Loving Mr. July

by Margaret Antone

  And she was taller tonight, on account of the ridiculously high heels she wore. A rather loud purple, they were kind of hard not to notice. How she walked in them, he had no idea, but evidently, she was used to heels.

  “So you want sexy, but you stay because of Blake.” Cynthia wiped her mouth delicately with her napkin.

  No, I want sex, and with you, Kurt thought, as he watched the napkin move across her full lips. Geez, where had that thought come from? It must be the starvation diet. He set his salad aside, tried to focus on the conversation. “And the other younger shareholders, the workers at the company who have a stake in the success. I’m not going to walk away.”

  “You’re a good man, Kurt.”

  “Don’t let it get around.” Kurt made light of her words. “Would hurt my negotiating power.”

  The smile suddenly left Cynthia’s face. “Excuse me a minute. I’ll be right back.” With that abrupt line, she got up and hightailed it for the back of the restaurant.

  What set her pants on fire? He thought they’d been starting to connect in a deeper way. The woman was going to drive him crazy.

  A man’s grating voice from the back of the restaurant sounded familiar. Kurt turned to see the guy from the gym, the one who had been practically pinning her to the wall a couple of weeks ago before he’d intervened, in an animated conversation with Cynthia near the restaurant bathrooms.

  She gets up and leaves me mid sentence to go get cozy with that guy again? The hell with that, Kurt thought. He stood up, started making his way toward them, purpose in every step. It was only when he got closer that he realized the guy had his hand on Cynthia’s breast, and she was trying very hard to remove it.

  Kurt saw red. He closed the remaining distance in short order, determined to bean the guy. But when the man looked up and saw Kurt, he dropped his hand in a hurry and ducked into the restaurant’s kitchen area.

  Cynthia put a hand on his arm to restrain him before he followed the guy. “Let him go, Kurt, please?”

  “Give me one good reason.” Kurt looked down at the arm on his sleeve, and back up to her face. “The guy had his hands all over you. And it didn’t look like you wanted it. Or did I read that wrong?”

  “I didn’t!” Cynthia became visibly distraught. “And would you please keep your voice down?”

  “So why did you come running over her to meet him?”

  Cynthia looked down, miserable. “Because I didn’t want him to come to our table and make a scene.”

  “Get your stuff.” Kurt knew he was coming across as an ass, but he was too angry at the moment to care. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

  Cynthia turned away, but not before Kurt saw the tears coming to her eyes.

  Shit.

  ~ ~ ~

  Kurt couldn’t sleep.

  And Cynthia’s face kept coming to his mind. She’d said nothing during the drive home about her encounter with the guy from her past, although she had seemed more than a little upset. In fact, she had not wanted to stay at his house for the first time since they’d started the intense workouts. But it was so late, and she’d had a fair amount of wine for her height, so he had insisted on her staying in one of the guest rooms. And she had been too tired and miserable to argue.

  His stomach rumbled, complaining about the pittance of food it had received. He hadn’t felt like eating the steak the manager had packaged for them. At this rate, he was going to be a skeleton by the time those photos were finally taken. If he survived that long.

  Screw it, he thought, it was a night for beer on the deck. Maybe even two.

  He headed toward the kitchen, when an odd sound coming from the living room caught his attention, and he turned to investigate. The light from the full moon illuminated the room enough that he could see Cynthia huddled in a corner, one arm draped over Lucky. A huge container of ice cream sat melting on the side table, half eaten. While Cynthia sobbed, Lucky whimpered and licked at her face.

  Kurt walked over, put one hand on Lucky’s head and the other on Cynthia’s shoulder. “Cynthia?”

  She burrowed deeper into the couch and sniffled. “Go away.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Just go away.” The sobs resumed in earnest.

  Kurt sat on his haunches in front of her. “I don’t think so.” There was crying and then there was heartbreaking despair. Kurt had lived long enough to know the difference. And this wasn’t just crying.

  His response instinctive, he moved next to her on the couch, and brought her into his arms. She resisted at first, but eventually gave up.

