A Month In Riches

CHAPTER ONE

MAYA

“Maya, please!” That crazy woman is screeching, hot on my heels across the busy street like I stole something from her. “Stop, let’s just talk. Please!”

I walk faster.

“Maya!”

Keep walking. She can’t really catch up.

But I have to halt when I hit the edge of the pavement with traffic flowing in full force just a step off it. Miss Crazy Pants skids to a stop right behind me.

“Maya?” Her harsh whisper ravages my ear. “Please.”

“Leave me alone.” My threat has more gasp than bite. “I already said no.”

“We’ll pay you! Whatever you ask.” This other voice is masculine and makes me want to turn around and punch him in the face. But he isn’t worth going to the slammer for assault, so I refrain.

The little red man in the traffic light is still dead and since I have all this pent-up rage from two hours ago with nowhere else to be, I spin on my heels and glare at the two idiots who think they can harass me all across the length of the island coastline under this glorious moonlit night.

“Whatever I ask?” My scowl should scare them, but it doesn’t. “What are you even worth? Can you afford a blank check?”

The couple exchanges looks and then behold me.

“Yes,” the man says, not a trace of hesitation in his voice and that makes me ill. “I’ll sign one now and you may fill–”

I lift my hand to check his enthusiasm. “Nothing can be worth doing what you’re asking me to do.”

“But–”

“Just because I wear a nose ring doesn’t mean I’ll be into kinks.”

“It’s not a kink.” His eyes widen as if I just read him his sins. “It’s our baby.”

I don’t even pretend to stop the full body shudder that follows. “I don’t like children. They make me break into hives. Plus how can you trust me? What if I’m a total psycho who eats babies for breakfast?”

“You said you’re not into kinks.”

Kill him, Maya. Kill him now.

“Maya, please.” The woman curls her fingers around my arms in a desperate grip. “I’m begging. We are begging you.”

They really are.

These people aren’t my friends. They’re not even acquaintances. These two are – were – customers who love – loved – frequenting the club I work at. They suddenly stopped coming over a year ago and if I’m honest, I’d missed them for a few weeks.

The type to dance the night away at bar tops with booze flowing in and out of their systems like sweat, these two knew how to throw parties. We loved them for the hefty tips and gossip that made the night shift easier, and the boss loved them for their business and free word-of-mouth publicity.

Earlier tonight when Beth excitedly announced an unexpected arrival, I was so curious to gather dirt on the club’s once favorite couple that I offered to pick up their ticket.

A terrible idea, truly.

Should’ve stuck to sliding beers across the bar to sleazy drunks and collecting satisfactory tips for harmless flirting.

But no, I’d sashayed through the tables to get to the patio gallery and find them sitting in their usual spot, holding hands and heads bowed. That ought to have been enough of a red flag to send me running. Instead, I was hit by a rare and unfortunate bout of sympathy and asked if they were okay.

That’s when all hell broke loose.

And now, I’m standing at a crosswalk and glaring at them so hard my vision keeps blurring. I have to rub my eyes to get my focus back. But do they care? Nope. Does the universe care? Nope, again.

The traffic light for pedestrians turns green and I can’t wait to lose my unwanted companions. Stalkers at this point actually after they waited outside the club and followed me at the end of my shift.

My place of work isn’t the grandest given how it’s cramped between two skyscrapers in the midst of a bustling downtown, but I like it. It is close to the bus stop and the area is busy at all hours of the day with locals and tourists flocking to our small island country in the Indian Ocean for its silver sands and glittering nightlife.

Right now, though, I hate everyone.

“If you’re planning on following me home, I’ll have you know my neighborhood isn’t a gated community or wherever the fuck you come from.”

“Eads,” the male idiot’s answer has my brows floating to the stars.

“Eads?”

As in the royal cocoon perched on hilltops above the ocean reserved for those with generational wealth? The private beaches, the private jets and boats, the psychotic need for control and privacy that had them allow just a single road going in and out of their acres and acres and acres of green grass and brick mansions and–

“Eads Eads?!” I repeat. “That Eads?”

“Yes,” the woman says. “That Eads.”

“Oh.” I clear my throat and shift my weight from foot to the other. I know Eads. Eads means they can sign blank checks. Consider my interest momentarily piqued. “If I miss this bus, the next one won’t be for another hour.”

Absolute lie because the buses come by every thirty minutes. But these two wouldn’t know that because folks from Eads do not familiarize themselves with public transportation. They have no need to.

“So we have an hour to convince you.” The woman smiles, so hopeful it hurts.

I shrug, dispel a yawn but they catch it because the guy’s eyes instantly soften, and he leans into his girl’s ear to whisper something I don’t catch.

