Mr. Mysterious: A Mister Standalone (The Mister Series Book 4) (4 page)

“Shhhiiit,” I say. “I started working for Daniel Stow when I was eighteen. I logged my four thousand hours by the time I was twenty. I graduated from high school when I was sixteen. So by the time I moved to California for college, I had two years of undergrad done. I, sir, have a master’s degree in criminology, law, and society from UC Irvine.”

“I thought you were an engineer.”

“And you believed me!” I say, excited. “See how good I am!”

“And you did not work for Daniel Stow. I know Daniel Stow. Hate that motherfucker too.”

“I know. He talks about you all the time. Which is where I got the idea to meet you. He hates you back, in case you’re wondering.”

That’s another lie. Not the hate part—I think everyone hates this guy but me—the idea part. But no need to bombard poor Mr. Mysterious with the truth at this point. I’ve got him eating out of my hand.

“What does he say about me?” Paxton says, an angry look crossing his face.

“Oh, the usual,” I say, waving a hand, like that’s neither here nor there. “Unstable, mean…
guilty
. But I was intrigued. And the more I learned about you, Pax, the more intrigued I became. So I started following you.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. I’m gonna need a restraining order.” He grabs that dark, wavy hair for a second with both fists, like he’s losing his mind.

“You need me. I know you need me. I’m good. So…” I beam a smile at him. “I’m your new assistant.”

He’s got me by the arm and he’s dragging me back into the house.

“Where are we going?” I ask as I try not to trip down the stairs.

“You’re leaving.”

“I’m not leaving! I just got here!”

“Your boss at the sandwich shop is looking for you. You gotta go. And I’m never calling there for takeout again.”

“I don’t have a boss!” I yell. “I own the shop!”

“What?” At least he stops. We’re all the way down by the pool now. And shit. I had that master bedroom right in the palm of my hand two seconds ago and now look. All the way back downstairs. “You own it? How the fuck—”

“Paxton,” I say sternly. “I’m going to need you to focus. OK? Listen. To. Me.”

“Who the fuck—”

“I’m Cinderella Vaughn.” God, another lie. But it has to be done. He cannot know I’m his best friend’s baby sister, now can he? That would pretty much ruin everything. “I’m a licensed private investigator with a firearms permit. And I’m your new partner.”

“You said assistant!”

“We can start there. Sure.”

“No,” he says. “You’re leaving, I’m forgetting this whole thing, and—”

I yank my arm from his grip and cross my arms over my chest. “I’m not leaving. We’re in business together now.”

“Is this how you weaseled your way into Daniel’s business too?”

“Weaseled?” I sigh. God, he’s just not getting it. “I’m not
weaseling
. And God, no, I never fucked Daniel. Gross. He’s old enough to be my grandfather.”

“Fucked?”

“Paxton, do you always have to ask so many questions? Why are you so clueless? We are soulmates. Get it? This is fate slapping your face. I’m fate.”

“You’re crazy.” He laughs.

“No,” I say firmly. “My methods are unorthodox, yes. But so are yours. So you see, we’re perfect for each other.”

I smile, my speech complete. Not exactly how I rehearsed it, but close enough.

“The house with the friends?” he asks.

I hold my thumb and pointer fingers close together. “Teeny, tiny lie.”

“Leaving tomorrow?”

“Lie. I own that house.”

“How the fuck do you own a beach house in Malibu? And a sandwich shop?”

“My mommy and daddy are rich. Isn’t that how you got your money?” Why is he wasting time on this trivial bullshit? He should be dragging me back up into that bedroom so he can fuck me against the window.

“No,” he growls.

“Yes,” I say back. “Your father is Charlie Vance. Your mother is Mariel Hawthorne. They have billions more dollars than my family.”

“I earn my money, Cinderella.”

Oh, God. I have dreamed about him saying my name like that. “I like to earn mine too!” I squeal. “See how much we have in common?”

“You’re crazy,” he says, pointing a finger at me.

“I lick my lips and imagine myself sucking on it.”

“You just said that out loud.”

“I did?” I laugh. “Oh, well, I have a habit of that. Speaking my thoughts out loud. It’s weird at first, but you’ll get used to it. See, when you’re named after a fictional character you get all sorts of ideas about who you are. So when I was a kid I used to imagine myself as a character in a book and everything I did, I sort of narrated. I was practicing for telling stories in the future.”

“Lies, you mean?”

“No, no, no, listen. Stories. Like… I’d be walking around the farm in the winter and I’d be all, ‘Her boots made a crunching noise as she passed over the snow.’ I narrated my life. I’d be all, ‘Her father’s motorcycle sounded like the thunder of wings and the pounding of hooves.’ We had a lot of bikes at our house. And horses. So don’t judge my similes.”

“Am I dreaming right now? Am I having a stroke?”

“No,” I exclaim. “This is real, Pax. That’s what’s so great about it. This is all real. We did it,” I say, sighing with relief.

“Did
what
?”

“Found each other. Now we’ll be together forever.”

Chapter Four - Paxton

She’s nuts. I grab her arm again, tugging her along with me—ever careful not to be too rough, lest I get slapped with a rape charge again—and stop at the front door.

“I understand,” she says. “I get it. It’s weird coming face to face with your soulmate. So I’m going to give you some time—”

“Great,” I mumble, throwing the door open. “See ya around, sugar. Watch out for falling tiaras or dropped shoes or…” Fuck it. I got nothing for this.

