The Redemption of Memphis Drake: A Second Chance Romance

by Shay Stone

  “Whatever. Sounds stupid if you ask me. Fuck her right and she won’t give two shits what anyone else thinks. At least that’s what Sheila said when she was trying to fuck her way onto your dad’s bank account less than a year after your mom died. Although she did have to fake a pregnancy to get him to marry her. Sucker.”

  I slam the laptop closed, ready to launch it across the room at him, but decide to tuck it inside my bag instead. I know he’s trying to get a rise out of me, and I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

  “And where’s this supposed evidence of her stealing or a list of the fake companies she’s using as shelfs?”

  He rubs the sleep from his eyes with the base of his hands. “It’s on the computer at the office.”

  “Then I suggest you get dressed.”

  “Now?” My face gives him my answer. He stamps into the bedroom grumbling, “Five-thirty in the fucking morning, and he wants to go to work.”

  An hour later, we’re walking through the door of Moreau Enterprises. The whole elevator ride, I’m fidgeting like an addict in need of a fix. Mike side-eyes me but doesn’t ask questions. The doors open to an empty, dimly lit lobby with a metal sign bearing the company’s name on the neutral painted wall.

  I motion impatiently for Mike to exit the lift. Never a morning person, he’s functioning, but just barely. He stops in the breakroom along the way to make a cup of coffee.

  “Really?” I snap.

  “Yes really, asshole. You kept me up half the night, then you’re at my door dragging my ass out of bed at five. I need coffee.”

  I sigh at least three times, waiting for the single cup machine to heat up and fill his mug. He takes his time rummaging through the cupboards for cream and sugar. I swear he’s doing it just to piss me off. He slurps a slow sip and raises his cup. “Want one?”

  I glower at him so hard I think laser beams—actual laser beams—may shoot from my eyes and incinerate him. He snorts. “I’ll take that as a ‘no.’ Somebody’s grumpy this morning.”

  “Now that you’ve got your damn coffee, can we get on with it, please?”

  “I suppose. But only because you asked so nicely.”

  A minute later, we’re in a large office overlooking the expanse of the city. Dawn hasn’t broken yet. The midnight-blue sky is just starting to give way to shades of purple, and only a smattering of lights dot the buildings at this ungodly hour. It would be peaceful if it weren’t for the familiar sound of the computer humming to life reminding me of the information I’m here to confirm. My girl is a thief.

  That’s right. I said it. My girl. That’s what she is for another few minutes. The girl that made my heart beat faster. The first girl I ever opened up to. The girl whose perfume still lingered on my skin, taunting me while I laid in bed last night. The girl who will go back to being nothing more than a job once Mike shows me what I came here to see.

  I wish he’d get on with it. Standing here, I sense her presence as if she was in the room. I can almost feel her eyes glaring at me, challenging me to find evidence she’s not the angel I thought she was. Part of me wants to prove it because it will make things easier for me. A bigger part of me hopes I never do.

  Mike lets out an exaggerated yawn and gets to work tapping on the keyboard. I wander around the room, too anxious to sit. The wall sconces provide just enough light for me to read the University of Columbia diploma on the wall. Nyla Elizabeth Moreau. This is her office. The reason I felt her eyes on me is because they were. She’s staring at me from pictures smiling, laughing, teasing, taunting.

  There’s a photo of her with Alex and Jen, at what looks like a bridal shower, and another one of Nyla with a teenager in a wheelchair. Nyla is crouched beside her smiling while the girl gazes upon her like she’s taking in the sun. I understand the sentiment.

  I pick up a candid shot of her with two men I recognize from the only nonstock photo on the company website, though they’re much older here—Edward and Harrison Moreau. Nyla’s father and uncle. In the picture, Nyla and Edward are holding pool cues and laughing. Harrison’s watching them and smiling, but it’s forced. There’s a sadness in his eyes and something else I can’t quite place. Nostalgia maybe? Or envy?

