“Oh … Maybe you shouldn’t call off Owen either.”
“Why?” I’m fully awake now. “What happened?”
“They’re countersuing you for sexual harassment. They claim you had the superior position since our family owns the tree farm, so technically, Ben was under your supervision.”
“I don’t believe Ben knows about this. He’s too busy worrying about his grandfather’s health. His blood pressure dropped—not a good thing after having open heart surgery.”
“Ben may have a lot on his mind, but he needs to stop his lawyer. Anyway, I took a call for you from Owen since he couldn’t get ahold of you on your cell phone.”
I press both hands over my face and rub my tired eyes. “What did he have to say?”
“You’re not helping your cause by hanging out with Ben. Public opinion is on his side. He’s a football hero and a man. You don’t want to know what they’re saying about you.”
“Can we not talk about this?” I cradle my head against the window.
“You won’t be able to avoid it. So, why are you hanging around with Ben? And what’s with kissing in public? Don’t you have enough trouble?”
I’m counting the miles until I reach my work. We’re halfway across the span, but we still have to go through most of the city before getting to my office, located near blocks of warehouses and recycling facilities in San Francisco south of Cesar Chavez Blvd.
Lacy’s never one to be ignored. “What did I tell you about letting a guy kiss you without being on a date?”
“Wait a minute.” I shove my hand on my hip and curl my lip. “You of the Mistletoe Madness Kissing Booth are telling me about waiting for a date before kissing a guy?”
“Those aren’t kisses that mean anything.” Lacy rolls her eyes.
Honk! A car’s horn angrily blares at her because she shifted halfway into the next lane.
“Maybe our kiss meant nothing, too.”
“How many guys have you kissed in your lifetime?” She waggles a finger at me.
“More than you think.” I’m not about to admit my limited experience, at least not out loud. My sister already knows I prefer spending my evenings and weekends writing software and hanging out on the internet.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to get involved with a guy like Ben. He’s too much to handle.”
“You mean out of my league.”
“I didn’t say that.” She glances over again, but I point at the road.
“That’s exactly what you mean.”
She huffs and shakes her head. “You’re my baby sister. I don’t want you to get hurt. Guys like Ben don’t date.”
“So? I don’t date either.” Irritation crawls all over my skin at her assumptions.
“Not in the same manner. You don’t date because you’re busy working. He doesn’t date because he doesn’t have to. He gets free hookups all the time. He never has to take a woman out to get sex. He doesn’t even have to know her name. I bet he has a collection of selfies to choose from every evening.”
“And you know this how?”
“It’s the way everyone your age is. They don’t do boyfriends and girlfriends. Especially athletes. No time for a girlfriend. His main objective is to get drafted by a pro team.”
“I’ve no time for boyfriends either. I have to prepare for my stock offering.”
“Yes, but you don’t have sex either.”
My shoulders slump and I close my eyes. In other words, I’m pathetic and boring.
“What would you say if I were having sex?”
“With what? Your bunny ears?” She snorts and my skin crawls at the thought she thinks the only sex I get is from a vibrator.
“That’s you, Lacy. You’re into all that kink. I just hook up. There’s an app on my phone and when I feel like having sex, I tap into it and voila, it’s as easy as using that app to find a ride. Post when you’re willing to hook up and the app locates those who’re within fifteen miles available in the next hour. You check out the profiles and accept an offer.”
“You’d better be lying.”
“Not at all. It’s a new direction ScrapCloud’s taking.” I’m making this up on the fly. “It matches your interests based on your scrapbooks, shopping history, and mutual friends and followers.”
Lacy doesn’t say a word. The awkward silence drags until we reach my company’s parking lot.
“Thanks for driving me.” The least I can do is acknowledge her.
“Sure.” She blows an impatient breath, the one that tells me I wouldn’t understand and there’s no reason for her to explain.
Frankly, I’m sick of it. Her and her superior attitude. We all know she’s always been popular with boys whereas I never have been.