  Kurt stroked her arms and back in slow movements. After a long while, she stilled, and the sobs became hiccups. And the hiccups turned into silence.

  He handed her some tissues and waited while she blew her nose, wiped her eyes. When she made a move to get up, and remove herself from his arms, he tightened them.

  “Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

  Cynthia remained silent so long, Kurt eventually turned her to see if she’d fallen asleep. But she hadn’t. She looked up at him with the saddest eyes he’d ever seen.

  “I’m a total loser.” Her eyes flicked to the ice cream carton, her face full of self-disgust.

  He gave her a quick hug and starting stroking her arms again. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

  Cynthia let out a deep, shuddering sigh.

  Another long silence ensued. Kurt waited it out, continuing to stroke her arms.

  “That guy, in the gym and in the restaurant tonight?” Cynthia looked straight ahead, not waiting for his response. “I knew him in high school. I’ve changed a lot since then, but he apparently doesn’t think so. It’s important that you know I didn’t encourage him.”

  “Okay.” Kurt tried to look her in the face, but she stared resolutely ahead.

  “In fact, both tonight and at the gym, he was trying to pin me to the wall, starting to try to feel me up.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Kurt tensed, then forced himself to relax his arms when he realized he was probably hurting her. “Why didn’t you let me take care of the guy?”

  Cynthia continued in a monotone, almost as if she didn’t hear him. “He felt it was almost like his right, that I would welcome it, because of what happened in high school. You see, I had let him get away with stuff like that back then. I had no respect for myself. Later, through a lot of counseling I realized that is often the case for victims of child abuse.”

  “Who abused you?” It all started to make sense, Kurt realized, her steadfast dedication to the Bocher Foundation, Sharon’s protectiveness when Kurt had questioned her about it.

  “My father,” Cynthia replied, the only indication since she started talking that she acknowledged his existence. “A teacher figured it out, got me help. I still am in touch with her, even though she’s long since retired.”

  Kurt blinked back moisture, thinking about the cases he’d heard about when he first decided to pick the Bocher Foundation as RentBro’s foster charity. To think that Cynthia had lived through something like that was unbearable. He looked upward, sent a silent prayer of thanks to his father, who he always felt looked over him still, even though he’d died a number of years ago. And he decided he’d go visit his mother tomorrow, bring her some flowers, give her a hug.

  “The short story is the guy at the gym wasn’t the only one I gave my favors too freely to.” Cynthia looked down, plucked at the blanket she’d wrapped around herself. “It happened long ago, but it did happen. It’s ugly and embarrassing. And the way I’ve always coped is by feeding my face. I wouldn’t blame you if you were disgusted.”

  Kurt pulled her in closer, rested his chin on her head, thought about her words. He realized that what he said now was important, maybe the most important conversation he would ever have with her. Cynthia may not realize it, but she’d come to matter to him. And he didn’t want to hurt her.

  “I’m not disgusted, Cynthia. Not with you anyway.” He rested his cheek against her ha
ir, brought a hand up to caress the side of her face. “I want to murder that guy. Your father maybe too, but not you.”

  Cynthia gave a ragged sigh. “Too late for my father. He’s long gone. And the guy at the gym? He’d only sue you. Don’t give him the satisfaction.”

  “Cynthia, the guy’s a creep. My Dad taught me that when a woman says no, it means no.” Even if she’s led you to the brink of insanity, he thought to himself. “The guy was pretty much assaulting you. That’s not okay!”

  “I guess he was, wasn’t he?” Cynthia said in a soft voice.

  “So mind telling me why you went voluntarily to see him in the back of the restaurant tonight?”

  Cynthia sighed. “It was stupid. I just didn’t want him to come by our table, say something embarrassing. Have you think worse of me.”

  “Think worse of you?” Kurt shifted her in his arms so he could look her in the eye. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Cynthia shrugged, moved away from his arms and looked away.

  “Cynthia?” Kurt put a hand up to her face. “Cynthia, look at me.”

  She shook her head.

