Chapter Three
Three
I think a part of me knew Jack would show up at my apartment. I just hadn’t expected him to wait a full three hours. He was the kind of guy who liked to have the last word, and I was now 1,225 pages of words ahead. In anticipation of his unwanted presence, I had poured coffee into the pothos plant he’d given to me when he left on what was supposed to be a quick work trip to Cambodia but had turned out to be an eight-month relationship-ending adventure instead.
Jack’s “work”—I always thought about his “work” in quotation marks because I still didn’t really know what he did except that it involved some Robin Hood–type shenanigans in which he stole illicitly acquired art and jewelry and returned it to its proper owners—had taken him away for the better part of the last year, and I’d finally grown tired of having a nonexistent boyfriend. Sure, the sexting was great, but I missed having someone to talk to about the little day-to-day things—the struggles with my new business, my parents’ incessant desire to see me married, and the total inability of the owner of the nearest hot dog stand to remember to refill his mustard.
I was in my living room talking through some last-minute details with a client when Jack appeared on the balcony outside my sliding glass door. My event-planning business had initially been set up as a cover for the heist we’d pulled off together, but I’d enjoyed the experience so much, I’d made the business permanent. I’d used my share of the reward money we’d received for “finding” the Wild Heart necklace to rent a small office only a few blocks from Olivia’s school, and I’d leaned heavily on my family and my connection with Simone, a high-society friend I’d met at a charity ball, to bring the first few clients in the door.
Incensed that he would climb the three floors to my apartment and deny me the pleasure of slamming the door in his face, I grabbed the curtains and pulled them closed.
“Simi. I need to talk to you. You’re in danger.” He knocked on the glass door, calling my name. I heard footsteps upstairs and knew my neighbor Mrs. Gunter would be down soon to tell me the noise was upsetting her cat.
Unable to conduct a professional conversation with him banging and shouting outside, I ended the call. I was contemplating whether to call the police or leave him to Mrs. Gunter when I heard the glass door slide open, a reminder to never again go out with a professional thief. Moments later, Jack pushed the curtains aside and walked into my apartment.
“You are breaking and entering,” I told him. “That’s a criminal offense.”
“I wouldn’t have had to pick the lock if you’d let me in,” he said. “I came to protect you.”
Jack walked across the room to inspect the plants he’d given me to brighten up my new apartment. He was big into horticulture and had carefully selected various houseplants and flowers that would do well indoors and with my southeast-facing windows.
My stomach twisted in a knot as his strong hands gently lifted the leaves on the wilting African violet. I thought I’d be able to handle the sight of him after my rage book throwing, but all I wanted to do was throw something else. Ten months ago those hands had caressed my skin, stroked my hair, and given me mind-blowing pleasure. He had held me in his arms and made sweet promises about getting out of “the business” so we could be together forever. To be honest, I wasn’t down with the “forever” part. Forevers were scary. They meant commitment. They meant vulnerability. They meant you were running the risk of opening your heart to someone who might walk away. Just as he had done.
“I don’t need your protection. Just tell me why I’m in danger and then get out.” It was hard to see him standing there looking breathtakingly roguish in his retro Rolling Stones T-shirt, battered leather jacket, and worn boots. His dark hair was thick and casually mussed like he’d just jumped out of bed. Maybe he had.
Jack sniffed the pothos. “You gave it some coffee. Great job. I was going to tell you that the Epipremnum aureum loves the occasional watering with black coffee. You can also add coffee grounds into the potting soil while transplanting and watch it thrive in the long term.”
“Seriously?” I picked up the snow globe he’d sent me from India. I didn’t think it had ever snowed over the Taj Mahal, but I appreciated the sentiment. “After what you did with Clare, do you really think I care about the damn plants? They’re all going in the trash except for the Boston fern in my office.” I knew that would get him. Garcia had given me that fern, and Jack hadn’t been pleased.
“It was an ambush,” he said, eyeing the snow globe in my hand. “She found out I was meeting you there and—”
“I don’t believe you.”
