by Aria Johnson
Livid, I was on the verge of shaking Brandon awake to chastise him for breaking the house rules, but the distant ding of the microwave sent me hurrying out of his room and down the stairs.
In the kitchen, which still stank of onions, I found Ava stirring almond milk into a bowl of instant oatmeal she’d helped herself to. Greasy, unwashed pots and pans were on top of the stove and dirty dishes filled the sink. She and Brandon were both disgusting pigs!
“Why’re you still here?” Clutching my robe, I gaped at Ava like she was an evil apparition.
She shrugged. “I had a little too much to drink and Brandon didn’t want me driving. It’s no big deal.”
“It’s a big deal to me. This is my home, and if memory serves, I didn’t give my son permission to have an overnight guest.”
“Are you saying I should have risked getting a DUI? Or possibly killing myself or others?”
“You could have called an Uber,” I replied, shaking my head. Brandon couldn’t have chosen a more unpleasant girl. “Listen, Ava, Brandon told me about your plan to conceive a child with him. He can barely take care of himself, so why would you want to make him a father before he’s ready?”
“I’m ready,” she said, giving me a challenging look.
“Do you even have a job?”
“No, but I’ll get state benefits to help out.”
I sighed. “Do you realize how ridiculous you sound?”
“No more ridiculous than you getting pregnant so that Brandon’s dad would be forced to marry you and be saddled with paying for your education.”
“That’s a lie,” I spat.
“Well, that’s what your son told me,” she said with a smug look on her face.
I had no idea where Brandon had gotten the idea that I’d trapped his father into marrying me. I didn’t get pregnant with him until well over a year after our wedding, and Howard and I both were ecstatic over the birth of our son. But Howard’s interest had waned after he began building his real estate business and he went from being a caring and concerned parent to one who treated his son like he was nothing more than an irritating distraction.
Perhaps Brandon had decided that his conception had been unplanned or a ploy to trap his father due to Howard’s indifference toward him when he was a young boy. Disinterest turned to disdain when Brandon became a teen. I was certain that the way Howard doted on his new children while ignoring Brandon played a huge part in our son’s self-esteem issues.
I swallowed back a lump of sorrow as I recalled Howard coming home from work with his phone pressed to his ear, still conducting business.
As a toddler, Brandon would greet his father excitedly. He’d run to Howard and wrap his chubby little arms around his legs. Aggravated, Howard would extricate himself from Brandon’s grasp while frowning and gesturing for me to control the boy.
“Why does he always have to be so clingy?” Howard had said in a harsh whisper as I struggled to contain Brandon who was trying to wriggle out of my arms.
Without so much as a pat on his son’s head, Howard would head for his study and close the door, and I would be left to pacify Brandon as he cried for his uncaring daddy.
Looking back, Brandon was around two years old when he went from a happy child to one with stormy moods. At the time, I had attributed his behavior to his age, buying into the myth about the terrible twos.
But I now realized that Brandon was only two years old when his father had first begun to rebuff him.
Subconsciously, I’d been overcompensating for Howard’s rejection of our son ever since. There was no question that Brandon and I both needed therapy. And once and for all, I was going to insist that we seek treatment together.
I sighed heavily as I glanced at Ava who was digging into the bowl of oatmeal. Her unwelcome presence in my kitchen, which was an awful mess and smelled of last night’s onions and burned burgers, was simply too much for this hour of the morning. I was in desperate need of a jolt of caffeine, and could feel a headache threatening to spring from the base of my skull.
“I have to go upstairs and get ready for work,” I said wearily as I rubbed the back of my neck. “I’d appreciate it if you’d gather your things and leave before I come back down for my morning coffee.”
“Cool. Not a problem.” Dismissing me, she stared down at her phone, using the thumb with the badly chipped black polish to rapidly swipe the screen.
