Redeemed: Ruined and Redeemed Duet - Book 2

by Johnston, Marie

  “He was watching me?” Her face pales. I unhook her arms from around me and clutch her hands. “I won’t let him hurt you.”

  “What about Diana? Is she safe?”

  I’d thought of that. Sully knows my parents’ history. He’ll assume I don’t care for Diana. He thinks women are property and that my reaction to his picture of London is more about ownership, not feelings. I don’t see him as a guy who’d think I’d have stock in an independent career woman like Diana unless I was fucking her.

  But I do, because I’m fucking London. “I think she’s safe. He’s not the type to think I would want to protect Diana only because she’s important to you.” Not unless he knows how important London is to me.

  London bites her lower lip as her thoughts play through her head. She can’t believe I wouldn’t dangle Diana in front of Sully for fun considering how complicit the woman was in my parents’ demise.

  I can’t believe it, either.

  “You would do that for her?” she asks, hero-worship making her eyes glow. I’m a piece of shit. That wouldn’t be there if I told her everything. “If necessary?”

  I glide my fingers under her chin and cup her cheek, answering honestly. “Of course.”

  She pulls my head down toward her and proves exactly why she’s becoming so critical in my life.

  * * *

  London

  The last three days have been surreal. I’m back to work—albeit remotely. I delve into my emails and set up virtual meetings. I’ve set up at the island in the kitchen since I tore up the contract.

  But I don’t call Diana.

  I always thought it was weird she called herself Diana and not Mom, but it makes sense in some way if I was a little older when we met. Or if she was scared my bio mom would return.

  That never happened.

  I’ve wondered what she was like throughout my life, why she’d left. That hasn’t changed. It was easier to picture a harried new mom nope-ing out of being faced with a crying newborn. But I was one and a half.

  And now I can track her down and ask. She’s Dad’s ex-wife and not some lady whose last name he didn’t know.

  I abandon my laptop and trot up to Jacobi’s office. I lightly knock.

  “Come in.”

  I enter, easy as that. He never locks me out. He swivels his office chair toward the door, wearing his work clothes—a baggy shirt and shorts. He hasn’t shaved since I arrived and I find that as hot as his smooth face.

  He takes one look at my expression and asks, “What’s up?”

  “Can you find my mom?”

  He pauses a moment, likely guessing that my talk with Diana brought this on. “When do you want to find her by?”

  “I don’t know. I just want to know.” After the first step, I’d figure out the rest.

  “Okay.”

  Okay. I don’t move from his doorway. I’m antsy, and while I love being able to work again, my office isn’t nearly as quiet. He’s put in some long days, and not being able to leave has made me restless. I hate feeling like I’m waiting around on a man. With my past of bending to my boyfriends’ wills, it chafes. I don’t want to be that girl with Jacobi, but he’s the only company I have here.

  And I was going to make myself crazy searching for everything about what Jacobi might’ve meant about the seedy underbelly of LA. Was it gangs? Drugs? I even found stuff on hitmen, for God’s sake. Fixers, sex traders, the mob? There was so much. Then I went through what I could about forced prostitution, and, well, that was too vast and too shockingly flexible to narrow down what happened with his mother.

  Then I searched sound sensitivity. It hasn’t been an issue in the house, but it explains why the wind and the sound of the ocean are the only noises that breach the perimeter. With Jacobi, I can’t tell if it’s from a disorder or not being used to large crowds. But then if he heard yelling and loud crashes as a kid, it could be psychological.

  “Anything else you need, London?” His voice is gentle.

  “You’re busy.”

  He dips his chin acknowledging me, but not chasing me off. “I’m finishing out a contract.”

  I’m totally clear on what he does. I know what he’d done—built a cybersecurity company and sold it. But what about now?

  “Have you heard from Cannon or Kase?” They haven’t been around lately and Jacobi’s rarely on the phone. Each day, I hope they stop by and it means they found Sully or whoever’s behind the photo of me.

  “No. Nothing but dead ends.”

