by Amber Scott
“Really?” The desk creaked as he shifted, taking the paper. “That’s it?”
Brooke couldn’t stand any straighter. “Yes.”
“No, ‘thank you for the books’, no ‘hello, my name is…?’” He actually sounded more amused than wounded.
She kept her gaze on his mouth. Didn’t help her legs to firm up and start working. “Mmm-hmmm.”
“Well, allow me.” He extended his hand and cocked his head in an I-don’t-bite kind of way. “I’m Elliott.”
Her toes tingled. The entire afternoon’s incident flashed hot in her mind. If she stayed any longer, she’d be stumbling over her tongue, telling him all sorts of things about the books, about class, about Millie. She could see it now. He’d be kind enough to fake interest, in what was none of his concern, and she’d end up falling all over herself for another one of his panty melting smiles. No thank you.
Not only was he half her age—two-thirds?—but he also had graded every one of her papers. Average. By his standards. She’d played the doe-eyed college girl act before. It didn’t feel good.
“Nice to meet you,” Brooke managed. One final glance of him, his eyes, his hands, his broad shoulders and narrow hips, she left, belly in full force flutter. Impossible or not, there was something delicious in being pursued by a guy like him, in walking away. In leaving a man slack-jawed and wanting. Her feet patted away little white tufts all the way to her car.
Chapter Three
Unbelievable! Elliott shook his head as she rounded the corner and out of sight. He stabbed his hand out, her paper clutched in it, as if to ask, “Did you see that”? But no one was there to see him do it, let alone answer. Hell, he doubted if one other person still haunted the building at this hour. He’d be long gone himself if not for half a stack remaining of grading a week behind Bernie Shope’s strict deadline.
He’d finally gotten her out of his head and worked. Then, poof. She’d appeared outside Shope’s door distracted and glaring. A whole array of reactions had sung through him. Disbelief. Elation. Then, boom, disappointment—the gut punching kind—when she caught sight of him and stared, aghast.
She’d completely ignored him, too. All the while letting him hear her plan a date, every word. Was it with whoever called her earlier? No. He’d bet money her affectionate “babe” earlier had been fake. So, someone else then. Someone she really wanted to see. Fine. Good. She’d shot him down. But, then, to leave and not even give him her name?
Unreal! Elliott snorted. That’s what he got. He’d acted on a naïve, romantic impulse buying her those books. Sitting down next to her in the first place was a disaster. His people watching, turned crush, turned what, he didn’t know. He’d actually meant to save her today? Like an idiot. Joining her should have been the nice thing to do. The honorable thing to do. His version of a coat over a puddle.
Elliott shook his head skyward. The stack of papers at his hip, shifted. If he hadn’t freaked her out before, she certainly was now. Why hadn’t he played it cooler? Acted like he didn’t even recognize her? Played hard to get.
Elliott stood and instantly regretted the sudden movement. The tower of papers leaned, wobbled. Too late, he turned to catch reams of ungraded papers. They crashed to the floor, scattering on impact. With them, his evening’s plans. Why couldn’t Shope be a stickler for staples instead of paper clips? “Shit.”
He’d be up half the night just putting the papers back in order.
If he hadn’t seen such a difference in her whenever her friend was around, he might not have developed the dumb crush to begin with. But he had. He’d witnessed firsthand, again and again, how her hard edges melted away. And found the transformation far too attractive. He began looking forward to witnessing it each week, like being in on a secret. All pretenses receding, right there where only he seemed to witness, revealing a vulnerable depth that whispered to him across the crowded room.
Like a poem. No, like music. Hard, forceful, then softer. Like really good blues. Didn’t matter now. She’d never show her face again at The Book Exchange. Not when he might be there. Where else could he possibly see her again anyhow?
Michelle’s curvy shadow fell across the floor. Had he thought everyone gone at this hour? “It looks like you could use a drink.”
Elliott looked up. A drink was sounding better and better. Michelle certainly wouldn’t walk away from him. Quite the opposite. She’d been jumping at every last whiff of a chance for the last six months. Giving in didn’t sound so bad after such a set down. Drinks with Shope’s niece might be risky but his fellowship application couldn’t be on the line over one beer, could it?
