“Hey!” Harlow poked me in the side, drawing my gaze away from the beautiful ruby-red glass beads I’d been admiring. “Pay attention to me! I’m mad at you right now. You’re supposed to be apologizing profusely. Is it too much to ask that you grovel a little bit? I mean, you did rip me from my beauty sleep at the butt crack of dawn so I could help you scavenge for treasures in the middle of the summer.”
Turning in my friend’s direction, I propped my hands on my hips and glared from behind my sunglasses. “Stop being such a baby. I woke you up at nine-thirty. That’s hardly the butt crack of dawn.”
The hand that wasn’t holding her Starbucks cup came to rest on her trim waist, her hip jutting out as she took her bitch stance. “I have boob sweat, Navie. Boob sweat!”
The short, pudgy vendor we were standing in front of cleared his throat awkwardly, drawing my gaze away from Harlow just in time to see his beady little eyes hone in on her chest.
I let out an annoyed breath as I turned back to my friend. “If you’ll give me just one more half-hour without your constant bitching, I’ll make you a pretty necklace,” I cajoled.
I could almost see the wheels turning from behind her large sunglasses. “Throw in a matching bracelet and we’ve got a deal.”
“Fine.” I held out my hand and we shook on it briefly before wandering to another booth.
“Soooo,” she dragged out as we walked at a leisurely pace. “How’s it going working for Satan himself?”
I let out a disheartened groan as we continued to walk. “I swear to God. If the paycheck hadn’t looked so pretty deposited into my account, I’d have quit by now. The man is a freaking nightmare.” Two and a half weeks had passed since I started working for the famous Rowan Locklaine, and I was no closer to liking the man than I had been on day one. I thought I’d seen just a smidge of humanity in his startling blue eyes that day I’d stumbled in on him naked in the kitchen, but my hopes had gone up in a puff of smoke the instant he’d opened his office door. The asshole had returned after a brief reprieve, and it appeared he planned to stay.
“Is he really that bad?” Harlow asked, sucking down the last of her coffee and tossing the cup in a trashcan as we passed.
“Yes, he’s really that bad. I swear, whenever the man opens his mouth, I get all stabby. Amazing looks were wasted on Rowan Locklaine.”
“If only you were deaf,” Harlow joked with a nudge to my shoulder as we walked. “That way, you’d get to look at him all day long without having to actually hear him.”
I sighed deeply, lamenting my situation. “I’ve tried earbuds, but even they can’t drown out his incessant bitching completely. And since I’m not willing to poke my eardrums out, I’m screwed. It is what it is.”
Harlow tossed her arm over my shoulders, crooning sarcastically, “Aww, poor baby. Your life must be so hard.”
I playfully elbowed her in the ribs as we continued to wander. As the morning wore on, I was able to push all thoughts of my temperamental boss to the back of my mind and enjoy my day off, indulging myself as I thought of different designs for my jewelry while Harlow drooled over discounted designer handbags.
By the time we made it home, I was pleasantly calm and ready to throw myself into my creations. Jewelry making was my therapy, and I was all too happy to lose myself in my favorite hobby. I’d spent hours holed up in my room designing an intricate necklace and taking pictures to upload onto my website, Navie’s Knickknacks. Cassidy had created the name years ago when she used to take my jewelry to the local farmer’s market where she worked back in Texas. With her help, I’d been able to branch out from local markets and sell my own stuff online. Honestly, I’d have loved nothing more than to make jewelry for a living, but seeing as I had bills to pay, my dream wasn’t all that feasible. In college, I hadn’t had the time to fully immerse myself into creating, and as the years passed, it was harder and harder to find the time. But I still held the same love for it that I did as a teenager.
Adult life just seemed to be getting in the way.
By the time my cell phone rang, pulling me back into the present, the sky outside my bedroom window had turned completely black. Standing with a groan, I arched my back to work out all the kinks from hours spent sitting, hunched over my desk. I was mid-stretch as I reached for my phone, too wrapped up in the give of my muscles to pay attention to the name on the display.
“Hello?”
“I need you over here right now.”
