Tell Me True

by Ally Blake

  He told himself it was the elephant in the room making him feel tight in the body, loose in the head. The knowledge that while she sat there chatting like they were allies to her cause, she had no clue that their meeting had been a deliberate ploy by an invested third party.

  But when her hand landed on the table between them, settling mere millimetres from his own, it took physical effort not to contain her energy by wrapping it in his own. He pictured turning her hand palm up and feeling the warmth of her soft skin. Because touching her felt... Well, it felt better than not touching her.

  He pulled his hand away, shoved it beneath the table. His life was not conducive to entertaining such flights of fancy. It never had been.

  This thing with April was all business, and had been from the start.

  “April,” he said, cutting her off mid-story about her landlady’s son – one of a long line of poor saps who were smitten with her. “What legal arrangements do you have in place?”

  “Right. Time’s a ticking. A bit over four years ago, Mrs. Parsons and I agreed I could buy the attic outright and I’ve been paying amounts above and beyond rental ever since. The plan was for me to give her a balloon payment this year. Her seventieth birthday is coming up and she wants to visit her sister in Germany. But without the promotion and the pay raise that goes with it I’m screwed. And so is she. I’d rather not let things come to that.”

  April leaned down and then heaved her box onto the table. She dug through it till she found a spiral notebook which she passed to Finn. It had puppies on the cover. Inside was a list of dates, monetary amounts and dual signatures going back a few years.

  This he could deal with. Black and white, cold, hard fact. The ground beneath his feet shifted back to rights.

  “What else is in the box?”

  Turned out it was filled with bank statements going back to her teens, a decade’s worth of pay slips, even a letter of recommendation from her high school principal. And the contract for the Cinderella Project sat like a cherry on top.

  Forcing himself not to look at the thing, lest it somehow tar him with the same brush, he said, “And the contract of sale?”

  When April shook her head – slowly – he knew what was coming.

  “There is no actual contract. The deal was verbal. A handshake. We figured it out together using an online calculator.”

  She was serious.

  “Your lawyer—”

  “We never used lawyers. I just... This year things have turned weird for me.” She gave him a sly eye, as if he might be bundled up in all that too. “It’s felt like the life I knew has been slipping through my fingers faster than I can catch it.”

  Finn swallowed. He knew that feeling all too well.

  “Maybe I’ve let the heebie-jeebies get the better of me but I no longer feel like it’s a risk I can take. Is this something you could help me with? Putting together a simple contract that won’t upset a little, old lady who’s always been kind to me?”

  “I’m not an accountant, April. Or a lawyer. Or a financial advisor for that matter.”

  “So?”

  “They have codes of practice they follow or else they lose their licenses. I work in investments but more in the... brawn side of things.”

  Her mouth quirked. She liked that. She shouldn’t.

  “My methods are cutthroat, April. Without mercy. Little old ladies”—and sweet, bright, nice girls—“need not apply.”

  “What you are is smart. Savvy. Discreet. Considerate.”

  “April—”

  “And I trust you.”

  Well, if that wasn’t the be all and end all. She trusted him. Him. A man known best for his cajoling, coercion, conquest, and that was by those who thought they knew him at all. A man who was lying to her simply by being there. Finn found himself torn between wanting to shake some sense into her and kissing her till she saw stars.

  In the end he did neither. Even though he usually worked with millions and April had been pouring a few hundred dollars a month into a spiral notebook, he couldn’t leave this job to anyone else.

  Because it was important to her. And she trusted him.

  Finn slid the lid back onto the box, and as it snicked into place he felt something inevitable settle over him.

  His voice was gruff as he said, “Leave this with me.”

  A smile broke out across her face, smoothing the lines that had popped out above her nose. “Really? Oh thank you, Finn. I cannot tell you what a relief that is. And I meant it when I said I’d pay for your services. Hoping you’ll take pity on me and work fast.”

  “Do you want fast, or do you want thorough?”

  The double entendre reverberated between them like a little earthquake.

