Flawless: (Fearsome Series Book 4)

by S. A. Wolfe

  “When I went to the shelter to pick out a companion, Baby was the one that spoke to me. Some horrible people had abused him and abandoned him on the side of a road. His tag said his name was Capone, which proved he was unloved. So I named him Baby because everyone loves a baby.”

  “Nice. Now, how do we wrangle this giant baby?” I scan the horizon of dense trees.

  “He always goes toward the creek. He loves to chase the fish. He thinks he’s a bear and can catch them with his paws,” Norma explains gleefully as she rocks back on her orthopedic shoes.

  “I’ll head to the creek, then. You stay with Norma,” I tell Talia.

  “I’ll come with you,” Adam says, which makes Talia smile.

  If he was dressed in his business suit and Italian leather shoes, I could wave him off and make a crack about his delicate nature, but the guy is wearing running shoes, a T-shirt, and workout pants. My guess is he’s using the employee gym at Blackard Designs. Fortunately, I haven’t run into Adam there, and I hope I never do. The guy is invading every part of my life because there’s no place to hide in this damn town.

  “Fine. Let’s go get the beast,” I say.

  We jog through the trees and find the path leading to the creek. Norma wasn’t exaggerating. When we find Baby, he’s knee-deep in the wide creek, pawing at something in the water. He’s soaked, and even with his wet, matted fur, he looks like a small bear.

  “Ah, shit. This just keeps getting worse,” I grouse.

  “No kidding. This is going to be messy. I’ll go in the water and cover his other side,” Adam says, shielding his eyes from the sun while he studies our big, sloppy perp. “You stay here and try to grab him when he runs.”

  “No, I’ll go in the water. I’ll do the dirty part.”

  “You really are a stubborn fuck.”

  “Thank you.”

  As I step into the water, Baby finally notices us. He freezes and perks his head up. I wade toward him, with the frigid water rising above my ankles. Baby is in deeper water, but I know he can outrun me on his turf.

  “Baby,” I command. “Let’s not make this harder than it has to be. Come.” I reach out, hoping I can grab his collar before he decides to take off again.

  The dog seems amused. He tilts his head at me and wags his wet tail. Just when I think the big, dumb lug is going to let me hold his collar, he bolts, but not before dragging me facedown into the water.

  Baby charges toward the bank of the stream, and Adam throws himself at the dog like a professional wrestler. I jump the dog from the back, and together we manage to hold on to Baby’s collar as all three of us wrestle in the shallow water.

  When we drag the unwilling dog out of the creek, Adam and I are soaked, and the aroma of wet dog is powerful. Eventually, Baby realizes we’re not going to play his game. He gives in and lets us take the lead. Adam and I both hold the dog’s collar and walk on either side of him.

  “That was interesting,” Adam says, brushing wet leaves and silt off his T-shirt.

  “Why are you here anyway?”

  “Excuse me?” A slight smile forms at the corner of his mouth and unsettles my nerves.

  “Why were you here at Talia’s place, talking to her mother?”

  “I dropped off a check for the week’s dinner expenses. I’m hosting a dinner for some friends next Saturday, and Talia is catering.”

  “Yeah, I get that. She’s a caterer, I know. Why couldn’t you wait to be invoiced? Aleska handles the billing, and customers pay online.” I know that much, you douche.

  Adam shrugs. “Thought it would be convenient for her to have the money upfront.”

  “Right.”

  “We both know why we’re here. It’s not to see sweet, old Norma or play with Baby.”

  “Talia doesn’t date clients.”

  “Why are you here?” he asks, undeterred by my unfriendly tone.

  “We’re friends. I was giving her a ride.”

  “But you’re interested in her.”

  “I’m not interested in anyone. I’m married to my job.”

  “Good,” he says with great satisfaction. “I’m tired of being married to my job.”

  I want to tell him to back off Talia, but we’re leaving the woods and she’s running toward us. Her hand is on her chest again, and it alarms me for a minute before I remember she said getting winded is a temporary part of her recovery.

  She thanks us and takes Baby’s collar from me. Then she and Adam lead the dog back to his grateful owner, and I follow behind slowly, stumbling a bit, lost in thought.

