. My messages weren’t all that exciting—something from a local charity, inviting me to an event. Something from dad, just photos of the company launch at his new branch in Singapore. I scrolled through them idly. Then my eye fell on a new message.

  I grinned to myself, noting it was from Harper. I wondered what that was about. It was characteristically short.

  Want to chat?

  I sighed. Why not? It was six o’clock in the evening, and I was feeling a bit lonely after all.

  “Okay.” I sent back a message. Yes. A second later, the phone vibrated insistently.

  “Hi!” Harper’s voice bubbled on the other side of the phone.

  “Harper! Hi. What’s up?” I asked. She sounded wired. That in itself wasn’t a cause for concern—I knew her well enough to know she always sounded wired. I wondered what it was this time.

  “Just running into some last-minute challenges with that party…you know where I can get paper streamers from? Not the nasty ones…those nice ones like you had at the do last month?”

  I blinked. The party! It was insane, but I’d completely forgotten about it. “Uh…” I frowned, trying to think. “You should probably ask whoever’s doing the catering,” I said. “But the place we usually source them is at Tesor…they have a section for that kind of thing.”

  “Oh. Heck. Thanks, Em. You always know this kinda thing. So organized…” she sighed.

  I smiled fondly. “Thanks.” Harper was anything but organized. We’d met at college: she was studying design and I was studying management. I’d been pretty amazed by her scattered manner then, but it seemed to work. we’d both graduated in the same year and she’d gone on to work in her father’s company too—Hampton Architectural Ltd.

  “So,” she said. “Just to check. I’ve got the catering from that place you recommended before. I’ve got balloons coming in round midday tomorrow and the space is booked. What have I forgotten?”

  “If you’ve got something to wear, no sweat,” I commented. “All done.”

  “Something to wear!” she sounded like she was smiling. “Sure. Did that bit before I got the rest done. I went to this stunning new shop…oh, what was the name? LeBlanc.”

  “Sounds good,” I commented.

  “Oh, it is,” she said. “I’ll send you the homepage…it’s worth checking out.”

  “Thanks,” I said. My mind was working furiously. I had completely forgotten about Harper’s plan. I had literally nothing to wear. Well, nothing new that she hadn’t seen before. I wanted to do something special—it was her plan for me to meet someone at this party. She hadn’t said so, but I knew that was why she’d invited me.

  Maybe I should go and check it out.

  I looked at my watch. It was quarter past six. I scrolled to the link Harper had shared.

  “Mm. Not bad.”

  “What’s not bad?” Harper asked.

  “This place. The website you sent? Looks nice.” It did look nice. They had really simple, pretty dresses. Just what I wanted.

  I looked at the opening times. It closed at eight pm. It was about half an hour’s drive away. Feeling spontaneous, I decided to go and check it out.

  “I’m glad you like it,” she said smugly. “Anyhow. I should go. Got to head to a dinner. Tootles.”

  I grinned at her typical ending statement. “Bye,” I said. I hung up. Thinking about my plan.

  “It isn’t like I have anything better to do. And I do need something pretty.”

  I went to the bathroom, restyled my hair—the chignon I always wore it in had kind of fallen flat during the day—changed my white jacket for a softer blue one and headed downstairs.

  As I drove through the darkening streets, I found myself feeling strangely excited about the prospect of the party. It wasn’t like I tended to socialize all that much. Besides company events, I hadn’t actually headed out for a while now. This was going to be fun.

  “Typical Harper to decide to matchmake,” I thought aloud. She was always trying to introduce me to people—wealthy clients of her father’s company, mostly, or people she met at parties. None of them were my style: smooth, suave and sexy, they all lacked an essential something.

  Something Maddox had.

  I rolled my eyes at myself in the reflection in the window and put my foot on the gas, heading into town. I was twenty-six. What was I doing hanging on to someone from my childhood?

  Yes, I thought stiffly as I glanced at my face in my makeup mirror before getting out of the car. I was grown up now. I needed to grow up inside. My oval face, wide-lipped and big-eyed, had the slightest trace of smile lines at the corners of the eyes. It was time I forgot about teenage dreams.

  I swiveled my legs to the side and swung them out of my BMW, hoping that my GPS brought me to the right place.

  The place in question was a new mall—severe, minimalistic and stylish. It looked like the sort of place I would like. I drew a breath and put my best—high-heeled—foot forward, heading inside.

