The Redemption of Memphis Drake: A Second Chance Romance

by Shay Stone

  I plug my ear, listening, and hear Cora’s voice in the distance. It sounds like she’s coming to help him. I pace back and forth, ready to jump out of my skin. What the hell is going on? After what seems like an eternity, Cora picks up the phone. “Memphis? Sorry. Loverboy got a little too excited. I got him in a chair and put on his oxygen.”

  We speak for a few more minutes until Mason gets back on the line, assuring me he’s okay, and I feel confident enough to hang up. I rub my hand across my forehead and watch Nyla shooting pool by herself. I’ve never connected with someone like this before. For a split second, I think about abandoning the con altogether to see where this goes. But I can’t. There’s too much on the line. I’m meeting my new mark soon and all my attention needs to be focused on that. As amazing as she is, I’m here to do a job.

  She gazes over her shoulder, flashing me a warm grin that hits me deep inside. I smile back, but it’s hollow. I know what I have to do, but I don’t want to do it.

  “Everything okay?” she greets me as I make my way over to her.

  “Yeah. It was actually Mason calling from Cora’s phone. He finally got the nerve to ask out a girl who goes to the same cardiologist as him and wanted to tell me she said, ‘yes.’ They’re going out next Friday.”

  “Aww, good for him. It’s sweet that you two are so close.”

  “I’d die for that kid. There’s literally nothing I wouldn’t do for him,” I reply, reaffirming that to myself.

  She asks some questions about Mason’s health and my family, and is genuinely interested in my response, which only makes this harder. When she tells me she runs a charity for disabled kids with learning disabilities, something in me breaks. She can’t be this perfect. I need to make up some excuse and walk away now or I’m not going to.

  My mind runs through every possible alternative. Only one acceptable answer comes to mind: Just for tonight, be selfish and do something for me. At least then, I’ll always have the memory even if I can’t have her.

  I place my hands on her waist and she hooks her arms around my neck like it’s something we’ve been doing for years. “Where were we?”

  “I think you were about to come home with me,” she says with a seductive grin.

  “Was I?”

  “You definitely were.”

  “Nyla, are you sure you want to do this? I wish this could be more than one night, but I’m flying back home to L.A. in the morning,” I lie, regretting it even before all the words make it out of my mouth. It’s the first one I’ve told all night. That’s got to be some kind of record for me. But I’m not going to string her along. I’ll be tied up for at least a year. What am I going to do? Ask her to wait for me while I marry someone else?

  “Well, I guess we’ll just have to make tonight count then, won’t we?” She presses her soft lips against mine and I melt.

  Make tonight count. That’s exactly what I plan on doing. I’m going to give her a night both of us will remember for the rest of our lives.

  SEVEN

  Never Use Your Real Name

  “Just let me get my purse,” Nyla says, making her way to the table to grab her handbag from the back of the chair. When she returns, she has that mischievous grin again. “Oh, and here’s your phone back.”

  I feel my pocket and find my cell gone. I snatch it back, waving it at her. “Now that was a nice lift.”

  “Thanks. It’s all about distraction. Make them focus here …” She brushes her lips against mine. “And they won’t pay attention to what you’re doing back here.” Her hand squeezes my ass and she follows it with a wink.

  Have I mentioned how much I like this woman?

  “Nyla?” a man booms from behind me. She peeks around my shoulder to see who’s calling her. “Hey, I thought that was you.”

  Wait a minute. I know that voice.

  “Hey, Michael.” Nyla smiles broadly moving past me to greet him. I pivot around coming face to face with Mike. It’s a toss-up which of us is more shocked to see the other.

  “What are you doing here?” I babble.

  “What are you doing here?” he counters.

  Nyla gestures her finger between Mike and me. “You two know each other?”

  “You could say that. We’ve been best friends since we were kids,” Mike replies. Best friends. Not stepbrothers. Strange. I lost the ‘best friend’ title long ago. He always introduces me to anyone we’re not conning as his stepbrother, stressing the step part. Why wouldn’t he do that now? Unless …

  “I’m sorry, how do you two know each other?” I ask, needing more information before I say another word.

