No such luck. "The SAT?" she asked, confused now. As her ire faded, so did my self-centered focus, and the puzzle pieces of my charge's anger started to fall into place. Of course Lena would think that her brother and I had cooked up some evil plan to get her enrolled in school once again, especially once she found my dream book, as I liked to call the sum-up of pros and cons of American colleges and universities. Ms. Cooper had gifted me with the text when I was her student, and I'd dog-eared dozens of pages, selecting the absolutely perfect opportunity for higher learning to match my unique personality. Too bad that, when push came to shove, I realized I couldn't really afford to leave home for college after all.
But my SAT scores...those were truly embarrassing. "You made a perfect score," Lena said, awe filling her voice and making my cheeks turn red.
"I missed a question in math," I replied, my words self-deprecating. "They were recentering that year, so it's not really a perfect score...." Okay, maybe my explanation made the test results seem even worse, especially after you considered the way I hugged them to me, keeping the paper within easy reach to pore over on my truly bad days. But sometimes I needed objective confirmation that I wasn't a complete loser, especially since the evidence of my housing and job suggested otherwise.
"So, where did you go to school?" Lena asked at last. I could tell she was struggling with her own paranoia about my motives in keeping the book around, before eventually coming to the obvious (non-paranoid) conclusion. If Mr. Fish Sticks had put the text into my hands, he would have chosen a brand new, modern edition, not this decade-old college guide that was starting to lose pages in the back. And even Lena's brother probably wouldn't have thought to forge a sheet of SAT scores to enhance the charade.
The compassionate understanding in her young eyes made my charge's question doubly hard to answer, though, and I looked away. "Community college," I said tersely...and was abruptly glad to be interrupted when the trailer shook from the force of an adamant knock on the door.
As I said, I was glad to be interrupted...but I was less glad when I realized who the knocker had to be. "Be prepared to cover your ears," I said enigmatically as I headed over to let in my uninvited guest.
Uninvited, but not unexpected. My landlord lived next door, so it was easy for him to come up with an excuse to drop by each day, his social calls growing more and more personal as the days dragged on. It had become obvious that Mr. Reed was interested in me as more than a tenant, which would have been flattering if the man hadn't been approximately fifty years old, with oily, thinning hair and a beer belly that he enjoyed showing to the world whenever he mowed his lawn. But I didn't want to get on my landlord's bad side since I depended on Mr. Reed to provide a spot for my trailer to park. So I just pretended not to notice his advances...and trained Florabelle to drive the slimeball away with her volume.
"Hey, Mr. Reed," I said, hearing Florabelle suck in a breath in preparation for her first shriek at the same time I opened the door. Lena barely had time to giggle before the ear-shattering squawks made it impossible to hear anything not immediately in front of me.
Unfortunately, my landlord had finally wised up to my tactics. "Come outside!" he yelled, the words barely audible over Florabelle's acoustic attack. "It's time for a chat."
With a pained look at Lena, I gave in to the inevitable, stepped outside the trailer, and shut the door.
Chapter 9
"Is something wrong?" I asked into the sudden quiet. Inside my trailer, I could hear Lena praising my pet and soothing the bird back into tranquility at the same time as Mr. Reed settled himself into a plastic chair on my tiny deck. I used to keep my lawn furniture in the garden where I could sit and visually embrace the greenery after a hard bout of weeding, but had since moved the furnishings up to the front deck after realizing that the chairs just gave my landlord an excuse to linger and watch me work. And now the new arrangement proved to have backfired as well since my neighbor looked like he'd settled in for the duration.
"Well, now," Mr. Reed hedged in response to my query. "I wouldn't say anything's wrong, exactly. Why don't you take a seat so we can visit for awhile?" He patted the second chair, his words less of an encouragement than a command, and I restrained myself from bristling at the invitation to partake of my own property.
But what right did I have to bristle when it really wasn't my own property, was it? Sure, the plastic chairs belonged to me, and so did the trailer. But the earth that Pippin had sunken her roots into was owned by Mr. Reed, and I'd best remember that fact. So I pulled up a smile that felt more like a grimace and perched on the chair beside him.
