by Portia Moore
“Borrowing?” she asks, confused.
“Stealing, Mallory. I didn’t grow up having the best of stuff. Sometimes I would get things, and I was pretty good at it. I think I might be able to—”
“Rain, no! You can’t,” she says, her pretty face scrunched up in disdain.
“It won’t be a lot, just enough—”
“Hey, who hasn’t gone through a phase where they stole some lip gloss and a pack of gum, right? But what you’re talking about doing—”
“I’m talking about doing what I have to do to keep us from being evicted,” I tell her firmly.
“But do you know what will happen if you got caught? You’d go to jail! We have no bail money. It could go on your record!” she screeches. I grab her by the shoulders and attempt to calm her down with an easy smile.
“Look. I’m good at it. I won’t take much, just what I need to make up the difference to pay our rent,” I say, trying to calm her worries and swallow down my own.
“I don’t mean any harm, but you’re from Indiana. Stealing there is a lot different from doing it here, especially at the type of stores you’d have to do it from to get what I could sell.” Her tone is getting more panicked by the minute. I want to scream!
“We don’t have any other options, do we!” I yell angrily, interrupting her tirade. I know she means well, but I can’t think about any of that. I’m only thinking about how I’ll have to slink back to Indiana without a dime and give up on everything I ever dreamed of if this doesn’t work. Getting arrested and going to jail are two things I can’t even let near my orbit right now.
“I’m sorry, Rain. I just…” She trails off. Her large green eyes are full of tears. It’s the first time I’ve ever realized she’s really my friend.
“It’ll be fine. I just need to find a low-key place. I’m not crazy enough to go to Nordstroms or anything.” She still looks hesitant, but I can see her trying to come around to the idea.
“I know a place. They have a ton of designer stuff but not a lot of security…low-key, like what you mean,” she explains reluctantly.
“That’s great!” I say, trying to get settled on the idea that I’m really about to do this.
“It’s just more important that you look the part,” she says, carefully frowning at my Forever 21 top and jeans I got from Plato’s Closet.
Mallory is dragging me into her room and going through her closet.
She soon emerges, holding a Balmain crop top sweatshirt and a black Gucci bag with some dark jeans, that I’m assuming are designer. Then she grabs a pair of her red-bottomed heels—the first pair of Louboutins I’ve ever seen in real life.
After I shower and change, I walk out of the bathroom and see that Mallory has a million products lying out on the kitchen counter. She doesn’t say anything, just waves for me to sit in a chair she’s pulled out. I do as she says, and as soon as my cheeks hit the seat, Mallory goes to work.
She doesn’t let me out of the chair until everything is to her standard. My golden locks are tamed into loose spirals. My brown eyes look even darker when they are framed with dark liner. My lips are painted red into a perfect pout.
“Done,” Mallory announces, shoving a mirror into my face. I hardly recognize myself. I never wear much makeup. I usually just put on a little mascara, tinted lip gloss, and concealer for nights I haven’t had much sleep. But Mallory has made me look different. The foundation is a little darker than my skin, but it looks airbrushed, and I look older. Her face stretches into a proud smile, like she’s sending her little sister off to prom rather than her friend to go steal, but I push that thought out of my mind. When I stand in front of her full-body mirror, I almost look like someone else. I’ll hold on to that as I do something that makes me almost want to vomit.
She grins at me as she lays her hands on my shoulders. “There’s one more thing that you need.”
I wait as she disappears into her closet one more time. When she comes out, she’s holding a white jacket that looks like a stylish trench coat. She holds it up for me to shrug on. Not only does it completely bring the outfit together, it’ll give me more places to hide things.
Mallory eventually gets me to agree to let her be my getaway driver. I don’t want to involve her at all, but she’s not having it any other way.
We head out of the apartment full of thoughts of everything that can go wrong, but we don’t say any of them out loud.
I’ve done this before.
It’s a different market, but I’m not going to take as much as I used to.
I’m doing this for a good cause.
Well, not a good cause, but for survival. Necessity.
I ignore the voice in the back of my head that says I could go home, or we could rent a little hotel
room until we get back on our feet and find another place, but if we’re kicked out we’ll both have an eviction on our record. It’s hard enough convincing landlords—even slum lords—to rent to people so young and with no credit history.
Mallory turns on the radio as I try to tune out all of my doubts. The plan is I’ll go inside and
browse for a few moments, then swipe a few items. I’ll slip out the door, get into the car, and we’ll leave.
We pull up to the tree-lined street in a part of Chicago I’ve never been to. It’s downtown but
away from the Magnificent Mile, where most of the upscale stores are. Things are quieter in this location, less busy and with fewer tourists.
Mallory glances away from the street to look at me. “Are you okay?”
I swallow, trying to dislodge the lump in my throat before answering. “Yeah,” I squeak out.
“Because you look like you’re about to throw up.” Her voice is on the edge of panic. I try to pull myself together. Mallory looks over at me, her lip tucked in between her teeth before asking, “Do you just want to go back home?”
That’s exactly what I want to do, but if we do, in less than a week there won’t be any home to go back to.
“No, I just need a minute.”