  “Michael works for my father’s company, Moreau Enterprises.”

  “Moreau Enterprises,” I repeat, my mind firing off in a million directions. “Your last name is Moreau.”

  “Yes,” Mike says, emphasizing his words with his eyes. “Moreau Enterprises. Nyla Moreau. I’m sorry, how do you two know each other?”

  “My friend, Jen, introduced us by accident.” Nyla spins to face me. “I’m so rude. We’ve been talking all night and I never even asked your name.”

  I shake off my stupor, though I’m still reeling. “Uh, Memphis. Memphis Drake.”

  Mike flips his palms up shooting me a what-the-fuck look, and rightfully so. I just broke the second most important rule to running a con: Never use your real name.

  But I don’t care. I’ve already lied to Nyla once and I don’t want to do it again. I spent the last three hours sharing more of my real self with her than I have with anyone else. Ever. I’ve never been that open and honest before. I want her to know the real me. Including my name. I want to hear her cry it out over and over when I’m inside her.

  “Memphis Drake,” she repeats, my name rolling off her tongue like an Ella Fitzgerald ballad.

  Mike places a hand on my shoulder. “Yeah, Memphis is starting with the company next week.”

  “Oh, really?” Nyla scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s gonna be one helluva commute.”

  Shit.

  Mike’s brows pinch in confusion. “What? Why? It’s not that far. He’s going to be staying with me here in the city until he can find his own place. We’ll probably ride in together.”

  “Well, won’t that be nice? And so much cheaper than flying in every day. I hear airplane fuel is crazy expensive. And ticket prices … this time of year?” She whistles. “That’d cost a fortune.”

  Mike titters awkwardly having no clue what she’s talking about, but I sure as hell do. I step forward wanting to bridge the growing gap between us, but she takes a step back holding up her hand. The waiter returns, handing Mike a beer. “Nyla, why don’t you let me get you a drink?”

  “No, that’s okay. I’ve already had three and I think it’s affecting my judgment. I almost did something really stupid.”

  Her eyes are daggers. I feel them cut through my flesh, piercing my heart. We spent the night being honest and unguarded with each other. Now she caught me in a lie. A lie I didn’t have to tell. A lie I told anyway because that’s all I know how to do. Because that’s who I am. A liar.

  Now she doubts our connection and, evident from the way she’s inching towards the door, can’t get away from me fast enough. “I should go. It’s late, and I have a seminar in the morning and a meeting tomorrow afternoon I should’ve been prepping for tonight.”

  She digs in her purse pulling out some cash and offers it to me. I wave it off. “Nyla …”

  “Alright, I guess I’ll see you both tomorrow. Enjoy the rest of your night,” she replies, plastering on a fake smile, ignoring me like I hadn’t spoken.

  “Um, Memphis starts Monday. But I guess, since you’re already here, you can come in tomorrow and we can start filling out paperwork.”

  “Yeah sure, whatever,” I respond, all my attention still on Nyla. She won’t even look at me.

  “Tomorrow then,” she says, her eyes catching mine before she hastens toward the door.

  Dammit
! I’m not letting her leave like this. I bolt after her.

  “Nyla, wait a sec!” By the time I fight my way through the crowd and catch up with her, she’s already outside hailing a cab. I grip the handle, opening the door when it slows by the curb. Wherever she’s going, I’m going too. “Hey listen, I’m sorry. Please let me take you home.”

  “Ha! Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”

  “No, I didn’t mean it like … I just want to talk.”

  “In or out, lady. There’s other customers waiting,” the cabby snips, motioning to a group of people also beckoning for a ride. She slides into the backseat, and I attempt to get in with her, but she blocks my entrance keeping her fingers secure around the handle. I grip the top of the window to prevent her from closing the door and step closer. The cabby exhales loudly making his annoyance known.

  “Please let me ride with you so I can explain.”

