The Boyfriend Collector, Two

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  I’m shown to the little round table and take a seat. My guards stay back a little so they don’t block any views—for their own safety. The women here are laughing, drunk as hell, and would probably flay anyone who gets in their way.

  I sit and wait for Chad to look down at me, and when he finally does, his gorgeous face lights up.

  “Rose!” He hops off the stage and starts to, well, air-grind his cock in my face.

  I laugh, and I don’t stop laughing the rest of the night. Chad is energetic, funny, and unapologetic about the way he lives his life. Between shifts we hang out in the back by the bar, and women come up to him for selfies and shove twenties down his pants. When we first met and I was on the hunt for a husband, I thought that seeing them touch him would make me jealous, but it doesn’t. I love every moment of watching him hug and pose and make these women smile so hard I bet their faces hurt.

  By the end of the night, the crowd starts to thin out, and the bubbles have gone to my head. I’m sitting near the door in a booth, waiting for Chad to dress and grab his gear—thong collection and baby oil—so we can leave.

  “Hey, babe. You look like you need some company.” An older man, with a slicked-back ponytail, slides into the booth beside me. He smells like whiskey and cigarettes. Not my thing.

  “I’m waiting for someone,” I say, trying not to sound too happy, because I kind of am. Champagne is wonderful!

  “Of course you are, honey. And here I am.”

  Eesh… “Does that line really work on women?”

  “You tell me, babe.” He slops an arm around me.

  I try to scoot away, but he squeezes hard.

  “Hey! Let go.” Now I’m getting mad.

  “Come on… No need to be like that. We’re jusss habbing fun.”

  “Nobody’s having fun. Especially you in about three seconds.” My eyes flash to the two men in suits standing in front of the table.

  Party Joe, I’ll call him, takes a moment to realize that I am not alone.

  “Hey…” He raises his palms and scoots away from me. “I was just talking to her, boys. No need to get your panties in a bunch.”

  “Ralph, what the fuck, man?” Chad shows up and stands beside my guards. “Rose is with me. And you know not to come in here.”

  Chad pulls out a wad of cash from his jeans pocket and holds out a twenty. “Go get yourself some food, okay?”

  Ralph slides from the booth and snatches up the bill. “Thanks, Chad. I didn’t mean any harm.”

  Chad claps him on the back. “No worries, man. Just get out of here before Marnie sees you. Have a good night.”

  I assume Marnie is the club’s owner or manager or something.

  Ralph slithers away and Chad looks at me apologetically. “Sorry about that. He sometimes staggers over here from the bar across the street. I think he actually believes that one of these women might take him home one night, but he’s harmless. You ready?”

  “Oh, uh…” I look at the two men. “When does your shift end?” I don’t want to keep them out all night. What if they have someone waiting up for them?

  “You don’t need to worry about us, Ms. Hale. We change shifts and replacements come regardless of where you are.”

  So it really is around-the-clock service. I’m not going to ask how much they’re costing Bex. Not that I’m going to let him pay for this. I don’t like taking charity. Not even from my…husband.

  Suddenly, all I can think of is him. My husband. The word alone evokes so many feelings, I don’t know where to begin. I always imagined the man I call that would be my best friend, the love of my life, and passionate for me. It’s tough thinking of Bex, knowing he’s none of those things. I want him to be, but I know he was right when he pushed me away. I do need to grow and heal and find myself. I deserve to find someone who sees me as more than just a charity case.

  “On second thought,” I say to Chad, “maybe I’ll just call it a night. I’m pretty tired.” And tipsy. I ended up sharing my three-hundred-dollar bottle of champagne with the ladies at the next table. I wasn’t going to drink it all, and it couldn’t go to waste. I mean, three hundred dollars. Yes, I know I have millions, but I’ve never spent that much on one single item in my entire life.

  “Gentlemen, would you give us a moment?” Chad says to my muscle.

  They nod and step away, but linger close by.

