CHAPTER SEVENTEEN RIGGS

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

RIGGS

Riggs: <forwarded a document>

Emmett: What am I looking at?

Riggs: My marriage certificate.

Emmett: Says here Daphne, not Desiree.

Riggs: Yeah. Desiree is her nickname.

Emmett: You understand what you’re saying makes no sense at all?

Riggs: I’m not here to make sense, Emmett. I’m here to tell you to fuck off and take your precious Alaska with you.

Riggs: What, no congrats? Silence has never been this golden.

Emmett: I’m still not buying it.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

My wife was a good kisser. I did not expect that. Duffy seemed like the type to be allergic to anything that smelled like fun, not to mention looked like it.

Turned out, she had moves. She knew what she was doing. Or maybe it was the fact she was so young, so different from my usual hookups, that made her exotic enough for my chest to constrict when we exchanged fluids in that courtroom.

Your chest did not constrict, Riggs Bates. You probably just had a minor heart attack or something.

I was so disoriented with that little ping in my otherwise-dormant heart that I had to pull away and stagger out of the courthouse like a drunken fool. And where did a drunken sailor end up whenever he got off a ship? That’s right, the bar.

“Did you just abandon your wife at the altar?” Arya barked out, catching up with my step as I shot out of the courthouse. I was counting on those four-inch heels to slow her down.

“I didn’t abandon anyone.” I blasted through the courthouse’s doors, seeking the nearest bar with my eyes. It was five o’clock somewhere. Sure as fuck not in New York, but in Asia, for sure. “She has things to do.”

“What things?” It was Winnie’s turn to challenge me. I noticed their husbands kept their mouths shut and trailed behind us. Cowards. That was exactly why I never wanted to get marri—ah, never mind.

Out on the street now, I detected an Irish pub across the road.

“Immigration-document stuff.”

“That could’ve waited until tomorrow.”

I choked on a laugh. “You don’t know Duffy. She’s not big on postponing things she wants. I wouldn’t put it past her to become a naturalized citizen before dinner, and the wife of a Forbes list billionaire before midnight.”

“You were straight up rude out there, Riggs Bates,” Winnie persisted, power walking to keep up with my stride. “Why’d you kiss the poor child if you don’t have feelings for her?”

“I do have feelings for her,” I protested, slapping the door to the pub open. “I feel strongly that she’s a pain in the ass.”

My friends wobbled behind me like baby geese. I fell on a stool at the bar and rapped the wood three times. “Redbreast, neat. Make it a double.”

A triple might have been a better idea, actually. How much did I have to drink to rid myself of the taste of my wife? Her sweetness lingered on my mouth, and I had to remind myself she was over a decade younger. Not to mention, she’d married me so she wouldn’t get deported. Not to mention, she’d thought I couldn’t afford her.

The fact she had a price tag at all should’ve made her undesirable to me.

I’d tried to be good. A week ago, when we’d almost kissed in her apartment, I’d put a stop to it before we did something stupid. But today, when the clerk gave me the green light, and Duffy stood there with her little frown and surly pout and posh outfit and purple eyes, I couldn’t help myself. I indulged.

Indulged? You scorched every boundary you’ve ever agreed to by kissing her.

Confusion and horniness gave way to anger. Did I just sexually harass my own wife? Ten seconds into our marriage?

“Seems that way.” Arsène slithered to a seat next to mine on the bar like a dark shadow.

Shit. I said that out loud.

“You did.” Christian perched on the other side of me. “And that last sentence too.”

I knocked back the whiskey in front of me, then motioned for a refill. Christian chuckled, shaking his head. Arya and Winnie disappeared to the restroom, probably to plot my execution.

“Back to the topic. You didn’t sexually harass your wife,” Arsène murmured, then ordered a whiskey as well. “The tongue-thrusting was mutual,” he reflected. “And uncalled for. I was planning to eat today.”

The women joined us and ordered fruity schnapps and truffle fries.

“You have to go back to her.” Arya put a hand on my shoulder. “What you did today was lame for a thirteen-year-old, and disastrous for a thirty-seven-year-old.”

