A door was resting on its side in the hallway, and Jane was standing several feet away, staring at him, looking even prettier than usual: dark brown hair down around her shoulders, wide brown eyes unadorned by makeup, full lips slightly parted in surprise.
“Welcome… back,” she said. Perhaps she’d almost said ‘home.’ “I hope you didn’t have to leave because of the construction.”
“I had something I needed to do,” he said. And he’d done it, or hoped he had. They’d all find out tomorrow. “How’d it go with the door?”
“Early stages,” she said. “Plans and permits.”
He squatted down and ran his hand along the ornate door panel, obviously handcrafted, an antique. “Nice. Ian got you this?” The cat was jealous, so he petted her too.
“Please. He’s helpful but not about to give me something beautiful.” She came over and picked up the cat. “It’s from my Aunt Trixie. She lives nearby.”
“It is beautiful. Where’d she get it?”
“Mark said it was from a salvage yard.”
“Who’s Mark?” How many ex-boyfriends did she have?
Her tone sharpened. “Why?”
“No reason.” He waved his hand dismissively, heading for his room. “Glad you have—”
He stopped himself from saying so many men to help you.
“So much help,” he finished, opening his door.
“He’s my cousin,” she said behind him. “Trixie’s son.”
“Of course. Well, none of my business.”
“No,” she said, which annoyed him.
“I have to write,” he said.
“Good luck with that.”
And that annoyed him too. What was the matter with him?
13
The microwave was as clean as it was ever going to get.
Jane plugged it in—it was a countertop model from the previous century—and watched the 12:00 flash until she found her phone and the current time and figured out how to set the stupid thing.
It was twenty after ten on Monday morning, her second Monday morning without a job. Leisure wasn’t her strong suit, and she was going to have to find something to do or she would end up hurling the microwave out the window, just to have something else to clean up.
The phone, still in her hand from checking the time, began chirping with a call from Whitman. Her body responded with a rush of stress hormones, and she had to take a calming breath before answering.
“This is Jane.”
“Hey there. It’s Troy Whitman.”
Was it good news or bad? She couldn’t tell by the tone of his voice. “Good morning,” she said in a neutral tone.
“First of all, I want to apologize. Gr—that is, I realized I was dropping the ball on this in a bad way. And you were left hanging. Can you come in today?”
She still didn’t know if it was going to be good or bad. “To work? Or to talk?” Like, say, about giving her a generous severance package, because she wasn’t going quietly without at least what Lorraine had.
“Oh, to work. Sorry I wasn’t clear. Fully reinstated. We look forward to having you.” He paused. “If you’re willing to come back, of course. But I hope you are.”
She smiled and did a little dance on the kitchen floor before saying, her tone as cool as she could manage, “And the other things we discussed?”
“Not yet,” he said. “I tried to make it happen this morning, but… not quite yet. You have my word I will do as much as I can, as soon as I can.”
“Is Nicole part of the problem?”
“Oh, not at all,” Troy said. “Which says a lot. If she can’t muster up a nasty thing to say about you, you must be incredible.”
“I am,” Jane said.
Troy laughed, and then, after a moment, said in a serious voice, “Will we see you later today?”
She wanted to say “yes, of course,” but she shouldn’t throw away the moment. Mr. Whitman had been sick enough to go to the hospital on Friday night. Was this something Troy was doing behind his grandfather’s back while he was indisposed, or was he officially retiring?
“Did your grandfather change his mind?” she asked.
“You don’t have to worry. I’ve got your back. I’ve spoken to HR and Nicole. All right?”
He was asking her to trust him, but she couldn’t afford to be trusting. “I just need to know a little more. Why today and not last week? We spoke at the end of the day Friday.”
There was a long pause. “I had a little help realizing a few things over the weekend. It’s time for me to step up. I will make sure everything is all right with my grandfather when he recovers.” He cleared his throat and spoke more quickly. “So how about it? Should I tell Nicole you’re coming?”
