Yvonne cut her off. “You’re not listening to what I say.”
Rachel looked at her notes. She’d written it down correctly. Yvonne had simply changed what she’d said, at least Rachel thought she had. But she could be wrong, too.
Able to see directly into Bree’s office, she made a face when Yvonne wasn’t looking. Bree smiled and shook her head.
Yvonne was a sweet person. She cared about everyone. She was born to be a mother, and she mothered them all just the way she mothered her own daughter. Somewhere in her midfifties, she was a tall, dark-skinned woman who, as much as she mothered, could also be exacting. Right now, Rachel wasn’t measuring up.
“Is there a product manual I could read for the different gauges?” Rachel asked. She knew there was. In fact, the manual was one of the accessories.
“You’d never understand those manuals. They’re for the people who use the product and they wouldn’t mean a thing.”
“But the manual should list all the components.”
Yvonne snorted, her skin creasing around her lips. “You can’t read a manual every time you have to fill an order. You’d never get anything done.”
“I just meant as a reference.”
Yvonne stabbed a finger at the screen. “It’s all right there. The part number tells you everything you need to know.”
They were going in circles. Either Yvonne wasn’t a good teacher or Rachel wasn’t a good student. For the life of her, she couldn’t find in her notes where Yvonne had explained how the part number told her anything. Rachel learned best by doing things herself, but Yvonne did the entry for an entire order, then pushed the keyboard over and said, “You try the next one.”
Rachel realized her notes didn’t make enough sense.
Bree crossed the roundhouse, heading outside. A little while later, she returned. By that time, Yvonne’s voice had given Rachel an extra-strength headache.
Yvonne stomped over to retrieve a folder from one of her filing cabinets and Bree, back in her office, pointed to a bag on her desk, flapped her hand back and forth between Rachel and herself, then touched her fingers to her lips.
The sign language could have meant Rachel should shut up. Then again, it could mean food.
“Let’s break for lunch. I’m getting a hunger headache.”
“Okay,” Yvonne answered, her face practically buried in the filing cabinet as if she couldn’t quite read whatever she was looking at.
Bree made some more hand signals that Rachel interpreted as Let’s eat outside at the picnic table where it’s sunny. I can see you’re ready to murder Yvonne.
Which would be exactly right. Yvonne was a dead woman if Rachel didn’t get a handle on herself.
25
RACHEL SLUMPED DOWN ON THE SEAT. CURRENTLY UNOCCUPIED, the picnic bench was on a knoll a few steps from the parking lot. A haven for smokers, it was far enough away from the building entrances to be within legal limits. The sun warm on her head, she could go to sleep right here. Yvonne had tired her out.
“I’m not a good student,” she confessed to Bree. “How am I going to make it through a computer class if I can’t make it through Yvonne?”
Bree opened the bag. “I got you ham and cheese.” She fished out a wrapped sandwich.
“Thanks.” Bree was as thrifty as Rachel and usually brown-bagged it. But today, Bree had been reading her mind. Rachel needed something extra. She opened her purse, dug around in the pocket for a five-dollar bill.
Bree waved her off. “It’s my treat.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.” She smiled. Bree was so pretty when she smiled, but she lacked the laugh lines that would indicate she did it often. “You can do the same when you see someone driving me crazy.”
Rachel rolled her eyes, then sagged. “She just goes so fast, I can’t follow what she says.” She unwrapped her sandwich, and really, after three bites, she did feel better. Maybe it was only a hunger headache. “It’s all the accessories.”
“Look at the bill of material. There are upper level part numbers that include all the accessories. You drill down from the top. The problem on orders and invoicing is that customers don’t always need all the accessories and sometimes they want to switch something out. But learning how to use the bill of material is a start.”
“How do you know all that?”
Bree shrugged, minimizing her knowledge. “I have to know how the bills of material work in order to do the standard costs. And I’ve worked with the invoices, too.”
Rachel grimaced. “I’m never going to pick it up.” Matching invoices hadn’t prepared her for inside sales; neither had entering Erin’s purchase orders.
