by Dara Girard
She licked her lips. “Is there anything I could help you with?”
“No.”
She spotted an advertisement from Macy’s with a cashmere blouse circled twice in black. “That’s a lovely blouse. It would make a great gift.”
“It’s for my mother,” he muttered.
She lifted the ad and looked closely. In the margin was a woman’s scrawl detailing the size, color, and style. “Her birthday’s coming up?”
“No, she just wants it.”
“Why don’t you wait for her birthday?”
He sent her a brief glance. “Because she wants it now.”
“And as the ever-dutiful son, you’ll buy it for her.”
He licked an envelope and sealed it.
She sighed. His relationship with his mother was none of her business. She shifted her gaze to a catalog from the University of Maryland. “Are they already asking for donations?” she asked as he wrote out a check.
He didn’t raise his head. “My nephew goes there. He needs money for another semester.”
“What is he studying?”
He shrugged.
“What year is he?”
“A sixth-year junior.”
Her eyebrows flew up. “A what?”
He tore out the check. “He’s had trouble deciding what to do.”
“For two extra years? Why are you paying for his indecision? Make him get a job and pay his own tuition. He’ll make up his mind fast. Trust me.”
He took a deep breath, then slid his checkbook across the table. It stopped in front of her. “Whose name is on this?”
She chewed her lip. “Yours.”
“Then whose business is it?”
She took another helping of corn.
It was now day seven. Jessie stared at Kenneth’s bent head. Enough was enough. She had to do something to get his attention. She stabbed her peas, trying to think.
“It’s been so nice to have you eat with us, Aunt Jessie, hasn’t it, Uncle?” Syrah asked.
“Sure,” Kenneth said, not taking his eyes off the figures in front of him.
Syrah grinned at Jessie, offering her the same embarrassed expression parents give when their children are misbehaving in public.
Jessie’s patience snapped. “You know, it’s not polite to bring work to the dinner table when you have a guest.”
“You’re not a guest.”
Jessie continued to stab into her vegetables. She wouldn’t get angry. She wouldn’t imagine the peas were little Kenneths rolling around on her plate. She had to engage him in conversation, talk about something that interested him.
“I was thinking of this great idea for your negotiations with Trans Moore. I heard their president is a sucker for—”
“Thanks, but I’m really busy right now.”
It took Jessie a moment to realize that Kenneth had just made his statement the other day to help her save face. He really wasn’t interested in her ideas, which wasn’t surprising. Nobody usually was.
“Can I be excused?” Syrah suddenly asked. “I finished all my food.”
“How about dessert?” Jessie asked.
“I’ll get it later.”
“Okay.”
“Did you eat your vegetables?” Kenneth muttered.
Jessie scowled. “If you looked up from your papers, you’d see that her plate is wiped clean.”
Kenneth glanced up, noted the plate, then went back to work. “Oh. Then go on.”
“Thanks.” Syrah stood, then stared at them, as though uncertain she should leave them alone together. She had the expression of a trainer worried about leaving two prized lions in the same pen.
Jessie grinned. “We’ll be fine.”
Syrah pushed in her chair and ran upstairs.
Jessie glared at Kenneth’s bent head. “If you want to do your work, why don’t you just leave the table?”
“I think you’re forgetting that this is my house,” he said coolly.
“What’s so important that you can’t even spare a few moments at the dinner table?”
“It’s called work. I’m sure you’re familiar with it.”
Jessie clenched her teeth. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He began writing down some figures. “It means that I don’t have the luxury of losing my job.”
“You’re the one who got me fired.”
“And who can you blame for your past dismissals?”
“You’re just a greedy bastard that only thinks about money.”
He tapped his pencil against his chin and looked up at the ceiling pensively. “Oh, yes, that’s right. I don’t keep my business aboveboard for the numerous employees I have, for the community I helped revive, or to make sure that my family lives comfortably. I do it all for the bottom line.” He pointed the pencil at her. “Thanks for reminding me.”
Arrogant pig. “You don’t need to be sarcastic.”
“Is that what I am? I thought I was being honest.”
“If you don’t want to eat, you should go somewhere else.”
He returned his attention to his papers. “You’re not my wife and you’re not my girlfriend, so don’t believe you have the authority to tell me what to do in my own home.”
She pushed food around on her plate. “Unlike the other disillusioned girls pining after you, I have no desire to be either.”
His lips twisted into a cynical smile. “Oh, so that attempted kiss was my imagination?”
Heat burned her cheeks. She didn’t know if it was from shame or temper, and she didn’t care. She put down her fork with deliberation. “No, I briefly forgot I’m not your type. You’re a very deep and spiritual man. You look for the special qualities of a woman, like how long her legs are, or the size of her chest. While I—”
“Like to play games.” He waved his pencil. “Don’t throw your insecurities about not being pretty or smart onto me.”
