“Can I help you?”
Even though she was standing and the receptionist was seated, the woman managed to give the impression of having to look down to see Kaylee.
Kaylee cleared her throat. “I’m looking for Gil.”
It came out sounding a bit too loud, and she winced and looked over her shoulder, in case anyone had noticed.
The receptionist arched a brow. Just one. It was perfect, too. “Excuse me?”
Everything about her was perfect. Her hair, her makeup, her business suit. The little gold studs in her ears. They were probably real, while Kaylee’s silver hoops were just aluminum.
She swallowed and moderated her voice. “Gil Norris. I’d like to see him.”
The receptionist shook her head. “I’m afraid Mr. Norris is a very busy man. He doesn’t see anyone without an appointment.”
“Oh.” That figured. He was Gil Norris, after all. “Can I make an appointment?”
“You’ll have to talk to Mr. Norris’s administrative assistant for that. I’ll call upstairs. What should I tell her this is about, please?”
“It’s private,” Kaylee said firmly.
The receptionist shook her head. “Without something more specific, I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you.”
“Can’t you just give me his number? I know him. And I’d rather just talk to him about it myself.” Privately.
“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” the receptionist said. “Mr. Norris guards his privacy very fiercely. He and his family are very private people.”
Family?
Kaylee felt her stomach drop. “He’s not married, is he?” She may be many things, including stupid, but she wasn’t a home-wrecker.
The receptionist looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Mr. Norris is a widower. Mrs. Norris passed on ten years ago.”
Ten years?
“I’m sorry,” Kaylee said, “but I think there’s been a misunderstanding. The Gilbert Norris I’m looking for is around thirty. Tall, good-looking, dark hair. Maybe he’s the old man’s son?”
“Mr. Norris doesn’t have any sons,” the receptionist said. “He only has a daughter, and her name is no longer Norris. And Mr. Gilbert will be celebrating his seventy-fifth birthday next month.”
“But...” Who was the guy she’d slept with, then?
The receptionist looked almost sympathetic. “Maybe Mr. Taylor can help you,” she said.
“Mr. Taylor?” Her voice came out weak.
“He works in human resources.”
Human resources. Employees. Kaylee squared her shoulders. “Where do I find Mr. Taylor?”
“Past the elevators,” the receptionist pointed, “down the hall to the right, last door on the left.” She handed a sticker with the word ‘visitor’ on it across the counter.
“Thank you very much.” Kaylee dredged up a smile from somewhere and peeled the backing off as she made her way toward the elevators. She didn’t turn around, but she was pretty sure she could feel the receptionist’s sympathetic look following her progress.
At least I don’t look pregnant yet. She doesn’t know that part.
But soon everyone would. Tomorrow, she’d have to tell Alana and Melody the truth, both about being pregnant and about Gil. They would know that Kaylee’s big catch wasn’t really a big catch after all, just a minnow in a salmon suit, and they’d probably roll their eyes and think she was beyond stupid to be taken in like that. And maybe they’d be right. Melody wasn’t the sharpest crayon in the box, but she had a fair share of street sense, and Alana would probably have seen right through Fake Gil.
But not Kaylee. Oh, no. She’d been so bowled over that someone like Gil Norris would pay attention to her that she’d fallen into his hand like a ripe cherry. He’d played her like a fiddle.
Dammit.
Part of her just wanted to leave, without talking to Mr. Taylor in Human Resources. All he’d be, was someone else she’d have to make a fool of herself in front of. But there were no exits down this hallway, and that would mean going back out the way she came in, through the lobby. And if she did, the receptionist might ask her how it had gone, and then Kaylee would either have to lie and tell her it had gone well, or tell the truth and admit that she’d chickened out. Either option didn’t fill her with much happiness. Much easier just to go down there and get it over with. Maybe Mr. Taylor really could help. Maybe she’d misunderstood something. It was loud inside Peckers. Maybe Gil Norris hadn’t actually said he was Gil Norris. Maybe he’d said Bill Morris instead. Maybe he was Bill Morris, and he worked for Norris Industries.
