Recompense For Love: Book Three of the Against All Odds Series

by Gemini Jensen

  Melanie Stoker continues to ramble on and on about her husband’s infidelities, and having gotten the gist of the situation, I check out. People make the mistake of thinking I’m their therapist, or that I care.

  The only thing I care about, is getting down to the truth of the matter. Knowledge is what drives my interest. Well, that and money.

  I nod at the appropriate times, ask the right questions when needed, also answering any and all she throws my way. Right now, however, she’s making it obvious she’s interested, despite the fifteen-year age difference between us. There’s also the fact she’s not only still a married woman, but as of twenty minutes ago—when she signed the contract and handed over the first check made out to my business—she’s now my client.

  I don’t fuck my clients, nor do I go for married women.

  Still, she leans forward slightly, giving me a glimpse of her overly-done implants—a gift from the husband she claims is unfaithful. Clearly something’s fucking wrong with me, because any other time, I’d at least be checking those suckers out—married or not. That’s as far as it would go, but I’d at least have taken the time to look. I was faithful to Jenna when we were together, but I can’t say my eyes didn’t have a mind of their own.

  Yet, for some reason, I instead choose to snap my gaze away, allowing it to drift down to the phone I’m holding in my hand just beneath my desk. All damn day I’ve stared at the picture I snapped the other night while Lyra was sleeping—I haven’t been able to stop, and I’ve barely been able to focus.

  It’s my first day at the office, although the official grand opening is in December, and I’ve already had a few new clients come by wanting to try out my services—on top of the ones I gained while living in Raleigh.

  Needless to say, I’m not worried about business; now being clueless about where things are headed for Lyra and I, that’s an entirely different ballpark.

  Mrs. Stoker’s voice begins shifting to ultra-sultry, so I take it as my cue to nip this in the bud.

  “I’m certain I can get to the bottom of this, Mrs. Stoker,” I strongly emphasize the title seeing as she needs the reminder. “You’ve already provided most of what I need. I recommend just passing what you know of his schedule off to me, maybe a few for photos, and his tag number so that I’ll have it if I need to tail his vehicle.” I hand her my business card, and when she reaches out to grab it, her hand lingers for a few moments before accepting it, all the while she holds strong eye contact. I barely retain my irritation.

  “Make sure you put that somewhere he isn’t going to see it. Now,” I glance over at the clock, “I’m going to have to wrap this up. I’ve got a conference call and a few more appointments to attend to.”

  I sigh with relief when the chair across from me is finally vacated, reaching for the thick file I’ve only recently talked our local sheriff into allowing me access to. My fingers hover over the front before I pull them away again, chickening out.

  I’ve studied all sorts of files on murders, on hit-and-run deaths, and plain old car accidents. What this file holds isn’t something new. It’s something I have experience with.

  I have faith that in studying the contents, I might actually be able figure out what happened.

  My fingers shake as I stare at the packet of papers. It’s only paper, but I swear it might jump up and bite me.

  I promised myself I’d do this one day when I was ready. I’m still not ready, but the thing is, it’s necessary I force myself to be. I’m not sure what I’ll find, if I’ll even remember, but something keeps telling me I need to do this.

  First, I’ll need to shove down the pain and force myself to work in small sections so that I’m not overwhelmed. Depression is something I’ve dealt with before, and I never want to be in that dark place again.

  Pausing to massage my temples, I close my eyes for a few beats, not wanting to psyche myself out. Finally, after my thoughts have slowed down, I put on my big boy shoes.

  I sit up nice and straight in my desk like this is a business transaction, and I flip to the top page.

  ~XoXo~

  Lyra

  BiggestContender: Long time, no talk.

  CuteN’Colorful: Yep. Last time you forced me to go off on a rant, so I’ve not exactly been jumping at the opportunity to speak again.

  BiggestContender: Fair. But you can’t blame me…

  CuteN’Colorful: Oh? So, not only are you rude, but you also don’t like to take responsibility for your own actions. That’s cute. Girls love that.

