by L. B. Dunbar
“I have a plan in place,” Branson answered, and my brows rose in interest.
“Who is she to you?” Abby asked, her voice soft with a hint of sharpness infused.
“I…” I didn’t know who this new version of her was, but everything else about her was too familiar.
3
Juliet
“Etty, coming out of that bathroom is like walking through a jungle. We’ve got to move those plants.” Miller James’ effeminate voice traveled from the back hallway to the front of our small office where I stood across from an intense man. A handsome, intense man. Light hair that looked purposely messed, bright eyes behind glasses that did nothing to detract from their piercing effect, and a stature that said bodyguard, let me protect you. He was attractive in a multitude of ways, except that his line of questioning made me nervous.
“Well, well, who do we have here?” Miller asked as he cleared the hallway and stopped short inside the main office. Miller, smartly dressed in his pink oxford, bright blue skinny pants and a bow tie, was the type to smell a good-looking man a mile away, and while he’d been trying to set me up for over a year, he knew the reasons why I declined dates.
“Branson Marx.” The man introduced himself, and Miller stepped forward to shake hands with him, only he glanced at me over his shoulder, wiggling an eyebrow. With that look, I knew what he was thinking.
Strong handshake. This meant a plethora of euphemisms for Miller, but my mind refused to go there. My heart raced as I continued processing our own introduction.
“Are you Juliet Monte, formerly Montmore?” The name startled me, as I’d worked hard to take on a new identity. Months on an island, pretending I was someone I was not, caused me to change my name and take on a different persona. I hadn’t answered Branson’s question, as Miller’s proclamation of my plants blocking the bathroom interrupted us.
“Miller, Mr. Marx was explaining that he works in the charity division of Calliope Industries. They are holding their annual Humans for Humanity contest and we’ve been selected as one of the finalists for their generous donation.” My brows rose as I stared at Miller, warning him to behave and not start flirting with the heavyweight before him. Miller’s innuendos had no shame and flew from his lips whenever an attractive man was present, straight or not.
“Oh,” Miller smiled, stepping behind my standing desk. “I don’t recall filling out an application for that one.”
The Mouse Trap was our small, non-profit organization. Our goal was to help women in underprivileged communities make jewelry from natural materials as a means to earn money. We also provided materials for basic education in reading and mathematics. We’d been overwhelmed with our online store demands and needed more funding to provide us with additional supplies. Miller was my partner and helped with grant writing and donation solicitation.
“Your organization has been awarded an all-expense paid trip to Redemption Resort in St. Croix.” Miller’s mouth popped open. The audible noise echoed through our office.
“In the Virgin Islands?” Miller clarified. I scowled.
“That seems a bit excessive for a not-for-profit competition. The money could certainly be put to better use than flying people to the Caribbean for a vacation,” I said. I chose to ignore the location. I hadn’t been in the Virgin Islands in almost two years. I never dreamed I’d be returning to the area.
Miller kicked me under the desk as he stood next to me. I winced.
“There are three organizations invited as finalists. Our directors believe your hard work to help others deserves a reward. The trip is for you—“
“And a guest,” Miller interjected. Branson looked from Miller to me and back. This prompted Miller to step closer to me and place his hand on the small of my back. What the hell?
“I’m sorry. I didn’t have in my notes that you had a fiancé.” Branson’s eyes glanced at my left hand. “Or a…”
“A friend,” Miller assisted with the answer, jiggling my shoulder. “A good friend.”
“That’s right,” I added. “Miller and I work together.” I nodded for emphasis. Miller was my equal in many ways but the concept of The Mouse Trap had been all mine. He came on board after all the drama with Lillian Varga, my former mentor.
“Well, I’ll let the organizers know there needs to be an additional airline ticket, resort room, and inclusive wristband,” Branson offered.
“Oh, Etty and I can share a room. We don’t mind.” Miller tugged me against him, and I turned to glare at him. I didn’t understand what he was playing at.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Branson said, his voice lowering in frustration. “So, Etty. Is that a nickname?”
