by Portia Moore
“You’re here to interview me? I feel special,” I say smoothly, smiling at her. I’m good at being charming, and a little flirtation never hurt anyone. I’ll find out quickly enough if that’s the tactic that works on her.
She doesn’t respond, but I see a smile in her eyes that doesn’t reach her lips. “Can I come in?” she asks politely.
I hesitate for a fraction of a second, running the state of my apartment quickly through my head. Did I leave anything out that might be evidence of my cover? But I know already that I didn’t—I’m better than that. The files are stowed in a well-hidden safe, and these people aren’t going to fault me for owning a gun.
“Come on in,” I tell her with a grin. “It’s not the Ritz, but I try to keep it clean.”
“I won’t judge,” she tells me as I open the door. She walks in, the two guys on her heels.
“Can I get you a drink?” I ask her as she sits on my piece of shit loveseat, glancing down at the Ikea coffee table between it and the equally shabby couch.
“No, thank you,” she says. “Just a few quick questions, and then I’ve got to get back to the club.”
“Big night tonight?” I ask jokingly, and she shrugs.
“Every night at the Palace is a big night. You’ll find that out soon enough if you get the job.”
As badly as I want a whiskey right now, I don’t want to appear nervous or be rude, so I give up on that idea and take a seat across from her on the couch. “Brick spoke highly of you,” she says, surveying me with those keen, dark brown eyes. “You went on a run with him today?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I tell her. “He asked me along.”
“Sonya is just fine,” she tells me with a smirk. “People call my mother ‘ma’am.’” She pauses then, her gaze still pinned squarely on me. “And do you know what he was picking up?”
“I figured it wasn’t my place to ask.”
She seems to like that answer. “So, you aren’t a guy who asks questions?”
“I ask what I need to know to make sure I do my job,” I tell her firmly. “The rest, I assume if I need to know, I’ll know.”
She seems to like that answer even better. “Brick says you asked about the cops.”
“Well, I wanted to know how careful I’d need to be if I was going to be doing more runs like that with him. If the cops were something I needed to worry about.”
“Do you know many cops, Chase?” My name rolls off of her tongue in that island accent, and I wonder if she’s trying to distract me. Flirting with me, trying to turn me on to throw me off my game—if I’m playing one. Unfortunately for her, I’m not as susceptible to her charms as most men probably would be, and all thanks to the fact that I can’t ever quite seem to shake the memory of a girl I was head over heels for in high school. Still, there isn’t a man on Earth who wouldn’t be at least a little distracted by her.
“A few,” I say carelessly. “Some dirty, some not. I assume someone as powerful as the man who runs all this would have more than a few in his pocket.”
“You’d be right.” She narrows her eyes. “You know it’s a fast jump, from tending bar at Brick’s place to working at the Palace. There’s a steep learning curve.”
“Well, I might not have done all that well in school, but I’ve picked up a few things since then,” I say with a shrug and half-smile. “You give me a job, you won’t regret it.”
“I don’t think I’ll know until that happens.” She looks around the apartment and then stands slowly. “Here’s my card. It has all the information for the Palace on it, where you can get ahold of me. Meet me tomorrow when you get off work at Bricks. Can you make it there by four?”
“I’ll be there,” I tell her firmly, standing up as well.
“Good.” She waves at the two men and turns to leave. Just before she opens the door, she pauses, looking over her shoulder. “And, Chase?”
“Yes?”
She smiles at me, and there’s no chance I’m imagining the flirtatious expression on her face. But underneath it, there’s something harder, and I know that I’d be a fool to underestimate this woman.
“I hope you don’t disappoint me.”
5
Rain
I feel like a stranger in my new home. It doesn’t even feel like a home to me—more like an upscale, incredibly posh jail.
