by Olivia Dade
“Can you two work in the car? Does the training have to take place in the library itself?”
Angie hesitated. “I guess we could talk in the car. But again, it’s not appropriate to bring my supervisor to our parents’ home.”
Her sister snorted. “You had sex with the man. The issue of appropriateness is sort of moot now, isn’t it?”
So moot you wouldn’t believe it, Angie thought. In fact, Grant mooted me not five minutes ago. And it was amazing.
Vicky’s voice turned wheedling. “You might as well pack him into a car and bring him to dinner. For your poor, downtrodden sister. And your namesake.”
“I can’t do that.” But if she didn’t do something to help her sister, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself. “Okay, Vix. I’ll figure out a way to come by myself. What time?”
“Six.”
She glanced at her watch. “I’ll see if I can leave work a little early today. I might arrive a few minutes late, but I’ll be there, honey. Count on it.”
“Thanks, sis,” Vicky said. She sounded calmer. “Angela’s excited to see her favorite aunt.”
“I’m her only aunt.”
Vicky gave a watery laugh. “I was hoping you wouldn’t catch that.”
“Fat chance.” Angie hesitated. “Vix, have you talked to your doctor about changing the dosage of your medicine? Or looking into different ones? It’s been over a month, and you still seem so sad, honey.”
“I know I’m a pain in the ass,” Vicky said in a small, wavering voice.
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I’ll support you no matter what, just like you did when I needed you. Even if you’re sad for the rest of your life. But I’d love for you to feel good again, honey. Like yourself.”
“I’ll call her this afternoon,” Vicky agreed.
“Now. As soon as we hang up.”
“Fine. Now. But when I feel better, I get to be the big sister again, okay?”
“It’s a deal,” Angie told her. “Love you, Vix. So much.”
“Love you too, Angie.” Vicky disconnected the call.
Angie turned around to find Grant sitting up amid a pile of stuffed animals. “That was a mood killer,” she said, her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry.”
He got to his feet and shoved the hem of his T-shirt into his khaki pants. “Probably for the best.” A wry smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Though parts of me are having a hard time believing that.”
“My parts feel pretty good,” she noted. “Though they wouldn’t have objected to further adventures.”
He laughed. “Glad to hear it.”
She brought his shirt to him, holding his tie until he was buttoned and tucked in once more. Then she handed it over. “I’d offer to tie this for you, but I never learned.”
“Too complicated? Or no men in your life who wore ties?”
“Putting them on is boring. Much more fun to remove them and find other good uses for a silky strip of cloth.”
His hands stilled. “Shit. I don’t know whether to feel jealous or turned on.”
She grinned, flipping up the end of his tie with her forefinger.
“Hey.” He batted her hand away. “Behave yourself.”
She watched as he gradually tamed himself before her eyes. Within the space of two minutes, he transformed from her rumpled, hot-eyed lover into a reserved man—albeit a handsome one—who appeared more likely to bed a spreadsheet than a woman. He sent a rough hand through his curls, and they bounced back into place. His shirt bore no wrinkles, and his tie formed a pristine knot. His pants had a few new creases around the hips, but nothing obvious.
All in all, virtually no sign remained of the man who’d made her come against his hand less than ten minutes ago. She sighed and mentally braced herself. Without him having to say a word, she knew it: Playtime had ended. Grant wasn’t the sort of man to fuck his subordinate on the down low. What had happened in the storytime room wouldn’t be repeated. Not while he remained her supervisor.
He confirmed her thoughts almost instantly.
“Angie . . . ,” he began. “I’m sorry about what happened. Not because I didn’t want you. I did. I do. I just can’t risk my job. And I don’t want to be that guy.”
“What guy?”
“That guy who takes advantage of his position to sleep with a female coworker.”
“You didn’t take advantage of me,” she reminded him. “I was with you all the way.”
A flush rose on his face. “I remember. But because of the power imbalance, it’s questionable.”
