by Ivy Raine
Stash’s light, infectious laugh was the last thing she heard before a blanket of darkness snuffed out the day.
Chapter 9
The bright sun peeked between the slit in the drapes and directly into Marta’s eyes. Blinking, she sat up, and after a momentary lapse of memory, everything came rushing back. She glanced over toward the empty loveseat.
“Stash? Where are you?” Marta looked around for a clock. The sun was way too bright to be any less than eight o’clock, and if that was the case, she was already late for work.
“I hear a familiar voice,” he said, waltzing into the room fully dressed and looking more mouthwatering than ever before. “Breakfast is just about ready, your clothes are in the dryer, and I’ve taken care of your boss.”
Marta’s blood seemed to solidify and everything came to a grinding halt. “What do you mean, you took care of my boss?”
“You’ve got the day off,” he said, looking oh so pleased with himself.
Clutching the top of the pajamas shut, Marta’s feet hit the floor hard. “What did you do?” Thoughts of being fired jumpstarted her heart in a fit of palpitations.
Stash took a step back. “You were so tired,” he began. “I thought you needed an extra day off. You’ve been working ten to twelve hours a day, six days a week, Marta. If you keep it up, you’ll get burned out.”
Closing her eyes, Marta pinched her lips shut to stifle the words that were certain to make a bloody mess of the beautiful morning. When she finally spoke, each syllable carried with it the weight of a seriously pissed off woman who was hanging onto her sanity by a thread. “What, exactly, did you tell him?”
Apparently, Stash was familiar with pissed off women, because he took two more backward steps. “Word for word, beautiful? Because I don’t think I can remember the exact order.”
Marta crossed her arms. “Hit the highlights.”
“Well, I basically just told him I thought you were working too hard and needed a little more time off.”
“Basically?” Marta hated that word. It meant there was way more to it than that, but he didn’t want to say.
Stash crossed his arms and they stood there staring each other down. “Yes. Basically.”
Marta knew exactly how to deal with him. “My clothes and my keys, please.”
“Oh, Marta! I got you the whole day off! Just get dressed and we’ll go down to the beach again. I promise we won’t get stuck here another night.”
“You can go down to the beach Aaron Herman Steele, but I’m going to work. Brad needs me.”
An ugly, thick, choking cloud descended out of nowhere, and Stash stood in the middle of it. “He does, does he? Is Brad the reason you’ve been working yourself practically to death and volunteering to go in on Sundays?”
The numerous insinuations that came with that sentence twisted Marta up to the point where words failed to come. Stash, of course, took this as admission.
“Yep. Just as I thought. You’ve got the hots for your boss, beautiful, and I’m sure he’s most attractive with that million dollar business he’s sitting on.”
Marta shook with anger. “That’s a really ugly thing to say, Stash Steele! I thought you knew me better than that.” She turned away, hoping he didn’t notice the tears building. “Where’s the dryer? I want my clothes.”
“Beside the kitchen, but they’re probably not dry.”
The thought of waiting even another ten minutes was too long for Marta. She stomped her way to the laundry room and ripped her semi-damp clothes from the dryer. Once piece at a time, and right in the middle of the laundry room, she snugged the clingy cotton over her body.
“Do you have to go like this?”
Marta spun around to find Stash leaning against the doorway.
“Did you see everything you wanted to see?” She picked up a bottle of laundry spray and threw it at him. He ducked just as it flew over his head.
“For your information,” he said, getting angry, “I didn’t peek.”
“Yeah, and pigs fly,” she hissed.
“Well, maybe you should think twice the next time you decide to strip down with the door wide open! Besides. I could’ve had you naked a long time ago if I really wanted to.”
That one, little sentence may as well have been the poison being injected into her veins. The man infuriated her every other day, but this was different. It was proof that his intentions were as blatant as his words.
“True to form, Stash. If you think I bought your line, think again. Not all women are as dumb as the ones you’ve hooked up with. As a matter of fact, most aren’t. Seems as though you’re the dumb one. Always following around after shallow idiots. A real woman wouldn’t give you the time of day!”
