“You’re not omnipotent, Mother,” Yohanna told her mother wearily. “Spill it,” she ordered. “Just how did you find out about the layoff?”
The silence on the other end of the line began to stretch out.
“Mother...” Yohanna began insistently.
Elizabeth huffed. “If you must know, I went to the office to surprise you and take you out for lunch today. Imagine my surprise when I walked in and found out that you didn’t work there anymore. Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, sounding as if she had been deeply wounded by this omission of information.
“I didn’t want you to worry—or get upset,” Yohanna answered.
That part was true, although there were many more reasons than that why she had kept the news to herself. Specifically, she didn’t want to have to fend off her mother’s offers for “help,” all of which revolved around getting her to move back home. She’d moved out once, but she had a feeling that next time would be a great deal more difficult.
“You didn’t want me to worry.” Elizabeth practically sneered at the words. “I’m your mother. It’s my job to worry about you. Now, I won’t take no for an answer. I’ll come over tomorrow morning to help you pack up your things and—”
Her mother was more relentless than a class-five hurricane, Yohanna thought. But she was not about to throw up her hands and surrender.
“I’m not selling the condo, Mother,” she began patiently.
“All right, rent it out, then,” her mother advised, frustrated. “That’ll help you cover the cost of the exorbitant mortgage until you’re about to get back on your feet again—”
“Mother, I am on my feet.”
She heard her mother sigh again. This time, instead of sounding dramatic, there was pity in her mother’s voice.
Irritating pity.
“There’s no need to put up a brave front, Yohanna. Lots of people lose their jobs these days. Of course, if you had married Alicia Connolly’s son, that nice young doctor, you wouldn’t be in this predicament, wondering where your next dollar is coming from.”
Her mother was referring to a setup she’d had her hand in. As Yohanna recalled the entire excruciating event, it had truly been the blind date from hell as well as ultimately being the reason she had vowed to never allow her mother to set her up with a date again.
“For your information, Mother,” she said, enunciating each word so that her mother would absorb them, “I am not wondering where my next dollar is coming from.”
“Well, then, you should be,” Elizabeth told her with more than a touch of indignation in her voice. “The bank isn’t going to let you slide because of your good looks, which, as you know, you’re not going to have forever,” she added, unable, apparently, to keep from twisting the knife a little bit. “Which reminds me. My friend Sheila has this nephew—”
Although she was always somewhat reluctant to keep her mother in the loop—mainly because her mother always found something negative to say about the situation—Yohanna knew that the older woman was not about to stop trying to manipulate her life—big-time—unless she told her mother that she was once again gainfully employed.
“Mother, stop, please,” she pleaded. “I don’t need to move back into my room or to rent out my condo.”
“Oh, then, just what is your brilliant solution to your present problem?” Elizabeth asked.
I’m talking to my present problem, Yohanna thought.
However, she kept that to herself, knowing that if she ever said those words or similar ones out loud, her mother would be beyond hurt. She couldn’t do that to the woman no matter how much her mother drove her up a wall.
“I’ve got a job, Mother,” she told her.
“Honey, I told you that you don’t need to pretend with me.” It was obvious by her tone of voice that her mother simply didn’t believe her.
“I’m not pretending, Mother,” Yohanna answered, struggling to remain calm and clinging to what was left of her dwindling patience.
“All right.” She could all but see her mother crossing her arms in front of her, fully prepared to sit in judgment. “And just what is this ‘job’ you’ve gotten so suddenly?” Before she could tell her, Yohanna heard her mother suddenly suck in her breath. “You’re not doing anything immoral or illegal, are you?”
It was more of an accusation than a question. Among other things, her mother, an avid—bordering on rabid—soap opera fan, had a way of allowing her imagination to run away with her along the same creative lines that many of the soap operas she viewed went.
“No, Mother. Nothing illegal or immoral.” She really hadn’t wanted to tell her mother until her three-month probationary period was up, but, as with so many other things that involved her mother, she found that she had no choice in the matter. “I’m going to be Lukkas Spader’s assistant.”
“And just what does this man want being assisted?” Elizabeth asked suspiciously.
“Lukkas Spader, Mother,” Yohanna repeated, stunned that her mother didn’t recognize the name. “The producer,” she added. But there was apparently still no recognition on her mother’s part. “You know, the man who produced Forever Yours, Molly’s Man, Dangerous.” She rattled off the first movies that she could think of.
“Wait, you’re working for that Lukkas Spader?” her mother asked, sounding somewhat incredulous.
Finally! Yohanna thought. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
Suspicion leeched back into Elizabeth’s voice. “Since when?”
“Since this morning, Mother, when Mr. Spader hired me.”
Elizabeth obviously wasn’t finished being skeptical about this new turn of events. “And what is it that you say you’re going to be doing for him?”
