Goodbye is a Second Chance (Sons of Sin Book 1) Read online

  “Josephine, I’m not concerned with your connections to Byers Development or your father. If you were involved, then you’d be awaiting trial right along with him.”

  Her words give me a twinge of hope. It is relieving that I am not being haunted by my father’s sins. That she doesn’t lump me into that same despicable category simply because I am the progeny of an accused criminal.

  “Don’t think they aren’t still investigating me,” I tell her honestly.

  She gives me another chuckle with a shake of her head. “You weren’t involved. I am an excellent judge of character.”

  I would like to smile. She’s being forthright and kind. More than welcoming. She is also not telling me what I need to know. “Then why won’t you hire me?” I demand with a bit of edge to my tone. Probably more than is warranted but this has been a frustrating few months for me.

  “Because this isn’t what you want to do. Your answers are great. Too great to be honest. Very well practiced I might add. This is not where you want to be,” she pauses for a second to observe me a little more. This time I feel the real scrutiny in her eyes. “Can I ask you when you lost your enthusiasm for architecture? Or did you ever really have any?”

  Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Are you an architect or a therapist?” I ask with a shake of my head.

  “Like I said. Excellent judge of character. And my mom was a therapist.”

  “I became an architect because that is what my parents expected of me,” I admit to her, but I have no idea why. I’ve never admitted that to anyone. Including myself.

  Not that no one knew. My best friends always knew it wasn’t what I wanted. They tried to get me to see reason, but I’ve always pushed myself to please my parents. They set a path for me when I was five and I’ve always tried to do everything they expected of me. Going to Stanford was their goal when I was in high school. Then attending graduate school there. Afterwards, it was planned for me to start working at my father’s firm which is where I met Robert.

  He was exactly the standard they set for me. A few years my senior and successful beyond reason in our field. Although the reason behind the success has since become apparent. Somehow, no doubt through my parents’ manipulations, Robert and I became a couple. We were considered a power couple to some. If there is such a thing in real estate design and development.

  My life has been planned and plotted from the start. I was never asked what I wanted, and I never offered. Didn’t even acknowledge that I had my own dreams separate from their plans.

  And now I sit across from a woman practically begging for a job doing something I don’t want to do because it’s all I know.

  “Can I ask what you would’ve chosen for yourself?”

  I close my eyes and smile. There haven’t been many things I’ve been passionate about. I can probably name them on one hand, but it only takes a second for me to know the answer to her question. “Fashion,” I admit another small tidbit I’ve never told anyone.

  I developed an interest in fashion in college as well. For much the same the reason I learned to do makeup, in fact. Bullies gave me such a hard time about my ‘Sunday school’ or ‘tomboy’ attire.

  Fortunately for me, that particular bullying led to my love of fashion. Color and cuts and the latest trends give me such a thrill.

  “I expected as much,” she smirks with a glint in her eye.

  “Really? But I look like such a frump.”

  “Top Ramen will do that to you,” she tells me with a shrug. “Basically, lived on the stuff when I was in college.”

  My face blisters with heat. I’ve never felt so transparent before today. “It’s all I can afford until the Feds unfreeze my assets.”

  “I like you, Josephine,” she grins widely showing rows of beautifully white, perfectly straight teeth. She is making me want to grin as well, but I don’t quite have it in me.

  “But you still won’t hire me.” My tone may suggest I’m teasing but I’m not. Not really. I need this job.

  “No, but I do want to take you to lunch.”

  I can’t help my jaw from falling in shock. My eyes go wide with surprise. This I was most definitely not expecting. She just met me half an hour ago. “I – uh – I don’t know what to say. Why would you do that? I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but you don’t even know me.”

  “Nothing to say,” she waves. “Like I said. I like you. I’m having lunch with a friend I’d like you to meet.”

  A genuine smile finally spreads across my face – small but genuine. “Then I guess I can’t refuse.”

