9. Archer
9
Archer
A fter Maggie finally got a hold of herself long enough to explain Mr. Darcy was not, in fact, an actual man, but a stray cat, I was able to leash the raging jealousy that came out of nowhere.
I have no claim to her and I never will. I can’t. So, I push those unwelcome emotions out of my head.
Maggie’s now upstairs taking a nap and I’m in my office going back over the files Beckham sent over. After a thorough read through, I realize there is barely anything here: just adoption records, school transcripts, and some medical records. Nothing I couldn’t have found on my own.
That isn’t like Beckham. He is usually very thorough.
Sure there has been some kind of an error, I dial him up.
“Hello,” he answers on the first ring.
“Hey. I was looking through the files you sent me on Maggie, and there isn’t much here. Is this really all you could find? There’s no birth record, nothing on her biological parents… Am I missing something?” I ask, sure that he must have accidentally left something out.
“No, you’re not missing anything. That’s all I’ve been able to find so far—and trust me, I’m trying. But honestly, man…there’s not much to go on. Other than the adoption records, there are no hospital records that match that name and date of birth, no father listed on the birth certificate, and her mom is a fucking ghost.”
“Hmm…Maggie said she only met the woman a few times. Thought she might be an addict. Do you think she lives on the streets? That would explain a lack of address or employment records?—”
“No, no, no—you don’t understand,” he says cutting me off. “I mean a ghost . As in, she doesn’t even fucking exist.”
Dread coils in the pit of my stomach as the weight of his words sink in.
“What do you mean?” I ask, although I’m pretty sure I already know the answer.
“It’s fake, all of it. The woman listed as Maggie’s biological mom isn’t a real person, and without anything else to go on, it’s like searching for a needle in a haystack.”
“So…that’s all? You’re telling me you can’t find anything more?” I snap, my voice coming out harsher than I mean for it to, but frustration at the possibility of already reaching a dead end is pissing me off.
“Now hang on. That’s not what I said. If you would just calm down a second, I was going to tell you—I can still find you what you need, but I’m gonna have to do a deep dive, and it’s going to take a lot longer than I anticipated. I’m going to have to go through some alternate routes to get what you need, if you know what I mean? So how bad do you want this stuff?”
“I need this information, so do whatever you have to do to get it.”
“Okay.”
“So, tell me what you’re thinking. Based off what we do know, what do you think we’re dealing with here?” I ask, wanting his insight.
Beckham has a unique mind and has always had this knack for the bigger picture, seeing things no one else notices. He has this ability to find patterns or missing pieces of the puzzle and slot them into place effortlessly.
“I don’t know. It’s possible none of it’s relevant to what’s happening now. She could just be another one of the many infants sold on the black market. Some people get so desperate, they’re willing to pay a lot of money for a baby. If the mom didn’t want to get in trouble, she could have used a fake name, which would make sense if you said she was on drugs.”
“Maybe…” I answer, rolling it around in my mind.
“Though my guess would be that this mom has gone and pissed someone off, maybe owes someone a lot of money. Mom can’t pay, so they take it out on her kid. Worst case, if she was turning tricks…well, you know how the skin trade works.
My body runs cold as an icy storm brews just beneath the surface, threatening to burst free and destroy everything in its path.
No way in fucking hell will I let that happen.
“Arch…you still there?” His voice breaks through my thoughts, and I force my hands to unclench, running them through my hair as I take a breath to calm my racing heart.
“Yeah, I’m here.” My voice comes out thick and raspy.
“The girl—Maggie. I asked if she was okay. Jayce told me how she had been attacked.”
“Yeah, she’s okay. She was pretty shaken up at first, but she’s strong. She’s upstairs taking a nap,” I tell him, and he gets quiet.
Suddenly, I remember I needed to ask him for a favor, “Oh, by the way that reminds me. I need you to get me someone to install a security system in her apartment. The best one you have, and make sure it’s someone you trust. I don’t want just anyone in her space,” I tell him.
When he still doesn’t respond I look down to make sure the call didn’t disconnect.
Nope, still there. “Hello—did I lose you?”
“No, I’m still here,” he responds.
“Well…are you gonna do it or not?” I ask with a touch of impatience.
“Y-Yeah, of course. Sorry, I guess I’m just in shock. You said the girl is upstairs? As in—upstairs in your house?”
“Yes…and?” I say, straightening a pen on my desk .
“It’s just, you never let women stay at your place. She must mean something to you.”
“What? That’s not true. Anyways, it’s not like that. She doesn’t mean anything to me. She just needed my help. She’s only staying here because she doesn't have anywhere else to go,” I say, sounding defensive, even to my own ears.
“Right,” he says after a beat, voice heavy with sarcasm.
That’s it. I’m officially done with this conversation.
“Just let me know when it’s done and keep me updated on any new information you find,” I bark out before hanging up, the sounds of his low laughter still mocking me even after he’s gone.
I don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about. I’ve had women in my house before. Well—technically not this house, but I have had women inside my downtown apartment. It’s true none have stayed the night—but that doesn’t mean anything.
When it comes to dating, I’ve always preferred a more casual approach, making sure I am upfront with them from the beginning.
Just sex.
No sleeping over.
No feelings involved.
That way, no one gets hurt.
The fact that Maggie is allowed here is only because I feel responsible for her safety, no other reason.
I do not have any sort of feelings for her.
Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that .
Even if I did, it wouldn’t matter. Truth is, I can’t have feelings for her.
Once this all gets resolved, she will go back to her life, and I will go back to mine.
As soon as I can ensure she is safe, everything can go back to the way it was. Life will go on as usual. She will go back to her home and her job, and I will go back to being alone, just the way I like it.
