Dirty Stranger (The Dirty Suburbs Book 3)

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  Here I am in this narrow corridor having a personal crisis with a man I obviously know nothing about. Meanwhile, there’s a room full of rich guys at the end of the hall trying to figure out where to invest their company’s thick wads of cash. This is exactly the type of distraction I was trying to avoid when I turned down Reuben’s invitations to go on a date. I need to focus if I’m going to save everything I worked so hard to build. “I can’t deal with this right now,” I yell, throwing my arms up in protest. “I’m a professional!”

  He takes angry strides toward me, closing the gap between us. “You’re also a woman, Isla. And I’m a man. A real man. And I’m going to take care of you, dammit.” His lips crash down on mine. He presses his body into mine, pinning me to the wall.

  I melt into the kiss for a moment. It feels too good to just walk away because whenever I’m around him my body transforms into a circus of sensations - tingles, flutters, twitches and bolts of surging energy.

  But then my dignity kicks in, forcing me to push him away. Fuck you, Dignity.

  “I need to figure out another way to find money to save my business,” I mutter to myself.

  He scoffs, clearly insulted. "Why are you willing to take help from any old toad but not from me?"

  "Because I didn't fuck any of them," I shoot.

  "Well, that’s a relief," he grumbles on a chuckle.

  Eye roll. He's not taking me seriously. That’s what happens when women do business with men they’ve shared their bodies with. Rueben will never take me seriously. He’ll never respect me as a business partner. Because we’ve had sex.

  “I don’t want a bailout and I don’t want some rich guy to pay my bills. What I’m interested in is a business transaction. One that’s fair to both parties.”

  “And that’s what I’m offering you.”

  "Taking money from anyone else is just business. I'll pay it back with interest according to the terms of whatever contract they make me sign. Taking money from you is personal."

  He glares at me in disbelief. "Don’t get me wrong – I care about you. But business is business, Isla. I don’t do pity-investments.” He lowers his face to mine, his eyes softening. “You’ve got a good thing going for you. Your yoga studio can be something good.”

  My resolve is steadily slipping away. “So, what you said in there about the viability of my business…you meant it?”

  “Of course I meant it, woman! The plan is brilliant. I know this because I helped you formulate it last night.”

  Last night.

  Last night after he made me a delicious dinner.

  Last night before he fucked me like my pussy belonged to him.

  I can’t do this. Things are way too complicated between Reuben and me. "What will people say? Half the town is already gossiping about the night we spent together at the hotel. If you invest in my business, the rumors will get vicious. People will say I’m a hooker.”

  He frowns. “So, you’re going to walk away from this opportunity just to avoid being the subject of gossip?”

  I don’t answer him. I don’t want to admit that I’m being unreasonable.

  Instead, I march away from him. When I open the conference room door, three irritated business magnates glare up at me. "Have you made your decision, Ms. Hamilton?"

  I glance back at Reuben as he enters the room behind me. "I'm sorry to have wasted your time gentlemen but we won't be making a deal today."

  I grab my (empty) purse and stomp past Reuben, literally leaving half a million dollars on the table.

  Chapter 14

  Reuben

  "What the hell was that, Reuben?"

  I glare into Carl’s befuddled face as the door slams shut behind Isla. I ignore his question.

  “Stubborn fucking woman,” I mutter as I return to my spot and gather my documents, shoving them into my messenger bag. I look up at them. “I’m going to call the lawyers and have them start drafting up the investment contract.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Bill says, lifting a hand to stop me. “Draft up the investment contract? Nothing’s been agreed upon. And as far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing further to even consider. The entrepreneur just stormed out of the boardroom. Am I missing something?”

  Yes, you’re fucking missing something, asshole. I’m not letting Isla Hamilton get away from me.

  “Frankly, I’m glad she left,” John says as he takes a gulp of his water. “If we gave that hippie our money, we’d never see a dime of it again.” The old rats chuckle but I only get more irritated.

  “We’re investing in her business.” I say it with finality was I stomp toward the door. This isn't up for debate. My decision has been made.

  I’ve already started the ball rolling. Last night when I left Isla’s apartment, I started making calls to my contacts who have ties to the salon and spa industry. I read through recent reports on trends and projections for personal care services. I brainstormed ideas for unexploited opportunities that we could take advantage of. It helps that I’ve been hanging around at the yoga studio for the last little while. I’ve already spotted several inefficiencies and have ideas for how to fix them.

  Bill slams his fist into the table. “Have you lost your mind, Reuben? The girl couldn’t even articulate what she wanted the money for. You expect that she won’t run that business into the ground?”

  “She was nervous.” I know that for sure. I got to see Isla Hamilton, the businesswoman, last night. Confident, composed, purposeful – I got to see her passion. I got to see how willing she is to make this business work. But when she walked in today and saw me sitting at that conference table, she was shocked. It was written all over her face. It pained me to watch her flustered and tongue-tied because I’ve seen her at her best.