Chapter 5
When I heard the muted sound of my cell phone, which was tucked inside a desk drawer at the bottom of my purse, I ignored it. My department expenditures had exceeded the money allocated in the quarterly budget and I was busy crunching numbers, trying to figure out where to cut corners. It was frustrating work, making me sweaty and anxious. Dealing with the departmental budget was as tedious and grueling as preparing my taxes.
Since work-related calls came through the telephone console on my desk, I figured it was Brandon ringing my cell. Always the harbinger of bad news, he only called when catastrophic events occurred at home: the HVAC system had broken down; an outdoor pipe had clogged and sewage had backed up in the garage causing an unbearable stench inside the house; a tree had fallen during a storm, breaking a window and blocking the driveway.
Whenever there was a household emergency, Brandon, who wasn’t handy at all, simply picked up the phone and dumped the bad news on me and waited grumpily while I resolved the situation that was interfering with his enjoyment of life.
I, on the other hand, would have to interrupt my day and take the time and effort to track down an affordable professional to do the job, schedule an appointment, and then in many cases, max out a credit card to pay the bill.
The phone stopped ringing briefly and then began again. I eyed my watch. It was only ten in the morning, and Brandon seldom got up before noon. Fearing that a terrible catastrophe had occurred at home, I yanked the desk drawer open and groped through my purse until my hand landed on the oblong shape of my phone.
I looked at the screen and didn’t recognize the number, which upset me even more. Had something terrible happened to Brandon? Was this the call that every mother dreaded?
“Hello?” I said in a shaky, fearful voice.
“Claire?”
The voice on the other end of the phone reverberated through my system like a series of thunder claps. It wasn’t some stranger at a hospital or a police station with devastating news that would destroy me . . .it was him!
“Jeff, how are you?” I tried to sound as normal as possible as I slowly recovered from the shock of hearing his voice. He said he’d call in a few days, not the very next morning, and I was taken completely off guard.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?”
I glanced at the worrisome expense reports that were scattered on my desk. “No, not at all.”
“I was wondering if you were free for lunch.”
“Lunch? Uh . . .”
Oh, God. The outfit I’d thrown together this morning screamed soccer mom. After my run-in with Ava, I’d been so frazzled, I snatched from the closet the first pair of slacks and top that my hands touched. I had on cotton slacks that were too loose in the butt area and a scoop neck top with bees and flowers embroidered on the front. The gimmicky top was okay for work but inappropriate for a lunch date with a hot guy.
I studied my reflection in the glass desk cover and recoiled. My hair looked drab and lifeless and needed a trim, my skin was blotchy, and my eyebrows were badly in need of waxing.
“Would you rather make it dinner?” he asked after my lengthy hesitation.
“Yes, dinner sounds great.”
“Do you like Italian?”
“Love it.” I was sure he wasn’t referring to pizza or stromboli, which had been the extent of my Italian-eating experience for the past ten years or more. However, the distant memory of handmade pasta, intriguing sauces, and fresh bread dipped in olive oil made my mouth water.
“Good, I’ll make reservations at Vincenzo’s—in the city. H
ave you eaten there?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“You’ll love it. I was there with a client a few weeks ago and the scaloppini of veal was incredible. What’s your address? I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Text me the time of the reservation and I’ll meet you there,” I replied quickly after picturing Brandon and possibly Ava lurking around, being rude and antisocial when Jeff arrived. Additionally, it was too embarrassing to even try to explain the big hole in the dining room wall, the result of one of Brandon’s explosive episodes.
“All right. I’ll text the information. I look forward to seeing you again, Claire,” he said before hanging up.
“I look forward to seeing you, too.” Ugh, I hated the way my voice came out sounding so mushy and dumb, and so I quickly hung up.
I sat at my desk and cringed for a full five minutes. Why couldn’t I have responded with something flirtatious or witty? Sadly, I wasn’t wired that way.
• • •
“I moved to Middletown eight months ago,” Jeff said as the waiter poured the wine.
“Where’re you from originally?”
“Los Angeles.”
