11. CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
C ARLY
I’m still pissed at Micah as I climb Mrs. Peach’s porch stairs.
More than the anger though, what bothers me is the bitter feeling lingering in my gut, the self-loathing that always plagues me whenever anyone alludes to my family’s various crimes. I hate that feeling, hate it so much.
No matter how hard I try, their words feel like a judgment on me too. After all, I grew up with the very people they shun. My parents raised me. If everyone in my family is a screwup, what makes me so different?
Maybe it’s only a matter of time before I become a screwup too.
My head hurts as I reach the top step. My mood worsens.
I wish I could erase that last fifteen minutes or so.
The night was going so well until then. Everything else seemed straight out of a fairy tale, from the fancy restaurant to the amazing wine to Micah’s company and even his unbelievable deal that would solve all my financial problems right now.
It was all fantastic.
And then Nate called, breaking the illusion.
I was suddenly no longer just an ordinary girl having fun with an ordinary guy.
I was practically trailer trash hooking up with a billionaire.
I wonder if Micah finds the whole concept of our relationship as ridiculous and amusing as I do. I also wonder why I’m sleeping with a guy who thinks badly about my family and me.
I mean he probably thinks I’m easy, considering how effortless it was to get me into bed with him.
“Whatever,” I mutter to myself. “It’s not like I need his approval anyway.”
Before I can grasp the door handle, it swings open on its own. I jump back, startled as my best friend stands at the doorway blinking at me in silence.
“Emma!” I exclaim. I’m not sure who’s more surprised, me or her.
“Hey,” she says. “I dropped by to talk, but Mrs. Peach said you went on a date. She told me that would be back soon, so I decided to wait.”
“Oh. Uh, yeah,” I say. And that’s when I notice a black Mercedes parked in the driveway, the one I missed because I was too busy brooding. The bodyguards are probably choosing to wait there, to give the girls privacy. I know Emma is starting to chafe under their constant regard, and she’s complained to me a few times about just how invasive having bodyguards is.
But Declan won’t budge on her having them, until the Pearl case is entirely resolved. Possibly even after.
Emma glances behind me to the other end of the road where Micah’s rental Porsche was sitting. I wonder if she saw him drive off.
“Was that Micah who dropped you off?”
Shit. She saw him.
“Uh, yeah,” I say, trying to act casual as I attempt to step past her. Emma gives me space so I can enter the empty living room. “Where are Mrs. Peach and Kayla?” Kayla is the six-year-old girl she’s babysitting, one of the neighbor’s kids.
“In the bedroom. Mrs. Peach is reading her a bedtime story.” I hear the door shut behind me as I head to the kitchen. Emma follows. “Amelia was helping too, although I’m pretty sure she just wanted a chance to tell someone about the diary again.”
“Amelia’s here too?” Declan’s daughter is a precocious almost fourteen-year-old, who is always a hoot, with her endless curiosity and conspiracy theories.
“Yup,” Emma answers. “We were having a girl’s day and decided to drop by.”
“Cool.”
Emma clears her throat, before she says, “So Micah was the one you went on a date with?”
“Well, I wouldn’t call it a date.”
“What would you call it then?”
I open the fridge. While the food at the restaurant was good, and the wine was even better, their portion sizes left much to be desired. I’m still hungry hours later, but luckily, Mrs. Peach always has leftovers.
I visually scroll through the items as I mull over how to answer Emma’s question.
“We just went to a restaurant to talk. He has a problem that he needs my help to solve.”
“Right.” Emma doesn’t sound like she believes a word I’m saying, and when I straighten with a Tupperware of mashed potatoes and greens, she has an eyebrow raised and a half smile on her face. “You went on to a restaurant with Micah Landing, in that dress, and all you did was talk?”
I shrug, but I can already feel the heat spreading across my face. Damn my pale coloring. I can lie and mask my expression excellently, make my features convincingly bland, but then a random blush will give the whole thing away.
Emma’s expression loses all its humor, and she sighs. “Look, babe, I know Micah looks like a dream boat–”
“Don’t let your fiancé hear you say that.” Declan is famously jealous.
Emma rolls her eyes at my wry comment and continues, “Micah is objectively good-looking, but he’s not really… relationship material.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What on earth gave you the impression that I wanted a relationship with him?”
