by Aly Martinez
I cracked my neck, chewing on all the words I shouldn’t say, but they refused to be swallowed. “I have never lied to you.” I stabbed my finger to the other end of the bar. “Not once since we met right there three months ago.”
“Then say it,” she ordered.
It was the same fight we’d been having for weeks. Truthfully, it was the only fight we’d ever had, and it didn’t even matter how I answered her question.
If I told her I believed her, she’d be mad I wasn’t helping her search for a nameless, faceless woman who, as far as the police could tell, wasn’t even missing.
If I told her I didn’t believe her, with the hopes of squashing the entire conversation and getting my girlfriend back for a few hours, she’d spend every minute reliving the heartbreaking details of the terrifying ordeal that had changed both of our lives—but especially hers.
At the end of the day, this fight wasn’t about whether I believed her or not. Of course, I did. Wholly and completely. The same way I loved her. This was all about me desperately trying to find the words to prevent her from once again spiraling down a never-ending hole of guilt and trauma.
I had said every combination of words in my vocabulary at least ten times, but nothing had helped. I couldn’t make her understand that it wasn’t her fault or responsibility. She’d survived hell and lived to tell the tale. That was something to be proud of—immensely so.
But she couldn’t let it go.
Not while a woman was still out there.
Still in danger.
Still broken and scared.
So there we were, on what was supposed to be a date night after a long week, an engagement ring burning a hole in my pocket. And we were fighting over something neither of us could control.
“What do you want me to say?” I turned to face her, my hand covering hers. “Tell me what you want to hear, and I swear on my life I will say it over and over again, every day, every minute, forever, until my very last breath. And I will mean it, Sally. Every fucking word. Because while I don’t have any clue what I should be saying, I know who I should be saying it to. I believe you. I will always believe you. I just don’t know how to make you stop hurting.” I brought her hand to my lips and intertwined our fingers before kissing them. “Do you remember the night we met?”
“Don’t do this,” she croaked, looking away, tears streaming down her cheeks.
I couldn’t not do it. We’d only had three weeks of smiles and laughter to look back on, but those same three weeks were all it had taken to build our unbreakable foundation. The winds of life had tested us more than I had ever imagined possible, but we were still standing, the promise of a future protecting us from the storms of the present.
“You invited me back to your place to watch a movie. I could have been some kind of serial killer.”
An unlikely smile curled her lips. “You ordered an appletini. Serial killers don’t drink those.”
Teasingly, I narrowed my eyes, so damn grateful that I’d been able to reel her in long enough for a joke. Dipping low, I rested my forehead on hers. “For the last time, I was ordering it for you. The bartender set me up.”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself.” Her eyes fluttered shut with a calm that made my chest ache, but her deep breath didn’t contain any peace. If guilt had a sound, the soft pain-filled moan as she exhaled would have been it. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess. I don’t mean to take this out on you. I just don’t know what else to do.”
“I know, babe,” I whispered.
“She’s out there somewhere and nobody is even looking for her.”
I pulled her into a hug, her face fitting like a puzzle piece in the curve of my neck.
“I never even saw her face, but I can’t stop imagining her alone in that room…with him.” Her shoulders rolled forward with a gag. The mere mention of him set my blood on fire, but she didn’t need my anger. “I’m just so tired. Make it stop. Please. Please, Bowen,” she croaked, the weight of her frail body sagging in my arms.
I’d have given anything to do that for her. But I was failing on epic levels. For fuck’s sake, I’d thought a night out and a few drinks would help.
Holding her tight with one hand, I retrieved my wallet with the other and tried not to jostle her as I threw a pile of cash onto the bar. “Let’s get out of here.”
The engagement ring never left my pocket that night. I hadn’t wanted one of the happiest days of our lives to be tangled in pain. Though, if I was being honest, there was no way to avoid it. If something didn’t give, pain was all we would ever be in together.
No. Our engagement was not the anniversary Tyson had been talking about.
Three hours after we left that bar, the love of my life tried to kill herself for the first time.
Remi
“Remi,” Mark called, his large frame filling my doorway.
I snapped my laptop shut so fast it was a miracle I didn’t crack the screen. “What?”
He twisted his lips, his thick, dark brows drawing together. “What are you doing? I shouted down the hall, like, three times.”
Not stalking a man—that was for sure. A man who probably wasn’t interested in me but had still sent me and my plant a drink before leaving. A man I couldn’t stop thinking about. A man who, according to Google, had his own accounting firm when I just so happened to need an accountant for my father’s paper napkin situation.
Strictly business of course.
Though said man did not have any social media accounts that I could find, thus no way to do some digging to see if he had a significant other or not. But my GPS showed that his office was across the street from a bubble tea shop I had been dying to try, so I was absolutely not checking the internet to figure out how much time I had to get there before it closed.
“Nothing,” I chirped.
He looked from me to the computer and back again, the side of his mouth twitching as he asked, “You want me to shut this door and leave you alone for a little while?”
“Why?” I replied flatly. “You know I like an audience when I’m getting myself off.”