She nods and looks away, but she’s gripping the steering wheel so hard that her knuckles are turning white. The energy in the car is almost suffocating, and if I stay here a second longer, I’m going to chicken out. There is no point in delaying the inevitable anyway.
“Okay, be back in fifteen,” I say, not bringing myself to look at her. I slip out of the car, straighten my back, and walk inside as confidently as I can.
As soon as I open the door, there’s a saleswoman to greet me. “Hello, welcome to Chic. Is there anything that I can help you find?” she asks with a subdued grin, but I see her gaze giving me a quick appraisal. From the way her eyes light up, I think she approves that I belong.
“Nothing in particular, just browsing for now,” I tell her, smiling back. She nods and lets me know if I need any help to just ask her.
And with that, I’m officially on my own. There are about a dozen people in the store, which I’m glad for because every one of them are a distraction I desperately need.
I browse around for a few minutes, picking up things here and there, but I always make sure to put them back down. I have to ease into this. It’s been a long time, and this is a different ball game entirely. I do a quick inventory in my head, adding up prices of what would be the easiest, most expensive things to swipe.
The less, the better.
After browsing the store, which is a lot larger than it looks from the outside, I finally decide on two wallets and a scarf. All three of them will retail for about $3,500. It’s easy, a lot easier than I thought it would be. No one is following me or suspects anything. For a moment I feel the old rush that I got when I was in high school swiping things from Hot Topic, and a small part of me wonders how much more I could get away with, but the better part of me reminds me this isn’t a junior brands clothing store and to not push my luck or be greedy.
The store has gotten a little busier since I first came in, so it’s the perfect time to m
ake my exit. I take a deep breath and pretend to ponder if I’m going to buy a pair of $500 sunglasses before putting them back down. I pull out my cell phone and call Mallory, wanting to look at ease and distracted as I make my way out of the store. I wait for her to pick up, and a weight lifts off my chest as I’m almost to the door when I hear a voice from behind me.
“Excuse me, ma’am.”
I turn around, and my heart sinks into the pit of my stomach. Out of nowhere, there is a tall skinny bald man dressed in all black wearing what I can only describe as a happy sneer. Shit!
This is it.
I’m caught.
I try not to immediately panic, but I’m two seconds from pissing myself.
“Yes?” I squeak, barely able to force my mouth open.
“I’m going to need you to come with me,” he says, completely stoic.
I shrug. I’m playing the part of a rich girl, and I need to remember that. I don’t have a reason to steal anything.
“Absolutely not. I’m running super late…” Before I can continue the charade, the guard has his hand on my arm, gripping hard, and I feel the façade about to crumble when another voice that breaks the moment comes from behind him.
“Is there a problem?” The voice is deep, unmistakably masculine, and dripping with authority.
The security guard is so tall I can’t see who it’s coming from until the guard angles himself around towards the voice, and the man standing there is tall with dark hair. On the top, it is a thick mass of curls that almost can’t be controlled. His beard is the same rich dark color as the thick hair on his head. His eyes are piercing, and I’m not sure if they’re blue or grey. He’s also wearing a suit that looks like it was made just for him. My heart was pounding before this moment, but having this man's eyes on me, his expression sitting between curious and almost amused, is making blood course through my body for an entirely different reason. My cheeks are on fire. I feel lightheaded. I remind myself that being embarrassed in front of a man who looks like’s he’s fresh off a an episode of The Bachelor is the least of my problems.
The security guard looks the mysterious stranger up and down before he speaks. “Mr. Jamison, we saw her on camera.” The guard has loosened his grip on me slightly. I try to ignore the gazes in the store from the other customers that have started to watch, though I’m not sure if they’re watching him or me.
“My niece.”
What?
I have never seen this man before, and he’s not the type of man you’d forget even if you just glanced at him once, and I’m definitely not his niece. The security guard looks over at me as if he can tell the man is full of shit but won’t dare direct his question at him, so he’s settling on me.
“That means let her go,” Mr. Bachelor says, his voice deepening even more, and the guard immediately does.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Jamison. We had no idea.”
The guard is all apologies now, not only through words but his eyes. I feel guilty because he’s not the one in the wrong, I am. And he’s being scolded for doing his job. But if this is going to stop me from going to jail, I have to play along.
Mr. Jamison’s expression softens a bit. “Her parents warned me about this. They said she’s been shoplifting to get attention. I should have warned you all she may have been making an appearance. Go ahead and have them charge everything to my card. I’ll take care of it.”
Both of the men turn to face me. They’re both watching me expectantly, but I can’t move. I am literally stuck. “Go on, show him what you took,” Mr. Jamison says with an amused grin. I let out a choked breath before I start pulling out everything that I thought I had successfully stolen. The more I pull out, the more shocked the security guard looks. He probably thought that I had maybe one thing.
“Ring it up. Just bring me the bags when you’re finished,” Mr. Jamison tells the guard who looks like he wants to object, but he doesn’t say anything. He simply takes the items to the counter like Mr. Jamison directed him to. Mr. Jamison gives the guard an approving nod as he goes to the register before turning his attention back to me.