  “No, you can’t.” She scribbles an address on a piece of paper. “Be there at 11:30.”

  “All right, Ms. Sawyer. I will.”

  “Good. And call me Abby. We aren’t going to be employer/employee, but I can see we’re definitely going to be friends.”

  I walk into the posh restaurant that is reminiscent of my former life. A life I wonder if I’ll ever get back.

  When I turned twenty-one, I gained access to a trust fund my grandfather set up for me as a baby. Most people at that age would’ve blown through a quarter of a million in weeks. Especially someone who was accustomed to a certain type of lifestyle like I was.

  I was smart though. (Insert back pat here.) I asked my grandfather to help me invest it. Now at twenty-eight it was nearing seven digits.

  In spite of my upbringing, I don’t need a lavish life to be happy. Fancy cars and penthouses do very little for me. Though I will admit I have a weakness for shoes.

  I seriously love shoes and it has been killing me to walk by shops unable to buy the cute Louboutin’s I see in the windows.

  Because of my father and Robert, all of my accounts have been frozen. The FBI, SEC, and IRS have been sifting through my bank statements and accounts for months trying to find a link connecting me to their crimes.

  They won’t find one. I had no idea they were doing anything illegal, and I never wanted my accounts intermingled with Robert’s. Even if we were living together and engaged.

  I know I could ask my grandfather for help. He would do it without question, but then I’d have to listen to my mother berate and belittle me for abandoning the family in its time of need.

  All of this mess has caused a lot of anxiety for me. Some days it’s all I can do to crawl out of bed. I just feel like I’ve been so deceived. The feeling of foolishness consumes me to the point that I’ve begun to doubt so many things I thought were true.

  Maybe my accounts will get unfrozen soon. All I really want is to eat something besides noodles or drink something that isn’t water every night. I’ll even keep the freezer of an apartment.

  I’ve lived simply for years. In California, I drove a Honda. The only reason I lived in a nicer apartment was because I was living with Robert who bought a penthouse.

  It’s really not about the money. But New York is as expensive to live in as LA. Maybe more so. It has become practically suffocating trying to do this on my own, and the thought of moving in with a person I don’t know makes me nauseous.

  I have a lot of past issues that make me distrustful of people. I don’t readily befriend or accept people into my life. I’m nearly twenty-eight years old, and I only have one friend.

  I give my name and Abby’s to the hostess. She leads me through a modern dining room that is boldly decorated in black and red. I love the way they kept the clean, straight lines but added color for drama. The light fixtures hanging have an art deco feel while maintaining the modern feel. The tables follow the same theme of intricate art meets modern simplicity. A slightly eclectic style much like my own.

  You see, I don’t actually hate architecture. In fact, I love the designs. I love the interior design part of it more than the building design. But it has never been my passion. What I want to do for the rest of my life.

  But I was going to do just that. Because my parents prepped me to go into the family business. My father was a developer. He started his business with investors nearl
y thirty years ago. He began as an architect himself, but it wasn’t long before he found his niche in the business side of the industry.

  That’s what I’ve been told my entire life anyway. I wonder how much of it is actually true. I wonder how long this criminal activity of his has been going on. I wonder how long Robert was involved. I, once again, find myself doubting my judgement and wondering how I was so naïve.

  It brings up other memories of my immaturity and naivete from long ago. Memories I prefer to stay buried, but it has never taken much to bring up that particular nightmare.

  The pretty blonde hostess leads me through the extravagant establishment to a table situated among many in the center of the dining room.

  Abby smiles when she sees me. “You made it,” she says was she stands then kisses my cheek.

  “Hope I’m not too late,” I comment as I take in the appetizers on the table.

  “Right on time,” she gestures for me to sit. “This is my friend, Camilla. Cami, this is Josephine Byers, the girl I was just telling you about.”