  Okay, what the hell is taking so long? I make my way back to the desk and take a seat on the corner drumming my fingers on the wood. Mike glances at my hand and then back at me but continues his work.

  “What the hell is your problem? You’re even more of a pain in the ass than usual this morning.”

  “My problem is people are going to start coming in soon, and you still haven’t given me shit for proof.”

  “I’m sorry. There’s a bit of an issue. She added a password. Her computer never used to have one.”

  “So backdoor your way in.”

  His hands stop typing and he shrugs sheepishly.

  “Seriously? I’ve only shown you a thousand times. Move.”

  He slides over and, two minutes later, I have us in Nyla’s computer, which is pretty good considering Mike keeps asking me a million questions deciding now is the time he wants to learn to hack. I lean against the back console and gesture for him to resume pulling up whatever it is he’s going to show me.

  “Okay, here it is. Check this out.”

  “What am I looking at? It looks like a standard purchase order,” I say, peering over his shoulder seeing nothing incriminating.

  “It is. From Baby Safe. A company that went out of business years ago.”

  “One P.O. for a thousand dollars? That’s all you’ve got?”

  “Hang on,” he mutters, typing something into the computer.

  “You know if all you’re showing me are purchase orders or invoices, we could have done this from any computer, including yours. We didn’t have to break into Nyla’s office.”

  He ignores me and pulls up something else from the same company. “There.”

  “‘There’ what?”

  “It’s a refund request from the same defunct company. And that’s just one of them. There are more.”

  “She’s using bogus companies to generate bills and … what? Having the payment wired into an offshore account?”

  “Exactly. I think the charity is just a front too. She’s either funneling money through it or skimming off the top. I think she’s got a record on here somewhere,” he informs me, opening various folders on her desktop.

  What kind of person steals from needy kids? That’s as bad as Harlan.

  “Show me.” Right as I say the words, a light comes on down the hall. Our time is up.

  “Memphis come on. We gotta go. We can’t be caught in here. You’re just going to have to trust me,” he says, powering down the computer and making sure the chair is back how we found it. We wait until our path is clear and dash out of the room, but not before I steal one last glance at the picture of Nyla. How could I have been so wrong about her? It’s fucking with me like nothing’s ever fucked with me before.

  Mike leads me to his microscopic office and plops down in his chair interlocking his fingers behind his head. “So, do you believe me now?”

  I rest against his desk and pull back one of the silver balls on his Newton’s cradle releasing it and watch the melodic rhythm. “How do you know it’s her and not someone else?”

  He lets out an indignant huff. “Because accounting assigns a code to each computer. When an invoice or purchase order is generated, that number is listed in the sequence. Only Edward and the accounting manager are aware of the number. They originally did it as a way to track sales and award bonuses as well as measure production costs to see which departments were spending the most money and if new materials needed to be explored or vendor contracts needed to be renegotiated. But a few weeks ago, Edward called me into his office and asked me to start going through them. I told him I’d get with the rest of accounting, but he told me no one was to know.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “No, but if I had to guess, I’d say it’s because he knows s
omeone’s stealing, but doesn’t know who.”

  I stroke my chin with my finger. “But why ask you? You’re new. You’ve only been working here a few months. Why not ask someone he trusts? Nyla or someone who’s been with the company for years?”

  “Because I’m new. Because whoever’s been stealing has probably been doing it for a while now. The only person he can trust is someone who hasn’t been around. He’s about to take the company public. The last thing he wants is to have it leaked that over a hundred thousand dollars is missing.”

  “And you think he’s going to let me in on this little secret?”

  “That’s why you’re here. I told him there was too much data and I needed help processing it. He asked if there was anyone I trusted who would be discreet. I told him I had a friend who was freakishly good with numbers and vetted companies for a living. By the way, if he asks, you vet companies.”

