A One Woman Job

Chapter 2

2

Meg

A ll right, I just might fail.

Koen’s house is not only surrounded by gates, it’s perched on the edge of a jagged cliff, overlooking the turbulent ocean. I sit cross-legged down on the beach, staring up at the Batman-like home, wondering what this man did to earn the kind of cash one needs to buy a house this posh. Etta only told me he was valuable.

Valuable how?

That’s the least of my concerns. Right now, I can’t even figure out how to get into the house or what I’m going to say once I’m in front of this mysterious man. I’ve been set up to fail, but I can’t. I don’t doubt for a second that Etta will burn my house down and end the lives of my family members in the process. I don’t doubt it for a second. And then what am I going to do? My brothers and sisters will probably be absorbed by the state and distributed to foster homes, tearing our family apart.

Not happening.

They’ve already lost a mother, and my father is a no-account shithead—although, thankfully, with the help of a neighbor, he has sworn to remain sober while I’m gone and look after the kids. After a major bender like the one he’s been on, he can usually hold down the fort for a while and I have to trust that, because I have no choice. This task, given to me by Etta, must be completed. My siblings don’t deserve the wrath of a crime syndicate. They don’t deserve any of the scrapped-together life they’ve been handed.

At least we have each other—and that’s the way it’s going to stay.

I must succeed.

Trying not to make it obvious that I’m staring up at the Bat Cave, I sneak a quick look at the wooden staircase winding up the cliff face. Should I just walk up there and knock on one of the giant windows? Maybe pretend to be lost?

No sooner does that thought come and go do I see a man pacing along the edge of the cliff. At the first sight of him, my toes burrow down into the sand and prickles of electricity crawl up my inner thighs. He’s…young. Well, not as young as me. But he’s perhaps in his late twenties, head shaven, tattoos covering his neck like a shackle. It’s windy and cold, but he’s wearing a black T-shirt and doesn’t appear fazed by the temperature at all as the material ripples on his broad chest.

His scowl is terrifying enough to make the tide recede.

“Oh brother,” I mutter, silently cursing Etta to a life of hemorrhoidal discomfort.

This is not a man I can simply approach and ask for directions.

How do I make contact with him? How do I break the ice?

Rather ridiculously, I wave at him. Just a friendly, casual gesture.

A beat passes. Then he gives me the finger.

“Oh.” I turn away, taken aback. “This must be how people feel when they meet me.”

What weapons do I have at my disposal here?

Obviously, he’s not open to making friends.

A memory from last week drifts to the front of my mind. While I was on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor of an office bathroom, I heard a noise behind me and saw one of the daytime office employees in the shadows, taking a picture of my ass on his phone. Then there were the numerous times I’ve been asked out on dates by my Uber passengers. These incidents have led me to wonder if I’m kind of hot. I don’t really have time to worry about my appearance, but…maybe I ain’t so bad?

Maybe I can work with that to make contact with Koen?

Fortune favors the bold.

Before I can overthink my fledgling idea, I stand up and strip myself down to my cheap push-up bra and panties, leaving my pile of clothes on the shore while I wade out into the ocean. Normally, I wouldn’t even leave my valuables unattended on an empty private beach, but the only valuable material item I own is my phone and I didn’t think it wise to carry the device along on this mission, given it holds every piece of information about me when I need to be anonymous.

Just a girl on the beach.

About to freeze to death.

“Oh shit, that’s cold,” I say, my teeth already starting to chatter. The water is also…invigorating, however. Shocking in a way that unexpectedly causes some pent-up emotions to bubble to the surface and I find myself dunking my head beneath the surface, emerging with a gasp. Swimming farther and farther out, forgetting all about the man on the cliff. Letting my eyes well with the tears I haven’t allowed myself to shed in years, my body freezing. My life’s circumstances have tried to smother me. All those hours of work. All the demands to be met since the day I could walk. All the neglect.

But I’m alive. I’m alive. I’m alive.

I’m so caught up in whatever is happening inside of me, I don’t realize how far I’ve drifted from the shore. When I turn around and my clothes are nothing more than a tiny dot, panic tries to seize my lungs, but I don’t let it. Calm down. Make your way back .

Has the sky darkened since I came out here?

My question is answered when rain starts to trickle down from above.

I’m swimming back to land, but I don’t seem to be getting any closer.

Oh God, what is beneath me right now? Probably a great white shark. That would round out my day nicely. Am I in a rip current? Or am I just a terrible swimmer? I used to be a good one. Back in the day, when my mother used to bring us to the beach. Before my father’s hopelessness rubbed off on her. Apparently, swimming is a skill that is forgotten if it isn’t used, because I’m not going to make it back. In fact, I think I might be even farther out than when I started?

