by RB Hilliard
She let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks for making me breakfast, Zane. This has been…nice. From now on I promise to help you reign in Miss Weston.”
“Do you also promise not to draw rude pictures on my office notepad?” I teased.
She snorted in amusement and said, “Don’t push your luck.” I couldn’t help but laugh.
We both stood and I walked her to the door. On the way past the stairs she eyed my overflowing laundry basket. “Please tell me you have done laundry since last week?”
“Of course I have,” I dramatically sputtered.
When she rolled her eyes and gave me a huffy, “Yeah, right.” I tried not to laugh but she was seriously funny. Muttering something about cookies and banana bread, she told me she’d be back later to do my laundry.
I gave myself a mental high five. Shot score!
Chapter Nine
Cathryn
‡
Why did he have to be nice to me? Right when I had him all figured out, he’s back to being a square peg. Square pegs never fit into round holes. As I rushed back up to my apartment I rubbed the spot on my temple where a headache was forming. I swear that man gives me whiplash. One minute he is lecturing me and the next he’s offering me breakfast. I wonder if he’s bipolar? No, he’s too sedate to be bipolar, however, after this morning I might consider schizophrenia. I have a gorgeous schitzo for a boss. I would have to think more about this later. Right now I needed to whip up some chocolate chip banana bread. Poor Mr. Brass, he looked absolutely heartbroken when the lightning storm knocked out our power on Sunday and I couldn’t use my oven. Quickly, I let myself into my apartment and changed into slacks and a solid white tee. At least one good thing came out of this morning. No more dress code.
Half an hour later, while waiting for the banana bread to bake, my mind wandered back to my breakfast with Zane. I had to admit, he could be charming when he wanted something, and that omelet! There is nothing sexier than a man who knows his way around a kitchen. If a guy who looked like Zane made me that breakfast two years ago, I would have jumped his bones. That was before my last boyfriend, Mick, who I actually liked for a change, told me I was unadventurous in bed and difficult to get along with. In all fairness, the man wanted to tie me up and play hide-the-wine-cork. He called it experimenting with new mediums. I called it abnormal. In the end, we broke up and I decided to take a break from relationships all together.
On my way to deliver the banana bread I ran into Miss Weston. Today she was wearing a fluorescent pink muumuu with cats all over it and Birkenstocks. As I passed by her, Zane’s facial expression from when I accused him of sleeping with her flashed through my head, and a laugh slipped out.
“It’s rude to laugh at people,” she chastised.
I paused with my hand on the doorknob. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t laughing at you, Miss Weston.”
She dramatically ran her long red nails down the sleeve of her Muumuu. “Jealousy is a bitter pill to swallow, my dear. I’ll have you know I special ordered this one of a kind Cat’s Eye Caftan from QVC.”
After gathering my jaw from the floor I managed to get a few words out. “It’s lovely,” I lied. Then I held up the tinfoil loaf of banana bread. “I’m late to deliver this. Have a nice day.” She answered with a loud sniff.
As I crossed over to Mr. Brass’s building I considered her words. She’s clearly deluded if she thinks I’m jealous of her. “Cat’s Eye Caftan,” I muttered under my breath. “More like seriously ugly Muumuu.” Cat’s eye made me think of Eye of the Tiger, which made me think of Lydia. Just the thought of Zane with her made me…uncomfortable. He deserves better than that. Maybe he wasn’t having sex with her. Maybe she’s his interior decorator and came over late to hang some prints in his bedroom and, because they finished so late, she slept in his guest room. I mulled over it for a second and decided I liked my version better than the real one.
When Mr. Brass didn’t answer his door I left the bread on his front doormat. In a much better mood, I all but skipped back to my apartment.
Due to several phone calls, one of which was from my father, and an unexpected visit from Mrs. Reed, I didn’t get to Zane’s laundry until later that evening. The last thing I wanted was to hang out in his apartment doing laundry, so I left him a note and lugged the basket up to my place. After seven episodes of Property Brothers and a dinner of grilled chicken and vegetables, Zane’s laundry was finished and I could finally go to bed.
