Hooked & Accidental Books 3--4

by C. C. Piper

  Well, fuck.

  The print had been taken off the wall and lay propped against it askew. The safe normally hidden behind the frame was open. More importantly, the metal enclosure was mostly empty.

  I stumbled up to the gaping hole in the wall that had once contained fifty-thousand dollars in cash, my eyes glued to the spot. Disbelief slammed into me with the force of a sledgehammer.

  I knew I shouldn’t have been surprised. Was it that shocking that a woman I’d just said “I do” to on a drunken whim had cleaned out my emergency savings?

  Probably not. But I was shocked. I truly thought we’d found something in that casino lounge. I’d been longing for a connection, for someone to start the next phase of my life with. I’d been craving it so fiercely, in fact, that I’d made it real in my mind.

  Even though it hadn’t been real at all.

  “Live a little,” Mauricio had said.

  And I had. In twelve hours, I’d not only gotten married, but I’d also been fucking robbed blind.

  Damn.

  So much for discovering the love of my life.

  2

  Emma

  God bless Uber. The driver took me back to the casino so I could retrieve my car, and he didn’t ask any questions. He didn’t look twice at my rumpled dress and unkempt hair. He made no comment as we drove away from the impressive villa James lived in, only to be swallowed into the Las Vegas traffic some twenty minutes later.

  I clutched my bag close, trying not to think about the unholy amount of paper money I had in there. The driver seemed none the wiser as he expertly navigated the clogged streets.

  Thirty minutes after escaping James’ house, I was huddled inside my own car, my stomach in knots and my mouth tasting of peppermint mouthwash from his enormous master bathroom.

  I took a longer route to get home. One would think I would be in a rush to get there, what with having fifty-thousand bucks on the passenger’s seat, but I needed time to think. The knots in my hair were hopeless, but maybe I could do something about the ones in my brain.

  I still had trouble wrapping my head around what had happened the previous night. To say that things had gotten out of hand was the understatement of the century. I had no idea how I could lose control of the situation so spectacularly because getting hitched hadn’t been the plan.

  All I’d intended to do was sweet-talk some elderly gentleman into loaning me the funds needed and then disappear before his sugar-daddy fantasies could get the better of him. I had not intended to scam a perfectly good guy into marriage, nor had I intended to steal so much money from said guy before breakfast the next day.

  It’d all just… happened.

  How it’d happened was still a mystery to me.

  All I knew was that I felt sick, and not at all as relieved as I thought I would be considering I carried my brother’s salvation in my faux-leather clutch.

  I also knew I wouldn’t be as lucky with Evan as I’d been with the Uber driver. There was absolutely no way in hell my brother wasn’t going to give me the third degree.

  I sat in the car for a solid fifteen minutes after parking in our driveway, but eventually, I resigned myself to my fate and got out. My stiletto-heeled shoes were in my hand, my feet bare on the asphalt, just as they’d been on the pedals as I drove home from the casino.

  The concrete didn’t feel uncomfortable. If anything, the rough sensation grounded me. It helped reality take shape as I forced my way back from the surreal sensation that waking up in a multi-million-dollar home will generate in anyone who doesn’t lead a Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous kind of existence.

  I wasn’t exactly astonished to find my brother on the couch watching reruns of Friends on Netflix for what had to be the hundredth time. For the first time, however, he wasn’t laughing. He laid on his side, huddled into an oversized gray hoodie, staring at the TV screen with a vacant stare, errant locks of wavy brown hair falling into his eyes.

  His arms were wrapped around his midsection, as though to hide himself from the more depressing aspects of our world. I knew my brother well enough to know that was precisely what he was trying to do.

  I didn’t let him. The world was going to intrude no matter how much he bitched about it, and it would do it in the form of his sister carrying fifty thousand in cash into the living room.

  I dropped my shoes in the hall and padded barefoot into the den. I picked up the remote from the coffee table and turned off the TV.

