Her teasing takes me back to our warm bed, the two of us surrounded by sheets and too many pillows while we loved each other hard.
“I’m … good. Been busy today.”
“Me too.”
More staring. My attempt at brilliant conversation peters out.
Again, Abby glances beyond me. Austin must be giving her signals, because she jumps.
“Oh, yeah. Come and meet Brent Savidge. He’s head of marketing at Global Innovations. He wanted to talk to me somewhere not near my office, and I remembered you recommending Mason’s. It’s not far from the airport, so I thought … perfect.”
Brent Savidge. What kind of name is that? Sounds like a comic book supervillain genius. One who can turn into a giant flying bug. Or a porn star.
Head of marketing. Abby works in sales and marketing. The ideas finally click in my slow brain.
“Wait, is this a job interview?”
“Yes.” Abby beams in animation that makes her eyes shine. “Well, sort of a preliminary interview. He’s a head hunter for his company, which is international.” She flashes me a card, which I assume has Brent’s name on it, but her hand is at her side the next instant. “He emailed me today and asked to meet me. Isn’t that great? I’d love to get out of the rat maze I work in.”
Abby hadn’t sounded happy with her job when she’d mentioned it. Excitement radiates from her now. I relax about her being with Brent romantically, but caution rises.
“He contacted you out of the blue?”
“Not really out of the blue. I met him at a convention last month—everyone in the business knows Brent Savidge—and hinted to him I was looking around for something better. Today he said he knows of an opening that might suit me. I couldn’t wait to talk to him, so I made an appointment with him this evening. He’s flying out tonight, so this is a good opportunity.”
She knows what she’s doing, my Abby. She nearly bounces on her toes with happiness, and it’s intoxicating.
“Awesome,” I say with enthusiasm. “Go back and talk to him. Don’t let me screw it up for you.”
Abby laughs. “You won’t. Come on. I’ll introduce you.”
She grabs my hand. Whatever I feel about meeting Brent no longer matters. Abby’s hand is in mine, and that’s all that’s important.
The man stands as we reach the table. He’s tall, in a charcoal gray business suit—which screams he’s not from around here—has wavy brown hair, and a smile full of too many straight teeth. He gleams with all those teeth. His face should be on the side of a bus.
“Brent Savidge,” he says, shaking my hand heartily.
“Zach McLaughlin.”
“Zach’s one of my oldest friends,” Abby tells Brent, as though it’s true. “His family owns a renovation business, one of the top-rated in the Valley. They win awards and everything. Zach is also head of McLaughlin Charities.”
I’m dumbfounded Abby knows all this, but Brent takes on a look of professional interest. “Great to meet you. It’s hard to be a small business in a big city.”
“People like dealing with locals,” I say, giving the standard defense. “The personal touch.”
“That’s true. We’re a big corporation but we like the personal touch too.” Another brilliant smile. “Abby said you recommended this restaurant. She’s right. It’s excellent.”
“Also locally owned,” I point out.
He laughs, everyone’s friend. “Touché.”
“This is Austin, Zach’s brother,” Abby goes on, and I’m aware of a curious Austin by my side. “Also with the family business. He does PR and client leads.”
“A man after my own heart.” Brent seizes Austin’s hand and they size each other up. “Can I give you my card?”
“You can, but I’m pretty happy where I am,” Austin says. “I have my own office, can come and go as I please, swim in Mom and Dad’s pool …”
Brent laughs his professional laugh. “I’ll give you my card anyway. You never know. I can always help you all find employees.”
“True, we do need a receptionist.” Austin palms the card and slides it into his pocket. He may or may not ever do anything with it. I don’t worry. Whatever his quirks, Austin is utterly loyal to the family.
“What do you all do around here for fun?” Brent asks.
I wave at the television where the Suns have just stolen the ball and made a three-point shot. There’s a lot of cheering and beer hoisting.
“Pretty much this,” I say. “More fun when the games are at home and we’re at the arena. In the summer, we go to the lakes. In the winter, to the mountains for skiing.”