That’s about to change. If I’m tarred and feathered across social media as a slut or a sex addict, I might as well live it up.
The scorching kiss I shared with Ben shows he is interested in me—whether for a hookup or more, it doesn’t matter. Lacy’s right. Ben’s only here for the holidays. But if I keep telling myself it doesn’t matter, maybe I can enjoy his company for however long I can, and put that over my sister.
I take the keys from Lacy and step from my car. She’s already walking towards hers without asking me for the keys. Guess she has her spare set.
Her reddish-brown hair glints in the morning light now that the fog has burned off. And even though she’s pregnant, she still struts as if she’s a model on a runway, swaying as if every man’s eyes were on her.
“Hey,” I yell.
“Yes? You need anything?” She stops before her car.
“Have you ever slept with a football player? Have you ever had two-hundred-fifty pounds of solid muscle hold you down? How about standing up? His strong arms pumping you up and down?”
“What’s gotten into you?” Her brows wrinkle and her nose scrunches as if she smells a bad odor. “I’m a married woman.”
“In other words, no. You’ve never slept with a football player.” I can’t help my voice from jeering.
“What’s your point?”
“Ben Powers is not too hot to handle.”
“Be careful you don’t get hurt.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t. I’ll only be having the best sex of my life.”
Lacy shakes her head and turns away, unlocking her car.
Ha, ha. So much for the superior sister act. She can’t take seeing me with Ben because she’s never had a football player before.
I wave my badge in front of the reader, but the door opens before I have a chance to grab the handle.
A gray-suited woman stops in front of me and stabs her finger at me. “You!”
It’s the parent who complained about us to the police.
My jaw drops and I point back at her. “What are you doing here? In my office?”
She snarls, showing sharp, pointy teeth. Her dark brown hair is cut short and efficient and her gray power suit resembles armor. “Guess Jewell didn’t tell you, did he? I’m Marlena Morley, VP of Marketing for Shopahol. You better make sure Monkey-See is offline or face a class action lawsuit.”
~ Ben ~
Ben knocked on the door of Bob Reed, his grandfather’s best buddy and Brittney’s grandfather. The retirement community the elderly Reeds lived in consisted of separate bungalow units around a parklike common area. Ben had been trying to talk Grandpa into moving into assisted living, where he’d have access to a cafeteria and 24/7 nursing help, but so far, he’d resisted leaving his drafty farmhouse.
Cece Reed, Brittney’s grandmother, opened the door. She was dressed in workout clothes and looked like she’d just gotten back from Zumba or whatever it was ladies did to stay trim. The community offered recreational and fitness programs, another reason for Grandpa to get out of his isolated living conditions.
“Woof!” Treat stood between Cece’s legs and raised his head for a pat. Behind her, a flutter of large wings greeted him, and the cockatoo who’d tormented him at the
tree farm landed on Cece’s shoulder.
“Come in, come in,” Brittney’s grandmother said. “We’re taking care of your grandpa’s pets, as you can see.”
“Thanks for doing that.” Ben bent down and picked up Treat, who wiggled in his arms and slobbered over his jaw with a big, wet tongue.
“Please, have breakfast with us.” Cece led the way to the kitchen.
Bob set the newspaper down and rose from his chair at the kitchen table. “Let me pour you a cup of coffee. You must be dead tired. Is Jon out of surgery?”
“Thanks.” Ben put the dog down and accepted a mug of steamy coffee. “Grandpa’s out of surgery, but he’s had a setback. His blood pressure is lower than they’d like it to be, so they’re checking him for internal bleeding. I hope it’s nothing serious.”
“We’ll keep praying for him.” Cece set out a cereal bowl and an assortment of granolas. “Sit, please. We appreciate you coming to tell us. Is there anything we can do for him? I’ll go by and check his mail later. We watered his plants, and as you can see …” She removed the cockatoo from her shoulder and set him on the table. “We’re keeping this big fella company.”
“Arck, arck.” The cockatoo stalked toward Ben. His wings were partially spread and he made a hissing sound as he snorted.
