Page 7 of Not Mine To Love

She looked rich. Something about her screamed money and privilege. Frankly, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she was royalty. I could picture people bowing to her. I guessed her to be in her late forties. She was beautiful. Elegant. Well-composed. Everything I would like to grow up to be.

“He plans to marry my daughter in less than two months’ time. I know nothing about him besides the basic information.” She started to list what she knew about him. “His social security number. Criminal background, which unfortunately was clear. Some basic genetic stuff since I took a DNA sample when he wasn’t paying attention.”

I tried to look as if it was completely normal to know those things about a future son-in-law. Mrs. Doogan was apparently thorough. So why did she need me?

“So what do you want me to do since you know so much about him already?”

“Follow him around. See where he goes. Who he talks to. See what he’s hiding.” She gave a frustrated sigh. “My daughter is naive. Sweet. Trusting. Gullible. I love her, but she’s like a sheep among wolves. I’m very rich, Becca. And my Ana has been very sheltered. I got to where I am not by being the smartest or working the hardest, but by being tough. And it seems along the way, I didn’t show my daughter how to use that same grit to see through lies. So that’s why I need your help. I need evidence to convince her to listen to me. I’m not going to have her throw her life away on some random man who may or may not be after her money.”

I wondered then if that was how people had seen me when I had married Tom. They had probably thought I was a gold digger too. After all, he had been well-off and I had only been nineteen.

“What makes you think he’s after her money? Couldn’t he just sign a prenup?”

“Oh, he said he would. I don’t believe him. And even if I did, I still wouldn’t want her to waste even a second of her life on him. He’s not good enough for her. He’s below her.” She finished with a shake of her head, as if frustrated by the mere thought of him. For the first time, I wondered if I was an accurate judge of character. Maybe Mrs. Doogan wasn’t who she had first appeared to be. Maybe she wasn’t all that pleasant, after all.

What kind of person would describe someone as being below another? Ouch. Mrs. Doogan or Claire, as she insisted I call her, didn’t downplay the fact that she felt superior to others. I wondered if she felt superior to me. I sighed. She probably did; after all, I couldn’t even afford two cups of coffee. She was superior to me, at least when finances were concerned. Stupid coffee had made me look bad.

“And you came highly recommended, so I can trust you to be discrete, I’m sure.” I wanted to laugh that my recommendation had come from a little boy.

“Danny said you were very pretty, and he was right. You can follow them around and seem like you’re part of the background. No one will notice you. You’re the perfect age.” She leaned in and said, “Now about your fee...”

I winced. “Yes, I know it’s a little—”

“Cheap,” she finished for me. I looked at her in surprise; I was going to say steep.

“You might be inexpensive, but I trust you. Just get me the info I need. I’m not one of those who believes the old adage ‘you get what you pay for.’ Take this coffee for example. I don’t think it’s superior to any regular one dollar coffee that I could get from McDonald’s. So yes, I could find a more expensive freelance P.I, or whatever you call yourself, but I trust you can actually get the job done. So can you?” She arched her brow and gave me an inquisitive look. I had to believe in myself. After all, she did.

“I can do it. No problem.”

She smiled. “I know you can.”

She stood up then and slid on a pair of shades. “Of course, I don’t expect you to start without payment. I’ll wire the first half to your account within twenty-four hours. And then you’ll get the other half after the job is done. You’ll receive a contract at your home within the hour. Thanks, Becca. And by the way, he always shows up here around one o’clock.”

She checked her watch. “So I guess, you might as well start now.”

One o’clock? That was less than ten minutes away, I wanted to say, but Claire had already made a hasty exit through the back.

I noticed then that she had left her phone. I tucked it in my purse to return to her. God, I should have taken notes. What did she say his name was? Julian? Jude? Jonathan? Something Roman? Great. I was off to the worst start.

And then, like clockwork, he walked through the door. He didn’t look like every other guy in the place, so I wasn’t the only one who noticed his arrival. While most of the guys in the coffee shop had on fashionable skinny jeans and “iconic” band shirts with little row boats on them, this guy was wearing old khaki shorts with a hole in the pocket and upon further inspection, as he passed by me, I noticed that his plain t-shirt was stained and he was wearing some very ugly sandals.

And despite all that, he was still the best looking man in the place. The pictures hadn’t done him justice. He passed by not noticing me, and that felt a little weird. I was used to masculine attention now. I hadn’t been ignored by a guy since high school. In fact, it hadn’t been until after high school that I had come into my own. In retrospect, that was probably why I had married Tom. He had paid attention to me when I was used to being ignored. Ignored by my peers. Ignored by my mom. But now wasn’t the time to think about my failed marriage or my lukewarm relationship with my mom. I had much bigger fish to fry.

He smiled at the barista as he ordered his coffee. He had a great smile, just like in the pictures. His eyes were the lightest blue I had seen and I couldn’t help it, as he passed by, I checked out his butt. I was a fan of guys with nice butts, and Julius didn’t disappoint. I reminded myself that he was getting married so I needed to not think about his attractiveness. I also had to remind myself that he was a rascal. God, I felt like a heroine in an old romance novel. Who used the word rascal anymore?

He sat a table close by and started sipping his coffee. To my surprise, he didn’t pull out a phone like everyone else. Instead, he reached in his back pocket and pulled out a comic book. He placed it gently on the table and started reading it. Every now and then he would let out a bark of laughter. It startled the rest of the customers who looked “too cool” to laugh. I liked his smile, and I felt his laughter was contagious. Every time he laughed, I couldn’t help but smile. My coffee was getting cold, and I knew I should head out so that he wouldn’t notice me, but I awkwardly didn’t know where to start. I wasn’t a P.I. I was just the girl who followed people around and took pictures.

I awkwardly sat there trying to come up with a plan when my phone rang. I looked down and realized it was Leona. I knew if I ignored it she would probably come to my house and try to murder me, so instead I answered.

“Hi,” I whispered.

“Hello ... hello. Hellllllooooooooooooooo,” she said impatiently. Clearly, she hadn’t heard me answer.

“Hi,” I said a little louder, turning away from Julius.

“Where the hell are my pictures? I did not hire you to do nothing! I want those pictures...” To my horror, I had accidentally hit the speakerphone setting so everyone in the small, cozy coffee house could clearly hear me being yelled at by Leona.

I fumbled to take the speakerphone setting off and finally was victorious. I received a few looks and ignored the eyes of the patrons, one of which was Julius. He looked bemused.