“I was just going to get my stuff.” She pointed at the office. “Lunch. OK?”
“Why wouldn’t it be OK? It’s the lunch hour, isn’t it?”
Apparently getting some wasn’t nearly enough. He was still an asshole.
She slipped past him, grabbed her purse and lunch bag, and bolted for the exit, trying to act cool and casual about having just seen his flexing butt muscles. She’d never look at him the same way again.
As she found her seat under a tree in the courtyard next to her fellow civil servants, she wondered who she would tell about that day’s adventure. Nobody at work, she decided immediately. That would get around and ruin his life. He might be vindictive and evil, but she wasn’t. Karma was a bitch, but she wasn’t. She was firm on that.
But she had to tell somebody. For some insane reason, the first person who came to mind was Ian. She wanted to tell Ian. Really, really wanted to. But why?
Because it was so funny, and he’d appreciate it. Jane would probably want her to report it as a sexual harassment issue and get Doc fired, vigilante justice for the man who’d tortured her for the past two years.
But that wouldn’t be right. Doc should be fired for being an awful, abusive monster. Not because he’s a human being who indulged in a moment of passion. Or some kind of love-hate quid pro quo. Billie wasn’t sure what exactly had gone down—or if he had during those three long hours—but she didn’t think that one mistake should ruin his life.
All the other mistakes, maybe. But that one, no.
As she bit into her peanut butter sandwich—the reliable budget choice—her phone trilled with a text message.
“Take the rest of the day off,” it said. Instead of a photo, Doc’s avatar was the lightning bolt logo for AC/DC, his favorite ancient rock band.
She chewed and stared at the screen. As much as she’d enjoy the free time, she didn’t think it was a good idea to dodge the situation that confronted them. They’d just have to face it in the morning. If she went home now and had it hanging over her head, she wouldn’t be able to sleep. And then, exhausted, she’d be less prepared to deal with this—and keep a straight face—than she was right now.
Instead of typing a reply, she turned off her phone and dropped it into her purse. Ignorance was bliss. After she’d eaten, at the usual time, Billie rose and reported back for duty.
Doc, behind the counter, scowled at her as she walked in. “I told you to take the rest of the day off.”
“You did? When?”
“I texted you.”
“Oh, sorry. My phone’s dead.” This time she stashed her things under the counter, just in case she got locked out again, and stood next to him, facing the hallway where the public would soon begin to congregate for their afternoon visits.
The scowl on his face deepened. She offered him a smile.
With his face as red as the pimples on his ass, Doc spun away, stalked into the inside office, and slammed the door, although this time he put the blinds up, not down.
Just then, people began arriving with their folders filled with photos and forms and wrinkled receipts, and she was soon caught up in the usual rhythm of her day.
Around four, wearing his jacket and bike helmet, Doc came out of the office, flung aside the counter cutout, dropped it behind him with a bang, and marched past the line until he was out of sight. He’d strapped the wrong pant leg for his bike ride home, she noticed. Guess he had a lot on his mind.
Apparently they weren’t going to face the situation today. She hoped she had plenty of melatonin for tonight.
“Is there anyone else who can help you?” asked the lady who was next.
If only, she thought.
And once again, for no good reason, she thought of Ian.
Shaking her head, she offered apologies to the crowd as she reached out for the lady’s paperwork.
Just before six, Ian was trying to decide what excuse he’d use to show up at Billie’s house tonight. It was a Monday, not the weekend, and she wasn’t expecting him. He didn’t usually leave until seven, but he’d planned on making it a short night at the office—with the hope of making it a very long one with her.
When somebody knocked on the door, he shouted, “Save it for tomorrow!”
But the door opened, and Billie’s face appeared. “Does that go for me, too?”
Chapter 22
Tilting his recliner forward, Ian pushed aside his laptop and got to his feet. “Billie.” Her hair was up in a messy ponytail today, with uneven curls falling down around her cheeks, and her eyes were heavily made up, making them look enormous.
He almost strode over and pulled her into his arms, but forced himself to hold still. He didn’t want to scare her away. Instead, he leaned against his desk, propped one ankle over the other, and greeted her with a long, appreciative gaze. “Nice to see you.”
Her eyes widened for a moment, then she walked over and climbed into his recliner, kicking it back like a pro and closing her eyes. “I don’t really know why I’m here. I just felt like telling you about work today. I should’ve called.”
There was only so much you could do over the phone. “Tough day?”
She laughed. “Yeah.” She shook her head. “No. Not exactly. Something hilarious happened.”
“Sounds fun.” Sometimes she shared stories about the crazy projects of the eccentric citizens of Flores Verdes, but they’d never merited a house call before. “Tell me about it.”
“Hilarious isn’t always fun.” She lifted her head and began feeling around the side of the seat. “How do you turn on the massage?”
He went over and handed her the controller.
“Ah, excellent,” she said, jabbing at the buttons. “When I win the lottery, I’m getting one of these. Park it right in front of those big windows overlooking the bay.”
He chewed his lip to stop himself from offering to have one delivered first thing in the morning. “Let me take you out for a drink. I’ll drive you home afterward.”
