He parked in a liquor store’s loading zone and ran after her. “Rose!”
Without turning around, she pulled her hair into a knot on top of her head and pulled the hood of her sweater over it.
“That’s not the only peanut butter you’ve got to worry about,” he panted. “Damn it, will you stop?”
“Only if you promise to bring me back to my motel.”
“You’ve got your suitcase in my car. There’s no reason for you to go back there unless you’ve got a date there lined up to pay for it.”
She gaped at him, outraged. “How dare you?”
How did he? he wondered.
“You need help, honey?” a woman asked. She had orange vinyl boots up to her crotch, a white lace bra, and not much else. Except for the tattoos.
“Yes, thank you. This guy is bothering me,” Rose said, jerking her thumb at him.
The woman put her hand on her hip. “You only like blondes, Han Solo? I’ve got a few minutes.”
“No. Thank you.” He nodded to her, more furious than ever, and chased after Rose. “Get in my car or I’ll have you fired,” he said through his teeth.
Finally, she stopped. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.” His heart was pounding in his ears. Adrenaline pulsed through him. He felt like Superman, like he could lift cars.
Or her. God, she was magnificent. Cheeks flushed, blue eyes flashing, chest heaving. He wanted to throw her over his shoulder and carry her to his cave.
“Fine.” She started walking back to the car. “But you’ll pay for it.”
I already am. He watched her hips as she marched away. The curve of her waist. The jiggles everywhere.
Then he ran past her to open the car door and waited until she was inside before he got behind the wheel, breathing heavily, so hot for her he thought he would explode.
Don’t look at her. He’d never wanted any woman so badly, not even Colleen, and he’d really, really wanted Colleen, enough to move to Milwaukee. Until now, he’d thought that had to be proof he’d achieved the pinnacle of desire.
“It wasn’t as bad as it looked,” she said.
He reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet. “There’s a check in there that belongs to you. I’ve already endorsed it.”
She gaped at him. “You’re offering me money?”
“It’s not from me. It’s from WellyNelly.” He waved the wallet. “Take it.”
She didn’t, so he threw it at her so he could shift gears. They passed a fast-food place that smelled so good his stomach growled, and he sped past resenting her for being hungry and angry and raging with lust.
It wasn’t in his nature to be all stirred up. He hated stirring. All the muck at the bottom started floating around, muddying the waters, tasting bitter in his mouth.
“I’m not taking your money.”
“You just told me I had to pay for your hotel!”
“I was upset!” She huffed. “Fine. You can pay the difference between what I had and wherever you’re taking me.”
“I’m taking you to my house.”
Her hand grabbed the car door handle again. “Like hell you are.” It popped open.
The light was yellow so he grabbed her thigh and floored it. “Hey!” she cried, hanging on the swinging door, gaping at him. “Are you insane?” She slammed it shut.
“Only since I met you.”
“Well, fuck that. Let go of me.”
His hand was stretched across the warm, rounded flesh of her upper thigh. Without looking at her, he increased the pressure of his fingers, gently, letting the car rock his hand higher between her legs. “I don’t want to.”
“You already made that point,” she said tightly.
He glanced over. What was he doing? “I want you.”
She pulled his hand out, pushed it away. “Join the club. Now drop me off somewhere your rich white boy sensitivities can handle or I’m going to jump out at the light.”
“That’s it?”
Her eyes were wild with annoyance, not desire. “Bossing me around is not a turn-on. There are plenty of women who love it. Go find one of them.” She slammed his wallet on the console between them. “Too bad Blair’s taken.”
“Yeah, too bad,” he snapped.
She stared at him, picked the wallet up again, flipped it open. “This what you’re talking about?” she asked, pulling out the check. He’d had to fold it three times to fit inside his old bifold. “Five thousand dollars. Pretty nice. That your weekly salary or what?”
“A bonus for referring you. Take it. You need it more than I do. Obviously.”
“The last thing I need is for you to think I owe you anything.” She crossed her arms under her breasts, scowling. “Obviously.”
She was impossible. He nearly rammed the bus in front of them when it stopped, beeping and hissing at the curb. Through gritted teeth, he said, “Take it. If you stay a year I get another ten.”
“Ten thousand? Dollars?”
He pulled out into traffic and passed the bus. “So if you want to punish me, quit in eleven months and I’m out of luck. In the meantime, take the damn money, get a safe place to live, and I’ll leave you alone.”
“I can’t believe they pay so well.”
“Welcome to the high tech bubble.”
She dropped the wallet again but kept the check. “I’ll pay you back.”
“Whatever.”
“You’re so annoying.” When she tucked the check between her breasts, he felt actual, physical pain. His plan had been to bring her up to the house so she could stay there, use their computer, borrow his mom’s car, carpool with him into work for a few days. She’d be safe, his mother would have some company.
But now it was obvious he was the one desperate for company.
Too desperate.
“I’ll take you to the Holiday Inn,” he said. She didn’t protest.
* * *
She pushed Mark’s office door open without knocking and kicked it shut behind her.