“Arizona is so outdoorsy.” Brent nods his approval. “I’m always looking for an excuse to come here. I snowboard.”
Of course he did.
“I hang out at Snowbowl all winter long,” Austin said. “Snowboarding can be great up there.”
I sense kindred spirits about to bond. I glance at Abby, not wanting to steal her job interview. “Get you another drink?” I offer to Brent.
He perks up, ready to accept, but he glances at his watch.
“Wish I could. Flying out at nine, so better get going. Abby, it was wonderful to talk to you.” Brent shakes her hand, holding it a little longer than I like, but he’s trying to be sincere. “I’ll call you Wednesday. What time is good for you?”
“After work,” Abby says. “If my boss knew I was talking to you, he’d fire me on the spot.”
Brent looks disgusted. “If he was smart, he’d offer you a raise. There’s a reason your company bleeds decent people. He should fight to keep you.”
“Well aren’t you a lovely man?” Abby says with a smile. “I look forward to talking to you Wednesday.”
Brent finally releases Abby’s hand. “Let me call a ride, and I’ll be out of here. Nice to meet you Zach. Austin.”
“I can drive you,” Austin offers. “It’s not far out of my way.”
He’s fibbing—Austin lives north of here, and the airport is south, but he’s probably dying to talk more about snowboarding. We brothers are a disappointment to him in that area.
“Thanks. If you’re sure it’s not too much trouble.”
“Not at all.” Austin waves him to the door. Austin gives Abby a long look, a very long look, before he walks away with Brent.
Brent might be effusive with his good-byes, but he also knows when to cut them off. He lets Austin precede him out, then waves farewell, like a royal prince taking his leave.
Abby and I are on our own, standing next to the table. Staring at each other some more.
* * *
Abby
Zach, the man I’ve been daydreaming about nonstop since Sunday morning, is in front of me. I was thinking about him during my drive over, during my discussion with Brent, even during my visions of an office of my own and a secretary to help me.
I brought Brent to this restaurant not only because it was convenient for him and far from where I work, but the back of my mind told me there’d be an off chance Zach would be here. Why he would be, on a random Monday night, I didn’t know, but it was a possibility.
We keep standing. People are staring at us, probably wanting us to sit down and stop blocking the television.
“So,” Zach says. “Brent’s a slick talker.”
I nod nervously. “Yes. I know. But he’s truly good, and he has the power to bring people and great jobs at his company together. I might even have my own window.”
I clasp my hands and flutter my eyelashes. Zach dissolves into laughter and waves me to my chair. “Hey, gotta love a guy who can get you that.”
We sit, gingerly. I’m on the edge of my seat as though I’ll tackle Zach if he tries to run out the door.
“Do you have your own office window, Zach?” I continue playing the enchanted ninny.
“I do. With a view of the parking lot. Very exciting. Gets a little hot on a summer’s day.”
“I’ll bet.” I drop the pose and lift my half-drunk gl
ass of wine. “But at least you can see sunshine. The sky. Cars going in and out. People. I’m in the middle of the building. I mean the exact middle. If I want to see outside, I have to take a longer than usual break and hike about half a mile.”
“That’s why you’re jumping on Brent’s offer.”
“He hasn’t offered anything,” I say quickly. “Are you hungry? I guess I’m interrupting your dinner.”
Brent had ordered starters, which he’d downed most of, because I was too keyed up to eat. Zach took in the plates and my unused silverware and signaled a waitress.
“Hey, Zach,” the waitress says as she stops at our table. “Welcome back.” She casts me a glance of unbridled curiosity, and I can’t stop my blush. “Your usual?” She starts jotting a note even before Zach answers in the affirmative. “And for you?” she asks me.
Her smile is friendly. And again curious.
I order a chicken dish that looks nice. “Thanks,” I say. Why not a salad? Because 1) I’m not a rabbit, and 2) it’s very hard to daintily eat a salad in front of someone you want to impress. Stuffing recalcitrant lettuce into the corners of your mouth and chewing like a cow is not attractive.