  Her eyes widened. Her tongue darted out to wet her top lip. “Dare I hope for both?”

  Finn’s grip on the box tightened.

  “Anyway,” she said, her voice a little rough, “I’d better get back to work. And that box of goodies isn’t going to sort itself out.”

  But she didn’t move.

  Neither, though, did he.

  And, in the silence, their strange, quixotic connection seemed to twist and tighten, looping lazily around them like an invisible lasso.

  “Are you around this weekend?” Finn Ward, last of the great conversationalists. “In case I have questions.”

  She nodded. Slowly. Then she glanced away, feigning nonchalance and failing miserably. “I’m helping my sister with a thing at the North Sydney pool on Saturday morning. Catching up with Hazel, from my Cinderella Project thing, in the afternoon. Apart from that...” Shrug. Her eyes swung back to his. “You?”

  He lifted his hand, placed it on her “box of goodies”.

  She nodded. Her mouth quirking. Then she pulled herself to standing. “You have my number now. For the questions you may have.”

  “And you have mine.”

  Her sparkling silver eyes held his. Gave away far more of what she was thinking, feeling, more than was in any way sensible. “That I do. See you ’round, Finn.”

  “See you, April.”

  Chapter Seven

  Saturday morning Finn punished himself with a run and AC/DC pumped up to eleven.

  The evening before he’d been contacted by his legal firm yet again.

  Finn’s father’s lawyers had sent another letter to Finn’s lawyer’s Melbourne office who had emailed a copy to their Sydney counterparts. Finn had then picked up an untraceable hard copy from them on his way home from work. It was a circuitous method of communication, which was entirely point. The partitions necessary to keep his father from tracking him down.

  The second letter had been less dry than the first, attempting to play on Finn’s finer emotions. It spelled out a day in the life of his father whilst in prison. Listed injuries he’d sustained. Time spent in hospital. And it talked up his sobriety. The hours spent getting his high school equivalency. His work in the prison library, teaching others how to read. His true and honest regret about the things he had done.

  It was carefully edited bullshit. “Honesty” and “service” were concepts Finn’s father, Cillian, had laughed at his entire life. The man was unreservedly selfish and dangerous.

  And he wasn’t going away.

  Asics pounding the pavement, Finn thought through his options as they now stood.

  Help his father on the proviso the man left him be—not believing for a second it was a promise the man would keep. Or refuse his father, knowing that eventually Cillian would get out and come for him, bringing all the vengeance he’d had been saving up for the last fifteen years.

  No matter which way his decision fell, the day his father was a free man Finn would be smoke.

  Finn had no idea how long or far he’d run or where until the twin spires of Luna Park peeked over the top of the walls of the North Sydney pool. By then his legs were so knackered they shook and even as he switched off his mP3 player “Back in Black” resonated against the back of his sku
ll.

  He showed his membership at the gate and jogged inside.

  The water of the main pool rippled, cool and inviting. The sky was an endless blue dome bar; the Harbour Bridge hovering like a great sweeping sculpture over one side. Eyes on the Olympic-sized pool, he tucked his headphones around his phone and tossed his gear onto a spare lounge.

  Drenched in sweat his shirt made a shucking sound as he tore it over his head. He nudged his running shoes off with his toes. He stretched out his shoulder. It had felt like a trapped cluster of nerves the whole damn run. He knew it was psychosomatic. He’d healed. The letter had brought back memories of the day it had been injured, with them phantom pain.

  Figuring fresh pain was the only way to block out the old, he went in search of a lap lane.

  Then a familiar head popped out of the pool at his feet.

  Wavy curls had gone sleek and dark in the water. Wet skin gleamed as slick as a dream. Star-shaped clips sparkled all over her head, and flowers had been painted onto the back of her hands. But the big grey eyes and wide pink mouth could only belong to April Swanson.

  For the life of him, he couldn’t come up with any other reason why his feet had taken him all the way across the bridge at that time on that day except she’d told him she’d be there.

