Fowler Sisters: Stealing Rose Part 21

Caden

"When you coming back, son? I need a firm answer. They're ready to interview you. Whenever you're ready, so are they. You're spending way too much time over there and if you don't hurry home, your opportunity is going to move on without you."

I'm out in front of the hotel standing on the sidewalk, having escaped from the room and Rose so I could call Cash. He's been blowing up my phone the last two days in a variety of ways including missed calls, texts, and voicemails. I had no idea the old man was so savvy with a smart phone. He even tried to Face-Time me.

I've avoided him, which is stupid. I'd rather spend time with Rose than face my reality. I need to man the f.u.c.k up and do what's right.

Blowing out a harsh breath, I run a hand through my hair. I need to get this s.h.i.t cut. It's driving me crazy, always falling in my eyes. "I'm not exactly sure."

Cash wheezes. Or maybe he's sighing. I can't tell. "I'm telling ya, you need to get your a.s.s back here. The position needs to be filled and he's going to find someone else for the job, which would be a d.a.m.n shame because you're perfect for it and you know it. You've got an eye like no one I've ever met. They would kill for your expertise."

"Put me down for Monday, okay? Let them know I'll be there first thing in the morning or whatever works best for them." If I can't go back to New York with Mitch.e.l.l, then I'll have to find my own way home.

This means I have approximately forty-eight hours left with Rose.

Not enough time. I don't want to leave her. Worse, I don't know how I'm going to tell her I'm leaving her.

"Sounds good. Just know that this position can't wait for you." He keeps telling me this and I know he's right. "It's the opportunity of a lifetime. A lifetime, kid. It'll help you go legit. Keep you out of the s.h.i.t."

"You've done all right for yourself," I point out.

"I don't know anything else. I got in so deep, there's no way I could get out. Next thing I knew I was forty. Then fifty, then sixty ... h.e.l.l, I can't even make myself retire. I'm addicted to this game. It's ridiculous." Cash pauses. "But you, you can pull yourself out of this. You're young. You're smart. You can do something with your life and actually become something."

That's why I'm going to the interview. Cash talks like the job is mine already, but we don't know that for sure. I still need to interview and prove myself. It's still hard for me to believe I've been handed this opportunity. An established and respected jeweler with a store in Brooklyn needs someone with a good eye who can evaluate and price jewelry. Considering I've been stealing copious amounts of jewelry for years and can price the s.h.i.t out of it-both on the black market and legitimately-this is right up my alley.

And Cash knows it. The second he heard about the position-he's friends with the owner, talk about ironic-he knew I was the perfect candidate. I'm flattered he even thought of me.

"I'm going to call Mitch.e.l.l right now and see when he's going back home," I rea.s.sure Cash. "I'll call or text you when I find out more details."

"If you gotta fly commercial, book a flight. I'll front you the money."

His offer makes me feel like s.h.i.t. "I can pay for it. I have money." I don't want to be his charity case.

"The offer stands. If you need it, tell me. I want to help. You can always pay me back," he says firmly. "Keep me posted when you know more." He ends the call and I immediately look up Mitch.e.l.l's number and call him.

"Tell me you're finally coming over." This is how Mitch.e.l.l greets me. He's already slurring his words. It is way too early for him to be drunk. "We're having a party tonight. In your honor."

"Give me a break. And I don't want to go to your s.h.i.tty party."

"You're an a.s.shole. A stupid a.s.shole. This s.h.i.t will be amazing tonight. There will be alcohol. There will be scantily clad women with s.e.xy British accents and c.o.c.k-sucking lips. Oh, and there will be all the drugs you could ever ask for. All of it. Maybe drugs you never even knew existed." Mitch.e.l.l laughs. "G.o.d save the Queen, man. I f.u.c.king love England."

Sounds like an absolute nightmare. I decide not to even acknowledge what he just said. "So when are you returning to the States?"

Mitch.e.l.l makes an irritated sound. "Is that all you ever want? To know when we're leaving? Are you that anxious to get out of here?"

"I have an appointment I need to go to on Monday."

"And that's my problem how?" Mitch.e.l.l laughs and I hear a female voice in the background, asking him if he wants another round. Great. He's entertaining.

"I'll find my own flight back home," I tell him irritably. I don't need this s.h.i.t. "Talk to you later, Mitch." He hates it when I call him that. Thinks the nickname sounds too blue collar. Such an elitist p.r.i.c.k.

"Wait, wait, wait, Kingsley. I'll get you back home." He pauses and I hear ice clink in a gla.s.s, so I can only a.s.sume he's having a drink. He smacks his lips together before he says, "I'm flying out Sunday night."

"Sunday night?" I turn and watch the front doors of the hotel, hating the hinky feeling I have that Rose is somehow lingering nearby. But she's not. When I left her in the room she was on the phone with her sister and planning on going in to Fleur this afternoon. "Is that confirmed?"

"Yeah, yeah. Confirmed. Around seven, though I'm not exactly sure about the departure time. I don't want to leave too early or too late."

"Makes sense." I breathe a sigh of relief. "Thanks a lot for helping me."