Pain ripped across Stash’s face, but he didn’t let it linger. “I’m well aware of that, Marta Manchester.” He shoved himself away from the door frame and spun around to leave. “By the way,” he said over his shoulder, “if you don’t mind waiting for five or ten minutes, I’ll go with you.”
It was all Marta could do to contain her wrath, but she managed to keep her cool. “Ten minutes, Stash, and I’m driving.”
Exactly twelve minutes later, Marta was planted firmly in the driver’s seat flexing her fingers around the wheel. The van rocked from side to side as Stash thumped down in his seat.
“Ready for takeoff, captain.”
Marta rolled her eyes. “Did you lock the door?”
“Check.”
“Turn off the burners?”
“Didn’t have them on.”
The van rumbled to life with the turn of the key. “I thought you said breakfast was ready?”
“Pop tarts.”
Marta grimaced. “Yuck. They give me heartburn.”
“Then I guess it’s a good thing you decided to fly off the handle.”
Clenching her teeth and jerking the van into drive, Marta lurched the van forward. “Seatbelt or you walk.” She secretly wished he’d refuse so she could order him out. They had an hour long drive ahead of them and Marta was in no mood to make small talk with the man she had fantasies of murdering with a blunt object. But as twisted as it felt, when she heard the belt click into place, a tiny part of her was glad. Despite her bubbling temper and current loathe of him, she had no desire to see him hurt.
“So,” he said after ten minutes of silent driving, “how was your weekend?”
The grunt Marta let out told the whole story. “It sucked. Between the skunk piss and the company, I’d rather have worked all weekend.”
“I’m sure Brad would have liked that, too.”
Glancing over at Stash, Marta could see the thirteen year old rearing his head. “My god! For a man of twenty…something, you sure are childish! And for your information, Brad didn’t even work this weekend.”
That was enough to set Stash off. “Oh! So you know his schedule now, too, do you? And it’s twenty-eight, for your information.”
Marta laughed out loud at that one. “Twenty-eight? Going on what? Nine?”
Stash wasn’t letting up. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Marta swerved around a car stopped dead in the middle of the road. “Shit!” She took a deep breath and let it out. “Would you stop distracting me, please? And you didn’t ask me a question!”
“Oh, I most certainly did.” Stash let out a low, rumbling laugh – and it pissed Marta off even more. “I asked you if you knew your precious Brad’s schedule.”
“What? You can’t be serious! Of course I know his schedule. Everyone knows his schedule. How do you think we get away with wearing tennis shoes on certain days of the week? And, he’s not my Brad, you jerk!”
Stash held up his hands. “Can we just stop with the name-calling, please? Just within the last forty-five minutes, I’ve been called dumb, I’ve been told I’m equal with skunk piss, you’ve called me by my full name, you’ve insinuated that I’m a nine year old, and now I’m a jerk. Those are big shoes to fill, even for me.”
Leaning back in his seat, Stash rubbed his hands over his face. “I can see why you’re still a virgin,” he mumbled through his fingers.
“I’ll have you know I chose this life!” Marta thumped the palm of her hand against the steering wheel.
“Well, maybe you should unchoose it. It’s turning you into an angry, bitter lunatic.”
“When I decide to give it away, it certainly won’t be to someone like you. Now, someone like Brad – a definite possibility.”
That ignited the flames again. “What does he have that’s worth so much? Oh, wait. Don’t tell me. It’s his bank account.”
“Nope. Quite the opposite. He doesn’t have to try to constantly prove anything. He just is. He’s not out looking for reasons to hate and mistrust the opposite gender. The man oozes confidence. And you?” she said, glancing over at Stash. “You ooze something, but it’s definitely not confidence. Some kind of repellant, maybe.”
Stash sniffed his pits. “I thought I smelled pretty good this morning considering I used brother dear’s expensive cologne.”