  The knowledge that he’d felt pain and gone to her for solace shook him to the core.

  He’d known her mere days. Had gone no further than to kiss her in a dodgy bar. Yet she had an unparalleled way of giving herself away that meant he knew more about her than he did about people he’d worked with for years.

  Well, that was her doing. He’d never asked to be given such intimate insight. He could deny his father. He could keep Frank and his family safe. He could damn well handle a tricky, slippery redhead.

  So he planted his feet and waited for her to show her face. Until the thought of handling the slippery redhead meant he had to discreetly rearrange himself before crouching at the edge of the pool.

  “Well, if it isn’t my beloved. In the flesh.”

  April looked up, shading her face from the sun. Her eyes grew comically wide before her hand slipped off the edge of the pool and she began to sink.

  Coughing and spluttering she clawed her way back to the surface. She spat a clump of hair from her mouth before gaping up at him in comical surprise.

  “Finn! What are you doing—Oh, The apartment contract. Have you drawn it up already?”

  He had. Leaving nothing to chance, he’d had an in-house accountant and lawyer draft it to make sure April was covered for every eventuality – little old lady be hanged. He’d planned to courier it to her on Monday, from a great distance. Before his feet and his subconscious had brought him here.

  “You’ll have it soon,” he said.

  “Right. I mean, there’s hardly room for you in those shorts much less legal documents.” She blinked; her gaze going from dreamy to suspicious in a half second flat. “So what are you doing here?”

  Finn dipped his hands in the cool water beside her and sluiced it over his hot skin. “Finished a run. Plan is to wash off the heat with a few laps.”

  When no response came he looked to April to find her watching the water trail over his skin, her huge eyes drinking him in. She pushed her hair out of her eyes to get a better look – most of it anyway. The rest stuck to her damp skin; threads and curls flowing down her neck like rusty ivy.

  He tried not to remember what it was felt like to kiss her in that dodgy bar. To feel her melting in his arms. Her soft sighs playing over his lips. The clarity of her eyes as she’d said “I trust you.” He’d never be able to stand back up at this rate.

  She shook her head, the lust clearing. A little. Then her eyes began darting about the pool as if in search of something. Or someone. “When I told you I’d be here it wasn’t some pathetic attempt at getting you here, you know?”

  “Thanks for clearing that up.” A beat, then, “So why did you tell me?”

  She blinked, wheels whirring behind her big, grey eyes as she tried to come up with a logical excuse. Meanwhile, he scratched his bicep as the sweat prickled. Her gaze followed. Trailing over his arm before snagging on his bare chest. Then her gaze moved to the sweat-soaked shorts clinging to his thighs.

  She swallowed, hard.

  Knowing hard would soon be the word of the day, he distracted her, reaching out and unhooking a stream of hair caught on her lip.

  Her tongue followed. And a whole different kind of heat kicked and bucked inside of him.

  Pull yourself together, you idiot. Where the hell did you leave your infamous cool?.

  Finn looked off to the wayside, much the same way Pretty Boy had at the bar the other night, pretending to be in search of something better. Saw families. Lapsters, like him. A woman in a tutu, pigtails, and knee high boots trying to herd a group of kids around a picnic table.

  Nothing better than the vision in the pool. Not even close.

  His gaze slid back to April. “You mentioned you were coming here with your sister.”

  She blinked. More than once. “I did? I did. Yeah, she’s around somewhere. Anyway, you have to go wash off all that sweat. And I have to get back to—” The words stopped.

  “Get back to what?”

  “Nothing. It doesn’t matter. Off you go.”

  She was so ready to get rid of him he wasn’t going anywhere. The sparkly clips in her hair. The fact that she was so low in the water her chin was submerged. Something wasn’t right here. Even while it was in both of their best interests to take her at her word and leave, Finn felt a smile tug at his mouth.

  April’s eyes scrunched, her mouth dipped down at the edges, her expression pleading mercy even as she said, “Fine! My sister Erica is the one in the tutu.”

  Finn followed April’s gaze and found Erica easily enough.