"This is nice," Mr. Reed said pleasantly, clearly content that I'd obeyed his command. "You've got a good view here, don't you? I'm surprised you don't spend more time out on your deck."
Was the man really so clueless? I didn't relax in front of my trailer because whenever I came outside, Mr. Reed appeared like clockwork to hang out with me. At least in the back garden, he sometimes didn't notice that I was present, so I was left alone. But a cold shoulder never had the desired effect on my landlord, so I just shrugged and waited to see why he'd tracked me down this time.
I didn't have long to wait. "I heard you lost your job," Mr. Reed continued, his words sympathetic although I noticed a bit of glee drifting across his round face. "You know your lot rent is coming due next week...." My landlord's words trailed off, and I was glad to have an easy way of derailing this conversation since I was suddenly afraid to find out where our chat would have gone if I hadn't found another source of income so quickly. Would Mr. Reed have offered to forgive the month's rent if I invited him over for a home-cooked dinner, as he had suggested once before? Or would he be even more overt in his advances? I'd always tried to keep my distance from the older man, but today I felt more jittery than usual in his presence and was absurdly glad that Lena was hovering within earshot in case I needed to call for help.
Not that I wanted Mr. Reed to be aware of my discomfort. "Don't worry," I said, keeping that fake smile firmly plastered onto my lips and pretending that my landlord was just reacting like a normal, concerned neighbor might, not like a lecher who hoped to get into my pants. "I actually already have another job lined up, and this one pays better. So I can have the lot rent ready early if you need me to."
"Oh, no. No," my neighbor backpedaled verbally. "I wasn't trying to say that at all. I'm just concerned, you know. A girl like you living alone...." His words trailed off, and to my horror I noticed the man's hand inching toward my thigh. A stench of body odor came with the appendage, not the clean scent of sweat from working out under the sun, but the aroma of neglect and decay. Shit, I swore silently, frozen by surprise and revulsion. Where's Florabelle when I need her?
In her cage, apparently, because an unlikely savior came out of my trailer door unencumbered. "Hey, Ginny," she said, petulant teenager voice back in place. But I had a feeling that the girl had been watching our whole exchange from the kitchen window and was just putting on a front for my landlord's benefit, following my lead. "It's really late and I was supposed to be home half an hour ago. Can we go yet?"
"Sure thing," I agreed, hopping to my feet seconds before the hand of doom came in contact with the denim of my jeans. "Sorry to rush off like this," I tossed back toward my landlord as I locked my door behind the teenager and began shepherding her toward my car. "But I've gotta get Lena home."
Mr. Reed's eyes narrowed, and I had a sinking suspicion that my neighbor had finally realized I wasn't just a shy young thing waiting for him to break through my virginal modesty. Instead, something about our exchange must have finally clued my landlord in to the fact that I was disgusted by his advances. Hurt feelings would have been the normal reaction in that scenario, but I had an inkling that nothing about Mr. Reed was normal.
Luckily, by the time these thoughts finished working their ominous way through my mind, Lena and I had reached the rust bucket unhindered. Behind us, Mr. Reed still stood on my deck, as possessi
vely as if he owned the place, and his posture made me shiver yet again. "We'll talk more later," he called after me, prefacing the comment with a curt nod, and neither the words nor the gesture settled my nerves one bit.
***
"What an asshole," Lena said as soon as we rounded the bend and lost sight of my troublesome landlord. "Asshole" seemed to be one of the teenager's favorite words, but in this one case, the moniker felt appropriate. Mr. Reed had always struck me as a bit slimy, but his behavior this afternoon had pushed the man over the edge from annoying to scary, and now my hands were shaking on the steering wheel and my vision was going a bit gray at the edges as the aftereffects of adrenaline fully kicked in.
Now who's the dangerous driver? I admonished myself, pulling into a convenience-store parking lot to slow my breathing before I got us both killed. As my heart rate slowed down, my rational mind kicked back in and I realized that I hadn't even checked on my pet before hightailing it for the rust bucket and freedom. "Did you put Florabelle back in her cage?" I asked now, not sure I even wanted to know the answer. If my cockatiel was loose in the trailer, I might just opt to leave her that way rather than facing the wrath of my neighbor so soon after leaping away from his caress. Florabelle would definitely cause trouble, but the chances that she'd get herself hurt if left unattended were pretty slim.
