by Elise Noble
My hands were shaking. Actually shaking. Anger and frustration bubbled to the surface, and I thumped the dining table as my first tears leaked out. One brick at a time, the walls I’d carefully built around myself were crumbling, and I didn’t know how to shore them up.
Soft knocking made me jump.
“Imogen? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it came out.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Will you let me explain?”
I didn’t bother to answer, just hurried into my bedroom and closed the door behind me. Thank goodness my roommate had gone to visit a friend this weekend instead of being around to witness the drama. Was it too early for wine? Oh, I almost forgot—I’d drunk it all.
On another day, I might have gone to the store, but with Malachi outside, I regressed to my childhood and burrowed under the quilt instead. Not that it had ever helped. When I used to hide from my brother that way, he still found me every single time.
Then I heard a strange scratching noise, and my bedroom door opened. What the hell?
“Did you just break into my apartment?”
Of course he did. I knew damn well I’d locked the front door.
“I was worried about you.”
“I’m fine. Do me a favour and go away.”
“You’re not fine. You’re crying.” Malachi sat on the edge of my bed, and I couldn’t muster up the strength to wipe my tears, let alone push him away. “Imogen, I’m sorry. I realise how what I said sounded, but all I meant was that you’re beautiful.”
Huh?
“Believe me, I’m the least likely person to take a jab at somebody over their past because I know exactly how that feels.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re not the only one with a time in your life you’d rather forget.”
“I bet you didn’t end up selling yourself to make ends meet.”
“I might have if I hadn’t been such a Neanderthal.” He paused. “Maybe then I wouldn’t have ended up in prison.”
Prison? Prison? The word sent a chill through me, an icy rush that froze my blood and turned my thoughts sluggish. My father was in prison, and if there were any justice in the world, my brother would have been his cellmate.
That Malachi had been inside put him on their level, and the thought of being so close to a criminal left me nauseous. I tightened the quilt around myself instinctively, and the hurt in his eyes said my reaction didn’t go unnoticed.
“W-w-what for?” Dammit, Imogen. Keep your big mouth shut. “S-s-sorry. I mean, that’s none of my business. Forget I asked.”
He shrugged, a nonchalant gesture when the tension in his frame said he was anything but relaxed. The fingers of his left hand picked at a loose thread on his shorts before he shoved his hands into his pockets.
“I used to steal from the rich to feed the poor.”
“Like Robin Hood?”
He gave me a lopsided smile. “I was the poor.”
“Oh.”
“I figured the folks I took money from had plenty of it, and some of them were real assholes. That was my downfall.”
“Why? What happened?” Even though I knew I should keep my mouth shut, I couldn’t help asking.
“I broke into the wrong house.”
“It had an alarm?”
“Yeah, but I bypassed that. Even back then, I was good with electronics.”
And locks, it seemed. I thought back to how quickly he’d got into my apartment and shuddered. Once he’d gone, I’d drag the sideboard across the door at night until I could convince the landlord to fit a bolt on the inside.
“I can still see the place now,” Malachi continued. “A huge mansion over in Rybridge, his ’n’ hers Porsches in the driveway, swimming pool, chandeliers and original paintings in every room. But the couple came home while I was in there.”
Holy crap. That was worse than the time I got caught by a client’s wife. She chased me through the house with a golf club until her husband tackled her in the living room.
“And they caught you in the act?”
“No, I hid. Figured I’d wait until they went to sleep then leave. But they got into a fight in the hallway, and I honestly thought the fucker was gonna kill his wife, so I stepped in and stopped him.”
Wow. That wasn’t the ending I’d expected.
“But that makes you a hero.”
“The judge didn’t see it that way. The husband ran out and called the cops, and they arrived while I was waiting for the ambulance.”
“Didn’t they give you leniency or something? Seeing as you saved a woman’s life?”
“Turned out the husband was an attorney, and they threw the book at me.”
