Bitter Arrangement: Chapter 4

Four weeks until the wedding.

I’ve been good. Well, relatively speaking, at least.

After Dad made me feel like an absolute idiot at the Rowdy Mule last week, I locked it down tight. No casual shoplifting, no casing any potential jaunty burglaries, nothing remotely untoward.

And I’m bored out of my mind.

All I’ve done is go for long runs and force myself through grueling gymnastics routines. If I can’t engage in my most favorite and cherished hobby, stealing worthless artifacts to add to my collection of random sundries, then I have to find something to burn off all this excess energy.

I’m still in good shape at least. Even though I haven’t competed seriously since high school, I remember all my old routines, and I can still pull them off. Maybe I can’t tumble quite so high, but I’m flexible, and that counts for something.

“Riley! Are you almost done?” Dad knocks on my door, but he doesn’t come inside. It’s seven in the evening, and he expected me downstairs a half hour ago.

“Coming,” I call out, adjusting the plain white dress shirt I’m wearing tucked into a pair of black jeans. The shirt is too big—and it still smells like him all these weeks later—but I’m just barely pulling it off. “Just need a second.”

“Mr. Fong will be here any minute. I want you downstairs now.”

Dad stomps away, and I’m left looking at myself in the mirror. My hair’s in loose curls down past my shoulders, and there are bags under my eyes. No amount of makeup will make those go away. Turns out, stress is terrible for my skin.

I try to smile. It looks weird. I lift the collar of the shirt and breathe in deeply, letting the last remnants of his smell linger in the back of my head. Ever since I broke into his house, I’ve gotten myself off in this shirt at least a dozen times, and I keep wearing it out in public like it’s some kind of talisman.

But tonight, it doesn’t ease the sting.

In one month, I’m going to get married, and it feels like I’m going to do it in front of a firing squad.

I do, and then bam, they’ll blow off my head.

That might be preferable to being married, actually.

I hear the doorbell ring and Dad’s voice echo up the hall. With a sigh, I head down the main steps to find an attractive man standing with my father.

That’s a pleasant surprise. Mr. Fong is allegedly the head of an important Taiwanese cybersecurity firm that Dad’s planning on hiring in the near future for the family. I expected someone old and nerdy.

“Mr. Fong, this is my daughter, Riley,” Dad says, gesturing toward me.

“Please, call me Jeremy.” He smiles at me and shakes my hand. I’d guess he’s no older than thirty with dark, slicked-back hair, good cheekbones, and a charming smile. His suit is modern, slim, and fits his muscular frame very well. “It’s nice to meet you, Riley. I hope you don’t mind if your father and I talk boring computer business all night.”

“And I hope you don’t mind if I offer my unsolicited opinions on everything.”

He beams and pats my hand. “I’d like nothing more.”

Dad gives me a warning frown before ushering everyone into the dining room. I head into the kitchen to fetch everyone drinks, since my role is half hostess and half server for this evening. It’s annoying, but it beats hanging around in my room feeling miserable.

At least Jeremy’s charming and funny. He’s not really my type, but I can appreciate his confidence. He sits across from my father and discusses numbers and services with the ease of a man who typically gets what he wants. I chime in a few times, mostly out of boredom, and because Dad’s not going to correct me in front of a stranger.

About halfway through the meal, though, my phone vibrates. I frown down at the screen. It’s a text from an unknown, strange number.

I made a mistake a few weeks back.

That’s all it says. I frown, not sure what the heck to make of that, until I realize I’m being rude and excuse myself. Neither man really notices when I leave the room.

Who is this?

The number responds right away.

I deleted the footage of you in my bed. But don’t worry, my thief, my pillow still smells like your shampoo.

My heart starts beating rapidly. I have to pour myself a glass of wine, and my hands are shaking as I drink it. My god, the implications of that text rattle through my brain. I knew he was recording—it was a security system after all—but for whatever reason, it never occurred to me that he might keep the footage.

I have to take a minute to decide how I’m going to reply.

Riley: I’m glad you got rid of it. That’d be weird if you had porn of me on your computer.

Alexan: Is it porn if it was made for me?

Riley: More like made because of you. What would you do if you hadn’t gotten rid of it?

Alexan: Watch it over and over. Stroke my cock and think about your little mewling moans. You sound so fucking cute when you’re debasing yourself in my bed, little slut.

Holy fucking shit.

I stare at the text, mouth hanging open.

This isn’t what I expected tonight. I figured I was in for a really boring meal filled mostly with talk about contracts and payments.

Not some random steamy sexting.

Riley: Is this a booty call right now?

Alexan: I was just thinking about you. And smelling you.

I’d call him creepy, but that’s exactly what I’ve been doing too.

