by Carrie Lomax
“Failing? Why would you say that?”
“Because it’s what I do, Mom. I fail. I try and I fail. After a while, I stopped trying.” Janelle’s nose was hot and itchy. Allergies. Must be. She reached for the tissue box on the sideboard.
“You’re not going to fail this time. Here. Look at this. The reason your credit is so bad is that you only have a single loan on your record. You should open a few other accounts to build up your credit profile.”
“I tried! I was turned down for two credit cards, and the interest rates are sky-high.” Janelle grabbed her wine glass, took a careful sip, and set it back down. This wouldn’t be any easier with a headache.
“Interest rates don’t matter if you don’t carry a balance, Janie.” Catherine sorted through her printouts. The plan didn’t take long to develop. Janelle’s parents would cosign for a loan to buy a car, and help her apply for a secured credit card through their credit union.
“I don’t know whether to be horrified I didn’t know how much trouble you were having or impressed you paid off nearly a third of your loans in three years. We should try to consolidate the loan into a smaller monthly payment. I’ll make that call tomorrow.”
The hour had gotten late. They set aside the paperwork to make dinner. Janelle hugged her mother and left a floury handprint on her back. “Oops.”
Catherine hugged her back and whispered, “It’s okay, baby.”
And even though she missed Trent with every aching pulse of her heart, it was.
* * *
The new phone’s preset ringtone was quiet, but it still made Jessie, her boss at the warehouse, poke her head up and glare. “You can use your phone at break, Janie.”
“Sorry. It’s new. I can’t figure out how to put it on vibrate.”
It beeped again, indicating a voicemail. She’d dropped her parents’ phone line and set up her very own account, although she’d kept her old number. It was probably about the new-ish car. Though technically secondhand, saving her a few thousand dollars, the Honda had low miles and a good maintenance record. One Janelle fully intended to continue.
At 10:45, she took her bag to the grim break room and punched in her access code. The voicemail was only a few seconds long, but it left her statue-still with disbelief. “Janie? It’s Trent. Give me a call when you can.”
“Well if you ain’t a sight for sore eyes.” Her nemesis, the lead forklift driver, moved in too close and sniffed noisily. Still stunned, Janelle was slow to react.
“Mmm, you smell as good as you look, Janelle. Like coffee. Strong and bitter, just how I like my women.” His eyes were locked on her chest.
“Rick, try looking down my shirt again and I’ll report you to HR.”
An empty threat. She’d done it once before, and the human resources director had laughed in her face. Janelle yanked her bag up and hustled down the hallway out the back door where two of the other warehouse guys were smoking. She waved away the cloud as she passed, hitting the number Trent had dialed from. He picked up on the second ring.
“Hi. It’s me.” Janelle’s palms were sweaty, her heart racing. The moment was surreal. He wanted her. Trent had called to say he loved her. Right?
“Hi.”
“So…were you just calling to say you missed me?” Please say you miss me.
“Not exactly. I was wondering if you could come to Virginia this weekend.”
“Um, it’s Thursday, Trent. Kinda last-minute.” What the hell?
“I’ll pay for the plane ticket.”
“Why should I?” Her pulse raced giddily. There was noise in the background, as though he was in a cafe or a restaurant. “What happened to the clean break?”
“I’m not calling about us. Remember the Solomon guy from New York? He wasn’t kidding about issuing a fast-turnaround RFP. I’ve been absolutely buried since I got back, and this response is due in New York by Monday. If we advance, there’s a presentation in two weeks I’d also need help with. I’ll pay you. Olivia says you’re doing freelance work for her, and I don’t have time to vet someone through word of mouth.”
Disappointment sucked at her. “I don’t know. I’d have to find someone to cover me at the coffee shop on Saturday.”
“If we win this, you can quit the coffee shop. It’s normal to build in a consultant’s fee. I’m offering two percent on a million-dollar contract.”