"Not a problem. But hey."

"What?"

"I have one condition, my friend."

My sense of relief flies right out the window. I hate conditions. "What is it?" I ask warily.

"You need to come to my party tonight. You must. I'm insulted you haven't stopped by and visited me at Mum and Dad's." Mitch.e.l.l laughs at his fake British accent and I wish like h.e.l.l I could tell him to f.u.c.k off and hang up on him.

But I can't. We've been friends for a long time, and yeah, he drives me crazy with his partying ways, but I can't treat him like s.h.i.t. "Can't make it. I have plans," I answer.

"Cancel them."

"No can do, bro."

"Don't 'bro' me. Since when do you decline attending a drug- and s.e.x-filled party? You found G.o.d or something?" Mitch.e.l.l asks incredulously.

He is the worst ever, I swear. But this is how our relationship has always been. We give each other constant s.h.i.t. Plus, he knows most of my secrets. If he really cared, he could call the police and have me apprehended in a second.

But he never has. He's always turned a blind eye to what I do. He's always been there for me despite the constant amount of c.r.a.p he dishes out to me.

"It's nothing like that." Should I tell him the truth? He won't stop badgering me until I do. Yet my confession might make it worse. "I'm ... seeing a woman."

"Oooh." Mitch.e.l.l sounds like his ten-year-old self. When we used to give each other s.h.i.t over girls and other dumb c.r.a.p. "Well, bring her with you. I can't wait to meet the fancy piece of a.s.s you're f.u.c.king around with."

I'm p.i.s.sed. Did he really just call Rose a fancy piece of a.s.s? "Don't talk about her like that," I snap.

"What the h.e.l.l, man. Are you seriously into this chick?" Mitch.e.l.l is full-on laughing now. "Who'd have thought it? Mister Renegade Thief always on the go, falling for a girl? Have you lost your b.a.l.l.s or what?"

"You're an a.s.shole," I mutter. "And I'm not coming to your s.h.i.tty party."

"Then I guess you're not coming home with me on my plane, either," he says cheerfully, clearly enjoying this conversation.

"You wouldn't."

"Don't test me. Come on, Caden. You know I get upset when you don't show up to my parties. You bring the good time."

I used to bring the good time. I drank plenty of booze and did all the drugs and the women, but I pulled myself off the party scene a few years ago. The more alcohol and drugs I consumed, the more reckless I became, and I didn't need the trouble.

Major mistakes could mean jail time. Something I definitely wanted to avoid. That meant the partying had to stop.

"That's not my scene anymore and you know it," I tell him. "Don't make me go."

"Just stop by. For a few minutes. I won't take up too much of your time." Mitch.e.l.l is practically pleading. Weird.

"Fine." I blow out an irritated breath. "I'll stop by for thirty minutes. That's it. No more."

"Perfect. You won't regret it. I swear."

"What time you want me there?" I ask, suddenly feeling tired. Like old-man-with-the-world-on-his-shoulders tired. I am so through with this sort of s.h.i.t.

"Anytime. The party has already started."

"It's not even eleven o'clock in the morning."

"I know. Isn't it f.u.c.king great? I love this town. You can party whenever you want and no one judges you for it." Mitch.e.l.l laughs. "I'll text you my address."

"Great." I end the call and shove my phone into the front pocket of my jeans. This is all sorts of f.u.c.ked. How am I going to explain to Rose where I'm going? I sure as h.e.l.l can't bring her with me. I don't want her anywhere near Mitch.e.l.l and his sleazy friends.

You're one of Mitch.e.l.l's sleazy friends.

That thought doesn't settle well.

I go back up to the hotel suite to find Rose in the shower, the bathroom door open though the s.p.a.ce is full of steam and billowing out into the rest of the suite. I should put the necklace back in the safe, while I have a chance. Or I should go in there and join her. Surprise her. But if I do, that'll lead to soaping up her body, which will turn into touching her body. Then kissing. Then f.u.c.king.

Yeah. I can't risk it. She probably has to go in to work and I need to go to Mitch.e.l.l's.

Can't wait.

Dread consuming me, I grab my duffel bag, figuring I may as well start packing now so I don't wait and do it at the last minute like I usually do. I unzip it and start folding everything I'd shoved in there over the last few days. h.e.l.l, weeks. We've had to use the hotel laundry service and I paid for my clothes to be cleaned. I even went to the front desk a few days ago and tried to pay for the stay up until then, irritated when the desk clerk told me it was already taken care of. I want to take responsibility for something beyond a few dinners out.

"s.h.i.t." I see the velvet box nestled deep and I glance at the open bathroom door. The shower just shut off and I shove everything back into the bag, zipping it closed. Frustration rolls through me that I didn't just put the necklace back into the safe and I have no one to blame but myself.

I walk around the suite, picking up my clothes where I left them, which is all over the place. Rose and I have acted like h.o.r.n.y teenagers, locking ourselves away in this suite, ordering room service or takeout, lazing around. Having s.e.x, talking, more s.e.x, sleep, eat, s.e.x, sleep, talk.

s.e.x, s.e.x, s.e.x.