  What does that mean? Another week of staying inside and working by myself at the computer? How does Jacobi do it all day? I can’t anymore. “We should go out.”

  He folds his hands across his stomach. “Out where?”

  “I don’t know. To eat?” I can’t say out to dance. He didn’t mind the place in Cabo, but it was nothing like the bumping chaos of the local clubs.

  “It’s not safe.”

  “What’s he going to do? Take more pictures of me in a public place?”

  His jaw flexes, but I push the subject. He might be used to staying in this house for days on end, but I’m not.

  “Maybe it’ll draw him out or something. Nothing’s happening while I sit here and twiddle my thumbs.” I end up sounding whinier than I intended.

  “Okay,” he says simply. “How about a movie? Tonight?”

  A movie? I didn’t expect him to acquiesce so easily. “I didn’t take you for a movie kind of guy.”

  “You don’t think a tech guy would like to watch a screen three stories high?”

  I giggle. “Point taken. What do you like to watch? Rom-coms, dramas, love stories?” At his stricken expression, I laugh harder. “Just kidding. I like all those, but I like to watch flashy movies on the big screen. I think we can find a superhero one.”

  He smiles, but it quickly fades. “Are you doing okay?”

  Overall? Yes. But something he said the night he told me about his childhood bothers me. “Jacobi, you’re doing this all legally, right?”

  His gaze sharpens. “What do you mean?”

  He knows exactly what I mean. “I don’t want you going to jail right as I’m starting to like you. I didn’t sign on for conjugal visits.”

  “I won’t get caught.”

  “Especially if you don’t do anything illegal.”

  “London—”

  I hold up a hand. “He ruined your life once, don’t let him do it again.”

  “Okay.”

  I narrow my eyes. Is he saying it to placate me, or to keep me happy? Or is he lying? Only time will tell, but I hope he’s being truthful. I don’t want to think about what it’d mean if he could lie so seamlessly to me.

  And with all the downtime, there’s been more on my mind. “What did you do about my dad? Did you get into his accounts?”

  If Jacobi could do what he did to Sully as a kid, his skills in adulthood could be unparalleled.

  All expression drains from his face. “Nothing. I did nothing.”

  This time I know he’s lying. “Did you try?”

  “He was too well-protected.”

  I still sense a healthy dose of untruth, but at the same time, Natural Glow was left alone when it was nothing but a target for him. So maybe he isn’t lying? “I’ll go work more, until our date.”

  His gaze trails down my pink cami to my white shorts until it’s caressing my bare legs. We’ve had Cabo amounts of sex in the last three days, and if I stay in his office, we’ll have more. But I want tonight to be special and not put off because I don’t want to leave the bed with him.

  “Tonight.” I add extra sway to my hips when I leave.

  I’m looking forward to tonight. A date with my husband.

  Chapter 10

  Jacobi

  I’m getting ready for my date. With my wife. The whole idea is surreal. She wanted to go out, and she asked and I’m learning that there is nothing I won’t do for her.

  Tonight’s set up. Cannon will be trailing us wh
ere London can’t see. Kase is busy or he would’ve worked with Cannon.

  The thought of Kase doses me with more guilt. I was as honest with her as I could be. The less she knows of the extent of my attempts to destroy her father, the better. And if she never finds out how long I’ve known about her, even better.

  I finish up in the bathroom. Next, I pick out clothes. What does a guy wear on a date? I’ve always tossed on jeans and a polo for my hookups. I didn’t dress up, didn’t wear anything that would suggest the depth of my bank account.

  We’re only going to the movies, but it seems more important, more critical that I get it right. I select a pair of slacks and a button-up. To make it seem less formal, I roll up the sleeves and unbutton the top two buttons of the shirt. Is this look casual or douchey?

  I’m not used to second-guessing myself, but it’s growing more common around London.

  Downstairs, London’s at the island, one shapely leg crossed behind the other, her ass swaying in the air as she leans on the counter and scrolls through her computer. She’s come alive since she’s gone back to work. There’s only one other time I’ve been grateful not to have carried out one of my plans for retribution.

