by Rin Daniels
When the girl handed it over to Barbara, her mother asked, “Is it possible to get five tens for a fifty?”
“Sure,” Summer said cheerfully, reaching for the touchscreen on her register.
“I was thinking,” Barbara said, turning to Kat, “maybe we could stop for dinner, too. Summer, honey, do you have any recommendations?” She took the bills the girl handed over, paused, then added, “Oh, can I swap you ten ones for a—”
Kat didn’t think. She didn’t have to. The first step was get the change in hand, then ask for a different denomination. Get that money in hand, pass back the wrong amount and ask to break another bill into smaller ones. Keep a run of patter distracting the clerk. Swap again, into a different denomination. Do it until Summer, nice girl that she was, lost track of how much belonged where.
And Barbara would skate out with new clothes and the money she’d ostensibly spent. If not more.
Kat hooked her mother’s arm in hers and said firmly, “Never mind, she doesn’t need it.”
“Oh, okay.” Summer smiled, handing over the receipt and closing the register with a clang. “Have a good day, ladies.”
“Katherine,” Barbara protested, but didn’t pull away as Kat tugged her out the door.
“No,” she said when it closed behind them.
Barbara only sighed.
“No,” Kat said again. “No short games. No scamming. Do this right or I’m going home.”
Her mother sighed again, ensuring this one wobbled, and then grinned without a sign of repentance. She linked her arm with Kat’s. “Fine. But only because I’m out with you, my little stick in the mud.”
“I appreciate that,” Kat said. She didn’t touch the rest. That was a fight for another day.
She never would have thought it, not really, but as the day progressed, Kat enjoyed the hours she spent shopping with her mom. Barbara, for all her irresponsibility, had a keen eye for fashion, and a shrewd bargain-hunter’s skill. Just because she didn’t like to wear sales items didn’t mean she couldn’t sniff them out.
By the time night had fallen and the stores were closing, Kat had laughed and twirled and done a fashion run more times than she could recall doing so in her mother’s company. Maybe not since she was a little kid.
Barbara had indulged in a few more clothes, moisturizer and organic makeup, and more fashion jewelry than Kat was sure she needed. Then again, she’d let her mom talk her into another pair of shoes, a stunning silver dress with a low draped back and straight sheathe hem, and a few more capris.
The air had cooled, but not so much that the humidity faded. As they walked out of the last shop to close, Kat tipped her head to the starry sky and inhaled deeply. Florals, something that reminded her of saltwater, and a smoky thread she figured came from the restaurants gearing up for a busy night.
Friday nights didn’t thin out the traffic all that much. She eased to the side as a knot of teenagers laughed and shouted their way to the burger joint back the way Kat had come.
A dull ringing hammered at the air. Somebody’s car alarm, maybe.
At her side, Barbara wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed tightly. “What a day, huh?”
“It was, wasn’t it?” She caught her mom’s wrist in loose fingers and smiled up at her. Barbara wasn’t that much taller than her, but she’d splurged on new shoes. Her mom knew how to work a pair of heels. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Oh, sweetie.” An air-kiss was the closest her mother’s makeup came to smearing. Kat didn’t mind the little eccentricities. It beat mom lipstick on her face. “Thanks for indulging me.”
The warm feeling in her chest glowed. How many hours had it been since they fought? Even Barbara’s criticism of her daughter’s taste had come tempered with suggestions that Kat actually liked.
It was like her mother was trying to help, the only way she knew how.
She laced her arm around her mother’s waist. “Come on. What do you say to kitchen margaritas?”
Barbara brightened. “Can we stop for cherries?”
“We can stop for cherries.”
They headed back down the lane, stopping now and again to marvel at the prettily arranged windows now lit with delicate lights. Aside from the ongoing alarm bell, the whole center looked like something out of a summer picture book.
The smell of smoke thickened.
“Do we have a Cajun restaurant around?” Kat wondered aloud. Her brow furrowed.
“That sounds delicious.”
“I know, right?” Kat glanced back the way they’d come, but no one else seemed worried about the bell. “If I could cook, maybe I would have opened a restaurant instead.”
“Bite your tongue,” Barbara replied hastily, waving that away. “More restaurants fail than stores.”
Kat winced. “Mom—”
“I know, I know,” she said. She paused by the brightly colored window of a kid’s shop. Her mouth evened. “Sweetie, I want you to know that I may not always seem like it, but I support you.”
Kat’s chest squeezed. “Aw, Mom.”
“No, don’t get all fuzzy,” Barbara said hastily. “It’s just that I—” She froze.
“What’s wrong?”
Her eyes widened. She peered past Kat’s head. “Is something on fire?”
A sinking pit opened in Kat’s stomach. “Where?”
Barbara spun her gently. “That’s yours, isn’t it?”
Roils of smoke licked at the dark sky.
“Oh, God,” Kat said hoarsely, and took off down the sidewalk. She was dimly aware of her mother’s voice behind her, but she couldn’t stop to think. To listen. Couldn’t do anything but sprint in her too-high heels.
One snapped out from under her.
It didn’t matter.
