Redhead On The Run (RedHeads Book 1)

by Rebecca Royce

  “Don’t presume to know me just because we’ve spent a few days together now.”

  “Ah, I see.” Zeke ran his finger over my knuckles. “You have a side to you I have yet to see, is that it? I’m reading you wrong.”

  Truth was he probably wasn’t. “No, you’re right. I pretty much am what I am.”

  “There’s not a thing wrong with that. I like who you are. You should like you, too.” He rose from the bed. “I’m going to go back to work.”

  I leaned up on my elbows to regard him before he left. “Maybe when this is over, you could introduce me to men.” I didn’t know why I was needling him. “The kind that I should meet and marry. Maybe you could make me a list.”

  The look he shot me could burn me to ash if he had laser eyes. “See you later, Layla.”

  He would. We were going to have dinner, and I’d try to solve the enigma he was while I still had the ability to do so. Surely my father should be making his error soon. And it looked like I had a career if my publisher wanted me back.

  All of our issues had been handled. No more problems.

  If only life worked like that. The truth was it was as though I was sort of on sabbatical from reality, hanging out with Zeke before I went back to my real life in New York. I rose from the bed and looked at the desk on the other side of the room. He really had it decorated like a hotel. There was even a small blank packet of paper and a pencil inside of it.

  I picked it up, the need to draw coming over me more strongly than it had in a long time. Most of the time, I ignored the need to do any kind of artwork. My father didn’t approve of it. He didn’t want us to be our mother, and considering things, I thought he was probably right. I was the most like her. My sisters were sensible. They knew how to navigate their lives without these kinds of problems.

  The Banksy of Paris had caught my attention earlier. I started to sketch my mom’s face. I couldn’t remember her, but there was one picture of her that traveled with us everywhere when we moved. It was always placed in our bedroom, as if that would offer us some kind of comfort. Maybe it did for my sisters. We never discussed it amongst ourselves. For me, it creeped me out. My dead mother staring at me, forever twenty-two, smiling at something someone said to her off the camera. Her eyes were bright, her smile huge. The epitome of womanhood to me for so many years.

  What if I didn’t want to smile?

  I rubbed my eyes. I was overthinking this. I should stop this nonsense and check my email to see what they suggested I should write for them. I could look at Instagram and see what was happening to my image. But I didn’t. I sketched her. Like she looked in that picture but different. No one would really understand what I was doing. I changed her eyes. They were triangles, not real.

  Smirking, I kept going. Look at me being ridiculous like I could make abstract art. So stupid, my father would say to me. Why are you wasting your time? You’re not an artist, Layla. You’re a joke. What are the chances you could be any kind of success like she was in her short years? They’d only ever see you as a secondary choice to her and not a very good one.

  You know what, Dad? Go fuck yourself from my thoughts. You don’t get to take up any more space in my head without paying rent for your time there. We can pay off my wedding with the money you owe me for existing in my subconscious.

  I was going to draw, and there wasn’t a thing my dad—there or not—could do about it anymore.

  I’d gone through three quarters of my paper when a knock sounded again. “Come in.”

  I didn’t look up.

  “Layla?”

  Zeke’s voice flooded the room, and it forced my attention off my paper. “Oh, sorry. I…I lost track of time.”

  “Do you want to watch the sunset with me?” He strolled over to the bed and stared down at my discarded papers, picking one up. It was a version of my mother, where I’d made her stop smiling. “I thought you didn’t draw.”

  “Before today, I didn’t.”

  And that was so strange, I loved it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Zeke’s sunset was beautiful. And, yes, it seemed to belong to Zeke. It was his sunset, and I got to stand on his balcony with him and enjoy it.

  “Was that supposed to be you?” he asked me but didn’t look at me. Leaning on the balcony, staring at Paris, he did look like royalty staring at the peasants below. Knowing what I did about him now, where he came from and how he got here, I was absolutely certain he meant it to appear that way. Zeke was a man who wanted to be in charge of his world.