“He hasn’t offered,” I repeat as the waitress strides to the kitchen. “Like I said, this was a preliminary interview. He’s been talking to several people while he’s in Phoenix.”
Zach takes a casual sip of his beer. “You’d be leaving town if you accept?”
Is he worried? Or only interested, as a friend?
A friend who ran those big, warm hands along my waist, cradled the weight of my breasts …
I clear my throat. “No, they have offices all over. There’s one in the Scottsdale Airpark. Most likely, I’d go there.”
“That wouldn’t suck.”
“No, it would be great.”
“We do a lot of business in Scottsdale,” Zach says.
He leaves it there. No maybe we could meet for lunch one day. Or after work for a drink. He says nothing at all.
I can’t think of a way to suggest a meet-up, so I ask him about his day. I don’t want to talk about mine, which sucked until I came here. I listen, interested, as Zach describes the house their charity is renovating for a family. Zach is enthusiastic, and I warm. He has a good heart.
The food comes and we mutually decide, without words, to enjoy the meal. It’s very, very good, which is why this restaurant, in an out-of-the-way strip mall, is full on a Monday night.
We linger over coffee. We don’t mention the wedding, what happened Saturday night, or when, if ever, we’ll get together again. We talk about what we like to do—he loves basketball, when it isn’t football season, though he hasn’t looked at the game on TV since we sat down. He and his brothers shoot hoops for fun on a Sunday at his folks’ house. The family has a boat they take to Lake Pleasant in the summer, and he waterskis and jet-skis.
I don’t do any of this. I work. In the summer I work, and I swim in my mom’s pool. He says waterskiing is great—maybe I’d like to join them one time this summer?
Summer is a few months away—official summer, I mean. It will be in the 100s here soon. I noncommittally say it sounds like fun.
The waitress brings over the check. Looks a question, and Zach reaches for it.
“On me,” he says. When I protest, he says, “To celebrate you maybe getting a window.”
It’s nice of him. I say so, and he waves it off. We dance around it, both of us doing anything to make sure this is not a date.
Once the bill is paid, Zach stands up with me. Then his face falls. “Crap. The only way Austin drove Brent to the airport is in my truck.”
I blink in surprise. “I never saw you give him the keys.”
“We all have keys to each other’s cars. In case.” Zach scans the restaurant. “I don’t notice him coming back for me, the shit. I’ll call him. Or Ben, if Austin can’t be bothered.”
He slides out his phone but I put my hand on his wrist.
“It’s no problem.” I try to stop my voice from shaking. “I don’t mind running you home.”
Chapter Eight
Zach
Abby drives me to my house in a smallish SUV that glides effortlessly into traffic. We don’t say much as we go, except for me giving the occasional direction.
“Nice neighborhood,” she remarks as we pull off the busy streets into a quiet road lined with large trees. “Old Phoenix. I like it.”
“I restored the house,” I say, trying to sound offhand. “I like old places.”
“Me too.” Abby takes in the bungalows set back from the road, some of them large and breathtaking, others tiny and cute. “I live in a generic apartment complex that resembles all the other generic apartment complexes in this town. Always have.”
“Not a lot of choice, is there? Trust me, I’ve lived in them too.”
She pulls into the driveway of my Craftsman style bungalow and gazes at it in admiration. It’s dark, so not much of it shows beyond the porch light, but the silhouette is obvious.
“Come in,” I say rashly. “I’ll give you a tour.”
Abby presses her lips together. She’s going to say no, that she has to get home, and it’s a long drive. Just when I’m about to let her off the hook, she shoves the gear into Park and kills the engine.
“Okay. I’d love to see it.”
I am out of the car so fast, I create a breeze. I’m around the SUV, opening the door and ushering Abby to her feet before she can climb down herself. She’s amused with me.