Yeah, that was probably it. All she had to do, was talk to Mr. Taylor in Human Resources, and he’d tell her where to find Bill. It wasn’t as good as if he were Gil Norris, grandson of the old man, but at least she wouldn’t be looking at becoming a single mother. Bill would take responsibility. She’d make sure of it. It was his dick that had fallen short, after all.
Chapter Two
OWEN LOOKED UP from his computer as the door opened. He catalogued the newcomer automatically: female, around twenty-five, tight jeans, blue sweater, nice rack, long blond hair...
By the time he got to her face he was on his feet. “Kaylee.” His collar felt too tight, and he ended up croaking her name. Great job. Way to make yourself look good.
She blinked. For a second, it looked like she didn’t know him. Then— “Owen?”
“Yeah.” Obviously she wasn’t there to see him.
Of course she isn’t, idiot. You’re not her type. You should know that by now.
“Owen... Taylor?” She was looking at the name plate on his desk.
“That’s me.”
“Oh.” She bit her lip. Owen watched her until he came back to himself. Way to go, shit-for-brains. Stare at her mouth until you forget your manners.
Flushing, he gestured to the chair in front of his desk. “Won’t you have a seat?”
She looked at it for a second before she sat, lifting her purse to her lap and sort of clutching it against her stomach like a protective layer or a security blanket.
He sat back down himself, and adjusted his glasses. Annoying things, but they gave him something to fiddle with in tense moments. “It’s nice to see you.”
Understatement of the year. He hadn’t seen her since that night when he’d run into her in the parking lot, waiting for someone—and he’d tortured himself ever since with mentally replaying the noises he’d heard through the wall from her unit after the guy got there. She hadn’t been screaming—at least not for help—but things had gotten a bit loud. The only good thing about it was that it hadn’t lasted long.
“You, too.” It was too quick, and probably automatic. And she must have realized it, because she blushed. “I didn’t know you worked here.”
“Really?” He’d told her he did, but of course he couldn’t expect her to remember. He was nothing to her, just a neighbor she probably never gave a second thought to when he wasn’t around.
He cleared his throat. “What brings you to Norris Industries?”
“I’m looking for someone,” Kaylee said.
Owen nodded. “Allison called down here to let me know to expect you. She said you told her you were looking for Gilbert Norris?”
Kaylee nodded, back to worrying her bottom lip.
“But not the Gilbert Norris who founded Norris Industries.”
Kaylee shook her head, and Owen cringed inside when he saw her eyes fill up with tears. “Don’t cry. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.” He pushed a box of tissues across the desk toward her.
“I don’t think you can,” Kaylee said and snagged one. She hid her face behind it while Owen squirmed, wondering what she’d do if he attempted to comfort her. Holding her for a few seconds might be worth the rejection that would follow. Then again, maybe it wouldn’t.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
Kaylee sniffed and lowered the tissue. Somehow, she’d managed to lose most of her mascar
a, and without it, she looked younger and more vulnerable. Softer than she usually did, without her dark eye makeup. “I met this guy.”
Owen nodded, even as his stomach clenched.
“The one I was waiting for that night...” She glanced at him under her lashes, “when you came home and I was in the parking lot.”
The guy he’d imagined nailing her to the wall just inside her apartment door. Right. “Where did you meet him? At work?”
She’d been wearing that idiotic uniform with the chicken eyes emphasizing her chest—as if she needed any help in that department. It was hard enough to keep his eyes off her breasts the rest of the time. When they were decorated with bulls-eyes, it was damned near impossible.
She nodded. “He told me his name was Gil Norris. Of Norris Industries.”
Of course he had. “There’s only one Gilbert Norris,” Owen said. “He’ll be seventy-five next month.”
“It wasn’t him. This guy was a couple years older than you. And really good-looking. Dark hair, nice suit. Mercedes emblem on his keychain.”