She wasn’t tough enough to ignore the honesty and vulnerability she’d heard in his voice. “Yes, I can be there in about an hour. I just wanted to understand what I was coming back to.”
“Sure, of course. No problem. Excellent.” His charming self-confidence was back. “Thanks, Jane. Can’t wait to see you in the office.”
“You too, Troy.” She was smiling as they ended the call. Back to work, thank God. No more scrubbing appliances and trying to ignore the sounds of the footsteps and breathing at the other end of the house. Every time she heard the water pipes running, she found herself wondering what he was doing, if he’d appear in the hallway, topless, a damp, skimpy towel slung low on his hips. She couldn’t wait to get out of the house and be an independent, productive, moneymaking human again.
This eagerness kept her from analyzing Troy’s words as closely as she might’ve done otherwise. She dressed, took the BART train across the bay to San Francisco, and walked up Montgomery Street to the Whitman offices with her thoughts on Nicole, the projects she’d had to abandon ten days earlier, her coworkers, the cream cheese sandwich she’d forgotten in her desk.
And then she was distracted by Troy himself, who called her to come by his office, where he shook her hand and offered her one of the peaches in the inky-black bowl on his desk.
“From the family orchard,” he said. “My mom said they’ve got them coming out of their ears.”
Most people were lucky to have a single tree. The Whitmans had multiple orchards. She took one to be polite and ran her thumb across its fuzzy skin. “Thank you.”
“Great to have you back. Like I said, don’t worry about a thing.”
“All right.” She smiled, but she didn’t like the way he said it, as if he were still trying to convince himself. “I’m taking back my original clients,” she said. “You’d handed them over to Charles, but it would be much better if I took them back.”
“Obviously. Good call.” He grinned. “Take another peach?”
“I’m good.” She thanked him again before returning to her cubicle, peach in hand.
Her coworkers greeted her with a degree of enthusiasm somewhere between indifferent and oblivious. That was her fault, not theirs; except for Sydney, who was in a meeting all afternoon, she hadn’t made friends with anyone. As the afternoon came to a close and she was sitting at her desk, going through her email as if nothing had happened, she wondered, for the first time, if she might be happier somewhere else.
Don’t be hasty, she told herself. A raise and a promotion is all you need.
It was on the train ride home, barreling through the Transbay Tunnel under the sharks and container ships, when Troy’s exact words came together in her mind and illuminated the likely scenario that had led to his abrupt show of managerial zeal this morning.
I had a little help realizing a few things over the weekend, he’d said.
Grant.
She hadn’t been able to get a seat and was standing in an awkward few inches between a manspreading young guy on the disabled bench seat near the doors and a woman’s pointy leather shoulder bag. The woman was tall, the bag had a short strap, and Jane was pissed.
Grant must have gone up to Marin on Sunday and talked to Troy.
&nb
sp; About her, about her job.
It was profoundly irritating. Infuriating, really. If she hadn’t been buried in commuter flesh inside a BART train, she would’ve uttered a string of vile curses to relieve the furious pressure building inside her.
How dare he? It was bad enough he talked to Troy and apparently told him to man up. But to then come back to her house and not tell her…
Was he there now, waiting for her to bounce through the door, giggling and relieved to have her little job back, the job she couldn’t rescue all by her little self…
Goddamn it. Godfuckingdamnit.
“Sorry,” the handbag woman said, twisting to one side.
Jane wondered how many of the curse words in her head she’d said out loud. “Thanks,” she mumbled, almost embarrassed but not really.
She was the eldest of the six children her parents had in total between them (including with their current spouses), and she did not tolerate being treated like a child. She had been born first. She was responsible, she was capable, she was amazing. Help from a man she barely knew was not necessary. In fact, it was offensive. She was offended. He’d offended her.
The woman with the handbag shot her another uneasy glance and then pushed through an impossibly dense wad of bodies to her left to escape Jane’s proximity.