Yohanna silently counted to ten in her mind before answering. “I’m going to be organizing things, Mother. Movie things,” she elaborated, knowing how her mother tended to think the worst about every situation. Given the choice of picking the high road or the low one, her mother always went the low route.
As proved by her mother’s next question. “Are you telling me the truth?”
Yohanna rolled her eyes. This was not a conversation that a thirty-year-old should be having with her mother. Anyone listening in would have thought her mother was talking to someone who was twelve. Maybe younger.
“Of course I’m telling you the truth, Mother.”
To her surprise, instead of continuing to harp on the subject, she heard her mother give a huge sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God. Now, remember not to mess anything up, understand?”
“I’m not going to mess anything up, Mother.” And then it hit her. She knew what her mother was thinking. Yohanna nearly groaned. Her mother never gave it a rest. Never. “He’s my boss, Mother,” she said in a sharp warning voice.
“So?” Elizabeth asked defensively. “Bosses don’t get married?”
Enough was enough. She was not having this conversation. “I’ve got to go, Mother. I’ve got some things to take care of before I go in tomorrow.” It was a lie, but it was better than slamming the receiver down in the cradle, which she was very tempted to do.
Rather than attempt to pump her for more information, her mother surprised her by saying, “Go get some new clothes. Sexy ones. These Hollywood types like sexy women.”
There was no point in arguing about this with her mother any longer. She had never known her mother to admit she was wrong or that she had overstepped her boundaries. Not even once.
There was no reason for her to hope that her mother would suddenly come to her senses at fifty-seven and turn over a new leaf.
For better or worse, this was her mother.
“Yes, Mother,” Yohanna replied in a near-to-singsong voice. “Bye.” And with that, she hung up, promising herself to get a new phone—one with a working
caller ID—the first opportunity she got.
* * *
Yohanna didn’t remember when she finally closed her eyes and fell asleep.
All she knew was that it felt as if she’d only been asleep for ten minutes before she opened her eyes again and saw that, according to the clock on her nightstand, it was quarter to six.
Spader wanted her at his Newport Beach home by seven.
Stifling a groan, she stumbled out of bed, then somehow made her way down the stairs and into the recently remodeled kitchen.
If she was going to get anything accomplished, she needed coffee. Deep, hearty, black coffee. Downing one cup fortified her enough to go back upstairs, take a shower and get dressed. All of which she did at very close to top speed. She needed to get out and on the road as quickly as possible.
She didn’t anticipate any large traffic snarls from her home to Spader’s but there was always a chance of a collision and/or a pileup—and she didn’t like leaving anything to chance.
She also didn’t like calculating everything down to the last possible moment. On time wasn’t her style—being early was.
Fueled by an enormous amount of nervous energy, Yohanna was on the road less than half an hour after she’d woken up.
Twenty minutes after that, she was parked across the street from Spader’s impressive three-story house. As usual, she was early and, ordinarily, she would walk up to the front door and ring the bell. She just assumed that to most people, being early was a plus. But Lukkas Spader might be one of those people who actually didn’t like anyone arriving early, possibly before he was ready to see them.
She needed to find that little detail out before tomorrow morning. In the meantime, she looked at her wristwatch and continued to wait, parked directly across from his slightly winding driveway.
Which was where the patrol officer who tapped on her driver’s-side window found her.
Startled by the knock—her mind was elsewhere—Yohanna looked up at the officer. To say she was surprised to see him was putting it mildly.
The officer motioned for her to roll down her window. Which, after one false start, she did.
“Is there something wrong, Officer?” she asked him, even though, for the life of her, she couldn’t imagine what that could be, or why he’d want to speak to her in the first place.
“You tell me,” he replied, waiting. When she continued watching him without saying a word in response to his flippant remark, the officer appeared to be losing patience as he asked, “Mind telling me what you’re doing sitting out here all alone like this?”
“I’m waiting until seven o’clock,” she explained. To her, it was all very logical.
“What happens then?” he asked.
She found the officer’s tone just slightly belligerent, but told herself it was her imagination. “I knock on Mr. Spader’s door.”
The officer didn’t seem to believe her. “And then what?” he demanded.
“He lets me in.” Why was he asking all this? she wondered. She certainly didn’t look unsavory.
“That the plan?” the officer said sarcastically.
Yohanna began to feel a little uneasy. “I don’t think I understand.”
The officer blew out a breath, sounding as if he was struggling to keep from raising his voice. “Look, honey, why don’t you just drive off, buy yourself some popcorn and watch one of the guy’s movies like everyone else does?”
The officer clearly didn’t understand. “But Mr. Spader is waiting to see me.”
“Sure he is,” the officer said in a humoring voice. “You look like a decent kid. Stalking never ends well. Not for the stalker, not for the person they’re stalking. So why don’t you just—”
“Wait, what?” Yohanna cried, stunned at the very suggestion the officer was making. “I’m not stalking Mr. Spader,” she insisted. “I work for him.”