  “She needs to find a new career after blowing the last one. She’d thinking hosting kids’ birthday parties is the way to go.”

  The redhead picked up a pool noodle and was using it like a cattle prod to keep a herd of kids at bay.

  “I’m thinking she ought to think again.”

  April laughed. Then some more, the sound now slightly hysterical. “You’re preaching to the choir. Her real skill is guilting me into helping her. If she could make a living at that she’d be set. Do you have a sister?”

  Finn shook his head. His stomach clenched as he waited for the follow up – did he have a brother. Yes. No. Once upon a time.

  But she didn’t go there. Too busy trying to keep afloat.

  Then with an oath that belied the sparkly clips, she gave up. Leant back. And kicked out into the pool.

  Whatever breath Finn had left in his overworked lungs burst out in a cough.

  Beneath the clear shimmer of the water lurked a mermaid, ripped straight from the dreams of lonely sailors. Fake seaweed – and not much else – trailed from the pale pink edges of her swimmers. Shiny translucent scales covered her torso, all the way to her hips. From there, just before things got real interesting, in lieu of legs she wore a tail.

  Finn glanced around to see if anyone else was seeing this. If he’d run himself so hard he was hallucinating. But the Harbour Bridge curved regally over one end of the sports complex. The tip of Luna Park peaked over the other. And around the pool kids squealed, swimmers swam, and people went about their business as if a siren wasn’t present among them.

  “You’re a mermaid,” he blurted.

  She twirled her tail behind her as she edged her way to the ladder. “I was a mermaid. But thank dog that duty is now done. Because this thing is heavy. Meaning I’d really like to get out of the pool now.”

  “Need some help.”

  “I’m good.”

  From there she tried – and failed – to get herself out of the pool. And, in the process, offered up now-you-see-them-now-you-don’t glimpses of cleavage, curving out the top of pale pink togs that were all too close to the colour of her skin. It didn’t take much o
f an imagination to picture her without them. And Finn’s imagination was just fine.

  Cheeks pinking, lips pressing, she held up a hand. “I’m not good. Do me a favour – grab my hand. And don’t laugh.”

  “That’s two favours.”

  A muscle leapt in her jaw. “Finn—”

  “What kind of fake boyfriend would I be if I refused?” He got her by both wrists and pulled her neatly from the pool.

  She was as slippery as he’d imagined, though cool to the touch. But he could feel the warmth of her pulsing beneath. Erratically.

  His wildly bucking pulse was a perfect match. And the last thing he felt like doing was laughing.

  Once out, she fixed her seaweed, ran a hand over her hair and hitched her tail over her arm. Water droplets slunk from the ends of her hair and down her arms. Beneath the lank seaweed, her bikini top cupped her lean curves to perfection. Her sweet bellybutton showed through the glitter.

  Looking down at her bare feet, she wriggled her toes, laughed, and said, “I look ridiculous.”

  “You are incandescent.”

  She glanced up. Frowned. Not sure whether to take him at face value.

  He didn’t blame her. This... whatever this was, hadn’t started off on the most honest of footings. And it had continued in the same crooked vein.

  The urge to tell her about his link to Hazel gathered thick and fast on his tongue. It wasn’t too late to do the right thing.

  They were both grown-ups. Maybe she’d laugh it off. Maybe she’d also let him toss her over his shoulder and carry her home. Let him peel the costume from her sweet, wet body an inch at a time. Kissing away the goose bumps now tingling over her skin until they were both wet, and steamy and lost.

  But it wouldn’t stop there. April had started chipping away at his shields the moment she sat down beside him at the bar and she hadn’t ceased since.

  Some truths were living things. They tore through people leaving only desolation in their wake. And Finn’s greatest strength, most decisive asset, was in his containment.

  He literally took a step back.

  April didn’t miss a trick. She put more space between them. Then more again. “Ravishing as this thing is, it weighs a tonne. Enjoy your laps, Finn. I guess I’ll hear from you when the contract’s ready.”