Robin Kaye Bundle
Page 3
“If you think your wedding’s gonna upstage mine, you got something coming to you. How dare you get engaged before I’m married? This is my time. Mine!”
“Annabelle?” Great, first her mother, then her sister.
“Who’d you think it was? The freakin’ Good Humor Man?”
“No, the Virgin Mary.”
“Very funny. Look, just because you’re an old maid doesn’t mean you can . . . Oh my God, you got knocked up! I thought you looked bloated today.”
“I do not look bloated!” Rosalie looked down. Okay, she did look a little bloated—what do you expect after eating for four hours? “Look, Annabelle, why don’t you call Mama and talk to her? I gotta go.”
Joey returned the phone and disconnected it. There would be no more phone calls. “Rosalie.” He took her hands again but this time, thank God, he stayed on his feet. “Pop’s gonna retire at the end of the year. He and Mama are moving to Florida with Nonna. I’m gonna buy them out of the butcher shop, so I think it’s time we finalized our arrangement. We’ll live in their apartment above the store, and you can quit your job. You’ll be too busy helping me run the store to work. And once we start a family, you’ll have the children to care for. Marry me, Rosalie.”
Rosalie couldn’t imagine how bad the proposal would have been if he hadn’t practiced. No declaration of everlasting love, no promises of forever. Just “I’m buying out my parents’ business, and I want to finalize our arrangement.” His proposal was so romantic, she couldn’t contain herself. She melted. Not!
Joey pulled out a ring box and opened it to show off the smallest diamond this side of a saw blade. He’d pulled out all the stops.
“Yeah, Joey, I think it’s time we finalized our arrangement, too. I won’t marry you. I’m sorry, but you’ll just have to find someone else to help you run the store. I’m a corporate turnaround expert, and I’m damn good at it. Hell, I’m up for vice president. I didn’t put myself through school and work my butt off for the last five years so I could run your butcher shop.”
“I’d run it. You’d only help me.”
“Whatever. It’s not going to happen.”
His jaw dropped, and then that disapproving look resurfaced.
“Okay, you take some time to think about it. Just remember, Rosalie, you’re not getting any younger. It’s not like you’re going to get a better offer. I own my own business. I make good money. You’ll have a nice home over the shop. What more do you want?”
Rosalie’s mother and aunt had told her the very same thing between the antipasto and the manicotti. It seemed insanity was catching. “That’s the third time today I’ve been called an old maid. I’m only twenty-seven, for Christ’s sake!”
His disapproving look made her want to scream. Joey didn’t believe women should curse. Well, too damn bad. “I’m not an old maid, and though I might not know what I want, I certainly know what I don’t want. I don’t want to ever marry you. So you can take your ring and your business arrangement and leave before I let Dave show you to the door.”
“Rosalie, calm down—”
“Don’t tell me to calm down. I want you out of here. Now.”
Dave heard the shouting and started head butting the door. Joey looked from the bedroom door to Rosalie and slowly backed out of the living room. He had one hand on the doorknob when he cleared his throat and squared his shoulders.
“You’ll be sorry you threw my proposal in my face. You mark my words. No one is going to want you now. Oh, and you do look bloated.” He slammed the door behind him.
Rosalie let Dave out of the bedroom and noticed that all the trim around the door would have to be replaced. She figured she got off easy. She locked up and turned out the lights before going to bed. She didn’t watch Joey leave.
Chapter 3
ROSALIE HAD TO FACE FACTS. THE DAY HAD BEEN A COMPLETE loss, and it was all the fault of the man who shall remain nameless. She’d spent a sleepless night asking herself why she’d dated an idiot for two years. The answer was not one she’d ever want repeated outside the hallowed halls of a shrink’s office. To make matters worse, she’d missed her subway stop and was late for work, all because she’d been thinking about “him.” The subway debacle also made her late for her staff meeting, where she got caught not paying attention because she’d been thinking about him. Again. Madònne.
Okay, so he could be described as smart and gorgeous. Too bad “complete buttinsky” fit the bill, too. Who’d asked for his opinion, anyway?