  I could say wrangling the dog tired me out, but the truth is, seeing Talia raise her hand to her sternum is what left me weak in the knees. For a moment there, I wanted to grab her and hold her. But that’s not who we are. At least not in public, as I’ve been reminded.

  Something is changing. I’m becoming soft and too sentimental. Maybe I’ve become too invested in these people, and it’s making me a little too sensitive.

  It’s not that something is changing.

  It’s already changed.

  Talia

  I SPEND TOO MUCH time replaying that image of those handsome men walking toward me with that silly dog between them, and I think of how thrilled I felt.

  I thought I was being brave by sleeping with Peyton. Have fun with a playboy, learn a few things about myself, and become a stronger woman. I didn’t expect to like him so much. And he wasn’t supposed to cross paths with Adam. The purpose of Peyton is to help rebuild my confidence, and Adam is supposed to be the promising one, the guy I consider pursuing. They weren’t supposed to show up at the same time, rescue a dog that doesn’t belong to me, and simultaneously screw up the timeline I created. Everything was supposed to happen in a linear fashion, with Peyton as my practice guy, and then, when he leaves for a big, new life, thousands of miles away from here, I’ll be ready for a man like Adam, the real guy. A girl can dream.

  It’s a busy week for all three of us, so we don’t see much of each other after the Baby drama. Swill has last-minute private events added, which keeps Peyton busy. He spends a lot of time away from the restaurant, running out to meet with new suppliers, but it doesn’t prevent him from squeezing my departure times into his schedule. He’s there to carry and load my delivery bags and basically make me crazy with lust.

  Adam puts in long hours in the city, so he arrives late for dinner. I have his table set and dinner arranged, timed perfectly for when he walks through the front door. Being around Adam is easy, too, but I don’t want to look like a woman who hangs on his every word, so I’m the one to end our conversations.

  Leave them wanting more. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? Especially if there are two men involved and you have conflicting emotions? Besides, the only thing I’m sure of is that Peyton wants to sleep with me whenever possible. With Adam, I’m not sure if the connection between us is more than purely friendship.

  I need time to process what I’m doing. This whole “tramp with Peyton and innocent with Adam” routine is slowly gnawing at me. Aleska has caught on and has stayed tight-lipped, but it’s taking all her willpower not to grill me. At least she didn’t let anything slip to my mother.

  Peyton has made a few attempts to approach me at Swill over the past week, but I was usually surrounded by Bash and other kitchen staff, so he played along with my indifference.

  I would steal glances his way when I thought no one would catch me, but Peyton had the same idea, and we caught each other. These fleeting incidents, amorous encounters without touching, leave me thrumming with lust. I know if I had been able to reach out to touch him or steal one kiss, it would be better than before. Somehow, I know this.

  I know physically being with Peyton is something that grows in intensity over time. It’s a dangerous kind of passion. He’s a master at pleasure, and that’s a luxury I can’t afford with him, unless I’m prepared to get hurt.

  Funny, I thought my clever plan with Peyton would make me feel empowered,
in control of my own love life for a change. Instead, I’m questioning my sensibilities.

  My mother hovers around me, cleaning rooms that are already spotless from her endless days of endless cleaning. She is dying to know the details of my daily life, the gossip and happenings at the restaurant, and the encounters with my clients. She lives for news of the world outside of our home, mostly anything pertaining to the townies and, right now, she has zeroed in on Peyton and Adam.

  When they came back with the big, sopping-wet dog, both looking like they rolled around in mud, my mother did more than lift an eyebrow. She peppered me with her own theories on their gallant behavior.

  “They presented that filthy dog to you, like you were their queen, completely forgetting Norma is the dog’s owner, not you. And Adam hand-delivered a check so he could see you. Did you see Peyton’s face when he saw Adam here? I know jealousy when I see it, and it was rolling off Peyton like hot steam coming out of a manhole cover when it’s ready to explode out of the street.”

