Sticky Fingers: An Enemies To Lovers Romantic Comedy

by Starr, Tara

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Sonia

  Fourteen.

  That’s how many days I thought it’d take to mend a broken heart. Yeah, I know, I know…silly me. You can’t really mend a broken heart.

  You can endure the pain, you can stop the tears, and you can sure as hell put a smile on your face...but when it comes to mending a broken heart, it simply can’t be done.

  And when your heart has been broken because you’ve been backstabbed…well, it just makes it all even worse.

  That’s the way I feel anyway.

  And that’s saying something, really, since I’ve never been one to care much about love. Sure, I cared about men, and I sure as hell cared about sex. But love…?

  Nah, that wasn’t something I was interested in. The way I saw it, most men were barely good enough for a night of sex, let alone for something as silly as love.

  Love was boring.

  While all my college friends spent their days bullshitting around, chasing every single alpha-hole in campus, I simply sat in my small studio apartment and let them come to me.

  They were alpha-holes, but I was the Queen Bitch.

  See, most men act all tough and whatnot, but once you crack the whip...it’s game over for them. That’s why I’ve never fallen in love before.

  That’s why I’ve never met a man I could call my equal.

  Until Malcolm, that is.

  Thirty-seven.

  That’s how many bottles of wine I went through these past few days. In case you’re wondering, let me run the math for you—thirty-seven bottles of wine over fourteen days. That averages…well, way more than two bottles per day.

  Plus two bottles of tequila—oh, right, and seven large ice-cream buckets.

  What? I’m just being honest.

  Seriously, just a few more days, and I’ll be the first alcoholic hippo in New York—and one that can wear heels and steal multimillion dollar paintings.

  Not exactly something I can put on my curriculum, I know, but it sure as hell sounds impressive. And equally sad.

  Kathy helped, by the way, so don’t start thinking I’m a total degenerate. I’m just a girl going through a rough patch, so it’s more than normal that I’ve let my hair down.

  Okay, so, if it wasn’t for Kathy I would have eaten my weight in ice cream, and I would have probably already drowned in cheap wine and tequila, I’ll admit that much. But just give me a break, will you? I know that I’m not thinking straight.

  God, I feel so ridiculous, you know? I never understood girls who simply sat around, depressed as shit, when their love life didn’t go as planned. What an irony that I’d become exactly one of those girls.

  That’s what you get when you think to highly of yourself, I guess.

  Thirty-two.

  Yup—thirty-two romantic comedies. Bridget Jones, Pretty Woman, Love Actually, and what have you. I’ve watched them all, and I bawled my eyes out when the dramatic scenes started.

  Each and every time.

  My past self would smack me so goddamn hard

  But I can’t seem to control myself. This was the first time my heart was broken, and I’m still trying to learn how to deal with it all.

  It’s not as easy as I thought it’d be, you know? It sure as hell isn’t something a pair of Louboutins can fix.

  Anyway, when you compare romantic comedies to the alternative, then it doesn’t sound half as a bad.

  You see, for a couple of days I thought that getting it on with some hot random guy would help matters, but...in the end, I didn’t have the courage to be with someone new. It just didn’t feel right, you know? Even though all I had to do was pick my phone up and call one of dozens of guys chasing after me, I simply couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  I simply couldn’t.

  Five.

  That’s how many times I saw Malcolm these past two weeks. It’s always downstairs, in the lobby, but I don’t think he saw me any of those times. And that was for the best, really, because every time I saw him, my knees grew weak and my brain froze.

  Yeah, yeah, I know.

  Ridiculous.

  Laugh all you want, but you can be sure that after I saw him each and every one of those times...the last thing on my mind would be a laugh. Instead, all I did was run up to my apartment, shut myself in the bedroom, and cry my eyes out.

  Poor me, boohoo, I know.

  But just a glimpse of him and I’d feel my insides clench, my whole body heating up, and my brain would start running at a thousand miles per hour.

  I just…God, I just miss him so goddamn much. I can’t even tell you how much effort I put in to not rushing towards him and falling into his arms.

  Seven.

  That’s how many days Kathy has been staying with me. You’d think that she stays over all the time, and you wouldn’t exactly be wrong. It’s just that it’s pretty unusual for her to stay this long.

  As fun as I imagine being my assistant is, she does have a life of her own.

  But after Malcolm proposed, she has been so damn worried about me. I told her it’s fine, that I’m alright, that she can go back home...but she just won’t budge. I guess that, after a week of a cheap wine diet—and me drunk-dialing her all the freaking time—she started growing worried.

  It’s only because of her that I’ve been eating healthy food—or any kind of food, really. If it were up to me...well, suffice to say that the takeout guy would be my best friend by now.

  Three.

  That’s how many times I’ve considered just going to Malcolm’s apartment, kick his door down, have the most amazing sex of my life...and then say yes.

  And, each of those times, I considered doing that for real. It wasn’t a fantasy, and it wasn’t me daydreaming while drunk.

  No, I considered all of that seriously.