She conceded the point. “I guess. I suppose I don’t like the conclusions people could draw about me, either.”
“Like what?”
“That I’m sleeping with my boss to keep my job, which—as you may remember—is currently endangered.”
“You wouldn’t do that.” His voice was firm, his shoulder muscles visibly tensing beneath his shirt.
“I know that. You know that. Others may not.”
He glared at the closed door, as if it had accused her of trading sex for job security and he was preparing to kick its wooden ass. The sour look on his face almost made her laugh. Almost. A sneaking warmth in her heart smothered her amusement, turning it into pained affection.
That was her Grant. Always a gentleman. Ever ready to defend the honor of a lady.
She smiled. Well, almost always a gentleman. He got a bit filthy during sex, as she’d discovered to her surprise. And her delight. God, so much delight.
“Why don’t I come with you to dinner tonight?” he asked.
She stared at him in disbelief. What the fuck?
“Sounds like you and your sister could use some backup. And even though we shouldn’t do this”—he swept his arm, indicating the crushed pile of stuffed creatures on the floor—“anymore, I still want to be your friend. Sex with a subordinate is against the rules. Friendship isn’t.”
She gazed at him, gauging his sincerity. His clear blue eyes met hers directly.
“What do you say?” he asked.
“Why not?” she finally said. “Grant Peterson, will you accompany me to dinner with my parents?”
“It’ll be my pleasure.”
“I doubt that,” she muttered.
16
Grant and Angie climbed out of his car and onto the narrow driveway of her parents’ house. A small car sat in front of the garage door, a baby carrier fastened in the middle of the backseat. Vicky’s car, unless he missed his guess. Not a surprise that she’d arrived before them. Traffic during the hour-long drive to the D.C. suburbs had made them a few minutes late.
They started up the sidewalk leading to the house. Other than its immaculate condition, the home seemed determinedly ordinary. It was modest in size and painted an unremarkable gray. The black shutters were pinned back neatly from the windows, and the numbers over the door appeared freshly painted.
Looking from the house to Angie and back again, Grant couldn’t associate the two. It was like comparing a Technicolor movie to a black-and-white film. Nothing inherently wrong with either, but totally different experiences.
Angie walked in front of him, her stride stiff. With every mile they’d traveled closer to her parents’ house, he’d watched her become more and more tense. Less chatty. Less herself, somehow. And with every mile, he became more and more convinced he’d made the right decision to come with her tonight. He might not know why she seemed so loath to visit this house, but he could still make sure she emerged from the experience intact.
“What are your parents like?” he asked. He stopped on the sidewalk, catching Angie’s hand and drawing her to a halt too.
She turned to face him. “Smart. Hard-working. Big believers in the importance of education.”
“So you take after them.”
She huffed a small, halfhearted laugh. “Nope. Remember, they’re actuaries. They make pretty much all their decisions based on probabilities and data. Not too much diff
erent from you, actually. Very controlled and logical.”
He muttered something under his breath.
“Huh?” she asked. “Did you say something about a platypus?”
“No,” he said. “Not at all. I was wondering if your parents look like you.”
“You’ll find out in about thirty seconds. I don’t want to spoil the surprise.” She gave his fingers a squeeze, detached herself from his grip, and resumed walking ahead of him.
As they advanced toward the door, he stared at the vulnerable nape of her neck. Her skin there looked untouched by the sun. Pristine. He hadn’t paid enough attention to that particular spot during their night together. At the time, he’d believed they had days, weeks, maybe years ahead to explore each other. Not mere hours.
Their interlude this morning had only sharpened the ache he felt inside. Stupid. He’d been stupid to touch her so intimately again. Sure, he could lose his job. But he could also lose his heart. And, given his track record the last three days, possibly his sanity as well.
She took a deep breath as she arrived at the front door. “Here we go,” she muttered, reaching for the doorbell.
“Wait,” he said.
Her hand stilled, and she shot him a questioning glance.
