by Inara Scott
“I have to hand it to you, Faerie. So far, your plan has been pure genius.” He shoved her aside and preened in the mirror. “Ignoring him, I mean. Men love it when women play hard to get. So tell me again how you’re going to get him to fall in love with you? When you finally do make him so crazed with longing he tracks you down of his own volition, of course. Will you show him how the hair grows under your arms? Personally, I think you should demonstrate that smell you make in the bathroom in the morning. I bet he’d love that.”
Kaia didn’t want to think about how he had gotten into Rachel’s store without attracting human attention. Imps were not the best shapeshifters—in a pinch they could manage to change form, but it took them some time and they couldn’t maintain it for long. They were, however, very good at distracting people with nasty tricks and pranks. They used their talent to cause chaos wherever possible, and still escape human notice.
“Shut up,” she hissed. “I’m working on it. And I’m human now. He knows that. Or he will, whenever I see him again.”
“Maybe you can tell him how you sweep floors, Faerie.” The imp continued, rubbing his stubby horns with glee. “That’s sexy. I’ve heard men are turned on by women who stick flowers into green foam and spray glitter on carnations.”
“We do not spray glitter on things,” Kaia snapped. “And the foam is important. It holds the shape of the arrangement and retains water so the flowers stay fresh longer.”
This promoted a fresh wave of laughter from the imp. “‘The foam is important. It holds the shape of the arrangement,’” he mimicked. “Oh, that’s a good one. I can’t wait to tell the others about that.”
Kaia reached over to smack him on the top of his head, but he flew out of reach, and she cursed, for the millionth time, her lack of wings. “You’ll keep your mouth shut, you little maggot. You answer to Zafira, which means when I’m a Handmaid again, you’ll answer to me. So if I were you, I’d be careful not to piss me off too much. Got it?”
The imp snorted. “You should know that it’s hard to be too intimidating when you’re wearing a pair of old jeans that, judging from the iron-on robot decal on the pocket, probably belonged to some boy about ten years ago. And that T-shirt, I’m sorry, Faerie, but it clings in all the wrong places.”
“Hmph!” Kaia threw her arms over her chest and spun around to look in the mirror. She had to admit the imp was right. Her secondhand clothing wasn’t the most flattering. The shirt’s worn fabric clung to the area just above her breasts and billowed out around her waist, making it look as though she might be hiding an early pregnancy. The jeans, while clean and sturdy, bagged around her waist, clung to her thighs, and ended about six inches above her ankles. Kaia wasn’t a fashion expert, but she was fairly certain no one would proclaim her outfit a winner.
Still, she was passable.
“I’m going to talk to him, you know,” she informed the annoying creature. “I’ve just been waiting for the right time.”
“Really? And how exactly do you plan to manage that one? Invite yourself to dinner at his mansion?”
Kaia studied her reflection in the mirror. She wondered how much money it would cost to get one of those curling irons she’d seen in magazines. Maybe if she used one of those, her hair wouldn’t be so straight and limp at the end of the day. “I’m working on Rachel,” she said. “It’s just not going quite as quickly as I had hoped.”
The imp sighed and rearranged the golden-blond curls on his forehead. “Oh, Faerie, are you really this pathetic? Look, you should try to plan a dinner with Rachel and her fiancé. She’d have to invite someone for a fourth, so dinner wouldn’t be so awkward, and who better than her fiancé’s best friend? You’d have to be subtle about it, because you obviously don’t have a place to invite her to, and you don’t have the money to go out to dinner, so you’ll have to maneuver an invitation to her house. She’s probably feeling a little guilty that she hasn’t invited you over yet. She’s underpaying you terribly, and she knows it. Dinner is the least she can do.”
“She knows I already met Ted, so it won’t seem odd to invite me, I guess,” Kaia said, as hope began to stir in her chest.
The imp rolled his eyes. “Of course, genius. Why do you think I suggested it?”
Kaia stared incredulously at the tiny wings whirring silently on the imp’s back. “Wait, are you actually helping me?”
