by Shay Stone
“You’ll figure something out. She’s never gotten over you. I’m sure you can weasel your way back into her bed somehow. Use the kid. That’ll get her. And I’ll do my part. I’ve already started picking fights with her and acting distant. You know. The usual stuff.”
My jaw tightens. “You want to pick fights? Fine. But if I find out you laid one hand on her or Conner …”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. You’ll kick my ass.”
“Wrong. I won’t kick your ass. I’ll kill you.”
For the first time since I walked into the bar, the cocky smile fades from his face. He knows it’s not hyperbole. “Fine. I won’t touch her or the kid. I don’t want to give her any ammunition to use against me anyway. So, are you in?”
This situation could not be more fucked up. I consider my options. I have none. “Fine, I’m in. I’ll make Nyla fall in love with me and get the evidence you need to get your money on one condition.” Mike raises a brow. “After I do, you leave, and stay the hell away from my family forever.”
He slams his hand on the table. “Deal.”
We slide out of the booth and exchange phone numbers to help me ascertain the best time to get Nyla alone and make my move. As we near the door, Mike hooks an arm around my neck. “Look at us. Back together, pulling cons. Just like old times. Except this time, I’m in charge.”
Yep. That’s exactly what I want him to believe.
THIRTY-EIGHT
We part ways at the door. I head outside while Mike goes back inside to chat up the other waitress. I check my phone and see I’ve missed a few calls from Mason and one from the nursing home. When I call Mase, he informs me my dad had a mini-stroke this morning but assures me everything is okay, and I don’t need to come home. He asks how things are going with Nyla and is excited to learn he has a nephew with his moniker for a middle name.
While we’re talking, I notice a man exiting a building a few doors down, heading for a Bentley.
“Mase, I gotta go. I’ll call you later. Max!” I shout, picking up my pace to catch up to him.
He looks up from the text he was reading and smirks. “I was wondering when you were going to come around. You took off pretty quick after Nyla left yesterday.”
I run a hand over my head. “Yeah, I was afraid I might get lynched if I stayed. I also had a lot to process.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“Can we talk?”
“Yes, but not here.” He motions his head toward an upstairs window of the building. “If Jen catches me talking to you, she’ll have my balls.”
I forgot we were in the Fashion District. It explains why Max is on this side of town.
“I though she already had your balls,” I tease.
“Get in the fucking car.” He slides onto the bench next to me and gives the driver instructions, then raises the partition to allow us privacy. “I have to make a business call, but I’m heading back to my office. We can talk there, unless you have some place to be.”
“Nope. That’s part of what I want to talk to you about.”
Max’s call lasts the entire ride. By the time the vehicle pulls up to the office, I’m a mixture of nerves and excitement, knowing there’s a chance I’ll see Nyla. As we head inside, the building manager approaches, requesting to speak with Max about a security issue.
“Why don’t you head up to my office and I’ll meet you there? This should only take a few minutes.”
I cross the lobby into the elevator and push the button for the top floor. The doors are about to close when Nyla squeezes through, never lifting her head from the message she’s texting. I wait until the doors close before I speak, afraid she’ll bolt out if I do.
“I wish you’d be more careful when you get into elevators. You never know who you might get trapped inside with,” I say, pressing the button for Moreau Enterprises.
Her eyes shoot up and I smile. She turns to exit, but we’ve already begun our ascent. “Yes, clearly I need to pay better attention,” she scoffs. The heady scent of her perfume permeates the air making my cock semi-hard. I have to grip the railing to keep from touching her. Because I really want to fucking touch her.
“I’m glad I got you alone. Can we go somewhere and talk?”
“No.”
“Nyla, if you’d just hear me out and give me a chance to explain …”
“Why? I’m not going to believe a damn word you say anyway,” she snaps, still refusing to look at me. I step behind her until the slightest hint of our bodies are touching. She stiffens but doesn’t move, determined to hold her ground. I rest my hands on her arms expecting her to pull away. To my surprise, she doesn’t.
