Page 3 of His Good Girl
“You’re a liar,” she singsongs, that beautiful lilt flowing over me, soothing me. If she weren’t already happily married, I’d probably ask her to move in with me. Not for sex or marriage, just to be here constantly to look after me and talk to me in that voice. The women who surround me all want something from me. They are sexy, husky, seductive creatures, who purr and pant, and it’s boring as fuck. I want something different. Just once, I want a woman not to have an ulterior motive for being with me. Somedays, it makes me consider paying for someone.
“I’ll be calling you, Logan, to make sure you’re eating.”
“If you run out on Paddy, you could be here to make sure.” I give her a slow smile.
It makes her peal of laughter ring through the otherwise quiet apartment. “Oh, you,” she says, slapping me lightly. “I’ll tell him, you know.”
“I know how to fight.”
She splutters into her hand. Her husband is a renowned bare-knuckle fighter from the back streets of Dublin. Even fifteen years my senior, he would still knock me on my ass with one swipe of his southpaw. “He’ll get a kick out of that.”
“You’re a good woman, Rose. Too good for me.”
“Don’t be saying that, Logan. You’ll find someone who loves ya for who you are.”
“I’m not looking.”
“You say that, but that’s when it happens.”
“Hmm.”
“I’ll be calling. 7 PM sharp.”
“Make it six. I’m coming straight home tonight.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Things not work out with that hussy?”
Now it’s my turn to snicker. “That was never serious, but no, it’s over.”
“Good. I didn’t like her,” she says primly. “Was only after your money, if you ask me.”
“Wasn’t my money she wanted.”
Her eyes narrow. “A baby? I hope you covered up.”
I let out a loud laugh. Only Rose has this effect on me. “No, thank God. She is after power.”
“Hmm. That’s as bad as using someone for their money. You are well rid. Don’t go back there because you are lonely.”
“Who says I’m lonely?”
She searches my eyes for a moment before she purses her lips. She knows when to back off. “6 PM, and if you aren’t sitting at that table with a bowl in front of you, I will send Paddy round to sort you out. I bought you a coffee and a bagel.” She shoves a bag at me from where she’d left it on the large glass dining table.
“You’re a treasure,” I murmur, and taking it with a soft smile, I head for the door. I need to be in early to arrange for Dolores to be removed from my employ. I regret this action, but everyone is a pawn when it comes to Solitaire—even me.
Pushing the box to the back of my mind, I head out into the cold early morning, the darkness all-encompassing at this time.
I walk to work. It’s only fifteen minutes away. One of the perks of living in the city, everything is at my fingertips. Biting into the bagel, suddenly feeling ravenous, I devour it within a matter of moments, discarding the bag in a nearby trash can while I sip the hot coffee made just how I like it. Strong, with a splash of milk.
By the time I’ve finished the coffee, I’ve reached my office building. Founding and Senior Partner, I’m proud of everything I accomplishedpriorto becoming a member of Solitaire. Getting the scholarship to college after a tough time at school was the best thing that could’ve happened to me. Sometimes I wonder if this was Solitaire all along. They came to me about ten years ago and asked if I wanted in. I didn’t hesitate. My entry was contingent on one action, and I didn’t even think twice. It was long before then that I realized something was different about the way I see the world. I fit in perfectly with the murky gray morals on which the Society is run. My conscience is paper-thin. It’s there, but I have an apathy toward most people and things. It’s one reason why I don’t have relationships. I know this about myself. It’s no mystery to unwrap. I’m always upfront about it with the women I sleep with. They know the score from day one. It doesn’t stop them from trying to change me, but I’m past being able to alter my conceptions for someone else. I don’t want to, so I won’t. I like my space, my life. I want for nothing, except maybe Rose full-time, but that is something that is tantalizingly out of my reach. I could find someone else to be there at my beck and call. Very easily, I’m sure. But Rose is…Rose. She gets me. She knows me. She’s worked for me for years. I trust her with most aspects of my life. She’ll see the box in the closet when she puts away my laundry, and I know she won’t snoop. Trust is difficult for me, but I trust her to an extent. I know I’m capable of it, but again, I just don’t care to get that close to anyone where secrets become pillow talk, and in my world, that gets you killed.
Or worse.
Entering the office a few minutes later, it’s bright and stark, contrasting with the early morning black sky outside. I squint as I wave my ID card at the Security Guard on duty.
“Morning, sir,” he says.
“Morning.”