  I turn my attention to the other woman. The first thing I notice is how she is impeccably dressed in white, wide legged pants, a one shoulder red knit top that clings to her perfect curves and a matching belt and lips that seem to give her olive skin a beautiful glow. Her dark brown hair is pulled into a messy bun on top of her head emphasizing the oversized silver hooped earrings.

  “I see what you mean,” she says to Abby with a brilliant smile while shaking my hand.

  “I told you,” Abby replies then turns to me. “I was just telling Cami about your sense of style. She is a personal stylist and wardrobe assistant. I think she might be able to help you.”

  For the second time today, my mouth falls agape. “Are you serious?” I ask a bit overwhelmed.

  “Don’t get too excited,” Camilla tells me. “You won’t be making as much as you would as an architect. At least, not at first. Maybe ever.”

  “I don’t need a lot,” I tell her excitedly. “I just want to eat something besides soup until my accounts are unfrozen. I don’t have expensive taste in much. Well, except clothes.”

  “Then I can definitely help,” Camilla tells me. “I can actually let you work with me for a bit as an assistant on jobs until we can get your own clientele established. I can also try to get you a job with the firm I work for that does wardrobe for things such as commercials, music videos, and the like. Being a wardrobe assistant isn’t quite the same as a personal stylist. It’s more about the setting than it is the person, but it can be fun too.”

  I nod my head vigorously. “I can do that,” I tell her feeling excited for the first time in months. Maybe even years.

  “Great,” she tells me with a large grin spreading across her pretty round face. “Let’s eat, then we can go over a few more details.”

  A slow blush begins to spread up my neck into my cheeks. “I can’t afford anything here,” I tell them, more than a little embarrassed even though I’ve already admitted to being beyond broke.

  Abby waves her perfectly manicured hand. “Honey, I wouldn’t have invited you if I didn’t plan on paying. My treat. You need to get some meat back onto those bones, so the outfit does what you bought it to do.”

  I smile. A full smile. The first, I think, I’ve had since everything went to hell in LA.

  Things might just be looking up.

  Angel

  I drag myself into the diner with Maddox at three in the morning. I was totally exhausted but starving all at once. Maddox was hungry too, but Dane and Ryder said they just wanted sleep. Maddox, on the other hand, seemed like he could keep going for hours. It is like the man can survive with nothing more than a quick nap. Whereas my last pick me up wore off about two hours ago.

  I grab a booth while Maddox excuses himself to the bathroom. I sit there considering another hit when the hair on my neck stands on end. I look around seeing nothing out of the ordinary but the zap in the air burns across my skin like electricity.

  A few minutes later Maddox returns taking his seat across from me. He rubs his nose a bit then picks up the faded and worn menu in front of him. “What are you having?” he asks, never taking his eyes off the menu.

  But I’m not paying attention to it. Not really. My eyes fix on a waitress working the other side of the diner. Sandy brown hair that looks soft as silk is tied into a ponytail. She’s wearing what I assume is the diner’s uniform of a black skirt that isn’t quite mini, and a red t-shirt tied in a knot at her waist that accentuates her small frame. From where I’m sitting, she is stunning, and I haven’t seen her face yet.

  But that’s not why I am staring. There is something about her that seems familiar. The way she walks and moves remind me of someone. Even that ponytail seems ridiculously recognizable. There is no way it would be her, but I don’t know why they seem so similar or why just looking at her from behind is making my heart race.

  I wish she would turn around so I could see her face. I need this feeling of familiarity to end. I need it to end now.

  I’m starting to wish I’d joined Maddox in the bathroom.

  “What are you looking at so hard?” Maddox asks, looking at me through glassy eyes that I’m sure match my own. Very little sleep, among other things, will do that to you.

  “Nothing,” I answer, “that waitress just seems familiar to me.”

  He turns to look over his shoulder at her. “She fucking hot, man,” he tells me. I bristle at his statement for no reason at all. Even though part of me wants to tell him not to look at her like that. I feel territorial and possessive in a way that only one person invokes. “Maybe she’s a hookup you forgot about.”

