Saint & Sinner - A Second Chance Romance

He moved away from the receiver then, and roared at someone who was speaking to him. “For fuck’s sake. I’m almost done! Fuck.”

Then he returned to me. “Caleb, listen to me. I’m running out of time. They don’t want you to front run. They want a product. They’re not looking for unrealistic numbers, but just one with low volatility. Something that will earn unspectacular returns regularly. They want to market this to a couple of big shots and create a fund for it. And they want you to create it.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, I mentioned you and your… idea. Remember the one you talked about four years ago.”

The moment the words came out of his mouth, anger flooded through my entire system. “You told them about that?” I couldn’t believe it. “You fucking bastard!”

“I had no choice. They threatened my family!” he yelled desperately. “Caleb, they fucking threatened my family. I told you about Laura, and Carlie, and Tristan. Carlie finally opened her boutique last month, and Tristan is going to college this fall. He got into Yale, Caleb. Fucking Yale. He’s going to be a lawyer so he can get my sorry ass out of here.”

I took a deep breath. “Frank, I owe you nothing. I’ve paid you back and then some more for teaching me the ropes. That boutique you’re so proud your daughter opened, Tristan’s tuition? I helped you earn all that to send to them. I don’t owe you anything.”

“I know,” he said. “I fucking know but… Caleb. This is just one product. You’re the smartest motherfucker I’ve ever met in my life, so I know you can do it. I’ve already sold it to them. Please let them have it.”

“Are you out of your bloody mind? This was something I mentioned in passing to you four fucking years ago. I don’t need to play with fire anymore.”

“C’mon man. It will be one last hurrah. It was a great idea then, and it still is. I hear you’re opening a new firm.”

I scowled, the first strings of disquiet rattling through my consciousness. Frank knew too much about my life.

“Which is a good thing,” he was saying. “You’ll want to make it all official and legal. There’s something in it for you too. You’ll make a shitload of money too. For me I just want them to leave my family alone.”

“Fuck you, Frank!” I snarled, and pulled the phone away from my ear to end the call. At that moment he screamed out a name that drove a punch into my gut.

“Willow! Willow Rayne!”

I froze. My hand trembled with fury as I returned the phone back to my ear. “You told them about her?” My voice was ice, pure ice.

“I didn’t mean to, but it might have slipped out,” he replied evasively. “But even if I hadn’t told them they would have found out. If you refuse to comply, she’s going to become their target. That’s how they run, man. They catch you by the balls and squeeze. For God’s sake man, just make this product and get us out of this mess.”

The call was abruptly cut off by one of the screws and I was so damn furious, I wanted to smash my fist into a wall. I was so livid, my whole body vibrated with it. I clenched my fists and tried hard to control my ragged breathing.

I’d thought I’d tied up all the loose strings that belonged inside the four walls of Folsom, but they were coming loose once again. Willow! A chill went down my spine. I hadn’t yet responded to her message yet. I pulled it up and typed in my answer.

How does this weekend sound?

I remained standing, my gaze at the calm, blue water of pool as I waited for her response to come in. A few seconds later it did.

This weekend sounds good.

13

Willow

“He didn’t sound too excited about taking me out. Okay, excitement might be a bit much to ask. I would have been happy with eager, but he just sounded … I don’t know, almost cold. As if he was arranging a business meeting.”

“‘What do you expect? He’s the dark and brooding type. I like that in a man.”

I had very little experience of men, knew next to nothing about how to please them, and nothing about how to intrigue them. In fact, most men found me unapproachable or boring. I chewed my bottom lip nervously. “Or maybe he’s not looking forward to the date.”

Sandra looked up from the jacket she was lint rolling for me, a disapproving frown on her face. “You’ve been saying that since Wednesday. Stop it. Please.”

“Well, that’s because he hasn’t even texted me since Wednesday. Is that normal? Does a man just stop making any contact once you’ve agreed to a date with him?”

“Maybe he’s busy. Maybe he’s sick. Maybe he lost a toe. A thousand things could have held his attention beyond texting you every minute to say how excited he is about your date.”