  But I took a deep breath every time and reminded myself what was at stake here. Even if I said yes, there would be no wedding.

  It’s all a ruse, one set up just so Malcolm can get Strong off his back and throw me under the bus...and, of course, if that happened, the wedding would be off in an instant.

  Malcolm would be laughing in his apartment, and I’d be rotting away in jail.

  Yeah, it’s been all gloom and doom these past few days.

  So what? Just let me wallow for a bit.

  One.

  One moment is all you need to change your life. That moment happened for me when I took the Picasso off the wall and my eyes met Malcolm’s. I’ve been dreaming of it, thinking of it every waking second of my life.

  “Sonia!”

  I thought I had a fun and solid life. I thought I was the captain of my destiny, and I thought that men weren’t something I needed to worry about.

  Then that moment happened.

  And, just like that, Malcolm came crashing into my life.

  And, for better or worse, I’ll never be the same.

  “Sonia!”

  Every single day, I think of the moment when our eyes locked. Right then and there, I knew I was in for a wild ride. I knew that my life was going to do a one-eighty turn so fast that I’d feel dizzy in the end.

  “SONIA! Goddamit! Get in here!

  Jesus, was I spacing out again?

  I hear Kathy’s voice calling for me from the living room... Something tells me another moment like that is about to happen.

  Don’t ask me how I know.

  Call it intuition.

  Call it a woman’s sixth sense.

  Call it whatever you like but mark my words—shit’s about to go down again.

  Dragging my feet out of the bedroom, I dash into the living room and crash down on the couch, right next to Kathy.

  “What?” I ask her groggily.

  “Look!” she exclaims, pushing her iPad into my hands.

  My eyes wander over the screen, trying to make sense of the words there, and I only manage to focus when I read Malcolm’s name somewhere in the middle of the article Kathy was reading.
r />   As I start reading it, I feel my throat go dry.

  Then, my stomach twists into knots.

  And, finally, my heart almost stops as I read the last paragraph.

  Is Malcolm Push really trying to clean up his act? Or is this an act in itself?

  We can only guess, but the facts remain... Malcolm Push is letting go of all the strip clubs he operates through his various holding companies. The sale was finalized yesterday with little fanfare save an interview with the Daily Journal and a filing with the SEC.”

  Did I misjudge him? Was Malcolm really trying to change his ways?

  Was he…being honest with me from the start?

  Oh, fuck.

  Did I screw it all up?

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Malcolm

  1,885.

  That’s how many fucking paintings Picasso produced during his lifetime. One of those eventually made its way to Daphne Abbot and then to the Clarendon Tower Art Gallery.

  And just like that, as destiny wove a web of coincidences and circumstances, my life collided with Sonia’s.

  Beautiful fucking Sonia. Crazy fucking Sonia.

  What could I have done differently?

  Even though our relationship started rocky and was based on a cheesy game of cat and mouse, it’s developed into the best thing that has ever happened to me.

  I’m just so fucking in love with her.

  I think about her all the fucking time.

  When I think back to our time in the Caribbean, I just know it’ll work out between the two of us. Every moment there with her was effortless. Without all the fucking bullshit of life around us, we get along great.

  I can make that happen again. There’s no reason either one of us has to deal with my mobster buddies. We’ll have plenty of money to live in luxury for the rest of our lives together.

  I just have to ride this out, and in a couple weeks, she’ll know the full extent of my commitment.

  Someday, we’re going to look back on the beginning of our relationship and laugh. There is so much we do have in common—not to mention the fucking amazing sex.

  I don’t just miss the sex though. With her, there really is so much more. I miss her funny faces and how happy she seemed.

  Soon.

  Seventeen.

  That’s the amount of business meetings I attended in the past two weeks. And let me tell you, fucking bankers are the stiffest and most boring people around. They drive me crazy.

  Half the time I’m with them, I have a really hard time staying awake.

  I know this is all necessary, but it seems like they can do it without me. Do I really need to be there for them to run through all the numbers?

  Profit and loss charts, balance sheets and cash flow bullshit. Fucking hell in a handbasket.

  What a drag these last few days have been.

  And these assholes are all so sweaty all the time. Holy shit.

  What do their schooling and learning consist of, because apparently it didn’t involve a Speed Stick. I can see the logic with bakers and chefs sweating in a kitchen, but we’re talking about glorified fucking accountants. Maybe it’s the sedentary lifestyle with a lack of anything interesting in, so they literally sweat the small stuff?

  One of them, Mr. Dandier, sweat like the Olympic fucking medal sweater or something. After a couple of hours, the board room we use always starts to smell like the meal he ate the night before.

  Today it was curry. It will be a while before I can fucking eat Indian food again.

  If it wasn’t so important to get all these companies sorted and shuffled, I wouldn’t be putting myself through this.

  Sonia is always the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about as I nod off to sleep. She’s like a drug that I’m craving morning, noon and fucking night.

  It’s all to get her back because, if it wasn’t for her, like so many times in the past, I’d probably just blow this off.

  I think Dandier and his cronies were all really surprised to see me show up on time on Monday. I know I’ve cancelled at least twice in the past year.

