Max wanted to drive Zoe back to her house, but she insisted on being dropped at the nearest grocery store to buy dinner. After she’d waved him off at the entrance to Tesco’s, he drove the Volvo home, feeling agitated and empty.
One thing was for sure, he’d gotten to know her better, unraveling the first threads in the mysterious tapestry that was Zoe Bunsen. So she was single. Then what was all that business with the deadbeat ex of hers? What was she doing living with the guy and attending his concerts? What did that say about her?
Then again, Tyler was probably a decoy to keep men away. Not a bad policy for a single woman in London who didn’t want to be bothered. But a disastrous policy if she ever wanted to meet someone properly. Almost as bad a policy as messing with Bob Chadwick.
After her soft touch on his leg, it had been hard to let her go. She’d paused for a moment before slamming the passenger door shut. Paused as if she was going to say something positive to him, like, “I had a good time.” Or even something incredibly amazing, like, “Fancy a coffee?” He could have sworn it was written in her eyes, her dark-green, magical eyes. And of course when she’d said nothing, he’d done the uninterested act, too, and let her go. He should’ve gotten out of the car and opened her door and reached for her. Touched her. Caressed her milky skin. Would she have been up for it?
Instead, he had this crap with his brother to look forward to. Mal wouldn’t take kindly to an ultimatum. He’d bang on about how big the apartment was and how little trouble he was and how hard it was to find a job in London. Or he’d talk about family duty. But there was no way Mal was staying longer than three weeks, and even that was pushing it.
He swerved into his garage and stomped into the house. The lights were on, the door unlocked. Malachi was stretched out on the sofa in the living room, shoes on, scuffmarks on the cream leather, empty beer bottles decorating the table, and an inane TV channel flashing in the corner. The only thing missing was the stench of cigarette smoke, but Malachi had miraculously managed to give it up last year after smoking had become illegal in several first-world countries.
“S’up, bro?” Malachi said. He had the grace to swing his legs off the couch.
“Yeah.”
“Good day?”
“Not bad.” Max pulled off his sweater, already looking forward to the shower.
“Me and the mates going to The Red Lion at six. You coming?”
“I’ll give it a skip.” Malachi’s mates? No, thanks.
From his satisfied grin, it seemed to be the answer Malachi expected. “Don’t worry. I won’t be sponging off you for long.”
“How do you mean?” Max checked the fridge for beer. A cold one from that six-pack he’d bought this morning would be nice … but not a chance. All gone. He pulled out a carton of grapefruit juice instead and sank against the fridge door, suddenly weary. The thought of Malachi being gone was nice but worrying. He’d planned on setting his brother up with a job, but then his own job became too time-consuming.
“I’m moving back in two weeks,” Malachi said. “Home.”
“You have a job?”
“I have a job ... to do, yes.”
“Doing what?” Max knew these “jobs.” Contraband peddling. Insurance scams. Creepy protectionist jobs.
Malachi shrugged. “Stuff.”
“Stuff you’ll be paid for?”
“Richly.” Malachi beamed.
“And income-taxed on?”
“Not quite.”
“What are you up to, Mal? If it’s illegal, you should seriously consider the trouble you’ve already caused yourself, Ma, everyone.”
His brother threw his hands in the air. “First of all you whine like a little girl that I’m dependent on you. Then you whine when I get a job. No pleasing you. Always trying to act like you’re the oldest.”
“Someone’s got to.”
“You’ll see. I’ll make Ma proud, and that’ll shut you up. She doesn’t even like you. Nobody in the family does. Nobody in the street. You could work a bit on that, so you could.”
“I’ll bear it in mind.” Max bent to clear up the newspapers strewn on the floor. Malachi didn’t believe in digital editions or general tidiness.
“Bloody obsessive compulsive.” Malachi stood in the doorway watching him for a moment. Then he spun around and walked out.
Max listened for the slam of the front door, and it came a few seconds later. This was an orchestrated exit, designed for maximum impact. Designed to make Max feel bad about something. But what Malachi didn’t realize was that after Shauna, nothing Mal did could ever hurt him again.
He surveyed the mess. What if he, just this once, sat down and tidied up later? For the hell of it, he slumped down on the couch like a completely degenerate slob and pulled out his phone. Might as well chat with his artificial friend, seeing as none of the breathing ones seemed to want to hang out.
“Darcy, what do I do? What would you do?”
“What, sir, do you require assistance with?”
“If you had a brother hell-bent on committing crime for money, would you try to stop him?”
“Yes. If it were in my power to do so.”
Max rubbed his forehead. “What if it meant leaving a well-paying job?”
“Yes. If it were in my power to do so.”
“What if it meant …oh, I don’t know ... leaving someone, someone you … maybe kind of … liked?”
“A gentleman must do what he feels is right even at personal cost to himself. Helping one’s family is of the utmost importance in life.”
“What if I’m not a gentleman?”
“Any savage can follow his desires,” Darcy said.
Max switched him off.