Fowler Sisters: Stealing Rose Part 16

"Mom. He just wants to keep you talking so he can then send you a ridiculous bill for three hours' worth of a.s.sistance on a phone call. And he can't help you yet. You need to talk to the insurance company first."

"That's exactly what Stanley said!" She sounds surprised, like she has zero faith in me and I don't know what the h.e.l.l I'm talking about.

"Why didn't you call me?"

"Oh, you know me. I get confused about the time change with you being in London. And you're with your little friend, so I didn't want to disturb you."

"What little friend?" Unease creeps over my skin. What does she know? How could she know who I'm with? h.e.l.l, how could she know anything?

"That Mitch.e.l.l Landers. Remember how pudgy he was when you two were in the seventh grade? That boy drove me crazy. I know he's the one who introduced you to marijuana," she says irritably.

I almost want to laugh. Almost. "Mom, I'm the one who gave Mitch.e.l.l his first joint. Not the other way around."

"You're so funny, trying to make jokes during a time like this." She sighs. "When are you coming home?"

"When do you want me to come home?"

"Tonight? Get on pudgy Mitch.e.l.l Landers's jet and come right home, Caden. Come to Miami. I'm tired of you living in the city. That place is awful. I need your help. I'm getting phone calls from the insurance company and I don't know what to tell them. You'd know what to say."

h.e.l.lo, real life, you've just come pounding hard on my front door. "I can't come home tonight. Mitch.e.l.l's not leaving London until early next week." Thank Christ. We've both been in agreement about extending our stay here in England. But that leaves me only a few days with Rose before I have to return.

And that's not enough time.

"Oh, poo. Come home now. Book a flight, then."

"You can wait a few more days, right?"

"I suppose," she says sullenly.

"Besides, a last minute flight costs big money and I don't want to waste a dime. Not after your car accident. G.o.d knows what else you're going to be billed for," I say, exasperated with her, with my entire life. "I bet the city is going to make you pay for that busted hydrant."

"I'll fight it. That's the most ridiculous thing ever. I can't help it if they place their hydrants in ridiculous places where any car could come along and destroy one."

I'm not even touching that statement. "Listen, I'll come home in a few days, okay? In the meanwhile, direct all calls from the insurance company or anyone else to me, got it?"

"They won't talk to you, Caden. They want to talk to me. I'm the one who caused the accident," she points out.

"I'm trying to help you, Mom. Okay? So give them my number. At the very least, stop answering the d.a.m.n phone unless it's me."

"And how am I supposed to know if it's you calling?" she asks, sounding well and truly puzzled. She's older than most of my friends' moms, close to seventy, since she and my father had me late in life. I was one of those cherished babies after they tried so hard for so many years to become pregnant. The prized baby boy, the son they indulged and spoiled, turning me into an utter brat. Until I had to straighten up and become a man when I was only a teen after my father jumped off a building and ended it.

f.u.c.ker.

"You have caller ID, Mom. Remember?"

The conversation goes on like this for a few more minutes, me trying to calm her down, Mom trying to tell me story after story that I couldn't give two s.h.i.+ts about. I let her ramble on, the familiar guilt that washes over me expected. I'm all she has. She doesn't have many friends, because all of her supposed dear friends ditched her after Dad jumped to his death and we lost most of our money. What the bank didn't take, we sold, and I managed to somehow move Mom into a small condo in Miami once I graduated high school.

I finally end the call with Mom and immediately call Cash, tapping my foot against the floor as I wait for him to pick up. Cash isn't his real name, because come on, life isn't that funny, but he's the man we all go to in order to turn our loot into cash, and so it's a nickname he picked up ages ago. Way before my time. The old geezer is close to Mom's age and as slick as anything you've ever seen. Smart, too. He's been doing this for years and took me under his wing when I first came to him.

I owe him lots of things, but mostly my sanity.

"Caden Kingsley. Where the h.e.l.l are you, son?" Cash greets me in his familiar gravelly voice.

"Still in London, old chap," I say, making him laugh at my horrible attempt at an English accent. "Where are you?"

He travels around as much as we all do, though he's based out of Miami most of the time. He's checked in on Mom more than once and I appreciate that, and so does she, since she flirts with him every chance she can get. Plus, he looks like a typical lounge lizard. Slicked-back silver hair, overly tanned skin, s.h.i.+rt unb.u.t.toned halfway down his chest to reveal the gold medallion as big as his fist hanging from a thick gold chain.

Yeah. Cheesy. But the man is worth a load of cash and has no problems flaunting it.

"I'm in New York, motherf.u.c.ker," he says in a tough-guy New York accent before he bursts into laughter that turns into wheezing. I let him ride it out. "I've missed you."

"I saw you a month ago."