  But it will be worth it.

  I just know it.

  Three.

  That’s how many nights in a row I can’t sleep. And it isn’t easy to function with no fucking sleep, that much I can tell you. It feels as though I’m starting to lose my fucking mind.

  Why? Just look at what happened earlier today.

  I took the elevator to the main floor, and my eyes were immediately drawn to Sonia across the lobby. Her firm backside drew my eyes like a fucking magnet. I’m immediately hard as a rock.

  Her skin-tight yoga pants and the matching tank top were black with bright highlights, and she looked like she just came back from a workout with her hair up in a pony tail.

  Fuck, I wanted to go over to her and just grab her from behind. If I put my hand over her mouth, I could take her up to my room and tie her to my bed. These musings kept me occupied for about thirty seconds, while I stood there like an idiot two steps out of the elevator.

  She wasn’t facing me, so I had plenty of time to fantasize about her before she swung around.

  It was then that it dawned on me she was talking to a tall man standing next to her. Who the fuck is that, right? He had his back mostly to me, too, and they seemed to be utilizing the mail center countertop to lean against.

  My heart sped up, and I could feel the flush as my neck and face turned red in anger. Who the fuck was that guy? Were they workout buddies or some happy horseshit?

  I was frozen in place as the guy turned and headed for the door. Even after he left, it took me another second or two before I unglued my feet from the floor. I followed him out.

  In my peripheral vision, I saw Sonia pick up a bag with Hot Wok written on the side and head towards the elevator I just left.

  Delivery? Could that be all it was?

  Fuck! The ball of tension in my gut loosened a bit, but I still turned left outside the door and followed the delivery guy to his car to confirm. He had the stick-on signs and everything, and when he pulled away from his spot, I slowed and sunk against the building next door.

  Yeah, that’s right, I’m a fucking mess.

  The things that were running through my mind—what I would have done to him if he had been seeing Sonia—well…let’s just say it wasn’t good. He wouldn’t have been walking tomorrow, that’s a fucking certainty.

  Fuck, I know. I’ve to get ahold of myself.

  I know I have it bad.

  Duh. I asked the woman to fucking marry me.

  I’m starting to freak out, you know? What if I fucking lose her? Another week and I should be homefree, but this isn’t good.

  She wouldn’t be dating anyone already, right? She said she loved me. I have to keep believing that that means something.

  If I do nothing, she’ll maybe eventually get over me, and that will take time. There’s a risk of that happening. I mean it could take forever or not happen at all if we truly are the soulmates I think we are.

  Of course, I have no fucking intention of letting her get over me.

  But that does buy me some time.

  Or so I fucking hope.

  Ten.

  Ten simple signatures and that’s it.

  Ryan, one of my lawyers, passes me the last form to sign. Hastily scribbling my name, I pass it back.

  “Is that it? For real?”

  He laughs. “Yes, for real. It’s been a long haul, but you can’t expect things like this to just happen overnight. You are now officially and completely trackable.”

  Fuck. I’m not sure exactly how to feel about that. It’s kind of scary.

  Some of my misgivings must show on my face.

  Standing, he clasps my shoulder. “Relax, Malcolm. This is a good thing. You’re fine and not doing a thing wrong.”

  So he says. It’s scary to feel so exposed after all these years.

  “It’ll be worth it. You’ll sleep better
. Let me go get your copies all together and you can head out. Ten minutes.”

  Yeah, right. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that over the last week and a half.

  Ryan leaves the board room, and I settle back on my chair and start checking my phone.

  I know he’s right. But sleeping well isn’t what got me this far.

  It’s Sonia. I miss her.

  All or nothing.

  I straighten my tie before taking a hard look at my hair again.

  Two days ago, I did all the little bullshit things, like getting my hair cut and cleaning up around the house to try and fucking relax. Still, I had a hard time doing it.

  See, yesterday was a big fucking day. And it all comes together today.

  I’m waiting for a news story to pop up.

  I did a major sit-down with the New York Daily Journal yesterday. With Sarah Hesh. She’s run a lot of bad press on me over the years. Figured I was a piece of shit.

  Then I told her everything.

  What I had been doing to become legitimate. Within reason of course. I mean, I didn’t incriminate myself or anything.

  But I even explained the little extra step I took to make every single thing aboveboard.

  Because she hates me so much is why I reached out to her to run this. If I could win her over, that’ll have been it. Sonia will have to know that I’ve done this for her.

  And if she doesn’t come to talk to me over the weekend, then next week I will be going after her.

  I just can’t take any more of this. I’m known for getting what I want, and I’m so fucking done after these past few weeks.

  My life is empty without her.

  I miss her laugh and her smile. Of course, I miss her tight little body. I want to bounce her on my cock and fuck her so hard she can barely scream for lack of air.

  But I miss her eyes. Those eyes that captivated me the first time I saw her.

  Those eyes that sparkle when she tries to be mischievous.

  Those eyes that glisten when we cuddle next to the fire, eating strawberries and sipping champagne.