Lies & Secrets (Boston Latte Book 1)

by Fiona Keane

  Julian was so close to me, I could taste the hazelnut from his coffee. My coffee. So close that I could practically remember the exact brew from which he drank. Just breathe. So he kills you. Big deal.

  “Or is it just me?” Julian continued, his hold lingering around my bare skin. His fingertips tickled the inside of my wrist, a torture of which he seemed unaware.

  “May you please remove your hand?”

  I lifted to my feet, legs still bent, and hoped he would comply. As I turned, I realized just how close he had been to me. His face was inches, inches, from mine, smiling at me. That smile was different; there were no teeth, there was no threat. It was humane. It was frightening. It was beautiful.

  “Absolutely.” He released but held his palms around my elbows while I stood. “You can leave the mess. Someone will clean it.”

  I wiped my hands on a towel, promptly returning to organizing the last two trays along the table. I prayed it was almost time for someone, anyone but Julian, to take me home. Why did I hate him so much? Oh. Right. Stalker. Intimidator. Ridiculously charming, gorgeous ass.

  “Would you stop with the platters for a moment?”

  “I can’t. I’ve already made a fool of myself three times now. If you don’t mind—”

  His fingers pressed against my jaw, guiding my face up in the direction of his and demanding my attention. Swallow. Breathe.

  “That’s better.” The small smile returned to his lips, sparkling into his blue eyes. “Why have you been avoiding me since that night outside of your work?”

  I studied his sideburns, the brown hair that danced along his temples and abruptly ended where he had shaved to maintain his manicured appearance. I looked at his neck, my mind slapping itself for wondering how the skin beneath his jaw felt, quickly averting my eyes to the collar of his dress shirt and the intricate knot of his tie.

  “Look at me,” Julian warned, receiving my gaze in a quick response. I knew my eyes were wide; I could feel the tightness growing around my eyelids, threatening to snap and break the contest of our stare.

  “Mr. Molloy,” Mrs. Lochlan questioned from the doorway. “May I help you?”

  Even she, the housekeeper, was speechless while receiving the image of Julian Molloy holding my face in his hands with tender authority. His stare deepened, the smile quick to leave his lips. His lips. Swallow. Breathe. Don’t die with this thought in your mind. Well…is it the worst? Stop it. Shut up, mind.

  “I need to know.”

  “You don’t.”

  “I do.”

  “I’d like to go now. Please.”

  “Mrs. Lochlan.” Julian released my face, the absence burning my jaw. “It seems Miss Leary’s not feeling well from her earlier fall. I’d like to ask one of the drivers to escort her home. In the meantime, and during the remainder of my uncle’s brunch, I’d prefer you manage what’s left of Miss Leary’s duties.”

  “Sir.” She nodded, stepping from the doorway in anticipation of Julian’s exit. His head was held high, something I was sure he was forced to do throughout his childhood regardless of the circumstances. Julian turned once to look at me while approaching the doorway, his eyes calm.

  “We’ll be in touch.”

  “I’m sure we will.”

  I swallowed my words, all breath caught in my rigid lungs when a final smirk was my last sight of him. Mrs. Lochlan was quick to follow, trailing the figure as his shadow departed.

  Alone in the room, distracted by the delicate, dainty décor of white, I felt imprisoned. It was a beautiful prison, a small peaceful room with the scent of Julian lingering like a heavenly cloud around me, but a prison nonetheless. I shifted in my heels, my ankles throbbing with the stress of standing, unsure of what to do with myself. I could pack away things, but I didn’t know how I was expected to handle all the trays alone. This means they’ll come back to the shop. I need to carry these out on my own, right now.

  “Miss Leary.” The booming, frighteningly low voice of Mr. Ferrell demanded my attention from the door. I nodded, probably even too quickly, but that guy was outwardly scary, unlike Julian, who frightened me with only a smile, because I knew there was more than that. The only movement Mr. Ferrell’s stoic form made was to crack his neck while I crossed the room. I watched his neck stretch, revealing the intricate designs burned into his tattooed skin. A clover. Tally marks. A lily. Numbers. Tally marks?