Everything here feels strange to me—the house, the city, even the man that I was certain just a few days ago, I would love for the rest of my life. I feel aimless, wandering around the huge brownstone—there’s nothing for me to even do here. The house is already decorated with how Vincent likes it. Things have been unpacked and put away. Andrea is in control of everything—from the decor to instructing the staff that was already hired before we even arrived. Andrea is the woman of the house, and I’m just a pretty ornament, rattling around inside of it. All I’m expected to do is stick to my diet, work out, and play the part of the devoted trophy wife-to-be.
April is always in the shadows, blending in like part of the décor, so effortlessly that some days I hardly even notice she’s there. But not Andrea. Her presence is loud and obvious, and while her contempt for me is never spoken out loud, it’s plain in her demeanor. She thinks I’m beneath Vincent, or at least not right for him, and makes it clear without ever saying a word about it.
We’ve only been here for a few days, and I’m already bored out of my mind. I’m not allowed to go anywhere without April. Even if I wanted to try to enjoy exploring the city with her hanging over my shoulder, I don’t know what I would do. Shopping is just another thing for Vincent to hang over my head. I’m afraid that if I go out to a show or to museums or anything like that at all, he’ll be angry at me for not waiting for him—or for some other reason that I can’t even guess at. Everything has become a guessing game of trying to figure out what will accidentally piss him off and trying to avoid it, and it’s so exhausting that it’s easier to just go to my workouts and come straight home.
I’m getting ready to head to my appointment with my trainer when my phone buzzes on my nightstand. It’s a call from my mother, and I’m immediately grateful for something, anything, to distract me, even if the news isn’t good.
She sounds happy, though. “We’ve made it to Seattle!” she tells me, sounding tired but pleased. “Your dad is all settled in, and Rain, you wouldn’t believe how we’ve been treated here! Your father is in the VIP ward. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen! It’s like a hotel room, not a hospital room! Everyone has been so kind and accommodating, and the doctors are so helpful; it’s like they’re totally focused on caring for your father. The most important thing is that they’re very optimistic about his care--”
She keeps talking, but I can hardly focus any longer on account of the wave of relief that washes over me. It’s all worth it, I think, as I sink down on the couch. This is why I’m staying, why I’m doing this. My father is safe. He’s settled in and getting the best possible care that we could never have gotten any other way. Vincent might be cheating on me; he might have lied to me about the way he’d treat me or what being married to him would be like, but he’s kept this promise—and this is the most important of them all. I have to keep reminding myself of that.
“I’m so glad everything is working out,” I tell my mom in a heartfelt voice. “I really am, Mom.”
“Are you okay, Rain?” she asks gently.
“I am. We’re in New York now. It’s been a fast-paced few days, but we’re settling in. Vincent has some business here, so I’m not sure how long we’ll be living here, but the house is lovely, of course.”
“I’m sorry about all the problems I gave you about Vincent, honey,” my mother says. “It turns out he’s a good man, after all. I’m sorry I was so suspicious of him. I…I don’t know how we would have handled this without his help. I’m just so grateful for all of it.”
I feel tears come to my eyes. If only she knew how right she was. If I just would have listened, I think, struggling not
to cry.
But if I had listened, my father would be in some shitty hospital bed in Indiana, staring down treatments that my mother could never afford, even at the most sub-par level.
I force myself to smile as if she were standing here and hope the smile comes through in my voice. “Everything is working out just fine,” I tell her, trying to sound sure of it. “How is Erin doing?” I ask quickly, wanting to change the subject away from Vincent.
“She’s happy,” my mother says. “To be honest…things are looking better for your father, but I’m concerned about Erin. She’s been uprooted from where she’s familiar, and she’s so worried about your father all the time, of course. I hate that all of this is happening right at the start of her junior year of high school…it’s such an important time for her, and I’m worried that she’ll be distracted. She wants to go home, and I think I’m going to let her and see if one of our neighbors can look in on her.”