"Yup," Lena said simply, speaking now with the tone she'd used on my pet after the bird chased Mr. Reed out of the house. "I cleaned out her water dish and filled it up, too. She'll be fine." Lena slid a glance my way out of the corner of her eye, and it was clear that my charge was wondering if I would be fine as well.
My first impulse was to cover up my nerves and laugh the whole episode off the way I usually did, not liking to show any weaknesses to the world. It would be relatively easy to convince Lena that she'd misunderstood what she saw through the kitchen window, that I'd just been concerned about getting her home on time and was now suffering from low blood sugar. I could tell my charge that Mr. Reed was merely a laughable but annoying neighbor who kept butting into my privacy, that he couldn't take a hint, yet was harmless.
But what better way to make Lena trust me than to let down my shields a little and allow her to see that I wasn't invincible either? The teenager was old enough to understand how sticky my living situation was, and maybe if I showed her my problems, she'd show me hers.
Logical...but impossible. The trouble was, when I opened my mouth to explain about Mr. Reed, words refused to come out. The confession seemed to lodge in my throat like a vitamin pill, too big to go all the way down but unwilling to come back up. When did I lose the knack for sharing with another human being? I wondered. Sure, I could talk to Florabelle or Pippin until I was blue in the face, but when Lena turned her blue eyes on me, I clammed right up.
"Don't worry, I get it," my charge said after a minute, her nearly adult-sized hand drifting through the air to land on top of mine. Even without really making contact, Mr. Reed's almost-touch had left me feeling like I needed to take a shower, but Lena's fingers instead gave me the impression that I was soaking up the sun on the first warm spring day. The gesture seemed to fill me back up with vitality, and I finally felt able to breathe and speak once again.
"Thanks," I said simply, and maybe that was enough.
***
I had started up the rust bucket and was shifting into first gear when Lena's cellphone chirped. "Hold on a sec," she ordered, eyes glued to the device. As I waited, it soon became apparent why the teenager didn't want to text as I drove—her caller was parked right behind us, spaceship car and all.
The girl read for a minute, then laughed, and when I sent a questioning look her way, Lena explained: "Jack wants to know if we're done making out and are ready for our date to end yet." My earlier foul mood dissipated into a chuckle at the scenario my employer had cast in front of our eyes. I could just imagine Mr. Fish Sticks sitting on his mansion's front step when Lena returned from her real first date (hopefully a year or two down the road yet). Despite being the absolute image of an urbane businessman, Jack would have rustled up a shotgun, and if Lena's love interest offered more than a chaste good-night kiss, the kid would surely regret his advances. I might disapprove of his business practices, but Jack definitely had the protective-older-brother thing down pat.
Tap, tap, tap. As Lena texted with her sibling, I couldn't resist glancing in the rear-view mirror...where I found Mr. Fish Sticks staring right back into my eyes. So much for not having to see my employer unless I made the first move...although I guess I technically had done so by seeking out the source of Lena's texts. My power-plant opponent looked even more handsome in daylight than he had the night before, perhaps due to the contrast with my equally pushy (but much less welcome) landlord. I allowed myself to stare too long, though, giving Jack the opportunity to hold up his phone in a sort of wave.
At the same instant, Lena's cell rang and the traitor lifted the device to my ear before I could dodge away from talking to her brother. "Hello," I said formally, glaring at my charge momentarily before my eyes refused to obey orders and drifted back to my caller's face.
"Hello yourself," Mr. Fish Sticks answered, washing my formality aside in a tidal tide of charisma. I hated the fact that the sound of my boss's voice was enough to make my hands start shaking again, but this time as the result of a more pleasant feeling coursing through my veins. "What a surprise to run into you here," he continued. "Did you stop for an ice cream cone and some potato chips?"
"Are you nuts?" I bantered back, realizing that I was being teased and willing to play along if we stuck to such an innocent topic. "Anything you can get in this place is full of enough high-fructose corn syrup and salt to fell a horse."
