Forbidden (War Book 1)

by Trevion Burns

  Because behind the glossy white reception desk that greeted the front doors were two women. An older Asian woman scowling at her in a lavender business suit that fit her slim body to perfection, and a dark-skinned black woman, who looked to be about Stella’s age, wearing a long brunette wig and the same uniform as Stella. Stella remembered the black woman as Ivy, the receptionist who’d greeted her during her interview a few days prior. Ivy smiled at Stella, but it was the kind of smile you gave someone who didn’t know the answer when the teacher unexpectedly called them out in Geometry or who’d just gotten their ass kicked in front of the entire school during recess.

  Stella’s wide eyes jetted back and forth between them. “I’m so sorry—”

  “You’re late,” The Asian woman barked, her hard voice overpowering the soft meditation music playing from the surround-sound speakers in the vaulted ceilings. Stella assumed this was Nancy Nguyen, her supervisor. The higher-up who’d interviewed her had warned her about Nancy, and as she spat across the room at her, Stella now understood why.

  “I know, I overslept, and my kid’s daycare got mixed up—I flew down Palisades Parkway at twice the limit…” She paused, reminding herself of one of Rocco’s favorite sayings. “No excuses. I’m late, I apologize, and it won’t happen again.”

  “You’re right. It won’t.” Nancy stood tall while holding onto the back of the receptionist’s chair. “Because you’re fired.”

  The breath left Stella’s lungs. Like a cold breeze had blown past her at a thousand miles an hour and taken every functioning organ in her body right along with it. But her body didn’t spin out of control for what she’d lost. Or even how quickly she’d lost it. She realized it spun because she’d have to go home, look Rocco in the eye, and tell him that she’d failed.

  Again.

  Nancy nodded toward the door. “Get out of my spa.”

  14

  “You’re fired. Get out of my spa.”

  Stella heard Nancy’s words replaying over and over in her head like a record skipping, but was unable to make her legs move.

  “Fired?” she wheezed. “I have a daughter.” I have a Rocco. She couldn’t imagine the hell he’d raise. Right when they’d finally been learning to be in the same room together. “I’m five minutes late. I can’t make one mistake on my first day? When I’m still learning the ropes? You have my word it will never, ever happen again. Please—”

  “If I had a penny for every teary-eyed girl who waltzed in here, blubbering about their baby girls and baby boys—believing that having a child somehow gave them the freedom to come and go as they pleased—well, I wouldn’t be stuck slaving away in this place every day, that’s for sure. This is a business, and I expect my employees to be on time. No exceptions.” Nancy motioned to the doors.

  Like an actor waiting for his cue, a middle-aged, dark-haired man appeared on the other side of the glass doors the moment Nancy motioned to them and pulled one of them open. Classically handsome—like a blue-eyed prince in a Disney movie—there wasn’t an inch of his body that wasn’t chiseled and polished to perfection. Tall and lean, he wore a navy suit that looked pricey enough to pay Stella’s mortgage for the next few months.

  But it wasn’t his sharp suit that stole the breath from her lungs. It wasn’t even his blue eyes, which were a few degrees colder than any Disney prince she could remember, making the hairs on her neck stand on end the moment they shifted on her.

  He froze in the doorway, holding the door open with the beds of his fingers as his eyes ran her body.

  A tiny smile kissed his lips.

  “Mr. Devereux,” Nancy cooed. Her buttery tone a stark contrast to the sharp one she’d just been using with Stella. “You’re right on time for your appointment, as always. Amy’s waiting for you in the back.”

  “I’d much rather Roxanne be waiting for me.” His eyes never left Stella’s, even as he spoke to Nancy.

  “Roxanne?” Nancy chuckled. “There must be a misunderstanding. This is Stella Armstrong.”