Jane hoped Grant was equally respectful of Jane’s wrath and power. Because just wait until she got home and told him where he could stick his paternalistic rich-boy privileged asswipe help.
Because Grant had been watching out his bedroom window for her, he saw Jane pull into the driveway at a reckless angle, jump out, and slam the door while she frowned at the house. At his bedroom window. At him.
She must’ve driven to the BART station and taken the train from there. Driving all the way to the city wouldn’t be affordable, not with bridge tolls and parking fees. Troy had mentioned how he’d convinced Grandfather to subsidize employees’ public transit costs. It had been Grant’s idea, but Troy probably hadn’t told him that.
He watched Jane march up to the house with a death glare on her face. In spite of himself, he smiled, more than a little turned on. It was the look she’d been wearing on the day they’d met, right after she’d been fired. He wished he could hear the patchwork of profanity coming out of her mouth. Her soft, red, sexy mouth.
He heard her slam the front door behind her, then knock on his.
“Grant, I want to talk to you.”
There were a few ways he could play this. He could act dumb, pretending he hadn’t spent an hour on Sunday coaching his baby brother to stand up not just for Jane but for himself. Troy would never tell Jane that Grant had convinced him that the rest of the company was slowly losing respect for Troy, respect that could never be regained.
“Standing up for Jane will do a lot to reassure the rest of the company that you’re on their side,” Grant had said. “Grandfather might get sick again. Even in the best of health, he’s out of the office for extended periods. Good people will start leaving, fed up with a lack of leadership. The ones who do stay won’t trust you.”
“I don’t want to hurt him,” Troy had said.
“I know.” Grant respected Troy’s loyalty and affection for their grandfather. But Troy had always had too much heart for his own good and a need to please everyone that was impossible. “He knew this time was coming. You’re the best one to tell him that time is now. He loves you. Trust him to trust you.”
Several hours ago, Troy had sent Grant a quick message telling him that Jane was back at work.
“Grant!” She was banging on the door again.
Shadow had stolen one of his socks earlier, and after Grant had retrieved it, the cat had somehow found a way into his room. Now he worried she’d see the cat and think he’d stolen her.
He walked over slowly in his fluffy, sound-dampening wool socks and paused. It was tempting to play dumb, but she’d see right through him. And he kind of wanted the credit even if she was mad at him about it. It made him feel manly and powerful. Her cat-stealing knight in striped, hand-knitted knee-highs.
He opened the door. “I can explain.”
Shadow bark-meowed at Jane.
“You should’ve told me,” she said.
“I didn’t want to get your hopes up. I didn’t know if he was going to listen to me.”
“So you admit it.” She readjusted her fists on her hips, but he could see his answer had deflated her rage. “You talked to him about me.”
“I had to. Not just for you, Troy, or even my grandfather. For me.”
She frowned. “Why for you?”
“I was going to get dragged into it anyway if Troy didn’t take charge. Grandfather wouldn’t ever let go if he thought Troy wasn’t strong enough to run the business he’d built.” Grant moved closer, unable to resist the pull between them. “My grandfather has never stopped pressuring me to live the kind of life he values. I think he’s still hoping I’ll go to spreadsheet school and take my rightful place at Whitman as his eldest grandson.”
“You’re saying you got my job reinstated to help your career, not mine?”
“I apologize,” he said. “I’m a very selfish, horrible person.”
Shaking her head, Jane turned and dropped her bag on the floor outside his door and then picked up Shadow. “It’s not called spreadsheet school,” she said, nuzzling the cat’s neck.
“Sorry. Spreadsheet University.”
Her lips twitched. “You still should’ve told me you talked to Troy. I always want the truth. How it affects my feelings is irrelevant.”
He wasn’t convinced she was as invincible as she wanted to think, but he nodded contritely. “I didn’t expect him to take action so quickly. I didn’t know if he’d be able to do anything that might hurt Grandfather. He loves that man, in spite of— Well, he’s the favorite for a reason. He’s the nicest of all of us.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not so sure about that,” she said quietly.