But then why does the thought of never seeing her again make my chest ache?
The following evening the shit hits the fan at the bar.
We have a women’s club that meets religiously every Sunday night, a group of bored, rich housewives who get together to drink and bitch about their husbands.
It’s just after seven o’clock when Jayce calls to inform me we’ve not only had another bartender quit this month, but also one of our liquor orders got delivered to the wrong address. We are now out of two of the three main ingredients used in our most popular specialty cocktail, The Ruby Sparkler—and guess what all the ladies are asking for?
Normally, I would say to hell with it. They can just order something else. But they mostly keep to themselves and happen to be some of my highest paying customers, so in this case, unfortunately, money talks.
Since Jayce is stuck working behind the bar, that leaves me to take care of the mix-up. Which may not be a bad thing, because I could use some fresh air.
Maggie’s sweet, cherry almond scent has started to permeate through every damn room in my home, save for my bedroom and the office downstairs—which is where I have been holed up all day—and it’s driving me mad.
I go looking for Maggie to let her know I will be heading out for a while.
I haven’t seen much of her since yesterday.
My conversation with Beckham left me feeling a bit unsettled. It only took one twenty-minute conversation over the phone, and he could pick up on what I haven’t even been able to admit to myself—that, despite my best efforts, this girl has already gotten too deep under my skin.
The best thing for both of us at this point is for me to maintain my distance until this is all over.
When I find her room empty, I head downstairs to the kitchen, not at all prepared for the sight that greets me.
Maggie is bent over at the waist, peering into the refrigerator. She has on those same little denim cutoff shorts that drove me fucking wild yesterday—ones that showcase her toned legs, the globes of her pert little ass peeking out from underneath the fraying material.
My cock twitches, all the blood rushing south as erotic images of Maggie bent over and at my mercy as I plunge into her tight, wet pussy from behind, flood my mind.
Not even gonna go there.
Clearing my throat, I push those thoughts out of my head .
I guess she must not have heard me come in, because at the sound she jumps, spinning on her heels, as she clutches a little plastic cup of yogurt tight in her fist.
“Holy shit! You scared me!” she pants.
She must have squeezed too hard, because the cup has busted open, yogurt spilling out onto the hand that clutches at her heaving chest. As she attempts to calm her racing heart, she inadvertently smears the creamy white substance across the exposed skin of her breasts, which is not helping the semi I’ve had since I walked in here.
I let out a low groan, and a look of horror flashes across her face when she realizes what she’s done.
“Oh my God,” she mutters under her breath.
When she turns her back to me at the sink to wash up, I use that moment to discreetly rearrange myself in my jeans.
“Here.” I grab a dish towel out of the drawer, handing it to her.
“Thanks,” she says, giving me an embarrassed smile before using it to dry herself off.
The smile slips from her face as she looks wistfully at the ruined cup of yogurt now in the trash. “That was going to be my dinner.”
“You were gonna eat a cup of yogurt—for dinner?” I ask her, unsure if I need to be concerned about her diet as well as her safety.
Although she is rather petite, she doesn’t appear underweight. Her perfectly round ass and full hips more than speak to someone with a healthy appetite .
A single cup of yogurt is not enough for dinner, especially, since I know she hasn’t eaten anything all day.
“Well…” she says sheepishly, “it’s not exactly what I wanted, but there isn’t much else for me to choose from.”
“What are you talking about?” I open the refrigerator confused. I know for a fact it was almost full just yesterday. There’s no way it’s already empty.
Sure enough, I find several types of cold cuts, chicken salad wraps, soups, pastas… I look back at her questioningly, but her gaze drops to the floor as she picks at the skin around her nails—a habit I’m beginning to hate because she seems to only do it when she’s either anxious or afraid.
Closing the door, I step to her taking her hands in mine as I lean down, forcing her to look at me. “What’s going on?” I ask her. She chews on her bottom lip and is quiet so long, I begin to worry.
“I…I don’t eat meat,” she says quietly, and all the blood drains from my face.
I wrack my brain, thinking back to all those times I watched her and I can’t remember ever seeing her eat anything with meat in it.
Come to think of it all she ate yesterday was some buttered toast and fruit.
Christ ! How could I be so fucking blind?
She must be starving.
I need to feed her.
“Go get changed,” I tell her.
“What? Why?”
“Because, I’m taking you to dinner. ”
She just blinks those big emerald eyes at me while wearing an adorably puzzled expression.
“You need to eat,” I tell her. “I was just coming to tell you I had to go into work for a few minutes anyway. You can come with me. Once I’m finished, we can get dinner and pick up some groceries on the way back.”
“Oh no, you don’t have to do that. I’ll just stay here. I’m not that hungry anyways,” she says, but the growling of her empty stomach betrays her in that moment.
I lean in close to her—so close, she has to tilt her head all the way back to meet my eyes, baring her neck to me, the perfect picture of submission.
My fingers curl into tight fists at my side as I fight the urge to wrap my hand around the creamy expanse of her throat and bring her mouth to mine.
“Don’t lie to me. You haven’t eaten since yesterday, and it’s my fault.” My voice comes out low and gravely. “Now go and get changed. Let me feed you. Please.”
I don’t miss the way her breaths come shallow or the rosy flush that creeps out across her chest. She swallows hard, the movement breaking through the spell, and severing the connection.
Remembering myself, I take a step back.
“Plus, you’re my responsibility, and I would rather not leave you here alone while I’m gone.”
“Oh,” she whispers, dropping her gaze, but not before I see a flash of hurt in her eyes. “Right. I guess let me go get changed then.”
Still not meeting my eyes, she turns and slinks away, leaving me standing there, wondering what it was I did wrong.