Temporarily stunned, I stood frozen in place until realization hit me. “Rowan?”
“Who else could it possibly be?” he asked in a detached, insulting tone that instantly got my hackles up.
“People call me!” I insisted childishly. I hated how my maturity nosedived whenever it came to my boss.
“If you say so. I need you to get over here ASAP.”
There was a strong possibility I let out a rather indelicate snort at his typical assholery. “Since you asked so nicely, I’ll be right there!” I answered, my voice heavy with sarcasm.
“Do you always have to be so damn difficult?” he grunted
“Do you always have to be such a raging hemorrhoid?” I fired back. I would have sworn I heard him choke on a laugh if I thought the man was capable of laughter. Rowan Locklaine was more likely to suck the souls from small children than to laugh.
“Did you really just call me a raging hemorrhoid?”
Was that humor in his voice? Couldn’t be. The Devil doesn’t have a sense of humor.
“If the shoe fits… or in your case, whatever Satan wears on his feet. It’s nine o’clock on a Saturday night, Rowan. Have your latest conquest run whatever bullshit errand you need taken care of. I’m off the clock and not required to be nice to you.”
“This is you being nice?” he asked indignantly, causing me to roll my eyes.
“Hanging up now.”
“Wait, wait, wait!” he hollered through the phone line just as I was about to disconnect. Reluctantly, I held the phone back up to my ear. “Look.” He huffed out a loud breath. “I’m… I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to insult you… Navie? You still there?” he asked when I remained silent for several seconds after his apology.
“The world is coming to an end, isn’t it? It’s the zombie apocalypse. I’m not prepared! I haven’t taken any crossbow lessons yet!”
“You’re friggin’ hilarious,” he deadpanned.
I didn’t bother to stifle my laughter. “I like to think so.”
I listened as he inhaled deeply. “Please, I really need your help. I know it’s your day off, but it’s an emergency. I’ll even make sure Lauren pays you time and a half. Can you just please get here as fast as you can?”
“Rowan.” I sighed in exasperation. “It’s at least a twenty-minute train ride to your place. It’s not like I can just snap my fingers and make myself appear on your doorstep. You’re on the Upper East Side and I’m in Murray Hill.”
“I’ll pay for a cab.”
“Fine,” I grumbled dramatically. “But I’m not changing out of my comfy clothes. And I want double-time, not time and a half.”
“Okay, okay. Whatever you want. Just get here.”
At the unease in his voice, I began to worry a little about what was so important that I had to rush over to his apartment on a Saturday night. Not wanting to hesitate in the event it was something major, I slipped on a pair of bright pink flip-flops, pulled a gray hoodie on over my ‘That’s what she said’ t-shirt, and headed for the door. The only change I was willing to make before walking out the door was trading in my yellow rubber ducky pajama pants for a pair of plain black leggings.
By the time my cab pulled up in front of Rowan’s building, he was already standing out front waiting for me. As I stepped out onto the sidewalk, he leaned in and paid the driver before rising to his full height and turning my way. His hair was standing on ends, as if he’d been running his hands through it anxiously, and I couldn’t help but notice how amazing his body looked
in just a plain white tee and another pair of athletic shorts. Man, it really was a crying shame he was such a mega-douche. Women around the world would line up just for a chance to stare at him uninterrupted for five minutes.
“Navie,” Rowan’s rumbly voice called out, shaking me back into reality. When my vision came back into focus, I noticed Rowan was standing much closer than he had been just a second before. When had that happened?
“Huh?”
“I asked if you were coming.” His typically chilly blue gaze warmed just a bit as a cocky smirk spread over his lips. “You were just checking me out, weren’t you?”
Oh, hell, I thought with a huge roll of my eyes.
“You were, admit it. You didn’t hear what I was saying because you were too busy checking me out. It’s okay, everyone does it.”
“And then your mouth opens and the fantasy’s ruined,” I responded dryly with a roll of my eyes as I shoved past him. “Let’s get this over with. Too long in your presence and the desire to cause bodily harm becomes too overwhelming to ignore.”