  “Hey!” Evan glared up at me from beneath his fleecy hood.

  He did a double take when he noticed my disheveled appearance. He sat up quickly, a smirk coming onto his face.

  “Well, well, well,” he said, pressing his back into the couch cushions. “Look who’s doing the walk of shame this fine morning.”

  A wave of anger washed over me, so sudden and powerful that I had to consciously bite my tongue in order to keep in the words, “You ungrateful brat.”

  He had no idea just how ashamed I was, and it was all his fault. Well, mostly his fault. To be fair, he hadn’t asked me to do this. But then again, what other choice did I have? Was I supposed to just wait until they came for him?

  “Shut up,” I muttered, raking a hand through my mess of a mane. “Pull down that hood. You look like some emo teenager.”

  He rolled his eyes, but did as he was told. Without the protection of the hoodie, his fatigue became visible in his pale skin and the dark circles under his eyes. It didn’t take a genius to know he’d spent the night pacing around, searching for a solution he couldn’t find.

  Good thing I’d found one for him.

  “We need to talk.”

  He grimaced. “Not another lecture…”

  My fury from before flared within my chest, and this time I didn’t try to contain it.

  “Yes, another lecture,” I spat. I pulled the envelope out of my purse and tossed it at him.

  He fumbled and barely caught the dumb thing, his eyes all but bulging out of his head as he opened it. His hand froze halfway in the act of wrangling out one of the wads of Ben Franklins that were inside.

  “What… how much is in here?” His voice had gone squeaky, making him sound about ten years younger than twenty-two.

  I glared at him. “Fifty thousand.”

  He went three shades paler. “No fucking way…” He tossed the envelope on the coffee table as if it might burn him otherwise. “Where did you get it?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “The hell do you mean, it doesn’t matter? Of course—”

  “Shut up,” I snapped again. “I said, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you listen to me.” I took a breath and locked eyes with my little brother. His were huge, like they’d been one terrible evening six years ago when I had to tell him the worst news possible. I pushed away the wave of sympathy that hit me then, gathering all of my resolve.

  “This won’t be happening again, neither for you or me. You pay off your debts, and then get out. You hear me? No more gambling, no more drugs. No more loan sharks or goons breathing down our necks.”

  “My neck,” he mumbled, and I couldn’t believe his audacity.

  “Our necks,” I snarled at him. “And you know that. You’ve been putting us both in danger, and I just won’t have it. Not anymore. This is the first and last time I do something like this. Going forward, you will get your head out of your ass and walk the line. Are we clear?”

  He stared at me for what felt like an eternity. Eventually, he nodded.

  I waited, but for once there was no snarky comeback.

  “I want this done,” I reiterated as I got up to leave the room.

  I could feel his eyes on me as I went into our closet-sized bathroom to take a much-needed shower, but he didn’t speak.

  The hot spray beat down on my skin and did absolutely nothing to ease the tension in my muscles. Guilt was still alive and burning in my esophagus. I couldn’t believe what I had done. I’d always known I would do just about
anything for my brother, but this… this went above and beyond my darkest expectations. I’d scammed a man.

  Worse, I’d scammed a nice man.

  I didn’t know James Carter all that well, but the little I had glimpsed of him told me he was a good man. I’d met very few of those.

  The more I tried to reconstruct the night in my head, the less sense I could make of it. When I hadn’t laughed at every little thing James said, he’d kept trying out new comic material on me until I was practically rolling on top of the bar in hilarity.

  Something about the man brought out a light, playful side of me I forgot I’d ever possessed. It’d felt special and strangely familiar. Before I knew what was happening, I was standing by his side in the casino chapel, going through a goofy Elvis ceremony so I could be proclaimed as his wife.

  I told myself I did what I had to do. The man was a billionaire, for God’s sake. He wouldn’t miss what I took from him. I mean, to someone like James Carter, fifty thousand was probably allowance money.