  I should have been upfront with her. I should have sat her down and told her who I am and what I’m doing in Reyfield. I can hide behind the fact that she didn’t want to give me the time of day when we met but if I’m honest with myself, I’ll accept responsibility for the fact that I led her on. I concealed the truth from her when I could have forced her to listen to me. That’s on my shoulders and I certainly won’t let my deceit be the reason she doesn’t get this investment.

  Bill croaks. “'She was nervous' isn’t an excuse and you know that, boy. Now get your brain out of your pants and look at this yoga nonsense for what it is…a dud!”

  I glower at the men sitting at the table, my wrist turning white as I squeeze the doorknob.

  Carl, always the diplomat, stands from his seat and wobbles over to me, putting a fatherly hand on my shoulder. “Reuben, this is business. And this woman’s business proposition makes no sense. At least not in economic terms. We don’t make deals based on ‘nice’ and ‘pretty’. We have to be able to justify our decisions to the shareholders and this yoga studio, it’s simply not justifiable, son.”

  I back out of his reach. How dare he patronize me?

  “Well, I’ll find a way to justify the investment,” I say, “and if I can’t, I’ll invest my own damn money. But the bottom line is, Isla Hamilton is getting that money one way or another.”

  With that, I go tearing out of the room.

  Chapter 15

  Isla

  “Sam, give it to me straight. How close am I to bankruptcy?”

  I’m sitting at the table of my best friend’s newly-renovated kitchen with all of my receipts and bank statements and credit card bills spread out around us. I literally grip the edge of my chair, steeling myself in anticipation of her response.

  Sammie looks down at the spreadsheet sitting in front of her, twirling her pencil between her thumb and her forefinger. "It doesn't look good, hun. With each passing month you go deeper and deeper into the red. If your creditors come knocking..." She looks up at me, trying to convey the gravity of the situation without saying the words out loud.

  "Oh god," I mutter under my breath, leaning back in my seat and pushing aside the packet of buckwheat crackers I brought with me.
Sammie has been pigging out on junk food and I figured that the least I could do was bring her a couple of healthy snacks to nibble on while she works. It’s my little way of looking out for my bestie and her baby.

  I flinch at the unbridled pity in her big, brown eyes. "Are you sure you can't accept Reuben’s deal? That money would turn everything around for you."

  My best friend is the best auditor in town. If she’s telling me I’m in trouble, I know I’m in trouble. But I can’t take Reuben’s offer. Even if he claims it’s just business, there are too many strings attached. We both know it but I’m the only one who’s willing to admit it. "It's too complicated, Sam."

  "C'mon, Isla. All you have to do is keep business separate from pleasure. How hard can it be?" I laugh at the irony of her words. She started out as Keeland’s bookkeeper and now, here she is carrying his baby and his last name. “On second thought, that advice doesn’t sound too legit coming from me, does it?” she giggles, running a hand over her baby bump.

  My eyes roll up to the ceiling. "Just my fucking luck,” I moan. “The one time I allow myself a one-night-stand, it turns into a business-slash-pleasure shit sandwich." I burst into tears.

  Sammie sighs as she stands from her chair and waddles around the table. “Don’t cry!” she commands as she throws her arms around my neck, her baby belly pressing into my shoulder. That only makes the tears rain down harder. I’m used to being strong or at least, putting on a convincing show. And now, here I am, falling apart at the time when I most need my strength to shine through.

  I watch as Sammie hobbles into the living room and pulls a picture frame from over the fireplace.

  “Remember this girl?” It’s a picture of Sammie and me with a group of our friends at our high school graduation. I strike a pose with my bleach-blonde hair, glossy lips and mischief in my eyes. “This girl, she wouldn’t roll over and let life fuck her. She would fight. She would do whatever it took to win...What happened to that girl?”

  What happened to that girl? Her parents died in a freak accident while on a church retreat in Central America. That’s what happened. The irony of it hit me hard. My parents were good people trying to help orphaned children and in the process, they turned their own children into orphans. I needed something to believe in after that happened. That’s how I found meditation and eventually yoga.

  “I get it. You're all spiritual and enlightened now but I’m sure that being in touch with your inner self doesn’t mean letting the world bulldoze you, sweetie. In fact, there’s power in claiming what you want.”

  I nod, wiping my eyes with a paper napkin as I try to smile. She’s right. I can’t just lie there and play dead as life has its way with me. I have to fight.

  Squeezing her hand, I sniffle through my tears. “When did you get so wise?”

  She laughs. “I’ve always been wise. You just outshine me, babe.” She winks. “You’re going through a rough patch, but you’ll get your glitter back.”

  Right then, my phone beeps. It’s a text message from Blakely reminding me that my hatha class starts in fifteen minutes.

  “Shit!” I say leaping up from my chair. I’m late again. “I’ve got to go, Sam.”

