I have shit I need to get done today.
My phone pings again and this time I pull it out. It’s my lawyer so I unlock the screen to read the email. I already know what the message will say. Still, as I scan the contract attached to the email, my heart beats a little faster. The familiar rush of adrenaline that I used to get from tactical training and being on the ground with my unit flows through me once again.
I might be laid up like an invalid, I’m beholden to my billionaire bastard of a father, my mother is in the hospital and I’m halfway addicted to my pain pills but finally there is one thing in my life going exactly the way I planned.
A second later, I lean forward. “Change of plans, Jonah. I need to get home immediately.”
* * * * *
My penthouse is an architectural marvel. I bought it as an investment with part of my inheritance from my father. He hasn’t been a part of my life in years but now he’s back and wants to make amends. Considering that he made his fortune while leaving my mother to struggle as a single parent, I felt no shame in accepting his guilt money.
Especially once I found out that he fathered multiple children while he was neglecting us.
My newfound brothers are on my mind as I cross the living room and stand at the window looking down to the traffic below. I have a standing appointment to see my youngest sibling but it’ll have to wait. Cell phone in hand, I take a moment to decide if this is really what I want. Because I could always allow my lawyer to handle the details and keep my name out of it. Once she sees my face, it’s another story.
I hit the button.
“Mr. Marshall. I assume you’ve already reviewed the contracts I sent over.”
Patrick Stevens came to me highly recommended as an estate lawyer but he’s been instrumental in helping me with other business matters as well. It hasn’t been easy navigating in the world as a sudden millionaire but I’m trying not to fuck it up too bad.
“I did. She agreed to all the terms?”
“She did. In fact, she was happy to start right away.”
The words should bring me happiness or give me satisfaction. Something. Yet, I don’t feel anything.
I won’t feel until I see her again.
“Excellent. As I said, I would rather Miss Blake not know anything until she shows up here tomorrow.”
“I’ve made inquiries into buying a few of her clients already. The power of attorney you signed last week gives me the ability to move quickly if an opportunity presents itself. Are you sure this is what you want?”
“Very sure. Buy any of her clients that you can. As many of them as you can. I don’t care how much it costs.”
He is silent for a moment. I know he must have questions. I’ve spent a considerable amount of money and time on this deal for no discernible reason. Why would a wealthy man care so much about the company that handles his cleaning? Despite the fact that he must have questions, Patrick doesn’t voice them. He’s learned by now that I keep my reasons to myself and require only that he delivers what I want. In this case, he has done exactly what I asked.
He’s delivered Marissa Blake directly into my hands.
* * * * *
An hour later, I walk into Anita’s Place and take my usual seat in a booth by the window. It’s even busier than the last time I was here and it smells like sugar and sin. I’ve got a great view of the pedestrians bustling on the sidewalk outside but even more so, a great view of the waitress.
“There’s my favorite new customer.”
Anita Marshall appears at my elbow. Her long braids are drawn behind her head with a jaunty blue ribbon and her full lips are stretched into a big welcoming smile. She’s wearing her usual uniform of a blue dress with a frilly white apron tied around her waist. When I asked about it, she said she was going for a “retro” vibe. Then I said her apple pie was so good it should be regulated by the government as an addictive substance and that she didn’t need to worry about her outfit.
We’ve been friends ever since.
“You’re late today,” Anita chides playfully. She tucks the pencil in her hand behind her ear and slides her order pad into the pocket of her apron.
“I got sidetracked. But I’m here now.” For a moment, I wonder if my guilt is written all over my face. Anita is a motherly type through and through and if she had any idea what I’m planning for tomorrow, she definitely wouldn’t approve. She’d probably box my ears for even thinking of it.
But apparently my treachery isn’t apparent because her smile is just as warm as ever.
“You almost missed him.” She glances over her shoulder just as a young man, tall with light brown skin, appears behind the counter. He’s got traces of her in his expression, which is currently somewhere between annoyed and murderous, but his features are something else entirely. They are at once familiar and foreign. He reminds me so much of Tank when he looks pissed off like that.
I focus once more on Anita. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m only here because I’m hungry. And all that apple pie in that case isn’t going to eat itself.” I nod toward the front counter where big, fat slices of pie sit temptingly behind the glass.
Just as I finish speaking, another waitress appears and slides a plate in front of me with a massive slice of pie. “Here’s your pie, Finn.”
“Everyone here knows how much you love your pie. Enjoy. We’ll leave you in peace now.” Anita thanks the other woman and then shoos her along when she doesn’t move fast enough. I have to hide my smile. Anita figured out who I was the first time she saw me. Strangely enough, she wasn’t upset either. She treats me with the same sort of casual affection that she shows her own son, including exasperation when her waitresses flirt with me.