“What if we don’t win?” We. What’s this we nonsense? There was no we, no us. He was using those words to leverage their…hookup. This was even more calculated than the breakup at the airport. Part of her hated him for it. The rest of her yearned for his touch, no questions asked.
“I have a good shot, but I need help. Olivia thinks you can get the job done.” Trent was so distant. So professional.
Olivia was such a dear. Maybe she could sneak in a visit with her during the trip. If she went. She’d hoped for a booty call from Trent, not a temp gig. Still, money was money. “I’ve got to get back to work, Trent.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Janelle! You’re three minutes over your break. Back at it.” Jessie hollered from the rear door as she lit up.
“I’ll make some calls at lunch. No promises.” She hung up before he could respond.
It wasn’t the opportunity she wanted. But if it was a step to getting a better job, Janelle would take it. Even if it meant wearing a chastity belt to work around Trent for a few days. She could probably find one to buy online. If she locked it on and left the key at home, she might be able to stop herself from shamelessly throwing herself at him.
It was a plan.
12
Trent spotted Janelle a full minute before she exited the security gate. She looked different. He couldn’t say why, but the woman in the gray print shirt and jeans moved with a confidence that she hadn’t displayed when he’d dropped her off at another airport, two weeks ago in Las Vegas.
She grinned and pushed her sunglasses onto her head. “Hi.”
“Good to see you. Thanks for coming all this way.” Should he kiss her? Fuck, no, he hadn’t asked her to come so he could get into her pants.
Bullshit.
Janelle smoothed over the awkward moment by hooking her arm in his. Casual, friendly, not necessarily romantic. Trent’s stomach did something spastic and uncomfortable.
“I brought the latest draft of the Solomon RFP. I worked on it on the plane, so there’s notes in the margins.” Janie’s tone was light, preternaturally normal.
In the parking lot, she dropped his arm. Trent flipped through the stack of papers she handed him as he walked, putting a good three feet of distance between them. He shoved a sick feeling down as if he could bury it with work. Why had he brought her here?
You needed help.
She’d given it without hesitation. Though it had taken some convincing, Janelle had dropped everything to be here for barely twenty-four hours, and she’d been working past midnight both Thursday and Friday nights. They both had, though they’d communicated only over email.
“What you need, Trent, is a repository of boilerplate responses to make this process easier. We do something similar at the warehouse for bidding on contracts.”
Her idea was a good one, but he’d never expect her to work for free.
You’re paying her. It’s not charity.
Except it was. Unless they won the business, she earned nothing. She’d refused to let him pay her hourly if he lost. He’d insisted on bumping her fee. Winning was imperative. Trent wanted to fuck her with his dick, not fuck her over financially.
“Maybe after the pitch.” He’d resisted Olivia’s recommendation that he call Janelle until he’d almost run out of time to finish the proposal. “Anything else new?”
“I bought a car.”
Trent whistled. “Thought you were broke?”
“I am.” Janelle sat up straighter, her sunglasses obscuring her eyes. “My parents cosigned for the loan. It’s not new but almost. Mom says it’ll help my credit sco
re in the long run. I’m getting my financial house in order.”
“No more sugar daddies?”
Janelle shuddered. “Never again. From now on, I solve my own problems. No more princess complex for me.”
Subtext: I don’t need you, Trent.
The sucker punch made him want to do violence, the way he’d raged at the world after his parents died. The way he’d enlisted in the army as much for the physical punishment as for the structure he badly needed, after Penny had come out of the coma and the extent of her brain damage was revealed. Trent was older now. Wiser, maybe. The jury was still out. He didn’t react, just drove in silence until the parking garage of his building appeared. His jaw ached as he clenched his teeth against the torrent of words he’d die before speaking.