“Look at me.”
“No.”
“Why not?” I whisper against her hair.
“Because if I do, I’m going to kick you in the balls hard enough to lodge them in your damn nostrils. And I’m not going to give you the satisfaction.”
My forehead creases. “The satisfaction of getting kicked in the balls?”
“The satisfaction of having an excuse to sue me. You’re a con artist. Money is all you care about.”
I drop my hands, wounded by her response. The elevator doors part and she dashes off, leaving me speechless. Well, that went well.
Deciding it’s best not to chase her into the lion’s den, I allow the doors to close and continue on to Steele Industries. Max’s assistant shows me to a seating area, offering me a cappuccino while I wait. Ten minutes later, Max arrives waving for me to follow him into his office. He pours two glasses of bourbon and hands me one. “Here. You look like you could use this.”
I take it and make myself comfortable on one of the Italian leather couches. He sits in the Axel chair beside me and takes a swallow of his drink. “Was that Nyla I saw getting into the elevator with you?”
“Yeah.”
“How did that go? Never mind,” he says, reading my expression. “We have more important things to discuss. Like why the hell you were running out of the church and asking me to protect Nyla the last time I saw you? You want to tell me what that was about? Especially considering the guy I thought I was supposed to be protecting her from shows up claiming she needs to be protected from you.”
The memory of the worst day of my life flashes in my mind. I shake it off before it consumes me and lean forward resting my forearms on my thighs. “How much time you got?”
He presses the button on the phone next to him. “Phillip, clear my schedule for the next two hours and hold my calls.” He releases the button. “Do we need to get Colin and Giovanni in here too? Colin’s on set, but we can FaceTime him.”
“Colin, yes. Giovanni, no. Not until I figure out how to handle this.”
He arches a brow and dials Colin. He’s less receptive than Max upon seeing me. “What the fuck’s he doing there?”
Max takes the lead to diffuse the situation. “He needs us to listen to him. Nyla and Conner’s safety depend on it.”
I nod, confirming his assessment. Colin’s anger radiates through the screen. He gazes off into the distance before looking back at us. “Go on. I’m listening.”
“I guess I should start from the beginning.” And I do. I tell them about everything from Sheila and Vito to my exchange with Mike this afternoon. When I finish, Colin and Max sit, stunned silent. Max stands up and pours himself another tumbler full of bourbon.
“You have to come clean with Nyla,” Colin says, his demeanor changed from anger to sympathy. I exhale with relief, thankful they believe me. “You can’t keep this from her. Trust me. I know. Secrets like this almost destroyed Alex and me. If Nyla knows the truth—"
“She’s not going to believe me,” I cut in. “Not with all the lies Mike’s been filling her head with this whole time. Honestly, I’m surprised you guys agreed to listen to me.”
Max and Colin share a glance. “None of us like Michael. There’s something about him we never trusted,” Colin admits. “And it helps that Max told me how broken up you
were when you left the church.”
“No one could fake that,” Max declares. “What do you need from us?”
“A job. I know it’s a lot to ask. But I need Mason in Louisiana near my dad where I know they’re safe. He can’t afford his own place, and I can’t afford two apartments and a nursing home for my dad. And I don’t want to go back to hustling. I’m done with that.”
“You want me to hire you—an admitted con artist—to work with my finances?”
“I told you. I’m done with that. I never stole from you, Max. I could’ve. Your security is good, but it’s not unhackable. I can show you how to fix that.” I sit forward in my chair imploring him. “Please. I need this. You once told me friendship was friendship and business was business. And you know I’m good for business.”
He leans back in his chair, cocking his head to the side, regarding me for a moment. “Jen’s going to kill me,” he says, hitting the button on the intercom. “Phillip, have Human Resources draw up a new employee contract for Memphis Drake.”
I grin, clasping my hands together. “Thank you.”