  BiggestContender: I take responsibility for all my actions. What I meant was, you can’t blame me for enjoying getting you all riled up. It’s your own fault you’re so crazy beautiful when you’re angry…Not that I could see it, but I was certainly picturing it.

  Cheeks glowing, those paradise eyes so stormy and razor sharp…It’s the way you looked in high-school when you’d get all worked up. Seldom happened, usually you just took what was dished out to you, but there were those few times you exploded on the people tormenting you. And watching it—man. You’re sexiest when you’re strong like that, sticking to your guns and not letting someone steer you away from your beliefs.

  Wow. That’s totally not what I was expecting. For some unthinkable reason, my face is hot like I’ve got a full-out blush going on. I reread the message again, allowing the words to sink in. How do I even respond to that?

  Someone tugs on my arm, pulling me from my thoughts, and I glance down to see Willow staring back up at me.

  “Auntie, did you hear me?” She asks with exasperation lacing her dramatic voice, and the little shit rolls her silvery eyes at me.

  I don’t know what’s up with her, but she’s getting a little big for her britches lately, serving up extra attitude to boot. I attempt to offer her kindness in return, hoping to set a good example. I know I can be a little sassy myself, so it’s hard to reprimand her for doing the same thing—not to mention, it’s likely something she learned from both me, and her mother. It’s like double the trouble. Lord help us all.

  You really need to pay better attention, I reprimand myself.

  If I’m not careful, I’m going to end up having a crayon mural somewhere it doesn’t belong—like my hallway walls. It’s not just one kid I’m watching today, but two. I was surprised as Hell when Nash asked me to pick-up Ari from daycare—Lo and him share a classroom now—because he has to work later than expected tonight. I was even more surprised that I agreed.

  “Sorry, Lo. You’ll have to ask me again. Auntie had her mind on other things.” My lips curve up in a weak smile, and she releases a long and loud sigh, her lashes fluttering in aggravation before her hand settles at her hip.

  “Ari and I want some juice, and we want our pizza. Why isn’t it ready?”

  I bolt upright at the mention of pizza, leaping off the couch and flying to the kitchen in a flash. Flinging open the oven door, I accidently forget my company.

  “Shit!” I yell out as smoke comes billowing up in my face and filling the air around me. I quickly flip on the fan above the stove, grab my oven-mitts, and run outside with the now-burned pizza. All the while, I can hear Willow and Ari both going on about my not-so-wisely-chosen choice words.

  I groan with frustration, immediately irritated with myself. It was pretty much ready, but I just had to rush things along. I do this every time I decide to brown the tops of something using the broiler. Something happens to distract me away from the task at hand, causing me to ruin whatever food I’m cooking.

  It’s why I had to invoke a “no books or phones in the kitchen” rule for myself. I keep up with it about fifty percent of the time, and when I fail, it’s okay.

  Usually it’s just me here—but not today though.

  Nope, today I’m trying to muster up some food to feed two rambunctious kids. Biggest Contender just had to message me out of the blue after an extended length of radio silence, and it just had to be with perfect timing.

  Yay for me.

&n
bsp; “Sorry guys. I can make you something else,” I offer as soon as I’ve discarded the pizza and returned inside. I’m forced to open up the windows just to get rid of the scorched stench of food in the air. It doesn’t help.

  God, what if I’ve let all the smoke touch my artwork? Running to my office door, I ensure it’s shut tight. Finding everything to be okay, I double-back to the kitchen again where Ari and Willow are now congregating at the empty oven.

  “You ruined the pizza,” Willow accurately accuses, jabbing her finger in my direction. It’s clear she’s out of patience. Like her Aunt, she turns a bit hangry once she’s kept without food for a while.

  I silently say a prayer that she doesn’t set the tone for domestic terror. Seems to me that Ari has been following her lead all evening. If she flips, he’s likely to do the same.