  His blue orbs shone with new understanding. “Is that so?” His eyes ran her again. “Stella Armstrong…”

  The sound of her full name on his lips made Stella’s wide eyes grow even wider, heart racing. The doors she’d just been fighting to stay inside of a moment earlier now looked like the gates of heaven beckoning her out. Like the only means for escape from the burning pits of hell, whose flames were lapping at the back of her feet. Warning that if she didn’t run for her life, she’d soon be engulfed. If the choice were hers, she would’ve already barreled through those doors long ago, but his body was still blocking the doorway.

  “Yes, Stella Armstrong.” Nancy chuckled. “And she doesn’t work for us, so…”

  “Well, that certainly explains why she’s wearing your uniform.” He motioned to Stella, lifting one eyebrow.

  “Allow me to correct myself, sir. She doesn’t work for us anymore.”

  He frowned while sinking one hand into the pocket of his blue slacks. “Well, then I don’t come here anymore.”

  “Sir?”

  “I’d like to see her, or no one at all.”

  “But Amy—”

  “Is no longer who I’d like to see.”

  Nancy straightened. “Of course, sir.” She cleared her throat. “Stella?”

  Stella tore her horrified eyes away from “Mr. Devereux” to turn toward Nancy once more.

  Nancy rose her chin high with narrowed eyes. “Ivy will be happy show you and Mr. Devereux to your massage room.”

  “Thank you.” Mr. Devereux caught Stella’s eyes when she looked over her shoulder at him once more. He smiled, motioning for her to follow Ivy, who’d already begun toward the back hallway while looking over her shoulder at them expectantly.

  When he stepped in, clearing the doorway, Stella saw her chance. To run. To careen through those doors and never look back. But he was next to her a moment later, setting a hand on the small of her back, and she couldn’t make herself run. Because he now knew her full name, because the cold chill that raced up her back at his touch had rendered her motionless, or because she knew she’d rather drop dead than leave that parlor and tell Rocco she’d failed again—she wasn’t sure which.

  So she let Mr. Devereux lead her down the hall after Ivy, her eyes slamming closed when his warm voice tickled her ear.

  “I never thought I’d see you again…” he purred.

  She held her breath.

  She never thought she’d see him again, either.

  In fact, she’d prayed that she wouldn’t.

  Now that she had, the only thing she could pray for now was that she, her baby—and even Rocco—would survive it.

  ——

  “When you’re ready, you can go ahead and put your face in the hole, Mr. Devereux.” Stella couldn’t decide if her voice or her hands were shaking more as she slathered lotion between her fingers. Her eyes reminded her of a wild animal in the mirrored wall’s reflection, the whites of her brown orbs looking almost manic under the dim lights of the massage room. He’d requested no music, so it was deadly silent save for her fervent breaths.

  “I’d rather talk to you for a little while first if that’s okay. I’ll pay extra.”

  She swung on her heels. “We don’t do extras here.”

  His eyebrows jumped. “I know. I’ve been coming here for years.”

  She dropped her hands at her sides. “Oh…”

  Now that he’d changed out of his high-end suit, with only a white terry cloth towel around his waist, he seemed much more normal. Approachable. Slim chest and arms exposed, he was simply… a man. Not swollen like boulders were trying to rip through his skin like Rocco, and not overly scrawny like a prepubescent boy who lived in his mother’s basement either. Somewhere in the middle. Without the suit, Stella would’ve never guessed he was the kind of high-powered man who could reduce that monster Nancy Nguyen to butter in a matter of seconds.

  “I should’ve guessed,” she whispered. “
Seems like you run a pretty tight ship around here.”

  “Nancy might be a pit-bull to most, but she’s a poodle compared to Michelle.”

  Her spine straightened at the name—Michelle—sucking in a rapid breath.

  “Relax.” He held out a hand, grinning. “It’s just between us… Roxanne.”

  “I’m trying to do better.”

  “No one has to know—”

  “I don’t do that stuff anymore.”

  “I understand—”

  “And I really, really need this job.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me… Stella Armstrong.”

  She played her fingers together, nodding sharply.

  “Honestly?” He dropped his hands onto the table and clutched the edges. “I’m just thrilled to see you again. As crazy as it sounds… I missed you a lot.”