“You know,” he started as we stepped into the elevator leading up to his floor. “I had no idea you were so… feisty. Gotta say, I’m pleasantly surprised.”
“Oh, goody. My purpose in life has been accomplished. I can die happy now.”
Luckily, the doors chose to open at that moment, saving me from whatever smartass comment Rowan had in return.
“All right,” I said as I reached his door and turned the knob. “What was so damn important you dragged me down here in the middle—?” As soon as the door to his apartment swung open, my ears were assaulted by the wretched warbling of what sounded like a cat being bludgeoned to death.
“What the hell is that?” I whisper-yelled as I stepped over the threshold.
“I can’t be certain, but I think it’s supposed to be Taylor Swift.”
I turned back, wide-eyed, to see Rowan still standing by the door. “You mean that’s a person? Singing?”
His only response was to nod warily.
My gaze darted from Rowan toward the kitchen and back to Rowan again. “I don’t—” I began, just as understanding took hold. “Oh, hell no!”
Rowan stepped in my path just as I started back for the front door, blocking my escape with his large, stupidly perfect body. Damn him!
“Please, just listen,” he rushed to say in a quiet voice, although I wasn’t sure why. The person butchering “Bad Blood” in the kitchen was more than likely all anyone on Rowan’s floor could hear. “I know this is so far beyond the scope of fucked-up, it’s not even funny, but she won’t leave! She just showed up here and I can’t get her out.”
“Nope. Nuh-uh. No freaking way, Rowan! Nowhere in my job description does it say I’m responsible for the removal of your booty calls. That’s low, even for you.”
“I didn’t sleep with her!” he insisted vehemently. I looked at him like he was an idiot if he expected me to believe that. “I really didn’t, at least not this time. She said she wanted to make me dinner, but we finished an hour and a half ago! She began washing dishes and whenever I mention her possibly leaving, she starts washing one of the knives from the butcher block. She’s washed, like, six knives! And they were already clean! You have to help me. Please.”
And just like that, a light bulb went off in my head.
The way Navie’s dark blue eyes narrowed menacingly should have been worrisome. However, I’d crossed the line from worried over an hour back and was firmly planted on the side of ‘legitimately terrified for my life’, thanks to the woman in my kitchen currently making noises akin to those an animal might make while being castrated.
“What’s in it for me?” Navie asked, crossing her arms over her chest, drawing attention to the way her arms shoved her tits up. Sweet Lord in Heaven, thank God she hadn’t zipped up that hoodie of hers. Why did it feel like I discovered something new about Navie every day that made my dick stand up and take notice? The woman had one of the best racks in New York. I was beginning to think there was something seriously wrong with me. I hadn’t been lying when I told her I hadn’t slept with the woman in my kitchen. Truth was I hadn’t slept with anyone since that very first day she caught Bethany leaving my apartment. I was in the middle of the longest dry spell I’d had since freshman year of high school. I couldn’t explain why. Maybe I was getting sick or something. That had to be it. That was the only reasonable explanation as to why I was allowing Navie’s opinion of me to put a damper on my sex life.
“For fuck’s sake, Navie,” I hissed. “You’re already getting double-time—okay, okay, okay!” I nearly shouted when she started for the door again. “You can have anything you want. Just get rid of her.”
She eyed me skeptically. “Anything?”
“Jesus! Yes!”
Reaching into her purse, she pulled out her phone, tapped on the screen a few times and held it in the space between us. “Repeat after me,” she said in a no-nonsense tone.
“You’re recording this?” I asked in exasperation.
“Hell yeah, I am. I need proof to hold over your head if you ever try and renege on our deal. Now, quit bitching and repeat after me. I, Rowan Locklaine, asshole extraordinaire…”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I grumbled, earning myself a narrow-eyed glare. “Fine. I Rowan Locklaine, asshole extraordinaire…”
“Do solemnly swear from this point forward to never, ever be a flaming douchebag to my lovely personal assistant, Navie Collins.”
With a huff and a roll of my eyes, I repeated everything she’d just said and waited for her to continue
“And I hereby give her unfettered access to my cable television…”
“What?”
“Just say it!”
“Why do you need access to my cable?”
