The Arrangement

by Kiersten Modglin

  “I’m not trying to make things complicated for you.”

  “You’re sleeping with my roommate,” she said, her voice echoing down the hall. I heard Mallory walk out of the townhome, slamming the front door. Her eyes followed her then landed back on me.

  “I slept with her once,” I said. “Yes. You’re right.”

  “And I’m guessing you came back today to do the same thing.”

  “I just…” I felt vulnerability creeping in. “I needed someone to talk to. Someone who wouldn’t judge me.”

  “Is that what you want, Peter? To talk?”

  I nodded as she tapped her fingers against the wood of the door, contemplating. She sighed and stepped back. “Come in.”

  I walked into her bedroom, shocked and relieved to see that it was triple the size of Mallory’s and starkly opposite in hygiene. There were no plates of rotting food or piles of clothing lying around. Instead, the room was pristine. Her closet was neat and color coordinated, her bed made, desk with a laptop in the corner tidy and organized. To my surprise, I realized the room smelled like her. I hadn’t realized I knew her scent until that moment, but being in that space, I was brought back to the office and the many times she’d leaned over to hand me a stack of papers or come near me to point to a place where I’d need to sign. It was warm and sweet, filling me with a strange sense of calm.

  “Thank you,” I said as she shut the door. She crossed her arms, staring at me as she waited for me to start saying whatever it was I needed to say. “First of all, I wanted to apologize again for ditching you in the middle of dinner the other night.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Like I told you, there was an emergency at home, and I didn’t have a choice… I had to rush. I was hoping to see you at work today so I could pay you back for the meals and explain better.”

  “I called out,” she said. “Not because of you. I needed some time for myself.”

  “Sure… I totally understand,” I said eagerly, pulling out my wallet. “How much was it? I want to cover both our meals.”

  She reached out, putting her hand over my wallet and pushing it away. “I don’t want your money, Peter. I make practically the same salary as you, and I don’t have a family to support. Trust me, I’ve got it.”

  “Well, I’d still like to pay.”

  “I don’t want it,” she said.

  I felt myself growing warm with embarrassment. “Well, let me take you out again, then? To make up for it?”

  A small smile grew on her lips, but she forced it back down, as if it had snuck up on her. “I don’t know. This is all a little too much.”

  “The Mallory thing? I didn’t know she was your roommate. I had no idea, I swear.”

  She scoffed. “She’s my tenant. I own the place, rent out the two top floor bedrooms, and she’s batshit crazy, so yeah, I’m a little concerned about the whole you’ve-slept-with-my-roommate-who-will-probably-start-adding-Nair-to-my-shampoo thing. Plus, you’ve got your family, and there are things going on there you can’t or won’t discuss. It’s…a lot. And I’m just coming off a breakup myself. I need calm for a while and this isn’t it.”

  “I know,” I said. “I’m sorry. For the record, I wish it wasn’t this way…” I was hit with a sudden pang of sadness for her and for what could’ve been if we’d met under different circumstances.

  “Look, I know you’re technically my boss and you could fire me for saying this, but…if you want your life to be something different than it is, just… God, fix it, Peter. It’s your life, and absolutely no one has more control over it than you.”

  “Well, it’s not that simple, is it? Some circumstances are out of my control.”

  “Then get them under your control,” she said. “Don’t hook up with random girls you don’t know. Figure out your shit with your wife—stay in your marriage or get out, but quit straddling the line. People like to pretend they have no control over the way their life turns out, but the truth is that they just refuse to deal with the hard stuff because it’s too painful and messy. You know what’s even more painful and sticky? Prolonging bad situations for your own comfort. No one can solve your problems for you, Peter. No one wants to.” She sighed, her eyes filling with sorrow. “Just…figure it out.”

  “I will,” I promised her. “I am.” At that moment, I knew she was right. No one had ever said it to me like that, but she was right. I needed the tough love she’d given me. I needed to take control. I needed to handle this. No longer was I going to let Ainsley control everything. I was an adult whose future was being decided by our next moves. I had every right to make decisions about our lives.

  “Good,” she said, then reached for the door. “You should go. I’ll see you at work.”

  “Thank you,” I said, shuffling across the room and out the door. I felt the urge to apologize again, but I resisted.

  I walked out of the townhome, surprised to see Mallory waiting by my car. “Are you leaving?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I should get going,” I said hesitantly. “I shouldn’t have come by. Listen, I’m sorry for…”

  “Wasting my time? Making me look like an idiot? Embarrassing me in front of my roommate?”

  “Yeah, that… I never meant to waste your time, Mallory. I had a lot of fun with you—”

  “Don’t,” she cut me off. “I know who I am, okay? I know why men like you choose to match with me. I was nothing more than a one-nighter to you, and that’s fine. But then you showed up here today all Love, Actually, and I thought ‘hm, Mallory, maybe you were wrong about this one… Maybe he’s one of the good guys.’ I thought you were going to do some big romantic gesture like the fucking idiot I am.”

  “You’re not—”

  “But I was wrong, like always. You aren’t one of the good guys, Pete. You aren’t one of the good guys at all.” She launched her foot back and kicked my car’s bumper, cracking the plastic.