"And it's been three weeks too long. You've been coming to me so much these last few months it seems odd, not seeing your handsome mug," Cash says.

"Yeah, well, you'll see me soon. Gotta get home so I can take care of Mom. When are you headed back to Miami?" I tell him briefly what she did, which only makes him laugh harder. He's always had a thing for my mom. Sometimes I wish I could hook the two of them up so they could fall madly in love and he'll take care of her for the rest of her life, not me.

But that'll never happen. She refuses to let anyone in after what Dad did to her. Not that I can blame her.

"You know what your mom needs?" Cash asks once I finish the story.

"To be inst.i.tutionalized?" I wish. And then I immediately don't wish, because what kind of s.h.i.+tty son am I? "h.e.l.l, I'm kidding. You know I am. I'm the one who should be inst.i.tutionalized."

"Naw. You're fine. Though you do need to straighten up your act. But your pretty mama? She needs a good man to keep her straight. And I could be that man, you know." He's always making statements like that. Maybe I should take him up on it. But I figure that as usual, he's joking.

"Right, right, in my dreams you'll become my stepfather, Cash."

He laughs. Wheezes some more. The man needs to lay off the cancer sticks. "It could happen. You're the one who throws the roadblocks."

"Uh-huh. Look, I'm going to grab a few things over the next few days. Nothing too big, but I'll need fast cash." I clear my throat, fighting off the guilt that threatens. Guilt that I haven't felt in a long-a.s.s time because d.a.m.n it, I do this to survive. I shouldn't care what other people think of me, especially Rose. "Will you still be in the city next week?"

"Yeah, though listen. There's a little something I want to discuss with you. Hold on." I can hear him as he exits his office and I a.s.sume he's just walked outside. "I have a proposition for you."

"What sort of proposition?" It better not be some crazy scheme. The man used to come up with some outrageous s.h.i.+t, especially when I was younger and more daring-or stupid, take your pick-but he's laid off that stuff, thank G.o.d.

"Nothing bad, son. I swear. This is actually legit. Like a real job-no criminal activity involved."

Now that piques my interest. If I want Rose to take me seriously-and holy s.h.i.+t, I'm pretty sure I do-I need to go straight.

I need to leave my past behind.

Chapter Fifteen.

Caden

"They should be here any minute, mate," Nigel says, glancing at his iPhone. He's texting some female who's clearly not interested, since he keeps muttering under his breath every time he gets a reply he's not happy with.

"No problem." Rose had called me and asked that I meet them at the White Swan since it's so close to the hotel, and I agreed. When I arrived, though, only Nigel was waiting for me, with a half-empty beer in front of him and a morose expression on his face.

Woman problems, I learned once I settled in and ordered my own beer. I let him ramble on, griping about a certain Clare who works at Fleur. A woman he's had a crush on for far too long and she knows it but doesn't seem to fancy him, and now she's just turned into this enormous tease and good G.o.d, all his chatter is exhausting.

Considering I've dealt with Mom's constant chatter and Cash all in one day, poor Nigel is not gaining my full attention. I'm like the beautiful, aloof Clare at Fleur. She's not giving him his full attention, either.

Jesus, I feel like a p.r.i.c.k.

I rub my hands over my face and drain my beer, the alcohol flowing through my veins easily since I never really ate lunch. I still can't wrap my head around what Cash offered me. I think I'm going to take him up on it. And if I do, there won't be any need for me to cash in the Poppy Necklace to Dexter. He's going to be furious, but ... f.u.c.k it.

I can make my own money-legitimately. I have no idea what that's like, but I'm willing to give it a try.

Especially if Rose is willing to give me a try.

But I can't talk about my potential new career with anyone. I have no friends. Mitch.e.l.l knows what I'm all about, but that f.u.c.ker doesn't know s.h.i.+t about having a career. He's never had to work a day in his life. Neither have I. Not a real job, at least.

"So what exactly do you do anyway?" Nigel the mind reader asks, slurring his words a bit. Sounds like someone's already had too much to drink.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," I say, deciding to f.u.c.k with him. The guy needs to loosen up a little. Constantly sending the noncaring Clare texts is probably annoying the s.h.i.+t out of her. He needs to focus on something else.

"Ah, you can't say something like that and not expect a demand that you tell me exactly what it is you do." Nigel lifts his hand, garnering the attention of the barmaid. "Two more for us," he calls.

"Make it four," I say after him, earning a strange look from Nigel. I shrug. "May as well be prepared for the next one, right?"

"Right. b.l.o.o.d.y good call." He nods in affirmation. "So tell me. Are you a spy?"

"Yes. I am," I answer, my tone grave. "My secret spy number is double-O-five. Or Hawaii Five-O."

Nigel laughs. "Don't you Americans have a show called that?"