  “LeBlanc,” I read the name above a beautiful shop window. In the window was a stunning dress—a sort of oyster-cream color with breezy layers of chiffon-light fabric, a slight fringe on the sleeves. It was really current. I decided I had to try it on.

  The place was brand new—I was surprised it had even been open when Harper had visited. There was a technician working at the door, making some adjustments to the alarm, I guessed. I walked past him and he stared after me.

  “Hi,” I said to the salesgirl, ignoring the hovering mechanic. “I’m looking for something for a party. And I really like the cream dress in the window. Can you make some recommendations, apart from that?”

  She nodded. She showed me several really pretty dresses, but I had my hopes pinned on the cream one.
r />   “Can I try them on?”

  “Sure,” she beamed. She showed me the changing room.

  I headed that way, stopping to pick up some accessories on the way in. A floaty scarf. A pair of high-heeled sandals with discreet sparkles on the buckle They might all match quite well.

  In the changing room, I stepped back from the mirror, frowning at my reflection. The cream dress was slightly above knee-length, the neck low but with a chiffon layer making a pretty, demure collar. The sleeves were wide bell sleeves ending in soft fringes. The bust clung a little to my own full bust, the short skirt making my legs look really long. I frowned at my pale oval face above the neck, surprised by how innocent I looked in this dress. It was probably the little buttoned collar that did it, I decided. Even so, it was lovely.

  “I’ll take it.”

  I changed back into my slacks and blouse, noting with some surprise that the label was still in the slacks. I must have forgotten to cut it out. I shrugged. No reason not to do it later. I headed to the counter, card in hand, to make the purchase.

  “Thanks. Have a nice evening!” the red-lipped salesgirl called out from behind me. I smiled at her over my shoulder and walked out.

  Alarms, blaring and insistent. It sounded like the entire police force had just descended, sirens blaring. Except they hadn’t, of course. It was just the newly mended alarm on the shop door. Going off.

  I closed my eyes, cheeks flushing bright with shame.

  There I was, standing just outside of the stylish boutique, my purchases in hand, and I had set off the door alarm. Not good.

  I groaned. I knew my rights. If I’d been still within the precincts of the store, there’d be no harm done. As it was, I was just outside. If I’d accidentally put something in my bag while I was in there—a scarf, say, or some earrings—it would be embarrassing.

  It might also get legal.

  I sighed, imagining what my dad would say. Imagine the scandal if I was arrested for shoplifting! To my dismay, I could just see a security official, heading my way. This really was all I needed.

  I stood there, fishing through my handbag, trying to figure out what had happened, trying desperately to compose myself. Then it hit me. The slacks, I realized, relief washing through me like a tidal wave. The label was still in them! It must have activated the door alarm somehow.

  I looked up, ready with an explanation. Then I stared.

  It couldn’t be. Ten years would change a person more—wouldn’t they? I thought they would.

  But the guy standing opposite me, a pistol at his side, hair cropped ruthlessly short, wearing a dark-brown uniform with some insignia on the front, looked almost exactly like Maddox.

  He was staring at me too.

  “Macy?” he breathed.

  I stared back. “Maddox?”

  It was him. It really was. After all this time. Almost ten years.

  Then, to my amazement, he laughed. “It is you! Macy! It’s not possible…” He shook his head, laughing. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” I managed shyly. I put my purchases down, mainly to give me something else to think about while I tried to collect myself. “I…this is a bit awkward. Isn’t it?”

  He chuckled. Those caramel-dark eyes—I’d said they were the color of caramel one night when I lay in his arms and he’d kissed me, saying I was as sweet as syrup, so we matched well—danced.

  “I guess so. I know you haven’t stolen anything.”

  I giggled, feeling weak with all the emotions that surged through me. Relief, at the fact that my problem with the door was going to be so speedily resolved. Shock, at seeing him again. Amazement and a strange, growing warmth that was suffusing my chest and threatening to stop me breathing.

  “I haven’t, no,” I added. We were on our own now—the interested parties who’d stared at us when the door had been making its racket had since dispersed—and I could explain myself.

  “It’s the new door,” he said dismissively. “I wondered if that guy knew what he was doing. Probably made it too sensitive,” he added crossly.

  I laughed. “Maddox Jefferson,” I said with mock seriousness. “You are supposed to check my bags, I think. We should follow protocol.”

  The salesgirl was hovering behind us, I think even more embarrassed than I was, as Maddox went through my purchases.