  “Please reconsider Reuben’s offer,” she calls after me. I pretend not to hear her as I jump into my boots and run out the door.

  Am I being unreasonable by turning down Reuben’s money? I’m trying to convince myself that saying ‘no’ to him is the right thing but taking his offer is so, so tempting.

  I jump in my old station wagon and hightail it across town, one eye constantly on the clock. When I pull up to my parking spot, there’s a shiny new Honda Civic in my damn car tent. I can almost smell the new-car scent from over here. Cursing under my breath, I grudgingly park in one of the client spaces and hurry inside.

  I step out of my boots, placing them neatly on the mat near the door. “Blakely, you’ve got to tell the clients to keep my parking space clear,” I grumble as I slip my jacket and sweatshirt onto the coat rack. “If the lot is full, they have to park on the street.” I adjust the straps of my sports bra and the waistband of my yoga pants.

  “Uh…” My sister stands from her seat with a nervous look on her face. “That car is mine,” she says quietly.

  My movements falter. I spin around to look at her. “The car is yours?” I lift a sceptical eyebrow.

  She nods hesitantly.

  “Who bought you a car?” I question.

  Now, she looks offended. “I bought my own car,” she says folding her arms across her chest. It looks like Sassy Blakely is making a quick cameo this afternoon.

  I tilt my head to the side and observe her. “Sorry – didn’t realize you could afford a brand new car.” I don't mean to be obnoxious, but she is a student, after all, and I sure as hell am not paying her enough to buy a brand new car.

  She doesn’t say anything. She just watches me, repressing her anger. I turn to continue my trek to class but I’ve just got to know, “Blakely, where did you get money to by a brand new car?”

  Blame it on my jealousy – I can't help but ask. She’s in college. She goes out with her friends on the weekends. She doesn’t have a boyfriend that I know of. I can’t imagine that she has much money to spare.

  She shrugs one shoulder, her eyes falling to the penholder in front of her. “I dunno. Sold some stuff on Amazon.” Her facial expression tells me that this conversation is about as fun as a root canal.

  I’m not satisfied with her vague answer, but this discussion will have to wait. I’m late for class.

  I slink into the room, closing the door softly behind me. The lights are already off and the space is illuminated by tea candles located strategically around the room. Blakely has already set everything up. My little sister is truly a godsend. My seven students are on their mats, practicing various relaxing yoga positions as they wait for me.

  “Thanks for coming, everybody,” I say in a low voice as I move toward the front. “Let’s leave our chaotic worlds behind for the next ninety minutes and immerse ourselves in our yoga practice.”

  I stand on my mat at the front of the class. I glance around, bowing solemnly to each person in turn. Just as I’m silently welcoming the last person, the door pushes open and Reuben Barre steps inside.

  Adrenaline immediately zings through my veins and my heart pumps into overdrive – the exact opposite of what I should be experiencing during a damn yoga class. Our eyes lock and I have to remind myself to breathe.

  He wears a sleeveless black jersey that drapes loosely over his torso, showing off the definition of his bronzed arms while making me crave the solid chest and carved abs that I know are underneath. Baggy, black sweatpants hang low on his hips, obscuring his strong, toned legs. Those intense honey eyes scan my body from head to toe and I feel the power of his stare as it sweeps over every inch of my body.

  It’s almost too destabilizing, but I quickly pull myself together. I’ve got a class to teach. “We’ll begin with a centering exercise. Sit comfortably with your seatbones on your mats.” I descend and sit in a cross-legged position, my eyes still on Reuben. I almost can't turn away.

  I press my palms together and inhale deeply, allowing my eyelids to drift shut, instructing the class to do the same. I feel like such a fraud right now. How am I supposed to lead my students to inner peace when I’m a hot mess on the inside?

  On autopilot, I guide them into various simple yoga positions. Thank god, I can literally teach this class with my eyes closed because my mind can’t connect with my words right now, not when I feel like this.

  The savasana portion of the class can’t come quickly enough. I instruct the class to lie in corpse pose, fully relaxed, with their hands and feet spread out comfortably. I tell them to focus on their breathing. I try to take my own advice, but it’s all in vain. I keep a steady eye on the clock and as soon as the ninety-minute mark is up, I put an end to the class, trying not to appear too hasty. My students roll up their mats and shuffle toward the
exit.

  I crouch in the corner, neatly arranging the yoga blocks and other props that were carelessly strewn about during class. I hear footsteps slapping the wooden floor. I don't have to turn around. I know. My body can feel Reuben Barre from a mile away. I stand slowly, every nerve in my body alight from his mere proximity. My pulse races when I turn and find those honey eyes boring into me.

  His tongue darts out and licks his lips. “Hello Isla.” The gravely tone of his voice resonates all throughout my body.

  “Reuben – what are you doing here?” I try to sound annoyed but my words come out breathless and wispy.

  He takes a step closer. “I’m here to talk to you. To get you to reconsider my offer.”