“If I wait around for you to figure this all out on your own, I’ll be stuck in Miami forever,” the imp replied. “Besides, I hate watching the Black Ladies at work.” He shuddered. “Those three give me the creeps.”
“So you’re helping me because I’m hopeless,” Kaia said.
“Basically, yes.”
Kaia paused to contemplate his response, and shrugged with resignation. “Works for me.”
§
Rachel watched as Kaia emerged from the bathroom and immediately set to work misting the pathetic spider plant Rachel had given up for dead weeks ago. Kaia seemed to have developed a particular relationship with the plant, and with the rest of the houseplants, for that matter. She spent hours repotting them, cleaning their leaves, watering them drip by drip, and rotating them on their stands so each side of the plant would get equal light throughout the day. The results were stunning. Though she’d only been there a few days, she’d already coaxed new life into Rachel’s half-dead plants, and even the bouquets and cut flowers seemed more vibrant after Kaia worked on them.
She had an incredible knowledge of plants. She didn’t know as much about the hybrids and hothouse flowers, but she always knew which wildflowers needed to be misted throughout the day and which liked to be kept dry. She had an uncanny sense for which would open after they’d been cut and which would wither and turn brown days after they had been delivered.
In just three days, her presence in the shop had taken a load of stress off of Rachel’s shoulders—more stress than Rachel had even been aware she was carrying. The shop had been so busy for so long, she’d basically cut off her ability to think about anything else.
Including Ted.
Rachel paused for a moment, staring down at the glass counter in front of her. Poor Ted. She knew she owed it to him to make a decision about the wedding, and she would. Soon. But things had been so much better ever since she’d put everything on hold. At least for her.
Ever since he proposed four months ago, she’d been in a tailspin. Sure, she loved him. Who wouldn’t? Ted was like a furry, warm Muppet—five-foot-ten inches of kindness and love. When he held her, all she wanted to do was sink into him and let him take care of her forever.
Once they’d gotten engaged the pressure had become overwhelming. Thinking about the wedding had been such a nightmare she hadn’t been able to enjoy anything—even being with Ted. After she’d decided to put it off, everything seemed to feel better. Everything except for Ted, of course, who still gazed at her with those puppy-dog eyes when he thought she wasn’t looking.
Ted wanted a wedding, and he wanted one soon.
Rachel wasn’t sure if she wanted one at all.
It wasn’t that she didn’t like weddings. She loved weddings. She loved weddings so much she could practically burst into tears just making her brides’ bouquets. Every profession of love seemed to her like a fairy tale come true. And it wasn’t that she didn’t love or want to spend the rest of her life with Ted. She did. That was why she couldn’t marry him.
Because Rachel had a terrible secret. Once she married Ted, she was genetically programmed to turn into a horrible, frightful bitch.
She saw her future every time she visited her parents. When they were married, they’d done things to each other that would make your head spin. People wouldn’t treat friends—wouldn’t treat enemies—the way her parents had treated each other. Being married had turned her mother into a controlling harpy and her father into a helpless victim. Over time, his victimhood had made him bitter, and eventually he’d started to fight back by sniping, whining, and complaining. He
’d criticized her mother’s every move while her mother treated him like a naughty preschooler.
Rachel was just like her mother. Everyone said so. They’d been saying it for years. They tried to make it nice; they said she was ambitious, headstrong, and driven. They said she was a good leader. She knew what those traits really meant. She was a bitch. Or she would become one, once she got married.
Some nights she could actually watch it happening. She saw herself bossing Ted around, telling him what to cook and what to wear to dinner. It only got worse once they started the wedding planning. She’d turned into a commando. And she saw Ted following orders like a good soldier.
Kaia snipped off the brown tip of a leaf and gave Rachel a quick smile. “Do you have any plans tonight?”
“Me?” Rachel cocked her head. “Ted and I have tickets to a concert. Something folksy. I don’t know exactly what. Why do you ask?”