"But sometimes the bad-for-you things are the most delicious," Jack murmured, and I could feel the tips of my ears begin to turn red. Our conversation needed to get back on track, assuming there was a purpose to Jack's call other than to goad me into doing something I knew I'd regret.
"Did you just want to check in and see how my first day with Lena went?" I asked carefully, not sure I was prepared to provide a status report while my charge was sitting right there beside me. But I should have known that Jack wouldn't be so insensitive to his sister's feelings.
"No, I trust you," Mr. Fish Sticks answered. "I was just calling to say that I'm going out of town on business for a few days. Lena asked if she could stay over at your place while I'm away. What do you think?"
What did I think? I wanted to see a transcript of the texts that had flown back and forth between brother and sister while I was recovering from my landlord-induced terror. Had Lena actually asked to spend the night in my ramshackle trailer, or did Jack simply not trust the teenager to keep out of trouble on her own while he was gone? Was it possible that Florabelle had really entranced the girl so thoroughly that she was willing to sleep on my ratty old sofa? Lena had spent enough time in my home that afternoon to know that there wasn't a guest room available, and my ancient trailer definitely wasn't up to the Reynolds' standards of suitable accommodations.
Mr. Fish Sticks couldn't be trusted to give me a straight answer, but I had a feeling that Lena could. "Did you and Jack already talk about this?" I asked the girl, ignoring my employer to go straight to the source.
"Yeah, but I don't have to if I'd be in the way," Lena responded, not meeting my eyes. In stark contrast to her brother, my charge apparently had absolutely zero confidence in her attractiveness as a person, and my heart immediately went out to her. I so often felt the same way. Even if I hadn't wanted a couch surfer while Mr. Fish Sticks was out of town, there was no way I could turn her down now. Luckily, I didn't really want to reject the girl's advances.
"I can pay you extra," Jack's voice came through the phone, and I cringed even though I suspected the words were too quiet for his sister to hear. Still, I shut his train of thought down quickly.
"That won't be necessary," I said to my employer. "And you're not in the way," I added to h
is sister. "Florabelle will be over the moon at the company." The girl's honest smile was thanks enough for foregoing the extra cash.
"So, you can pick Lena up tomorrow," my employer continued, businesslike now that he'd closed the deal. Once again, my heart sunk a little, even though I'd steeled myself to accept the way Mr. Fish Sticks turned the charm on and off at will. Jack's ever-present guile wasn't what was important right now—I still needed to stick to full disclosure if I wanted to keep this job. And there was quite a big potential snag in our future plans.
"Wait," I said before my boss could hang up. "There's a Cuadic meeting tomorrow night that I really have to go to. Do you want me to leave Lena at home, to drop her off at your house, or what?"
"What's a Cuadic meeting?" Lena asked, but this time I had to ignore the girl and focus on her brother instead, fluttering a hand in silent promise of an explanation to come in due course.
"I'm not threatened by my sister joining the opposition," Mr. Fish Sticks said, a chuckle warming his words. "If Lena wants to go, more power to her. If not, it's no big deal—I don't expect you to babysit my sister every minute. She's a big girl. You can leave her home alone."
I realized that Jack had raised his voice enough to ensure that Lena would pick up his last few sentences, and for once I was glad that he was a manipulative bastard. Just like when Florabelle had allowed Lena to scratch her neck the first time, the girl seemed to sit up straighter after overhearing her brother's praise. My charge needed a lot more of that kind of treatment if we hoped to make her smiles more frequent.
"Put Lena back on the line, will you," Jack said abruptly while I was still watching his sister parse her sibling's praise. I couldn't help shooting a quizzical glance toward my rear-view mirror, but my employer just raised his eyebrows and smirked in reply. So, with a shrug, I handed off the cellphone.
"Uh huh," Lena answered. Then after a pause: "Okay." Mr. Fish Sticks must have been whispering now because, try as I might, I was completely unable to make out my employer's words.
Despite the Gentleman's Riches: Sweet Billionaire Romance (For Richer or Poorer Book 1) Page 7