Chapter Four
Finley
Mirna, my eighty-three-year-old neighbor, does not agree. “You’re gonna do what?”
After I left my job at Beans to Go, I’d headed to my second job, but all I could think about was Alex’s offer, what I should ask for and the looming urgent deadline. I needed advice, and my best friends were the ones to give it to me. So, I’d told my boss I wasn’t feeling well, and she sent me home. Now I’m sitting on Barb’s sofa while she sits in her recliner, the footrest propped up. Mirna, who was on the sofa, is now pacing.
A dreamy look fills Barb’s eyes. “Lighten up, Mirna. Let the girl live a little. She’s young. This is when she should be livin’ wild and free.”
“Wild and free is all well and good until she’s dead,” Mirna says, pointing her finger at Barb. “I’ve heard all about those sex trafficking rings!” She flings her hand toward the door. “She’s gonna fly off with this guy and then he’s gonna sell her to some Russian mafia gang and ship her off to God only knows where.” She throws both hands up in the air.
“First of all,” I say, trying not to grin, “The words mafia and gang are redundant. Second, Alex isn’t Russian. Third, I asked him to send me proof of his family, and he sent me multiple photos of himself with them.” I pull up the images on my phone and handed it to her.
A smug grin lights up Barb’s eyes. “Smart girl.”
I don’t tell her it was Maggie’s idea. After Alex left, I’d started to freak out over the whole situation, and she’d suggested I ask for the photos.
Mirna sits down next to me and swipes through the images on my phone, shaking her head in disapproval. “He could have photoshopped these. Or used that AE stuff. They can make people naked with those things, you know.” Her lips curl with disapproval.
“It’s AI, not AE,” I say. “And no one is naked in his photos.”
She stops scrolling and pauses on a photo that had been taken outside in Hollybrook during the Christmas season. There’s a giant Christmas tree next to an outdoor skating rink. A younger Alex is with a middle-school-aged girl on the rink. Both have huge grins, and their cheeks are flushed. Alex is in a bright blue puffy coat with a red knit hat and scarf wrapped around his neck. The hat looks misshapen like it’s homemade, and it’s so unlike anything I’ve ever seen him wear, I had to stop and make sure it was him and not one of his brothers. The girl has a white puffy coat, and a pale blue knit hat with a pompom, and a scarf. It’s my favorite photo of all the ones he’s sent, and I’m sure he included it on purpose. He’s showing me that Hollybrook is a magical Christmas wonderland—everything I could have dreamed of.
It was a smart move. The photo turns the part of me that wants to go into a need.
“I take it that’s him,” Mirna says in disgust, stabbing his face on the screen with her long, Got the Blues for Red polished fingernail. It’s her signature color. “Look at him! Has he no shame? He’s flaunting the fact he’s trafficking that young girl!”
I suppress a chuckle. “Mirna, that’s his younger sister, Mallory. He said that was taken about eight years ago, and she’s eight years younger than him.”
I’ve spent a lot of time studying that photo, and not just because I got lost in the fantasy of the background scenery. Alex was probably about nineteen or twenty, which meant he’d been in college. Of course, I’m mesmerized by how relaxed he looks wearing his casual clothing—I’ve only ever seen him in business attire—but my heart warms as I take in the way his arm is casually slung around Mallory’s shoulders. And the way her head is slightly tilted up, staring at him in awe and love.
I don’t have siblings. Mom used to say it was me and her against the world. When I was younger, I never wanted a sister or brother. Mom was enough. She was my entire world. It was only after she got sick, during the year and a half she fought the cancer that spread from her breast to the rest of her body, that I wished for a sibling. Someone to help carry the load. Someone to share my fears. Someone who understood.
Someone so I wouldn’t be so alone.
Obviously, having siblings isn’t all daisies and roses. Part of the reason Alex wants a fake girlfriend is so he can best his brother.
I’m beginning to rethink this whole plan.
Mirna searches my face, like she’s looking for proof someone else has taken over my body. “I simply don’t understand, Finley. This is all so unlike you. Taking off work when you’re not ill. Going away with a stranger…”
“I know.” My guilt over lying to my boss is overwhelming, but we were slower than usual tonight, and I needed to hash this out with people I trust. People who have looked out for me for four years.
Most people would think it strange that I’m best friends with two women old enough to be my grandmothers, but I live a small life. I go to work at Beans to Go, then part time at the hospital. Evening and weekend online classes. And home. My time is either spent working, studying, or sleeping. Any infrequent spare time is spent with Mirna and Barb. They’re like the grandmothers I never had.
But I’m also counting on their frankness, and so far, both were playing their roles. I knew I could count on Barb to think this is a great idea, just like I could count on Mirna to play devil’s advocate like her life depended on it. Or rather mine.
“I know you don’t understand,” I say, sounding as exhausted as I feel. “But I’m just so tired of working all the time, and…” I pushed out a heavy sigh. “I just want to have some fun for once.”
“And get laid,” Barb blurts out.
“I’m not getting laid,” I say sternly. Barb’s addicted to romance novels of all genres, and for her, life’s a romance waiting to be written. Still, she’s going to be sorely disappointed with this one. “Sorry, Barb, but this is a business deal. We’re gonna have a contract and everything.”
Barb makes a pft sound and waves her hand in dismissal. “Poppycock.” She turns to her older friend. “And you’re crazy to think Finley’s about to become a sex slave. Even she’s not that stupid.”
“Hey!” I protest even though I suspect she meant it as a compliment.
“You know what I mean,” she says, waving her hand again. Her eyes grow brighter as her excitement builds. “Unless it’s like that romance novel I read last week where the woman signed a contract to be a man’s sex slave for three months.” She fans her face. “And when those three months were up, she begged to sign up again.”