“She set me up.” His face grew serious. “She knows about us—”
“There is no ‘us,’?” I said, cutting him off. “Not anymore. Why didn’t she know that?”
“I didn’t tell her.”
“So, you let her think we were together when you kissed her in front of me?” My voice rose in pitch. “That’s low even for you. But congratulations. You deserve each other.”
“Simi…” His face tightened. “I don’t want her. I want you.”
“I didn’t see you making any effort to push her away.” My voice cracked, broke. I couldn’t stop the painful mental replay of the Bloomingdale’s scene. It was on a permanent loop in my mind.
“She had a gun in her pocket,” Jack said.
“Are you sure that wasn’t you?”
He gave me a pained look. “She threatened to shoot me if I didn’t make it look good.”
“You could have won an Oscar with that performance.”
Jack scrubbed his hand over his jaw. “She’s dangerous, Simi. Very dangerous.”
I snorted in derision. “What’s she going to do? Dress me in the wrong clothes? Sell me last season’s Gucci? Shop me to death? Overcharge me?”
“She’s not really a personal shopper.” He crossed the room and settled in one of the peacock blue side chairs I’d just bought for my living room. I loved color. The brighter and bolder, the better. “The personal shopper gig was just a cover for a scam she was running. She’s a…” He trailed off, his fingers drumming an offbeat rhythm on the mirrored side table. “She does what I do except for the wrong people. We have a history together.”
“Apparently.” I traded the snow globe for my phone. I was seconds away from texting Chloe and asking her to bring her bleach and her tarp. “Did you sleep with her?”
“We worked together and then…” He opened his hands in a helpless gesture. “It was a long time ago and it didn’t mean anything. We parted ways and wound up on opposite sides. She’s been making my life miserable ever since.”
“You didn’t seem miserable in Bloomingdale’s.”
“She was trying to hurt me by hurting you.” He gave a heavy sigh. “She showed up at a high-society party where I was doing recon for a new job. We were after the same score. I outed her as a thief, and the police came and took her away. She escaped and came back to trash my truck and threaten to destroy my life.”
“Too bad for her you managed to do it all on your own.” I didn’t want to hear his explanations and excuses. I wanted him gone.
“I know you’re angry,” he said. “Clare is good at what she does, and she knew just how to twist the knife.” He fiddled with the frayed friendship bracelet on his wrist. I’d been helping Olivia make them for a school fundraiser and, on a whim, I’d made one for Jack. I’d jokingly told him it was the sign of everlasting friendship, and he was supposed to wear it until it rotted off. I never imagined he’d take me seriously.
“I can handle Clare. She tried to convince me to buy jewelry as well as shoes when I went to see her about the dress for the charity ball, and I managed to resist.” I grabbed one of the plants he had given me and shoved it into his hands. “Take it. I killed it. Just like you killed our relationship by never being there when I needed you. Just like you killed it again by asking me to meet you so you could get your revenge. Good-bye.”
“It’s not dead,” he pointed out. “It just needs a little love.”
“Then give it to Clare.”
“She’s not a loving type. She’s an evil, using, betraying, double-crossing type. Not like you, sweetheart.”
“Don’t sweetheart me,” I snapped. “Your fake seduction won’t work here. Clearly, the only thing that is a danger to me is you.”
I was done playing games. It hadn’t been easy to drop my guard and let Jack into my heart. Although my parents had done their best, I’d played second fiddle all my life to my sports-mad brothers. I was used to being overlooked, to having my needs go unmet. Jack was the first person besides Chloe who I thought had seen the real me. He’d made me feel loved and wanted, which was why the blatant rejection hurt even more.
“What do you want?” he asked as he reluctantly made his way down the hallway. “What else can I do?”
“I want to be loved, Jack. Loved by a person I can trust, and who I know in my soul won’t hurt me. I want to feel like I’m good enough, that I’m deserving of love and respect. I thought I had that with you, but I was wrong. I thought I was over my abandonment and trust issues, that they didn’t define me or control my life, but you’ve made me realize I was wrong about that, too.”
“You know me,” he said quietly. “Do you really think I’d hurt you that way?”