“Since you’re in charge of my life,” she said, “tell me which of these apartments is in a good area.” She flung a stack of printouts on his desk, enjoying the way he looked up from his computer with his mouth open.
She noticed he had a piece of toilet paper on his chin, a red dot in the center of it. His hair had dried funny, one side sticking up, and he had a pale shadow of dried milk on his upper lip.
Her heart softened. That was more like it, she thought, the nice guy she thought he was, not the macho bully from Monday evening.
He looked down at the papers. Frowned at the one on top. “Nope,” he said. Picking up the stack, he leaned back in his chair to flip through the rest while Rose waited.
“Well?”
He shook his head. “You couldn’t find anything up in the hills?”
“Please. Only rich people live up there. And I like to be more in the middle of things so I can walk places. Restaurants, shops, cafes, theaters—you know, where the people are.”
“Huh.” He nodded as though that had never occurred to him, looked back down at the papers in his hands. “These all suck.” He dropped them on the desk.
“There were twenty apartments on that!”
“What about that place in North Berkeley you told me about? That sounded nice.”
“Gone.”
“So, wait for another one.”
“There aren’t any.” Though the Holiday Inn he’d inflicted on her was an improvement over the no-tell motel, she hated the street noise, the lack of privacy, not having a kitchen, being in limbo. She went over and picked up her printouts. “What’s wrong with these? You barely looked at them.”
“I can just tell.”
“How?”
He shrugged, turned at his computer monitor. “Just can.”
For at least ten seconds she watched him in silence. When it was clear he wasn’t going to elaborate, or even look at her, she said, “Busy?”
He nodded.
“Sorry to interrupt.” She moved to the door. “I only showed you because you seemed determined to interfere. I won’t bother you again.”
He didn’t look up as she moved into the hallway. Then he said, “Hey, how’s your car?”
“It’s fine now. I had it towed down the street.”
“They fixed it?”
“For an arm and a leg and my firstborn son, yes.”
He went back to his computer. “You should sign up for roadside assistance.”
“I will. Thanks.” She stared at him another second before closing the door.
What the hell? One minute he was chasing and kissing her, the next he couldn’t even be bothered to look away from his computer.
Just as well. It was a mistake to get too close. Their early friendship had crossed a line and there was no going back.
She’d find an apartment by herself. Why’d she asked him, anyway?
He obviously didn’t care.
* * *
Mark let out the breath he was holding.
Rubbing his face with both hands, trying to wipe away the image of her in a yellow sweater, this one long and loose but not loose enough to hide that body, he swore.
He never should’ve lent her the jumper cables. That’s when it all began to go wrong. If only he could rewind. He’d be in his room, safe and quiet, watching Blair with twenty feet, two walls, and double-paned glass between them.
The door popped open, sending his pulse racing again, but it was only Sylly. “Hey. Got a minute?” Without waiting for a reply he marched in and strode over to the desk. “You all right?”
“Yeah. Why?”
Sylly frowned. “You’re kind of pink.”
“I’m not feeling well.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Maybe you should try leaving your door open like you’re supposed to. Get some fresh air.”
Mark nodded. “That’s probably it.”
“Or maybe you’re on social overload.”
“That’s definitely it. Can I go home, boss?”
Sylly raised an eyebrow. “You’re backing out of our deal already? It’s only her second week.”
“But you like her, right? You see why I recommended her.”
“It’s early to say yet, but the team likes her well enough. If Jake can keep his eyes above her neck, they’ll be fine.” Sitting on the edge of Mark’s desk, Sylly studied his fingernails. “So, how do you think she’ll feel about getting an MBA? Think she’d be up for that?”
“I have no idea. Why would you care if she had an MBA?”
“Not me. Our new corporate overlords.” Jumping up, Sylly took over the computer and typed in a web address. “What do you think of these guys?”
Mark frowned at the homepage for a major drug company. “No way. That would suck.”
“Don’t be so sure. They’re sharp, really sharp. I’ve had a few really interesting conversations with these guys.”
“Big pharma? Buying WellyNelly? You’re not serious.”
“Not yet, but they are. They want to fold us into their operation. They were going to develop their own systems before they realized how hard it was. Now they’re thinking we’d be a package deal, ready to go.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“No, they really do.”
“No, I mean, you can’t really be considering this. They’re a drug company. A business. They make money off of sick people.”
“And we don’t?”
Mark felt queasy. “That’s different.”
“It’s America, buddy. I knew you’d be against it, but give it a few days. No rush. Really think it over.”
“There’s nothing to think about. This is WellyNelly. They’ll push their own patented meds for every ailment, big and small—”
“They already do that and it wasn’t getting them the traffic they want. Migrating over to WellyNelly will give them access to customers without having to advertise so obviously. They like us as we are, Mark. Really. Warts and all.”
Mark didn’t demonize the pharmaceutical industry like some people, but any business with a product to sell would corrupt the site. All the advice, the forums, the photos, the links, the information—all of it would be filtered through a corporate committee. It would kill WellyNelly.
Mark stood up. “No. Never.”