Rosalie had been trying to distance herself from Joey. Could she help it that Joey was too much of an idiot to notice? It’s not as if her refusal to marry him had anything to do with a knight-in-shining-wrecker fantasy. She’d been unhappy in the relationship long before Mr. Buttinsky did his Dr. Phil impression.
By the time five o’clock rolled around, she’d only accomplished avoiding her mother and sister. It paid to have a pushy assistant.
Nobody got by Gina. Rosalie had never known anyone to intimidate her mother, but Gina did—and Rosalie would be indebted to her forever. Unfortunately, Gina also intimidated Rosalie.
She cringed as Gina walked into her office and closed the door. She should have known she wouldn’t get away without a bit of bloodletting.
Rosalie had thought it odd when Gina hadn’t pressed for information during lunch. The thought of food had her reaching for an antacid. Talk about agita. God forbid she should be one of those people who can’t eat when they’re nervous or upset. No, she became the human equivalent of a self-propelled vacuum, eating anything and everything in sight. Not only had she eaten a whole Katz’s pastrami sandwich, an unbelievable feat, but she’d finished Gina’s meal. Even the servers had been astounded. Rosalie was proud of herself, though—she hadn’t let anything slip. She only opened her mouth to stuff food in it.
Gina tossed her short, inky hair out of her eyes and warmed up for round two. “I’m ready to leave for the day. I’ve turned the phone over to voice mail, so your mother’s tenth call will be answered. Now you can tell me what the hell happened to make a sweet, albeit controlling, mother hen lose all her tail feathers and most of her sanity.”
Rosalie stared at the floor, knowing that in a few minutes Gina would say the dreaded I-told-you-so. She and Gina worked too closely together to keep their personal lives out of their relationship. Hell, they were so close that they even had their periods at the same time. And yes, the rest of the office treaded lightly and avoided them like the plague during the nightmare PMS week, the cowards. Her boss even had it noted on his Black-Berry. Talk about embarrassing.
“Joey proposed last night, and I said no.” Just because they were close didn’t mean she had to go into specifics, did it?
“We’ll get back to the deets of Joey’s proposal in a moment. The fact you said no explains your mother’s rash of phone calls, including the one asking me if you should use Benadryl or cortisone cream on hives—”
“Look Gina, I’d love to dish, but I have to pick up my car at Romeo’s before it closes.” She shut down her computer, gathered her things without making eye contact, and prayed she’d make it out alive. No such luck.
Gina stepped in front of the door, the one entrée to freedom. Rosalie sneaked a look out the window and wondered how bad it would hurt if she jumped. Sure, they were on the fifth floor, but maybe she’d hit an awning and break her fall.
Nah. She wasn’t that lucky. If she were, she wouldn’t have to consider jumping out the window in the first place.
Gina gave her the stink eye. How Gina could look down her nose at Rosalie when she stood a good eight inches shorter defied physics. Then she smiled her I’m-going-to-torture-you-and-enjoy-it smile, her golden brown eyes sparkling with anticipation.
“I’ll walk with you to the subway.”
Sure she would. “If you’re going to pump me for information on the way, the least you could do is ply me with alcohol.” She heard the definite hint of a whine in her last statement.
“I plan to.”
“Oh, good. It’s nice to know that some things don’t change. You still anesthetize me before you open me up. It’s always less painful that way.”
They left the office and pushed their way into the first elevator. Once they hit the lobby, Gina continued her interrogation, as if the elevator ride hadn’t happened.
“You didn’t have to lie to me about your car, chica. I thought we were friends.”
She pushed past a group of women and went out the revolving door as fast as her short legs could carry her. Gina had to be pissed off to slip into Spanish, and a pissed-off Gina was not just a little bit scary. Rosalie gave herself a virtual thump on the head when she remembered she’d learned to curse in Spanish from Gina. Three years of Spanish—wasted.
They stopped at a street corner to wait for the light to change. Rosalie straightened the strap on her purse. “It’s not a lie. I got a flat tire on the way home from dinner last night.”