“I know you don’t date. I also know you have your own set of attachment issues, but I’m worried that dealing with Micah will worsen your view of men and completely shatter whatever shred of romantic inclinations you may have. I mean he’s a nice guy, but he’s also…”
“A spoiled, irreverent womanizer?” I volunteer when she lets the sentence hang.
“Well… yeah.”
I snort, placing the Tupperware on the kitchen counter and retrieve a bottle of water, cracking it open. “Yeah, I already figured out the kind of man Micah is. Don’t worry. There’s no risk of me getting my heart broken by that guy.” At most, Micah irritates and arouses me, but he doesn’t trigger me on a deeply emotional level that would suggest an intimate connection. We’re fuck buddies. And that’s how it’s going to remain.
For now. ... The threat lingers in my mind longer than it should.
“We’re just hooking up while he’s in town.” I decide to be honest with Emma. “And then when he’s gone, I’ll forget all about him. You know me, Emma. When have I ever been hung up on a guy?”
Emma still looked doubtful. “I don’t know. It’s just… I’ve heard about Micah.”
“From Declan?’
“Him and others. Apparently, Micah’s pretty well known for leaving a trail of broken hearts behind him, even from, as Rachel would put it, ‘smarter women who should know better.’”
“Yeah, well, that’s probably because those women aren’t used to the disappointment of not getting what they want,” I point out. “They probably saw him as a challenge, and when they lost him, the disappointment felt like heartbreak. Versus me, who is very familiar with both disappointment and heartbreak. Micah Landing will not break my heart. That’s for sure.”
Emma lets out a heavy sigh. “Well, if you’re sure. Anyway, that isn’t really what I came to talk to you about anyway.”
“Oh? And what did you come to talk to me about?” I grab a spoon to start scooping some of the food into a plate and then pop the plate in the microwave. I then return the Tupperware to the fridge and drink some more water, all without Emma saying a single word.
She seems to struggle with whatever she wants to say.
And when she finally speaks, I understand why.
“I spoke to Tate…”
I nearly groan. Of course. The one thing I ask from that girl is to keep a secret from Emma, and she can’t even do that for me.
To be fair, Tate has never been able to keep a secret even when we were young. I don’t know why I expected her to do so now.
I already know where this conversation is going but I’m resentful that I even have to have it, so I don’t try to help Emma get the words out at all.
Her lips form shapes as she fights against the awkwardness, and then with a sigh of frustration, she finally blurts out, “You know you can always come to me if you need help. Right?”
“I know. But like I told Tate, this is something I want to handle on my own. And I can handle it on my own.” What part of that is so hard for people to understand?
“But you don’t have to,” she says. “Look if you need money, I can give you some–”
“No.”
“We can call it an advance, a work advance although you don’t even have to pay me back, to be honest–”
“We’re not doing that.”
“We’ve been friends forever. And if it’s more than I can afford, I can just ask Declan–”
“Emma, I already said no!” I finally explode. “Why does no one understand that I don’t need help? I don’t need anyone!’
There’s a moment of silence during which my outbursts sink like a stone between us. Emma reacts like she’s been slapped, reeling back and blinking. The flash of hurt on her face makes me feel like the lowest life form on the planet.
Regret instantly fills me.
“I’m sorry,” I say, walking close and hugging her. “I’m being a shitty friend, and I’m sorry I went off on you like that. I guess I’m just a bit more sensitive tonight than I thought.” Probably because of my cousin’s call and Micah’s words that stung more than I let on.
And the truth is that I’m not even sure why it hurt so much. It’s not like he insulted me outright, and everything he said about my folks is true.
But for some reason, his words continue echoing in my head, digging into me like a vulture picking at a wound.
“No, it’s fine,” Emma says, as she wraps her arms around me. “You were right to be mad. I’m being the bad friend by not respecting your wishes and trying to insert myself where I don’t belong. It’s just that… I’m worried about you.”
I sigh, allowing some of the tension to leak out of me.
“I know. And I appreciate it, I really do, but I just… I need to do this on my own. Okay?”
Emma nods and pulls back. She finally allows a hesitant smile to spread her cheeks, and her eyes finally regain their mischievous gleam. “So, we gonna crack open that ice cream and talk about the date, or what?”
I smile at her incorrigibility. “Yes to the ice cream, no to talking about the date that wasn’t really a date.”
“Boo. You’re no fun.”