“I’m going to be watching you like a hawk,” he warns.
“I’d expect nothing less.”
“I’ll contact a few investigators and see if I can have them talk to people at the bar,” Colin chimes in. “Maybe they can find someone who can put Michael there the night of Angie’s murder. It’s a long shot. But you never know.”
“And I’ll put a security detail on Nyla and Conner in case this Vito guy sends his thugs here or Michael does something he shouldn’t.”
To say I am amazed at the support they’re showing me is an understatement. But I guess that’s what you do for real friends. And I’m grateful to be able to call them that.
With a job secured, and Max and Colin on my side, it’s time to earn back Nyla’s trust and remind her of something she seems to have forgotten—we belong together.
THIRTY-NINE
I stop at the coffeehouse by work the next morning, hoping Nyla has made it part of her routine again. With any luck, she’ll have cooled down a little and be more receptive to talking. I considered wearing a cup just in case she’s still feeling hostile.
The place is exactly how I remember, although some of the faces behind the counter have changed. There was a time I’d come here, and they’d greet me by name and have my order waiting. I pick up Nyla’s favorites and take a seat by the window watching and waiting. And waiting. And waiting. Nyla was always to work by seven. Maybe that’s changed now that she’s a mother. Still, by seven forty-five I’m starting to get concerned, but I can’t wait any longer or I’ll be late for work on my first day back.
As I’m gathering my things, a sleek Maserati Levante Trofeo skids to a stop in front of the office building. Mike appears from the driver side, resting his arms on the roof, and yells something. Nyla emerges from the car, struggling to get her things together. She throws a large bag over her shoulder, lifts Conner onto her hip, and grabs her purse and briefcase. Mike checks his watch and barks something at her, never offering to lend a hand.
I step out the door just in time to hear Mike mutter, “fucking cunt” at her. Nya’s face sinks like he just slapped her. My immediate instinct is to race over and defend her, but before I can, she snaps something back and slams the door. Mike chuckles disappearing into the car and speeds off, leaving Nyla to stomp off toward the building.
You can bet your ass I’ll be having a chat with him later. There are other ways to drive a wedge into your relationship without resorting to physical or verbal abuse. No one deserves to be spoken to like that.
A bright-green stuffed animal falls out of the bag Nyla’s carrying without her noticing. I scoop it up and smile. It’s Wally, the Red Sox mascot. He’s well-worn and has some tears that have been stitched with a darker green thread. I imagine Conner sleeping with it every night. She found a way to have me in his life even when I wasn’t there.
“Nyla!” I call out, jogging up behind her and follow her into the crowded elevator. “You dropped this.”
Conner’s eyes light up. “Wally!”
She looks down at the toy in my hand and gazes back at me. “Do not tell me you stooped so low …”
Christ. She thinks I lifted my own son’s toy. “No! It fell out your bag. I swear.”
She glowers at me, debating whether to believe me. “Memphis, what are you even doing here?”
“I work here. Max hired me back,” I reply, making silly faces at Conner and teasing him with the stuffed green monster.
“I can’t believe he did that.”
“I’m good for business. After he heard me out, he thought I deserved a second chance to make things right. You might too if you’d afford me the same opportunity to explain.” I hold up the toy shaking it from side to side making Conner giggle. His laughter is musical, just like his mother’s. “Is this yours?”
More giggles. He nods and buries his head in his mom’s neck. I think Nyla forgets she hates me for a minute it, because she looks up at me and smiles. My heart overflows with happiness seeing the two of them together.
Conner straightens up and holds out an arm, reaching for his stuffed animal, hugging it tightly when I hand it back. He sing-songs, “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome,” I reply, unable to resist caressing his head. He’s such a well-mannered little boy. He sneezes one of those big sneezes that overtakes his whole body and has him looking around wondering what just happened.
I chuckle and he does the same. “Bless you.”