“See? There you go again! Why can’t you just let it go?”
The next forty minutes were spent in a tense silence, and for that, Marta was glad. She wanted to think, and she couldn’t do it with Stash yapping at her. As they neared the turn off to the ‘castle’, Stash nudged her arm.
“Would you mind dropping me off at the garage on the way through?”
“I thought you were off today? Not that I care,” she added quickly. “It’s just that now I’m gonna have to pick you up after work and I’m not sure I’ll be finished when you are.”
“Don’t worry about me, beautiful. I’ll get a ride with one of the guys.” Stash took out his keys and pulled off the cottage door key. “Here.” He dropped the key into her cup holder. “You’ll need this to get in to change your clothes.”
The oily, old gas station came into view; Marta slowed down to make the left turn. She glanced over at Stash. “I won’t be home until at least ten. Don’t bother making me anything to eat. Just worry about yourself. I’ll grab something before I leave.”
Stash shrugged. “If that’s what you want, but I thought you liked my cooking. Minus the pop tarts, of course.”
Marta sighed. She was so tired of fighting. “It’s not your cooking. I’m just really tired and I didn’t sleep well last night, so I plan on going straight to bed when I get home.”
“Just drop me off on the side.” Stash pointed to the crumbling curb on the opposite side of the building.
As Marta pulled around to the side, a bleached blond poured into size four jeans tumbled from the side door.
“Stash!” She headed toward the van, but when she saw Marta in the driver’s seat, she stopped and looked past her. “There you are. I thought that was you. I didn’t think you were coming in today.” Glancing back at Marta, she made no effort to hide her irritation. “Giving driving lessons, Stash?”
Stash whisked around the front of the van. “This is my roommate.”
The words pounded at Marta like a jackhammer. It was true, but it sounded so nasty. She mumbled some sort of hello to blondie and goodbye to Stash and headed back toward the highway. Glancing in the side mirror, Marta watched as the petite ball of fire wrapped her little hands around one of Stash’s arms and led him back into the building.
“So, that was your date.” She glared in the mirror at the disappearing image of Stash. Just the day before he was calling her his woman, and today-. She was just glad that he showed his true colors before she did something really stupid.
The sun lit up the cottage and welcomed her home. Home. It sounded so funny to call the little, wind whipped ocean cottage home. Marta grabbed the key from the cup holder and hurried up the walk. She had just enough time to get changed and ready for the start of the lunch shift. Now her only problem was explaining away Stash’s behavior to Brad.
She found her uniform hanging in the closet, neatly pressed and ready to go. Stash. He had a habit of making sure everything was taken care of for the next day. A deluge of guilt weighed her down – until she remembered Blondie and her six inch claws. Ripping off her now dry clothes, Marta slipped into her uniform pants only to find she had more room in them than she last remembered.
“Oh, Stash. What did you do?” she said aloud. The last thing she needed was a stretched out uniform to go along with her three hour tardiness.
***
The hustle of the morning was already winding up as the lunch customers filtered in to get their favorite booths.
“Marta! Oh, my god! You’re finally here!” Midge shooed Marta into the back room. “Grab your hair net and wash your hands. And you’d better hurry,” she called over her shoulder as she hustled back down the hall. “Mr. Mirelli’s in a mood this morning.”
“Oh, shit.” Marta cursed herself in the mirror for ever being stupid enough to go on a trip with Stash Steele. She knew she had to work the next day, so the responsibility was at least fifty per cent hers.
Marta tried to slip into the kitchen unnoticed, but it didn’t work. Brad had the eye of an eagle, and he knew exactly what went on in his business.
“Miss Manchester!”
Brad was at the other end of the kitchen, stirring something with one hand and motioning for her with the other. The fifty feet between them seemed like it was fifty miles, and as Marta drew closer, she saw the displeasure written all over his face.
“I wanted to thank you,” he said a bit too sarcastically. “Your willingness to grace us today is most admirable.”
