The Ugly Truth

by Cheryel Hutton

  I shoved those syrupy feelings back into the most cobwebbed corner of my mind and gave Dingo a final head scratch. “I’m going to get freshened up.”

  “Take your time.”

  I nodded my thanks and shut myself in the closet-sized bathroom off the back room. I looked into the mirror over the sink, and saw the wide, scared eyes of the child I thought I’d left behind. No wonder Jake had been so sweet to me. It wasn’t the caring of a man for a woman he was attracted to; instead it had been the caring of an adult for a pathetic child.

  I splashed water on my face, forced the pieces of myself back together, fixed my makeup, took a deep breath, and headed into the store. I had a job to do and I’d be damned if a bastard like the man my traitorous mother had married would keep me from doing it.

  There were customers when I got to the front, and both Jake and Margaret were busy. I got right to work by setting up my equipment and pulling the shots up into the appropriate software on my laptop.

  They left me alone, and by eleven I was finished with the first set of photos.

  “Wow! Those are amazing shots.”

  I smiled at Jake, who stood behind me looking at the computer screen. “Thank you.”

  He pointed at a photo of a roll top desk I’d converted to gray tones and then used a yellowish-red tint to make it look like an antique photo. “I’d have never thought of that, but it makes a lot of sense.”

  “I’m trying several different techniques; you can pick what you want to use.” I grinned. “No extra charge.”

  An artery in his neck jumped and his eyes went abruptly dark. I swallowed hard. Maybe he did see me as a desirable woman after all.

  “I’m going to lunch; call my cell if you get overwhelmed.” With that, Margaret walked out the door.

  “I’ve, um, got some inventory I need to take care of,” Jake said.

  I nodded, but he’d already turned to go. Even with my eyes glued to the screen, I could tell exactly where he was. Like heat-seeking missiles, my senses zeroed in on him.

  “Maddie hates his guts,” I muttered to myself. But she really didn’t. I knew that. I wasn’t quite sure what my friend felt for Jake, but hatred wasn’t it.

  I was focused on trying new ways to present the merchandise when I heard the bell over the door tinkle. I glanced up as a woman walked in. Designer jeans, four-inch heels, sleeveless blouse that looked suspiciously like silk, something about her seemed to yell, “Money.” Her jutting chin and perfect posture said she planned to get what she wanted without spending much of said money.

  I looked around, but Jake was nowhere in sight.

  The newcomer was looking at a beautiful hand-carved table, and beginning to glance around.

  I was considering running to the back to find him when her gaze caught mine. So instead, I walked over to her. “May I help you?”

  “The tag says forty-five hundred for this little table. That seems rather high.”

  The customer’s expression was one I’d seen many times in D.C., Sly. Calculating. The woman knew the table was worth much more.

  Thankfully, I remembered a few facts from Jake’s tour yesterday. “This table is nineteenth century mahogany with a marble top. It’s a beautiful piece, well worth what Mr. Blackwood is asking for it. Personally, I’d have asked a great deal more.”

  The woman raised one eyebrow. “Well, it’s fortuitous you aren’t the one setting the prices.”

  I smiled innocently. “Yes, I suppose so.”

  The woman touched a well-manicured finger over a tiny chip in the marble top. “It has a number of damaged spots.”

  “Three.”

  The customer blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “The table has two tiny chips in the marble and one, all but invisible, spot at the top of one leg. Not bad for more than a century of use, don’t you think?”

  “I’ll pay three thousand for it.”

  Ah, the game was on. I pretended to consider for a moment, then looked her directly in the eye. “I’d have to clear it with the owner, but I might be able to get you forty-three hundred.”

  “That’s insulting!”

  I saw the desire in the woman’s eyes. I had her on the hook. “It’s an excellent deal, and you know it.”

  “I could go somewhere else.”

  Please don’t let me lose this sale! “Well, you certainly can, if you believe you can find a piece of this quality at a lower price.”

  The woman made as if she was going to walk out the door, but just before she got there she turned. “Thirty-eight hundred.”