  “Maybe,” I lie. That is not what’s going on. At least, I don’t think it is. I don’t remember most of my hookups. Not their names. Not their faces. I just feel –. But there is absolutely no way it’s her.

  It can’t be her. She is three thousand miles away in LA. My physical reaction is just from weariness and coming down from my high.

  Something tells me though, that is not what is going on. My gut is twisted, and my lungs are seized. No matter what my head says, my physical reaction is hard to deny.

  I can tell from Maddox’s stare he has questions. He is trying to figure out what’s really going on.

  “That was a pretty good session,” he tells me, changing the subject to about the only thing he talks about.

  Maddox is a cool guy. Easy going for the most part. Thoughtful and deep too if his lyrics tell you anything. He seems to genuinely like people and is always smiling. He has easily turned into a very good friend since I moved here two years.

  He’s someone I’ve learned I can rely on. He’s just a genuinely good guy.

  But he also seems like someone who knows when to push and when not to. Something Dane doesn’t seem to get I’ve learned. He means well, but the guy has the habit of trying to force things out of people.

  Thankfully, Maddox can tell now is not the time to push. I wouldn’t know how to answer him if he did. I can’t explain who I think she is without going into more detail than I care to. I try not to talk about her any more than I have to. She’s always in my head as it is. No need pouring alcohol into the already salted wound.

  “Yeah,” I say admitting our session was really good tonight. We laid the music to two more tracks and got vocals finished on another one. “Album’s coming together.”

  “I liked what you did with One Step Away. Going from F flat to D really made the bass line blend better.”

  “Your range was on point too,” I tell him because the guy’s voice was sick. Low and deep and smooth one minute and reaching for the sky with unique rawness and gravel the next.

  “Definitely not something I could do live very often,” he chuckles.

  “Maybe save that one for the last song of the last show of the tour.”

  “If then, man. That was one hard fucking note to hit. Who’s to say I could get it on the first try every time? It’d be embar
rassing as fuck to go for it only to crack.”

  I laugh. I get what he’s saying. Fuck knows I sure as hell couldn’t do it. I don’t think any of us could except for Maddox.

  When Jake called me over two years ago, I didn’t hesitate. I packed a bag and was on the next flight out. I sold everything without a second thought.

  Jake was my best friend. Like the brother I always – and sometimes never – wanted. He needed my help, and I was going to be there for him. Especially because he’d never asked for help before.

  Turns out the help he needed was simple. He was the bass player in a band and needed my talent. Needed me to take his place. I just needed an excuse to get the fuck away from LA.

  The bass isn’t my preferred instrument. I much rather play the guitar, but Ryder and Maddox fill those spots. Fuck if they’re not good too. Their styles are so different. They can both slash like nobody’s business, but Maddox can pull some insane bluesy riffs out of his ass. I guess it’s from being a Louisiana boy. You wouldn’t think it would sound good in a rock band, but damn if it doesn’t work every time.

  And Ryder’s precision and talent are unmatched. I’ve listened to every type of music imaginable. I have never heard anyone play like him. His talent is insane when he goes through a solo lick.

  I never expected to get here and then be on tour or in a recording studio a year later. I just wanted to get the fuck away from LA. I feel a little guilty because it should be Jake sitting here with Maddox after working twelve hours in a recording studio. The shit that happened to him fucking sucks major ass. I don’t think I could be as unselfish as he is.

  My gaze returns to the waitress. I have this simmering urge to go to her. Make her turn around so I can see her face. It’s there just under my skin, itching and tingling. The longer I stare the stronger it gets.

  “Why don’t you just ask her out?” Maddox asks drawing me out of my thoughts.

  “What?” I asked surprised. And a little irritated. “I don’t date,” I practically growl.

  I am fucking done with women. A quick, meaningless hookup is great, but that’s as far as anything will go. My mom and Erica taught me that. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been together or how much you love someone or how close you are, in the end it’s all a fucking joke.