He’d just explain to her how he couldn’t cross any lines, that he had a career at stake. She’d understand.
Besides, Shope wasn’t his future’s deciding factor. The guy wasn’t the type to give a raving review to any assistant. In fact, Elliott had never counted on one. So, how much damage could one beer really cause? Or Michelle herself, for that matter? “Yeah, why not?” Elliott shrugged half-heartedly. “You ever been to Ramone’s?”
“I think I should come with you,” AJ said from the bathroom doorframe.
Millie shook her head and dabbed a smear of pale gloss in the center of her lower lip. Two things she was sure of. One, women’s magazines were full of it when they swore by the trick she was trying. Pout? Yeah, right. Try stripe. And two, she’d never get through dinner with AJ there. Her cellmate for this cupid sentence would be far too distracting.
“No.” She met his eyes by way of his reflection. She didn’t dare do more. “Thanks, though.”
The last thing she needed was to get lost in those pale green eyes with less than fifteen minutes to get her butt gone. Starry-eyed and in a twist would not help her negotiate Brooke’s anger down. Plus Millie had a new plan. Maybe.
“What will you tell her?”
“I don’t know yet. I can’t exactly tell her the truth, can I now?” Brooke,I stood you up to break into your condo so I could find you true love. Yeah. Right.
“Not the whole truth, but some, yes. You could.”
What part? The part about Millie’s life sentence by Heaven for “gross indifference” when she was her former self, Kiki Kent? Millie gave AJ a look to tell him what she thought of that idea.
Thankfully, AJ didn’t push it. He left her looking at the face in the mirror that, after three miserable years, didn’t startle her so much anymore. She doubted it’d ever feel like hers, though.
When she thought of herself, she was still Katherine Eleanor Kent, socialite celebri-tante. Kiki. Not the mysteriously disappeared poor little rich girl, Kiki Kent, either. Anyone born in the last four decades would know that scandal. Anyone but her. She didn’t remember her actual disappearance. Only afterwards, the being marched before God’s court of disapproving angels area. Trial and sentence. Crime and punishment.
Kiki, what have you done now?, her mother would scold. Millie didn’t know. One day she was on her way to rendezvous with Glen Mitchum before his wife came home. The next she was in golden cuffs. She was cited with gross indifference. Apparently doing nothing in life is worse than doing wrong. By never interfering in the toxic lives surrounding Kiki Kent, she got here. Here sucked.
Well, all of it except AJ. They were bound together in their mutual sentences. He was far better a cupid than she was, however, and if she didn’t match Brooke, AJ’d be reassigned.
Millie touched her belly where it ached over the very idea. This Millie in the mirror was shorter than Kiki, plumper, with an ass that had a mind of its own. Every cosmetic trick in the book wouldn’t change what God had given Millie. No dropping jaws when this entered a room. No champagne promises. Maybe a table lamp to the floor if she wasn’t careful.
Why give her a different body? More punishment? Or was utter lack of male attention supposed to help somehow? Being desired came in handy. The right skirt and pouty glance opened doors and closets. As Kiki, she’d have had this cupid thing all sewn up and AJ i
n bed by now.
AJ walked past the bathroom door. One molten look from him instantly bolstered her self esteem. She let out a long breath when he paused, shrugged and left her to finish what was surely an act of desperation, if there ever was one. If only all that sex exuding from every gorgeous pore was only meant for her.
It wasn’t. It was part of his own punishment, his cupid magic developed over who knew how many years. He made his matches, fast and easy, then was stuck with her until she either got one right or Heaven intervened.
At least he didn’t mind helping her. From the start he’d tried to explain how it all worked. Going into wondrous detail about the chemistry of human attraction, of hormonal compatibility and how compounds met and evolved in mortal love. Millie generally lost track right after pheromones diagram A. Watching his mouth move just did things to her. Tinkered with her concentration. Plucked at her libido.
She needed to focus. Brooke. Dinner. The break-in. Her seven slender gold bracelets, her cupid handcuffs, jingled on her right arm when she powdered her not-so-pert nose. They constantly reminded her. Brooke Munkle had to fall in love.