The next morning I woke feeling well rested. That is, until I realized my alarm didn’t go off.
“Crap!” I screamed, and flung my covers off. Jumping from my bed, I bolted across the room to my closet and frantically searched for something to wear. Of all mornings to be late, why did it have to be the morning after our truce? “What do I wear, what do I wear?” I chanted. Zane is so going to fire me. But first he will be a condescending ass. Finally, giving up, I snagged the first pair of pants and blouse I could find and threw them on. In warp speed, I brushed my teeth and pulled my hair up on top of my head. Then I slipped on a pair of flats, grabbed his laundry basket and shot out the door with thirty seconds to spare.
At nine on the dot I opened the apartment door and screamed, “I’m not late!” I held my breath and waited for him to blast me. When nothing happened, I set down the hamper and peered into the office. It was empty. I checked Zane’s desk for my list and it wasn’t there. Something was wrong. I could feel it in my bones. Barring death, the list was always on his desk. I thought about what to do. He said not to go upstairs for any reason but what if something bad happened? What if Miss Weston broke in and, in a fit of rejected rage, stabbed him a hundred times? Maybe I’ll just go to the top step and see if I hear anything. I crept up the stairs and noticed his bedroom door was closed. What should I do? Should I open his door and risk his wrath or should I leave? Something inside me told me to press forward. Taking a deep breath, I turned the knob, cracked the door and listened. At first there was silence and then I heard it.
Ewwww…
The sound of Zane vomiting made me gag. As I stood there at the threshold of his bedroom wondering what to do next, Zane stumbled from the bathroom and collapsed in a heap onto his bed. He looked awful. I was happy to see him wearing underwear, though. My first instinct was to run. He would never even know I was here. I took a step back from his door and my conscience stopped me. I can’t leave him like this.
With a sigh of defeat, I opened his door and called out, “Zane, it’s Cat, I got worried when the list wasn’t on your desk this morning.”
“Go away,” he groaned.
“Yeah, yeah, trust me, I tried. How long have you been like this?” I asked.
“Since right after midnight,” he weakly answered.
“Hang tight for a second. I’ll be right back.” Without waiting for a response, I rushed down the stairs, snagged a clean washcloth from his hamper and wet it with cold water. When I got back to his room, he was in the bathroom. Plugging my ears, I waited for him to finish. Once he was back in bed, I tiptoed over and placed the washcloth on his forehead.
He let out a heavy sigh. “You’re going to get this, and when you do, I’m not letting you off work,” he muttered.
“In that case, I will make sure to spew the joy all over your apartment,” I cheerily responded.
He let out a dry laugh followed by a painful groan. “I feel like ass.”
“You should have stayed away from the decorator,” I told him.
He opened one eye and asked, “Who?”
I shook my head and whispered, “Never mind.”
“Nice outfit,” he said, and then drifted off to sleep.
I glanced down at my blue blouse and purple striped pants and laughed. I waited to see if he roused again for more insults and when he didn’t, I decided it was the perfect time to run to the store. Half an hour later I was back with 7-Up, crackers, bread and chicken broth. After carrying the bags to the kitchen, I went up to check on him, only to disco
ver him back in the bathroom. Poor guy. This was a bad bug. I waited for him to settle back in the bed before approaching.
“Stop moving,” he snarled.
“Shut it or I am going to get Miss Weston,” I warned. “I bet she’s wearing a captivating Mumu today.”
“You’re wearing a captivating outfit today,” he teased.
“I spent hours picking this out. I knew you would approve,” I sarcastically retorted.
He snorted in amusement. “I bet she’s wearing the one with birds.” It took me a minute to realize he was talking about Miss Weston. I’d forgotten all about her toucan Muumuu. It was pretty awful.
“Yesterday it was cats,” I told him.
He smiled. “Definitely one of my favorites.”