“She’ll get over it,” I said. Duffy didn’t give two shits about me. She was still full-fledged obsessed with the idiot who left her behind.

Just in case, I pulled out my phone to check if I had any missed calls or texts from her. I didn’t. She was probably vomiting into a trash can this very moment, brushing her teeth with hot coal and hoping she didn’t catch anything deadly.

“Why did you run off, anyway?” Christian tilted his head sideways.

“Because he likes her,” Arsène supplied.

“As a friend,” I corrected, though I wasn’t sure that was true anymore. I did like Duffy, weirdly enough. But I also wanted to fuck her. What would that be called?

Marriage, you moron.

“Sure!” Winnie said brightly. “And I only liked Arsène as a boss.”

She hated Arsène when he was her boss. In fact, she ran all the way back to Tennessee when she’d worked as an actress at his theater.

“No, I actually do only like her as a friend.” I tapered my eyes, shooting Arsène a don’t-be-a-dick glare. “You know my thoughts on monogamy.”

“What I know is you’ve never stayed in a place long enough to get attached to anything.” Arsène draped an arm over Winnie’s shoulder. “Now that’s changing, and so are you. If this is how you kiss your friends .?.?.” He trailed off, his gaze drifting to the woman tucked under his arm. “Stay the fuck away from my wife.”

An infinite number of drinks later, I decided to face the music.

I was about to open the door to Duffy’s building when my phone rang. It was Emmett, the world-class douchebag. Not normally my conversation partner of choice, but this was the one time I wanted to speak to him. I swiped the screen, taking the stairs two at a time.

“Emmett.” I said his name in the same tone I would the word douchebag.

“Fine. So the wedding did happen,” he huffed on the other side of the line. “I’ll give you that.”

“Hello to you too. And what do we say when we wrongly accuse our employees of faking a wedding .?.?.??”

“Sorry,” he grumbled, and even though my marriage wasn’t real, the pleasure of seeing this fucker backing out of sending me to Alaska was very genuine. “How was it?” Emmett asked dispassionately. I could tell it had cost him a mental arm and a leg to call me.

“Great.” I got to our—Duffy’s—floor and stopped by her door. I didn’t want to have my attention on anything or anyone else while I faced her. “How’s life at the fishbowl?”

“Stop calling my office a fishbowl.”

“It’s not just your office.” I yawned. “It’s any office.”

“I like my fishbowl,” he maintained.

“I like my freedom,” I retorted.

He laughed. “Well, you just signed it over when you got hitched.”

“Funny,” I said dryly. “Is that why you called? To congratulate me?” I found it hard to believe.

“Actually, I called to tell you I’m still not buying your marriage, and I’ll be keeping a close eye on you. I hate to be lied to.” There was a pause. “Also, you’ll be glad to know that now that Alaska is off the table, I have a new, local assignment for you.”

“Hit me with it.”

“Abandoned prisons.”

“How many are there in the state of New York?”

“Two,” he answered. “One more in New Jersey, and one up in Connecticut.”

I tried to ignore the claustrophobia tightening around my neck. I was going to stay in New York for a while.

I cleared my throat. “Sounds good.”

“I’ll email you the details tonight,” Emmett chirped.

“You do that.”

“Oh, and Riggs? We still want to meet this wife of yours.” Then he added to clarify, “The entire Discovery family.”

I smiled big, so he could hear it. “She would love to see you too. Just give us a time and a place.”

After we finally hung up, I shoved my key into its hole. I was about to turn it when a voice stopped me.

“Hey, Riggs.”

Dammit.The one time I wanted to speak to my wife, the entire world and its uncle decided to talk to me.

The one time? Really? What about the time you sneaked in on her after she ignored you after that almost-kiss? You tiptoed your way upstairs so she wouldn’t hear you come.

It was the first and only time I’d actually contemplated fucking someone else for the entire duration of our engagement, and pathetically, I couldn’t even do that. I ended up falling asleep on that chick’s couch, then did the walk of shame back to the train station the next day, only to get giddy about finding Duffy tasty-looking waffles.