  I have no response for her, except for the occasional sigh or oh well, and I can tell it’s getting on her nerves. But her dependence on living vicariously through my social life is getting on my nerves. I’ve been leaving earlier in the morning, hopping on my bike and racing off to the restaurant so I can avoid conversations with her, and then I take my time at each client’s home. I talk and visit with the older ones and hang out with the families to help corral the young kids to the table. And then, when the last meal is served, I stall and delay going home. I drive out to the old, abandoned Pickwick estate, walking around the property at night and taking in the blooming trees and wild grasses, plotting out my fantasy of remaking it into the boutique inn and restaurant I’ve imagined so many times.

  While my mother is in the shower, I decide to call my father. I would only do this in case of an emergency. My mother’s agoraphobia is an emergency, and our deadbeat dad needs to help fix what he caused.

  Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to leave, completely leave everything behind and start over someplace new. My father did it. Peyton does it and will do it again.

  The phone rings on my father’s end, and then there are a few odd clicks before he answers.

  “Starlight Motel!” my father’s chipper voice exclaims.

  “Dad?” I ask, confused by his greeting.

  “Talia, baby!”

  “I thought this was your personal number? What’s the Starlight Motel?”

  “I’m staying here temporarily, and the owners—a nice couple—had to step away to run some errands. I let them forward the front desk calls to me.”

  He must be out of work again, and whichever lady friend he was shacking up with probably kicked him out.

  I picture him sitting in a crappy motel room, taking calls from strangers while he figures out his next money-making scheme. Talking to him depresses me and only reminds me of how he and my mother are both screwed up in their own ways.

  “Dad, I called because Mom isn’t getting any better, and I’m really worried that she’ll never step foot out of the house. Aleska is having a hard time with this, too. We’ve tried to talk to Mom about seeing a doctor, a therapist, but she gets really upset when we bring it up.”

  “I know, baby, I know.”

  “No, Dad, you don’t understand. I need you to help us with this. Aleska and I can’t keep Mom here like a pet. That’s exactly what her life has come to.”

  “I know it’s hard.”

  “No, you don’t!” I shout. “You’re not here. We need you to talk to Mom. For some insane reason, you’re the only adult she listens to.”

  “I can’t just drop everything and fly up there. I’ve got things going on.”

  “Things? Is this your new job? Motel receptionist?”

  “I’m doing this as a favor. I’ve got other things cookin’.”

  “Great. While they’re cooking, you can hop on the next flight up here and help your kids for a change. If money is the problem, I’ll pay for your flight and you can sleep on our couch. You need to take Mom to a doctor.”

  “Babe, I can’t do it. I love your mother, but when it comes to this, she won’t listen to me. This agoraphobia, or whatever she’s got, is something she’s not willing to let us help her with. You know that.”

  “If you really do care about her, you’ll talk to her. You have nothing to lose by trying to help her.”

  “Talia,” he says in an exasperated voice, ready to give me more of his excuses.

  “Stop it!” I scream. “Stop making excuses. I don’t care which woman you mooch off of or what you do for a living or even if you ever visit us again, but if you have an ounce of love for Mom, or us, you’ll do this one thing. One thing, Dad. Call Mom and be a real friend for a change. Instead of talking about yourself and the great weather in Florida, talk to her about her problem. Help her figure out how to deal with this and encourage her to see a doctor.”

  My father is quiet.

  “I can’t talk anymore,” I say. “I have to get to work.”

  “Talia.” There’s none of that pretend enthusiasm he uses on everyone. “I will talk to Mila.”

  I end the call and take a deep breath. I’m shaking.

  “Who was that?” My mother approaches while towel-drying her hair. Her robe is a faded peach terry cloth, and my first thought is that I should run to the outlet stores today and buy her a new one. Then I feel a flash of anger. If she wants a new robe, she can go to the mall with me. Otherwise, she’ll have to stick to internet shopping and all the ill-fitting clothes she has to repackage and hand back to our UPS guy.

  “It was a sales person, a computer. I hung up on them.” I drop my cell phone in my handbag.

  Aleska bursts through the front door. “I forgot my wallet! I’m going out to lunch today with the girls.”