A wave slaps down over my head and I come up gasping.

That’s it. I’m scared. Now, I’m scared.

My legs are getting tired and I can’t breathe around the panic—

A flash of skin, then a pair of angry blue eyes is all I see before an arm bands around my chest. Suddenly, I’m face up, rain pouring down on my face while I’m being dragged backwards through the water. My instinct is to cling to the person holding me—where did he come from?—but his hold is too tight and I can’t turn around. All I can do is suck down oxygen while he swims.

“You must be the biggest idiot alive,” growls a male voice.

I’m too busy trying to breathe to agree. But I would if I could. The ocean is tumultuous and dark. A storm must have been right about to break before I went into the water.

What is the matter with me?

His body changes positions and stabilizes in a way that I know his feet are now touching the ocean floor and I’m so relieved I’m not going to die and leave my siblings to an uncertain fate, I go completely limp, leaving my good Samaritan to carry me out of the water. We’ve only gone two steps when I get a good look at my hero’s profile and realize I should have known exactly who it was when he called me an idiot.

It's the man from the cliff.

Koen. My target.

He’s…oh my goodness. He’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen in my life.

His jaw is carved from ice, his eyes glacial.

He exudes capability. Strength.

And total contempt.

“If you’re going to drown yourself, do you mind doing it on somebody’s else’s beach?” He settles me onto the sand with a gentleness that belies his harsh words, but as soon as he’s satisfied that I’m not going to pitch sideways, he backs up. “Fishing a drowned rat out of the ocean wasn’t on my agenda today.”

I don’t get tongue-tied. I’m usually pretty cool around men, even. I’ve just never met one like this. He’s approximately six foot three. Thanks to his dive into the ocean, his boxers and black T-shirt are molded to his muscles. His arms are full of tattoos, just like his neck and throat.

“Do you speak or not?” he barks, snatching his discarded jeans off the shore.

As my adrenaline continues to plummet, humiliation takes its place. I’m a competent person. It’s the one reliable thing about me. I don’t need anyone’s help. I rely on myself and I don’t let myself down. But this man has just witnessed the opposite. He watched me flail around and nearly die because of a terrible decision. I can’t stand the thought of anyone witnessing such foolishness, but especially this guy, who seems like he could rob a golden statue from an Egyptian tomb and sword fight a mob on the way out.

With his unspoken question hanging in the air, my face is burning and my throat is prickling. I just had a near-death experience, to boot.

In other words, I need to get out of here before I cry.

I’ll find a way to pay Etta the money my father owes. Besides, I can already tell there will be no convincing this man to do anything, let alone return to work, as Etta wishes.

My knees are still wobbly and my arms feel like limp noodles, but I manage to rise to my feet, swaying, stumbling over to my clothes and picking them up. Bundling them to my chest, I walk away from Koen as quickly as humanly possible.

“Where are you going, Michael Phelps?”

Ouch. This guy is a dick.

I don’t answer. I can’t. My throat has shrunk to the size of a pinhole.

I just keep walking, my pace picking up—

The world turns upside down as Koen rounds in front of me, drops his shoulder and throws me over it, backwards and face down. “Now you’re trying to get hypothermia?”

“Put me down.”

“Oh, wow. She can form words, after all.”

“Fuck you,” I snap at his wet boxer-clad butt. “How do you like those?”

His steps falter, ever so slightly. “Fuck me? I just saved your pathetic life.”

“If you’d let me catch my breath, I would have said thank you. But you decided to shout at me and call me an idiot, instead.”

When a moment passes and he speaks again, his voice is quieter, but I don’t dare hope it’s regretful. “Like I said, this is my beach. If you don’t like it, don’t come here.”

“A little late for that. Can you please put me down so I can go home and…” I realize we’re climbing up the steps that lead to his house and start to squirm “Oh no. You’re not bringing me into the Bat Cave. Not with that attitude!”

“Bat Cave?” he chokes.

What am I doing? My goal was to get inside this house, face to face with this man. Now that I have the opportunity, I’m trying to wiggle out of his arms and run for my life?

The faces of my siblings materialize in my mind. Bex who always has peanut butter smeared in the corners of his mouth. Quiet, serious Molly who just wants to hide in the closet and read books. Orla with her Harry Styles scrapbook. Vincent who is kind of creepy, but we love him, anyway.

I slowly stop struggling.

I can’t fail them.

“You’ve either tired yourself out or you’ve seen reason,” Koen remarks.

“Shut up.”

Is that a laugh or a whip of the wind? I’ll never know, because we step into his deathly silent house, the door closes, cutting off the storm.

And I guess it’s showtime.

God help me.