  I draw back the ball again and let it go. “Okay, but still. Don’t you think he told Nyla the codes were being used? Aren’t they really close? I mean, she is his daughter.”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  Mike rises from his seat ambling around the desk and clutches the Newton’s cradle to stop the balls from swinging. “Because I told him I’d get started and let him and Nyla know when I had anything. He said she wasn’t to know either. At the time, I just assumed he didn’t want to worry her or maybe he wanted to see how she was managing her department without her knowing he was checking up on her. But maybe he suspects her.”

  “And you haven’t confirmed his suspicions?”

  “Of course not. The last thing we need is for him to cut her off from her inheritance.” I grip the edge of the desk and stare at the floor, thinking. Mike grunts. “What now?”

  “Couldn’t someone else have used her computer or changed the code?”

  “No. I’ve tried a hundred times. The only way to reassign one is by using the accounting manager’s computer and it’s password protected too. And I know he’s not the one doing it because it was still happening when he was on leave after having surgery. Edward is the only other person with access, and he’s not going to frame his own daughter. It had to come from her computer, and she locks her office every night.”

  “So? We got in. How hard is it to pick a lock or hack a computer?”

  “You mean for people who aren’t professional criminals like us?” We both smirk. “Look, I’m telling you, it’s her. I don’t understand why you’re fighting this so much. Is it because I screwed up with Stapleton? I said I was sorry. I feel horrible. That’s why I double and triple checked this time to make sure I was right. I know you need this money for your dad and Mason.”

  Shit. For the past eight hours all I’ve thought about was Nyla. I’ve been so focused on her, I almost forgot why we were pulling the job in the first place. And after last night’s episode on the phone with Mase, there’s no time to find a new mark. Without Stapleton’s money, I’ve only got enough in the bank to last another few months. Whether Nyla is guilty or not, I’ve got to run this con and I know it.

  Mike shakes his finger at me. “You know, instead of marrying her, we could just redirect some of the money she’s taking …”

  “No. We’re not embezzling. That’s not what we do. Pickpocketing some asshole every now and then or tricking one into giving up his money willingly is one thing. But we’re not stealing millions from a company filled with decent employees with families to support. I did that once. I’ll never do it again.”

  Mike rolls his eyes. “Not that Mr. Nichols shit again. Jesus Memphis, will you let it go? You were eighteen years old!”

  Mr. Nichols is the reason I came up with my ten-minute rule. He was a good man who hired me in at his construction company the one time I decided to go straight. I’d been working in the office for a couple months when Sheila left, taking what little money we had with her.

  I’ll never forget the look of disappointment on his face when he returned unexpectedly and caught me with the safe open stuffing bills in my pockets. He could have called the cops, but he didn’t. Instead, he told me to take the money, get out, and never come back.

  The sad thing is, if I’d asked him, he probably would have given it to me. But Sheila had spent years ingraining into my head that no one helped you for free. If you wanted something, you had to take it. I crossed a line that day I swore I never would. To this day, the guilt still eats away at me.

  “I stole from him.”

  “Yeah, eight hundred dollars to keep our family from getting tossed into the street.”

  “I said, ‘no.’”

  Mike let’s out an exasperated sigh. “Fine. Have it your way. You always do. So, are we doing this or not? Because if not, we’ve got to find a new mark fast.”

  I glance out the door and see Nyla pass by wearing a white silk blouse, black pencil skirt, and strappy fuck me heels. I wonder if she dresses like that every day or if she’s done it on purpose to torture me. Because that’s what it is: fucking torture. I could have spent last night inside her and woken up that way this morning. Instead, we slept alone.

  Her eyes hit mine and there’s a smugness in them. Oh yeah, she’s definitely done it on purpose. Wicked woman. If she is embezzling and stealing from kids, she deserves everything she’s about to get. And I’m not going to pretend I won’t enjoy spending the next few months seducing her and fucking her on every inch of this office. If all goes well, this will be the greatest con I ever pull with a massive payout.