  “Let’s go,” he ordered, swiftly turning, expecting me to follow. My footsteps echoed violently throughout the narrow corridor as I struggled to maintain his pace. I noticed Mrs. Lochlan, her head lowered to avoid Mr. Ferrell’s deathly stare. I wanted to question either of them about my pans and supplies they took from the shop, but seeing as I was about to leave their compound, I didn’t want to make a peep that might risk my safety. Does it matter? These people know where I live.

  We were met with blustery wind, frantic flakes blowing in swirling tornadoes as Mr. Ferrell opened the door through which I entered hours prior. He was unfazed, calmly walking to the fleet of automobiles circling the drive, but even my knickers turned into an ice cube. It must have snowed at least three more inches in the time I was buried with the help, and the sky showed only the promise of more snow. Mr. Ferrell waited for me at the back door of a large, black SUV.

  “Get in.”

  I offered no response other than compliance as I climbed into the plush leather seat, welcoming the temporary relief of warmth the interior offered while Mr. Ferrell tore from the slippery pavement. As the distance between us and the Molloys increased, my mind flickered back to one of the first things Julian told me upon meeting him, and he was utterly correct. Boston was beginning to be an absolutely terrifying place for the unaware. Yet what I didn’t know intrigued me more than I wished.

  Chapter Eight

  My phone buzzed against the small shelf above my bathroom sink just as I stepped from the steaming shower. I recognized Elliott’s picture on the screen and quickly wrapped a towel around my dripping body before swiping to answer his call.

  “I hope you’re dead somewhere and this is your great aunt telling me I’ve inherited your family’s wealth,” I snapped, speaking to him while wiping running mascara from beneath my eyes.

  “And here I thought something happened to you.” He laughed at me. “You were supposed to call me immediately once you got home.”

  “Yeah. About that…” I reached for q-tips, hoping to buy time before I could think of what to tell Elliott. Strangely enough, part of me felt like being at the Molloys’ was a secret, some sort of private, cryptic gathering of which Elliott could know nothing. But he knew I was there; he knew about the order. I couldn’t lie, yet I still felt like I was betraying some unspoken, ridiculously nonexistent, and entirely inappropriate, delusionary-conceived bond forced upon me by Julian. Ugh. I hate him too.

  “Well? How much money did we make?”

  “I don’t know, Ell.”

  His snicker brought me back to reality. “Aid, have you lost it? Like, what the hell am I interrupting? Are you okay?”

  “I just got out of the shower, if you must know, and I’m hoping to pretend the last twenty-four hours never happened.”

  “That bad, huh? I’m coming over.”

  “Please don’t,” I groaned, carefully plucking my eyebrows while holding the phone between my ear and shoulder. Sometimes, I hate being a woman. Elliott mumbled something in the background, clearly not listening to me.

  “I’ll grab carry out and be over within the hour. No buts about it or excuses, or locking me out again.”

  “Fine,” I groaned, placing my tweezers back on the sink and studying my depressed features. The only color on my lonely face was the deep purple prominent in the bags protruding from beneath my tired eyes. Once Elliott ended our call, I slowly made my way out of the bathroom and into the main area of my small apartment. The kitchen window refused to close, but the blasting radiator kept the space almost one hundred degrees, even in August. I need to move
.

  I changed into sweats, not caring about how messy my apartment and I were. I hated houseguests, but Elliott would have to accept he wasn’t anyone special because I refused to clean up my carryout from two nights ago. You know, the cartons of Chinese food left sitting on my small kitchen counter, waiting for Prince Charming to come and clean away for me.

  An hour after Elliott arrived, later than anticipated, I was bound in a knit blanket on my bed.

  “Emma was there tonight when they brought back the trays and everything.” He bit into his fourth slice of pizza, chewing while speaking, making my stomach twist. “Some big, scary guy. Her words, not mine. Tell me everything.”

  “I don’t know.” What could I tell Elliott? I hadn’t signed their stupid agreement, the confidentiality-I-know-you-can-kill-me-if-I-squeal paperwork that actually made me faint. I passed out! Why did I feel a strange desire to keep it all inside? I had known Elliott for ten years. Julian intimidated, threatened, and…it couldn’t have been coincidence that he was outside the night Malcolm came into work. What the hell does he want from me? Why me and not Elliott or Emma?