“But he beat up his wife.”
“Those assholes stick together. Half of them are crooked or worse. I got two years, and he got a smack on the wrist until he killed her six months later and got put away for manslaughter. Three years.” Malachi gave a hollow laugh. “Manslaughter. He murdered her, and his sentence was only one year longer than mine.”
“So he’s out now?”
“Nah, he only lasted three months inside. Picked a fight with the wrong guy. Nobody in the Deerfield Correctional Center likes arrogant attorneys.”
While I could never condone cold-blooded murder, it did seem as if the man got what he deserved. Poetic justice served up prison-style. Malachi had managed to stay out of trouble, and if his current job was anything to go by, he’d used the experience to turn his life around. I loosened my grip on the quilt a little, because even though he was an ex-con and he’d walked into my home uninvited, I didn’t feel threatened.
“Were you in the same prison as him?”
He shook his head. “I got sent to Indian Creek.”
“What happened when you were released? You got a legitimate job?”
That was what I’d done after I quit the escort business. I began working as a barista, and even though the money was worse, I found living with myself much easier. The biggest rewards weren’t always monetary. When I glanced around my bedroom, I was weirdly proud of what I’d achieved against the odds.
But Malachi just snorted in a manner that reminded me of Deon. “Any idea how many people are willing to employ an ex-con? Not many.”
“So what did you do?”
“While I was inside, I took a horticulture course. Don’t laugh—it was all part of my grand plan to start a cannabis farm. At the time, I thought it was a smart idea, that it’d be safer than burglarising places, but when the time came to walk out of the prison gates, I swore I’d do everything I could to avoid going back there. Am I boring you yet?”
“No, but if you don’t want to talk about it...”
“Figure I owe you an explanation for behaving like an asshole earlier.” There was that wonky smile again, and my heart gave a skip.
“I might have overreacted a tiny bit. I guess that my past’s such a big part of me that sometimes I jump to conclusions, and I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to apologise for.”
A tear rolled down my cheek, not because I was upset, but because he was being nice to me. My emotions were all over the place this week.
“Here.” He passed me a tissue. “Want me to go?”
Strangely, I didn’t. “How did you go from horticulture to security work? Isn’t that a big jump?”
“Yeah, it is. For months, I couldn’t get any job at all. I went to fifty-seven interviews, but nobody wanted to employ a scruffy homeless guy who’d barely scraped through high school.”
“High school was my refuge. I spent as much time there as I could so I didn’t have to go home.”
Why did I just tell him that? I hardly told anybody about my childhood, and especially not people I’d only just met. Stef knew the basics, and I’d made a drunken confession to Octavia one night many years ago, but that was it for people in Richmond. Even Roxy didn’t have a clue. I’d been glossing over the details for so long now that it’d beco
me second nature, at least until I was confronted with a man who let me see into his damn soul. I bit my lip so hard it drew blood, and Malachi must have understood my pain because he gave me a small smile but didn’t push the matter.
“I didn’t go home much either. Too busy hustling.”
“So how did you end up working for Blackwood?”
“Did you know Emmy and her husband run a charity foundation?”
I shook my head. They were notoriously secretive, and I’d only heard snippets about them from Stef and Oliver, and occasionally Roxy.
“They support the homeless in Richmond, and the pastor at the soup kitchen referred me to their project for help. A week later, I was working as a gardener at their estate. They gave me somewhere to live, a wage, and most importantly, their trust. I owe them everything, and all they’ve ever asked is that I pay it forward.”
Something clicked in my head. “Is that why you take Deon to watch baseball?”
“He’s a good kid, but his mom works three jobs, and he’s stuck at home a lot of the time. If he makes his grades at school, we go out and do shit.” Malachi finally stood up. “But enough about me. Do you need anything before I head off? More tissues? Ice cream? It’s probably too early for wine.”
“You’re leaving?”