  “We don’t need to find a new mark. We’re doing it.”

  “Yes!” Mike smiles, pumping his fist in the air.

  Let the game begin.

  NINE

  Anticipate Potential Problems

  Most of my morning is spent with HR, filling out paperwork, familiarizing myself with the company, and having my picture taken for my security access badge to get past the lobby without being accompanied or announced. I haven’t had a chance to seek Nyla out yet, but my head snaps up every time I hear the sound of heels clicking across the floor.

  At nine-fifteen, I’m summoned into Edward Moreau’s office for a meeting. When I arrive, his door is closed, but his lanky, red-headed executive assistant smiles and tells me to go right in. I knock lightly and peek my head inside, only to find Nyla and her father in a heated discussion.

  “I don’t understand why we have to bring someone in from the outside to assess our company. I’m perfectly capable of auditing my own department,” Nyla snaps, rankled by the idea.

  “I never said you weren’t. But if you audit yours, the other department heads will want to audit their own as well. It’s easier to have someone unbiased do it all.”

  “Why don’t I just audit all of them?”

  “Because it will be very time consuming. You have more important work to do if we want this overseas expansion to happen.”

  I knock on the door again, louder this time to gain their attention. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I was told you wanted to see me, sir.”

  “Ah yes, you must be the numbers whiz Michael has told me so much about. Please come in.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m Memphis Drake. Pleasure to meet you,” I reply, crossing the room with an extended hand.

  “Call me Edward,” he says, clasping it. I like him immediately. He exudes warmth. He motions towards his daughter, beaming with pride. “Memphis this is Nyla. My daughter. Nyla, Memphis is the consultant that will be doing the auditing we were discussing.”

  She snorts. “Of course, he is. Because that’s just the way my week is going.”

  “You two know each other?” Edward asks, surprised.

  I say, “yes;” Nyla says, “no.”

  Edward chuckles. “Well, which is it?”

  “I had the pleasure of bumping into Nyla last night. I’m sorry to say she bested me in a few games of pool. She’s quite the shark.”

  His chest swells. “Ah yes, that’s my daughter. She may look like an innocent l
ittle pussycat, but she’s actually a tiger.”

  “So, I’m learning.”

  Nyla rolls her eyes. “Well, as much as I’d love to stand here all day while you two compare me to different members of the animal kingdom, I have work to do. Don’t forget we have a mandatory seminar in half an hour.”

  “Of course. We’ll be done in plenty of time,” he promises.

  “And eat your breakfast,” she commands, pointing to a muffin and juice on the desk.

  “Yes, sweetheart.” He breaks off a piece of the baked good and pops it into his mouth to pacify her. “She forgets I’m the parent.”

  The intercom buzzes. “Mr. Moreau, Mr. Takahara is on line one for you.”

  “Excellent. Put him through. Thank you, Emily. I’m sorry Memphis. Please have a seat. This will only take a minute. Nyla, I assure you we’ll be at the seminar on time.” He clicks the button on his Bluetooth and begins speaking in Japanese.

  “Hey,” I mutter, happy to steal a few seconds alone with her.

  “Make sure you guys are at that seminar. I know how he gets when he starts talking, and I don’t want to have to reschedule it again,” she snips, turning her pert little nose in the air and snatching a folder off the desk. Several papers fly out scattering around her feet. “Shit.”

  She bends to gather them, and I crouch down to help. “Nyla, can we talk?”

  “Not here,” she cautions, motioning her eyes toward her father.

  “Okay, where?” I ask as we stand, but she doesn’t answer. “Where?” I repeat more forcefully, gripping the papers tighter when she tries to take them. “Have dinner with me.”

  “No.”

  “Lunch?”

  “Can’t. I have a budget meeting.”

  “Well, we have to get together before that because I have several ideas on ways you can save money. Particularly on batteries.” I hit her with one of my signature panty-dropping smiles and lean closer. “I’d even be willing to demonstrate a few options.”