“Since when do you take your car to a garage for a flat?”
“Since I asked Richie to get me a spare. He pocketed my money and forgot to buy it. And to think I lent him the damn car in exchange for his tire knowledge.”
Traffic cleared, and Gina pushed by two nuns to jaywalk. She raised one eyebrow. “Tire knowledge?”
Rosalie said hello to the sisters and crossed herself for good measure before passing them. “All those years of Richie stripping cars with his buddies must have taught him something.”
“Other than what military life was like?”
“It was a military prep school.”
“It was his one chance to stay out of jail. I know the story.”
“Fine. Anyway, I had no spare, so I had the car towed to Romeo’s.” Rosalie opened the door to their after-work watering hole. She watched as Gina—a cross between Jessica Rabbit and Tinkerbelle with a Latin twist—strode through on four-inch heels that brought her up to a whopping five feet four. Rosalie always enjoyed watching men’s heads turn and jaws drop like dominoes when they saw Gina. Not that she ever noticed.
“Romeo’s was open on a Sunday night?”
“I don’t know. Nick drove by and stopped. He towed the car and dropped me off at home.” Rosalie took a seat at the bar and tucked her briefcase behind the foot rail.
“Nick?”
“The mechanic driving the wrecker. Anyway, after I got home, Joey came over and proposed, if that’s what you’d call it.”
“Why? How’d he do it?”
Suffice it to say, Gina gave her a refresher course on cursing in Spanish and attracted the attention of every man in the bar. Of course, she did that by breathing. Over the years, Rosalie had gotten used to it. She knew not to have Gina sit in on any meetings with a straight man in attendance. Nothing got accomplished.
By the time they’d finished their second drink, Gina had said her “I-told-you-so’s,” and Rosalie had heard several new descriptions of an idiot, both in English and Spanish, but she’d yet to hear one “poor baby.” Instead, she had to deal with a drunken Gina doing a happy dance over the still-warm corpse of her failed relationship.
When it came to disliking Joey, Gina and Dave were alike, though Dave was more subtle.
After pouring Gina into a cab headed uptown, Rosalie called her neighbor to ask him to let Dave out and went straight to Romeo’s. In the service department, she waited for the woman with the beehive hairdo to finish talking to an old codger. Had no one ever told her that beehives went out with the ’60s? She turned her blue eye-shadowed gaze toward Rosalie.
“What can I do for you?”
“I’m here to pick up my car.” Rosalie dug the work order out of her pocket and smoothed the wrinkles before sliding it across the counter. She saw the woman’s nametag and smiled. The name Trudy fit.
“Oh, so you’re the one. Okay, I’ll call the boss.”
As Trudy paged Nick, her eyes never left Rosalie. Within seconds, five women came out of various doorways and crowded behind the counter to join in the stare fest while they tried to look busy.
Rosalie looked around the waiting area, trying to ignore the fact that several women were staring at her. It was nice—the waiting room, not the women staring. It had a section with desks and Internet access for customers to work while they waited, a play area for kids, and an area with TVs, magazines, and leather couches. Nick must be the service manager, since Trudy had called him the boss. Impressive.
“Hi, Rosalie.”
She turned at the sound of Nick’s voice. He’d snuck up on her. He wore black slacks and a white Oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Nothing special, but on him it made her newly single hormones do the tango.
“Hi.” Okay, not the most brilliant conversation starter, but she was happy she could utter a single syllable. Maybe she shouldn’t have had that second dirty martini.
Nick shot a glance at the women gathered behind the desk, and they scattered faster than a bunch of kids after breaking a window.
“Do you have that effect on all women, or only the ones who work for you?” There, that was better.
“Only the nosy ones working for me. I don’t see you running away.”
“I can’t. You’re holding my car hostage. Speaking of which, I need to pay for it before closing.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He handed her the key to her car. It hung from a ring with a numbered manila tag. “Let me get my coat, and we can leave.”