  She gave a tight smile. One of the worst things about working at Michelle’s parlor before the raid was the lying. Lying to lonely men about how much she liked them—how much she missed them—when she couldn’t even remember half of their names without a cheat sheet. The more desperate the man, the more he believed the lies. So much so that they eventually became real in his mind. To the point that he began to resent the girls when they were no longer able to keep up with the fantasy he’d invented in his head. When it finally dawned on the johns that it was more real for them than it was for the women… that was when things got dangerous.

  But this one, Mr. Devereux, had never been one of those men. The kind that was stupid enough to let the lies become real in his head. As a billionaire investor—one of the most successful in all of Jersey and NYC—she supposed he was too skilled a liar himself to ever fall for anyone else’s. He was simply a man who understood the simplicity of give and take.

  “I’m leaving for Singapore at the end of the quarter. I’ll be gone for two years.” He drew in a breath. “I’d really like to see you again before I go.”

  “Well, I’ll be here Monday through Friday so…”

  “You’re misunderstanding me.” He lowered his voice. “I’d really like to see you, Stella. I have the presidential suite booked at the Four Seasons. The night before my flight—”

  “I told you, I don’t do that.”

  “I’ll give you one hundred thousand.”

  She was sure she felt the ground move under her.

  In less than a second, she did the math. It was enough to pay down nearly all of her credit cards—the debt that she knew gave Rocco the worst anxiety of all. He’d no longer have to put nearly half of his paycheck towards the interest on those credit cards alone. It would be a huge weight off his shoulders. Even more than that, it would be a huge weight off hers. With each passing day, it was harder and harder for her to watch Rocco stretching himself to the brim to clean up the mess she’d made. He had no idea that she knew about him cashing out his 401k, but she’d seen one of the letters from Fidelity that he’d done such a good job of hiding until he’d accidentally left it out on the kitchen counter after a poker night with his co-workers. It was making her stomach sick just thinking about it.

  “No—” She’d tried to say the word with authority, but it broke halfway through.

  He studied her, voice lowering. “Two hundred.”

  Credit cards paid in full. With money to spare. A sizable dent in the mortgage. Less weight off Rocco’s back.

  This time, her voice trembled. “No…”

  “Three.”

  Mortgage paid. Enough for Rocco to reclaim his life—the life he’d never planned on giving to her and Blue. His 401k could remain intact. What was left of it anyway.

  “I said no.” She hadn’t even realized she’d been in a negotiation until that moment. It was how most negotiations in her life usually went—by accident. She’d say no and mean it until she was unexpectedly hit with an offer only an idiot would refuse. She’d meant her first ‘no’ with Mr. Devereux. Now, however, a part of her couldn’t help but wonder just how high he’d go. He’d closed too many billion-dollar deals to count, in one of the most cutthroat cities in the world. She was positive his first—and even second—offers, were very rarely his best.

  She wondered how high he would go.

  She wondered but didn’t dare ask.

  Silence fell, and she kept her eyes on at the floor.

  “It’s interesting,” he spoke softly. “All the other girls from Michelle’s are still behind bars, awaiting trial. Including Michelle herself. Looks like the judge is ready to throw the book at them. How’d you get so lucky? I mean… I saw the guy cuff you.”

  Her heart shuddered to a stop, making a wave of dizziness hit her that would’ve sent her to the floor if her knees hadn’t tensed and locked in place. Just as quickly as her heart had stopped beating, it exploded in her chest a second later, lighting it on fire. Making her throat burn like she’d just chugged a bottle of Tabasco without stopping. Like she’d poured a second bottle directly into her eyes, making the veins pulse and burn until they’d filled with buckets of tears in an attempt to quell the blaze. Her fingers tightened into fists at her sides, and her teeth clenched even harder. To the point she worried they might shatter and slice her tongue until it bled.

  “Did he let you go?” Mr. Devereux smiled softly.

  She cut her reddened eyes at him.