“I still have to fly to Florida. But don’t worry—I’ll go alone. It was wrong of Sofia to push you into this in the first place.”
So many revelations in such a short time, and my brain was still struggling to sort through them. Malachi wasn’t who I thought he was, that was for sure. Since I met him last year, I’d elevated him to some mythical Superman figure in my mind, a hero who swooped in to save girls from their own stupidity. Finding out he wasn’t all that different from me was…unexpected. Yes, the shadier parts of his past had surprised me—perhaps even alarmed me, if I was honest—but if I couldn’t see past those to the person he’d become, then I’d be guilty of double-standards.
“Wait!”
He stopped halfway to my bedroom door, turned, and raised one gorgeous eyebrow.
“I’ll come with you.” I tried to get out of bed, but my legs got tangled in the quilt, and I tumbled to the floor. “Owww!”
“Fuck.” Malachi was at my side in an instant to hoist me up by my armpits. “Are you hurt?”
“I just landed on my bruised ass.”
Now we were standing close. Too close. I took a pace back because sharing Malachi’s airspace made my breath hitch.
“How the hell did you bruise your ass?” he asked.
“Sofia didn’t tell you?”
I was starting to see a theme here.
“Sofia provides information on a need-to-know basis only, and she obviously thought I didn’t need to know.”
“Well, the night before last, a ride home went really, really wrong…” I gave Malachi a brief summary of my week so far—three disastrous dates and a rescue by Sofia in the middle of the night. “And that’s why I can never go back to the gym.”
His mouth set into a hard line. “Sofia’s handling it?”
“That’s what she said.”
“Good. It means I don’t have to. Your bag’s in the other room, Imogen. There’s no way you’re coming to Florida. This wedding’s gonna be a total fuck-up, and you’ve been through enough already this week.”
“I’m fine. The bikini Bradley picked out covers almost all of the bruise.”
“That wasn’t what I meant.”
“I know, but we have a deal.”
“Look, I’ll still come to this thing with you next Sunday if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“You will?”
“It’s my duty to keep you safe, and it seems the best way to do that right now is to help you find a guy who isn’t going to take you out for dinner and then assault you afterwards.”
And Malachi needed to avoid girls who were psychos, as Deon put it. “In that case, it’s my duty to help out with your Erin problem.”
“Erin’s a bitch, and I’m not putting you in the line of fire.”
“I’m good at ducking. And my emotions may have been a mess this morning, but underneath, I’m a survivor. She won’t break me.” I put my hands on my hips. “I’m coming to Florida, even if I have to take a cab to the airport and fly commercial.”
To my surprise, Malachi smiled, and my heart sped up.
“And there she is.”
“Who?”
“The fiery girl I met last year.”
“You remember me from last year?”
“You’re not a girl who’s easy to forget.” The smile turned into a grin as he held out a hand. “Let’s go to the damn beach.”
CHAPTER 9 - IMOGEN
THE REDHEAD LOOKED me up and down, and her lips curled into an unmistakable sneer.
“Imogen.” Erin repeated my name as though it was a dirty word. “Are you one of Misty’s colleagues?”
She meant Misty Nights, AKA the porn star, and it was fairly obvious I wasn’t since I’d just walked in with Malachi. But Erin needed to get her digs in. He’d warned me she would.
“Oh, no I’m not.” I forced a giggle. “I guess it’s easy for you to get confused since we’re all in bikinis. Yours is from Target, right? I saw it on one of those giant billboards along the interstate.”
She narrowed her eyes. “It’s Tommy Hilfiger.”
“Oops, my mistake.” Score one to me.
My own bikini came from Jessika Allen, a make I’d never heard of but which lifted my girls to perfection. When I walked out of the tiny bathroom on the plane where I’d contorted myself into beachwear, that was the first place Malachi’s gaze had strayed. Thankfully, his friend Cruz, a colleague from Blackwood’s Florida office, had given us a ride to the beach house where the wedding was being held, avoiding the need for a cab. I’d covered up with a filmy sarong for the trip, twisted and tied at the back of my neck, but once we arrived, I stripped it off for Erin’s benefit.