You didn’t live with two men for as long as I had and not learn a thing or two. When it came to jokes about sex, men were still teenage boys. It was all fun and games until a woman—especially one they considered a sister—turned it back around on them.
As I’d hoped, Mark’s whole face went up in flames. “Ohhhhhkay, then,” he drawled, reaching for the door, his feet already shuffling backward.
Laughing, I stopped him before he could make a getaway. “I’m kidding. What’s up? Why were you calling me?”
As always, he recovered quickly. “Brought food home from the bar. You want some?”
Unlike The Wave, The Rusty Nail was a bar through and through. Not exactly known for their food unless it was two a.m. and everyone was plastered, in which case it had three Michelin stars.
I shifted my computer to the nightstand and stood up. “I was actually just about to head out. Can you save me a plate?”
He poked his stomach out, his usually firm abs shaping into a round belly. “I’m going to tell you yes and even go so far as to make you a plate and put it in the fridge, but I make no promises it will still be there when you get home. So, plan accordingly.”
Laughing, I walked into my closet. I’d been wearing sandals with my short, cream, lace boho-chic dress while showing houses all day, but the possibility of seeing Bowen again called for an upgrade. “I’ll bring home sushi.”
“Oh, text me when you get there. I might need some spicy tuna.”
I had no idea how Mark stayed in shape. He never stopped eating.
“Will do.” I stepped into a pair of wedges and then froze when I saw my cursed maxi dress balled up in the corner, right where I’d banished it as soon as we’d gotten home from the courthouse. Smiling to myself, I remembered the empty spot in Bowen’s wallet. Could he really be mad if I stopped by to return the safety pin he’d loaned me and then attempt
to hire him for a job that was going to line his pocket? Nobody was upset to see a customer walk through the door. Plus, I owed the man a drink. Maybe Bowen liked bubble tea too?
Coconut milk tea with cranberry pearls was the flavor of the day along with the most decadent chocolate-iced peanut butter cookies roughly the size of my face. I nixed the cranberry for pomegranate—because let’s be honest, nobody liked cranberry—and waited while they made half the cookies with no icing just in case someone didn’t like chocolate. Assuming Michaels & Company wasn’t a one-man show, I went big.
Trust me. Happy employees meant a happy boss, and I had a sneaking suspicion I was going to need all the help I could get with Bowen.
What? Bribery never hurt anyone.
“Oh, wow,” the young blonde receptionist greeted as I walked through the front door, my arms filled with deliciousness. She immediately walked around her desk, saying, “Let me help you with that.” Like any normal, logical human, she tried to take the carrier of four teas from my hand first, but they were too precariously balanced for her to be able to grab them without making me drop everything else.
“Wait. Grab this.” I turned to the side, performing what I considered to be a damn near heroic juggling act, and angled a box of cookies in her direction.
When I was a kid, my father and I used to play Jenga every Saturday night. He’d drink root beer and put on a baseball game while I set up, and then we’d flip a coin to see who went first. Any abs I had were the product of repeatedly doubling over in laughter as the whole tower fell on my dad’s first turn. He. Was. Awful.
And as the woman took the purse dangling from my fingers instead of the box on top, it was safe to say she was equally as horrible at Jenga.
With the unexpected shift in weight, it was a whole hopeless chain reaction. The cup carrier toppled to the left, and in a real Sophie’s Choice, I dropped the box of cookies in an effort to save the drinks. Such was my luck, I was fast enough to grab one. Also, such was my luck—it slipped from the carrier, leaving me to watch in horror as the other three exploded against the tile floor.
“Shit!” I exclaimed, milk tea splashing everywhere, red fruity pearls bouncing around the waiting area like the balloon drop on New Year’s Eve.
“Oh. My. God,” she breathed as liquid dripped from her pencil skirt.
Right, okay. So, fun fact: Bribery can in fact hurt someone.
And then, because it was my life, it got worse.
“What the hell is going on?” a deep baritone asked, the toes of his stylish brown dress shoes appearing just out of the splash zone.
You know, I was really starting to think Karma had it out for me when it came to this man.
Slowly lifting my head, I took my time sweeping my gaze up his body.
Khaki slacks that shouldn’t have been that attractive.
Yet another button-down, tucked in at his trim waist and pulled tight over his broad shoulders.
Sexy beard only slightly thicker than scruff covering his chiseled jaw.
Gorgeous full lips that had been the star of a fantasy or two of mine over the weekend.
“Hi,” I whispered, a wicked smile curling my mouth.
He stared at me, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, though I couldn’t tell if it was because he was surprised to see me or the mess I’d made in his waiting area.
When it became clear he wasn’t going to say anything, I did what I do best and filled the silence. “Of all the professions, I never figured you to be an accountant. Though the suit and handkerchief make more sense now.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed before he let out a low groan. “What are you doing here?”
Extending the one remaining bubble tea, I took a step toward him. “I, um, owed you a drink?”
“Don’t move,” he ordered roughly.
I froze, my hand still outstretched, which left me looking as much like the fool as I suddenly felt.
“Emily, go get cleaned up and then please see if they have a mop we can borrow next door.”
“On it,” the receptionist replied, her scowl no doubt leveled on me as she disappeared down the hall, but I only had eyes for Bowen.