  At least I’d left behind the engagement ring he purchased for me. I only took what I needed to get my brother out of the mess he’d made. I’d acted out of necessity, and sometimes the end justifies the means.

  Maybe he’d start out furious, but he’d sleep it and his hangover off. In a couple of days, he wouldn’t be giving any of this—or me—a second thought.

  For some reason, the idea of James never thinking about me again put me in a sour mood. It was ridiculous. I shook my head under the water and forced myself to emerge from under the spray.

  Fifteen minutes later, I laid down on my comforter, my hair combed through and freshly dried. I wore my softest, loosest pair of sweatpants and a tank top, the furthest I could go from the previous night’s look.

  I considered indulging in mashed potatoes with gravy, my all-time favorite comfort food, but I didn’t want to go through the trouble of making a batch. Instead, I fumbled around in my nightstand drawer for my iPod and noise-canceling headphones, putting on a grunge playlist that was guaranteed to soothe my nerves.

  I was just about to drift off to the calming tones of “Alice In Chains” when a thought slammed into me with the force of an asteroid. My eyes snapped open, and I sat up so quickly that I was dizzy for a second.

  I’d gotten married, like legally. I’d vowed to love and honor James Carter in holy matrimony. Ring or no ring, I was still married to the man I’d stolen fifty big ones from. Even worse than that, I’d been just sloshed enough that I’d given the hunk-a-hunk-a-burnin’-love officiate my real name. For all my idiocy, I wasn’t naïve enough to believe my husband lacked the resources to track me down.

  Hell, he might even press charges and send the police my way.

  And that meant it was only a matter of time before I had to pay for what I’d done.

  3

  James

  Campanile was one of the most popular restaurants in Vegas. Housed in a historic building dating back to 1929, it made for a stunning sight. A sturdy brownstone building with a gigantic courtyard, glass roof, and floor-to-ceiling windows. The ensemble was enriched with bright blue tiles adorning the walls and fences. With flourishing plants that seemed to be taking over the place, it’s like a garden smack dab in the middle of town.

  It had always been my favorite lunch place. I was there seventy-two hours after what I’d privately referred to as the Night of the Drunken Disaster. If there was ever a time in my life when I needed to bury my sorrows beneath good food and comfortable familiarity, this was it.

  However, for the first time, Campanile’s garlic butter ribeye with lemon-glazed shrimp didn’t quite hit the spot. There was something gnawing at me, and it wasn’t hunger.

  “Earth to Carter,” a recognizable voice said.

  I looked up to find Mauricio Muñez staring at me over a dish with the remains of a gourmet bacon cheeseburger. I blinked and shoved a bite of ribeye into my mouth, just to prove myself functional.

  “Yeah?”

  Mauricio arched an eyebrow at me. His beard was trimmed in a pattern that made him resemble a villain from Zorro, but I didn’t have the energy to tell him he might be perpetuating stereotypes.

  “Have you heard a single thing I said?”

  “Yes,” I said pointedly, though that was a blatant lie. “Something about how you don’t want to go through with the deal to add extra security to The Oleander.”

  My own reference to The Oleander made me cringe. It’d been opening night at the casino when I’d happened upon Emma Morris and made the colossal mistake that led me to try to eat away my sorrows here.

  He stared at me in open shock. “I said the exact opposite.”

  “Oh.” I stabbed a piece of steamed broccoli with more force than was probably necessary. “Bummer.”

  He stared me down, face like stone as his dark eyes glittered dangerously. “You better be joking, mijo.”

  I frowned in response. Fortunately, I had the good sense to occupy my mouth with more food so I couldn’t argue against being called “mijo” for the millionth time. It never worked anyway. Mauricio was only six years older than me and my equal business partner, but from day one he’d acted like he was my mentor in life as well. Sometimes that was reassuring, other times—like now—it grated on my nerves.

  “They offered us a great deal,” he went on, throwing up his hands. “You completely charmed them into taking a ten-million-dollar contract when they could’ve charged us double that. You know, before you became Boozy McBoozerson.”