Strangely, I felt more confident now. For so long, I’d used my body as a tool, and it was easy to fall back into old ways. This wasn’t the first party I’d attended with a virtual stranger, my only job to look pretty—and I wasn’t stupid, I knew I was pretty—and act out the role I’d been hired to play.
I looped my arm through Malachi’s and smiled sweetly at his ex as she gathered herself together for another shot.
“I guess you’ll be looking for the buffet table,” she said. “It’s right over there by the pool cabana.”
Malachi was absolutely right—Erin was a first-class bitch. I leaned in close.
“Ooh, lovely. Is there cake? I’d hate to lose my curves when Malachi’s so fond of them.”
This time, she turned her scrawny behind on me and marched off in her pumps. Who wore heels to a beach party? A gaggle of girls on the far side of the terrace welcomed her with a cocktail, and when a couple of them glanced across at me, I knew she was telling them all about Malachi’s horrible new companion.
“Nice job,” Malachi said, grinning. “Can I get you a glass of wine? I think we both need one after that.”
“I’m avoiding alcohol at the moment. After what happened on Friday, I might never drink again.”
“I promise I’ll get you home safely. Sofia would kill me if I let anything bad happen, Erin’s barbs aside.”
“Honestly, I’d rather keep my wits about me today. What time is the ceremony?”
Malachi glanced at his watch. He might have dressed like a beach bum, but he wore a Breitling. Working at Blackwood obviously paid well. But before he could answer, a blond guy sidled up to us.
“Forty-five minutes,” he said.
“Nervous? Having second thoughts?” Malachi asked. “There’s still time to back out.” Ah, this must be the groom. “Archie, this is Imogen. Imogen, meet Archie Curtis, soon to be Mr. Misty Nights.”
A momentary hint of panic flashed in Archie’s eyes, but then he mustered up a smile. “No second thoughts—Misty’s the one
. And you’re Malachi’s...date? Girlfriend? Or did he just meet you at the airport and win you over with his charming personality?”
“Date,” I said, at the exact same time as Malachi blurted out, “Girlfriend.”
Archie laughed as he patted Malachi on the back. “Smooth, buddy. Real smooth.” He leaned in closer. “Is Erin behaving herself?”
“Imogen’ll keep her in line.”
“Just watch your back and hers. Last night, I overheard Erin telling my sister that bridesmaids always get lucky, and it’s no secret she wants you back.” Archie glanced over at me. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay; she knows.”
Yup, I was just the hired help.
“I didn’t invite her to be a bridesmaid, I swear. But Livvy said she’d help with the organising, and before I knew it, she’d bought outfits for them both. Livvy’s my sister,” he explained for my benefit.
“It’s okay, I understand,” I told him. “Just forget Erin and enjoy your wedding. It’s a huge step, and you shouldn’t have to worry about trivialities. Do you need to go and get changed?”
He glanced down at his white swim shorts. “No, I’m wearing this. We did consider adding a bow tie and cuffs, but Misty said I looked like a stripper, so we decided against it. Bad optics, especially with Misty having announced her retirement from acting.”
“She’s quitting porn?” Malachi asked.
“Not entirely. She’s still going to direct.” Archie shrugged. “Being a lead actress, she’s had too much unwanted attention lately, plus she’s committed to making this marriage work. And so am I. I know everyone thinks I’ve lost my mind, but I really love her. She’s sweet, she’s kind, and she’d rather eat pizza and play video games than go out to parties.”
“Bet she whips your ass at the games.”
Archie blushed. “I don’t even care. Say, while you’re here, can I ask your professional opinion on something?”
“Sure.”
“Archie,” someone yelled from across the garden. “Can you check we’ve put all these chairs where they’re supposed to be?”