“I thought I knew you, but—”
“I’ll prove it to you,” Jack said. “Give me a few days and I’ll prove that Clare set me up. I want you back, Simi. I miss you, and I think you miss me, too, because otherwise you would have thrown the plant at my head.”
I did miss him. I hadn’t realized just how much until I’d woken up that morning looking forward to our meeting, only to be absolutely crushed to see him with Clare. I picked up a tiny succulent and held it aloft. “Maybe I should throw something at your head.”
“Where did that come from?” Jack asked, frowning. “I didn’t buy it for you.”
“Garcia gave it to me. He’s been a good friend. I mentioned that the plants you gave me were high-maintenance, so he bought me a cactus. He said it was strong, hardy, and impossible to kill.”
“Garcia doesn’t just want to be your friend.” Jack crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Janice said he kissed you.”
I silently congratulated myself again for letting Janice and her gossiping ways go and just stared at Jack. He didn’t deserve to know that the kiss had been unexpected and unwanted and that I’d had to tell Garcia that I wasn’t ready for another relationship.
“He also gave you a succulent,” he said when I didn’t respond.
“It’s just a plant.”
“ Just a plant?” His eyes widened. “There is no ‘just a plant.’ He was putting down a marker, and now he won’t stop. I know his type. He’ll probably give you an Asplenium nidus next. If you thought my plants were high-maintenance…”
I’d finally had enough. He had no right to be jealous after revenge kissing his ex in front of me. “I think you should go before one of us says something we’re going to regret.”
“I’ve asked some of my guys to keep watch on your apartment,” he said, turning in the doorway. “Don’t be alarmed if you see them outside. They’ll keep you safe if you aren’t planning to go back to Chloe’s place tonight.”
“What guys? I thought you worked alone doing whatever mysterious job it is you do that you can’t tell me about.”
“They’re just guys I know.”
“Guys with guns?”
“They can’t protect you without weapons.”
For the first time since he’d arrived, I felt a niggle of apprehension. “Jack, what’s going on?”
“It was supposed to be one last job,” he said, pushing open the door. “One last job so we could be together.”
“Beta, so nice to see you.” My mother swooped in for a hug the moment I stepped into the kitchen of my childhood home in Evanston. She loved to dress the part of an English professor, with thick-rimmed glasses, flowing tops, and cardigans that had seen better days. “I was just about to send you a message. We’ve invited guests for dinner on Saturday night. Wear something nice.”
“I won’t be able to make it. There’s somewhere I’ll need to be.” I greeted both my parents with a kiss on the cheek and gave my maternal grandmother, Nani, a hug. I’d come home for food and a visit, not to discuss marriage proposals. My parents enjoyed springing surprise potential husbands on me when I least expected it, and the meet and greets always involved a smattering of my matchmaking aunties. “I had hoped you’d give me some time to get over my relationship with Jack.”
“We did,” Mom said without even the barest hint of shame. “We waited two days before introducing you to that boy Tariq, and you seemed to be fine.”
“I wasn’t fine then. I’m not fine now. I don’t know if I’ll ever be fine.” I was still shaken by the Bloomingdale’s kiss and Jack’s subsequent unwanted appearance in my apartment.
“You just need a new man, and you’ll forget he ever existed,” Nani said cheerfully from behind the kitchen counter, where she was busy heating enough leftovers to feed an army. Nani had moved in after my grandfather passed away and spent her days cooking huge meals, gossiping with her friends, and trying to pick up men at the local seniors’ center.
“How about a pint of ice cream?” I suggested, sitting at the table across from my dad. “Maybe a mother-daughter shopping trip? Most parents don’t try to cheer their daughters up by arranging a marriage.”
“They don’t love their children as much as we do.” Mom handed me a CV. “Take a look. He’s the nephew of one of my colleagues in the English department. He and his big brother were orphaned when their parents passed away in a fire, so she adopted them. He has a PhD in chemistry but right now he’s looking for work and a place to live. He was sleeping on his brother’s couch because he has no money, but his brother was just arrested, and the landlord ended the tenancy when the police found a dead body in the kitchen. Something to do with a gang killing.”