“Emma.” A new voice interrupts our conversation and I turn to find Amelia, standing at the kitchen archway, blinking her bright eyes. “Oh. Hey, Carly.”“Hi, hi.” I wave. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. Kayla is asleep and so is Mrs. Peach. They fell asleep in the middle of Golden Girls , but with the way Mrs. Peach is snoring, Kayla might not stay asleep for long.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” I say. “Once Kay’s down, she sleeps like the dead.”
A hint of relief flashes in her face. “Okay, that’s good. I really don’t want to have to watch another episode or read another bedtime story.”
I snort and finally notice what she’s holding in her hand, a folder neatly packed with stray sheets of paper. I know what’s in the folder, having had numerous conversations with Amelia about it while visiting Emma.
Lately, all the young girl wants to talk about is the disappearance of Madam T, a socialite who stayed at the Pink Hotel about fifty or so years ago.
In a way, Amelia’s obsession with Madam T is a good thing. After all, it was her intense perusal of Madam T’s diary that led the police to capturing the rainbow pearl smugglers that no one even knew about in the first place.
It’s just strange to think that Emma was given the diary years ago by her grandfather, and she only gave it to Amelia when the latter first moved here. It was supposed to be a simple welcoming gift, something to make her visit to Laketown more exciting.
But, within a few months, the little genius used the diary to solve a major crime. Insane.
The diary’s now with the police as part of their investigation, but Amelia made photocopies of every page and often carries it around in that folder she’s holding. I know that with only the mildest prompting, she’ll go into detailed explanation of every theory she has about Madam T’s disappearance and what happened with the thieves and how it all links together.
Amelia also, for whatever reason, thinks the original jewel thieves might come back for the Pink Pearl now that it’s been found, even though they haven’t been seen in fifty years already.
“How’s the investigation going?” I ask, nodding toward the folder. Emma throws me a droll look that Amelia doesn’t catch because she looks to the ceiling and sighs dramatically.
“I think I’ve hit a dead end,” she says. “I’ve read the diary cover to cover, looked into all the clues, tried to piece together any information I can find online but still nothing. I still can’t figure out where Madam T and Vincent went after they ran away from the hotel.”
“Isn’t that the magic of it?” I know a little bit about the story of the missing lovers, some of it from what Emma told me and the rest from Amelia. Madam T, the owner of the diary, was a noble socialite who just lost her father. She came to the Pink Hotel with her fiancé to distract herself from her grief. But her fiancé, the cold bastard, was just there to sign business deals and didn’t really wanna deal with her. So, he left her alone most of the time to hang out with the other gentlemen at the hotel.
Unbeknownst to either of them, there were jewel thieves in the hotel too, plotting to steal the Pink Pearl. One of them, Vincent, set his sights on Madam T and wanted to use her to get closer to the pearl. He started sending her love letters, impersonating her fiancé, and she responded to them in kind. Slowly, they fell in love for real and the thief came clean about his deception.
But then Madam T’s fiancé found out about everything and all hell broke loose. There was a gun fight, the fiancé got shot, and the three thieves and Madam T were lost to the wind.
And now, many decades later, Amelia is obsessed with finding out what happened to them.
“Maybe we’re not meant to know,” I say. “Not knowing is part of the fun, don’t you think?”
The teen doesn’t seem convinced. “Well, I don’t like not knowing things. And I won’t stop until I get to the bottom of this.” She bites her lip in thought for several seconds, and then like flipping a switch, her expression brightens up. “On the bright side, I met this kid on an online forum and he says he’ll help me with the investigation. His dad’s a cop and so he knows what to look for in a cold case. He gave me all sorts of things to think about too. Wanna hear them?”
Emma and I share a look. Ice cream and conspiracy theories doesn’t sound half bad right now.
“Alright.” I open the fridge up again to retrieve the tub. “Let’s do this.”
The next day, a Lamborghini is sitting in the Tiki Bar parking lot.
It’s such an odd and funny sight, watching the sleek red car between two rusty trucks, one of which should have been deposited in the junkyard ages ago.
I pause to stare in amazement. And I’m not the only one. A group of teenage boys are staring at the car in awe too. One of them even leans on the hood to take a selfie with it.
Only for him to jump up when the door pops open and Micah emerges.
“Sorry!” the selfie-taker scurries off red-faced as his friends laugh at him.
“No worries,” Micah waves them off good-naturedly. Then he faces me.