“I’m sure it’ll be okay,” I say, attempting to reassure her. “Erin is tough, Mom. And she’s seventeen, that’s old enough to be on her own for a couple weeks. I know the neighbors will keep an eye on her, too. I’ll do anything I can to help too, you know that. Whatever I can do to make this easier for you, just let me know.” As long as Vincent agrees to it, the dark voice in my head says, but I quickly push the thought away.
My mom pauses for a second, and I can almost hear her thinking on the other end of the line. “You know,” she says thoughtfully, “you’ve helped us so much, Rain. I’m so grateful for it and so proud of you, honey, really I am. You’ve grown up into such a remarkable young woman.”
I almost burst into tears at that. I’ve wanted more than anything to hear that from her, but it doesn’t feel right. What does she have to be proud of, exactly? What have I done, other than manage to land a rich fiancé entirely by accident, who turned out to be a controlling womanizer? And I landed him in the first place by getting caught shoplifting, which my mother would be absolutely horrified to find out about.
“I was so worried about you moving to a big city, Rain—worried that you wouldn’t be able to make it, that you’d get into trouble, but you did make it. And you did it without any help from us, monetary or otherwise. You’re so strong, Rain. Stronger than I ever realized,” she repeats.
I don’t feel strong, I think. I feel weak. Trapped. Scared.
“I’m going to put Erin on a flight tomorrow,” she says. “I feel so much better after talking to you, honey. Tell Vincent thank you for me again, too. For everything.”
My heart feels heavy when she ends the call, but as I sit there, I think about what she said—about Erin going back to Indiana. And suddenly, I feel a little of the bleary hopelessness that has hung over me the past several days like a fog part as a glimmer of an idea comes to me.
I sit there for a moment, some of my resolve returning. Maybe I can figure this out, after all, I think. I have to be smart about it, and the idea is a long shot, but it will give me some breathing room if it works.
Everything my mom just said about Erin tells me that she needs me right now—she shouldn’t have to worry about school in a new place or be home alone while my mother is at the hospital…or worse yet, be stuck at the hospital for hours on end trying to focus on homework or worrying about our father.
If I can convince Vincent that I need to stay with Erin and help out my mother, I’d have some breathing room, space to figure things out, maybe even put aside some money. He’d insist that April come with me, probably, but I can work around that. And I could promise him that I’d come back on weekends. He’s always away during the week for business anyway, at meetings and dinners, and god knows what since I found out about his “flowers.” He wouldn’t miss me. I just have to make him feel like it’s his idea, like he’d be giving me a gift to let me do this.
I’m so immersed in trying to plan out my idea that the day goes by faster than I expected. I realize what time it is just in time to change my clothes for dinner and meet Vincent in the living room as he comes through the door. I make a point of having a drink ready for him, and he smiles at me the moment he sees me. I’m glad he’s in a good mood.
He hangs up his coat as I walk slowly over to him, and I have a brief moment where I can just look at him without his eyes on me. Even knowing all that I do now, I can’t deny that he’s gorgeous—one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen. I don’t know how he can be so beautiful on the outside and so awful on the inside, and I can’t help but wonder if the man I loved is still in there somewhere, if it wasn’t all a lie.
His arm goes around my waist as I hand him the drink, pulling me to him as he bends his head and kisses me firmly. Even now, his kisses still make me dizzy, the slight taste of vodka from the martini on his lips as his hand slides down to my ass and squeezes. He sets the drink down on the sideboard, turning me towards him so his hands can roam over me more freely as he kisses me, one thumb brushing over my nipple through the layers of my dress and bra. A shiver runs down my spine. I can feel my body responding, waking up under his touch. I thought he’d killed this part of our relationship the moment he admitted he was fucking Daisy, but I can feel myself leaning into him, wanting him despite myself. The sensation of his hardness against my thigh sends a shiver of desire through me again, and my eyes flutter closed, my lips parting as he kisses me.
There’s the sound of someone clearing their throat in the doorway, and we pull apart, turning to see Andrea standing there with a faint look of disapproval on her face. “Your dinner is being served,” she says.