“Keep that bird away from me.” Ben backed away from the table. “Actually, I came to ask you two for advice.”
“Sure, we’re all ears.” Bob poured himself another cup of coffee.
“Yep, that’s what we’re here for,” Cece said. “Pappy here’s real sorry for turning against your family, but seriously, if you ever have a granddaughter or a daughter and you read what everyone’s saying about her, you’d be incensed too.”
“I already told Brittney I’m sorry. I left my lawyer a message last night telling her to stop spreading rumors and lies.” Ben held both of their stares, knowing he wasn’t their favorite person right now.
“Harrumph,” Bob cleared his throat and the cockatoo mimicked him with a louder squawky “haaarrumph.”
Treat joined into the throat clearing with a deep “haaarroo.”
“Am I missing something?” Ben spread his hands on the table. “I’m truly sorry what happened with the slut-shaming going on.”
“If you are, why is your lawyer countersuing Brittney for sexual harassment?” Cece grabbed her tablet and pointed to a message.
“She is?” Ben craned his neck and read the post. “I told her to stop the trash talk.”
“So she decided to lob a lawsuit instead.” Bob’s face reddened. “Call it off, Ben. There are better ways to get off on the charges than to drag my granddaughter’s reputation through the gutter.”
“I’m trying.” Ben pushed from the table. “I came to ask your help, but it looks like you’re all dead set against me. I really care about Brittney.”
“You do? In what way?” Bob glanced at Cece who wrung her hands.
“I want to help her get out of this mess.” Ben idly patted Treat who rested his head on his thigh, whining for a treat. “And I want our families to get along.”
“We would have, if it hadn’t been for all the slander against her,” Cece said. “So, am I guessing you have feelings for Brittney? Is that why you’re here?”
Ben could feel his cheeks heat. As usual, he’d given away his position. Grandpa had always said there were people who were better at reading people than he was. Just because he couldn’t figure things out, didn’t mean others, especially women, didn’t have a radar where it came to feelings and emotions.
“I’m not here to talk about feelings.” Ben’s tongue stumbled over itself. “It’s Grandpa. I spoke to the doctor and he’ll have a long rehab period. I don’t think he should live on the farmhouse by himself, and I was wondering if you two could talk him into moving here.”
“He’ll never do it,” Bob said. “They don’t allow pets here.”
The cockatoo’s crest rose and he lunged toward the granola box, mumbling bird gibberish in a complaining old man’s voice.
“We snuck them in,” Cece said. “We figure we’d get a warning first before they kick us out.”
“Actually, let me take them back,” Ben offered. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“They’re no trouble at all. Are you trouble, Big Blizzard? Oh, no you’re not.” Brittney’s grandmother fluffed the big bird’s crest.
“Trouble, trouble,” Big Blizzard mocked and shook his head. “Arck, arck, arck.”
Ben was relieved he didn’t have to take the bird, but the dog was another matter. He belonged in a place where he could run around. As fat as the basset hound was, and as many treats as he ate, he’d need lots of outdoor time to stay in shape.
“I’ll take Treat on a jog after breakfast,” Ben said. He poured himself a serving of granola. “Is there any way to get Grandpa to see that he needs help? I’m only here until the end of the year.”
“We’ll stop by and visit when he’s up to it,” Bob said.
“Great. Thanks, and he’s still on a ventilator so he can’t talk back. Might be a good time to sell him on the retirement center.”
Ben munched on the granola while fending off Big Blizzard who flapped and hissed his displeasure. You bite me and it’s over.
“We’ll do that,” Cece said, picking up the bird and putting him on her shoulder. “Now, tell me about you and Brittney.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” Ben’s collar was hot and his pulse jittered. It was time to leave before he got the first-degree granny interrogation.
She narrowed her eyes, but her mouth was curved with a smile. “I always wondered which one of you Powers boys she’d prefer.”
Ben’s heart lurched and he dropped his spoon. “One of us? What do you mean?”