“We’re home,” was all he said and wished it was true, that it was their home. Together. It wasn’t. It would never be. He’d always be the dumb shit whose ex-girlfriend had leaked their sex tape, who couldn’t use his first name without the entire world finding out what he’d done. All they’d ever have was a few days of mind-blowing sex. He had nothing more to offer. It had been a giant mistake to bring Janelle here.
* * *
Trent’s apartment building was modern and large, easily ten stories, with small trees poking over the edges of the roof indicating a deck. Janelle wiped her damp palms on her jeans.
“Nice building. How long have you lived here?”
Trent led her into an elevator, finally breaking his silence. “About eight months. It’s zoned for commercial live-work residence, although I’m pushing it by having more than three employees.”
“I don’t understand. Is this your apartment or your office?”
“It’s both.” He unlocked a door to a sparsely but comfortably furnished, airy loft apartment with large windows. The view was over a parking lot, but they were placed high enough that Janelle didn’t notice until she went to the window and looked down.
Trent was acting as if the weekend in Las Vegas had never happened. Janelle swallowed her disappointment. They’d only spoken on the phone once after that first, brief call, and she’d hoped the awkwardness would evaporate once they were together again.
If anything, it was worse. Janelle set her bag on a white leather couch and walked to a marble breakfast bar, where she laid out neat stacks of paper covered with sticky notes and red scribble.
“Shall we dive in?” Better to get to work. It was the only reason he wanted her here.
“Are you hungry? Do you want lunch?”
“No, thanks. I left sections four, nine, and twelve for you to fill out.” Janelle barely glanced up. Looking at him made something sharp stab in her chest. He hadn’t kissed her hello. She didn’t want anything but to get their work done and go home.
Unless he’d changed his mind about their being together, she was here to prove her newfound skills. The sun shifted and set as they worked. Janelle almost asked him to put music on to break up the monotony, but even that felt like too far a bridge. What if he hated her music tastes? What if she hated his?
“You can’t spell for shit.”
Janelle’s attention settled on Trent for a long moment. Was he annoyed? Amused? “No, I’ve never been good at it. Have it proofread before you send it out.”
Several minutes of silence passed. “You make my company sound better than it is.”
“Thank you?” It had been a mistake to come here. She needed to get out of this room. He’d been inside her body. Sitting in his apartment shouldn’t be a big deal, but this stilted distance was killing her.
“It was a compliment, Janie.” He leaned over the high counter. Janelle’s face warmed under Trent’s scrutiny. “Olivia was right. You have a talent for this.”
“Lucky me. Of all the talents in the universe, I get the boring corporate-speak-crammed-into-Excel-squares one.”
Trent huffed a laugh. “Come on. Let’s take a break. I’ll show you the roof deck.”
The wide sky above them was streaked with pink and orange clouds. Janelle’s relief was immediate. Air and light chased away her nervousness. She walked the perimeter of the deck, putting as much distance as she could between herself and Trent while looking out over the skyline.
You don’t have to wait for him to make a move.
If he’d given her any indication he was happy to see her again, Janelle wouldn’t have hesitated. The clean break in Las Vegas had been rough, yet it had been merciful. She wanted to believe he missed her. But he hardly looked at her, and if she came within arm’s length he retreated as though she were a snake coiled to bite.
Maybe he regretted sleeping with her. Maybe she’d been terrible in bed. Janelle’s eyes watered. She blinked to clear them and stretched her arms to the sky. All she had to do was finish the document, and if they made it to the next round, go to New York for a day to present in person. She could endure a few hours of awkwardness for the money; it was too good to pass up.
Janelle noticed Trent’s shadow an instant before his big hand landed on the small of her back. She started.
“You must be hungry by now. I am. Do you want to go out?” he asked.
Her arm was around his waist before she could remember why she shouldn’t touch him. Trent pulled her close. Janelle closed her eyes and breathed in his scent, the same unidentifiable spice that was all him. Her heart beat erratically, like a frightened bat trapped in her chest. Pain and pleasure pumped through her body, sweetly toxic.