Or Millie wouldn’t get back to her old life. Or Kiki Kent might as well be dead instead of missing. Or she would lose AJ.
Millie smiled tightly at her reflection. With a fluff and a toss of mousy brown curls, she adjusted her meager bust and exited. AJ stood behind his architect’s desk, scanning her latest bunch of bachelor files. Mouse sized guilt squeaked inside her. She should be doing that. Not only was he sex and lust, he was kindness and consideration, too?
She couldn’t do this without him.
She pulled her coat on. “Any luck?”
AJ shook his head, tossing a file aside. “Aren’t there any more parameters I can request?”
“If I had any. Good credit, educated, no felonies, weight, height. No wait, have we added weight? What do you usually use again?”
“Selecting the Ms. Right is an entirely different set of parameters.”
“Let me guess. Two, in particular, right?” she asked.
AJ grinned. There was that, too. He got her dumb jokes. A finger of heat rippled over her shoulders. She shook it off, shrugging into the parka. It was snowing in Reno. Again. Why couldn’t they land a gig somewhere tropical? Why did every last one have to be in some cold or damp or dirty little city?
The jacket’s material hissed with her movements. It smelled like swimming pool. “I shouldn’t be long.”
AJ nodded, his attention back on the files. Millie waited for something else to say. Today’s miserable failure had left her drained. The only dirt she could find in Brooke’s entire place was poor laundry skills and a photo of Brooke’s wedding day. Zilch, in a nutshell, unless…she’d looked so happy in the photo. “Has her ex-husband’s file come in yet?”
AJ shook his head. Millie let out a nice long, loud sigh. Ahh. Forget it.
She was stalling and, while leaving AJ always felt a bit like caffeine withdrawal, she needed to get to Ramone’s. To Brooke.
To pinpoint why her wedding day was the first thing Brooke needed to see when she came home.
Millie grabbed her keys and left. She half wanted to forget the whole mess and let Brooke stay pissed. Buy some time to send AJ with more parameters, time to brainstorm. But Brooke would only get madder. This assignment didn’t need to get harder.
Wouldn’t it be nice if she could just explain the truth. “You see, Brooke, I’m a new cupid, a felon of sorts on community service so to speak, and I’m crap at it. I haven’t made a match in the three years I’ve been stuck in this mess. However, you, Brooke, are in luck. I have vowed to find you love if it’s the last thing I do. And it might be. So, while you were waiting for me today, all embarrassed and angry, I was picking your lock, invading your apartment and begging the universe for a break in your case so I could isolate some schmuck to love you, ditch off one of these bangles here, and get back to who I used to be. Fabulous. See? No need to get mad. No need to fret. Get on board, help me help you. All that shit. Sound good?”
Good.
Five minutes later, Millie swerved into Ramone’s and parked. She spotted Brooke’s Acura. Steam wafted from her mouth only to be sucked off by the wind. She shook her hands out. Now or never. No wonder she still wore all seven gold bands. Love just wasn’t her drink of choice. Give her a shot of like any day. Lust on the rocks. She trudged up the wet slope of strip mall parking lot to the restaurant’s door. Red checked tablecloths and candle-dripped wicker wine bottles faked authenticity. Scents of Florence sunsets, memories of Andalusia beaches, hovered in her mind’s peripheries.
She stepped inside and the warm air gusted her nostalgia back to nausea.
“Table for one?” greeted the Hispanic hostess.
“I’m meeting someone,” Millie said, ignoring the relief on the woman’s face. “I think she’s here already.”
“Ah, yes. Your friend. You are Maleficent, no?”
A villainess? Well, close enough. Millie nodded and followed her to the rear of the restaurant, her doom climbing with eachstep. She pulled off her jacket. She could do this. She had to do this. If she were ever going to get back to her life, to those beaches, those restaurants--.
Brooke stood up so fast, she knocked her chair over. The hostess scurried to correct it and Millie smiled wider. Brooke flushed, rolled her eyes skyward, and for a moment, not a drop of tension remained between them.