I raised my brows. “You left glamourous L.A. to come to our little boring town?”
“Business brought me here. But Middletown’s not boring to me. I find it charming and refreshing after the pretentiousness of Los Angeles.” He swirled the wine in the glass and sniffed it several times before tasting it. Then he laughed suddenly. “Okay, I know that looked like a total jerk move, typical of a pompous ass from L.A., but I can explain.”
“I’m all ears.” Thoroughly charmed, I leaned in a little. I loved his eyes. They were medium brown with flecks of gold that sparkled whenever he smiled.
“Well, my ex-wife was a sommelier.”
“A what?”
“Someone with extensive knowledge of wine and food pairings. She taught me a little about wine and it’s a habit now to swirl and sniff,” he said, laughing.
When he spoke of his ex, I instantly envisioned a beautiful, sophisticated woman with exquisite taste. Although I’d taken the time to curl my hair, had gotten a mani-pedi during my lunch break, and was wearing a sexy, form-fitting lace dress with a plunging V-neckline, I still was no raving beauty. Jeff’s eyes had lit up when I entered the restaurant and he told me I looked beautiful, but I wondered if I looked like a hick compared to his ex-wife. If his tanned, gorgeous daughter was any indication of how the women in his life looked, then I couldn’t begin to compete.
His eyes turned serious. “It was weird, but when I first noticed you watching me while I was climbing, there was this flash of recognition. You seemed so familiar.” He tilted his head. “I mentioned that already, didn’t I?”
I nodded. “Yes, when we were talking in the hall outside my salsa class.”
“Right,” he responded, eyes narrowed in recollection. “Wanna know a secret?”
“Sure.”
“I didn’t come into your class to check on Allegra. I wanted to get a closer look at you.”
My heart quickened and I went total schoolgirl, fidgeting with my hair, blushing, and smiling. “How’d you know where to find me?”
“I don’t want to freak you out and make you think I’m a stalker, but when you walked away from the climbing gym, I climbed midway down and jumped the rest of the way. I wanted to catch up with you and ask where we’d met before. But I wasn’t fast enough. I saw you get on the elevator and noticed that it went down to the lower level. The only classes being held downstairs were salsa and mixed martial arts. I don’t mean to sound sexist, but I didn’t picture you throwing punches, doing a spinning back kick, or engaging in a double leg takedown and pinning your opponent down in submission as you choked him out with your legs.”
I made a face. “That sounds horrible.”
“My point, exactly. It’s a violent sport and I figured a demure lady like you would prefer dancing to fighting.” He chuckled and I laughed along with him.
It was obvious that Jeff had a great sense of humor. The evening had just begun, and I’d already smiled more in a half hour than I’d had in the past few months.
Our food arrived and we both marveled over the beautiful presentation before digging in.
“Do you have kids?” he asked.
“A son. Brandon. He’s twenty.”
“Is Brandon in college?”
I felt myself stiffen. “No, he decided to take a semester off. To sort of figure things out.” I shrugged and squirmed uncomfortably.
“College isn’t for everyone. It’s sad the way so many kids can’t find jobs after graduating. They’re left saddled with huge student loans that they can’t afford to repay. It wasn’t like that back when I went to school. If you went to college, you were guaranteed some kind of employment, but it’s not like that anymore.”
My shoulders relaxed. I appreciated that Jeff didn’t automatically start suggesting ways for me to whip Brandon into shape.
“Your daughter seems like she has it together. Is she in college?”
“No, Allegra’s only sixteen. She’s still in high school.”
“Oh, I thought she was older.”
“Yeah, she looks older with all the makeup and the bossy attitude, but she’s still a baby. She lives in L.A. with her mom and I had to bribe her to get her to spend the summer with me. I promised her a car, but we’re not in agreement over the make and model. I want her behind the wheel of something sturdy and safe and she wants a sports car.”
He held out his hands in exasperation, but there was pride in his eyes. Irrationally, I felt a twinge of envy, wondering what it felt like to parent a child whose only flaw was being bossy and desiring a sports car.