“Here’s the thing, Ian. I can’t. You might get the wrong idea.”
“I’m well-known for having unusually excellent ideas.”
“There’s always a first time,” she said, then flinched. “Forget I said that.”
This was turning out to be fun. He went over to the mini-fridge and got her a bottled tea, the good kind that didn’t have any stuff added to it. He’d made the mistake of offering her a Snapple once and would never do it again.
“At least have this,” he said, handing it to her before leaning against the edge of his desk. “You came to talk, so talk.”
“I wouldn’t be here if I had anyone else I could talk to about this.”
This boded well. “You don’t have to tell Jane everything.”
“Oh no. See? You do have the wrong idea. This isn’t about us.” She waved the bottle at him. “There isn’t an us, other than being friends. Or can’t we be friends anymore?”
“Anymore? Since when?”
“Oh, come on. You know.”
He did know. And he certainly didn’t want her to avoid him because of it. “Of course we’re still friends.” Closer every minute.
“I came by because I can’t tell any of my other friends, friends other than you, Mr. Friend Guy, what happened to me at work today.” She sipped her tea, drawing his attention to her full lips. He forced himself to look up into her eyes.
“Why can’t you tell any of your other friends? Or Jane?”
“It might get back to him. I have another friend who works for the city. It’s the sort of story that would get around.” She rubbed the cold bottle across her forehead, leaving a streak of condensation. “Jeez Louise, I wish I’d knocked harder.”
“Tell me what happened.”
Sinking deeper into the chair, she played with the controller buttons. “I walked in on my boss. Right there in the office, having sex with a woman who came in and said he owed her money.” She laughed, her eyes shining with amusement. “Can you belie
ve that?”
“Doc had sex with somebody?”
“I know, right? What are the odds?” She turned off the massage and moved the chair into a full upright position. “They’d been in there for hours. I thought they’d left out the back or something.”
Ian regretted it was unlikely she’d come over to imitate the scene she’d seen earlier. “What did he do?”
“He was standing up, doing her on the desk. One of the empty desks, thank God. Not mine.”
He choked on his laughter. “I meant afterward. Did he see you?”
“Unfortunately. Bad luck all around. I saw him in all his glory, he saw me seeing him in all his glory.”
“Was it glorious?”
“I’m not going to lie. He had surprisingly good muscle tone. I guess it’s from all the cycling.”
Irritated by the thought of Billie admiring her boss’s ass, Ian pushed away from the desk and strode to the door. “Come on, we’re getting that drink.”
She climbed out of the chair and took a sip of her tea. “No, I should get home. I haven’t had dinner—”
“You go home, then, and I’ll bring takeout and some wine. You still like Vietnamese?”
“Sure, but—”
“It’ll give me a chance to show you the spreadsheets I put together,” he said, waving at her to follow.
“What spreadsheets?”
“Just a little data I put together about the house. A few estimated costs, a timeline, nothing serious.”
She looked down at the bottle of tea in her hand, obviously trying to think of an excuse.
If he showed up, she’d let him in. “I’ll meet you there in about forty-five minutes,” he said, walking out of the office with his jacket, not giving her any chance to argue.
Billie had known she was asking for trouble, visiting Ian after work at his office like that. She’d managed to convince herself that she deserved a sympathetic, amused ear after the day she’d had. Bottling things up inside wasn’t her strong suit. She was proud of herself for lasting as long as she had.
But dropping in on him in person?
Reckless. Now he was coming over to the house because he thought she wanted to sleep with him.
Which she did, but couldn’t because of so many reasons. So, so many, although the only one she could think of at the moment was Jane. There had to be more. Oh, right. He was too assertive for her. Too confident.
She peeked out the front window, her sigh fogging up the glass.
The problem with assertive and confident was that it was so damn sexy. It was strong enough to hold up all her soft, weak, squishy bits. He could carry her away and gobble her right up.
She lifted a finger and drew a pair of sexy lips inside the fogged glass. As she was adding a tongue, a pickup pulled into the driveway. Moving so quickly she almost cracked the glass, she wiped away her drawing, her heart skipping.
She’d kept on her work clothes so that she could greet Ian at the door in uptight business casual and not slutty, comfy loungewear. “Hi,” she said.
He strode inside with a bag in each arm. “I’ve brought food.”
“Leave your shoes on,” she told him. “The floor’s kind of rough. Loose nails, splinters, that sort of thing.”
He glanced down and kicked a staple. “You shouldn’t be living here under these conditions.”
“I know,” she said. “These guys broke in and tore out all my carpeting. I should sue.”
He smiled and walked past her to the kitchen, where he immediately began plating up the food. “How about you open the wine?” He tore off his jacket, revealing broad shoulders and a hint of skin below the hem of his T-shirt.
She turned her gaze to the bag and found the bottle inside, glad to have something to do to distract herself. Going to Ian’s office had been a mistake. Interrupting Doc had been a mistake. Drinking this wine might be a mistake.
But, she discovered as she studied the label, it was a pinot noir from Petaluma, a vineyard near where they grew up.
Bottoms up.