  Feeling backed into a corner, surrounded by two wolves who might pounce on me, I start emptying my metaphorical back-pack, looking for some other type of food as distraction. I offer a reassuring smile, exuding false-confidence where I have none and hoping they can’t smell the fear in my scent. Yes, I’m comparing my niece and her friend to wild animals—predators to be exact.

  I can handle a near-nuclear meltdown from one child. Just barely. Two would mean certain death. I yank open the freezer door, and my heart sinks when I realize the one thing a babysitter doesn’t want to find out…

  No more pizza.

  Not just that, I really need to hit up the grocery store. Salad and stir-fry are not crowd-pleasers.

  “Um…” I nibble on my lip nervously. “How about…Veggie Burgers!” I hold up the package of MorningStar Vegan Patties in faux-victory, hoping to pull a trick of epic proportions.

  Willow scrunches up her nose, but Ari is the first one to pipe up.

  “No way. Jenna used to eat those. They are mis-gusting.” He shakes his head, his face mimicking Willow’s.

  Hearing her name catches me off guard, and I try not to let my mood sour. I’ve only met the chick once, but…she was engaged to Nash. And that shouldn’t be any of my business. It also shouldn’t make me green with jealousy, yet, here we are…

  It takes me a moment to collect myself.

  “Well, I’m sorry guys. It’s either that, or salad, or vegetable stirfry. Those are your options.”

  The two munchkins eye each other warily, then it’s as I’ve feared all along. Willow loses her cool.

  “We want pizza!” She yells. “You ruined everything!” She storms off into the living room, and I’m kind of shocked when she shoves over the huge bucket of Lincoln logs all over my table and the floor, creating a catastrophe in one second flat.

  “Lo,” I reprimand, just as she takes her arm and swipes the remaining logs off the table. “Willow Estelle Knightley. No ma’am. Don’t be ugly.”

  “Now you’re calling me ugly,” she cries, her gray eyes beginning to shimmer and punching me in the gut—even though she’s the one acting.

  “I didn’t say that,” I crouch down in front of her, my lips twisting as I try to get her to look at me. Her chin wobbles and she glares at the ground instead.

  “You’re the most beautiful girl in the entire world. But being beautiful doesn’t excuse an ugly attitude.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you,” she states matter-of-factly, then glancing at Ari, she orders, “Come on, Ari. Let’s build a village.”

  And just like that, I’m invisible and all tears are dried-up.

  My phone chimes again.

  BiggestContender: Did I go too far again?

  CuteN’Colorful: Not exactly. But you did cause me to burn the pizza… My Niece and her friend’s pizza to make matters worse.

  BiggestContender: Now who’s not taking responsibility for their actions?

  I can’t help but smile at the response.

  CuteN’Colorful: I’m just saying…I think you owe me.

  BiggestContender: You still trying to proposition me into revealing myself?

  CuteN’Colorful: Maybe. Just think, we could set up a time and place to meet, and we’d show up…and it would be like You’ve Got Mail, except it would work out the way we intended. Could be fun… *Waggles Brows*

  BiggestContender: I’ll think about it…

  BiggestContender: But only because you waggled your brows at me. I love that flirty shit.

  I giggle so freaking hard at his comment, my fingers hovering over the screen of my phone.

  CuteN’Colorful: You’re so good with words.

  BiggestContender: I try. So, you’re hanging out with your Niece. That’s cute, CuteN’Colorful. Didn’t know you liked kids.

  CuteN’Colorful: I like my niece. And Ari is quickly making his way into my heart too. Not much experience with kids other than those two.

  BiggestContender: Bet you guys are having fun.

  CuteN’Colorful: Ha. If fun is my niece blowing up over not having another pizza to make, and accusing me of calling her ugly just because I told her to stop being ugly and pitching a fit over the matter…then yeah. I’m having loads of it. They’re luckily distracted right now. Soon as his dad picks him up, I’m going to have to take her out for a pizza or something. All I have are health foods they want NO part of.