“What’s your name?” he asks as he approaches me, and my heart tightens with each step that he takes. As soon as he’s in front of me, his cologne fills my senses. It’s the single most delicious smell I’ve ever known.
“Rain,” I say quietly. He’s close enough now that I can tell his eyes are a pale grey.
“I’m Vincent Jamison,” he says, his eyes smiling at me. I try to think of something to say, but I’m speechless. He’s even more good-looking up close, and older than me. Maybe thirty if I have to guess—not necessarily because of how he looks, but because of his aura and self-assurance. I’ve never seen anyone so confident, so authoritative, around my age before.
“Well, Rain, now is when you start thanking me for saving your ass,” Vincent says. His tone is playful, but his words wake me up from the daydream he’s had me in. Why the hell did this guy just do this?
“Thank you, but why did you do that?” He then licks his pink, plump lips, and I swallow the nerves fighting their way up my throat.
“That doesn’t matter. You’ll pay me back. The guard is coming back now, so play along when he hands you the bag.”
I look past Vincent to see that he’s right. The guard stops in front of me and holds it out. I’m still at a loss for words when Vincent clears his throat. “I’m so sorry about all of this,” I say meekly.
The security guard forces a smile before giving his attention to Vincent.
“I apologize for this, sir. Have a great day.” The guard then disappears back into the shadows. I look at the bag in my hand and wait for Vincent to take it from me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he brings his hand to rest on my lower back as he gently guides me out of the store.
I can’t help but let out a sigh of relief once I’m outside.
Freedom, no jail time. Thank God! I’ll never do any stupid shit like that again!
“Thank you again,” I gasp, elation and relief still coursing through me as I try to hand him the bag.
“No. That’s yours,” he says adamantly, and I’m confused.
“I can’t take this from you,” I tell him with a frown, trying to hand him the bag again, but he just steps back.
“You were going to take it from the store,” he says with a beautiful brow lifted at me.
“That was different,” I say, feeling like a hypocrite. He lets out a butterfly-inducing chuckle.
“Why would you help me, anyway?” I ask, my eyes narrowing in on him.
“It doesn’t matter why I did it,” he says. The smile is gone from his lips, but his tone sounds like how it did earlier—utterly and completely in control. “What matters is that in two nights, you’ll go out to dinner with me.”
Right. No one just does anything to be nice. Everyone wants something, and for as much money as he’s spent on the items in this bag, I’m sure it’s more than just dinner he wants.
“No, that would be weird,” I tell him, shaking my head and taking a step back. He only moves towards me. The closer he gets, the more I feel like I’m going to sink into the concrete.
“Weird?” he says with an amused glint in his eyes.
Yeah, it would be weird. It’s not every day that I get asked out by dangerously handsome men who buy me a couple thousand dollars worth of items without even knowing my name.
“Look, I know I was stealing back there, and it was wrong, but…but…I’m not a prostitute!” Indignation starts to replace my nerves. He stares at me. I force myself not to look away, and he doesn’t either. He just takes yet another step towards me, pushing his body up against mine.
With a small grin, he asks, “Does it look like I have to pay for sex?” His voice is low and sexy.
I take another small step away from him. Of course he doesn’t have to pay for sex; this man is one of the most incredible-looking men I’ve ever seen in person. Sure, he’s obviously rich and undeniably sexy, but that’s wh
at makes this all wrong. Why would a man like him want someone he just caught stealing? A man like him doesn’t need to pick up thieving girls in expensive boutiques they don’t belong in. I feel like I belong here even less now, wearing clothes that I could never afford that stood out like a snake in a bowl of Cheerios in that place. Yet here he is, asking to take me on a date.
“Is that a no?” he asks quietly, wearing a smile that makes my heart trip over itself.
“I don’t understand. Why would…what makes you…” I start to try to ask, but before I bumble over any other words, he merely takes my hand and puts a card into it. I look at it, perplexed. It’s sleek, thick, and embossed with his name, email, and phone number on it.
“I’ll be seeing you soon…Rain,” he simply replies, walking backward, his sentence punctuated with a glorious smile. I glance down at the card again, and when I look back up, he’s gone.
Chapter 4
Rain
Five years earlier
I don’t know how it happened exactly, but I have a friend. I thought it was too good to be true, but it isn’t. We’ve eaten lunch together every day for the last month. His guy friends—the ones he was eating with on the day we met—haven’t seemed all too happy about it. I see them looking over at us and snickering. But I don’t care. I think some of them think we’re dating, and there are whispers about that, too. I don’t mind, except it’s stopped any girls from befriending me it seems like, but the trade-off is worth it. They may not be super friendly to me but none of them are mean or say rude things. Being Zach’s friend has afforded me that. He and his friends, I’ve learned, aren’t the golden boys, but the ones no one messes with, and it’s odd to me how so many can be intimidated by them, or at least Zach with his heartthrob looks, friendly eyes, and breathtaking smile.
Sometimes I look at him and wonder what it would be like to date him. He doesn’t ever touch me, really, except to take my hand sometimes when he wants me to go somewhere specific with him. No hugs, nothing like that. Sometimes his hair falls into his face when we’re talking, and I want to reach out and push it back, but I don’t.