“You said you have spreadsheets?” she asked after she’d uncorked it and set it on the counter to breathe. “You should know stuff like that isn’t my strong point. I failed math, literally failed it, more than once.”
“I know. It made you cry.”
A funny feeling squeezed her heart. “You remember that?” She gave up being patient and poured herself a glass of the pinot.
“I felt bad for you.”
“Felt sorry for me. Great.”
“No, I felt bad. There’s a difference. I would’ve helped, but—” Stopping himself, he held out a plate. “Is this enough spring rolls for you?”
“You would’ve helped, but what?”
He shoved one of the spring rolls into his mouth, shaking his head.
“Come on, what?” she asked.
But he carried their plates and bowls over to the old laminate table and sat, face blank, while he continued to chew. She’d known him long and well enough to know that he wasn’t going to budge. Unlike her, he didn’t feel the need to spill his guts. She’d make the worst spy, but he’d make a great one. Just like Jane. No wonder the two of them had found each other.
Giving up on the interrogation with that sour thought, she sat across from him at the table and dipped her spoon into the soup.
“I didn’t want to make Jane jealous,” he muttered.
She gaped at him, the spoon hanging off her lip and dripping onto the table.
He reached for a container and popped open the top. “Those last few months we were together, we argued a lot. She was afraid…” He averted his eyes. “Never mind. I can’t say.”
“You can’t not say. Ian. Please. Not after that teaser.”
Leaning back in his chair, he set his fork down. “She was afraid I didn’t care about her enough.”
Billie could see that hadn’t been easy for him to say. As Jane’s sister, it wasn’t easy to hear. “Oh.” What else could she say? That after the breakup, she’d overheard Jane crying to a friend over the phone that Ian had never wanted her the way he should have?
“I’ll need that spare set of keys again,” he said.
The sudden change of topic went over her head. “Excuse me?”
“There’s stuff that will need to get done during the week while you’re at work.”
“But you’re also at work. You can’t miss work for this. Come on, Ian, that’s going too far. Weekends are bad enough.”
“I’m taking some time off. A vacation.”
“But you can’t do that for me,” she said.
“It’s not for you, it’s for me. I’m not going to make the same mistakes my father did.”
How could she argue with that? His dad had almost worked himself to death. “Why not fly to Aruba, or Patagonia, or Mars, or something?”
“You need an inspector to go through the house,” he said. “They work business hours. Now that the junk is out, you need to get that done.”
“We’ll handle it.”
“He’s coming tomorrow at ten.” He held out his hand. “I’ll return them.”
“When?”
“What are you afraid of?”
Myself. “Nothing.” Everything.
She got up, went to the drawer next to the fridge, and pulled out the extra keys, deciding right then she wasn’t going to fight his eagerness to fix up the house anymore.
She’d need all her energy for fighting the urge to crawl into his lap, slide her hand behind his neck and pull him into long, hot, deep kiss that would make it impossible to ever be his friend again.
Or had that moment already happened?
Billie dropped the keys next to the spring rolls. Handing them over directly might’ve led to skin-on-skin contact. She was just praising herself for her willpower when he looked up and held her gaze, giving her a slow, sleepy smile.
“Thanks,” he said.
Knees buckling, she sat down and attacked her soup. “You’re a good f
riend,” she said. “So, so helpful.”
“There are other things I could do for you,” he said.
Chapter 23
Billie waited a second before looking up. His face was impassive. “Oh?” Her voice didn’t even squeak. She could so do this.
“Plumbing, for instance,” he said.
“Plumbing.”
He nodded, slipping a forkful of shredded cabbage into his mouth.
She waited for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, she asked, voice a little too high, “Is there something wrong with my pipes?”
His eyelids dropped down for a split second. “I’ll have to look carefully.” He lifted his wine glass and rested it against his lips, regarding her over the rim. “I’d be happy to do it.”
The soup was too hot. Her sweater was too thick. She was going to ignite right there at the table and set the house on fire. The wine, which she poured down her throat to cool down, only made her burn hotter. She felt tiny flames licking her all over.
“Jane might want to get someone else for that,” she said.
The corner of his mouth twitched. “I imagine she might.”
Taking the moment to breathe, she adjusted the prawns into a circle on her plate.
“We don’t have to tell her,” he said in a low voice.
Billie could hear her heart pounding. With a trembling fork, she readjusted the prawns into a star pattern. “I would.”
Finally he sipped his wine, set down the glass, and resumed eating. “I know you two are close.”
“Very, very close.” Nodding like a woodpecker, she reached for something, anything. Not wine, that was too dangerous—she moved her hand to the right—the saltshaker. That would do. She picked it up. It was shaped like a white cat. The salt crystals came out of the little holes in the top of the head, which wasn’t very appetizing if you thought about it. Kitty brains? Dandruff?
“The food isn’t salty enough for you?” he asked.
She shook faster. “I love salt. Can’t get enough.”
“Funny,” he said, “you’ve never mentioned that before.”
“Maybe we’ve never eaten together before.”
Going for Broke: Oakland Hills Friends to Lovers Romantic Comedy (Friends with Benefits) Page 10