  “Four even—and I’ll have to clear it with the owner.”

  “Fine.”

  “Wait here and I’ll go get him.”

  I’d barely gotten to the counter when Jake suddenly appeared.

  “I told the lady I might be able to convince you to go four thousand for the marble top table. I know that’s a big discount.” I shot him a glance I hoped conveyed the fear playing dodgeball with my insides.

  “Hmm, well, that’s a really nice piece. I hate to go that low.” He walked over to study the table, pulling at his bottom lip with a thumb and forefinger. “I suppose I might be able to let it go for four.”

  The woman pulled out a checkbook and began writing. “I’ll have it picked up first thing in the morning.”

  “That’ll be fine,” Jake said, as he took the check.

  The woman went out the door, and I let out a long, wonderful sigh of relief as I collapsed against the counter. “You did that on purpose.”

  His wide-eyed innocent expression would have been amusing at another time. “Did what on purpose?”

  “Threw me to the sharks... I mean the customers. Alone! And I don’t work for you.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  Still with the innocent expression. That irritating, pain in the tail, hunk o’ man. “Not as a salesperson.”

  He grinned. “That’s too bad, because you’re a good one.”

  I was still irritated with him, but the compliment was nice. “You think so?”

  “Yes, Buffy, I do.”

  Before I even thought, I smacked him playfully on the arm. “Don’t call me that.”

  “Hey! Do you always hit your bosses?”

  “Only when they call me that name.”

  He was inches from me. I longed to touch his face. I longed to kiss his lips. I longed to consider what a future with him would be like.

  What the hell was wrong with me?

  Thankfully, Margaret came back before I threw myself at him—or proposed marriage.

  “Stephie made a sale while you were gone.” There was pride in Jake’s voice.

  Margaret’s face lit up. “Congratulations! Make sure he gives you your commission.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Commission? You didn’t say anything about a commission.”

  “How about we discuss it over lunch?”

  “Make him buy,” Margaret said.

  Jake held up his hands in surrender. “I was planning on it. Hold the fort down, Margaret.”

  “Don’t I always?”

  “Yes, you do. You’re a valuable employee, Mrs. Clark.”

  She didn’t even bat an eyelash. “So when do I get my raise?”

  Jake blinked. Then a tiny smile pulled at his lips for just a second. “Sorry, Margaret, I can’t afford to increase your salary right now. I just took on a second employee.”

  “Fine, so I should expect my raise how soon after Stephie leaves for D.C.?”

  Jake stopped in his tracks, head down. Stephie saw a smile on his lips, but when he glanced over his shoulder at Margaret, it was with a straight face. “I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

  “You do that, Blackwood.”

  Jake took my arm and all but pulled me toward the back. He stopped once we were out of earshot of Margaret. “If we go to a restaurant, we’re both going to be uncomfortable. If you’re willing to go upstairs to my apartment, you, Dingo, and I can have a nice, qu
iet, private lunch.”

  The idea excited me a little more than I would like. “Your apartment, huh?”

  “Yes, my apartment. It’s private. And if you’re worried, Dingo will be there as chaperone.

  “Well, I do trust Dingo.”

  I followed a chuckling Jake up the stairs and through a door that looked as if it could have been put up when the store was built. His place was basic, functional. Green, comfy looking couch. Matching chair. Flat screen television mounted on the wall behind a gorgeous, hand-tooled table. I didn’t know enough to be able to date the piece, but I was quite sure it was old and probably valuable. There was a fantastic chair in the corner. Also antique. Nothing really went together; there was no theme to the room. It was quite obvious no highly paid decorator had worked on the place. Simply beautiful pieces placed so the occupants could enjoy them.

  It was my dream apartment.

  Dingo barreled toward me, all but knocking me over. I gave the furry ball of happiness the requested head scratch.

  “What do you think?”

  I looked into Jake’s proudly shining eyes. “I love what you’ve done with the place.”

  He chuckled. “Glad you like it.”

  “So it’s true, you really can’t bring yourself to let go of some pieces.”