  “The picture you saw?” I stood next to him, but I didn’t lean on the railing. I didn’t trust it to hold me up. That was ridiculous since it was supporting Zeke just fine, but there it was. I didn’t want to topple to my death tonight. It wasn’t on my agenda to do, ever.

  “Yep. That one. Supposed to be you?” He lifted his head to look at the sky more. It was amazing how tuned into him I was. I couldn’t say I’d ever spent this much time observing what other people did before.

  I needed to take my hair out of the braids. It was starting to bother me. “No, it’s my mom.”

  “Oh.” He turned to look at me. “I thought you might be sketching yourself.”

  “Were you worried I was about to cut off my ear?”

  His smile was sudden. “We are in Paris. He lived here for a time. Although I think he cut off the ear somewhere else.”

  I loved that he’d caught my reference. “I was trying to play with a picture of my mom that I have in my head from an actual photograph. Do you think the job that I did made it look like me?”

  “No, actually. Maybe if you had colors. I’ll get you some. You get your red hair from her, right?”

  I pulled out one of my braids, transferring the band that I’d used to hold it in place onto my wrist. And then I pulled out the other one. I’d have to fix it before we left or maybe not. The helmet would screw it up anyway. I scrunched my hands through it. It was probably a big giant mess, and I decided I didn’t care.

  There was freedom in that. “Yes, from her. We all did. All four of us. But genetically, Dad must carry it too or that couldn’t happen.”

  Dad was dark haired, although really gray and thinning now. Maybe he used to be handsome. He’d certainly managed to land my mother when she’d been at the height of her popularity. There must have been something about him then that she saw that I simply couldn’t fathom now.

  “Let’s go eat. It’s early. But it’ll be fun to take the bike while the sun is still out.”

  “Sure.” That did sound fun. It had been a strange day. “You sure you don’t want me to change?”

  He swung toward me, cupping my cheek. “No, Layla, I don’t want you to change.”

  Obviously, he was talking about more than my clothes. “Zeke…”

  “Eat. Let’s go.”

  I guess that sounded like a plan.

  We rode his bike, me pressed to his back, to the second arrondissement. I closed my eyes and held on, not because I didn’t care for the scenery, but because what I wanted was to hold on to him as tight as I could right now. He’d never allow it if he understood. But I could pretend it was absolutely okay for me to cling to him as tightly as I wanted because I was on his bike. The restaurant was casual. It was actually a pizza place and tiny inside. Ten tables inside and ten outside.

  It was empty since it was so early for Parisian time, and the owner recognized Zeke right away. He sat us toward the back and then started to talk very fast, smiling and gesturing a lot. I did the thing where I smiled and tried not to interfere with what people said since I couldn’t understand it.

  Zeke pointed toward me and then smiled at the man, a real one, not the fake one he usually put out in public.

  He liked this man.

  “Layla, this is Arthur. His son is our cook at home.” He leaned back in his chair and motioned toward Arthur. “Arthur, this is Layla, the woman staying with me for a while.”

  As his son cooked for us, I imagined it wa
s possible that Arthur already knew about me. Or maybe not. In any case, Zeke seemed to collect people in Paris. In cafés, in restaurants, in the bar where he hung out at the hotel. He went to these places, maybe with other women, and they loved him.

  I think it spoke well of a person if the places where they went were always welcoming to them. Maybe I should work on having that in my life. Truthfully, I just wanted someone to come home to at night who was glad to have me there. As far as I was concerned, the rest of the world could go away.

  Huh. Up until that very moment, I hadn’t realized how completely I felt that way.

  “It is nice to meet you, Layla. He never brings anyone here. Always eats alone when he comes. You are welcome, and we will feed you well.”

  His English was very accented, and I wondered if it was like Danette’s friend, French wasn’t his first language either. It was amazing how people could just speak in multiple languages. I’d never cease to be amazed by it. And as long as I stayed in France, I’d never not be aware of it.