“No. I mean thanks, but I don’t want to get you in trouble, and I need to buy a spare—”
Nick moved closer and put his hand on her shoulder. She’d taken off her trench coat; the heat from his hand seeped through her suit jacket.
“I replaced the tire. The nail in it was too close to the edge to fix. And you have a new full-size spare. I won’t get into trouble, so forget about it.”
“Still, I can’t accept, but thanks. I’ll settle up with Trudy while you get your coat.”
Nick shook his head and ran his hand though his hair. “Fine. I’ll have Trudy charge you cost, but no labor.”
Nick spoke in hushed tones to Trudy. The two of them nodded a lot and shot incredulous glances in her direction. After Nick left, it took a few minutes for Trudy to punch the information into the computer and come up with a bill.
Nick returned, wearing a leather bomber jacket. “Are you ready to go? I’ll follow you home to drop off your car.”
“Why?”
“We’re going out to dinner.”
“I’ll follow you to the restaurant.” Rosalie dug through her pocketbook for her wallet. After she’d found it, she noticed Nick had his jaw clenched. Trudy shoved the bill toward her and moved over to the other side of the long counter.
Nick’s arms were crossed, and he didn’t look like a happy camper. He spoke through clenched teeth. “I never let my dates drive.”
She couldn’t believe him. She should have been outraged, but he looked so sexy, all annoyed. He got a tick by his left eye, ran his fingers though his hair, and stood with his feet apart so his slacks stretched tight across his thighs and package. Her heart raced as if she’d run five miles. Not that she ever had, but if she did, she assumed her heart would race like that. She wondered if looking at Nick could burn the same number of calories as running. If it could, every woman alive would be flinging her running shoes in the trash.
“Nick, I hardly know you. I’d prefer to drive myself.”
“You don’t trust me? I’m a good guy. Ask Trudy. She’ll vouch for me.”
Nick was tall. When Rosalie wore heels, she was in the neighborhood of six feet—yeah, they were four-inch heels, and no, she didn’t wear them because they make her legs look amazing—but Nick still towered over her. Well, maybe towered was an exaggeration, but in her book, if she wore heels and the guy wasn’t eye level with the twins, he was a keeper.
“I don’t care if the Pope himself vouches for you. I’m still going to take my car and meet you at the restaurant.”
Rule number two—Never sleep with the guy on the first date, no matter what, even if her hormones told her to hurry the hell up, they wanted a cigarette.
Rule number three—If you fight on the first date, don’t make a second. Damn, she hated that one. Well, right now, she pretty much hated rule number two as well.
By Rosalie’s definition, a fight meant both parties had to participate. To avoid that, she came up with the perfect compromise. “How about I drive you to the restaurant?”
That way, if he turned out to be a psycho and she had to make an escape, he’d be the one stuck walking through a dangerous neighborhood, not her, thus following rule one and rule three.
Rosalie thought he’d be happy, but no, he had a look of absolute horror on his face. So much for her brilliant plan.
“Look, Nick, I appreciate you taking care of my car, but it’s getting late, and I don’t have much of an appetite.”
“You follow me to the restaurant, and I’ll follow you back to your place. No date of mine leaves without me seeing her home safe.”
“Fine, whatever. Let me finish paying, and we can go.”
Trudy seemed to have enjoyed every second of their debate. Rosalie studied the bill and saw that Nick hadn’t charged her for towing. She wanted to point out the discrepancy, but he’d give her a hard time, and she wasn’t up to avoiding another fight. It went against her nature. Rosalie liked nothing better than a good bout of verbal sparring to get the blood flowing, but she had to consider that pesky rule number three. Plus, fighting with a guy sometimes ended in hot, sweaty, make-up sex, but because of rule number two, that couldn’t happen.
Nick checked the rearview mirror of the new Mustang he drove. Rosalie had no problem following him. It would be almost impossible to lose her. That neon yellow car stuck out like a sore thumb. He shuddered at the thought of riding shotgun in the Barbie Mobile. He had his reputation to consider. He’d lose his credibility and the respect of his staff in one fell swoop. Plus, he’d never live it down if someone in his family found out—and they always found out.