  “Like I told you earlier, I have to watch myself, or I’d be broke and this place would be a storage facility.”

  “I admire your self-control.”

  A slow, sexy smile wandered across Jake’s face. “Thank you.”

  Though I stood a couple of feet from him, I could feel the heat coming from his body. Strong, warm, welcome heat. I breathed in spicy aftershave and pure Jake. My lungs said move closer. My heart danced in pure joy.

  “Do you like meatball subs?” he asked.

  What? Oh, lunch. “I love meatball subs.” I do, don’t I?

  He smiled and turned toward the cute little kitchen. I followed and plopped down at the small table. The counters and appliances were white. The walls were reddish orange. The kitchen was clean with dishes washed and neatly stacked in the wooden drainer. Curtains with bright yellow flowers decorated the windows.

  I felt my forehead tighten into a frown. Either Jake had accessed his feminine side when he decorated the place, or a woman had been involved somehow. Ether scenario could explain a few things. As much as I didn’t want to, I had to know.

  “My sister helped me decorate.”

  Sister. Yes! I smiled up at him. “Are you sure you aren’t related to Aunt Octavia? I’m pretty sure you’re psychic too.”

  Jake touched his fingers to his head, and closed his eyes. “I’m having a premonition.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Yep.” He turned, took a plate in his hand and set it in front of me. “I predict that this is the best meatball sub you’ve ever tasted.”

  Twenty minutes later, I decided not only was Jake psychic, he was also an amazing cook. His creation truly was the best meatball sub, it might even be the best anything I’d ever eaten.

  He’d made four sandwiches—one for me, two for himself, and one for Dingo. I was leaning back in my chair, Dingo was sprawled in the floor, half under the table, and Jake was looking at me like I was dessert. Umm, that thought stirred interesting places in my body.

  He stood to pick up the empty dish in front of me; our gazes locked. Then he leaned toward me, and my breath sucked in and caught. Closer, closer. His lips touched mine and a fiery comet streaked from the sky to the point of lip contact and through my body, lighting fires as it went.

  Jake put the plate down and pulled me up into his arms. I stood centimeters from him, and breathed in the spicy male scent of him. Odd, maybe, but I found myself thinking how he was definitely not the soft, middle-aged dude central casting would send for an antiques dealer. He was more like a sculpted piece of granite. A warm, sexy piece.

  He pulled me tight against him and I discovered all of him was hard. Oh my.

  The kisses got deeper, and my heart banged harder against my ribs. Jake held me close as his hands roamed over my back, hips, sides, breasts.

  Through the hormone fog, I vaguely realized my arms were around Jake’s neck, I pulled him closer, rubbing against him like a cat. Good grief, I was throwing myself at him like a lovesick teenager.

  He looked into my eyes, and I held his gaze. We communicated without a word. We both knew we should stop. Now. This wasn’t right. Things were too complicated. We shouldn’t. I shouldn’t.

  And we both knew we would.

  I’m not really sure how we wound up in the bedroom; we just seemed to suddenly be there. Clothes flew and we fell onto the big bed. Jake’s hands were everywhere and his lips were close behind. My body tingled and vibrated. He touched, he licked, he made me feel like I was the only thing in his world.

  He spent the better part of the next hour proving he knew how to make a woman very, very happy.

  I was dozing against his strong chest when I realized he was staring at me. “Is something wrong?”

  He smiled and ran a finger down my cheek. “Not a thing. But I need to get back down to the store.”

  Reality dropped on me like a bucket of cold water and I sucked in a hard breath. “I’m supposed to be working.”

  Jake chuckled. “I’ll have a word with your boss.”

  “Very funny.” I felt my face heating and to distract myself, I did what I’d wanted to do since I met this enigmatic man. I ran a finger gently over the scar on his cheek, following the flat paleness to the earlobe that was also scarred. “Throwing myself at my boss wasn’t very professional of me.”

  “You didn’t.” He kissed my nose. “I hope you don’t sue me for sexual harassment.”