  “Explain? Explain what? That you felt it necessary to lie to me when I asked you for nothing and was going to give you exactly what you wanted?”

  “That’s it. Meter’s running,” the cabby snorts, hitting the switch.

  I try to come up with something on the fly for why I lied. Letting her think I’m an asshole looking for a no-strings-attached hook-up seems preferable to telling her the truth—I’m a con man here to screw her out of millions of dollars. Obviously, neither of those explanations are ideal. My mind races for an answer—an answer I would have on the tip of my tongue if I was playing a part. But this isn’t a character I’ve created. It’s just me standing before her. And I’ve got nothing because I’m in uncharted territory. I don’t want to lie.

  She rolls her eyes, slamming the door closed. I jump back, narrowly escaping getting my hand caught between the metal. The taxi speeds off, leaving me standing in the street like some asshole with his dick in his hand.

  “Thanks for sticking me with the bill, asshole,” Mike says, sidling up next to me.

  “What?” I snap, still staring down the street.

  “The bill. You stuck me with … never mind. How the hell did you end up in a bar with Nyla?”

  “It was a coincidence. I didn’t know who she was.”

  “You realize you just fucked us, right? Why the hell did you tell her your real name?”

  “What difference does it make? You obviously told her your real name.”

  “No, I didn’t. I mean yeah, I told her my first name was Michael. But she thinks my last name is Smith.”

  Michael Smith. Could he possibly have chosen anything that sounded more fake? No effort. No flair. Just boring and generic like Mike. “You couldn’t be bothered to come up with a different first name?”

  “She threw me off balance when I met her, and it slipped. I mean did you see her? She’s fucking gorgeous. And those tits. I want to fuck the shit out of those things.”

  “Enough!” I hiss, grabbing him by the throat. The thought of him putting his grimy hands on Nyla is repulsive. It brings out something feral in me. My senses return, and I release Mike from my grip. He coughs a bit then shoves his hand against my shoulder.

  “What the hell was that?”

  The truth is, I don’t know. Somehow, this woman has gotten under my skin, which is exactly why I need to walk away. “I’m sorry. Listen, it doesn’t matter. The con’s off.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because I fucking said so, that’s why,” I bark, knowing damn well he isn’t going to accept that as an answer.

  “Bullshit, it’s off. Did she tell you about the charity thing? Is that it? See, I knew it. That’s exactly why I kept it from you.”

  “It’s not the charity thing. She’s not a good mark.”

  “What the hell do you mean she’s not a good mark? She’s the perfect fucking mark. She meets all your stupid criteria. She’s single. Doesn’t have any kids. Is filthy rich,” he responds, checking off my list one by one on his fingers. “And she’s embezzling from her father’s company.”

  My head snaps to him. “She’s embezzling from her father’s company?”

  “Yep, just over a hundred grand from what I’ve found so far.”

  “Why would she do that? She’s gotta be loaded.”

  “Don’t know. But she is. I’ve got proof. Maybe she’s one of those rich brats that gets off on the challenge.”

  My mind is spinning. The bomb Mike just dropped has me doubting myself for the first time in over ten years. Reading people is my job. I had Nyla pegged the second I saw her—the good girl looking for the bad boy to help her cut loose a little. Sure, she played me on the pool thing. But that was just in fun, wasn’t it? She’s got me questioning everything now.

  “Show me.” I want to see this proof with my own eyes.

  “If I do, is the con back on?”

  “You bet your ass it is.” I return my focus to the street, staring after the car even though it’s long gone. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let a woman play me again!

  Game on, sweetheart.

  EIGHT

  Don’t Lose Sight of the Goal

  The next morning, I’m knocking on Mike’s door at five a.m. with my bags in my hand. I slept for shit, spending most of the night staring at the ceiling replaying every bit of the conversation Nyla and I had in my head.

  “I could never steal from anyone,” she said. Anyone except your own father. What little sleep I did get was filled with dreams of Nyla naked, straddling me, her soft tits bouncing while riding my cock. I woke up pissed with an angry hard-on.