She could feel her hands tighten. Why was it so easy for him to open her wounds and expose her, leaving her scars bare to bleed? “That’s not true.” Jessie pounded her fist on the table, her wrist hitting a forkful of food. It flew through the air, landing on Kenneth’s crisp white shirt.
Jessie winced as she saw the food slowly trail a path down his shirt, like a lazy slug. “That was an accident.”
Kenneth removed the fork, scraped the food away, and put it on his plate. He gathered all his papers together and shoved them in his briefcase. He then lifted a spoonful of mashed potatoes and aimed it at her.
Her mouth dropped open. “You wouldn’t,” she whispered.
He nodded. “Yes, I would.” He let the spoon go. A big splat landed on her shoulder.
She scooped up the mashed-potato glob and glared at him. “That was a mistake, Mr. Preston.” She grabbed a handful of baked beans.
He gestured to her hand. “I believe you’ll regret that, Ms. Clifton.”
“I doubt it.” She flung the beans at him, but he ducked, and they splattered the wall behind him.
“Your aim was bit off.”
She grabbed her juice and threw it in his face, soaking him. She lifted her chin. “How’s that for aim?”
He took a napkin and wiped at the juice sliding down his face. He took a handful of mashed potatoes and formed it into a ball.
“I was very good at dodge ball,” she said. She ducked when he threw the ball at her. “Ha! Missed me!” She laughed, only to have the ball hit her in the face.
Kenneth grinned. “I was also good at dodge ball. I could fake out any opponent.”
Jessie wiped her face and threw the remnants at him. Kenneth moved to another part of the table and grabbed a handful of vegetables. She grabbed more baked beans. They stared at each other, ready for the battle to begin.
“We don’t have to do this,” Kenneth said.
“I know.” She fired.
And the battle began. They grabbed and threw whatever was close, aiming and firing at random. Neither would admit that after a few
moments, it became enjoyable, that they had almost forgotten what the argument was about. It was the thrill of the game that mattered; it was a way to vent their mutual dislike and attraction to each other.
“All right, that’s enough!” Kenneth said after a few minutes of battle had passed.
Jessie threw a biscuit. It hit him on the forehead and landed on the table. She picked up a mixture that had congealed together on the table.
He seized her wrist before she could throw it, forcing her to drop the mixture. “I said that’s enough.”
She yanked her wrist free. “Fine.”
He stared at her. She had an assortment of food over her face and clothes and looked like a contestant on a kids’ TV show. He imagined that he didn’t look much better.
“Look at the mess you created,” Jessie said, surveying the damage. The beautiful dining room had been turned into a kindergarten cafeteria. Food stuck to a painting, hung on chairs, and dotted the floor.
“Me? You started it.”
“It was an accident.” She pointed a finger at him. “Your spoonful was pure revenge.”
“Yes. You deserved it.”
“I deserved it?” Her voice cracked.
“You need to control that damned temper of yours.”
She walked up to him, ready to tell him off, but she slipped on some peas and crashed into him. He stepped back and slipped on some juice. They both landed with a thud.
“Oof!” he said.
“Did you hurt yourself?”
“Would you care?”
“Not really.”
He rubbed the back of his head, feeling the beginning of a lump. “Then, no, I didn’t.” He looked up at her. She was too close, damn it. He could feel the shape of her thigh between his legs, and it didn’t help that her breasts were crushed against his chest. Their shirts were wet, leaving only a thin layer of cotton to separate him from her nakedness. He could see the outline of her bra. He inwardly groaned. He stared up at her for a moment, watching a glob of mashed potato slide down her cheek. He wiped it away with his thumb. Even though her face looked a mess, he still had a wild desire to kiss her.
“What are you up to, Jasmine?” he asked, his breath warm against her face. “What type of revenge are you seeking? Emotional blackmail, perhaps? Do you wish to ruin my reputation?”
She pulled away from him, aware of their closeness and the feel of his pounding heart beneath hers. “Is that possible?”
He sat up and wiped peas from his forehead. “Would you like it to be?”
“No.”
“No pranks or tricks up your sleeve?”
“No. I don’t want to hurt you.”
The corner of his mouth quirked. “That’s a dangerous statement to believe. Are you willing to shake on it?”
“Yes.”
She held out her hand and he shook hers. When he let go, her hand was covered in mashed potatoes. She watched as it slipped down her palm and plopped to the floor.
“You disgusting—” She stopped and patted the side of his face, smearing the potatoes on his cheek. “Thank you for your trust.”
He began to reach for her, his eyes glittering with the playful promise of revenge. He halted when he saw something glittering around her neck.
Chapter 14
“Hold on. What’s that?” he asked in an odd voice.
Jessie sat back and looked down at herself. “What’s what?”
He lifted the necklace from her neck. His warm fingers brushed against her skin, sending goose bumps up her arms.
“Is this what I think it is?” His voice was hoarse.
“What do you think it is?”
He slowly shook his head. “No, let’s not play games now. Not now. Just answer me.”
Jessie clutched the necklace in her fist. “It’s nothing.”
