by Brea Viragh
“Don’t talk like we’re already buddy-buddy,” he growled.
Absently, I smoothed the front of my jeans. The tenor of his voice was doing strange things to me. Weakening the joints in my knees and lightening my thoughts. “I’m sorry. I’m doing the best I can.”
Finn shook his head and refused to meet my gaze. “Get lost. I don’t want your best, you naïve little bitch.”
I’d dealt with a number of dissatisfied clients in my life. The kind who complained no matter what you said or did to appease. They’d protest about the amount of time it took, or the money they expected to get back on their taxes. They most certainly complained about getting audited.
I lumped Finn in the same category and refused to be intimidated. I hadn’t then. I wouldn’t now.
“How about we talk about something else?” I suggested. “What do you do for fun?”
“I’m paralyzed. What do you think I do?”
Definitely not starting off on the best foot. “You’re not paralyzed. Broken legs mend and you’ll be on your feet in no time.”
“Fuck off.”
I was at a loss for words. “That’s not nice.”
“Then get out,” he fired back, still refusing to look at me.
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you? You’ll catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. You’re more likely to get what you want if you aren’t a complete jackass.” The same motto I’d been repeating to myself for the past week. I crossed my arms over my chest.
Much to my surprise, Finn chuckled. “Idioms are beneath you.”
His laugh was more beguiling than his voice. The tension, like ants crawling under the skin, made me want to scratch my arms. “You don’t know me.”
“Don’t want to. Don’t care.”
“I’m not here to make you care. I’m here to keep you company. There has to be something you want to talk about. Or something I can help you with,” I put in with mild irritation. At least now the bumps on my arms were gone.
His forehead creased when he, at last, tilted his head to peer at me. We locked eyes and the chill brought the bumps on my arms to attention again. Glacial blue eyes traveled from the worn tips of my sneakers to my loose ponytail and caught everything in between. I shivered under their weight. “You must be as dumb as you look. I don’t want you here,” he snapped. “Get. Out.”
“If you think your cynicism will turn me away, then you have another think coming.”
“You’re a riot.”
“Are you always this pleasant?”
“Sweetheart, you have no idea.”
I slapped my palms against my thighs to fight against the one thing I wanted to say: Go to hell. I didn’t need this stranger and his attitude. He was so far down my list of priorities, he wasn’t even considered.
I wondered if Weston would feel the same.
Still, I bit my tongue. Alienating my charge right off the bat was a bad way toward a good lasting impression. I doubted Finn was anyone of authority, yet he was one of Weston’s people, and a member of the community. It was my obligation to be kind when I wanted the opposite.
Complete annihilation.
“I’m sure you’re a nice man in the middle of terrible circumstances,” I said to stall the argument. “And I’m sorry you’re in a lot of pain.”
Finn leaned forward, baring his teeth. “Lady, you have no idea. Do you know how it feels to shatter both your femurs? To slide off your bike and give the road a new skin suit? Wake up with bone sticking out of your leg? I wrapped my bike around a tree and skidded nearly ten feet on macadam.”
Picturing it in my mind, I stifled a swell of nausea. “You’re making this up.”
I flashed back to another scene, and in this one, instead of a motorcycle, it was a car. A blue Pontiac GT with a shattered windshield and a hood speckled with blood.
“I wish I were. Because I can think of a hell of a lot of things I’d rather do than sit here talking to you,” Finn said. “Like have my eyes gouged out with hot pokers. Unless you whip out those tits and slide up and down a pole, I’m not interested.”
I sputtered, “I’m sorry you feel that way.”
He’d reverted back to his shell. Any light in his eyes disappeared when he slumped against the pillows. “I’m sure you’re a hot piece of ass underneath that shirt. Right now, you’re a flea, and I can’t stand to scratch. I’m done,” he countered. “Get out.”
I flung one last question at him. “Why do you hate me so much?”
He refused to answer, staring in stony silence out the window. Seconds ticked by in which we stood at an impasse.
I will not back down. I will not back down.
“Fine.” I slung my purse over my shoulder and shot him the I’m-leaving-but-not-because-you-want-me-to look. “There’s no reason for me to stay.”
I stomped out the door with all the grace of a toddler throwing a tantrum. June was once more behind the front desk and smiled at me when I hurried past.
“See you next week!” she called out.
I whirled around, flashing a glance down the hallway. “Don’t count on it.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Terror had gripped my stomach when I thought about starting over. Not starting over. A whole new life. A new me who would not have recognized the woman behind the wheel of the car. The one who sported a biting need to find the love and support and acceptance she deserved.
During the move back to Heartwood, I’d tapped my fingers against the steering wheel, watched miles of trees go by one right after the other, and pondered the future.
That time of year, the trees were bare trunks and spindly branches reaching out from deadened stalks. In a few weeks, there would be new growth. Verdant buds of green pushing out to breathe in the air and drink in the sunlight.
I’d wanted to be one of those buds.
I had managed on my own, with little to no help from my mother, for a good few years after my father died before throwing in the towel. What else could you do when you weren’t happy? When my coworkers circled their wagons and spoke about me in huddled whispers when they thought I couldn’t hear.