I’m proud of my little house. I worked my ass off on it for years. It had been partly restored by the previous owner, but he’d given up and moved back east when the central Arizona summer got too much for him. I grew up here and know how to keep cool in the middle of a summer afternoon—you find somewhere seriously air conditioned, or submerge yourself in a swimming pool, or sleep. You go outside only early in the morning and at night and stay the hell out of the heat the rest of the day.
The front door of my house opens to a wide hall, with rooms placed around it. A staircase leads up to one bedroom and bathroom, both of which I built from scratch. It used to be an empty attic up there.
I give Abby the tour, which doesn’t take long. “Living room, dining, kitchen, sun room. Guest room. I was going to make this a workroom for me, but Mom insisted I have space in case one of my brothers needs to crash. Which they do, Austin in particular. And here we have the back porch.”
“This is gorgeous.” Abby steps onto the wide porch with deep eaves. The back yard contains a sparkling pool in a bricked-out area, and shrubs against the walls that separate me from my neighbors.
“I’m not really into gardening,” I say quickly, in case she starts praising my pruning skills. “I have guys who take care of the plants.”
“It’s so nice.” Abby sounds admiring. “Homey.”
I shrug. “I fix up houses for other people. I figured I’d do this one, and sell it if I didn’t care about living in it myself. But I decided to stay.”
“I can see why.” She drags in a breath, the air fragrant with roses in pots along the walkways. Roses bloom like a riot in April around here. By June they’ll be cringing down to whimper in the heat.
“I like it.” My words belie the days and weeks of sanding, sawing, hammering, drilling, and cursing. When I say I fixed up the house myself, I mean with my own two hands. I didn’t hire a team and stand back and watch.
Abby turns around, resting her hands behind her on the square railing. She’s relaxed, giving me a half smile, her breasts pushed toward me. She looks perfect on this porch, framed in moonlight. This house is a snapshot of the past married to the beauty of the present, like Abby herself.
And when did I start writing poetry? “I have this bottle of Glenfiddich I’ve been saving …” I hear myself say.
Abby comes out of her sexy pose and raises her hands. “Remember what happened last time we drank Scotch. And then wine.”
“I’m remembe
ring it.” My smile pulls at my face. “Not regretting it.”
Abby studies me a second, then lowers her arms. “I’m not regretting it either,” she says softly.
My heart starts beating hard, and the heat that hasn’t left me since I got out of her bed ramps up. I take her hand.
“Tour’s not done yet.”
She wraps her fingers around mine, the glow in her eyes spinning fire through my body. I guide her inside and then to the stairs. I installed these, though I did order them custom built—polished wood, wide steps, Craftsman bannister. Not a big staircase, but it brings us to my bedroom.
I’m glad I’d made my bed this morning, though for me that’s shaking the sheets and mismatched blankets straight. Abby doesn’t glance at the bed, but at the three windows that give out over the porch roof to a decent view.
“Look at the lights.” She wanders to a window, and I decide not to snap on the overhead. Through a break in the trees behind the neighbor’s roof, we can see the lights of Phoenix stretching south until they run into the dark wall of South Mountain. Red lights blink lazily on top of that, warning planes away from the microwave and radio towers.
I move behind her, sliding my arms around her waist. She doesn’t throw me off or step away, she relaxes into me. I nuzzle her neck, inhaling her beautiful scent.
Abby lets out a sigh, as though she’s perfectly content in my arms.
I’m content too … and more than a little hungry for her. The nuzzling becomes kisses, and tiny nips. Abby lets out a soft moan and turns in my arms, seeking my lips with hers.
We enjoy a long, tongue-tangling, scorching kiss. When we’re done, she’s crushed against me, my hands under her jacket, looking for the zipper on her dress.
“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” she whispers. “All day yesterday too.”
“You disappeared on me.” I kiss her cheek. “Checked out. Gone.”
Her skin flushes beneath my lips. “I thought you wouldn’t want to see me. You know … after.”
This Changes Everything: McLaughlin Brothers, Book 1 Page 6