A Mercedes-emblem didn’t mean much. “Did you actually see the car?” A license plate would be helpful. Even a make and model would be better than nothing.
Kaylee blinked. “No. He parked on the street. Both times.”
“You slept with him twice?” The jealousy twisted Owen’s stomach into a pretzel-shape. A one night stand was bad enough, but she’d been with this guy more than once...?
And then he realized what he’d inadvertently blurted out, and wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole. Smooth, dude. Make derogative comments on her sex life. That’ll get you in her pants for sure.
She shook her head, and Owen didn’t even pretend he wasn’t relieved she’d decided to overlook his faux pas. “Outside the bar. And outside the condo.”
Ah. “So you didn’t actually see what kind of car he drove.”
She shook her head, white teeth sunk into that soft bottom lip again. “You think he didn’t really drive a Mercedes?”
Owen shrugged. “A key chain isn’t the same thing as a car. They’re a lot less expensive, for one thing. And a lot easier to come by.” And you could make it look like you had a Mercedes when you didn’t.
Kaylee nodded. “So you have no idea who this guy was? The lady out front said old man Norris only had a daughter. What about grandchildren?”
“There’s a grandson,” Owen said carefully, “but his name isn’t Gilbert. It isn’t Norris, either. And anyway, it wasn’t him.”
“How do you know?”
“I know what Norris’s grandson looks like.”
She seemed to accept that. “Could it have been someone else, then? Maybe I misheard. Peckers can be loud. Maybe he said Bill Morris instead of Gil Norris. Or Will Dorris. Something like that.”
“I’ll check.” And he did, scrolling through the database of employees, even though he knew damned well there was no one working for Norris Industries named either Bill Morris, Will Dorris, or even Phil Boris. “Sorry.”
Kaylee nodded, as if she’d expected it. “I don’t know what to do.”
He didn’t either. Not without knowing a bit more about the situation. “You want to tell me about it?”
She looked at him. Silently. For long enough that he could feel hot color creep up into his cheeks. The temptation to remove his glasses and polish them for something to do with his hands was almost irresistible, but he managed not to give in.
Eventually, she shook her head. “Not right now.”
He nodded. “You know you can talk to me, right?”
“Right,” Kaylee said, but he wasn’t sure whether she believed him or whether she just said it because she knew it was what he wanted to hear. She pushed the chair back and got to her feet. “I’ll see you around, Owen.”
“Sure,” Owen said and watched her walk to the door. “See you, Kaylee. Take care.”
“SORRY, KAYLEE,” LARRY said, “but you know what it’s like. Peckers has an image to uphold. Guys come here to look at the booty. You can’t work here if your stomach is bigger than your tits.”
He looked sympathetic, but the malicious glint in his eyes wasn’t hidden deep enough to miss. The day manager had a nasty habit of playing grab-ass, as well as grab-anything-else-you-can-get-your-hands-on, and Kaylee had had to call him on it once or twice. He hadn’t liked that, and it was obvious that it gave him great pleasure to give her the heave-ho now.
Not like she hadn’t seen it coming. As soon as she made the decision to keep the baby, she’d known her days as a Peckers Chick were numbered. Like Larry said, the clientele came there not just to eat or drink, but to look at the waitresses. She’d known she’d be looking at unemployment. She just hadn’t realized it would be coming so soon. It wasn’t like she looked pregnant. Much. That quip about her stomach being bigger than her tits... totally untrue.
“Maybe when you’ve had the kid,” Larry added, “if you ever get the pregnancy weight off, and—you know—lose the stretch marks, you can come back.”
Right.
She made sure her voice was steady. “I doubt it, Larry. By the time the baby’s old enough that I can go back to work, I’m sure I’ll have found something better to do.”
“Sure.” Larry grinned, and made no effort to look like he believed her. “Just keep the uniform, sweet cheeks. You might need it.”
She’d paid for it, so she damn well intended to keep it. Even if the only thing she did with it was turn the terrycloth shorts into washrags for the baby.