  He poured me some red wine while Zeke declined to have any before he left the bottle on the table in between us.

  “We’re going to eat pizza but it’s not pizza like you’ve ever had.” He motioned toward the window. “How about that view?”

  I turned to look. He was right. There was Notre Dame on view. Even needing to be repaired, it was still gorgeous. “Thanks for bringing me here.”

  It was empty. No one would take our photo here, which would defeat his purpose. This was because he’d seen me so upset about Justin. I couldn’t have that. I’d made a deal with Zeke, and I had to live out my half of it.

  “Should we get our nightly photo in?” I held up my phone. “We can take a selfie. It will be enough if we do it right.”

  He shook his head. “No. I’ll take a picture with you if you want, but not for public consumption.”

  I rose and crossed over to him. I hadn’t started out wanting a photo with him, but I did just then. Maybe because he’d told me I didn’t have to. I pressed my cheek against his and took a photo of the two of us with no idea if we looked right in it or not. What did it matter? It was just for us.

  I sat back down, and he motioned toward my glass. “How’s the wine?”

  “You sure you don’t want any?” I sipped it. Cherries. Thick. A little spicy. “It’s different. I like it, but it’s not my favorite. A little too…pronounced, maybe.”

  He held it up and looked at the bottle. “Merlot. Not everyone’s favorite, for sure. I’m not drinking tonight. I have precious cargo to get home safely.

  I waved my hand in the air. “Oh, the things you say, Zeke.”

  His smile was more of a smirk. “Admit it, you like the cheese.” His smile faded, and his gaze was distant. Zeke wasn’t really thinking about what was happening here. He was someplace else in his thoughts. Arthur set down some bread, and I ignored it. I wasn’t going to fill up on bread when there was apparently amazing pizza that was coming to eat.

  “I keep thinking about that number. The thirty billion dollars the Allards are going to give to your father. Or were going to. My guess is they still are. That’s a shit ton of money.”

  I nodded. “More than I can fathom, and I’ve been rich my whole life. Probably thanks to you.”

  “For a long time, your dad was the miracle man with numbers. It doesn’t matter. Listen, I keep throwing that number around in my head. The Allards don’t just have that money. They’ve got it now, but they’re moving it. It feels…wrong. And when things feel wrong, I pay attention to them.”

  I totally understood that. “I get these feelings on the back of my neck. Like someone is watching me, and usually someone is. It’s good to trust your gut.”

  He nodded, his gaze still distant. Zeke was talking to me about this, but he wasn’t present yet. Wherever this had taken him, it wasn’t to a good location. I took his hand in mine and squeezed. For a second, he stared at our joined fingers. “When I was a much younger guy, trying to get through business school, I worked for low time crooks. Gamblers. I didn’t break fingers or anything. I wasn’t collection. I just helped them win. I understand money.” With his free hand, he rubbed his face like it hurt.

  “And?” I wanted him to continue. To get to whatever it was that was eating at him tonight. Maybe I wasn’t the only one who had needed an early dinner in a quiet restaurant where no one cared who we were.

  “If they have that money and they’re moving it, then they’re involved with very bad people. They invest as a family account. Nothing in their history that I or anyone else can find indicates they should have that kind of funding. Not a thing. It’s like that money came from somewhere just recently. And all of my best senses on this are screaming in my head that it’s just wrong. I thought maybe up to forty million would be a reasonable amount for them to have. But that much? The amount they’re giving? It’s…ill gotten. It’s moving through them to your dad, and it’s going to come back to bite him in the ass, either with the law or maybe worse, because those kinds of people aren’t small time crooks running poker games and betting on horses for two hundred bucks.”

  It wasn’t hard to follow what he was saying to me here. “They don’t break fingers.”

  “They burn down lives.” He sighed. “And it’s everything I can do to not call your dad and ask him if he’s out of his mind. Not that he’d talk to me.” He finally met my gaze. “He’s seething mad because I have you. Ranting. Raving.”