  I lay back and smiled into dark, erotic eyes. “I had too much fun for that, big boy.”

  “You stay right where you are for a bit. I’ll go on down and tell Margaret you and Dingo are bonding over a dog bone.”

  He was covering, for both of us. “Thank you.”

  He shrugged. “It’s a small town. I don’t want to start people talking.”

  “Wouldn’t be a good thing.”

  “Nope.” He kissed me, and the stoked fire flared again. He pulled away and stood, naked and gorgeous. “I’d better get going while I still can.”

  As he turned toward the bathroom, I saw evidence he was feeling the fire again himself. The shower started, and I thought briefly of joining him there.

  No, no, no. Jake was right. We needed to get back to work. I knew from hard experience how small towns could be. My mind went on a journey back in time, to another small town. High school was bad enough without hearing almost daily how wonderful your stepfather was, and how I should be so very grateful to have him looking out for me.

  Then there was the time I actually listened to the propaganda about confidential help being there if you needed it. I talked to a guidance counselor about my stepdad. I didn’t tell her everything, just that he yelled a lot. That night, I got the worst beating of my life. The bitch had called him, told him I was trying to cause trouble.

  Apparently it wasn’t just my stepdad the guidance counselor told, because the rumors after that were frequently about how I was a spoiled, ungrateful, little ass. Your small town tax dollars at work.

  My little trip down Wish I Could Forget Lane had the effect of an icy shower. By the time Jake came out of the bathroom, wrapped only in a towel, I wanted nothing more than to get myself cleaned up, go downstairs, and pretend nothing happened.

  Jake dressed, kissed me lightly, and headed for the door. “See you in a few.”

  He headed out, and I forced myself to slide from the warmth of his bed.

  I took a careful shower, protecting my hair and as much of my makeup as I could. I dressed, snuck down the stairs, grabbed my purse and slipped into the shop bathroom to freshen my makeup.

  Then I went out to the floor and pretended to be totally occupied with the pictures and my laptop.

  Before
long, I felt someone watching me. I glanced up to see Margaret smiling knowingly in my direction. My face blazed as I turned back to my computer. I tried to pretend I was wholly immersed in my work while in reality I fought the urge to run out the back door.

  She knew. Maybe it was the smile I couldn’t completely wipe off my face. Maybe it was my damp hair. Maybe she’d heard something from upstairs. Whatever the reason, I knew she knew, and I did the thing folks have done since the Neanderthals walked the earth: I wondered if I could, in fact, die of embarrassment.

  Jake came in the front door and handed Margaret a small white bag, then he came toward me, and held out a second one. “Cookies from the bakery down the street. They’re wonderful.”

  I reached in and took one, seeing my hand shake as I did.

  “I got Margaret a prune scone. She loves the things.”

  The smell of the cookie in my hand had a calming effect on me. “Bribery?”

  He shrugged. “I prefer to think of it as a reward for being a loyal employee. She knows how to keep her mouth shut. She used to work for lawyers, after all.”

  I peeked around Jake to see Margaret thumbing through a magazine. She took a bite of her pastry as an expression of contentment crossed her face, then went back to the magazine.

  “Would you like a Coke?”

  “I’d love one.”

  He took off and I sniffed the cookie again. My mouth was too dry to eat it, but just the scent was enough to brighten my day.

  Jake brought me the drink, and I took a sip. When my mouth didn’t resemble the Mojave Desert anymore, I allowed myself to savor the cookie. He brought me another one, and I decided we’d expended enough calories earlier to cover two little cookies. Okay, not so little cookies, but not so few calories either.

  Eventually the cookies worked their magic, and I was able to focus on my work. The gorgeous subject matter helped, and before long I was happily playing with various effects and cropping the pictures in different places.

  “You’re a fantastic artist.”

  I looked up into Jake’s dark, warm eyes. “Thank you.”

  “The stuff you do for Capitol Spy is good, but it doesn’t show your real talent.”

  My breath caught behind the top of my breastbone and expanded, making my chest ache. “You’ve seen my work for Spy?”