  “Okay, have it your way.” Kurt moved to kneel in front of the couch so he could look up into her face.

  She swiped at her eyes and bit her lip.

  “Let’s clear some things up.” Kurt gently pushed her hair behind her ears so he could see her face. “The fact that you were a victim when you were younger is not your fault. The guy tonight, also not your fault. I mean, probably not the smartest of you to approach him, seeing as he outweighs you by a lot and is much taller and probably stronger than you, but you could press charges. And should if he tries that again.”

  “I know,” Cynthia said, nodding miserably.

  “And in terms of us? Yeah, I was irritated by the whole calendar thing. I thought you were behind it, and it made me mad, because you always seemed so unfriendly to me.”

  “I did?” Cynthia turned astonished eyes to Kurt.

  “Seemed so,” Kurt said, shrugging, suddenly feeling a little stupid. “Anyway, I just found out recently that it was Blake who stuck me with the calendar.”

  “He told you?”

  Kurt nodded. “And I managed not to rearrange his face.”

  Cynthia gave a watery smile. “Sharon thanks you.”

  “To be honest, I don’t really care about the calendar. It’s somewhat embarrassing, but if it helps the foundation, I’m willing to do it.”

  Cynthia’s brow came together. “So why all the fuss—the workouts, the food, making me live here?”

  “Like I said, I only found out recently that you weren’t behind it.”

  “So it was a case of revenge, so to speak.”

  Kurt gave her a hang dog look. “I did need a workout partner. I can find tons of excuses if left to my own devices.”

  He could tell Cynthia was trying hard not to laugh, trying instead to look mad, but she lost the struggle. He felt like he’d won the lotto. “Forgive me?”

  Cynthia considered him for a long moment. “A week ago, I would have said no. I mean my body hasn’t hurt so much in years.”

  “But?” He could tell from the slight smile on her face that she wasn’t really mad.

  “But I’ve lost weight for the first time in years,” Cynthia said, then inclined her head toward the ice cream carton. “Although after tonight, I’ve probably set myself back.”

  “There’s always tomorrow,” Kurt said mildly.

  Cynthia gave a defeated little shrug. “But what’s more is I’m starting to have more energy at work. So I realize that I should make it a priority to workout more, even if I hate it.”

  “You should,” Kurt agreed, then put up a hand when she started to look affronted. “Don’t drag me into the weight thing. That’s not what I’m talking about. You should because it’s healthier. You’ve come a long way in two weeks.”

  Cynthia gave him a questioning look.

  “You think I didn’t notice you skipping every other number when you were counting sets?”

  “Busted.” Cynthia giggled.

  “And now you’re counting like a regular person.”

  Cynthia smiled. She reached for another tissue and wiped her eyes again before looking him straight in the eye. “Thank you, Kurt.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “For?”

  “For listening. For not judging. For being a friend.” She leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ve totally humiliated myself in front of one of San Diego’s most eligible bachelors, and yet you’ve managed to make me laugh.”

  Kurt looked into her blue eyes and felt his world shift a bit. Every part of him wanted to kiss her, make love to her, make the hurt go away. But he knew instinctively that now was not the time.

  He drew in a deep breath, got up, and gave her a brief hug and managed to get a couple of words out. “You bet.”

  He turned away before she could see his body’s reaction. Now he really needed that beer.

  Chapter 8

  A few days later, Cynthia sat in Sharon and Blake’s sunny kitchen, hoping her best friend could help her make sense of her muddled feelings.

  “So he just says ‘you bet,’ pats my hand, and walks off to have a beer.” Cynthia finished telling her story, and added some more sugar to her coffee. “I mean, I was having a moment there. I had just spilled my guts about my past to a man for the first time, and he acted like we’d just concluded an impersonal business deal.”

  Sharon, who had been sipping her own coffee, making sympathetic noises and nodding during the entire tale, now put her coffee cup down, waited a beat. “Have you thought about how he might have felt during this whole thing?”