  Chad slides into the booth. “Hey, look. I know tonight was probably a shock for you, seeing me like that, but that’s the job, it’s not me. I get paid to entertain them.”

  Is that what he thinks? That I’m judging him? “Chad, no. I loved tonight. I had even more fun than the first time we went out.”

  “But?”

  “I really don’t want to talk about it. It’ll only ruin what’s turned out to be a really fun night.”

  He stares deeply into my eyes. “Then don’t let it end, Rose.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “I’m going to take a wild guess and say it has something to do with your fake marriage today?”

  “How do you know it’s fake?” I ask.

  “Hello. You’re out with me. On your wedding night.”

  He’s right. It’s incredibly obvious.

  He adds, “But hey, I think you made a good choice. You had to marry someone on that list to get your inheritance, and it was smart to go for a guy you trust. Someone like your therapist.”

  “How do you know he was on the list? Wait. Never mind. You saw Bex at my party.” Everyone saw him because Bex stepped in and set the record straight—as my therapist—when my grandma told the room I was insane. “So you don’t think I’m crazy, then?”

  “A little. But I know you did what you had to do, Rose. I respect that.”

  I smile at him. It feels good to be honest like this.

  “Can I kiss you now?” he asks. “Because I’ve been wondering all night what it would be like to kiss a married woman.” He smiles warmly.

  I know I have to move forward. I know I have to let go of Bex. This is the first step in creating that separation. “I’d really like that.”

  Chad leans in and seals his mouth over mine. His lips are warm and inviting. The pressure is just enough to show me he isn’t afraid to take control, but he’s gentle enough to go at whatever speed makes me feel comfortable.

  I kiss him back, wanting to just be in the moment and experience everything.

  He suddenly breaks away and, without saying a word, takes my hand and leads me out of the club.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Bex

  It’s around eight in the morning when I hear my cell vibrating on my nightstand. I barely slept a wink all night and probably only dozed off a few hours ago.

  Who needs sleep anyway? I reach for my phone and look at the caller ID. It’s Frank. What does he want?

  “Hello?” My voice comes out hoarse.

  “Bexley, this is Frank.”

  I sit up and run my hand through my hair. Everything hurts—inside and out—like I’ve run an emotional marathon and followed it up with a real one. It’s been a long few weeks, and I don’t see things letting up. Not while Rose is in my life. Or out of it? Or… Christ, I don’t know.

  “Yeah,” I grumble, “what’s going on?”

  “No need for alarm, but…” He mumbles inaudibly.

  “Just say it.”

  “Apparently the man who attempted to kill you and Rose has taken full credit for his actions—says he acted alone. He claims he’s never met Rose’s grandparents, and from what I’m hearing, there’s nothing to disprove that.”

  My chest constricts. “Does this mean the charges against her grandparents will be dropped?”

  “The murder solicitation charges, yes. But we’re talking to the district attorney about ensuring the embezzlement, fraud, and child neglect charges stick.” He doesn’t sound very confident.

  “What’s the probability that will keep them in jail?” I ask.

  Frank goes silent. />
  “Sonofabitch,” I mutter. “What are the chances they’ll be charged with anything or punished at all?” We can’t let them get away with this, because I am very, very sure they made a deal with this Gustavo guy. Why else would he throw himself under the bus instead of cooperating for a reduced sentence?

  They must’ve offered him a lot of money to say he acted alone. What surprises me is that Rose’s grandparents found a way to strike this deal. They’ve been shut off from the outside world for weeks. Plus, they have no access to money…

  My thoughts stall and then skip forward. If they’re getting cleared of the murder-related charges, and if the DA decides not to pursue embezzlement, then good old Gertie and Mel Hale will keep whatever money, property, and assets they’ve managed to tuck away.

  Christ, they’ve stolen a million dollars from Rose every year since she was born. Plus, they were given money to act as caretakers of the property and received a lump sum when their daughter died. Rose mentioned they purchased vacation homes out of the country, cars, jewelry and other luxury goods. Over two decades, they’ve amassed a fortune, I bet. They could have enough money to entice Gustavo to sweat it out in prison for whatever time he ultimately gets for two counts of assault with a deadly weapon, kidnapping, forced entry with a deadly weapon, and first-degree attempted murder.