I stared at my mother, aghast. “Are you serious? You’ve spent years parading doctors, lawyers, and engineers in front of me. You looked down on anyone with less than impeccable credentials, a respectable family, and a hefty bank account, and now you want me to marry a guy who’s orphaned, homeless, destitute, and the brother of a murderous felon?”
It occurred to me that Jack was also an orphan, homeless, underemployed, and, since he’d given up his share of the reward money from our last heist, likely destitute as well. I should have introduced him to my parents when I had the chance.
“He’s got a PhD,” Mom protested.
“And to be fair,” Nani added, “you were arrested, too. I don’t think you’re in a position to judge.”
“I was innocent,” I shot back. “Detective Garcia just thought it was me because I happened to be at the scene of the crime, and he didn’t have any other suspects.”
“You’re not getting any younger.” My dad looked up from the fashion magazine he had been perusing for inspiration for his next collection. “Many of the young South Asian men having arranged marriages today are wanting brides in their early twenties. They tell me all about it when they come in for their suits.” Dad was a master tailor and owner of Chopra Custom Clothiers, a business he’d built with his dad into one of the top custom tailors in Chicago. In contrast to my mother’s eclectic ensemble, he was dressed for success in a bespoke suit-and-shirt combination from his Masters line for mature men.
“It would be a kindness if you married him,” Nani said. “And you can’t complain that he’s living in his mother’s basement like you did with that boy we invited for dinner last week.”
“That guy was thirty-seven years old, and his mother was still cooking his meals and doing his laundry,” I protested.
My father gently patted my hand. “Even you lived at home last year.”
“I came home for a few months because my basement suite flooded. I’ve been living on my own as a responsible adult for almost ten years.” I didn’t see any point in mentioning that water was leaking from the ceiling of my apartment, my business was failing, I’d had to let my receptionist go, and my ex-boyfriend had just rejected me all over again.
Emotion welled up in my chest and I reached for a tissue. Right away, Nani grabbed the plates, and a few minutes later we were sitting around the worn kitchen table passing around my favorite comfort foods. Between bites of coconut curry, channa masala, and my father’s special dal, I told my family about Jack and Clare and the kiss I wish I hadn’t seen.
“I broke up with him for a reason,” I told them, “and seeing him with Clare confirmed it. But when he showed up at my apartment and told me she’d set him up, part of me wanted to believe him. I also wanted to believe all the crazy stories he’d told me about why he’d barely been in touch when he was away. I felt like I was betraying myself for having those feelings, so I threw him out.”
All the fear, the insecurity, and the trauma from my past had come rushing back. I’d been ignored and overlooked as a child, so desperate for love and attention I would have done anything to get it. I’d been working on reconciling all that trauma with my parents, but clearly trust was still an issue for me.
Confusion turned to anger and resentment, and I stabbed at the samosas on my plate. “How could he do this to me? How could he disappear for so long, only to come back and break my heart?” Why did it hurt every time I opened myself to love?
“He’s a bastard.” Dad thumped the table so hard the plates rattled. “If he comes to my store again to buy a suit, I’ll only sell him something off the rack.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I smiled at his fierce expression. For a bespoke tailor, nothing was worse than an off-the-rack suit. “Make sure you give him a polyester tie, too.”
“I don’t carry polyester ties.” Dad sniffed. “What kind of establishment do you think I run?”
“Men are scum,” Nani said in an attempt to cheer me up. “Worse than scum. They are scum on scum. But when you’re ready, I do know a nice boy who does pole dancing.”
“Seriously?” I stared at her, aghast. “Pole dancing?”
“I went with his mother to watch him at his track meet,” she said. “He was wearing an orange leotard. It left very little to the imagination, but I can assure you that you will not go unsatisfied in that department.”
“Oh God. Nani…”
“Do you mean pole vaulting?” Mom asked. “Did he run with the pole and throw himself over a bar?”
“Yes, that’s it,” she said. “Dancing. Vaulting. Cheating. Betraying. In the end, men are all the same when they’re wearing tight clothes.”