For a long moment, Jeff regarded me with such an admiring smile I became embarrassed and uncomfortable.
“What?” I finally asked.
“You’re so pretty. You have an understated beauty that sneaks up on you and then, bam! It knocks you off your feet.”
“I don’t know about that.” I giggled nervously and fussed with my hair.
“Wanna know the first thing I noticed about you?” he asked.
“No idea.” My heart started picking up speed again.
“Your smile.”
I furrowed my brows.
“Yeah, while we were climbing and you were watching through the window, you had a faint smile. It looked mysterious, like Mona Lisa, and I wondered what you were thinking. Maybe that’s why I thought I recognized you. You reminded me of a magnificent work of art.”
At this point I was grinning like an idiot, eating up all the praise he was lavishing on me. Unable to take any more, I held up my hands. “Listen, I am definitely out of your league. You’re way too smooth for me, Jeff.”
“No, you’ve got me wrong. I’m not a smooth talker with great lines. Every word I’ve spoken is the honest truth.” He smiled briefly and then he turned serious, meeting my eyes in a meaningful way, and then holding my gaze. “When we were out in the hallway talking, I felt an instant connection with you, and there was no way I was going to let you get away again. Not without getting your number.”
He looked even more handsome when he wore a serious expression.
“So, what kind of business pulled you away from sunny L.A.?” I asked, trying to take the focus off me so I could pull myself together and catch my breath. I looked down and moved food around my plate. Being with Jeff had me too excited to actually eat.
Jeff chewed his food and swallowed before answering. “I’m a private consultant. I help companies that are bleeding cash find out where the bullets are coming from so they can start patching up the wounds.”
I gazed at him quizzically.
He smiled indulgently. “Okay, say a company is experiencing financial losses, but can’t figure out why. Business is good and money is coming in, yet they’re still in the red. They call me in to take a much closer look—to really scrutinize their spending habits, and I always find ou
t where the money is going.”
“What’re some of your findings?”
“Courtside season tickets to Laker games for the entire management team. A vice president with a penthouse apartment in New York for weekend getaways with his paramour. Company cars for lower management—not your typical Fords and Chevies or Toyotas, but expensive Benzes and BMWs. The assistants of senior staff members have their own full-time assistants.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I kid you not. Oh, it gets worse. I won’t name the business, but a certain Fortune 500 company paid for five-hundred-dollars-an-hour escorts to entertain clients whenever they came to town.” Jeff laughed heartily and he looked so boyishly cute at the moment, I could have grabbed his face and kissed him until we were both breathless.
The effect Jeff was having on me was slightly scary. He was awakening feelings and sensations that I’d believed were long dead.
He was quite the conversationalist—a very interesting person, but after a while, his voice became a distant hum. I could see his full, luscious lips moving, but it felt like everything was going in slow motion. Shockingly, I found myself wondering how his ripped body looked naked. Was he was packing anything of substance, and if so, was he good in bed? Oh, my God, it was shameful, but I had so much pent-up sexual tension, I would have willingly spread my legs for him right there on top of the table.
Well, maybe not on top of the table, but it wouldn’t have taken much prodding to get me in the restroom for a frantic quickie.
Jeff had no idea that I wanted to tell him to shut up and fuck me! Shocked by my own slutty thoughts, I could feel my face redden.
“Are you okay?” Jeff asked, giving me an odd look.
“I’m fine,” I said, smiling demurely.
• • •
Outside the restaurant, as we waited for the valet to bring our cars, an evening breeze fluttered past us. “Cold?” Jeff asked, putting an arm around me without waiting for my reply.
In that moment, I could have easily purred like a contented cat. My life had been so shitty, so sad and hopeless, I had long ago given up on the notion of romantic love. But when Jeff lowered his head and kissed me, I became audacious enough to believe that there was a glimmer of hope that happiness could exist for me.