I waited for him to drift off again before heading back downstairs to call Blake to inform him that Zane was sick and would not be in tonight. After we hung up I disinfected the entire downstairs. When I felt marginally better, I heated up some chicken broth and carried it and a glass of 7-Up to his room. I was happy to find him awake and staring at the ceiling.
“I thought you’d left,” he said.
“And miss seeing you at your weakest? Not a chance.”
He spotted the tray in my hand and perked up. “What’s that?”
“The nectar of the gods.” His brow shot up in question. Good Lord, the man was even sexy after fourteen hours of puking. “Don’t get too excited, it’s just 7-Up and broth,” I clarified. After cautioning him not to inhale it but to sip it, I sat on the foot of the bed and waited for him to finish. This gave me a chance to check out his bedroom. Rust colored walls and a dark floral bedspread were not what I expected. As if reading my thoughts, he told me his mother decorated the place. That explained the feminine touches. I brushed my hand over the comforter and bit back a laugh. I can’t believe I thought the man was gay. “The flowers are so you,” I taunted.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re a smart ass?”
“Why never,” I playfully fluttered my lashes and he laughed. It was good to see him feeling better.
With a yawn he sunk back into his pillows and sighed. “I think it’s finally over.”
I didn’t want to leave if it wasn’t. “Look, I can stay if you want,” I offered.
A hopeful look appeared on his face. “Would you?”
“Sure. If it’s okay with you, I’ll run back to my place and grab a few things, then I’ll be right back.”
“The guest room is right across the hall. You can sleep there,” he told me.
My eyes shot to the very blank wall above his head. Damn, no pictures. I was going to have to get past this thing with the decorator. Maybe tomorrow.
After a quick trip to my place, I checked to make sure Zane was sleeping. Then I quietly perused the rest of his apartment. Attached to his bedroom was a nice size study. Across from the study was the guest bedroom. I was relieved to find it had its own bath. There was no way I was sharing a bathroom with Zane after he’d been puking all night.
As I lie in bed trying to fall asleep I thought back over the past month and decided I liked it here. Zane wasn’t that hard to figure out. Like me, he had his defense mechanisms. I just needed to discover his hot buttons and try not to push them. It should be simple, right?
Chapter Ten
Zane
‡
Thank God it’s over.
Night before last I was working the upstairs bar when out of the blue I broke into a full body sweat. I was busy covering two stations, so didn’t think anything of it until the dizziness hit. Right behind it was a wave of nausea that almost took me to my knees. Something told me it was going to be bad so I grabbed Sally from the downstairs bar and asked her to cover for me. She took one look at my face and told me to go. I’m glad I listened because I barely made it home before all hell broke loose.
I owe Cathryn big time.
At first, all I wanted was for her to go away but I was ultimately thankful she didn’t. The thought of her threatening me with Miss Weston made me smile. The woman had a great sense of humor. I glanced over at my bedroom door and wondered if she’d actually stayed the night. I wouldn’t blame her for running back to her apartment first chance she got. I wasn’t very nice to her. Though, I had to admit, I liked how she stood up to me. Most people didn’t dare. It was…refreshing.
As if reading my mind the door swung open and in walked Cathryn with a tray in her hands. I pulled myself up to a sitting position and tried not to wince. I felt as if I’d been hit by a truck. As she neared, I noticed she had changed into exercise tights and a green hoodie. Anything was better than the awful outfit she had on yesterday. Green was a good color on her. Her hair was piled on top of her head and I was reminded of the day I walked in on her exercising on her apartment floor. My dick stirred. Good to see one of us was properly functioning again.
Cathryn caught me staring at her and a big smile appeared on her face. She really was quite attractive when she smiled. “Feeling better?” she asked.
“I was wondering if you’d stayed,” I admitted.
“I told you I would.” Her do-not-doubt-my-word voice was cute.
Nodding my head toward the tray, I asked, “What’s that?”
“Toast and 7-Up,” she perkily responded.