  “Hello! Aideen! You in there? You’ve been staring at the pizza box for five minutes. What the heck happened to you?”

  “What?” I looked at Elliott, welcoming his blue eyes instead of the greasy, brown cardboard box between us.

  “I think I need to get a new prescription for my migraines.” I changed the subject. “Last week was awful.”

  “It’s probably stress.” He squeezed my knee, smiling at me. “I wish you would’ve told me Malcolm came by.”

  This is too much. It was surreal having spent the morning in some weird juxtaposition of being a free prisoner in one of the Molloy family homes. One of them. Seriously. Who are those people? I vowed then and there to conduct further research into that family. After all, I practiced my right to vote. I need time away from them all. I have to get a hold of Elliott’s twisted business deal.

  I fell backward onto my bed. Why’d he mention Malcolm? Here come the nightmares.

  “Are you going in tomorrow?” Elliott asked while he stood from the bed, beginning to pack up our mess.

  “I open.” I turned my head, lifting a finger to peer through the curtains gracing my window. It was still snowing, the flakes covering Boston with a fresh blanket of white.

  “Have you seen the forecast, Ell?”

  “Snow. Eighteen inches by Tuesday.” Lovely. I pressed my weight into my elbows, struggling while in the cocoon of my blanket, and watched Elliott clean.

  “Ell,” I called as he stepped into my small kitchen. He peered around the corner of the doorway, smiling at me.

  “I need to see the contract you have with the Molloys.”

  Elliott was quiet, his face white. He looked like the sidewalk, covered in a fog of nervous ash.

  “Ell.”

  “Yes, Aideen. I’ll have it there tomorrow. I should get going. Call me if you need anything, babe.”

  I stood up, glaring at the fool who ran like a headless chicken toward my apartment door.

  “What’d you do, Elliott Daly?” I interrogated, chasing after him, throwing myself between him and the wooden panel. Elliott looked everywhere but my face, his own continuing to whiten. I wasn’t sure if his head shook with regret or avoidance.

  “Daly!” I snapped, pounding my foot like a stubborn toddler.

  When he looked at me, I knew our friendship was about to change forever. His blue eyes weren’t sparkling; they weren’t illuminating his normal carefree nature. They were gray and void of his humor, full only of trepidation.

  “What is it?” I demanded, preparing myself to knock him out if needed. Maybe I can be like the thugs with whom I spent my morning and intimidate this fool into talking.

  “Listen,” he began, his fingers nervously binding behind his neck, “I didn’t want to talk to you about all of this yet…but when you were in the hospital…shit.”

  Elliott transformed before me, the color and animation leaving his body, changing his entire being. I couldn’t remember seeing him so limp, so pathetic and desperate. I waited, watching him swallow the nerves building within his throat before he spoke.

  “Yes, when your cousin so kindly attacked me,” I spat. Elliott’s eyes closed while he nodded, acknowledging the weight of our burden.

  “Yes,” he agreed, “I got into trouble.”

  “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me everything.” Still staring down my friend, my fingers blindly found the deadbolts and clicked them into submission, ensuring we were without escape for the time being.

  “Everything,” I repeated.

  His head was hanging while he nodded like a reprimanded toddler. Elliott was thirty years old. There was no excuse for that. None. I crossed my arms, stabilizing myself while reflecting on all I had been through that day. Julian was my driver. The crazy shit he said in the car. The crazier shit he said while at the house. Me passing out. Me not signing their contract. Oh, shit. I didn’t sign their contract. Julian touching me. Too much. Not talking about Malcolm. Now thinking about Malcolm. Elliott. That’s it—I’m subletting tomorrow.

  “I was too much of a coward to tell you, Aid, but I got into it. I got in trouble. I…shit,” he groaned, grabbing onto my elbows as though my grace could balance his evils. “I’m like my father. I lost it. I lost it all.”

  “What. The. Fuck.”