“Yes,” Miller offered too easily. “Isn’t it cute like her?”
Branson looked from me to Miller. His head tilted in question. Miller called me Etty, and I often introduced myself as such in order to keep my anonymity. The name came from a drunken night of him pretending to be Romeo and over emphasizing the ending of my name—Julie-etty. There were no romantic intentions between Miller and me, though. He was safe for me which was originally a huge reason why we became friends.
“It’s short for Juliet,” Miller stated, and I cringed. There was something about the man before me that made me hesitate. I didn’t want him to know my real name.
“Juliet Montmore?” he asked again, raising a teasing brow, and I said, “No,” as Miller said, “Yes.”
It was my turn to nudge Miller in the ribs and he released me, stepping over to his own standing desk near mine.
“I’m sorry. For our records, we’ll need confirmation of your legal name.”
I sighed. “Fine. Juliet Montmore is my name. Juliet Monte is my doctoral name, but I don’t really use the degree. Etty is my nickname. It’s silly and not appropriate.” I eyed Miller.
“Terrific,” Branson said a little too enthusiastically. “I’ll get all the particulars to our organizer.” He reached into his bag and handed me an envelope. Inside was a plane ticket and room reservation. “You’ll receive the itinerary and inclusive wristband when you arrive. Proper identification required, of course.”
“Of course,” I said, smiling falsely.
Branson excused himself after congratulating us and exited our small hole-in-the-wall, boutique office.
“What was that all about?” I snapped, turning on Miller the second the door closed.
“That man wanted to eat you alive. I had goosebumps just watching him salivate over you. A little competition thrown in and he wanted to devour you.”
“He did not,” I squeaked. “Besides, what makes you think you’d be competition compared to him?” I smiled with the tease and Miller’s hand came to his chest as if he was affronted.
“Gasp,” he chuckled. “Her humor returns.” His attention returned to his laptop.
“I don’t think we should accept this,” I said, stepping over to Miller’s desk. He looked up at the concern in my voice but his eyes opened wide.
“Are you crazy? You deserve a break after all you’ve been through. Plus, the donation is for a million dollars.”
My head shot back at the amount. We could use every penny of that money.
“Something feels off about this. Who hosts the event again?”
“Calliope Industry.” The clicking of Miller’s keyboard signaled his immediate internet search. “Newer corporation. Fortune 500 in its first year. Owner was voted one-to-watch in the past year.” Miller slid his laptop so I could see the image of the man behind the generosity. In a dark business suit with a chiseled face and a silver banded wrist watch, the image of a powerful man graced the screen. His green eyes intense. His jaw set. His glare on me. He was unrecognizable and yet every bit the same.
“No,” I whispered. Wrapped around his wrist, butted against the watch, was a green band made of leaves.
“He’s delicious.”
I couldn’t speak.
“What a long-ass name, though. Terrence Jackson Corbin IV. S
ays his nickname is Tack. He looks like a prick, but Jesus that name makes him sound important.”
I swallowed hard at the thought. He was important. Once. To me.
4
Juliet
The instant I could get away from Miller, my mind replayed the night of the charity ball he begged me to crash with him.
It couldn’t have been, could it? I remembered thinking.
Yet somehow, I knew the answer the moment the stranger touched me. His hand rested too comfortably on my hip. The way in which he moved me hinted at a familiarity my body seemed to recognize. No, wanted to recognize. He surprised me, there was no doubt about that. Sharp tuxedo, solid stature, perfect dark hair. I avoided his eyes too quickly, fearing he might know me, not trusting myself if it was who I longed it to be. Something made me give in instantly to his lead. Within seconds, I was barefoot on a beach, the stars over my head, and he was at my back.