“Suuure you do.” He stretched out the word, mocking her before he suddenly became stone-cold serious. “I don’t want to take you in, but you’re really not leaving me much of a choice here, lady. Now, for the last time, start your car and go home—”
“Ask him,” Yohanna cried quickly. “He’ll tell you that I work for him. Just go up to his door and knock.” She was almost pleading now.
If she didn’t show up the first day, she might as well kiss the job goodbye. And even if she wound up having the policeman escort her to Spader’s door, the producer still might hand her her walking papers. No one wanted to knowingly work around trouble.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? So you could tell all your little crazy loser friends that you got to see Lukkas Spader up close and personal-like. Sorry, I’m not in the business of making your pathetic little fantasies come true. Now, this is your last chance to go free—” he began again.
“Please, I’m telling you the truth, Officer. I work for Lukkas Spader. He told me to meet him here at seven this morning and I was just waiting until seven before knocking on his door. I am not stalking him,” she insisted.
Still apparently unconvinced, the police officer frowned.
“You’re not leaving me any choice. I warned you.” One hand was now covering the hilt of his service weapon, ready to draw it out at less than a heartbeat’s notice. “Get out of the car. Now.”
One look into the man’s eyes and Yohanna knew the officer wouldn’t stand for being crossed. He wasn’t the type to suffer any sort of acts of disobedience quietly or tranquilly.
Keeping her hands out where he could see them, Yohanna did as the police officer ordered. She got out of the car slowly.
“Is there a problem, Officer?”
The question came from someone standing directly behind the officer. Yohanna leaned over slightly to look, praying she was right.
She was.
It was Lukkas.
Yohanna’s heart went into overdrive.
“No, sir, Mr. Spader. I just caught another stalker. This one’s not as intense as the other one was, but she looks like trouble all the same.”
Lukkas smiled as he stepped to the officer’s side and looked at her. “She does, doesn’t she?”
Chapter Three
“Do you want to press charges?” the police officer asked, looking expectantly at the man standing next to him.
Stunned, Yohanna’s eyes widened considerably as she stared at the man she had thought was her new employer. Had her signals gotten somehow crossed and she’d misunderstood him yesterday?
No, that wasn’t possible. He hadn’t given her anything in writing, but she remembered every word he’d said and could recite them back to him verbatim. Her very precise photographic memory was part of what made her so good at organizing things. It also helped her take care of what needed to be done—and then remembering where everything was hours, even days, later.
She was about to nudge the producer’s memory a little so this officer could move along when she heard Spader tell the man, “No, not at this time, Officer.”
The police officer was still eyeing her as if she was some sort of a criminal deviant. She needed her new boss to say something a little more in her defense than a barely negligible remark.
“Mr. Spader, tell him I work for you,” she requested with more than a little urgency.
The corners of Lukkas’s mouth curved just a hint as he turned toward the officer and said, “She does, actually. This is Hanna’s first day. She’s here a little early,” he commented. “But that’s a good thing.”
The officer removed his hand from his weapon. “Oh.” There was just a sliver of disappointment in the man’s voice. He glanced from the producer to the woman who had almost been arrested. “Sorry about that, but it’s better to be careful than let things ride and then be sorry.”
The apology was halfhearted, but Yohanna
considered it better than nothing. She inclined her head, silently indicating that she accepted the officer’s rather paltry excuse.
A huge range of emotions swirled through her like the wind gearing up before a storm. This was a whole different world that she was signing on for.
She focused on the one piece of information she had picked up out of all this. “You had a stalker?” she asked Lukkas incredulously. She’d occasionally read about things like that happening, both to famous celebrities as well as to average, everyday people, but it had never touched her life or happened to anyone she actually knew.
Until now.
“What happened?” she asked him.
Lukkas didn’t answer her and gave no indication that he had even heard her. Instead, what he said was, “Ready to get started?”
She took that to mean that the subject of his past stalker was off-limits. While her curiosity was still rather exceedingly ramped up, she could understand why the producer wouldn’t want to pursue the subject. This was obviously something out of Spader’s private life and she was just an employee—a new employee at that—hired on a probationary basis. That didn’t exactly make her someone he was about to bare his soul to within the first few minutes of her first day on the job.
So she buried the question as well as her growing and somewhat unbridled curiosity and cheerfully replied, “Absolutely,” to his question.
But even with her ready and eager to get started, it turned out that the producer wasn’t quite ready to go back into his house just yet.
Instead, he took out what looked like a weather-beaten wallet from his back pocket. When he opened it, she realized that he wasn’t holding a wallet. What Lukkas had in his hand was a checkbook.
The next moment he had turned toward the officer who was still standing there. “I heard that the department is collecting ticket money for their semi-annual basketball-for-charity game,” Lukkas said as he began to write a more than substantial check to the Bedford Police Department, earmarking it for the basketball game.
Her Red-Carpet Romance Page 3