Janelle could stand on tiptoe and kiss him. It would be reckless, but if Trent’s hands slid around her ass and lifted her high against his chest, it would be worth it. She’d wrap her legs around his waist and kiss him, a succubus, desperate for him to love her back.
She did none of those things. The fantasy faded the instant she pulled away, leaving the warm memory of his palm cooling against her skin. “I’d rather order in. Let’s keep working, and get this over with.”
* * *
Trent went out to pick up their food. Janelle wandered aimlessly around the apartment, too curious to resist poking around.
It’s not snooping if I’m not opening drawers.
The door to the large, windowed bedroom off the living room was crammed with long tables and desk chairs. Computer equipment and office supplies, including a large printer, occupied the closet. Janelle picked up the stack of printouts Trent had sent to queue before leaving. Excuse secured, she closed the door and tiptoed down the hall to the back of the apartment. At the end was a closet with a washer-dryer, a bathroom, and a door to Trent’s bedroom. It was pitch black. Janelle flipped the light on.
No wonder. It was a windowless cell.
A plain, neatly made bed sat against the far wall. A large desk occupied an alcove next to the closet. Inside the closet was a small, cheaply made bureau. Beside it, on the floor, two pairs of shoes and a pair of army boots. Hangers with a monotonous array of dress shirts and suits occupied the long rod, an inch of space between the metal brackets. Everything Trent owned could fit in a large suitcase. The furniture was disposable. This apartment was nothing more than a crash pad at the back of his office.
Janelle reached for a photo in a silver frame. A much younger Trent, tall and skinny, stood with two people who must have been his parents. She set it down carefully, exactly as she’d found it. Now she was snooping.
Behind it was a second photo in a plain frame. Trent, a little older and broader in the shoulders, smiled next to a startlingly pretty, blonde woman. Janelle picked it up and turned it over. A note on the back of the picture written with purple ink in a round, girlish scrawl read: I love your cock, Trent. XOXO forever, Penelope “Bad Penny.”
Janelle flipped the picture over again, a sad smile touching her. “It’s a masterpiece, isn’t it?”
On closer inspection, Trent exhibited an angry tenseness. Though it had softened, he hadn’t lost his wary suspicion of the world. It wasn’t evident in his teenage photo, before he’d lost his family. Janelle swallowed
and set the picture back in its place. Lying flat beside the framed pictures was another photo, smaller, portrait layout. She picked it up by the edges and felt her eyebrows pop with surprise.
Trent had printed out the selfie he’d snapped of them at the Pinball Hall of Fame. The paper was thick, professional quality, not the cheap kind you did at home. Janelle ran her thumb over the surface, then placed it back where she’d found it.
Her self-guided tour had only taken a few minutes. A noise from the hallway made her dash on tiptoe past the kitchen and slide her ass onto a counter stool as if she hadn’t been poking her nose into Trent’s private life. Such as it was. The door didn’t open.
Janelle glanced at the phone. Trent had only been gone for twelve minutes.
While her heart rate had slowed, Janelle cracked the front door to find a stocky guy, around her age, trying to jam a key into the lock of the apartment across the hall. A petite woman with dark hair leaned against the wall, clearly intoxicated. She froze, then tapped the man on the arm and pointed.
“Whoa. A chick! Look, Sean, the monk has a girlfriend.”
“Hate to disappoint, but I’m not Trent’s girlfriend,” Janelle replied. Somehow, she’d hooked up with the one man who had less of a social life than she did.
The guy peered at her and winced. “Sorry. Hannah says anything when she’s had a few.”
“That’s why you looooove me,” Hannah responded, leaning on his arm.
“I’m Janelle.” She grinned and stuck out her hand. Trent’s neighbors were the first normal aspect of this entire weird visit.
“Sean. So, if you’re not banging Mace, why are you here on a Saturday night?” The guy gave up trying to open the lock and pumped her hand twice. The key dangled from the door.