Look at River. She’s not the same since her father’s accident. She forgot to file the financial statement for October. And did you see how she represented the Smiths during their IRS audit? A circus monkey in lederhosen could do a better job than she did.
There had been too much circling in my head to focus on my job. Dating was out the window, all the better for the poor choices I’d been known to make, and I knew without a doubt I needed a change. I hated my job, my house, my solitude. The corporate world no longer fit me and, though I’d tried hard, different scenery was a must. Better people. A new life.
Finn Price did not fit into that change. I didn’t care what kind of backlash I’d face from Weston. I wasn’t returning to that damn house.
There was no sense in worrying anymore. I tried to tell my stomach to calm and the knots to loosen and the fright threatening to choke me to release its grip. There was nothing anyone could say to change my mind.
I drove around the outskirts of town to still my tongue before I said something regrettable. By now, Weston would be home from his afternoon meetings. His spare key burned a hole in my pocket and, with the sun ready to sink below the horizon, I pulled into his guest parking space.
The door slammed behind me, denting a wall and causing a picture to fall and shatter.
“I refuse to spend another minute in that hellhole!” I yelled out. “Do you hear me? I’m not going back to the rehab house again. I refuse to spend my time being berated so people can like me.”
I threw my purse down on the floor and stomped my way to the bedroom. Weston rounded the corner, with a towel slung around his waist and half his face covered with shaving cream.
“What did you say? I couldn’t hear you.” His eyes widened. “Why do you look like someone smoked you out with tear gas? Your hair is a mess and your eyes are red.”
Because I definitely haven’t bee
n crying.
Pointing in the general direction of the rehab facility and the contrary Finn, I continued to rant. “I refuse to cater to a lunatic. He’s obviously off his gourd. I was insulted the minute I stepped through the door and I stayed for a grand total of ten minutes before I couldn’t take it anymore.”
“Slow down. Start from the beginning.” Weston placed both hands on my shoulders to ground me. “Tell me what happened.”
I was fuming. More than fuming, I was hurt. How could a perfect stranger get to me like that? It didn’t make sense.
“I went to the place like you asked. They have one problem guy there and apparently I’ve been assigned to him because no one else has come forward to volunteer. He’s terrible.”
“Terrible?”
“Awful!”
“Awful?”
I broke contact and, still furious, stormed to the bed. “Mocking me doesn’t help. You know I don’t like to be teased.”
“I know, I’m sorry. You’re so cute when you’re all worked up like this.” Weston flashed me his signature smile.
I ignored him. “Stop trying to calm me down. I’m mad.” To prove my point, I slapped my hands down on the comforter. Twice. “He got into my head. I’m not talking about a random comment or two. It was everything.”
Mr. Price had known what to say to shake me. I think the worst of it was that he had no comprehension. He didn’t do it to be malicious. He was just an ass.
It had been years since someone said such things to me. Reliving them was a nightmare.
“He was mean,” I finished.
“This random guy who doesn’t know you.” Weston came to sit next to me. “You let him get away with being mean?”
“Yes! I don’t know how he did it. He probably said a grand total of ten words and every one of them were crass. He says I’m naïve.”
“Sweetie, it’s one of the things I love the most about you.”
“Yeah, well, you may love it, but I don’t. And I don’t want to see him again. The man deserves to be locked away.” I shuddered from a heady cocktail of nerves and—though it pained me to admit—curiosity. There was something in Finn’s eyes, beneath the veneer of hatred and venom, that piqued my interest. In a very good, very naughty way.
He was a pit viper. An attractive pit viper.
“I don’t want this place to make you feel bad,” Weston said softly. “I can see you’re upset, and there’s something you aren’t telling me. But it was your first day.” He paused, breathed deeply, and continued with a pacifying tone. “You’re strong. You can make it past one guy and whatever comments he makes. He’s a stranger.”
I wanted to tell Weston how strangers’ opinions meant enough to him to make me change, yet I held my tongue.
“I know! I don’t want to…” I struggled to make him understand, to feel an inkling of the anxiety and tension, the angst and, yes, fear knotting my insides. The acid burning my throat at the thought of spending another hour, another minute, with someone who hated me.
Finn was a bully who knew what to say to make me fall to my knees. That was a place I never wanted to go again. Least of all to a prick with a bad reputation.
“There must be another nonprofit for me to volunteer with,” I pleaded. “There are other options out there. I’m positive. We have to do a little more research. I’ll text Nell right now and see what she has to say.”
Weston put in with a sweet smile, “Have I mentioned the man from the state, the one who runs the rehab house, is one of my biggest supporters? He contributes a bucketload of money to after-school programs for the elementary and middle schools because his grandkids live in the area. Did I tell you?”
“I thought you said Nell gave you the idea.” My eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“She did. And imagine my surprise when the man in question turned out to be Chuck Cochrin.”
I chewed my lip. “I knew there had to be an ulterior motive at play. You wouldn’t have pushed me this hard otherwise.”
Weston bent his head to brush his lips over my shoulder. “Trust me when I tell you it didn’t start out that way. River, what can I say? I thought it would be something good for you. After all, you are one of the kindest, most caring…”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I shot him a snotty look over my shoulder. “You’re trying to butter me up.”