  “Because, I gotta say, I was over the moon when he let me go. Managed to pay off the rest of his buddies posted outside by the skin of my teeth. He doesn’t strike me as the type to take a bribe, though. Not like his teammates.” He squinted. “I always wondered why he did it.”

  Sweat droplets collected on her forehead—jaw clenching.

  He went on. “I can only imagine what would become of him if his superiors ever found out.”

  Her eyes fell, stuttering as she attempted to speak, but no decipherable words came, her mind racing too fast to put any of them together.

  Then, she finally managed to squeak, voice shattering, “If you’d like to put your face in the hole…”

  He paused, and she could feel his eyes burning into her face. “Sure.”

  She exhaled in relief when he rolled onto his stomach and finally deposited his face in the hole of the massage table, slamming her eyes closed. She took several deep breaths, but it did nothing to ease the tightening in her chest. As if someone was holding her head underwater and she was thrashing for dear life.

  She made her way up to him on shaky knees, fixed the white terry cloth towel over his backside, and prayed that the hour-long session passed by without another word spoken.

  ——

  Thankfully, Mr. Devereux had allowed the rest of the session to carry on in silence, and exactly one hour later, he was exiting the back hallway where Stella had left him some privacy to get dressed. On his way to the door, his eyes immediately found Stella, sitting in a chair behind the reception desk next to Ivy. He was still fixing his Rolex on his wrist as he gave her a soft wink on his way to the door.

  “Same time next week, Stella Armstrong?”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “I’m all yours, Mr. Devereux.”

  “Here’s hoping.” He gave one last gleaming smile, as well as a quick nod to Ivy, before turning and making his way out. Only when the doors closed behind him did both Stella and Ivy draw in the breaths they’d both been holding.

  “God, the things I would do to that beautiful man.” Ivy nibbled on her red bottom lip, false eyelashes heavy as she watched Mr. Devereux make his way toward the red Porsche he’d double-parked in the back of the lot before cutting her brown eyes to Stella. “Do you know how much he’s worth?” She didn’t wait. “Forty billion dollars. Billion. With a ‘B’. And the way he looked at you. Girl.”

  Stella’s skin was still crawling from the way he looked at her, the way he’d been looking at her, from the real moment they’d first met. Her stomach still turned at the memory of how he’d never wasted an opportunity to say her full name during their session, as if trying to remind her, over and over, th
at he knew it. That he had no plans on forgetting it. That he could just as easily take that full name to the police, or even a private investigator, and use it to learn the names of all her acquaintances too.

  Perhaps, even the male acquaintance who had let her go the night of the raid.

  The thought caused Stella to stand tall with a gasp, closing her eyes when she felt them begin to sting with emotion.

  “You single?” Ivy asked, reclaiming Stella’s attention. “Got a handsome man at home?”

  “Do I have a handsome man at home?” Stella hesitated. “Yes. I mean—no! Well… yes. He’s obviously handsome. And he’s, well, he’s at home. But he’s not, like, at home. You know? Jesus, of course you don’t. I’m single, okay? Let’s just leave it at that.”

  “Allow me to rephrase the question. Is there any man out there, anywhere, who’d be pissed off at you for telling me that you were single just now?”

  Stella chuckled. “No.”

  “Listen, whoever he is, if he’s not a billionaire, drop the zero and go for the hero.” Ivy pointed toward the parking lot, where Mr. Devereux’s Porsche had just growled to a start. “Because that man is smitten with you.”

  “And she’d better be thanking her lucky stars.” Nancy strolled by the desk, glaring at Stella the whole way. Her heels clicked against the floors as she passed without another word, her narrowed eyes never leaving Stella’s until she disappeared down the hallway on the other side of the lobby.

  “Don’t worry about her too much.” Ivy waved once she’d gone.

  “My new boss already despises me. Nothing to worry about, at all.”

  “It’s really not about you. The parlor’s been in trouble for months and the last quarter was especially brutal. She’s been on the warpath ever since. Basically just as scared for her job as the rest of us, so don’t take it personally.”