  “What the hell?” I demanded, staring at her in disbelief.

  “Serves you right,” she huffed, storming past me. “Don’t fucking contact me or come here ever again.”

  She slammed the door, and I stared at the crack in my bumper. What the hell just happened? I realized then that Gina likely hadn’t been joking about Mallory adding Nair to her shampoo. I shook my head, forcing the thought away. A cracked bumper was the least of my worries, but I would fix that, too.

  From here on out, I was going to fix things. I wasn’t leaving it all up to Ainsley anymore. I was going to do things my way for a while. Whether she liked it or not.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  AINSLEY

  As I’d expected they would, the police pulled into our driveway that evening while Peter was out. I’d hoped Illiana would’ve kept her mouth shut, but I knew that wasn’t likely to be the case.

  The officer that stepped from the vehicle was around six foot tall, and wide, but made purely of muscle. His strong jaw and tough expression could be seen from where I stood at the door. His partner was short and thin, with red hair and freckles spattering his pale skin. It was hard not to notice the juxtaposition of the pair.

  I opened the door before they reached me. “Hello. Can I help you, Officers?”

  “Are you Ainsley Greenburg?” the short one asked.

  “I am.”

  “I’m Officer Chad, and this is Officer Andrews,” he said, gesturing toward his large and in charge, but oddly silent, partner. “We’d like to speak with you about Stefan De Luca.”

  “Of course, come inside.” I held the door open wider, letting them past me. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Officer Andrews said, startling me with his booming voice. It matched his frame perfectly. “Let’s take a seat.”

  I gestured toward the couch, and they sank down before I took my place across from them. “Illiana said they found his truck. Does that mean they found him? Is he okay?”

  They exchanged a glance, and Officer Chad ans
wered, “No, ma’am. We were able to locate his truck and they’ve begun to do DNA analysis, but there are no signs of Officer De Luca yet. Can you tell us what your relationship to Officer De Luca is?”

  “Officer,” I whispered the word, staring into space as it hit me, “that’s right. He’s a police officer, isn’t he? I keep forgetting. Do you guys know him?”

  Again, they exchanged a look, and Officer Andrews said, “We do, ma’am. We’ve worked with him for quite a while.”

  “And your relationship with him is…” Officer Chad went on, clicking his pen.

  “Sorry, I, um, I don’t really know him. We met on an app, Dater, and we went on a date last Tuesday. We’d messaged each other a few times, and I’m sure Illiana told you he came over on Friday night. But I never let him inside my house. We didn’t talk, and he left a short while later. I haven’t heard from him since.”

  “Why didn’t you let him inside?”

  “I, er,” I rubbed a finger across my forehead, “I don’t want to speak ill of your friend.”

  “Anything you can tell us at this point would be helpful to our investigation. We all want the same thing here.”

  “Well, to be honest, his messages had gotten a little…obsessive. I’m having problems with my marriage and I made a mistake, but I didn’t want a relationship with him. It was just…like I said, it was a mistake. But Stefan didn’t seem to understand that. At first I thought he was being nice, but then after he didn’t stop messaging me when I was ignoring him, I started worrying about what he might do. I had no idea he was a cop, so when he learned my real name, I panicked. And then he showed up at my house… I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t feel safe letting him in. I wanted him to leave me alone.”

  “Did you tell him that?”

  “I ignored him. I felt awful for leading him on.”

  “Is there anyone who can corroborate your story about that night?” Andrews asked.

  “Besides Stefan?” I asked, furrowing my brows. “I don’t think so. I called my husband to come home—he’d been working late—but by the time he got here, Stefan had gone. I hadn’t heard from him since, so I assumed he’d given up. Then I saw the news.”

  “Is it possible your husband went after him after he left? Maybe he was angry that Officer De Luca had scared you?”

  “No, no. Definitely not. Peter didn’t leave my side that night after I called him to come home. I was too freaked out. And he had no idea what Stefan looked like or what he drove. He wouldn’t have known how to find him or have had any reason to want to.”

  “I’m assuming he was angry about your affair, though?”

  “No, he wasn’t. We’d agreed to take some space, see other people, clear our heads. He wasn’t mad about Stefan.”

  Officer Andrews scribbled something down while Officer Chad pressed on. “Is your husband here, by any chance? We’d love to get his take on a few things.”

  “He’s not at the moment. He stepped out for a bit. Would you like me to call him and have him come home? It shouldn’t take long for him to get here.”

  “Well, we’ll get to that, but first, do you still have the messages between you and Officer De Luca? To give us some proof that what you’re saying is true.”

  “Sure,” I said, reaching over to the side table and pulling out my phone. I opened the Dater app and searched for his profile. As soon as I did, my heart sank. He was gone. His profile had disappeared.

  My throat grew dry.

  Then, with a wave of relief, I remembered that I had blocked him. I went to my settings and found him, hoping and praying that unblocking him would bring our old messages back up.