“What’s going on here? Are your parents abusive? Alcoholics? Just plain mean?”
“None of the above.” A bittersweet smile crossed her face. “You’ll probably love them.”
She rang the bell, and the click of measured steps on a hard floor drew near. The door opened, revealing a short, slim man in glasses. He stood next to an even shorter, slimmer woman. Both wore their dark hair in short, neat cuts. Their clothes were conservative, dark, and well-tailored. And they both stared at their guests with expressions of placid welcome.
What the fuck? Had a race of Amazons left Angie on her parents’ doorstep as a changeling baby? Had they adopted her? Had he and Angie stopped at the wrong house?
“Hi, Mom and Dad,” Angie said. She walked into the entryway, bent down, and hugged each of them. They returned the embrace, giving Angie a few gentle pats on the back. He stepped inside and waited quietly until they finished greeting each other.
The woman turned to him. “You must be Grant.”
He glanced at Angie, a question in his eyes.
“After I got back to Battlefield this morning, I called to let them know you were coming. Mom and Dad don’t like surprises,” she told him.
Only ten minutes after her sister Vicky’s call, Tina had entered the storytime room. Thank God she’d seen the two of them fully dressed behind a freshly unlocked and slightly opened door. If she’d come fifteen minutes before, he suspected both he and Angie would have spent the day considering alternate career paths. And—given their newfound unemployment—fucking. A lot.
Tina said that Mary had fallen ill, so Grant and Angie’s morning training session ended abruptly. He and Angie said their good-byes, and she headed back to Battlefield for the afternoon. A necessary separation, he told himself. Both of them needed time to cool off and remind themselves why getting involved remained a terrible idea. Even if it didn’t seem terrible at the moment. Or anytime he found himself within a few feet of her, really. The woman scrambled his brain.
So why the hell had he offered to come along tonight? To spend a long evening with her at his side? Because he was an idiot?
He took another look at Angie’s strained face. No, not entirely. He couldn’t stand to see her shrinking into herself like this. He needed to know why it was happening, and he needed to stop it if he could.
He held out his hand to Angie’s mother. “Grant Peterson. Director of branch services at Angie’s library system. Nice to meet you.”
“Marlene Burrowes. We’re so glad you could join us tonight, Grant.” She shook his hand with cool fingers, and then inclined her head toward her husband. “Kenneth Burrowes.”
He shook the other man’s hand, too. So far, so good. No screaming, no crying, and no obvious signs of turmoil in the house.
A small woman carrying a baby on her shoulder walked into the entryway from a room down the hall. Vicky. She headed straight for Angie, giving her sister a huge bear hug. Angie’s face lit with pleasure and excitement.
“Is this my adorable little niece?” Angie cooed, scooping the infant out of Vicky’s arms. “Is this my sweet little Angela?” She rubbed her nose against the baby’s tiny cheek.
“No,” Vicky said drily. “I kidnapped another child on the way to our parents’ house. You weren’t supposed to notice.”
Angie threw back her head and laughed. The baby grinned a toothless smile at her aunt and waved a pajama-clad arm. At the sight, Grant felt his heart turn over in his chest. The love with which Angie gazed at her sister and her namesake . . . the sweetness of it almost stung.
Marlene looked at Vicky and shook her head. “If you knew the number of children who went missing each year, you might not make light of it, honey.”
Vicky’s face dimmed. “Sorry, Mom.”
Kenneth turned to Grant. “Please come in and take a seat. Angela told Marlene that you do statistical analysis in the library. We were both intrigued.”
Angie’s father led the way to a sparsely decorated family room, waving Grant onto a couch with firm cushions. Kenneth settled on the opposite end of the sofa, while Marlene sat on a nearby chair. Angie and Vicky lingered in the hall, whispering to each other and admiring the baby.
“I try to gather data we can use to evaluate the success of different initiatives and locations,” Grant explained. “Anything from circulation statistics to numbers of holds to attendance at programs. I also formulate surveys for patrons and employees so we can improve the library experience for everyone.”