  Cynthia shook her head, feeling sheepish. “I was so embarrassed that he caught me stuffing my face, for one, and then blubbering all over his dog, that I couldn’t even look at him when I told him my story. I’m not even sure why I did.”

  That wasn’t strictly true, Cynthia admitted to herself. She thought about how comforting it had felt to be held in his arms that night, the first time in many years that a man had held her in compassion, and not with sexual intent. She had felt safe, which was odd, seeing as he had only been wearing the boxers he apparently slept in. Of course, he hadn’t appeared to ever have any interest in her as a woman. “Maybe he was disgusted? Felt pity?” Cynthia voiced the thoughts roiling through her mind.

  “It’s hard for anyone not to pity the loss of your childhood,” Sharon chided her gently. “But disgusted? That doesn’t sound like Kurt. I’ve come to know him beyond his surface geniality in this last year since I married into the family. Their parents raised them well.”

  “Not that you’re biased or anything.” Cynthia winked at her.

  Sharon inclined her head, gave a slight shrug. “I confess to more than a little bias. But you’ve met their mother, Marjorie, during your foundation dealings. You know what I’m talking about.”

  Cynthia smiled. “Yeah, other than her weakness for Louboutin shoes, she’s pretty much salt of the earth. Must be those Midwestern genes.”

  “So knowing that, I don’t think Kurt would blame you for being a victim.”

  “I told him about some of my poor choices as a teenager though too.”

  “Who doesn’t make mistakes in their life?” Sharon nibbled on her Danish. “He’s not so petty as to fault you for that.”

  “No, he’s just a regular hero.” Cynthia said, not quite masking the edge of sarcasm.

  Sharon cocked her head, gave her a questioning look. “You sound mad.”

  Cynthia gazed longingly at the Danish, thought about how long it would take her to run tonight to work it off, and decided to pass, sighing. “Do you realize that you have to run for almost half an hour, fast, to work that pastry off?”

  Sharon frowned at the sugary treat in her hand and set it back on the plate. “That’s not why you’re mad, Cynthia.”

  Cynthia blew out a breath. “He is a good guy. I haven’t b
een able to really find fault with him. I’ve treated him like crap, and he’s been surprisingly tolerant. I just wish…”

  Sharon waited for her to finish, but Cynthia couldn’t bring herself to say more.

  “You just wish he would see you as a woman, don’t you?”

  Cynthia brought her gaze up to meet Sharon’s. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I thought he was just another pretty boy. He has women falling all over themselves to get his attention. I figured he was big-headed.”

  “But he’s not.”

  “No,” Cynthia agreed, “he’s not. He’s kinder than I expected. Richer than I expected.” She grinned at Sharon. “And now that we’ve been working out, even better looking than ever.”

  “And you’re attracted to him.” Sharon looked thoughtful.

  “Oh honey,” Cynthia said, laughing ruefully at herself. “I’m way past attracted. I was attracted the day I first met him. I mean who isn’t?”

  Sharon’s brow wrinkled. “But you were always so negative about him?”

  “Did you ever think, ‘the woman protesteth too much?’” Cynthia asked, sitting back, and crossing her hands across her chest. She smiled at Sharon. “I guess I’m better at hiding things from you than I thought.”

  “A comforting thought, seeing as you’re my business partner,” Sharon said dryly. “But yeah, I had no idea.”

  “And I don’t want Blake to ever get any idea either.”

  “Cynthia,” Sharon chastised her. “You know me better than that.”

  “It’s just so embarrassing.” Cynthia looked away, tried to blink back an errant tear. “Can you imagine, how he’d feel if he knew? Then he would look upon me with pity.”

  “You don’t know that.” Sharon frowned at her.

  Cynthia nodded emphatically. “If you saw him around me, you’d see what I mean. He walks around shirtless half the time, sometimes just wearing boxers, like I’m not going to notice. I mean I’m practically salivating, but does he pay attention? No, it’s just thanks, what’s for dinner?”

  “He’s walking around shirtless and in his underwear?” Sharon stared at her. “Maybe he’s trying to turn you on?”