  “I spent it. Our savings. While you were in the hospital. See, it was different for me. I was so lost, Aid. I was blaming myself. I was the reason Malcolm even found you. He’s my cousin. It’s my fault. I just went down a wrong path and I couldn’t stop. I gambled it. All of it. I’m in huge debt.”

  “To whom?”

  I couldn’t even begin to approach everything Elliott admitted in his vomited speech. I felt sick. My head pounded. I needed something to fix it, something to stop the pain or at least dull it so I could function. I needed something so I could simply breathe. I watched his eyes flutter around, focusing anywhere but on me.

  “Bad people, Aid.”

  “Bad people, Ell? Be more specific. What type of bad people?”

  Elliott’s hands pulled against his face, hanging onto his skin as he glided them down painfully, preparing himself for the final admission.

  “Loan sharks,” he mumbled, looking away. “Someone Malcolm knew. Some front guy. I just…Aid, I really fucked up. I lost it. I…”

  “Get out of my house.” My voice shook, trembling with the reality of what Elliott told me. He held my arms, shaking his head violently.

  “Hear me out, Aid.”

  “What else is there to listen to, Elliott? You’re in with loan sharks! Elliott! Seriously. Wait. How the hell…the contract?”

  Elliott sighed, staring at the ceiling. “I needed a loan. I needed a deal. We needed the business deal or we would go under.”

  “You need to get the hell out of here and not show yourself at work tomorrow or I’m going to cut off your fucking balls myself. Do you get it or should I model it for you?”

  I was livid. LIVID! My heart and brain were at a loss. My best friend, my confidant of ten years, a decade, just admitted his betrayal. Watching him shrug through the doorway, slinking off like a scared kitten, only angered me more. This is the worst day of my life. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I couldn’t even take my money and run because, thanks to Elliott, there was none. None.

  ***

  Stepping into work the morning after I effectively ended my decade-long friendship with Elliott Daly was terribly uncomfortable. The last thing I wanted to do was make coffee in the small shop we started together when I finished school. It was my haven, where I put every penny of savings, where I thought we could live our dream. Some fucking dream. The only good thing Elliott Daly did for himself was not show up to work, like requested. I didn’t mutter a word to Emma beyond casual small talk, which I hated, because I didn’t know how much of her brother’s crap she even understood. The
contract was there, just as he promised, stuffed in a heavy manila envelope. I shoved it into my bag, planning on using my education to unravel the bullshit to which Elliott had agreed.

  During the mid-afternoon lull, I decided to busy myself, avoiding the complicated battle wreaking havoc in my heart, by sending Emma out for lunch while I sorted new canisters of tea. The massive silver cylinders were balancing on the shelf, decorating the emerald green wall with their crisp brushed metal. I stood on a ladder, about four rungs above the floor, willing myself not to hold everything against Emma. We need to order more Oolong.

  The bell wiggled against the front door while I, naturally, damned the customer for coming in. I had to finish tallying the jars and taking my detailed mental notes before I could descend.

  “Be right with you,” I mumbled to the customer. I sensed their presence at the counter behind me, the buzz of their energy swirling into my ears. That’s not good energy. That’s poison. Take a breath. Yep. Screw you again, Aideen Leary.

  “You did the right thing by not calling the police, Aid,” he bragged from behind me. I felt the heat from his body against my legs, which trembled on the ladder.

  “Emma’s coming back.”

  “It’ll be a family reunion then.” Malcolm chuckled, his smarmy hands climbing to my hips. His touch weighed against me, making it feel like I was treading water in a suit of armor.

  “Don’t touch me, Malcolm. I’ll scream.”

  He continued to laugh, a muffled sound, while allowing my descent. Part of me regretted it. I should’ve climbed higher. This imbecile is afraid of heights. As my feet met the floor, Malcolm stepped away, his arms crossing in observation of my figure with ogling eyes that made my blood hurt. It actually ached with disgust.

  “You owe me an apology,” he demanded. His tone was a scoff, an unwarranted request that left my jaw on the ground. The bell rang again, sending my heart into my ears. Emma. She would surely distract Malcolm.

  “I’m not speaking to you, Malcolm. I have a restraining order against you because you’re fucking insane. Now get out.”