As Nyla digs for a tissue, the elevator slows on the nineteenth floor. “Dammit. This is our floor.” My brow furrows. Moreau Enterprises is a few floors up. She reads my confusion and clarifies, “Daycare. I didn’t want a nanny. I like to come visit him throughout the day.”
Her bag falls from her shoulder, tugging her arm down. She shuffles Conner to her other hip, grappling with it.
“Here, let me help.” Despite her protests, I take it from her and sling it over mine. I also grab her briefcase, careful not to spill the coffee or drop the pastry I’m still holding and step off the elevator leaving her no choice but to follow.
We’re greeted by a receptionist sitting at a desk with a computer and keyboard facing our direction. A glass wall separates us from an area where children can be seen playing. Nyla sets Conner down and gets to work typing something. It takes everything I have not to pick him up. I’m dying to hold him, but I don’t feel I have the right.
“Can I help you, sir?” the perky woman asks.
I drape my arm around Nyla’s shoulders. “Oh, it’s okay. We’re together.”
The woman’s gaze flicks to Nyla, the side of her mouth quirking up like I’ve let her in on some elicit secret.
Nyla sloughs off my arm. “We’re not together-together.”
“Not yet, anyway,” I mumble, which earns me the evil eye. “What?”
She shakes her head. “You can go now.”
“I can, but I’m not going to.”
This time I get an eye roll. Nyla returns to her task entering the information. I pay close attention to everything she is doing, confident that someday I’ll be doing it too or we’ll be doing it together. From what I can tell you have to enter the child’s name and a code into the system upon arrival and departure.
I ask the receptionist about the process, along with a series of perfectly reasonable questions. How are employees vetted? What are their credentials? Is there a doctor on staff? What happens if there’s a fire? What if a gunman gets loose in the building?
My first few questions are answered with enthusiasm but by my ninth one, that enthusiasm wanes. When I ask if it would be possible for me to examine their computer system to make sure it can’t be hacked, the woman turns to Nyla. “Is he serious?”
“Memphis, really?” Nyla chides. “Why don’t you go stand over there with Conner while I finish up?”
I’m a terrible father. I didn’t even notice my
son wandered over to the window to watch the kids play. He stares intently into the room with his tiny hands pressed against the glass, watching a woman hold up cards in front of another child.
“Green. Red. Lel-low,” he says, calling out the correct colors, and I think it’s freaking adorable how he mispronounces yellow. It makes me want to run out and buy every yellow thing in Manhattan just to hear him say it again.
I squat down beside him and hold out my tie. “What color is this?
He presses his finger to it. “Blue. Blue tie.”
My chest swells with pride. My child is a genius.
“You’re so smart.”
He smiles and hands me his Wally, freeing his hands to open the pastry bag I’m holding like he already knows what’s inside. “Chockit.”
“Yes, it’s chockit … uh chocolate,” I correct myself, gazing up at Nyla who has now joined us. “I got it for your mommy. She likes chocolate. Would you like a bite? I don’t think she’d mind.”
He opens his mouth, and I take that as a “yes.”
“Good,” he says when I feed it too him. I break off another piece and offer it to him. He uses his hand to direct it toward my mouth. “Memfoos eat. We share.”
My head snaps to Nyla. “He just said my name. Did you teach it to him?”
She crouches beside us, brushing Conner’s hair from his forehead. “No, he probably heard me say it in the elevator. If he hears or sees something once, he remembers it. He doesn’t talk much yet. But you can tell those wheels are always turning.”
“My mom said I was the same way. And then I turned three and wouldn’t shut up.”
Nyla smirks. “He gets a lot of things from you.”
I hold up Wally and Conner takes him from me. “I see that.”
“It’s annoying.”
“You’re just mad because he’s a Red Sox fan.”
She crinkles her nose in disgust. “I gave him Wally and a teddy bear wearing a Yankees jersey and he chose that thing. And he won’t let me throw it out. I’ve bought new ones, but he pitches a fit when I try to get rid of it because he wants that one.”