“Hey, relax. It’s just an idea. Don’t get upset,” Sylly said, walking over to the door. “I wouldn’t do anything you didn’t think was right.”
When he was gone, Mark slumped back into his chair.
Sylly wouldn’t do anything he didn’t think was right?
Mark didn’t believe that for a second.
Chapter 12
ON A SATURDAY MORNING TWO weeks later, Rose backed up behind Blair’s car in the driveway and yanked on the parking brake.
Well, this is it, she thought, taking a deep breath. Time to move again.
It was Halloween. Next door, Trixie and Mark’s big old house was decorated so wildly it would stop traffic if it were on a busier street. Long strands of fake white cobwebs stretching from the front bushes to the gutters, and two dozen tarantulas, each at least five feet wide, crawled their way up the front of the house to the top floor windows. One was already halfway inside, its fuzzy legs jutting out and its body crushed, as though a panicked human had slammed the window closed just in time.
With an appreciative shiver, Rose walked up to the house she’d fled a couple of weeks earlier to get the rest of her things. Her new landlord was letting her move in a day early, though she would’ve paid a full month’s rent extra to avoid another night of polyester bedspreads and microwaved oatmeal.
Three pumpkins sat beside the front door. One big, one medium, and a miniature one that would fit in the palm of her hand.
She had to stop and shake off the wave of pain that swept over her. She would be happy for them. It was good they were a family now. Babies needed families.
She reached for the doorknob but stopped, fingers hovering.
Should she knock?
Yes. Not my home. Not my family. Not—
The door swung open. “Hey! Why are you just standing out here?” Blair stepped outside and gave her a hug.
“I was just admiring the pumpkins. But you’ve got nothing on next door.”
“Isn’t that fantastic? John promises we’ll go all out for Christmas.”
They stared at each other, a gulf opening up between them, and Blair’s smile became strained.
“I came for my stuff,” Rose said. “Obviously.”
“I know. I got your email. Well, you know where it is.”
Rose went inside and made a beeline for the basement, then stopped short when she saw John standing in the living room, watching her. She’d assumed he would avoid her, and there was no car in the driveway to warn her she’d been wrong.
“Hi,” Rose said.
“I hear you found a place,” he said. He’d cut his hair short again, maybe for his new job, and he wore gym shorts and a muscle tank. He looked exactly the same as he did the day they met. “That’s great.”
“Yeah.”
“You were welcome to stay here, you know. I could’ve stayed with my mother if you were uncomfortable. Or in a motel.”
Rose just stared at him, not wanting to start a fight.
He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked over her shoulder.
“I made sure all your kitchen things got packed,” Blair said from behind her. “Especially the knives. I know you paid a lot for those.”
Rose turned, feeling odd to be sandwiched between them. “Thanks. I’m really looking forward to cooking again. The apartment has a great kitchen. Fantastic. Bigger than this one, actually. It’s twice the size of the bedroom.”
“That’s awesome,” Blair said, frowning a little as if she didn’t quite believe her.
Well, maybe that was understandable, given Rose’s history of tall tales.
“I better get started.” Rose managed to smile at Blair a
s she walked to the basement door, even though she found herself oddly enraged, then furious with herself for getting into such a mess.
“I’ll help you,” John said.
“That’s not necessary. There isn’t much.”
But he ignored her and followed her down the steps. “I would’ve carried it up for you, but I didn’t want to look like we were in a hurry to get rid of you,” he said.
Rose picked up the first thing in sight, a box of books, not prepared for how heavy it was. She staggered as she got up.
John put an arm around her to steady her. “Let me. Squats never were your best lift.”
Her heart pounded. “Let go of me.”
“Don’t—fine.” He let go. “I was just trying to help.”
“I don’t want your help.”
He shook his head, scowled at her. “I told Blair this wasn’t going to work.”
The heavy box still in her arms, Rose shifted her weight from foot to foot. “Here we go again. If you’re going to leave her, you’d better get it over—”
“I’m not going anywhere.” He made another move for the box, this time overpowering her, lifting it onto his shoulder with ease. “I mean you.”
“What about me?”
“Nothing. Forget it.”
“No, tell me. You owe me that. What were you going to say?”
“‘Owe you.’ See? That’s what I told Blair. You’re never going to forgive us.”
She picked up a duffel bag and clutched it to her chest like a lumpy nylon breast plate. “You abandoned her, John. She faced everything, even your mother, on her own—”
“Before that. You and me, we had some hot times together, yes. But we knew it wasn’t the real deal. We were just having some fun.”
“Is that what you tell Blair?”
Exhaling with disgust, he dropped the box on the floor, pointed at her. “Blair doesn’t believe me, but you are just as angry at her as you are at me.”
“I’m not. I was hurt at first, but I got over it.”
“Liar.”
“She had the decency to tell me. She was honest.”
“And you’re not. You’re pissed.”
Rose glared at him, tightening her arms around the duffel bag. She wished she were angry. Anger would be easier than fear. Could Blair really be happy with this man? Would he betray her, too? “I’m not angry at Blair. You, yes. You’re an asshole.”
ThisTimeNextDoor Page 14