I wouldn't trade these days for the world, but I need to get back to reality. Rose has slowly but surely been acting like an actual grown-up already. Now it's my turn.

But that means I have to leave.

"Oh!" I turn at Rose's startled gasp to find her standing in the bathroom doorway, holding a thick white towel in front of her. "I didn't realize you came back."

"Sorry." The towel isn't actually wrapped around her, offering me a glimpse of her waist and hips and upper thighs. All those wondrous curves I've run my hands over again and again. I tear my gaze away from her and turn back to my duffel, zipping it back open so I can shove everything I grabbed back inside. "You going in to Fleur this afternoon?"

"I am." She approaches me and I step away from the bag, not wanting her near it. What if she saw the velvet box? I can smell her as she draws near, clean and fresh, and my hands literally ache to touch her. But I don't. I won't. Touching her makes me lose brain cells, I swear to G.o.d. Until all I can do is focus on her. "What are you doing?"

"Ah ..." How can I broach this subject lightly? "Cleaning up around here, putting away my stuff. I'm sure the maids hate us."

"I'm sure," she agrees wryly, her arms sneaking around me from behind. She presses her body to mine, her hands slipping beneath my shirt to rest lightly against my stomach. I can feel every naked, damp inch of her. She must have ditched the towel. I close my eyes, inhaling deep. She's trying to kill me, I swear. "I have a little time before I have to get ready," she murmurs.

Her voice, her words, are pure temptation. Temptation I must avoid. "Yeah? Well, I uh, gotta go in a little bit."

She releases her hold and steps away from me. The loss of her touch hits me like a punch to the gut. "Where are you going?" Her voice is wary. Unsure. I never leave. She's the one who has a life. I'm the one who's been so completely focused on her and nothing else.

Behaving like this can't be good for me. She has the upper hand and I never give anyone that power. Rose makes me vulnerable.

And I don't like it.

I turn to face her again, my expression impa.s.sive. Trying my best to throw up the wall I used to be so d.a.m.n good at erecting around myself so no one can penetrate it. "Going to my friend Mitch.e.l.l's. I've mentioned him before, the guy with the jet? He wanted me to come over for a bit, so I thought I'd see him while you're at work."

Rose tilts her head, contemplating me. "When is he supposed to leave for New York?"

She's not stupid; she knows why I'm talking to Mitch.e.l.l. We've talked about me heading back, though I haven't mentioned to her that I don't really have a true home there. That I just stay at Cash's apartment because he lets me. She doesn't even know Cash exists. She doesn't know much about my private life at all and for once, I'm ready to tell her everything.

But she's also naked and my gaze is trying to stay firmly fixed on her face. It's so d.a.m.n hard. I've had her every which way. We've had so much s.e.x I'm surprised my d.i.c.k hasn't given out on me yet, I've worked it so hard.

Yet I take one look at her, naked and still flushed from her warm shower, and I want to jump her. Push her onto the bed and slide inside of her. There is nowhere else I'd rather be than with Rose.

Everything inside of me goes cold. That is about the scariest revelation I've ever had. Because I don't do commitment, I don't do relationships, and I definitely don't do love. I don't even think I know how to love.

I could learn, though. For Rose.

f.u.c.k no, you can't. You're a worthless piece of s.h.i.t who doesn't deserve a woman like Rose. When she finds out the truth, she'll kick your a.s.s to the curb.

That's an even scarier revelation.

"I'm not sure when he's leaving yet," I lie. "It'll be soon, though." d.a.m.n it. If I want to actually love this girl I need to tell her the truth. It's just so hard to come out and say, I'm leaving you in two days. Sorry to take off like this, but hey. It's been real.

I don't know how to end this. Or continue it, either. She should be going back to New York soon too, but I don't think she wants to go. Late at night, when we're both exhausted and drifting off to sleep, she talks of staying in London. Or maybe even Paris. Not that she wants to continue working at Fleur; it sounds more that she wants to explore Europe and be on her own for a while. I think she's trying to find herself.

And I can't help her do that. How can I when I don't even know who I really am?

"You could go with me," she suggested a few nights ago, and I was thankful for the dark. So she wouldn't see the mixture of hope and horror that surely crossed my face.

I never did answer her. Like a wimp, I pretended I was asleep. But there's no pretending now. Yet I still lie like the hustler I am.

"Oh. Okay." Her face falls and seeing that ... h.e.l.l, it wrecks me. I start to say something rea.s.suring, start to reach for her, but she turns away and I drop my arm, feeling like an a.s.s.

Feeling like I somehow just ruined everything.

"I should go back too. Eventually," she says as she slips on a pair of skimpy black lace panties. Her back is still to me and I watch in fascination as she goes about her preparations. She pulls a black lace bra from the drawer and hooks it on. I could spend a lifetime watching her get dressed and never get bored. "I have to face my father sometime."

"Are you scared to face him?" Like I'm scared to face you? I don't want you to find out my truth. I'm afraid you'll hate me.