“…and sweetest women I know,” he continued unhindered. “You are an empathetic kind of lady.”
“I don’t care what kind of romantic drivel you spout. I’m not falling for it.” Anymore.
“If anyone can make a difference in this man’s life, it’s you.” Weston ran his hands up and down my arms. “It will help everyone out in the end. Trust me.”
Lips set in a stern line, I fought the urge to slap him. This was my life, right? I was entitled to a little say-so once in a while. I wanted to be done with Finn Price and everything he represented. Why couldn’t Weston understand? It was better for me to leave. Better for Weston if I didn’t feel the unwarranted pull of attraction toward another man.
“I know you want me to stay, but I think if we can figure out a different direction, I’ll be much happier. There has to be an alternative.”
He eyed me for a moment. I saw time tick by while he thought, weighing his words. Deciding what to say to make me acquiesce to whatever he desired. When he spoke, it was the politician talking. “You know I want you to be happy.”
“I sense a but coming on.”
I recognized the undercurrent in his voice, the steely resolve that said Weston had already made up his mind about the situation. He needed a way to spin it until we came out on the same page. Rest assured, he would find a way to do so in record time.
I didn’t need to see his face to know his eyebrows were drawn together. To know his left ear twitched slightly.
“But I think this is the best situation for everyone,” he finished. “If you can suck it up for another few weeks, we can be free to live our lives the way we want to live. Probably better for the experience.”
I forced myself to my feet, undeterred when he dragged me down again. “I feel like you never take my side!” I insisted. “I’m miserable, Weston. Doesn’t that mean anything to you? I should be focused on finding a job instead of this asshole who thinks he’s a gift to womankind.”
Fierce rage passed over Weston’s face for a nanosecond before disappearing. “Of course your feelings mean something to me, and I know you’ll find a perfect match in the workplace soon. Try to ignore whatever this man says to you, because people like him are only miserable with themselves. Don’t worry,” he coaxed, velvet over steel. “I have to think about our future, sweetheart.”
“Ugh, you said our.”
He knew all too well my weakness when it came to the future. A future where I had the stability I craved. Where I was part of a team. I felt a spark of anger stirring to life. No way I’d let him work me this time. I needed to stay strong.
Weston dragged me under the crook of his arm, shaving cream smearing against my hair. “I adore you.”
“Stop talking to me like I’m one of your fans.”
“But you are. My biggest fan.” His lips found mine and lingered. It was sweetness. Solidity. A safe haven.
I broke the kiss and shifted to hide my sudden grin. “Yeah, yeah.”
***
I ended up returning to the rehab house two days later. Back to Mr. Price and the hellacious verbal barbs he saw fit to throw. Back to the place that instilled nightmares when I closed my eyes.
Despite my better judgment and a multitude of reasons why I shouldn’t, I drove up to the cottage with its quaint brown siding and red shutters.
I stared at the walkway and tried to decide if I was doing the right thing. It was hard to tell anymore. I was mushy for Weston. Some might call me a pushover when it came to love and romance; I’d heard it a million times before.
He’d won me over, and I went because he’d endeared himself to my softer si
de. Told me I was the type of person who helped those in need.
Price had no one. Could I chicken out before I began?
Stop beating yourself up, I thought sternly. This is to help the less fortunate. Consider it a good deed. Good karma. Brownie points for the afterlife.
I walked in the front door, nodding once to June behind the counter. I’d worn what I liked to consider my “attack” outfit. Neat black pants and white blouse with a ribbon bow along the collar. A far cry from my clothing choice two days ago.
June glanced up from a stack of paperwork, her expression shifting. There was a giddy light behind her eyes. And, if I wasn’t mistaken, relief. “You’re here. I honestly wasn’t sure we would see you again.”
There was no forced cheerfulness to her statement. She was genuinely glad to see me.
“Yes, I’m here. For the meantime.” The answer was curt. To the point. I was a general ready to face her troops.
“After the other day, I thought you’d abandoned hope. I wasn’t sure I could implore you enough to get you back.”
Indeed, not only did I have the boyfriend to contend with, June had gone straight for the jugular. She’d gotten my cell phone number from papers Weston had filed before I even started, then took it and ran.
“I didn’t expect you to text me that much. I’ll tell you straight, I wouldn’t count me in yet,” I warned. “We’ll have to see how today goes before I make up my mind.”
June held her hand aloft until I noticed her crossed fingers. “You can do it! I believe in you.”
“Then let’s hope it rubs off soon.”
“You look fabulous,” she exclaimed by way of an ego boost.
“Nothing Vaseline couldn’t fix.”
June gave me a quizzical look—which I ignored—and sat behind the desk.
“Whatever you say,” she answered with molasses-like speed. “He’s in his room. Waiting for you.” She scoffed. “Not like he’s going anywhere.”
“Perfect.”
I squared my shoulders and stared down the hallway at the last door on the right.
This was it. I wouldn’t let a man intimidate me. This wasn’t high school, and I wasn’t the quiet nerd with the beaky nose anymore. I was a confident and successful lady.