It’s a cool morning at 72 degrees and a kind breeze is nudging the clouds away to reveal a blue summer sky with the early rays of a rising sun.

If you keep walking down the slope, past the bus stop, the street opens up to a long, generous strip of white beaches.

My heaven on earth.

Warm sand between my toes, wind in my hair and my skin soaking up the morning light, it’s a wonder I don’t sleep under the stars. Who needs an overpriced hovel that comes with a side of nosy neighbors when you can have all this nature at your disposal?

Me, apparently.

I need a roof over my head and a bed to crash into at night, no matter how dilapidated, because I was raised in a barn that had a bed.

Long story. Some other time.

“Maya?” The man’s voice pulls me out of my head. “Let us buy you breakfast. It’s the least we can do for taking up your whole night.”

He is being cautious. I like that. It wouldn’t hurt to listen to their proposal one more time while they feed me. Whether they get what they want from me is a different story entirely but I’m definitely not one to pass up on free food.

I nod and point with my chin towards a bistro across the street.

It’s nothing nondescript. This is a posh area with high-end clubs, hotels and eateries where people from freakin’ Eads come to blow off steam. I’m sure a free muffin that would otherwise cost a lung would taste supreme on my tongue.

And then, maybe, these two’s proposal won’t sound so bad.

Their proposal of hiring me to roleplay as their baby’s birth mother on a fully funded vacation to their hometown…

Talk about crazy rich Asians!

I was wrong.

Ari and Jazz’s proposal sounds even worse – is the worst! – in broad daylight than it did last night, and my brain won’t stop assaulting me for agreeing to it anyway.

What the fuck was I thinking?

Well, there’s a list. Like the amount they promised to transfer to my account as soon as I said yes and then more at the end of the ruse. Then, there’s that crumbling apartment I call home, a pile of unpaid bills, an embarrassing lack of nice things and the biggest ticket item of all – a resumé full of temporary jobs that will never amount to anything.

I want more from life and a month in Eads can give me that.

A month in Eads is a month in riches!

Then, I go back to Kemora City and start over with, hopefully, a boatload of money this time.

The allure of a future with no more thrift stores, no savings coupons and food stamps, no buses and budgets is so real that I’m tweaking out. A future where I’d be able to afford to shop, eat and vacation wherever the fuck I want.

And boy, do I have plans!

The first thing I’m gonna do is treat myself to a royal spa day. Oh, the feel of those expensive oils and aromatherapy shit back when I worked at that pricey resort–

“Maya? A little help?”

Ari’s voice rips through my reverie and I feel like strangling her for good. I mean, she has already paid me half of the agreed amount, which was written out in double digits preceding an indecent number of zeroes. I don’t really need her alive for the other half, right?

Wrong.

I want money because I’m sick of being poor. And so, with a cleansing breath and my temper intact, I turn to the damsel in distress and her crotch goblin that is howling like a banshee. Or whatever the fuck the male version of that is.

“How may I be of service?” I almost bow. “Why is it crying?”

“Sami.” Her eyes narrow to slits. “His name is Sami and the sooner you memorize that the better for our plan.”

The urge to roll my eyes is epic but I refrain. “Fine. What do you want?”

“For you to hold the baby.” She pushes the bundle of fuss into my arms like it’s my next paycheck – which it is TBH. “Rock him to sleep.”

“Excuse me?” I’m definitely not handling the rug rat the way I would my paycheck. Also, paychecks are attractive and smell good. “I think he needs a diaper change.”

“Then, change it.”

My death glare should kill her, but she holds the purse strings which makes her immune to it. I huff and puff, trying not to blow my future away, and lay the monster down on one of the two low berths to undress him.

“I’m sorry, this isn’t my idea.” The neonate, suddenly calm for no freakin’ reason, coos at me. “Like my apology, do you? Well, I’m not apologizing. You should be apologizing for having such useless parents.”

Ari’s chuckle makes me look at her. “You’ve gotten better at this in the past two hours.”

Only two hours?

It feels like I’ve been stuck on this train for an eon with these two. I don’t, of course, voice the sentiment. Have to stop short of biting the hand that’s feeding me at some point, don’t I? Besides, this is my job for the foreseeable thirty days.

I have to be at the little tyke’s beck and call. To feed him and change him, bathe him and sing lullabies and rock him to sleep. To be his mother while Ari attends a family wedding at her ancestral home in Eads.

Ari and her baby daddy are too chicken shit to disclose their relationship to their families, let alone confess to having a baby together.

Therefore, they’re paying me a fortune to pretend to be a down-on-her-luck single mother who used to be Ari’s friend once upon a college freshman year but dropped out due to her – my – incorrigible boy crazy ways.