“I had every intention of coming to work this morning, Mr. Mirelli.” She didn’t dare call him by his first name. A misty, cold sweat crept down her sides. “I knew nothing about that phone call until I woke up. I apologize.”
He raised a brow and looked her up and down. “Your boyfriend tells me I’m working you too hard. Am I Marta?”
Marta’s jaw nearly hit the floor. “First of all, he’s not my boyfriend. He’s my roommate. Second of all, I like working here – a lot.”
She threw in that last word hoping to score some brownie points, but it was true. Coming to work each day was something she looked forward to. It had become almost like a challenge to see how many tips she could get before the end of the day.
“That’s not what he said.”
Marta drew a blank. “That doesn’t make sense. He told you I didn’t like my job?”
Brad stopped stirring. “That’s not what I was referring to, although I’m glad you like working here. But what I was talking about was the boyfriend part.”
A little chuckle, unintended though it was, escaped from Marta. “He actually told you that?”
Brad spun around to remove a rack from the deep fryer. “He did. Not only that, he told me that I’m to make sure you have regular breaks because he said you’re dropping weight faster than an anchor. His words, not mine.”
Marta put a hand on her hip. “Well, I’ll just set the record straight. Stash Steele is my roommate – period.”
The weight on Brad’s brow shifted, and with it came a hint of a smile. “Well, we won’t worry about what happened this morning. He obviously cares about your health, and that’s admirable. Now!” he said, clapping his hands. “I’m expecting a busy lunch today, so go get your table assignment and let’s get this monster moving.”
Marta was more than happy to remove herself from his presence, and by the time she got to the other end of the kitchen, Midge was already there waiting for her.
“What in the hell did you say to him?” Midge nudged Marta’s arm and took a few quick peeks at Brad over her shoulder.
“Um. Nothing.”
“Had to be something.” True to her routine, Midge stuffed Marta’s pad and pencil down in her shirt pocket. “He was fit to be tied this morning, and now he’s all roses and cherries?” She shook her head. “Well, I don’t care what it was. I’m jus
t thankful Monster Mirelli went away. Some of us were actually considering a coup.”
Marta laughed. “That bad, huh?”
“Worse, even. He yelled at Jennifer!”
The thought of dealing with a pissed off Jennifer for the entire day, made Marta feel like throwing up. It was bad enough when they had to work together on a good day, but to add this on top of their already rocky relationship would be a bit much for the day they were in.
Marta did her best to avoid Jennifer for most of the afternoon, but when the crowd finally died down, Brad invited Marta into his office to eat lunch with him. That was sure to go over well. Ice is cold, but Jennifer could give you frostbite with little more than her stare.
When Marta stepped across the threshold of the ‘inner sanctuary’, as the girls had dubbed Brad’s office, Marta felt like she’d been swept into a private, penthouse suite. The only thing that would even alert a person to the fact that this was supposed to be an office was the desk shoved way off in the far corner near a window. A gentle, ocean breeze whipped the curtains up and around, hooking them to the rod.
“This looks like no office I’ve ever seen.”
Brad laughed. “Well, technically it’s my office, but when the day’s over, this is where I come.”
“You live here?”
“Pretty much. It doesn’t make much sense to have a separate home when I’m here sixteen to eighteen hours a day, and on my days off I go and stay with my mother’s. She lives about thirty minutes from here.”
Marta looked up, her face revealing a little more than she intended.
“Yeah, I know,” he said. “It’s odd for a thirty-two year old man to go home to mommy.”
“Not odd. Real.”
“Here.” Brad stumbled over his own feet to show her the way to his dining room. “This is where we’ll eat lunch.”
“Look at that view!” The French doors in the dining room led directly out and onto an enormous deck overlooking a glistening sand beach. “How do you make yourself work with this view waiting for you?”
Brad shrugged. “It’s not hard. I love what’s on the opposite end of the building just as much as I do what’s on this end. Cooking’s my passion. Always has been. And in light of that,” he said, motioning her to the table, “let’s have lunch.”