She all but fell out of the lane and into a knot of clustered people. A man caught her by sheer accident, grunted when her elbow tagged him, and managed, “Careful!”
The fact that flame didn’t erupt to the sky was small comfort. She could feel the heat of it even without the open flames that ate at the inside, pouring smoke out of every available exit. The ivy clinging to the brick wall on one side stirred in the draft.
“No.” Kat clutched at his arm. “That’s mine. That’s my salon!”
The man looked over her head at the cloud of steam roiling out from a stream of firefighters’ hoses. Two. It took two to get it under control?
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Two words.
I’m sorry.
She tugged her arm out of his steadying grip, forged her way through the crowd. They jostled and murmured and ogled, and it was all Kat could do to make her way to the front.
A firefighter in full gear spread her arms. “Stay back,” she warned. “The wind’s died down, but we don’t want any injuries.”
Kat gripped the crowd-control barriers in her way. “How bad is it?” she demanded. This close, she could hear the rush of the water, the crackle of the flame inside. The front window had been covered while they worked on it, but the tarp they’d used was peeling back. Melting.
“Excuse me,” Barbara said behind her. “Pardon me. That’s my daughter’s store, excuse me, I need to be up front.”
The woman’s mouth slanted into a grim, apologetic line. “We’re not sure, but it’s not going to be good. I’m sorry, ma’am.”
The ground abruptly slid out from under her.
Kat had never in her life fainted, but for a long, torturous moment, she thought she would. Her vision tunneled. She swayed.
“Whoops,” Barbara said, and grasped Kat’s arm. “Crouch right here, sweetie. There you go.”
Her mother’s voice came from very far away.
Kat stared at the ground a hell of a lot closer than it was a minute ago and couldn’t shape her thoughts. Fire. Salon.
Money.
Life.
What was she going to do now?
* * *
All right. Adam would admit it. He was a very
bad man. Not even a full twelve hours since he’d had Kat last, and he wanted her.
Badly.
The meeting had gone well enough, he supposed. Jordan had arrived on the dot with the requested materials, and Adam’s proposal had gone off without a hitch.
Technically speaking.
Goldberg still didn’t like him very much. That was made inordinately clear by the fact he failed to say a single word to Adam directly. Then again, he’d probably said all he wanted to in the impromptu meeting in Adam’s office.
At least the rest of the board seemed to like him—or what he had to say. Spend money to make money, but make money doing what no one else in the industry was doing. The future of tech lay in wearables, but the limited avenue companies were currently adopting were too safe. Too obvious.
He saw a whole new horizon out there for the gadgets the world hungered to own.
Risky? Yes.
Rewarding? Adam could almost taste it.
At least, he had while he was talking about it.
Frankly, once the meeting was done, Adam retired to his office and promptly did a whole lot of nothing.
Kat Harris distracted him. Got under his skin in a big way.
Burying himself in work felt like a poor second to burying himself in her. And that seemed wrong, somehow. He was supposed to be focused on landing CEO, on his future as the man who would pull Laramie Industries onto the map. He saw partnerships with all the bigger companies, contracts with the brand names he wanted.
He saw growth, stability, and yes, money. Money to pour into research and development.
So why, he thought as he stared at his phone, was he sitting in his office at nine o’clock and considering a booty call?
There was no other name for it.
He’d become that guy.
He should have been going over Jordan’s detailed meeting notes, nailing down the places the proposal lacked and cementing the parts that Goldberg and the board had responded favorably to.
He should have been going home, getting some food.
He hadn’t been a Friday night, everything’s all right kind of guy for a long time.
And yet...
Adam’s fingers twitched.
He wanted her. In a bad, bad way.
Maybe if he sweetened the deal?
Like himself. Naked. Very naked.
Of course, she’d have to be naked, too. All was fair, and so on.
He picked up his phone. He’d made her a favorite contact.
And why not?
Because she’s a con artist.
Was. Was a con artist. She’d changed, right? Going legit? The salon and all that. Christ. A hair dresser. How’d he end up infatuated with a hair dresser?
Adam pressed the screen.
Hi. I was thinking, want to meet for sex?
Yeah, even if he was that kind of a bastard, it was a certain woman who responded to that, and Kat probably wasn’t it.
Well, then again. The image of her in those killer orange shoes sauntered though his memory, and his cock stirred.
The line rang steadily.
It’s me. How does dinner sound?
Like too much time between now and getting her naked.
Adam sighed.
Was she busy?
Before he gave up, the line clicked over. A dull roar filled the ambience behind the woman’s voice that answered. “Is this the young man currently seeing my daughter?” she asked, as breezily as if she’d asked his name.
Adam found himself sitting straight in his chair. Seeing? There was one too many ‘e’s in that word, and not enough ‘x’s. “Uh, yes, ma’am,” he said.
“You’d better hurry,” she said, an imperious command. In the background, he heard other voices. Chaotic ones. “Her whole life has just burned to ash in front of her eyes, and she’s in desperate need of some sympathy.”
He shot up from the chair, barked a knee against his desk and didn’t slow. “Where?”
“Her salon,” Kat’s mother said, and hung up.