  He lifted out the dress. Was it my imagination, or was he assessing me, trying to guess what it would look like if I were wearing it? I blushed red and looked away as he put the bag down carefully beside me.

  “Well, that’s all as it says on the receipt,” he said. Then he went pale. “I’m sorry, Ms. Trent. I have to examine your handbag.”

  Oh. Somehow, handing my bag to Maddox to look through had an intimacy almost as bad as if we’d been undressed together. A handbag is a deeply personal thing, after all. So much of one’s identity is in there. I let him take it and spent my time studying the storefront, cheeks burning. Every now and again I glanced sideways at him, checking to see what he was doing.

  He went through it briskly. I saw his big hands with their long, sensitive fingers probing the various compartments. He did it respectfully, and I felt as if his hands were touching my skin as they carefully filtered through my wallet, spare lipstick, traveling perfume. He frowned when he touched that and I smiled.

  He knew me when I wore Gucci Rush. Now I wore something by Van Cleef and Arpels—more mature and classic. Strangely, the little frown that crossed his brow when he saw that—as if he remembered our conversation all those years ago when he’d wanted to buy me perfume, moved me almost to tears. I’d told him not to because I knew it was too expensive. He’d known I knew and he’d been upset. It had been one of the first awkward moments between us. Strange how I’d forgotten all about it over the years. The mind is a strange thing.

  He cleared his throat, the sound drawing me back to the moment.

  “All in order, ma’am,” he said. It came out sounding forced and stiff and he cleared his throat, clearly feeling uncomfortable. “Thank you,” he added.

  “Not at all,” I commented. “Thank you. I guess we should explain to the saleswoman what happened?” I added, turning to face where she hung back, hovering somewhere at my left-hand side, mute with nerves.

  “Sure,” he added. “Um, Doreen…it’s fine. There’s nothing in there. I guess it was the door. Get the guy in tomorrow to have it checked, maybe.”

  “Sure,” she said. She beamed at him and I felt a stab of jealousy for how easily she could relate to him. He was a handsome guy and she was responding unconsciously. She wasn’t shut out on the wrong side of past baggage, like I was.

  “Okay,” I said, clearing my throat uncomfortably. “I suppose I should go now,” I added. I walked away from the door, heading to the exit with my back straight, head held high. I wasn’t going to let him see how just seeing him again had punched into me like a blow straight to the heart.

  He stood where he was. Then, to my surprise, I heard footsteps coming after me.

  “Macy? Wait!”

  I turned. Looked up into his eyes. He was smiling, those caramel-dark eyes soft with tenderness. I bit my lip, wincing as the memories ate away at me.

  “What?” I said. I had meant to snap at him, but the word came out softer than I had intended. I looked away, feeling my heart thumping away in my chest, wild with excitement.

  “Macy, uh…it was good to see you again,” he said. His voice was low and soft and it played over all the sore places that were my most well-hidden traits.

  “It was good to see you too,” I murmured.

  I looked up into his eyes. He looked down into mine. His mouth lowered toward me, and it seemed so natural, so ordinary, to kiss.

  I think we almost did it before the sound of a polishing machine brought us both back to the present.

  “We should go,” I said, surprised at myself and how sore the thought of parting made my heart feel. I’d just found him again! How could I leave?

  “It looks
like the mall’s about to close,” he agreed, chuckling self-consciously.

  “Mm,” I said, noting how most of the shops were already shutting their doors, a cleaner starting to work her way down the central hallway. The lights in some of the stores were already off, customers drifting through the doors before us.

  “Macy,” he said softly. “It’s been so good to see you.”

  I sighed. “You too.” I started to walk away, then closed my eyes, catching myself. “Are you working here long?” I asked.

  “Next year or so,” he said with a shrug. “That’s the plan. It’s good,” he said. “Money’s not bad. And the social aspect.” He was looking at me when he said that, a smile turning up the corners of his mouth. I felt my heart dance as I looked into those mischievous eyes of his.

  “I should go,” I said firmly. “See you around.”

  “See you around,” he agreed. I made myself walk away. Step to the door. One foot, then another.

  I turned around in the entranceway. He was where he’d been when I left, standing outside the boutique store, looking at the door. Staring after me. I swallowed hard.

  “Maddox Jefferson,” I said under my breath. “I don’t know if I’m really mad right now, or really, really happy.”