“This is the necklace I gave you.” His eyes pierced into hers. “Why are you still wearing it?”
Jessie began to stand, but Kenneth grabbed her wrist. “Answer me.”
Her voice was soft. “Do you want it back? Is that it?”
“Do you want to give it back to me?”
She let her hands fall in her lap.
He stared at her in disbelief. “I can’t figure you out. You act like I’m scum, and yet you still wear the necklace I gave you years ago.” His eyes fell on the necklace. “That stupid, dented piece of crap.”
She covered it from his disgusted gaze. “It isn’t a piece of crap.”
He leaped to his feet. “I forgot; that’s the title you reserve for me. The guy who worked hard to save enough money just to give that to you, because you meant a lot to him. I’m the worst person in the world, because I hurt you. Well, here’s a news flash: you hurt me. I discovered that because you were so quick to despise me, that deep down you already did.”
“You gave me every reason to despise you.” She unlatched the necklace. “Do you want it back?”
He pushed a chair hard against the table, causing a glass to topple and crash to the floor. “I don’t know why I bother. Even a rock isn’t this dumb.”
Jessie inwardly flinched. He was right. She could no longer pretend to misunderstand what he was saying. “It was the first piece of jewelry anyone had ever given me.” She held it up in front of her. Her parents had thought her too boyish for such things. “I wore it out of hope, a fantasy…that on some level, what happened between us was real.”
“It was real.”
She ran a hand down her arm. “No, it never existed.”
“Jasmine—”
“It started out as a dream. A guy was going to take me to the prom. Not just any guy—Mr. Perfect.”
Kenneth winced, glancing away.
“I didn’t tell anyone because I wanted it to be a surprise. I wanted to see my family’s face when you walked through the door. I dreamt of how people would stare when I arrived at the prom with you. I sat and waited. My family asked me what I was doing, and I told them that my prom date was coming. He never did.” She bit her lip, not sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry. How pathetic she must have looked. “My mother called up my cousin, and he took me. I made excuses for you in my mind, some of them quite imaginative. You would have been impressed. Then, on the drive home, I saw you on Lover’s Hill, making out with another girl as if your very existence depended on it.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “It wasn’t what you thought.”
She rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t matter what I thought. I know what I saw.”
“Just listen for a minute.” He pulled out a chair and sat down. “It was going to be everything you’d dreamed of.” He began to count on his fingers. “I had the tux, the limo, the corsage, the tickets, the dinner reservations. I remember that the day was clear and I vowed you’d have the best prom ever. It was only an hour before I was to meet you when everything changed.”
Her heart began to pound. Here came the truth—the reason she had been avoiding all these years for fear that she would forgive him. “What happened?”
Kenneth opened his mouth to explain, but no words came forth. The truth was that his father had come back into his life. He had threatened to tell everyone that Kenneth was the illegitimate son of a drunk if he didn’t give him money. Kenneth had been so ashamed that he couldn’t look at anyone…be with anyone. Until Regine offered herself to a young man who felt his entire world had collapsed on him.
“Could you…?” He silently swore. Here at last was the perfect opportunity to explain, and he couldn’t. He couldn’t give her what she wanted, what she deserved: the truth. “Could you just accept that I wanted to be there?” He clasped his hands together and let his gaze fall. “But I couldn’t see anyone, least of all you. I was staring up at the stars, thinking of what I would say to you when Regine came and discovered my weakness.”
She wiggled her eyebrows. “Lucky girl. I didn’t realize you had any.”
He met her gaze, pleading with her to understand. “Everyone does.”
“I never used you,” he said, his tone hard. “I’m sorry I missed the prom. I’m sorry you saw me with Regine, who had nothing to do with you. What I don’t understand is why you act as if I betrayed you. We were friends; I messed up. Why wouldn’t you just let me make it up to you?”
“Because you can’t make up for betrayal with a dinner date.”
He rested his head back and threw his hands up, exasperated. “How the hell did I betray you?”
“You broke a bargain.”
He sat up. “What?”
“You convinced me to give up my scholarship so that Eddie could have it. You wanted Eddie to be given a chance. Remember? You said I’d get other chances and that I didn’t have to worry. You said you’d make it up to me, which I thought was the prom. I was so stupid that I believed you, and I spoke to Eddie and my sponsor to let him have the money instead of me. But did I get any other offers? No. So my father had to sell a treasured family heirloom in order to pay for my schooling.” She laughed bitterly. “Which was a waste, because I never completed it anyway.”
He frowned. “But I never told you to do that.”
“Yes, you did. You said how wonderful it would be if Eddie had my opportunity. We talked about it for nearly an hour.”
Color drained from his face. He looked ill. “I was just talking, Jasmine. I had no idea you would take me literally.”
She gripped the edge of the table. “Of course you did. You knew how much I loved you. You knew that I would do anything for you.”
He looked horrified. “That’s not true. We were friends. Maybe you had a crush, but you were young and—”