  Hearing my footsteps on the stairs, she turns, appreciation lighting her eyes. “Whoa. You clean up well.”

  I stand stiffly under her perusal, but use the time to look my fill. She added a touch of shadow that makes the blue of her eyes stand out. Her hair’s loose and wild but I’ve been around her enough to know that it took at least twenty minutes to get it that way. The gladiator sandals are impossibly sexy thanks to a large jean shirt belted with what resembles two necklaces more than a belt. It’s supposed to be a dress, but it reminds me of how she’s been using my shirts to sleep in at night.

  My mouth goes dry. We can stay home and I can unwrap her. But this night isn’t about me.

  A trickle of unease weaves through me. Saying I’m a homebody doesn’t adequately describe it. Delivery is a marvelous thing for a hermit. Some days, I’m in meetings all day—all virtual. When I hang up, it’s just me in the house.

  “Are you nervous?” She’s not teasing me. Real concern floats in her brilliant eyes.

  If it’s that obvious, I won’t pretend. “Yes.”

  “If you get too uncomfortable, let me know. We’ll come right home.”

  Not a chance. “I’ll be fine.”

  I’m ruining her night because I’m a pussy. I hate loud noises and big crowds but that doesn’t mean I’m allergic to them. I can go out when I need to. And when I’m with London, the whole experience changes. I’m focused on her and not how I’d rather be at home.

  I take her hand and lead her through the garage. At the car, I open the door for her. Her grin ties my insides up way worse than any time in Mexico. Because I’m not Jake. I’m not pretending to be someone else to seduce her. This is me being nice to her.

  As I circle around the back of the car, I send Cannon a message to let him know we’re heading out to eat. He already knows where.

  “Hope you feel like Japanese,” I say as I slide in.

  “If it’s that place on the beach, I’m always up for it.”

  I back out and whip down the lane. She chats about work and how Diana got her out of the Paris opening next week.

  Fuck. I missed that, figuring the company would be sold by then. But London doesn’t seem to mind. I’m sure she’s disappointed, but Paris is only a plane ride away for someone with her cash flow.

  As she talks, I watch the mirrors and the road the whole time, looking for vehicles that I haven’t seen in the neighborhood before. Everyone out walking their dog gets extra inspection. And I constantly monitor the rearview mirrors to make sure we aren’t being followed.

  Outside of the restaurant, I spot Cannon. He’s in a car, a plain gray sedan that blends into most neighborhoods, except for mine, which is ingenious. If Sully’s watching out for my friends, he won’t look for them in a family-mobile.

  Dinner’s no different than Cabo. With the barriers down between us, London talks about everything—except her family. But from Cabo, I know her dad was the most important thing in her life. I despised her dad, but the hate I had for him is waning. Evil people don’t raise someone with a big heart like London.

  “Have you talked to Diana at all yet?” A week ago, I asked the same thing for a very different reason.

  Her expression shutters. “No.”

  “You should.”

  She picks at her Bento box of desserts I only agreed to share with her because she wouldn’t order it otherwise. “I’d think you’d rather I don’t.”

  Yeah, she isn’t the only one. I take a long drink of water. “She’s your mom.”

  “They lied. About so much.”

  “If they had told you the truth from the beginning, what would’ve changed?”

  An adorable line forms between her brows. “I… don’t know.”

  “You would’ve been disappointed, then got over it.”

  “That would’ve made me just as responsible.”

  The troubled line across her forehead chews at my insides. “You were a kid.”

  “So were you.”

  I lean forward. “Because of you, I’m moving on from what your dad did to my family. I’m also…” I rub my temples because since I spilled the story to London, I’ve had to face some of my own questions that I’d ignored. “I’m also starting to shift the blame to two other people. My mom and dad.”