Vincent smiles at her and then back at me, taking my hand. “We’ll be right along,” he tells her.
Dinner is his favorite meal: seared sea bass with potatoes and fresh vegetables, and it’s served in our new dining room, which is elegant and beautiful and overlooks the city skyline. The table is large enough for twenty, but Vincent sits at the head of it with me next to him. I pick at my food as he digs in. He’s behaving like the man I loved—charming and sexy and funny. I can feel myself being pulled under, wondering if this is really him, and the other Vincent is just a bad mood, just the result of stress and long days.
“How do you like the house, Poppy?” he asks, spearing green beans on his fork as he looks at me with those piercing green eyes.
I look out at the skyline, at the expansive glow beneath us, and then back at him with a smile fixed firmly on my face. “I love it. It’s beautiful…everything is perfect. I can’t believe it was all ready for us when we got here.”
“Everything in my life works like a well-oiled machine,” he tells me, slicing off a piece of fish. “And your life now, too. Everything falls into place, just as it should be.” He takes a bite, his eyes never leaving me. “And how was your workout?”
My heart plummets. I’d forgotten all about the workout. I’d planned to leave right after the call with my mother, but I’d gotten so distracted that I’d missed it entirely. Fuck. There’s no way he’s not going to find out, but I can’t admit it now. He’ll be furious, the night will be ruined, and I’ll lose any chance I might have at getting to go back to Indiana to see Erin. I’m just going to have to hope that he doesn’t know yet.
“It was great,” I lie quickly. “I’m tired, but it feels good to be active again.”
He smiles at me indulgently as Andrea appears, clearing our plates away. She returns in a matter of minutes with the most mouthwatering chocolate cake I’ve ever seen, setting it down with a dainty dessert plate and reaching out to slice it. “I made your favorite, Mr. Jamison,” she says with a smile. “A welcome-home surprise.”
“I hope it’s just as sweet as you,” he says with a cheeky smile. Andrea grins…actually grins. I’m completely taken aback. I’ve never seen her be warm or joking with anyone whenever I’ve been around her. She’s always stiff and cold, especially with me, but it’s clear that she feels differently about her boss.
She cuts a huge slice for Vincent and then goes to take the cake away. M
y cheeks burn with embarrassment, but he waves a hand at her. “Poppy should have some too if she wants,” he says with a smile. “It’s a special night, after all.”
“Of course, sir,” Andrea says, beginning to cut a slice for me, but he clears his throat immediately, giving her a pointed look. She quickly moves the knife to cut a much smaller sliver, and I feel my cheeks turn an even brighter red. I feel like a child sitting here while the grown-ups decide how much dessert I get.
As politely as I can, I tell her, “No, thank you. I’m too full for dessert.”
Vincent looks at me, obviously pleased with my restraint. “That will be all for tonight then, Andrea. I’d like some privacy with my fiancée.”
“Very good, sir,” Andrea says, sweeping away the remainder of the cake and dishes and leaving us alone.
Vincent pats his thigh, pushing his chair a little bit away from the table. “Come sit on my lap,” he says. “I have a surprise for you, Poppy.”
I do as he asks, perching on his thigh and trying to raise my spirits so I look happy. I don’t want him to be angry tonight. It’s going so well, and he almost seems like the old Vincent, which gives me some hope for the future. I need that hope, especially considering what I want to ask him.
He takes both of my hands in his and looks at me seriously. “Poppy, I think it’s time that you meet my parents.”
What! I stare at him, shocked. Of all the things I’d thought he might say, that definitely was not among them.
“You’ve always talked about them in the past tense,” I say hesitantly. “I hadn’t realized they were still alive.”
Vincent laughs. “Only because they live in Italy, and my father and I were…well, sort of estranged for a while. But we’ve made amends,” he says simply, looking very calm and serious.
I’m completely thrown off, and I scramble for a response, trying to think of what to say. “You’ve never mentioned wanting me to meet them before.”