Apparently, one such boy got me pregnant and bailed. Or jumped off a cliff looking for his spine. My family kicked me out. Or jumped off a cliff for being turds. Ari swept in like a superhero, cape and all, rescued me and now we are here on this train.

It’s a very compelling backstory.

“And where is fuckface in all this?” I wrap and toss the dirty diaper in the small trashcan, almost catching the hem of Ari’s tunic.

“Maya! Watch it.” She bends to check if the diaper is securely wrapped and not leaking poop, then, stands straight to frown at me. “What were you saying?”

I spend a minute to take her in, thinking of all the ways I shouldn’t laugh. It’s a challenge for sure. With her perfect chignon and chiffon clothes, on-point makeup, jewels that sparkle in her ears, neck and fingers, and her hands clasped in front of her like a homely host, Ari is far removed from the woman who put the life in nightlife at our club.

She’d climbed onto a table one time and stripped down to her undies. Good thing Jazz was sober enough and wore a big jacket he could throw at her.

“I wanted to know where Jazz will be while you’re at Eads.” I lean one hip against the compartment wall and cross my arms over my chest. “But then I got thinking why you’re dressed like this and if Ari is your real name.”

Her face draining of color is enough of a giveaway to make me straighten my stance. But when she averts her gaze for a fraction of a second and looks back at me as if her mind just gave her the stern talking-to she needed, I am unable to not smirk.

“Well, well, well.” I snort. “The plot thickens.”

Her scowl is adorable. “You’re not being paid to ask these questions.”

“I’m just sayin’ if details of your Jezebel days slip out–”

“Don’t you dare,” she hisses. “I’m not paying you to be a bitch. I’m paying you to play a role. Role of a mother to a newborn so stick to it.”

“There’s no need to get upset.”

“I’m not upset.”

“Good, because that attitude would make me want to quit and run back.”

“You can’t do that.”

“I can.” I lift an eyebrow. “We didn’t sign a binding contract or anything that will hold me accountable in the eyes of the law. Or to you for that matter.”

Her eyes widen and I don’t miss how hard she swallows as she steps back. “We can track you down and–”

“Who’s we?” I look around our train compartment for two. “Your baby daddy who isn’t here? Where is he anyway? And that was my first question, by the way, before you went all mafia on me.”

“I didn’t…” she inhales deeply, her clenched jaw speaking volumes of how she doesn’t want to breathe fire in my direction, “…Jazz will be in Eads as well. With his family.”

I glance at the sleeping baby and then look back at her. “You’re not his family?”

“You know what I mean.” If her baby wasn’t asleep, I’d be dead. She can’t even shout, poor thing. “I meant his parents who live there. They don’t know about us. No one knows about us.”

“Look, Ari,” my sigh reeks of reconciliation, “when I said I’m in, it meant I’m in. I don’t go back on my word.” Especially when there’s a pot of gold involved. “I only wanted to make sure that Jazz…” I make air quotes around his name, “…isn’t going to leave you in a lurch.”

Her expression softens a smidge, and she tucks an invisible strand of hair behind her ear. “His name is Jazib. Jazz is what I call him.”

Ah, my intuition has always been stellar.

“And what’s Ari short for?” I ask.

“Beenish.”

“Okay, that’s nowhere near anything Ari could be short for.”

“I know.” She laughs.

Our moment of friendship is short lived because the baby starts whimpering. I lift my hands and sprawl over the vacant berth to declare I’m not available and not tending to any of the infant’s needs. Not when his real mother is able to.

Ari frowns but picks him up anyway. “You know it would help with your role if you actually did mom things.”

“I’m only pretending to be his mother, not actually babysitting or playing nanny here. Don’t expect me to either.”

Ari doesn’t reply and for the rest of the ride, we try not to lock horns. It helps that she doesn’t ask me for any more favors, and I stay quiet with my nose buried in a book. When the train slows to a stop after another five hours, the various colors of stress painting her face let me know we’ve made it home.

It’s showtime.

I dutifully take the baby from her and hold him like the precious cargo he is. She quickly shoves the few belongings scattered about the compartment back into our bags and tells me to follow her.

I’m not sure what to expect. But the two-men welcoming committee that hauls Ari off her feet by way of bearhugs, a side of tears and kisses making the spectacle sappier, surprises me. The vibe is too warm and doesn’t go with Ari’s big city party persona etched in my memory.

But she’s not Ari. She’s Beenish. Lord knows why she had to lie about it.

The thought humbles me without my consent, and I’m forced to draw a calming breath and vow anew to stick to my word of helping this woman who lacks too much of a spine to call her child her own.