“Hey there, pretty lady,” Micah calls out, taking off his sunglasses in such a smooth move, that my heart skips a beat.
He looks like a movie star.
I can feel other people’s gazes on me as I approach him, and it’s an interesting sensation. Usually, when people stare at me, it’s due to either scorn or pity. But this time, it’s clear envy they emanate, as well as curiosity.
Compared to scorn and pity, I have to admit, envy and curiosity feel kinda nice.
“What happened to the Porsche?” I ask as I walk around to the passenger side. Micah follows me to pull open the door.
“Wasn’t my style,” he says as I climb in. “Too bulky. I actually wanted this in the first place, but some senator’s son was in town and already rented it out.”
“Ah,” I laughed at his disgruntled expression.
“Luckily, they couldn’t afford it for another day, and now I get to play with this baby.”
“You know this is my first time in a sports car?” I tell him as he gets in the driver’s seat. I stare at the mustard-brown interior and inhale the fresh scent of exotic leather and cologne.
“For real?” he turns to me and then says, “Well then. I’ll make sure to make it a ride you won’t forget.”
The car purrs to life, the sound a pleasant hum that fades into almost nothing. Micah pulls out of the parking lot in a smooth move, and when he reverses to get the turn right, the smart screen in front of him shows our back in exquisite detail.
And then, as the car joins the road, he kicks up the speed in a heart-pounding rush.
“Micah,” I warn as my hands clutch the leather seats below me, my heart rate ticking up steadily. The car is a well-oiled machine, too well-oiled, offering no resistance at all as it zooms down the road. I’ve never gone this fast before. It’s a little disconcerting. The roads are mostly empty but still. Once we get on the highway, the world whizzes by even faster and the loss of control scares me.
And also… thrills me.
“Relax,” Micah says. “I got you.”
He takes one hand off the wheel and folds it over the hand that’s clutching the seat. He turns it over, making me hold his hand tightly instead.
The ride continues at the same stomach-dropping speed, switching lanes and slowing only for red lights.
After a while, I start to relax.
Maybe because it’s so clear that Micah is in complete control here. Maybe it’s the steady rhythm or the solid feel of the vehicle, or the cologne-scented seats. Or maybe it’s Micah’s touch. Either way, my muscles start to unknot and before I know it, I’m just holding Micah’s hand rather than squeezing the life out of it as I lean back into the seat.
“See?” Micah says. “Isn’t that nice?”
“Mhmmm,” I respond. Now that I’m not scared for my life, I can enjoy the smooth navigation and bone-meltingly comfortable seats. Not to mention all the buttons on the dashboard. “Where are we going?”
“Shopping,” he says. “I forgot to mention yesterday, but my grandfather is, well, a snob. It’s why I lied and told him that you were a high-society girl. Now, you have to look and play the part.”
“Ah.” I nod. “Like Pretty Woman .”
“Exactly like Pretty Woman. ” He nods enthusiastically and runs his thumb over my fingers in approval. “What an excellent movie that was.”
“I don’t know about that. It seemed a little farfetched to me.”
He gives me a look of mock horror. “Blasphemy.”
I roll my eyes. “Come on. A wealthy, upper-crust businessman falls in love with a hooker? And what’s more, he marries her? Please. That would never happen in real life.”
“Yes, it could. Where’s your sense of romance?”
“I’m a realist. And in reality, even if he did fall in love with her, he would never claim her in public, much less marry her. She would simply live her life as his hidden mistress.”
As we reach a red light, he stares for a long time, thoughtful. “Man, you’re jaded.”
I shrug. “I prefer the term pragmatic”
“Hmm. We’ll put a pin in that discussion for now. But today, we’re going to have your Pretty Woman shopping montage.”
“Alright.” I figure if we’re going shopping, we’re probably headed to Bayview. That’s where all the nice boutiques are, and it should take us an hour or so to get there.
I lean back and close my eyes, imagining what I would look like dressed as a high-society girl. Mostly though I’m enjoying the ride and enjoying Micah’s hand holding mine.
I don’t know that I doze off until someone shakes me awake. “We’re here, sleeping beauty.”
My eyes blink open and turn to look out the open door to the sunset, behind a jet-black plane.
I blink again. “Where are we?”
“On the airport tarmac.”
I stare at him in confusion. “Why?”
He smiles mischievously. “I already told you. We’re going shopping.”