Tack. My imagination took me back to the island as the dancing stranger twirled me away from him, and then roped me to return to his chest. The way he dipped me, my heart raced beneath my skin, and the dark ballroom ceiling was a star-filled night. The heat developing between us was the warmth of a tropical breeze, and when his nose skimmed my neck, I almost begged him to kiss me.
He was confident in his moves, and I was transported two years prior in my life. A man. An island. A lovely night. He touched me that night. Three orgasms in one evening. It was more pleasure than I’d ever received until the night he made love to me. He was gentle like he promised. He took care of me. I often questioned if he cared about me, but I had no doubts about that one night. The night of the hurricane.
What was I doing? I had thought when I realized the music had stopped. I noticed people staring, particularly the blonde in a dress that rivaled Jessica Rabbit. Her eyes narrowed on me despite her mask. The masquerade was a metaphor for heart disease—a masked killer of women—but I saw her eyes through the holes. She hated me and for no reason. Then I recalled how we must have looked. His nose in my neck. My body pressed to his. I tugged forward, and he released me. Then I imagined I heard his voice.
Mouse, whispered through my memory. The sound stopped me, and I realized my mind was playing tricks on me. It couldn’t be him. I’d been such a fool. My heart raced as I picked up the pace, dodging through the tables for the exit. I didn’t even bother to look for Miller. Like Cinderella escaping the ball, I fled.
+ +
I’d tried every excuse I could think of to get out of the charity trip. I did not want to go. Absolutely, unequivocally, indisputably, did not want to go anywhere near islands in the Caribbean.
“Remind me again why we are heading to a tropical island near hurricane season?” I couldn’t let my panic show, but the last time I’d been near the Virgin Islands, there had been a hurricane.
“Champagne?” the flight attendant sweetly asked, distracting Miller from my question.
Miller nudged me as he answered, “We’d love some.”
“I hate you,” I whispered as he eyed the serving attendant.
“You’ve told me that about fifty times in the last month. But I love you, and this is for your own good and the good of our organization. So, shut up and drink some champagne.”
He was correct. In every sense. If we received the donation it would help our business, but seeing Terrence Jackson Corbin IV was the last thing I wanted to do. Tack, as he was known to me, would never understand, if he even cared any longer. Two years was a long time, but that sixty-nine days had seemed even longer. I sunk back in my first-class seat. Actually, sixty-nine days had not been long enough.
My heart pinched, as it often did when I thought of Tack. He’d been nothing to me when I first met him. He’d been part of my ruin. Eventually, he’d grown to be my everything. And then we were ripped apart. I trusted he would be safe. I believed he was rescued, as I had been, and later I learned that he had been retrieved. But all of that truth came to me after Lillian didn’t get what she wanted.
I’d committed a crime, and Lillian Varga wanted to study a new process of retribution called restorative justice. Based on the Native American culture, which believed healing was a circular experience, I was sent to a remote island to reflect on my poor decision. The idea was to be reflective of what I’d done, in hopes I would come to terms with it and find the means to rectify the injustice. I had also been a victim first, so Lillian had changed things up a bit. She wanted to study a person who would be forced to interact with her perpetrator. I was her lab rat. A mouse.
While I hated her for using me, I had no understanding of Tack’s position in the process. Had he volunteered? Had he played a role? Had he used me again? Was it all a ploy to get what he initially wanted from me? What did he get out of the experience? For me, I’d fallen in love with one of my aggressors. It was a sad state of affairs and didn’t help my emotional recovery once I was back on the mainland.
“Dinner will be served shortly.” The male attendant moved behind me, and Miller’s eyes followed. He not-so-subtly hummed in appreciation. I snapped my fingers.
“Focus,” I demanded. “What’s the plan?”
“The plan is we pretend we are married.”
“Never going to buy it,” I replied, hitching a thumb over my shoulder and indicating the flight attendant.
“How about engaged?”
“Too cliché,” I said, slumping back in my seat.
“How about the truth?” Miller suggested, raising one brow.