“Oh, come on. I’m a selfish bastard. That’s why I live in the wilderness where nobody can bother me. Me, myself, and I. Party of one. King of my domain.”
She took off her pink sweater—oh God, she was wearing a clingy sleeveless thing underneath—and folded it neatly. “Well, Your Highness, soon your domain will have a door, and it will be a lot harder for me to bother you here.” She held up Shadow. “Or my cat.”
He would not stare at her breasts. He’d hiked miles through freezing rain, feasted on raw oats and muddy ramen, slept on sloping gravel; he could do anything. “You’re never a bother, Jane.”
During an awkward pause, he decided he probably shouldn’t have said that.
“Right back at you, Your Majesty,” she said finally, turning away.
He watched her disappear into the kitchen before taking a breath.
14
Over the next several weeks, Jane threw herself into her work, Ian installed the door, and life returned to normal. So far as she knew, Grant was working on his book, although she didn’t see him very often anymore, only when they were both coming or going at the same time, which wasn’t often. She followed a corporate schedule, up and out early, back late, and he— Well, she didn’t know what he did. She hoped his writing was going well. Some evenings she paused in the hallway, watching for a glimpse of him through the colored glass panes of the new door, but usually she had the willpower to avert her gaze. Most of the time.
July became August, and the day for the Billie and Ian’s engagement-bridal-baby party was only a week away. To her embarrassment, her mother, stepfather, father, and stepmother had chosen a corporate Mexican chain restaurant as the venue for the big event. Their daughter was marrying a millionaire, and they’d chosen to toast the couple at a Chevys Fresh Mex between a freeway overpass and a Toyota dealership.
“This is Sonoma, Mom,” Jane had pleaded. She’d driven up in person to make her case. “There are all kinds of beautiful places up here for a party. Wineries, hotels, farms, anything.” Her
stepfather, Ken, was learning how to play the electric guitar. In the dining room, several yards away.
“That’s awesome, dude!” her mother, Karen, shouted to her husband from the kitchen. She and Ken were one of those absurdly successful second marriages. If they’d ever argued, Jane had never seen it, and Ken had married her mother when she was in kindergarten. “What were you saying, Jane? It’s great to see you, of course, but you look really tired. I got Billie some Epsom bath soaks as a nice little treat for her during all that’s going on, but maybe I should’ve given it to you. I will. I’ll go get it.”
Jane caught her mom’s wrist. “No, I’m fine. You know I don’t like baths.”
“Surely you’ve outgrown that by now?”
“Why would I outgrow a completely understandable dislike of sitting cold and naked in dirty water?”
Shaking her head, Karen sat back down and poured more coffee in Jane’s cup. “So funny.”
“What’s funny?”
“You,” Karen said. “Still the same person you were as a baby. I think that’s funny. We think we, as parents, have all this power in how our children come out, but then reality hits. I’m so glad I had more babies after you.”
Jane grabbed the tub of cream cheese from her mother’s side of the table and jabbed her knife into it. Because Karen had been so young when Jane came along, their relationship was a little more casual than with her younger daughters. They liked the same music, borrowed each other’s clothes, shared a hair stylist—and argued like sisters. Actually, Jane argued more with her mother than she did with Holly and Rachel, who, barely out of college, seemed too young and innocent to survive a good, energetic sharing of ideas.
“You’re glad you had more kids because I turned out to be such a disappointment?” Jane asked, balancing a mountain of cream cheese on a single, tiny fish cracker. Her feelings weren’t hurt; she just wanted her mother to think so and then apologize and agree to move the party to French Laundry or a Napa Valley winery. Anywhere other than Chevys. She was going to be bringing Grant Whitman, for God’s sake. She kept remembering that estate in Marin with the suits of armor and orchards and private iron gate and…
Going Wild Page 10