I turned around, smiling tightly at Charlie, who exited his apartment in a Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda pants. He looked like he hadn’t slept since 1995. Wrinkled and worn out.

“Charles, my man.”

He advanced my way before stopping a couple feet away from me, shitting all over my personal space.

“Where’ve you been?”

“Uh.” I looked around, ruffling my hair. “Just here and there. Places.”

“You look a little drunk.”

Who the fuck died and made you a Celebrity Rehab episode?

I chuckled. “Nah. It’s all under control.” Other than his fifteen heads, which were currently swimming in my vision. “You good?”

“Yes. Good,” he said distractedly, looking around us. “Wanna grab another one downstairs?”

“Another what?” I blinked.

“Drink.”

What was up with this dude? He was a grown-ass man, and not a bad-looking one. I bet he had plenty of lady friends. And buddies he could drink with. Why was he hell bent on humping my leg?

“Rain check.” I started swiveling back toward the door, feeling another headache forming behind my eyelids. “If you could smell my last few hours on my breath, I better call it a day.”

He took another step in my direction, now standing uncomfortably close. I only felt comfortable being so close to people I was interested in putting my dick in. Charlie was in no danger of ever falling into that category.

“I have a proposition for you.” He snickered awkwardly.

“Sorry, pal, I’m as straight as a mummy’s life line.”

“Did you think I .?.?.” Charlie’s eyes flared with horror. “No, no .?.?. just .?.?. no.”

“Why, I’m offended, Charles.” I put a hand to my chest. “I’m sure you’ve seen worse-looking men.”

“You’re a handsome devil indeed.” He took a step back, just in case. “But I don’t swing that way either.”

“How can I help you then?” I was beginning to lose my patience.

He gulped, and I could tell my short attitude was making him wary.

“I’m going to the British Virgin Islands next Friday for two weeks to scout some filming locations, maybe hit a few waves while I’m there. I was supposed to take an old friend of mine, but her daughter gave birth four weeks early today. I have a spare ticket. Thought you could use a little vacay.”

Was he offering me a two-week holiday with him? Could this guy get any weirder?

“I .?.?. uh .?.?.” Could use ditching New York, but not with you. “I have a busy few weeks with work.”

He nodded, his spine shriveling, making him a few inches shorter. I knew he didn’t buy it.

“That makes sense. Just thought I’d put it out there.”

“Thanks, though.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

He ducked toward the stairway, and I didn’t know why, but I felt like the biggest pile of shit known to mankind. There was something broken about this man. What was his deal?

Not your circus, not your monkeys,I reminded myself. See, this was exactly why I didn’t get an apartment or stay anywhere for too long. Getting attached was inevitable. I had to physically stop myself from jogging down the stairs, having a beer with Charlie, and asking him if he was okay. Fuck, even the thought of taking him up on his offer for that trip had crossed my mind before I mentally torched it with gasoline.

Resolute, I turned back to the door and threw it open.

Duffy wasn’t home.

Wherever Duffy was, she didn’t return all night. I knew, because my pathetic self decided to stay up and wait for her. I told myself it was because I was platonically worried for her. And I was. New York was a dangerous place. And who knew if she’d even made it home from the courthouse?

I could’ve texted and asked her where she was. But I didn’t. I wasn’t sure if it was my desire to give her space or my need to prove to myself I didn’t have feelings toward this woman.

At four o’clock, I threw in the towel and passed out. I didn’t wake up until eleven. When I opened my eyes, I was still alone.

Whatever you do, don’t be a dick and check her bedroom.

Naturally, I went ahead and checked her bedroom to see if she was there, ignoring my internal voice of conscience. In my defense, I knocked on the door for five minutes straight beforehand. And that voice was more of a whisper, anyway.

Duffy wasn’t in her room, as I suspected. I contemplated calling Kieran, but then realized I might throw her entire family into the arms of hysteria when there could be a perfectly innocent reason for Duffy’s absence. Maybe she went on a Tinder date and was currently having wild sex with a stranger. The thought made me want to vomit.