Riley: Want to know something? I’m wearing your shirt right now.

Alexan: Show me. Right now.

My stomach does flips, and I’m smiling to myself as I go into the bathroom. I take a quick selfie, hate it, delete it, take another, and another until finally one looks good enough to send.

Alexan: Looks like you really are mine already.

Riley: Don’t flatter yourself. I just look good in it.

Alexan: You really fucking do. Have you washed it yet? Or are you rolling around in my scent and fucking your pussy like you did that day?

Jesus fuck, this man. I mean, he’s dead on, but I’m not about to admit that.

Riley: I’m at a business dinner with my father and one of his associates. So no finger fucking or rolling around.

Alexan: That didn’t answer my question. Have you washed it yet?

Riley: We’re not all freaks like you are.

Alexan: Since you’re still dodging, I’ll assume you haven’t. How about this, my lovely thief? Come break into my house again tomorrow. I’ll leave you something to wear.

I lick my lips, heart racing. God, that’s so tempting. It’s disastrous is what it is. I’ve been obsessing about that afternoon since it happened, but what’ll happen if I really let myself go back?

And it’s not as good as it was?

I don’t want to ruin that memory. Hell, I don’t want to make our marriage awkward by letting my impulsive horny brain get the best of me.

But most of all, I still have my father’s voice in my head.

Telling me not to make any more mistakes.

Riley: Sorry, big guy, but I can’t. I gave up my thieving ways.

Alexan: I doubt that’s true.

Riley: Cross my heart. Besides, I’m busy dress shopping tomorrow.

Alexan: For our wedding? Just wear my shirt.

Riley: Doubt that’ll go over well with the families.

Alexan: No, but at least they’ll all know you’re claimed by me.

Riley: Isn’t that the point of the wedding ring?

Alexan: Sometimes rings aren’t enough.

I shake my head and start typing a response when I hear my name called from the other room. I hesitate, delete what I was about to say, and head back into the dining room to find Jeremy on his feet, his jacket on, and his briefcase tucked under an arm.

“Done already?” I ask, trying not to sound flushed and excited. Alexan’s random messages pierced straight through my armor and are boiling right in my veins. I feel alive suddenly, more invigorated than I have since Dad tossed my tools down on the bar and embarrassed me in front of the family.

“All done,” Jeremy confirms with another charming smile. “Your father is easy to work with.”

Fucking doubt that.

Dad’s got his strained, friendly look on his face, like he’s not sure where the bad smell’s coming from. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Fong. Riley, did you want to say goodbye?”

“Yes, of course.” I don’t know why I do it, but I move forward. Jeremy puts out a hand again while I go in for a much more informal hug, and we end up bumping together, my hand twisted into his jacket. “Oh, god, I’m sorry!”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Jeremy says, laughing dismissively, and gives me a quick hug. “You were very helpful tonight, Riley. Thank you for the company.”

“My pleasure.” I beam at him happily⁠—

And slip the watch into my back pocket.

My heart’s racing like crazy. Sweat prickles my skin.

This is why I steal. It’s the rush, the excitement, the danger that hangs in the brief moments before I know I’m getting away with it. Any second now, he might realize I took something⁠—

But Dad sweeps Jeremy away to the door, talking numbers, confirmations, contracts, and phone calls.

I clear the table, grinning like an idiot. Once the plates are stacked, I send one last text.

Riley: See you in a month, creep.

He doesn’t answer, but that’s okay. I’m flying high and elated as I do the dishes. Dad stops in to thank me for my help, back to looking his normal sour self before he disappears into his office.

Only after I’m done cleaning up and safely back in my room do I finally take out my prize.

It’s a pocket watch. Burnished brass case, complicated engraving on the face. There’s no make or model. I’m guessing it’s very, very old, based on the wear and tear.

What’s a modern guy like Jeremy Fong doing with a piece like this?

Doesn’t matter. I whistle to myself as I open my closet door, loosen the fake board against the wall, and kneel down to open an old, lead-lined safe hidden in the wall.

Inside are my most precious treasures.

A state senator’s wallet. An ivory cat statue taken from a notorious gangster’s living room. A signed photo of Lionel Messi swiped from some asshole consultant’s private soccer memorabilia collection. Along with a dozen other minor items, mostly all entirely worthless, except to me as mementos of all the dumb things I’ve pulled off.

I add the pocket watch with a big smile.

If it weren’t for Alexan’s texts, I never would’ve had the courage to go for it, and with my dad standing right there too.

That must’ve been my best score to date. A quick and easy lift, and nobody’s the wiser.

Later tonight, or maybe not even until tomorrow or the day after, Jeremy’s going to realize his watch is missing.

And he’ll never suspect sweet little Riley McGrath.