Bree ate her egg salad delicately, like a bird. “If I can figure it out, you can.”
Rachel realized she was sounding defeatist again. She couldn’t let Yvonne’s attitude beat her down, but most of all, she wouldn’t do it to herself. “You’re right. I have to manage Yvonne better, make her slow down.”
Bree put on her sunglasses against the bright day. “Yvonne’s threatened by your learning her job.”
“But she wants the time off to help out her daughter when the baby comes.”
“She thought Erin would get a temp. A temp is less threatening.”
“I’m not going to try to take her job.”
“I know that and you know that, but Yvonne’s very territorial.”
Bree was being unusually talkative, Rachel noticed, just as she’d been the night they went out for drinks. In fact, she talked a lot more in general these days. Well, more for Bree, at any rate. After confronting Marbury, she’d changed, as if that one incident had been a threshold for her. Then there was her success with the IRS audit—DKG was going to get a refund—which had further boosted her confidence.
Rachel told herself she could do the same thing, boost her own confidence. “The best thing I can do is reassure her in a very diplomatic and nonthreatening way that I’m not after her job.”
“Excellent.” Bree pulled the crust off the rest of her sandwich. “So, I’ve been waiting more than a month to hear about your man. I can’t stand the suspense anymore.”
Behind the sunglasses, Rachel couldn’t tell whether Bree was concentrating on the egg salad or looking at her. Yeah, she was definitely different. Before, Bree never would have asked. She also wouldn’t have used that sarcastic drawl. Rachel liked the new Bree.
“He’s taking me away for the weekend, and he won’t tell me where. It’s a surprise.” It felt good to confide about Rand.
“A dictatorial man.” Bree raised a brow above the rim of her glasses.
“Not exactly.” But it gave Rachel cause to think. “Well, maybe a bit. He wants what he wants.”
“When he wants it,” Bree finished for her.
“I like that, though.” She wondered if she should tell Bree he was her son’s principal.
Bree smiled. “I enjoy an authoritative man, too.”
She waited to hear more about Bree’s boyfriend, but that’s all she said. So Rachel went on with her confession. “He told me not to bring any clothes, that he’d provide everything.”
“Kinda scary, huh?”
Bree actually understood her. The clothes thing made Rachel the most nervous. “If he makes me wear short-shorts so my butt hangs out, or he gets it wrong on my size”—Rachel narrowed her eyes—“I’m not stepping out of the room.” Men didn’t seem to have a concept of what made a woman feel fat or unattractive.
“Then he’ll just have to take you shopping once you’re there.”
Rachel nodded. “That would be a bonus.” She wouldn’t feel bad making him buy clothes for her if he stranded her with nothing to wear.
Bree wrapped up the unfinished half of her sandwich. She’d probably save it for tomorrow. No wonder she was rail thin. After stowing it in the bag, she leaned her elbows on the picnic table. “Being dictatorial is a two-way street.”
“What do you mean?”
/> “You should take a surprise for him.”
“Like what?”
“Ropes.”
Rachel just gaped at her.
“Tie him up. Do bad things to him.”
Really, Bree never ceased to amaze her. First there was the condom in her purse, now a little bondage. “That’s interesting.”
Bree smiled again, a cat-that-ate-the-cream smile. Good Lord, just what had Bree been up to?
Hmm, tying Rand up. Yeah. That could be really interesting. He’d told her not to bring any clothes. He didn’t say she couldn’t bring some rope.
“WE’RE GOING TO LAS VEGAS?”
“What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas,” Rand quipped.
Lord. She was in trouble now. Saturday morning had come in a flash, and really, she was god-awful nervous. She’d be spending more than twenty-four hours with him, sleeping with him, using the bathroom with him. It was terrifying to contemplate.