  “It’ll depend heavily on Rose,” Frank says. “The DA wants her to come back in and make another statement so they can reassess the evidence. I have to be honest, though; the DA has better things to do than prosecute a couple of elderly con artists. He’s got sex traffickers, child molesters, drug rings, and murderers to go after.”

  “Mel and Gertie are murderers,” I sneer. “They just didn’t succeed this time or want to do the job themselves, but that doesn’t make them any less guilty. And what they did to Rose for the last twenty years just shows what kind of people they are.”

  “Bex, I’m not arguing with you. Gertrude and Melvin Hale deserve to live out the rest of their lives in prison. Without a doubt. But reality is that resources are limited. The court can only try so many cases, and the prosecutors have to pick the ones they feel they can win. So, as much publicity as our Peachtree Cinderella is getting, I’m not so sure her plight of scrubbing toilets, missing out on private school, and having to wear unfashionable clothing is going to put her high on the DA’s priority list.”

  What. The. Fuck. “So what you’re trying to tell me is that twenty years of child neglect doesn’t warrant punishment?”

  “Of course it does, but Rose is an adult now. She can leave. She can move to another country. She can pursue civil action, which is what I will advise we do once we know where the criminal case lands. Point is, however, Rose has options. So if we can’t demonstrate she’s in immediate physical danger, then nobody is going to drop what they’re doing to work this case when the bad guy confessed.”

  Frank’s words are delivered with bluntness, and while I might not like what he’s saying, I know his intentions are good. In short, this is a warning. Rose isn’t safe.

  Fuck. The whole reason she married me was to keep any money out of her grandparents’ hands, but here we are, less than twenty-four hours later in the exact situation we wanted to avoid. Maybe Gertie and Mel haven’t gotten their hands on the Hale estate, but they will be set free and likely have access to enough cash to do…well, whatever the hell they like.

  I scrub my face with one hand and groan. “So what’s next?”

  “Rose needs to come in for another interview.”

  “Are you sure?” She gave a sworn statement a few weeks ago, and I don’t like the idea of putting her through more torment.

  “That one focused on the attempted murder charges. We need to switch gears now. Maybe she can point toward additional instances of the Hales’ fraudulent behavior. The more counts we can get them on, the better.”

  Okay. I’m sure I can convince her to tell her story in more detail, but… “What happens after that?”

  “You get her somewhere safe.”

  I release a fuck-me breath. I read the police report about this guy Gustavo. He’s the type movies are made about. Ruthless. Efficient. Impossible to catch. Of course, they did catch him, which is why it’s worth mentioning that I don’t think he was working alone. No. I’m not referring to Mel and Gertie. I mean that Gustavo has people. Rose mentioned that on the night she went out to some club with Gustavo, thinking he was just another suitor, a man approached them on the way to their car. The man was there to kill Rose, but apparently Gustavo had a change of heart and ended up taking the man out himself—I think to cover his tracks and make it all seem like a mugging gone wrong. Later, Gustavo would claim the guy was after his brother, who’d gotten mixed up with something. Sounded like a bunch of bullshit to me. The point is, you don’t become a successful hit man without having support, and that could mean Gustavo intends to finish the job by having a friend carry it out. Anything is possible.

  “How far does she need to go to be safe?” I ask.

  “I wish I knew, Bexley. But I would get her out of the country after she’s given another statement. The DA’s tied up in court today and most of tomorrow but says he can meet with Rose any other time this week. After that, keep her away until it’s time to bring her back for a court date.”

  I can’t imagine how she’s going to take this news, but I’m the one who should tell her. “All right. I’ll let Rose know and be in touch.”