  “Aleska, what do you think about Peyton and Talia?” my mother inquires as if this has been an ongoing discussion.

  “What are you talking about?” I look at my mother.

  Aleska looks at me with wide eyes and shrugs.

  “You and how you’re trying to hide the idea that you and Peyton like each other.”

  “We’re friends, Mom. I see the guy at work.”

  “I think that was him on the phone,” she says, then turns to Aleska. “She thinks no one notices how much time she spends with him.”

  “That wasn’t him on the phone. I told you; it was one of those random marketing calls.”

  “Oh, you two. I wish you’d start dating again. Both of you. Sometimes you just need some rough male hands all over your body to make you feel good and happy.”

  “Ew.” Aleska cringes.

  “I agree. Not something a daughter wants to hear her mother say.”

  “It’s true. You need to date again.” My mother juts her chin out. “Why don’t you go out with Peyton?”

  I study my mother’s sharp blue eyes and damp blonde hair, and I see an older version of myself. It aggravates me.

  “Why don’t you go outside, period?” I ask. “Why don’t you go out with the women who used to be your friends? Lois and Pam and all the others who constantly ask about you? They’re afraid to come to the house because you always tell everyone you’re too busy. With your fictional projects.”

  “That’s not fair,” my mother says.

  “Really? Why don’t you start dating? Oh, that’s right, because you’re afraid to leave the house, and you won’t let us help you. You also think you have the right to butt into our business and tell us how to live our lives.”

  “Talia, that’s a little harsh,” Aleska says softly.

  “No, it isn’t. Harsh is having open heart surgery and neither one of your parents is willing to be at your bedside. Harsh is letting your daughters constantly worry about you because your own pride won’t let you get the medical attention you need. Harsh is imprisoning yourself in your home and depending on your kids to fulfill all your emotional needs because you won’t let people who c
are come near you.”

  We’re interrupted by the shrill ring of the landline in the kitchen.

  I run to the wall-mounted phone and grab the receiver off the hook. “Hello?” I bark, glaring at my mother as my father talks in his even, measured, smooth voice, asking to speak to his ex-wife.

  “Who is it?” my mother inquires sharply. Her face colors, her eyes darken. I can tell her alter ego, the strong-willed enforcer, is back.

  “It’s George Clooney. For you.” I toss the receiver, which doesn’t quite reach her. Instead, it hits the floor with a loud thud and begins to recoil back.

  I don’t wait around to see if my father tries to talk sense into her. I angrily charge out of the house.

  My sister follows. I hear her start the engine of our van as I hop on my Huffy. I drop my purse into my wicker handlebar basket and pedal off toward town. With my back ramrod straight, I pedal furiously, something closely resembling the Wicked Witch of the West.

  It’s no accident that I bike along the route where I sometimes see Dylan run. I’ve only seen him occasionally, since his long treks often lead him out of town, but now that I know Peyton likes to run with him in the morning, I’m going to see if I can coincidentally run into them on my way to work.

  About a mile before I reach the restaurant, I see two tall figures in the distance coming my way. There’s a sleek, powerful synchronization to their movements, so I know it’s them.

  The temperature is in the fifties today, but as they approach, I can see they’re stripped down to only their shorts and shoes. Dylan doesn’t bother with a T-shirt, and Peyton has his draped around his neck. As they get closer, Peyton wipes his sweaty brow with his shirt, and then his eyes perk up when he recognizes me.

  The empty stretch of the county road is surrounded by nothing but serene nature, and the sound of their labored breaths grows louder. Their long, lean, muscled bodies with early-season tans stand out, and anyone driving by would surely get whiplash doing double-takes to admire them.

  The shoulder of the road isn’t wide enough for all of us, so I maneuver my bike onto the paved road. I’m close enough to Peyton to see him look at me as if I’m the best thing he’s seen in a long while. And for that single moment, I relish feeling special. It only lasts a second, though, and then he looks down at my bike and his expression changes to a grimace. He runs right in front of my bike, grabs the handlebars, and pulls my bike to an abrupt stop. Dylan stops, too, looking a little perplexed at Peyton’s rough assault on my bicycle.