San José Airport was packed, queues of people going off in all directions, outside the Starbucks, clustered around each gate. If it was like this on a weekend, she hated to think about a weekday with all the business travelers. The security line had been hellacious, but at least they didn’t have to check in; Rand had gotten their boarding passes online. She had a small carry-on with underwear and toiletries. The three-ounce bottle limit was a pain in the butt, and it was strange flying off with little more than a change of underwear. Oh, and the scarves. She hadn’t had time to buy rope, but she’d been into scarves in the nineties, accenting every outfit with color. It was cheaper than jewelry. She hadn’t worn them in years, but they would be perfect as a rope substitute.
Rand had a larger bag, which presumably held clothing for her as well. He’d taken her license and handed it to the security officer along with their boarding passes, so the first hint of their destination was when she’d read the flight information on the board outside their gate.
“So we’re going gambling,” she said. That would be the least terrifying possibility. She remembered his penchant for exhibitionism.
“Maybe a roll of quarters,” he said as the boarding line inched forward.
“Cheapskate,” she groused. “A show, then?”
He flashed her a smile. The best way to characterize it would be a shit-eating grin, but she was a lady and didn’t use that kind of language. Except when she was having sex with Rand.
“Yes, a show,” he said.
Good Lord. “Please don’t tell me I’m going to be the show,” she hissed at him in an undertone.
He grabbed her hand. “Don’t worry, you’re going to love everything I’ve planned.”
Right. She’d hardly slept last night, her body humming with excitement and nerves. Rand wouldn’t tell her a thing about the trip, but the week’s evenings had been filled with one sexual escapade after another. He’d done her on his deck. Unfortunately the neighbor couple hadn’t come out to bear witness, though without the lights on, it would have been hard to tell that she wasn’t merely sitting in Rand’s lap. She actually invited him over for dinner, and during dishwashing, he’d lifted her skirt, pulled down her panties, and had his wicked way with her right there in the kitchen. They’d had sex in every room of the house, except the boys’ rooms, of course. Rand wanted to create dirty memories that would come back to her no matter what she was doing. She would never eat at the kitchen table again without thinking of what he’d done to her on it.
It was kinky, like an animal leaving his mark, but God, it made her feel sexy. She’d certainly crossed several lines she’d drawn in the sand for herself, though he hadn’t spent the night yet. Vegas would be the first night they actually slept together.
After they boarded, he laid one hand on her ass to steer her to their seats. She’d worn her tightest jeans, and his hand molded to her flesh heated her through. He never missed an opportunity to touch her, but she had to admit, this one was particularly bold. What extra liberties would he take in Vegas?
He stowed their bags in the overhead bin, and once they were in the air, when the drinks were served, he ordered champagne for two. The glasses were plastic, and the champagne wasn’t the best, but it tickled her nose and made her giddy. She had never been on a trip with a man she wasn’t married to. This was somehow illicit and therefore all the more exciting.
Rand leaned in. “I have a goal to make sure we have sex at least six times and you have at least twice that many orgasms.”
His breath was sweet with champagne, and he set her pulse racing. She’d make him wild when she turned the tables on him with the scarves. Yet she did wonder how far he’d push her tonight. Sex in public. God, what if Vegas had orgy clubs? You see everything on TV, but who knew if any of it was true.
“Remember,” he said, tipping her chin to force her to meet his gaze. “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. No one ever has to know what we do there.”
The hottest part of the flame was blue, and it was all blazing in his eyes.
Oh yeah, he was going to push her. Rachel wondered how far she would actually go for him.
EXCEPT FOR THE DOOR, THE ELEVATOR WAS A WALL OF MIRRORS ON every side. Rachel couldn’t avoid seeing herself. Good God, she was practically naked, and Rand was taking her out like this into the Las Vegas nightlife.
The afternoon had been fun. He’d booked them into a hotel with a premium location on the Strip. After checking in and dropping their bags off in the room, they’d walked the crowded Las Vegas Boulevard. Rand set a brisk pace, wending through the throng with her hand tightly clasped in his. It was unusually windy, at least that’s what the concierge at the hotel had said, but it was fairly warm by San Francisco standards. They’d gambled a little in Monte Carlo, admired the butterflies in the Bellagio’s conservatory, sipped mochas outside a French café in Paris, taken a gondola ride along the Venetian’s Grand Canal. Then he’d made her ride the roller coaster at New York New York. Oh my God! She’d screamed her head off and enjoyed every moment.