“Shit,” he said to the empty line, and sprinted out of his office.
* * *
The crowd dispersed. The nice policewoman who had come to get Kat’s statement shot her a sympathetic look as Kat stared at the blackened storefront that was supposed to be her salon.
Her chance at legitimacy.
The window was so black, she couldn’t see anything inside. The building hadn’t collapsed, and the firefighters had suggested that the structure was still sound. Only the interior had suffered damage.
But it wasn’t the kind of damage a coat of paint and airing out would fix.
Everything had counted on this. Her mother’s debt. Their future.
Her independence.
Up in smoke. Literally.
Her temples ached, fierce knots of pain. She was going to cry. If she didn’t leave right now, she was going to break down in front of the two cops who’d come to take care of the details, the firefighters wrapping up their hoses, and whatever stragglers remained.
Strangers, all of them.
Kat didn’t want to cry in front of them. If she had nothing left, she still had some pride.
Pride she’d have to swallow when she begged Wallace & Roane for an extension.
Her hands shook as she turned away. The smile she managed would have had Jack Harris pitching a fit, but it was the best she could do right now. “Thanks,” she whispered.
“Hey.” The police woman touched her arm. “Do you need someone to take you home?”
“No, I—” Kat looked around, every bone in her body feeling like lead. Where was her mom?
“Let me just tell my partner,” the officer said gently.
Kat shook her head. It wasn’t like she could get any lower. “No,” she said. Her eyes burned. “It’s fine, I’ll just—”
“Kat!”
The achingly familiar voice that echoed across the small square drove the final nail into the coffin of her self-control. Tears welled up, and instead of turning to Adam—instead of responding to the worry and, damn him, the effortless command that shaped his polished tenor—she turned her back on him and buried her face in both hands.
“Hey, Adam,” the police officer said, voice respectfully quiet. “Long time, no see.”
“Sarah, hey.”
Kat didn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t the arm he put around her shoulders, or the splayed hand at her nape that encouraged her to hide her face against his chest.
He smelled like soap and expensive cologne that didn’t reek of chemicals. He smelled clean, not like the smoke she couldn’t get out of her nose.
And he simply ignored the stiff set of her shoulders to say over her head, “You have this all wrapped up?”
“Sure,” Sarah the police officer replied. “Go on and take her home.”
What about what Kat wanted? Ice cream, a vat of it—no, a bathtub of it. And enough of that boxed wine to take the edge off. For a week.
Alone.
“I’ll be in touch later,” Adam said, and the police officer he somehow knew—and why wouldn’t he? she thought hollowly—made a sound of agreement.
Kat shifted, but Adam’s fingers dug gently into her hair—like she was a cat in need a soothing hand. And the worst part was that it worked.
She shuddered, jaw locked, and squeezed her eyes shut against his jacket. One hand fisted in the back of it. “Hi,” she managed, watery no matter how hard she tried.
“Hey,” he said against her hair. “What say we go somewhere else?”
The fragile wall in her chest fractured. She took a shuddering breath. “Yeah.” And then, forcing herself to do it, she uncurled her fingers from his coat and lifted her head.
She expected sympathy. Maybe some helplessness, in that way that men did around damsels in distress. What Adam gave her was a warm, slow smile, and a gentle press of his fingertips against her cheek.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said.
An
d, oh, God, she wanted so badly to believe him.
The dam broke behind her eyes, and she raised her arm to mask it as a sob fractured out of her chest.
Adam tugged her into the crook of his arm, and letting her cry against his shoulder, he navigated them both back out of the center. Kat didn’t argue, couldn’t summon the will to try.
Anywhere was better.
Anywhere with him.
* * *
Adam didn’t usually invite women back to his house. It didn’t seem fair to the date, who wouldn’t be staying.
Or to himself, who wasn’t much of a morning person and didn’t handle cheerful morning-afters well as a rule.
And for all that, he shattered that rule on his own front step as he escorted Kat Harris into the one place she wasn’t supposed to go.
His home was more of a townhouse, larger than he needed for his own single purposes but away from the main Laramie estate and closer to his work. The community was quiet, his neighbors usually traveling, and the terraced square behind it made for a pretty view from his bedroom patio.
A view he found himself wanting to share.
And that was weird.
Kat had stopped crying in his car, though she clung to his handkerchief like it held the secret to life.
Her eyes were red, her gaze focused a million miles away. The sad little curve to her mouth wasn’t like any smile he’d ever seen from her—and it worried him.
Red-nosed and blotchy-cheeked, she was beautiful.
Another weird moment for him.
“This is...” Her voice trailed as he closed the door behind her.
Adam studied the foyer with a critical, if admittedly masculine, eye. “What? Too bare? Too dusty?”
“Too...” Finally, the shell-shock glaze to her expression shifted to something he hoped was warmer. He couldn’t tell. She’d locked up so tight, he was afraid a wrong word would shatter her. “Too you.”
“Is that bad?”
“No?”
“Why is that a question?” he asked dryly.
The shadows in her eyes withdrew a little bit farther. Something in his heart eased. A tickle. A breath.