  BiggestContender: Just keep them occupied. Distraction is the best way to deal with kids and their food dilemmas. But, hold up…you can’t even cook a pizza? What are we going to do with you? No one is going to wife you up, seeing as there’s no hope at domestication and all…

  I snort.

  CuteN’Colorful: That ship sailed long, long ago…

  BiggestContender: Good thing there’s plenty of harbors all over the world for that ship to come back to port. ?? But, ah, I gotta go. I’ll see ya round—on the net that is.

  CuteN’Colorful: Will you think about my You’ve Got Mail wish?

  He sends me the salute emoji, then promptly signs off.

  ~XoXo~

  Nash

  “I brought pizza.” It’s the first thing I announce as soon as Lyra opens the door with a slightly bewildered look on her face. Hot fucking damn. She takes the au natural look to a-whole-nother level, fifty notches above that of a glammed-out supermodel, and even surpassing goddess status. I need a repeat. I need a million repeats.

  And it’s not just about the sex.

  I won’t stop until I get my shot.

  But first, I’ve got to get her talking.

  Currently, she’s not even greeted me yet.

  “Got one for me and the kids, and a personal pan size of thin crust, margherita pizza for you. I know that’s your favorite.” I flash her a debonair smile, resolving to play all my best cards at once tonight.

  She blinks at me—well, at my mouth—frozen in the doorway like a deer caught in headlights, so I hold the two boxes up as proof. She finally takes them from me, sitting them on the counter, but for some reason she’s noticeably lost in her thoughts.

  “I thought Ari and Willow might like to eat dinner together, if y’all didn’t already have plans, that is.” I try to coax her back over into reality.

  “Pizza is great. Thank you,” she replies softly, finally pulling her gaze up to meet mine for the first time since I got here.

  “You’re beautiful,” I blurt. Shit. Where is my suave, smooth lines that has the women falling at my feet? Why is it, she alone has the power to turn me into a bumbling idiot?

  Jenna never made me that way…

  She huffs, puffing out a few of her purple strands with the gust of air as she tosses her eyes from one side to the other dramatically. Then, as if to prove a point, she motions down her body at her paint-splattered yoga pants and tank-top.

  “Yes. I’m just a sight for sore eyes, let me tell ya.” My mind immediately drifts to the fact her pants are just loose enough to yank down and have them off of her in less than three seconds.

  “There’s more accuracy in that statement than you’ll ever be able to comprehend,” I mumble, and she pins me with her aquamarine stare, doin
g all sorts of crazy shit to my head and making me burn to pin her to the counter in the same moment.

  Her fingers drift up to twist the ends of her hair nervously as she shifts from one foot to the other. She suddenly wrenches her eyes away.

  “Shall we?” She motions toward the pizza and paper plates she’s just pulled down out of the cabinets, apparently uncomfortable with my words, and still appearing to be otherwise preoccupied in her own head.

  “Margherita pizza is still your favorite, correct?”

  “Yes,” she grumbles unhappily, as if not wanting to admit I’m right. She hands me a plate, and I watch as she walks into the living room to speak with the kids, asking if they’re ready for pizza.

  While they both seem excited at the thought, they continue to play. She returns a minute later, popping open her personal box as opposed to dirtying a plate. I grab a slice of pepperoni and sit directly across from her.

  She takes a bite of her pizza, chewing slowly as she fixates on a random spot on the table.

  It’s beginning to seem she’ll find interest in anything—as long as it’s not me. After a few bites, she drops it back into her box and brushes off her hands.

  “Not hungry?” I lift an eyebrow.

  “Not really. Weird day.” She glances over at Willow and Ari, and I polish off the last of my slice while she speaks. “Tough one too. Got accused of calling Lo ugly when I was talking ‘bout her attitude. Now she doesn’t want me to speak to her at all.” I don’t miss the hurt in her voice as she steeples her hands together.