  My knuckles rap on the door incessantly. I need to see this fucking proof Mike claims to have because I’m still not sure that I buy it. He answers the door with a growl. “What the hell, dude? Do you have any idea what time it is?”

  “Five a.m.,” I respond, though his question is rhetorical. I barge my way past him, setting down my suitcase, and lay my garment bags over the back of the couch. “Show me her file.”

  “What?”

  “I wanna see her file. I know you’ve got one on her. You damn well better.”

  “Now? You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

  “Do I look like I’m kidding? Do you have it or not?”

  He groans, stomping off into another room and returns with a folder. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Happy?”

  “Tell me what you know. Starting with how you found her.”

  “I was cruising the society section like usual to find out where the rich bitches partied, and I went to the club to scope them out. I was sitting at the bar and I met a guy who worked in the accounting department at Moreau. After a few drinks, he let it slip that someone was stealing from the company. So, I got a job there and checked into it to see if it was something we could use. We went over all of this last night when you kept me up until one o’clock grilling me about Nyla,” he says, yawning and collapsing onto the couch.

  “And the person stealing just happened to be Nyla?”

  “What do you want me to say? I found proof. You think just because she’s hot and has a rich father, she won’t steal? Have you learned nothing over these past few years? Maybe she’s got daddy issues. Or maybe he keeps her on a leash like Harlan did with Angie. Or hell, maybe she’s an adrenaline junkie like us and wanted to see if she could get away with it.” He pulls a blanket over him and closes his eyes.

  While Mike dozes, I sift through the information. There are notes on Nyla’s favorite restaurants, her schedule, and her address. He’s made some scribbles about her friend Jen, but nothing about Alex or Colin. I linger when I come across several pictures of Nyla laughing and hugging some kids at a few different charity events. Her smile is genuine. Either these kids are important to her, or she must take after her cousin because she is one hell of an actress. What I don’t see is any proof of embezzlement.

  “Is this it?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Because it’s shoddy work. I see three names in this file. Where’s her list of friends? Where do they hang out? How does she take her coffee? What’s h
er favorite drink? Where did she go to school? What are her hobbies? What’s her favorite flower? What kind of guy is she into? What happened to her mother? What’s her motivation for stealing?” I close the file and toss it on the table. “I found out more about her last night than you have in months. If this is the kind of research you do, it’s no wonder you didn’t know about Harlan’s financial situation.”

  “Man, fuck you. It’s not like she has a Facebook page where I can find this shit out. The woman has no life. She’s a workaholic. She’s in the office eighty hours a week and spends the rest of the time at functions with those stupid kids. Her only friend is that Jen chick, who’s a real bitch, if you ask me. And how the hell am I supposed to know what happened to her mom? She died years ago.”

  “What’s Jen’s last name, since you seem to have left that out of the file?” I chide, retrieving my laptop from my bag.

  “Monroe,” he mumbles, raising his head in curiosity. “Why?”

  “Because Nyla may not be on Facebook, but her friend sure is.” I spin the laptop around purposely showing him a picture of Nyla, Jen, and Alex from last night. It always fascinates me how much information people put out there for complete strangers to view. For me, social media is a double-edged sword. It’s fantastic for recon, but it’s hell trying to stay out of pictures. One candid photo could land a con man like me in a shitload of trouble.

  I point to Alex. “You see her? That’s Nyla’s cousin. They’re all ‘BFFs’ according to this caption. But I guess you forgot to write that down too.”

  He flips me off and settles into the couch closing his eyes again. “What difference does it make who her friends are anyway? Fuck ’em. Nyla’s the mark.”

  “You really didn’t pay attention to a damn thing I taught you, did you? This is why you’ll never be a good con. Her friends are her allies, dumbass. They’re the ones she’s going to talk to about you. If they hate you, they’ll put doubt in her mind. If they love you, they’ll become your greatest asset. Win them over; win her over.”