“Not everything important is measurable, though,” Angie said. She now stood leaning against the doorway, watching him and her parents with a neutral expression.
“True,” Grant conceded. “But we can often indirectly get at those things by assessing items that are measurable. If patrons are happy with a branch, for example, they’ll check out books there. Attend programs. Spend time on the library computers.”
“Well said,” Marlene told him. “Kenneth and I are in complete agreement with you. I’m afraid our girls don’t appreciate numbers and statistics quite as much as we do, though.”
“Angie got her degree in accounting,” he pointed out with a smile. “Surely that counts for something.”
“But she didn’t pursue a career in the field.” Marlene shook her head. “Such a waste of her talents.”
“A shame,” Kenneth added. “Angela always excelled in math.”
“A shame? Really?” Vicky edged past her sister and into the living room. “Do you remember what Angie was like when she graduated from college?”
Grant wondered at the vehemence of her words, but there was no time to ponder them further. Her father was already responding, his expression placid.
“I remember that she spent two extra years in school to get her MLS, accruing unnecessary debt,” Kenneth said. “Though it was her choice. We’re very proud of her position in the library.”
“We’re proud of Angela,” Marlene echoed. “Of both our girls. We only wish we saw them more often.”
“You could visit us,” Angie pointed out. “I’ve invited you both to come stay at my house anytime you want.”
Kenneth turned to Grant. “We don’t like to drive in heavy traffic or on the interstate. The accident and mortality rates . . .” He clucked his tongue. “Dreadful. You take your life in your hands every time you leave the house.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, have you considered moving somewhere else? Somewhere more rural?” Grant asked. “The D.C. suburbs have horrendous traffic, especially on the beltways. If that bothers you, maybe you could find somewhere else to live.”
“We settled here almost forty years ago,” Marlene told him. “Shortly after we got married. At the time, the area wasn’t nearly as develope
d as it is now. We don’t especially like all the new construction and the traffic, but our house is close to work. We’ve paid off our mortgage, and comparable homes around us keep selling at higher and higher prices.”
“It doesn’t make sense to get rid of such a valuable asset, especially if we think the price we could get for it will only increase,” Kenneth added.
“It’s unfortunate, of course, but I don’t see us moving anytime soon,” Marlene concluded. “Maybe a few years down the road.”
Grant looked at Kenneth and Marlene, evaluating what he’d seen and heard so far. They appeared fond of their daughters, from what he could tell. Sure, the older couple was a little cautious. A little staid. Maybe a bit humorless. But they didn’t seem evil by any means.
Yet there stood Angie and Vicky. They lingered near the doorway, braced against each other like women facing hurricane-force winds. Both looking rebellious, sad, and tired. Were the two women overly dramatic? Or did he not understand some subtle undercurrent?
Marlene stood. “Dinner’s almost ready. Let’s go into the dining room.”
Angie and Vicky strode out of the room far ahead of their parents and Grant. He followed behind, still wondering. What was he missing? And why did such an innocuous conversation feel so much like a minefield?
Okay, he thought later that night, I understand a little better now.
Angie finished her second glass of red wine—chosen, as her parents explained, for its antioxidant properties—with an audible gulp, setting it back on the table with a bit too much force. He didn’t blame her. If he weren’t driving them back home, he might have done the same thing.
Approximately an hour ago, the six of them had begun one of the most painfully awkward dinners in history. He excluded dinners that ended in poisonings or other means of violent death. Maybe he shouldn’t, though. At this point, a good murder would probably enliven the proceedings and make the evening more enjoyable.
The tension had begun to build as soon as they sat down. Vicky took out a bottle and measured powdered formula into it, using water from the table to fill the container. With practiced flicks of her fingers, she inserted a nipple and twisted on the cap. Vicky then passed the bottle over to Angie, who was holding the baby against her shoulder. By that time, the little girl had begun to fuss and put her fingers in her mouth.