I slam it closed and engage the chain lock. I haven’t used that thing in… ever. The house is wired up from top to bottom, courtesy of an alarm company Oliver recommended. And thank God for motion detectors. Because I’m making sure everything is armed tonight, boy.

Fuck.

I take a deep breath and realize she left my sandwiches here and I forgot to pay her.

Oh, well. She’s the boss, right? She can’t get fired. Besides, she owes me those two sandwiches as far as I’m concerned.

Crazy fucking girl.

I grab the paper sack and walk back to the beach side of the house, taking a seat on the terrace.

I eat, trying to get the weird girl out of my mind. Why today? After so long without a girl, why do I have to get horny and decide I’d like to fuck today?

Well, I picked the wrong girl. And isn’t that the story of my life? Jesus. Has there ever been a good one?

No.

No. I am a crazy bitch magnet. Every single one of them has been certifiable.

I tried to tell myself I’m just one of those charismatic men, the kind who attract followers and whatnot. Charming and handsome. I can’t help that a majority of women find me irresistible.

It’s why I played that game in the first place, right?

Well, isn’t that sweet. Does everything have to come back to
her?
That fucking bitch who tried to ruin my life?

Forget about it, Pax. Just eat your dinner, take a shower, and think about surfing tomorrow morning
.

So I do.

And I don’t even wonder if the food is poisoned until I’m scarfing down the last bite of the chicken avocado ranch.

Isn’t that the preferred method of killing enemies in fairy tales?

It wasn’t. Poisoned, I mean. Because I feel fine when I wake up at dawn and grab a cup of coffee before I hit the waves. I pull my spring suit up my body and slip my arms in, flexing my muscles a little to get comfortable, then get my favorite board from the side of the house and jog down the sand. It’s not exactly cold this morning, maybe sixties. But it’s clear that summer is just about over and all the tourists have gone home because there are only about half a dozen guys out waiting on waves.

I run into the surf, drop onto the board, and start paddling.

I don’t talk to anyone, but I know all their faces. The middle-aged dude who lives a few houses down. He’s a year-round guy. Lived here when I moved in, and I’ve never said more than ten words to him at a time, so I have no idea what he does, other than surf every morning and leave his rooftop terrace hatch unlocked—even when he’s not home. Finding that out was a happy accident when I was drunk one night and decided I could jump from roof to roof. I got tired at his house and discovered he doesn’t lock his hatch. He’s got a hot wife, too. Probably some model from days gone by, because she’s attractive in that beachy California kind of way even though she’s got to be pushing fifty.

The two teen actors. I only know they’re actors because I did background checks on those hoodlums last year. They have a house in Burbank—not too far from Mr. Corporate, now that I think about it—and don’t live here full-time.

Then there’s the three twenty-somethings who wear suits during the day, just like me, and all drive cliché cars, just like mine. They live next to old dude with hot wife. They share that house and throw a lot of parties. I had to check them out too because the police came once and that is the kind of shit I need to know about.

But that was last year and since then, no more problems.

They all nod at me when I turn around and sit up on my board to take a look around and admire my house.

I love this place. It’s more home than home.

And that’s when I spot another surfer. Even though it’s barely dawn and the morning haze is cluttering up the visibility, I know who the newcomer is immediately.

Her.

Bakery girl. I wonder if she smells like sugar covered in ocean salt water?

Her dark hair is pulled back into a long ponytail and her spring suit is white with black stripes on the arms.

She paddles straight for me.

I look around, weigh all my options and decide not to make a big deal about it when I’ve got six witnesses who probably wonder on a regular basis who I am and why I’m so mysterious.

No way. If this bitch thinks I’ll put on a show for the locals, she’s got another thing coming.

“Good morning,” she yells—so fucking loud—when she gets over the breakers.

I glance at the other guys, notice they’re noticing us, and take a deep breath when one of them paddles closer.

“Hey,” he says, once he knows I can hear him. “Do you know that chick?”

“Why?” I growl.

“I’ve seen her around the neighborhood. Fucking fine, man. You dating her?”

“I don’t do dates.” I snort.

“Good,” he says, turning himself around in the water. “Because I’m hitting that shit right the fuck now, bro. This was just a courtesy call.”

I narrow my eyes at his back as he paddles to his friends. He’s one of the party-house guys.

“She’s all yours,” I call after him. He doesn’t answer. Asshole.

“Pax!” the sugar princess yells.

I have to take a deep breath and count to ten so I don’t bark,
Shut the fuck up
. I paddle towards her so she won’t announce my goddamned name to all these strangers again and when we’re about twenty feet apart, I say, “Keep your voice down.”

“Sorry,” she says, sitting up on her board and swiping the long strands of black hair out of her eyes. “Forgot. You’ve got that whole Mr. Mysterious thing going on.”

“Jesus fuck. Will you shut up?”

“They can’t hear me,” she says, waving a hand over towards the party-house guys. “I saw him talking to you and I didn’t hear a thing. What did he say, anyway? You both looked over at me after.”

“He says he wants to fuck you.”

“Oh.” She laughs. “Did you tell him I’m taken?”

“No,” I growl. “I don’t give a shit who you fuck. I don’t even know you.”