“Why, you didn’t know?” Granny Reed’s grin elongated and the cockatoo on her shoulder nodded, his crest rising and falling. “She and Nash are online buddies. They started as pen pals after that summer you boys were staying here.”
Brittney and his good-for-nothing brother were pen pals?
“Has he ever visited her?” Ben’s breath seized, and suddenly, the entire weight of fatigue took ahold of him from his shoulders to his toes.
“Now, Cece, don’t you be spreading rumors or meddling,” Pappy Reed said, chuckling. He slipped a piece of bacon to Treat. “Let the young ones figure things out on their own.”
“Just giving this one here a hint.” Cece cackled, but after a few chuckles, her expression went stern again. “Nash has always been respectful of Brittney. I can’t say the same about you. Asking her to sit on your boxers was over the top. You put her in a bad position, and your team is making hay with it across the internet.”
“I’ll fix it. I promise I will.” Ben hung his head and snapped his fingers at Treat. “Come on, boy. You’re going home with me.”
“Leave him here,” Bob said. “I’ll take him for a walk and keep him. I rather like the old boy.”
“Besides, you have a lot of fixing to do with your lawyer.” Cece poured him a glass of juice. “Eat your breakfast first. You’ll need it.”
“I should leave,” Ben said. This news about Nash prickled his skin with goosebumps. His brother was a smooth talking country-western singer. Why was he keeping in touch with Brittney and not telling anyone? He had to be using her—taking advantage of her. Nash lived that ‘rolling stone gathers no moss’ adage.
He was also a habitual womanizer—a guy who played hold ’em poker with a slew of roadies, groupies, and barmaids—and he wasn’t talking about the card game. Nope. Nash was trouble through and through, and Ben wouldn’t be surprised if he had a slew of diaper-bags strung across the country.
Brittney’s grandmother lowered her face with a smug smile while her grandfather cleared his throat.
“What?” Irritation prickled every one of his raw nerves.
“Nash offered to do a benefit concert to help Brittney pay off her legal fees and raise awareness a
gainst slut-shaming.” Bob grinned, big and wide. “He’s flying in tomorrow and having it at the Christmas tree farm the weekend before Christmas.”
Chapter Sixteen
~ Brittney ~
Why is it no one tells me anything?
I’m flabbergasted, but pull my composure together. I may be a twenty-one-year-old CEO, but I’m no powder puff.
“You’re on ScrapCloud property,” I tell the iron-skirt. “We’re not a division of Shopahol for you to be walking in and out unescorted. Who let you in?”
“The Chairwoman of the Board of Shopahol herself, Jen Jones Jewell.” The brunette who wore her hair in the shape of a military helmet lifted her pointy chin. “You went AWOL. Your workers disappeared without answering phone calls and text messages.”
“What can I do to help you?” I switch tactics, since I’m not going to get into a pissing match about Jen. I’m sure she had good reasons to give this grenade-brain access.
“Has the Monkey-See module been deactivated?”
“That’s exactly what I came in to check.” I sweep into the lobby and march to my private office.
“It’s Sunday morning, why isn’t anyone here? You are aware that this partnership with Shopahol is the only thing ScrapCloud has over its competition.”
“I’m not sharing our business strategy with you. If you’ll excuse me, I have to check the build logs.” I don’t want to slam the door in her face. Scratch that. I really do want to slam it, but I have enough trouble with the law right now. “Could you wait for me in the conference room?”
I shut the door as she departs with a huff.
Someone has ransacked my office. Papers have been moved around, and a file drawer is partially open. My purse and cell phone, which I’d dropped on the floor, last night are sitting on top of my desk.
I check my phone for messages, thankful that I have a thumbprint lockscreen.
Yikes! Jen and Dave have been calling me. Rather than replay all the messages, I swipe to the remote desktop app and login to the build system.
Now, I’m hoping it’s still broken. What was it Sammie had said? That she would try to fix it even though it was not priority?
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