Rachel couldn’t remember having that much fun since they’d taken the boys to Disneyland years ago. Come to think of it, Disneyland hadn’t been all that fun, because Nathan had gotten sunburned and Gary had been pissed because she’d forgotten the sunscreen.
Do not think of Gary.
They’d had supper at the Rio’s seafood buffet. She was terrified of eating too much because Rand had yet to show her the clothes he wanted her to wear. She didn’t want any bulges to show if he’d brought her something tight.
She needn’t have worried. He’d chosen a flirty black skirt that was short enough to be sexy, but not too short for a woman her age.
“You look fucking hot,” he murmured, holding her hand, looking at her in one of the elevator’s mirrored walls.
Thank God they were alone, because he made her actually look at herself as they descended the thirty floors. And really, it was a sight to behold. Rand stood slightly behind her, dressed all in black in stark contrast to his blond hair. He was mouthwatering in a button-down shirt and fitted slacks that were designed to hug and emphasize every delicious part of him. She felt petite beside him despite the shoes he’d bought her. She’d never had a pair like these—four-inch red spiked heels—not for Rachel the mother; these were for Rachel the hot, sexy lover he couldn’t get enough of.
“You can see my nipples,” she whispered, looking in the mirror, breathless, excited, nervous.
“Men will have to do a double take to notice.”
Which is exactly what he wanted them to do, she was sure. He’d bought the shoes to match the blouse, a lacy design of sheer red that didn’t effectively cover the strategic body parts beneath. It was the kind of garment meant to be worn over a camisole or at least with a bra. Rand had brought neither. Just the see-through red blouse. With every move, her bare flesh played peekaboo through the lace. If anyone looked closely, they would see her beaded nipples.
And what no one but she and Rand knew was that under the skirt, she was bare except for the blac
k fishnet thigh-high stockings he’d bought for her.
26
RAND HADN’T BROUGHT PANTIES FOR HER. THE KNOWLEDGE GAVE Rachel a sexy little rush. Standing at an angle beside her, he studied their reflection in the mirror as he raised a hand and lightly stroked her nipple with his palm. “There,” he murmured, his breath sweet against her ear, “if they look hard enough, a man will see those gorgeous nipples of yours.”
Rachel shivered in anticipation. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”
He stepped back to survey her, arranging her hair to fall artfully over her shoulders. “I give you permission to return to the hotel room and change back into the shirt you had on.”
A T-shirt, nothing special; it simply made her feel sexy because of its tightness across her breasts. Did she want to wear that? Or could she handle something a little more risqué? What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. She wore dark red lipstick, making her lips plump and kissable. She wouldn’t spoil the look or the sexy red shoes with a T-shirt. “I’ll wear this.”
He laughed. “I knew you could be a naughty slut for me.”
She raised her brow and tipped her shoulder seductively. “Just watch out that I don’t choose someone over you.” She wasn’t going to let him do all the directing; she’d have her own fun, too, and keep him guessing.
He raised her hand to his lips as the door opened to a group of men, laughing loudly, shoving good-naturedly, and slightly worse for wear in the alcohol-consumption department. They let her step off the elevator first. There was a moment of complete silence, then one of them whispered, “Holy shit.” Another muttered, “I’d love to suck those titties.”
Rand winked at her, a gleam in his eye. It was starting. She felt a rush of power and turned. “Thank you, gentlemen.” Then, squeezing Rand’s arm and dropping her voice, she added, “Tonight it’s his turn.” She winked, just as Rand had. “But you boys can look for me tomorrow night. I’ll be around.” Looping her arm through Rand’s, she gave an exaggerated sway of her hips as she strolled away.
The elevator doors closed before any of the men even stepped inside.
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