  To my relief, it did. Once I could see the messages again, I held the phone out to the officers. “It starts here,” I said, pointing to the conversation. “You can see where we first started talking, when he suggested we go out to eat, a message before we got there to say he was excited. Then, that night, he sent me a message to say he’d had a nice time and hoped to see me again. I didn’t respond. Then, if you scroll down, you’ll see the other messages he sent me. He said he was thinking about me, said he’d hoped to go out again soon. Asked if he could call me. Then, when I still wasn’t answering, the messages started coming more and more.” I scrolled down, through the intense, incessant messages until we reached the end. The last message I had from him.

  I’m outside. I need to see you.

  The officers read through the messages, scrolling back up and reading them again. Officer Chad handed the phone back to me, clearing his throat. He appeared shaken. “And there are no other messages?”

  “No. I didn’t give him my phone number. Although, now that I think about it, I did have a few missed calls from a blocked number during the time he was messaging me, and I haven’t had any since. Do you think those could’ve been him?”

  “It’s possible,” he said. “We’ve been combing through his phone records, so we can find out.”

  I nodded. “I don’t understand what he wanted from me. The date was mediocre at best.”

  The officers looked grim but didn’t respond right away.

  “Mrs. Greenburg, why didn’t you contact us when you’d heard the news? You obviously knew that this information could’ve helped our investigation,” Officer Chad said.

  My heart fluttered. “To be honest, I was worried about it all coming out. Our marital issues. Seeing other people. It’s embarrassing. I didn’t want my kids to find out…or our coworkers, our friends. And, like I said, I truly don’t have very much information at all.” I hung my head. “That’s no excuse, I know. It was wrong. I should’ve come forward. Under any other circumstances, I would have. But I’ve told you everything I know now.”

  When I looked back up, they were watching me carefully, waiting to see if I’d say more. I cleared my throat.

  “Do you still want me to call my husband?”

  The wrinkle on Officer Andrews’ forehead deepened as he leaned forward over his knees. “I don’t think it’ll be necessary, but if either of you do remember something else from that night, or from any of your other communications with Stefan De Luca, could you let us know?”

  “Of course,” I said. Officer Andrews held out a business card, and I tucked it into my pocket. “Thank you.”

  The men stood, making their way toward the door. “Thank you, ma’am. We’ll get going now and out of your hair.”

  “I hope you find him,” I offered sadly. “I hope he’s okay.”

  They didn’t turn around or respond as they continued out the door, and once they were pulling away, I waved casually. A few moments later, I saw Peter driving down the driveway, incredibly thankful he’d stayed gone long enough for me to get through the interview.

  He’d surely have blown it.

  I stepped outside and stuck my hands in my pockets, running the card between my fingers. If I needed them, I could call. I laughed to myself, tapping my foot on the wood of the porch. I could handle things just fine on my own.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  PETER

  When I got home, I was exhausted. My body was sore, my mind fuzzy and angry. I needed to sleep. I needed to shower off the crazy of the day. I walked through the garage, into the house, and up the stairs. Ainsley was standing in the hall with a strange expression on her face.

  She didn’t speak, didn’t ask what I’d been up to. Perhaps she suspected she knew. Either way, I had no desire to recount the events of the night for her.

  I walked into the bathroom and stripped out of my clothes, turning on the shower. After a few minutes, I heard the door open again and saw her walk inside through the beveled glass of the shower door.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked over the noise of the shower.

  “The police were here,” she said, her voice calm and cool.

  I shut the water off, my body cold with shock. “What?”

  “It’s fine. I handled it.”

  She lifted her shirt over her head then stepped out of h
er pants, pulling the door open and joining me in the long shower stall. She turned the water back on, turning the temperature up so the steam billowed around us.

  For a long time, we just stood there, staring at each other. There was a kind of understanding there. We were in this together, and I think maybe we were both realizing that and fully accepting it. After a moment, she reached her hands out, wrapping them around my body.

  The softness of her middle met the softness of mine, and we stood there, breathing and existing. I refused to think of anything else except how much I loved her. About what I would do to protect her.

  When she pulled away, she trailed her hand down my stomach, her eyes meeting mine with unexpected, red-hot desire. I felt myself growing hard in reaction to the look in her eyes, even harder as her nails ran down my thigh.

  I closed my eyes as she reached up, her hands gripping my neck as she kissed my lips softly. The kiss was gentle and sweet at first, then fiery all at once. A flame of passion exploded in my core, and I pulled away from her, spinning her around and shoving her into the wall. I pressed myself up against her back, my mouth on her neck, her shoulders. I bit down gently, then harder, applying pressure until she squealed. When she did, I let up, putting my mouth next to her ear as I entered her. I squeezed her breast, closing my eyes as I focused on her rhythmic breathing.

  It was fast and hot, animalistic. There was no love in our sex right then, only pure passion, anger, and desire. I needed her, and she needed me. We let ourselves be used by the other.

  When it was over, we collapsed together, sinking down to the floor of the shower, our bodies melded together as the water sprayed down on our stomachs. We lay there in silence for what seemed like an eternity before she turned her head to look at me, the water splashing in her face, droplets dripping off her nose and lips. Despite that, she barely blinked, almost oblivious to it happening.

  She is so beautiful.

  “You okay?” I asked, and she nodded.