“Well... ” Kaia looked down and snipped another leaf. She seemed nervous, and a hint of a blush had colored her cheeks. “I don’t mean to intrude in your life. I just thought maybe you might want to have dinner sometime?”
Kaia had a quiet sort of energy about her, but there was something sad, too. The something, surely, that had led to her living at a homeless shelter and being willing to accept the tiny salary Rachel was able to pay.
After her initial conversation with Kaia’s caseworker, Jenny, Rachel hadn’t asked many questions. She knew there was something painful in Kaia’s past, and Jenny had implied that it had to do with her dead husband. The same dead husband who had something to do with Kaia having no job references or identification other than her driver’s license.
Rachel’s smile widened. “I’d love to have dinner. What about Thursday? You’re off on Friday, and there’s a little Cuban restaurant I love that’s—” she stopped herself when she realized that Kaia was unlikely to have the money to go to many restaurants.
Kaia shook her head, apparently understanding Rachel’s reticence. “No, really, it’s okay, I’ve been saving up. I can afford a dinner out.”
“Oh, but I’d much rather have you over to my place,” Rachel said. “We can grill on the patio and drink lots of lovely toasts to the Anderson wedding. Their check cleared. We’re both getting a bonus.”
Kaia dropped her pruning shears and held up her hands. “Uh-uh,” she said firmly, her cheeks stained pink. “I am not inviting myself over to your house.” She took a deep breath and shot Rachel an embarrassed glance. “Though I suppose now that you mention it, it would be good to save my pennies. If you didn’t mind, that is.”
“Of course I don’t mind. And you didn’t do any inviting. I did.”
Kaia buried her face in the plant. “Any chance you’d want to invite Ted? It would be nice to see him again.”
Rachel cocked her head. “Well, now, that’s a great idea. I’ve been wanting to have a little dinner party at my place. Ted would love to see you again—I mentioned that I’d hired you and he remembered you right away. He said he was thrilled you’d come back to Miami. He said he felt terrible about leaving you at the club the way he did.”
“I seem to recall that he was very worried about you that night,” Kaia said. “He was so sweet. Couldn’t stop talking about you, actually.”
“I know. He’s always sweet,” Rachel grumbled. “Sweetest guy in the world. He came racing home when I told him that I needed some time to myself. Sweet, right?”
“I don’t think you can blame him for that one,” Kaia said. “Garrett told him to go home.”
“Garrett?” Rachel said, straightening with surprise. She paused. “Garrett Jameson?”
Kaia’s flush deepened. “Ted’s friend. He came to the club that night.”
Rachel paused. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? “You met Garrett? What did you think of him? They’re best friends, you know. They’re like the odd couple. My little Ted, sweet as the day is long, and Garrett, Miami’s Most Eligible Bachelor.”
Kaia laughed, and Rachel couldn’t help but notice that she didn’t respond to her question. A little flare of excitement started in Rachel’s chest. She knew Ted would hate her for it, as would Garrett, but what if… ?
“You wouldn’t mind if I invited him, would you?” she asked casually. “To dinner, I mean?”
“Garrett?” Kaia looked down, her hair falling in front of her face, but her voice betrayed more than a hint of excitement. “Of course not. It would be nice to see him again.”
Bingo, thought Rachel with satisfaction.
Chapter Fourteen
As Garrett turned up the driveway of Rachel’s modest, two-bedroom, adobe-style house, he wondered who she might be trying to set him up with this time. She had been deliberately vague on the phone when he asked her what the occasion for dinner was, yet implied there was some sort of emergency which required his presence. He figured that meant there was no occasion and Rachel’s matchmaking tendencies had gotten the better of her once again.
“We just thought it sounded like a nice night to eat out on the patio,” she’d said. He could almost picture her, waving her hand in the air as she hurried around her kitchen, Bluetooth in her ear, cell phone in the pocket of her apron. “It’s supposed to be cooler. Breezy. A really perfect night for dinner.”
“Should I bring someone?” he’d asked.