“Beenish?” I say her real name since that’s what the men are calling her. No Ari at all, then.

“Oh, yes!” Her act of me slipping off her mind in the commotion of seeing her family is award-worthy. Rushing back to me, she grabs me by the elbow and gently nudges me forward. “Maya, this is my uncle and my cousin. Guys, this is Maya. The friend I told you about?”

The older of the two men nods to acknowledge the introduction. His salt-and-pepper hair lend his already expensive look an extra layer of class.

“Nice to meet you, Maya,” he says. “I trust the ride was comfortable?”

“Yes, thank you, it was…” I’m distracted by Ari’s cousin, the one with a nice face, thick hair, a smile that might spell trouble, and he is currently making funny faces at the baby in my arms, “…uhm, hi?”

“I’m sorry. Hi.” Up close, his resemblance to Ari is uncanny. “Do you mind if I hold the baby?”

Not at all. Be my guest!

I don’t even check with Ari to see if she’s okay with the transfer.

“You have children?” I ask him.

“I hope not.” His eyes twinkle impishly as they lazily lift from the baby’s face to mine. “I’m still out there enjoying my single status. I’m Arman, by the way.”

“So, it’s not your wedding?”

“Do you think I’m marriage material?”

Ari’s groan and her uncle telling his son to stop flirting with unsuspecting women who’ve barely set foot on their land makes me chuckle. These people seem nice. Only a minute in and I’m already enjoying this. I want to know more about them and the wedding we’re here for.

I’m about to ask more questions when someone else grabs my attention like a magnet grabs steel shavings.

It’s a man, a stranger I’ve never seen before except maybe in my utmost X-rated dreams because holy fuck, is he even real?

Sharp suit, chiseled jaw and toned everything. A headful of dark hair with eyes to match and a height that dwarfs literally everyone. He has legit walked off the cover of a romance book or a magazine for the hot and heavy masculine finds to make my ovaries explode.

He looks so delectable with his clothes on. I can only imagine what he’d be like without them and boy am I imagining that galore like a–

“Hello, Beenish.” He stops right in front of Ari and speaks in a voice that’s dark and velvety. “You look nice.”

And he has dimples!

That’s it. I want to push and shove and bite until I’m the only one commanding his attention and then I’ll just let him ravage me as if it’s nobody’s business. I’m sure he’s great in…wait, did he just kiss Ari?

Nothing more than a peck, mind you. But dangerously on the mouth even if it was close-lipped. And his lips lingered there for a second too long. If I were Jazz, I’d have challenged him to a duel by now.

But why didn’t Ari push him away?

I shoot her a look, but she avoids my gaze. The way her shoulders hunch all the way to her scalp starts sounding red hot alarm bells in my head.

Something’s off.

Is Mr. Delicious persona non-grata? Did he do something bad to Ari that’s making her go even more colorless than she was on the train? Is he – yikes – a predator? Harasser? A total asshole who abused her, which is why she turned to Jazz?

“Ari?” I grab her arm the first chance I get to break her away from the group as they finally start moving towards the parking lot. “Who is that guy? You never introduced him.”

Her intense draw of breath makes my bones rattle. “It’s Zarun.”

“Okay.” No matter how hard I’m staring at her, she’s looking ahead and following the men. “Who is Zarun?”

She stops. takes another deep, lung-collapsing breath and finally looks at me. “Don’t react.”

“Okay.” Tell it to my eyebrows making a cross stich on my forehead. “I promise.”

“I mean it, Maya. No screaming or squealing or cursing.”

“Fine. Spill.”

“Zarun is our neighbor. We grew up together.”

I don’t say anything, poised to keep on listening.

“He’s my fiancé.”

“Excuse me?” I think my ears just malfunctioned. “Fiancé?”

“I told you not to react.” Her hiss puts me in my place.

“Okay, sorry, but…for how long?”

Her gaze drops to her shoes. “Three years.”

“Three ye…wait…but Jazz…?”

Partying every weekend at the club for six months before they abruptly disappeared. Only to return that night after – now that I calculate it – thirteen months. A reasonable time lapse considering she was knocked up and had the baby.

The baby that is about three months old.

And she was engaged to another man this whole time?

When she looks up, my suspicions are confirmed. Our damsel in distress is not just a cowardly woman who won’t own up to a child that she gave birth to, but she is also a cheater.

Does Jazz even know all this?

“And…” as another suspicion takes root in my gut, bile seems to surge upward, “…the wedding?”

This time there’s genuine pain and guilt swimming in her eyes. “It’s mine.”

Mother. Fucker.

What the fuck did I get myself into? Honestly, I’m not getting paid enough to be part of this opera.

I should definitely renegotiate this deal.