I was sick of 7-UP and was sure toast wasn’t my thing. “I’m feeling much better,” I assured her. “How about a cup of coffee?”
“Tell you what, if you eat all of your toast, drink the 7-Up, and manage to keep it down, I will let you have a small cup of coffee.”
I wasn’t aware this was a negotiation but something told me not to complain. Determined to get that coffee, I grabbed the piece of toast and shoved it in my mouth. It tasted like cardboard. “What happened to the butter?” I asked.
“Butter might upset your stomach,” she answered in a very matter-of-fact-tone. Then she crawled onto the foot of my bed and made herself comfortable. I warily eyed her.
“What? I’m just sitting,” she said with a laugh.
I wasn’t sure what to do. I’d never had a woman invade my space like this. It made me uncomfortable to say the least. I couldn’t tell if Cathryn was being genuine or if she was playing me, which bothered me. I was so used to being manipulated by women that I couldn’t tell the difference anymore. My mom used to twist me into knots. Then there was Beth. She liked to play this game where she acted all sexy and sweet. Then she’d hit me up for a day off. At least once a month she would ask for a raise. Once she even asked to borrow fifty dollars. Of course I never got it back. I didn’t realize I was being manipulated until it was too late. That was never going to happen again. I took a sip of 7-Up and contemplated what to say. I decided to cut straight to the chase.
“I can’t afford to give you a day off right now and you and I both know I pay you more than enough money,” I told her. I took a bite of dry-as-shit-toast and waited for her reaction. Her surprised expression turned into one of hurt and I felt bad. Maybe I was a bit harsh.
“B-but I really need a new car and I do your laundry and I took care of you while you were sick.” Her hand fluttered dramatically through the air and landed on her chest. “I don’t do vomit but I did it for you!” she wailed. I stared at her in horror. She wasn’t trying to manipulate, she was outright extorting. I opened my mouth to tell her to get the hell out when she burst into gales of laughter. “You should see your face!” she screamed. As I watched her flop around on the foot of my bed like a dying fish, relief washed over me. After what seemed like forever, she wiped tears of hilarity from her eyes and resumed her position at the foot of my bed. “Relax Big Guy, I’m not after your money, I promise” she assured me.
I pointed my half-eaten toast at her. “You should be on Broadway.”
Proving my point exactly, she gave me an over exaggerated eye roll. “It’s rude to talk with your mouth full. Didn’t your mother teach you manners?”
I smiled at her teasing. She really was a funny little
thing. “No, my mother was too busy fucking a pedophile who wanted a piece of her son to bother with manners,” I half joked.
Her smile faded and her brow wrinkled in concern. “Seriously?” she asked. I shrugged. She watched me eat and I could tell she was mentally chewing on something. Finally, she gave it to me. “My mom left me and my dad when I was twelve.”
In business negotiations I was taught to listen. If you’re too busy talking you’re bound to miss something, and usually it is something important. I continued eating and waited to see if she would elaborate.
After a few seconds of silence, she continued, “She came back when I was fourteen. Apparently she was out of money. Anyway, she tried to get me to run away with her but I refused.”
Wow, talk about shitty. I could sense she was about to shut down on me, so I gave her a push and asked, “What happened?”
“Nothing much,” she shrugged, “I told Dad what she was planning and lost her anyway.”
“Do you blame your dad?”
“Nope, I blame my mom. Her plan was seriously flawed.” I had to agree with her. She eyed my second piece of toast and I picked it up and took a bite. “So, how did your dad die?” she asked.
“Colon cancer. He got sick when I was six and died when I was eight,” I told her.
“That must have been rough. Were you two close?”
Rough didn’t begin to describe that time in my life. “He was my best friend,” I confided.
Cathryn slowly nodded her head in understanding. “Do you blame your mom?” she asked.
Miss Haines was one smart cookie. “Hell yes. She married a loser and sold my inheritance out from under me, all because he told her to.”
“And here I thought I’d won the worst mother of the century award, but you might just have me beat” she winked. Yes, I definitely liked Miss Haines.