“Because I don’t have cable at my apartment and I need to take full advantage of your DVR so I can record all of the shows I’ve been missing.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling a migraine coming on strong. “For the love of God.”
“Hey, if you won’t agree to my demands, I can just leave.” She shrugged casually, like it was no concern to her one way or another.
“All right,” I ground out through clenched teeth. “You can use my DVR.”
“Deal,” she chirped, shutting off her phone and stuffing it back into her purse. “Okay, let’s do this.”
“What are you doing?” I asked as she shrugged off her sweatshirt and handed it to me, leaning back just slightly and sticking her stomach out so a small bump formed on her otherwise flat belly.
“Getting into character,” she said simply, tugging on the hem of her t-shirt. It wasn’t until that point that I noticed what her shirt said.
“‘That’s what she said’? Seriously?”
“Hey, don’t hate on my shirt. The Office was the best show in the history of television.”
Son of a bitch. The girl was just too adorable for her own damn good. I couldn’t help myself; I felt the smile begin to tug at my lips as I spoke. “Bears, beets, Battlestar Galactica.”
When Navie laughed at that, her entire face lit up. There was no missing the fact that she went from adorable to downright stunning whenever she laughed. My body’s reaction to the intoxicating sound was instantaneous, and I shifted awkwardly. Trying to hide a semi in a pair of basketball shorts was damn near impossible.
Once her laughter finally died down, she looked at me with those shimmery blue eyes and took a deep breath. “Okay. Showtime. You go in first, and I’ll be right behind you.”
I looked over my shoulder at her in bemusement as I reluctantly headed back into the kitchen where some god-awful bubblegum pop song was being butchered within an inch of its life. The moment I cleared the threshold, the tall, statuesque brunette at the sink spun around with a squeal.
“Baby, there you are!” She skipped around the island and threw her arms over my shoulders. “I was starting to get worried. You were in the bathroom for a
really long time.”
“Oh, I… uh,” I stuttered, instantly regretting the good ole ‘I have to use the bathroom’ excuse. That excuse should never, ever be used on anything that takes longer than five minutes to accomplish. Luckily, I was saved from having to defend myself against possible Irritable Bowel Syndrome when Navie came busting into the kitchen like a miniature blonde tornado.
“How could you?!” Her screech was so high-pitched I cringed at the sound of it. All I could do was stand in shock as Navie’s eyes filled with tears while her hands caressed her inflated stomach. “I can’t believe you, Rowan! You swore to me there would be no more women when I told you about the baby!”
It was as though a record scraped to a sudden halt in my head. Baby? What. The. Hell! All of a sudden, those big, crocodile tears that had been welling up in her eyes fell free. I had to hand it to the girl—when she put her mind to something, she clearly went all out.
“Rowan? What is she talking about?” the woman with the anaconda arms coiled around my neck asked.
“Uh… um… look, Mindy—”
“My name’s Mandy.”
“Oh! That’s just great!” Navie shouted, throwing her hands up in the air. “I’m carrying your child, trying my best to deal with the stresses of a high-risk pregnancy, and you’re cheating with some girl whose name you don’t even know!? This is unbelievable.” She tacked a loud, gut-wrenching sob to the end of her tantrum for good measure.
“Oh, my God!” Mindy… Mandy… whatever it was, exclaimed with a shove at my chest. “You’re such a pig!”
“Uh…” I mumbled, dumbfounded. “I don’t know what’s happening right now.”
“Oh, no,” Navie breathed as she collapsed into one of the barstools at the island. “Oh, goodness,” she said dramatically with a hand to her chest.
“Are you okay?” Mandy/Mindy darted around to Navie and placed a hand on her back.
“I-I’m fine.” She sighed. “I think it’s just all the stress. I’ve had blood pressure problems. My doctor’s concerned that staying in this relationship isn’t healthy for the baby,” she lamented, big tears running down her cheeks. “I just… I just love him so much.” She sniffled. “I thought this baby would change him, you know… that he’d want to be there for me and his son? But I guess I was wrong.”
Love Hate Relationship (a Colors novel) Page 5