At the rate things were going, it might come to that. Without a job, she’d have no money for baby clothes or other necessities. She’d have no money for diapers, or food. No money for rent. No money to pay for her car, or for gas to put into it.
No money for hospital care. She’d end up with a baby to feed and a metric ton of medical bills she had no way to pay for.
It was almost enough that she begged Larry to reconsider, to give her a couple more weeks to line something else up. She almost offered to do anything he wanted if he’d just let her have a little more time. But the thought made her gag, and she didn’t need that on top of the almost constant nausea. She’d been told that it would go away after the first trimester, but she was almost there now, and the morning sickness—along with the afternoon and evening sickness—was showing no signs of abating. The idea of having any part of Larry touch any part of her was almost enough to make her run for the bathroom.
Maybe she could sell her car. Make a few bucks that way. Although it probably wasn’t worth even what she’d put into it. Cars lost a lot of value as soon as you drove them off the lot. But maybe she could call the company and ask them to take it back instead. Just lose the money she’d paid so far, but get out of the monthly payment without dinging her credit too badly. She wouldn’t have a car, but maybe she could find a job closer to home. Something she could walk to.
If she had a home. Without a job, she wouldn’t be able to keep up the rent on the townhouse, either.
“Kaylee!” She was halfway to her soon-to-be-former car when there was a shout behind her. When she turned around, Melody was hurtling across the parking lot, boobs bouncing, with Alana loping right behind, black hair flying behind her. Alana did everything beautifully.
“What happened?” Melody asked breathlessly when she had screeched to a stop.
Kaylee looked from one to the other of them. “I got fired.”
They two of them exchanged a glance and Kaylee shrugged. “Not like I didn’t know it was coming. As soon as I started showing, I knew my days were numbered.”
“I’m not sure he can do that,” Alana said. “I think pregnant women are protected from being fired because they’re pregnant.”
Melody nodded, giggling. “You could sue his ass!”
She could. And have no chance of getting her job back after the baby was born, if nothing better came along. No, thanks. Better just to suck it up and not burn any bridges.
&nb
sp; “I’ll be all right. This is better, anyway. Can’t be good for the baby to be around all that cigarette smoke all the time.”
“What are you going to do?” Alana wanted to know.
“I have some possibilities lined up,” Kaylee lied. Maybe she could talk to Owen Taylor. He worked in Human Resources for Norris Industries. Maybe he could find her some sort of job.
Or not. She couldn’t do anything other than wait tables, and nobody was likely to want to hire a woman who was having a baby in six months. And looking like this, it wasn’t even like she could offer him a little incentive to sweeten the deal. Not even Owen would be interested in her the way she looked now.
She blinked hard to keep the tears at bay—on top of everything else, she cried at the drop of a hat these days—and dredged up a big smile. “I gotta go. Places to go, people to see.”
Melody nodded. “Don’t be a stranger, OK, Kaylee?”
“No,” Kaylee said. “Of course not.”
“Let us know how it goes.” Alana gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder before she and Melody turned and headed back to the rear entrance to Peckers.
“Sure.” Kaylee watched, smiling, as they shimmied back inside, and then the smile slipped off her face. It was hard, being cheerful when her whole life was coming apart at the seams.
For a second, she rested a hand on her stomach—a little rounder and harder than it had been two months ago—and wondered whether she’d made the right choice. Alana and Melody—mostly Melody—had both wondered why she didn’t just terminate the pregnancy. It was unplanned, she was single, and she had no family to help her take care of the baby. Obviously she had no boyfriend or husband to pitch in. It made sense that she’d go the Planned Parenthood route before it was too late. But twenty-five years ago, her mother had found herself in the family way even younger than Kaylee was now, and Kaylee was the result. If her mother had gone to Planned Parenthood, Kaylee wouldn’t be here now. And if her mother had managed, how could Kaylee do less?
Friends With Benefits Page 2