  I would have pulled my hand back at that piece of information he should have given me before now, but he stroked his thumb over my knuckles. And even though I should have been the type of woman who didn’t react to that when she was upset, I wasn’t. I really liked how that felt.

  “How long ago did he do that?”

  “First day you were here. After the club. And then again, this morning. He’s ranting pretty hard. Screwing things up. My guys are in his account.”

  I swallowed, anxiety creeping up my spine. Had he brought me here because he wanted to tell me something he knew I wouldn’t like, and he knew enough to understand I’d never make a scene in a nice old man’s pizza restaurant. “And?”

  “He is so fucked, Layla. I’m going to get out of the arrangement I have with him. I don’t want to be anywhere near this crap. Let him keep all of it. Then, however, I remember that I’ve known him forever. That he’s your father. And maybe it’s not too late to save him from this.”

  My anger fled. “Did you tell me tonight because you want me to tell him?”

  “No, I don’t want you within miles of that mess. Thirty billion dollars. That is…unfathomable money. You could get hurt. I…I want you to tell me if you want me to try to save him. Do you? I’ll do it for you.”

  I swallowed. “I…” I stopped talking before I even really started. “He’s my father, and even though he’s done with me…” It was still hard to say that, to even think it, let alone let the words form on my lips. Despite his declaration, he was still my father. And he held the livelihoods of hundreds of people under his thumb. What was more, Zeke knew that since they shared that responsibility.

  “He’s not done with you.” Zeke finally spoke. “He’s not even close to being done with you. I almost…I almost wish you could hear how angry he is that you’re with me. He feels like I’m corrupting his little girl. Totally weird, considering he was willing to basically sell you to the Allards, and who knows what would have happened to you in their care if they’re really as mixed up in things as I think they are. But I am the big bad bogeyman going after your virginity, in his mind.”

  I smiled despite how terrible the topic of this conversation was. “I’m years from being a virgin.”

  “Well, then, maybe you’re corrupting me.” He lifted his eyebrows as though that were an actually reasonable assertion, and I rolled my eyes. “Well, Layla? What do you want me to do?”

  “I don’t want anyone hurt if it can be stopped. I don’t want you to get tangled up in somethi
ng that could get you injured in any way. But if you can help, please help them. Not just my father, but all of them.”

  He nodded slowly. “I’ll do what I can.”

  “Thank you, Ezekiel.” I don’t know why I used his full name. I’d never done so before. It just seemed to fit in the sanctity of this moment. He was going to try to help my dad, even though he’d never done a thing to deserve it. Just because I wanted him to.

  “You have such a big heart, Layla. I won’t let them hurt you. Whoever these people turn out to be. They can’t have you.” He looked away. “I’m not a relationship guy. I’ve explained this. You know it, but someday, you’re going to have an incredible life, and it will be far away from all of this bullshit.”

  They were sweet words, but still, they made me sad. The more I knew him, the more I wanted what he said I couldn’t have. Or maybe that was why I wanted it, because I couldn’t have him. Although that was absolutely not the way I usually did things.

  “How do you know I have a big heart?” He was the second person that day to say it to me.

  “Because you wear it on your sleeve.”

  The pizza arrived right then, distracting me from that statement. I thought I was really pretty good at pretending to be okay, at always acting like I didn’t care about anything. If he and Bridget were to be believed, I was pretty lousy at it.

  But the pizza really was just as good as he said it was going to be. When I went to drink my wine, he shook his head mid-bite. “Don’t drink that.”

  “Why not?” If he needed me to drive, we were in trouble. I’d never handled a motorcycle, wouldn’t be starting tonight. I didn’t even drive a car.

  “Because life is too short to drink wine you don’t like. Let’s get you something else.”

  Arthur had brought me Merlot, probably because that was what Zeke drank when he was here. Could two people work out a life together if they didn’t like the same wine? What did it matter? Zeke had been clear in that regard. He didn’t do relationships, and he’d rightly spotted me as a person who ultimately wanted one that would last forever.