“Before you say anything, Brooke, let me tell you again, I’m so sorry.” Millie sat. “I’m a terrible friend. I should have called you and warned you that I couldn’t come today. It was thoughtless. I should have been there to read your paper. Something important came up at the last minute and I just didn’t have time.”
“Honestly, Millie.” Brooke drank from her ice water’s straw. The ice crashed against the glass. “I don’t really care.”
“You don’t care?” Millie’s stomach hitched. Benign words for her diffident air. Had she gone and done something else wrong? “So, you forgive me?”
“It’s my own fault, really. You’re always late. Me, getting my hopes up.” Her hand went to her chest. “My counting on you is my mistake.”
“Ouch.” Brooke couldn’t possibly know about the break-in, could she? She hadn’t even been home yet to find her front door unlocked. Had she? “I suppose I deserve that, though.”
“Millie, it’s not about deserving or not. You are who you are.” Brooke set her glass down. The lemon wedge toppled to the table and stayed there. “If we can call each other friends, then we should be able to see the other person for who they really are and accept them regardless.”
Double ouch. “I’m so sorry, Brooke. Really, I am.”
Brooke put her hands in the air as if to say, “enough”. Were her hands shaking? Oh no. How mad was she? And if she wasn’t mad about being stood up, or the break-in, then what …?
“Would you ladies like another moment or are you ready to order?”
Millie could have kissed the pimple-faced waiter for his timing.
“I need a little more time,” Brooke said.
“Sure thing,” the waiter chirped. “Just wave me down when you’re ready.”
Brooke nodded very slowly, her gaze making Millie feel like a germ under a microscope. Her pulse tripled in beat. Was it hot in here or was it the cold water making her stomach dizzy?
“Wait,” Millie said, snatching the waiter’s arm. “What are your specials tonight?”
He eyeballed her hand. She promptly removed it.
“We don’t have any specials. Come summertime, we’ll have a seasonal menu, but the owner doesn’t like specials.”
“Oh.” She could feel Brooke’s stare. Crap. “Alright. Thanks.”
Millie busied herself with the menu, ignoring the silence inflating between them. Brooke sipped her water dry. Her menu lay untouched next to the fallen lemon wedge.
Millie bit her inner cheek. “What’s good here?”
“Why did
you call Jason, Millie?”
“Jason?” It was Millie’s turn to drink water, her mouth suddenly dry.
“Yes. He said you called him. When did you call him, exactly?” Brooke wound the edge of her turtleneck with her index finger, her gaze intent on Millie. “And, why did you call him? Exactly?”
Man, her tone could cut. No wonder she didn’t cuss. She didn’t f-ing need to. Lies, don’t fail me now. “I called Jason this afternoon.” While I broke into your condo and found your wedding photo front and center in your entryway. “He wasn’t supposed to tell you.”
Millie giggled nervously while her brain dug in deep for excuses. Had she thought for a second Jason would go against what she’d explicitly asked on her message for him not to do—i.e. tell Brooke—, she might have been prepared.
Brooke straightened, her fingers folded. “Well, he did. So, could you start explaining what is going on before my mind takes me down any uglier scenarios than it already has?”
Exes weren’t supposed to chat each other up or be unwilling to keep a secret or two. Mille hadn’t even used the word secret with Jason. She’d said surprise. Reuniting Jason and Brooke was a long shot, Millie knew it, but it was all she had and it would only work if Jason didn’t screw it up. Brooke blinked, her eyebrows rose impossibly higher.
“I was going to ask him about you,” Millie scrambled. AJ’s earlier words echoed in her head. The truth? No, no, no. Not the truth. “That is to say, I was going to ask him about your birthday.”
“My birthday.”
“Yes.”
“Was over a month ago.”
Crap. The lie she’d prepped for Jason may as well do. “Yes. And I didn’t really do anything for it and after today and all the other times you’ve tolerated me like a saint, I thought I could come up with a post birthday, thanks-for-putting-up-with-me kind of thing for you.”
“I asked you not to do anything for my birthday, remember?” she said, less edgy. “I stopped celebrating them after my last one with Jason.”