No. It’s not the thought. Just yesterday’s three gallons of whiskey.

I was beginning to suspect my inner voice was a dumbass.

Proceeding to the coffee machine before calculating my next move, I noticed a handwritten note on the kitchenette counter. Naturally, it was laminated, like everything else in my wife’s life.

My pulse picked up as I grabbed it.

Riggs,

I booked you an appointment with a neurologist. I wasn’t sure what your insurance situation was, so I paid out of pocket, which means you absolutely CANNOT cancel, because I will MURDER you if you do.

You need to find out what’s causing your headaches. No one deserves to live with chronic pain.

Get your blood work done before the appointment. Below is the number you should call for places and availability.

P.S.

I really do mean it. If you made me spend all this money for nothing, I will do very violent things to you.

P.P.S.

We’re never talking about yesterday. Ever.

—Poppins.

She paid out of pocket to get me to see a neurologist because she thought I lacked the funds? That must’ve been hundreds of dollars. Maybe thousands, with the blood work.

Two things happened simultaneously: I felt very bad for making her spend all this money when she was unemployed, and very good, because for the first time in my life, someone gave a genuine, God-honest shit about me. I’d never been taken care of. Not since my granddad passed away. And that was so long ago that I could barely remember his face. My only recollection of that period was that I wasn’t as fucked up. I guess that Maya Angelou quote was true. You do tend to forget what people say or do, but you always remember how they made you feel.

Duffy made me feel seen, and I cruised through my existence being the guy who slides in and out of people’s lives unnoticed and unaccounted for.

I staggered to the couch with the note still in my hand. Everything about it, from the fact it was laminated to the way she’d finished it off with her nickname, made me feel. Anger, delight, excitement, fear, courage, and this was just an incomplete list.

I hadn’t the greenest clue what it felt like to be loved. To be important to someone. The story of my origin—of my grandfather’s origin—was my most important possession. Everything I knew about our relationship I’d learned through his estate lawyer. When I turned eighteen and became the beneficiary to all his wealth, I’d met with the man, and he’d filled in the blanks about my childhood.

If it wasn’t for this random attorney, whom I’d met at eighteen in San Francisco when I was informed I was officially a billionaire, I wouldn’t know about Granddad. About Scotland. About my mother being a runaway teen who cared more about the dick she was riding than her infant son (still bitter about that, in case you were wondering).

I felt my eyes burning. I was dangerously close to shedding a tear. I’d never cried before. I didn’t like all these firsts I was beginning to experience under Duffy Markham’s roof.

You’re not catching feelings. You just have cabin fever,my inner voice maintained, this time much louder. Get up and get the fuck out of this place. Go to a museum. A movie.

It was a weekday, and Duffy was probably out all day, running around between job interviews. Her hunger to survive alarmed me. Her entire life was planned around finding a good job, a partner who could provide for her, and opportunities to get ahead. She wasn’t ambitious. She was scared. Her past experience had left her scarred. She was hungry, even when her stomach was full. I would never know what that felt like.

I hopped in the shower, put on some clothes afterward, and went downstairs. My phone pinged with an email from Emmett as I made my way to the subway. Details about the prisons assignment. I stopped in front of a diner to shoot him a quick reply. When I looked up, I noticed Charlie through the diner’s window. He was sitting in one of the booths alone, frowning into his cup of coffee.

He looked like a stenciled version of himself. Sunken cheeks, skin the color of chipped ice. How hadn’t I picked up on that yesterday when I ran into him in the hallway? But the answer was obvious—I was too busy having a meltdown about my nonexistent relationship with my fake wife.

He hadn’t seen me. I could atone for the way I blew him off yesterday. Walk inside. Buy him a meal. Ask if everything was all right.

Get attached.

Thing was, I was already feeling all kinds of emotions toward the woman I was living with. Adding another person to worry about was out of the question. Already, I was losing my grip on my most fundamental personality trait—being a loner.

With a heavy sigh and a healthy dose of self-loathing, I turned around and resumed my walk to the subway.

Charlie needed help.

But giving it to him just might cost me my principles.