  Sympathy darkens the blue of her eyes. “I’m sorry. The nineties were a bad look for our parents, I think. But that doesn’t excuse that my dad is a thief.” She opens her mouth to say something, but goes back to a triple layer brownie wedge instead.

  “Tell me.”

  She sends me a frustrated glance. “If I believe Diana, and I’m not sure I do, I think my dad was alone in taking the money. Maybe she encouraged it, but I don’t know that she was behind it. She didn’t seem to know your parents, but”—she bites the inside of her lip before continuing—“Dad didn’t have good things to say about your mom and dad.”

  “Like what?” When she hesitates, I push her. “I need to know.”

  “Just that they were difficult to work with and non-committal, that they interfered every time Dad was making progress on their business plans. But I know Dad was the type to do things his way. The only boss for him was no boss.” She smiles apologetically.

  Memories surface. Mom arguing with Dad.

  Dammit, Jared. You think you’re always right. Just do what he wants. Quit gambling with our money.

  Me? Why don’t you put the joint down and write a few more recipes, Estelle? You obviously won’t let anyone else have a say in them. Leave it to me to take care of this fucking family.

  “What are you thinking?” London asks quietly.

  I blink and the restaurant comes back into focus. “Just remembering.”

  “Good things?”

  No. Incriminating things. Things that make my parents their own worst enemies.

  I smile, taking the risk that she won’t see past my bullshit. “What movie do you want to see?”

  * * *

  London

  The movie is almost over and I’ve enjoyed it in a way I haven’t in a long time. Instead of being paralyzed with concern that my date isn’t enjoying himself, or wondering if my over-the-top plans after will go over well, I’m just watching a good movie and Jacobi’s holding my hand.

  The couple behind us moved around too much to be holding hands, but when I heard the telltale sucking sound, I didn’t dare look back. But it reminded me of the shower a few days ago.

  It also reminds me of the time my first high school boyfriend pressured me into giving him head at the movies. I didn’t want to disappoint him, but I also didn’t want to get busted. I was sixteen and a daddy’s girl. My boyfriend had smelled like sweat and cheap cologne and the only thing that kept me from gagging was the risk of getting busted in the nearly empty theater. Little did
I know, he picked a show that had been out for weeks and wouldn’t have much of an audience.

  It was one of the many times I humiliated myself for a guy. My people-pleasing characteristics go well with my type of business, but not relationships. Do I have my mom’s abandonment to thank?

  Yet things are different with Jacobi. Understatement of the year, but I can’t help but think that if we’d met under any other circumstances, I’d already have a playlist made just for him, have new clothes in his favorite colors—which I still didn’t know—and would be cooking his favorite breakfast in the morning.

  And I don’t think he’d mind, but I like that I don’t feel the frantic drive to be accepted. The last two mornings, he’d already eaten by the time I woke up and my yogurt and banana were waiting by my computer.

  When the movie’s done, he nudges me and lifts his chin toward the couple scurrying out. I snicker and give him a knowing look, then gulp. The heat in his eyes tells me that he’s also thinking of our shower session.

  We should repeat that really soon.

  As the noise of the crowd shuffling out of the theater dies down, I squeeze his hand. “I need to use the restroom.”

  “Okay. I’ll pop into the men’s room, then wait out here for you.”

  Inside, the line of stalls has open doors. I go, wash my hands, and beat him back to our meeting spot between the restrooms.

  Another theater’s emptying and I glance over. My gaze lands on a too-familiar face and my stomach bottoms out.

  My ex Jonathon is leaving with his fiancée. The girl he’d proposed to after three months of meeting. I wasted two years trying to please his worthless ass and he dumped me for her as soon as he met her. Yet, he’s the one giving me dirty looks when we cross paths.

  I wish that market delivered their specialty juice.

  He sees me and his steps falter. His fiancée looks at him, then follows the direction of his gaze back to me.

  I force a smile. The only time I’m separated from Jacobi in a week and I run into an ex. Not just any, but the guy who lost his shit over how needy I was when I’d tearfully asked why he was ending things. “Hello, Jonathon.”