“Oh no, no, no,” she’d replied, far too quickly. “I have a friend coming. We’ll have four. It’s okay, you don’t have to worry about it.”
Garrett had discovered long ago that Rachel was impossible to bully, intimidate, or even sidetrack. When she got something in her head, she was like a freight train—you either got out of the way or got run over. He’d been the subject of enough blind dates to know when he was being set up. And to know the futility of trying to protest.
“I’ll bring the wine,” he’d said, swallowing a sigh. “Would you prefer red or white?”
Rachel believed that Garrett was destined for true love and a happy marriage. Then again, Rachel believed that all people were destined for true love and a happy marriage. Why that did not translate into Rachel’s own true love and happy marriage, Garrett would never understand. The wedding had been “on hold” for two weeks now. Ted told Garrett she still wanted to get married, but needed a little break and some time to clear her head. The wedding planning had gotten too much for her, and she didn’t want it to affect their relationship.
Garrett thought it was the worst case of cold feet he’d ever seen. He’d initially thought it would only last a few days, but things seemed to stretch on with no end in sight. Hard to believe Rachel had actually called off the wedding on the night he’d met Kaia.
Kaia.
He threw the car into park and revved the engine, frowning as he imagined again the bill he’d held in his hand and that exquisite face, shuddering to a climax in his arms. What had she said to him? “I always settle my bills.” What did that mean? Had that been her clue that she’d never meant to pay her bills? Was that some sort of signal from the start that she was going to leave him holding the bag—or rather, the bill?
More importantly, what kind of idiot would still be thinking about her, two weeks later?
He got out of the car with a bottle of wine tucked into either hand, and shut the door gently with one hip. Rachel’s house was surrounded by verdant life, from the tall palms that cast shade over the screened back porch to the shiny green vines that grew over a lattice arbor at her door, their tiny bell-shaped flowers filling the air with a seductive scent. There were stately plants with purplish leaves and dark red flowers, and bunches of grasses lining the path, their catkins heavy with seed.
Garrett didn’t know the names of any of the plants, but he loved coming here because they were real. Nothing at his condo felt real. Not that he didn’t like his place. He’d built it after all, and it was state of the art, low-impact, and environmentally friendly. But it was the fortieth-floor penthouse of an enormous tower, and sometimes he could picture the
air circulating through a hundred other condominiums before reaching his.
He pushed the bell with a knuckle and turned around, admiring the landscape one more time. As much as he loved plants, Garrett had no green thumb—not even a green pinkie. He did have a plant lady who came to water and fertilize his houseplants, but even her loving touch couldn’t rescue his suicidal bunch. He could swear they knew they were unloved by their owner. They died in spite of her care, throwing their dried brown leaves in masses on the floor of his balcony and hallway.
No, no matter how hard he tried and how much money he dumped into it, his place never looked anything like this.
“…Can you get the door?”
He heard Rachel’s voice from inside, and turned around, steeling himself for the inevitable intellectual “she’s got a great personality” do-gooder at the door. Not that he had anything against public-interest attorneys who wore sensible shoes and didn’t shave their legs, or even passionate tree-huggers who wore their hair in braids and eschewed makeup and the trappings of femininity. But it would be nice if Rachel could branch out a little. Try something different.
The bright sunlight cast a shadow on the screen door, so at first all he could see was a tall figure with long hair draped over the front of either breast. She was willowy, and wore cheap flip-flops, a tank top, and a skirt that ended just above her knees.
A good start. He’d have to reserve judgment until he saw the underarms, of course, but so far so good.
Not that he would seriously consider seeing her. While he appreciated the sentiment, he had no intention of going out on a date with some stranger who just happened to be a friend of Rachel’s. At least he could relax with the parade of hopefuls his grandmother liked to trot before him. They knew his position and had their own reputations to protect. As Portia would say, this one was the daughter of a senator, and that one was a new associate in a prestigious law firm, and this one graduated from Harvard summa cum laude. He knew how to handle women like that.