  “Oh, Jesus.” I felt myself blanch as a horrible suspicion snuck up on me. “Did they see me like that?”

  Mauricio snorted. “No, you lunatic. After chasing them for over a year to sign with us, you think I’d let you? No. I made sure we all shook hands and parted ways before I lost you to your blushing bride.”

  I let out a loud groan and hid my face behind a menu left on the table. Most of that night still felt like a dream, but the remaining embarrassment was all too real.

  “Seriously, you don’t remember saying goodnight to our newest associates?” He raised an eyebrow. “How hammered were you?”

  I could feel the judgment in his stare even as my eyes remained firmly buried behind my palms. “Hammered enough to get married to a stranger.”

  “Yeah.” Mauricio barked out a laugh. “That’ll never get old, just so you know.”

  “I hate you.”

  “Tough luck,” he said without remorse. “You’re stuck with me unless you buy me out, and how are you gonna afford that now that you’re fifty-thousand short?”

  I finally emerged from behind my hands to glare at him. “You’re the devil.”

  He toasted me, raising his wine glass with an infuriating smirk. “Love you too, kiddo.”

  Asshole.

  I wasn’t looking forward to having to spend weeks on end managing my most recently acquired Carter’s location rather than enjoying myself in The Gardenia’s kitchen. The Gardenia, also here in Vegas, was the first restaurant I’d ever opened and held a lot of great memories. Meanwhile, The Oleander now represented my most apocalyptic personal failure.

  “You do realize that we’ve put our restaurant in a building named after a toxic shrub?” I asked, as if that was a perfectly valid reason to renege on a security contract that would cover each of our ten locations.

  Mauricio stared at me. “What?”

  “Oleanders,” I said. “They’re toxic.”

  He continued to stare at me in disbelief.

  Christ, I was pathetic.

  I downed the rest of my Merlot in one gulp and took a breath. “Never mind.”

  “Good boy,” he said, clinking his glass against mine.

  We lapsed into silence. I’d begin to believe we were done with our unpleasant conversation, but then he sat back in his chair with an air of nonchalance that bore nothing good at all.

  “So.”

  I played it cool. “So.”

  “You married a total stranger.”


  I glowered at him so grimly he gave an almost imperceptible wince.

  “Can we not?” I gritted out.

  “I’m afraid we can’t. After all, we haven’t thoroughly canvassed this particular topic.”

  Before I could say anything, my cell went off.

  “Oh, thank Christ,” I muttered, but my relief died the instant I saw the name on the screen.

  There was no way I could play it cool, not with him. Never with him. But I tried anyway.

  “Hey, Richard.” I sounded cheerful. Firm. Confident.

  The response came almost instantly. “What’s wrong?”

  I suppressed a groan. “Nothing’s wrong.”

  “Put him on speaker,” Mauricio mouthed at me.

  It was about the last thing I wanted to do.

  “Bullshit,” Richard said. “You don’t sound right.”

  Well, crap. Richard always could read me like a book. Even when he couldn’t actually see me.

  “Everything is peachy keen,” I said. “In fact, I’m currently at lunch with Mauricio.”

  “Great. Put me on speaker.”

  Well, fuck.

  I begrudgingly did as I was told. I placed the phone on the table and hit the speaker button. Mauricio grinned smugly at me.

  “What’s wrong with James? He actually used the phrase ‘peachy keen,’ for Christ’s sake,” Richard said to Mauricio as if I wasn’t there.

  For a split second, I dared to hope Mauricio would do the generous thing and lie on my behalf. Of course, no such luck. The man might be my best friend, but he was also evil.

  “Our boy here got married three days ago.”

  Static greeted us, or maybe it was just my brain short-circuiting.

  “WHAT?”

  I cringed. “I, um… It was an accident.”

  The pause on the other end of the line was nothing short of ominous. “How does one get married by accident?”