“I can’t just walk up to him and say, ‘I’m sorry I didn’t come back for you. Hope you were okay.’”
“He’s obviously doing just fine for himself,” Miller snarked, and I recalled the article I read. He started a new company shortly after returning from the island. Something in environmental studies and clean water distribution. He’d grown from something small to mega-sized in the first year of his business and he was named the one-to-watch for his ruthless corporate mindset. He understood international politics and seemed to have mastered the art of getting around them. He’d also been named Bachelor of the Year, keeping the secrecy of the blonde woman often seen on his arm by referring to her only as a family friend.
My head lunged backward to knock on the headrest. I was a fool, I told myself for the millionth time in as many days. A man like him would never be interested in a girl like me outside the island. I’d actually said that to him once.
“It’s because I’m the only girl on the island.” He’d been attracted to me because I was the only female in sight.
“It’s too dark without you. And you’re too far away when you go.” The words whispered in my head. He could be so sweet, charming even, and I missed him. My brows pinched, and I closed my eyes, wishing to drown out thoughts of him. His mouth on mine. His hands on me. Him deep inside me. My eyes flicked open, willing the memories away. It wasn’t meant to happen how it did. It wasn’t going to happen again. He’d moved on, in every way.
Things came easy to him, he’d told me, and the long write-up about his recent history proved they had once again. He’d returned to his world as if nothing happened. He’d claimed he’d taken a sabbatical, a route to discover what he wanted from his life. He’d traveled, he’d told the journalist. He’d become one with nature, he teased, and it inspired him to consider a new course of action for his industry. There was no mention of what caused him to be on his sabbatical, as he called it. He’d gotten away with everything.
In many ways, I was proud of what he had gone on to accomplish. The idea of him building rather than destroying was an improvement, but I had no idea if building involved destroying first. On the other hand, I despised him again. When I returned to my tiny corner of the world, I discovered Lillian’s corrupt plan, and my world fell apart again. I had nothing other than what I returned with from the island—a few clothes, some field notes, an aching heart, and a book. A prized possession. Absentmindedly, I reached down for my satchel bag under the seat before me and finger
ed the outside pocket. The outline of a rectangular object proved the item was safe. I sat back in momentary relief.
I had the next nine hours and twenty-four minutes to worry about everything else.
5
Tack
“Where is she?” I barked, pacing the length of my office on the third floor of my resort, swiping my hand through my hair one more time. I was on my second bourbon. It had been a month since Branson confirmed it was her and came up with his plan. I still didn’t understand why I couldn’t just go to her home and sweep her away with me.
“She’s coming with someone. A friend.” I understood the euphemism for friend. I’d been using it for a year with Abby. The thought of Juliet with another man made me sick. The instant Branson told me, I wanted to pummel something. No, someone. She couldn’t have moved on.
“And you think he’s just a friend?” I asked for the hundredth time, but hating that word each time I used it in reference to him—whoever he was.
“I’m positive,” Branson raised an eyebrow. “She said he’s her business partner, and he’s listed on the tax forms they filed to create their non-profit. They seemed cozy when I met them, but a bit odd for a couple. Reuniting with her this way is the better solution. You can feel out the situation and decide how you wish to proceed.”
“How I wish to proceed?” I snapped again. “I want her in my bed, that’s how I wish to proceed. I want her with me, where she belongs. I don’t know where she’s been, or what she’s been through.” I paused and then added, “I need her.”
It’s the most I’d admitted in a long time, as my emotions ran high. The anticipation of seeing her again reminded me of the island. Each time she left me when we first met on the island, the loss felt greater. When we reached a common ground, and spent more time together than separate, I’d obtained a level of comfort I’d never had before. I’d found love and didn’t recognize its overwhelming capacity until she was gone. Even after the fact, Colton had insisted she was a figment of my imagination. At first, I believed him. She didn’t seem real. She didn’t seem possible. But as time passed, I knew better. She was real to me. Very real.