  We say our goodbyes, and I head to the kitchen to make coffee and feed Sophie. After that, the entire time I’m getting ready, all I can think about is how I’m going to convince Rose not to push me out of her life. I said I would give her space, but how can I when she’s no longer safe? I get that she doesn’t see me as her husband, but I sure as fuck feel like I have to do my best to protect her.

  Gertie and Mel getting out of jail changes everything.

  Rose

  I don’t know the exact hour I hear my doorbell, but judging from the winter sunlight beaming through the bedroom window, it has to be late morning. Sleeping in was always a privilege for me. So, since I left the Peachtree mansion, I’ve savored every late-waking morning. Except this one.

  Someone is pounding on my door, and I’m immediately jolted wide awake. Aren’t there supposed to be bodyguards outside?

  I pad quietly to the door. I do have a neighbor—hot Jor—who’s stopped by twice to say hi, flirt, and watch movies, but he travels all the time. Still, I’m so hoping it’s him and not some new psycho who’s taken out the guards.

  I peek out the peephole and see Bex’s unshaven face. I’m relieved. For a moment.

  Wait. What’s he doing here? Something about his expression—overtly relaxed—sets me on edge. He’s just not the kind of guy to show up to your door early in the morning to hang and chill.

  I jerk open the door. “Bex?”

  “We need to talk.” His voice is incredibly calm.

  “O—”

  He pushes his way inside.

  “—kay.” I shut the door. “Listen, I meant what I said, Bex. I don’t want to see you anymo—”

  “I’m not here for that.” He faces me, and that’s when I notice a twitch of panic in his eyes. “Frank called this morning with bad news.”

  Shit. My stomach rolls with dread. That’s why Bex is trying to look so calm? He doesn’t want me to freak the hell out. “Oh, Jesus. What now?”

  “Your grandparents are getting out of jail.”

  “What!”

  He holds out his palms, urging me to keep it together. “Gustavo took full credit for your abduction and the attempt on your life. He claims he acted alone, which means your grandparents are getting out unless we can stop it.”

  “What!” I repeat, feeling like someone’s pulled a plug from the soles of my feet and now everything hopeful and positive inside me is draining away. “I need to sit down.” I manage to get to my couch before my knees give out.

  This isn’t happening. I cover
my face with my hands, and Bex places a warm, reassuring hand on my shoulder. When I look up, he’s kneeling in front of me, and our eyes lock. I cannot fathom how in this moment, he has such an effect on me. I almost hate him for it. Almost. Because right now, I’m glad he’s here.

  “So,” I say, trying to digest the news, “they’re getting out.”

  He nods. “Yes. We’re going to try to stop it, though.”

  I groan with dread and look up at the ceiling, shaking my head. “When will this fucking nightmare end?”

  “They won’t get away with this, Rose.”

  “They already have.”

  “No. Because you’re going to visit the DA, and we’re going to push the other charges.”

  “With my luck, good old Mel and Gertie are going to get a slap on the wrist and then turn their sights back on me.”

  Bex’s blue eyes flicker with determination. “Then you let them come, Rose. You let them fight and drain their resources, while you go back to school and live your life. Let your lawyers deal with them. Let your husband deal with them.”

  Husband. My heart flutters just hearing him say the word. That damned palpitating organ wants it to be real, this ridiculous fairytale. But I can’t allow myself to go there. I have a moral obligation to myself to stand on my own two feet, just like the heroine in my mother’s final book: The Boyfriend Collector. I know she couldn’t be here to raise me, but I like to think there are pieces of her soul and heart in every story. Love, triumph, and—in her last book—being free from attachment. Yes, the heroine dies alone, but I’ve given that a lot of thought. Does the sad ending negate the incredible journey she had simply because men were only a part of it and not her destination? As for Bex, his story is all about being the hero to this “poor, poor” woman he pities. It’s humiliating.

  “Thanks, Bex. Thank you for being here,” I say sincerely, “but you know what? I should deal with this on my own. You’ve already done a lot, and all this drama is taking up your time.” He can’t keep coming to my rescue when he has his life to live and patients who actually need him. It’s not right.