"Yep." A spy. Ha. I wish.

"So you're definitely not a spy. How unfortunate." He shakes his head. "An actor?"

Sometimes. When need be. "Can you imagine? But no."

Nigel wags his brows like an exaggerated cartoon character. "Rose's butler?"

"Well, I am servicing her." We both crack up over that just as the barmaid brings us our four mugs of beer, the tiny round table we're sitting at now crowded with them, though at least she takes away the empties. h.e.l.l, by the time the working stiffs show up, I'm afraid Nigel and I will be good and drunk.

So that's what we do. We drink and I let Nigel continue guessing, which helps distract him from his texting Clare, not that I point out that little fact to him. His guesses at my profession get more and more ridiculous until ... he finally f.u.c.king nails it. After my third beer and G.o.d knows how many he's had, he gets it right.

"You're a thief."

I go completely still and unfortunately, become completely sober just with those three words. "What makes you say that?"

"You're a sly motherf.u.c.ker, that's why. f.u.c.king w.a.n.ker, distracting me from texting the most impossible girl on the planet so you can get me drunk." Nigel shakes his head and smiles. He saw right through my plan. "I bet that's how you trick all the defenseless people you steal from." He laughs hysterically and I know I should join right in with him.

But I don't. I feel like absolute s.h.i.+t. Nigel's right. I'm a sly motherf.u.c.ker who tricks defenseless people and then I steal from them. I'm a terrible person, a terrible f.u.c.king man. I don't deserve Rose. Not at all.

It's at that particular self-loathing moment when I see her. Rose. She's just entered the pub, Violet by her side, Ryder right behind them and accompanied by another man. I don't know who the man is, but I know in a second I can't stand him. He has his hand on Rose's shoulder, his fingers pressing into the skin of her upper arm since the dress she's wearing is sleeveless and jealousy fills me, blocking everything out until all I can see is that a.s.shole's hand on my woman's arm.

She laughs at something he says, glancing over her shoulder at him, and he gives her arm a squeeze-f.u.c.k me-and she's never looked more beautiful. The white dress fits her to perfection, showing off her every curve, and I can see why that d.i.c.k has his hands on her because right about now I'd have my hands all over her too.

h.e.l.l. I need another beer.

"Jeeves. I do believe you've been replaced," Nigel says, his English accent becoming more p.r.o.nounced. He chuckles and shakes his head.

"What the h.e.l.l are you talking about?"

"Uh ... looks like Watson has his hands all over Rose. I thought you were the one who serviced her." At my blank look, Nigel continues. "You're her butler, right? Servicing her? That's why I called you Jeeves. Get it? Huh. Well, it appears you have some compet.i.tion from Hugh. He can't seem to stop touching her."

"Who the f.u.c.k is Hugh?" I can't tear my gaze off of them. They're making their way toward our table and the smile on Rose's face is aimed right at me. But is it really for me? Or was it spurred on by whatever Hugh-the-f.u.c.ker-Watson said?

"He works at Fleur. Right arrogant b.a.s.t.a.r.d, too. The women love him," Nigel mutters. "Probably even Clare."

"If she does then she's not worthy, Nigel. Don't forget that," I say, putting on my best phony smile for the group of four that approaches our table. Rose stops right in front of me, her eyes clouded as she stares at my face. Am I scowling? h.e.l.l, I hope not.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

I up the watts on my fake smile and take her hand, pulling her close so I can kiss her cheek. "I'm great," I whisper close to her ear. I glance to my right, see that Hugh is watching our every move, and I want to kick his face in. "Who's this?" I ask casually.

"Oh, Caden, this is Hugh Watson. He works in marketing at Fleur. Hugh, this is my-friend Caden." She smiles toward Hugh, who takes a step forward so he's standing right next to her. Like he belongs at her side. I must admit they look good together. They look right. Two young professionals, dressed expensively and working their way rightfully up the career ladder.

s.h.i.+t.

"Great meeting you." He reaches out a hand and I take it, the both of us in a who-can-give-the-firmest-handshake standoff.

"A friend of Rose's, eh?" He gives me a grim smile as he releases my hand. I have a feeling he believed he was going to be Rose's special friend this evening. "Nice meeting you as well."

More rounds are ordered-though Rose chooses a mixed drink because she is not much of a beer drinker after all-and chairs are taken, Hugh making sure he's sitting on the other side of Rose when she scoots her chair close to mine.

f.u.c.king great.

"How was the meeting?" I ask her, keeping my voice low, wanting our conversation to be just between us. Having her gone even for a few hours ... I missed her. Sappy but true.

Missed her after going through her stuff and stealing the most valuable piece of jewelry she owns? Nice, a.s.shole. Real nice.

I ignore the mean-a.s.s voice in my head.