Stabbing his hand into the pocket of his slacks, he said…
Nothing. No, seriously, like absolutely nothing. Unnervingly nothing. Deafeningly nothing. Nothing.
Once again, that was my cue. “I’m really sorry about this. I have this thing where I don’t completely think things through, like say, carrying half a bakery into your office in one trip. At some point, I usually realize it’s a bad idea, but I’m already committed so I start to think that maybe I can handle it, but in reality, I can’t, so I end up—”
“Why are you here?” he snapped, blatantly interrupting me. In a way, he had also rescued me from the rest of the word vomit I was no doubt going to continue spewing his way, but did he really have to be so rude?
Still, I persevered. “I need an accountant.” I took a step toward him. “So I came bearing treats with hopes—”
“Stop. Moving.”
I twisted my lips as he interrupted me—again. “Hindsight tells me I should have come without the treats, but I do have money to pay for your services. I’m not asking for a favor or anything. See, my dad, he’s retiring to Miami and the accounting for his restaurant is—”
“Jesus,” he mumbled, raking a hand through the top of his short, brown hair. “How did you find me?”
Thrice.
Three freaking times he had interrupted me. And considering he had spoken only slightly more sentences, that was an infuriating ratio.
Loaded with saccharine and sarcasm, I smiled. “Do you understand how conversation works?”
“What?”
Using my free hand, I pointed at my mouth. “One person speaks a full and complete thought.” I turned my finger on him. “Then, when that person has finished, the other replies. Preferably without acting like a jerk, but we should probably just start with the basics.”
Bending over, I picked the box of cookies off the floor. It had broken open when I’d dropped it, but it still had a few that could be salvaged inside.
“Let’s give it a shot, yeah? Hi, Bowen. Sorry about the mess in your office. It was an honest accident. I stopped by to see if you were taking new clients because I seem to have found myself in quite the pickle, and I’m really hoping to keep my father out of an orange jumpsuit. Can I interest you in a bubble tea and peanut butter cookie while we discuss the—”
He didn’t have to interrupt me that time. I did it all by myself. In my attempt to put him in his place, I slid like an Olympic ice skater.
“Shit!” I shouted, adding another twelve ounces of tea, and what was left of my dignity to the sugary wreckage at my feet.
In one swift movement, he hooked his arm around my hips and plucked me off my feet. His fingertips branded my hip as he turned us and walked only a few steps, but as I dangled at his side, a fire ignited across my skin.
“Dammit, I said not to move,” he grumbled, placing me back on my feet.
The loss of his warmth as he released me was staggering, but much to my surprise, he didn’t back away. Tall and strong, he crowded me without touching, engulfing me without the first flame. There were plenty of sparks though. Flying in every which direction, singeing my skin. My pulse quickened as he swayed toward me, stopping just shy of his chest brushing mine. The almost tangible intensity in his eyes couldn’t have been mistaken for anything other than desire, and damn if that wasn’t confusing when combined with his next words.
“Jesus, Remi. You gotta stop.”
“Stop what?” I breathed, fighting the overwhelming urge to trace my hand up his chest and curl it around the side of his neck. I could have kissed him. He would have let me. The thunderous storm inside his eyes was all but begging for it as he stared down at me.
I’d only interacted with him three times, for a grand total of maybe fifteen minutes, but I knew, to the core of my soul, Bowen was far too complex for me t
o make the first move.
So we stood there. My heart pounding the pleas my voice refused to verbalize.
Him staring.
Me contently existing in his hypnotizing presence.
Despite my current Google-and-stalk routine, I wasn’t completely insane. It had just been a long time since a man had captured my attention. I’d been single for years, focusing on my career and traveling with Mark and Aaron every chance we got. Aaron always told me I was jaded when it came to love because of what my mom had done to my dad. I wasn’t sure if I believed him or not, but it would explain a lot about my virtually nonexistent love life.
So why was my body thrumming with need now? Of all people, why Bowen Michaels? It wasn’t his dazzling personality—that was for sure. Barring a handkerchief kink I wasn’t aware of, it didn’t make sense.
But maybe it didn’t need to.
He clearly wasn’t all that fond of me, yet he was one breath away from tearing my clothes off too.
I could live with that.
A slow grin tipped one side of my mouth as I repeated, “Stop what, Bowen?”
His heated gaze dipped to my mouth, and so there was no mistaking we were on the same page, I licked my lips.
His eyes flared, and just like that, I had him, hook, line, and—
“All right, we’re in business,” his receptionist said as the front door swung open. “They had a mop and bucket.”
We both startled, but I didn’t have a chance to blink before I lost him.
Fuck.
My.
Life.
My shoulders fell as he walked over to her, holding the door as she pushed in a yellow rolling mop bucket. Once she was inside, he continued to hold it open.
“Leave that there. I’ll clean it up when I get back.” He looked at me, cold and distant, my heart sinking immediately. “Come on, Remi. I’ll walk you out.”
“Can I at least help clean up first? I did kinda make the mess.”
“I’ll handle it,” he replied, sweeping out a hand to motion outside.