Hard Compromise (Compromise Me)

by Samanthe Beck

  Scolding worked. She accepted the phone and answered the call. He listened long enough to assure himself she’d engaged, then he gave her shoulder a squeeze and strode to where one of his deputies stood motioning for him.

  The rest of the morning passed in a blur. More onlookers arrived, including most of the bakery employees. His deputies managed the crowd while Nelson’s men put down the fire. Walk-throughs confirmed the building had been empty, which was a blessing of the early hour and the holiday. The unit next door to the bakery sustained some damage—mostly smoke and water—but the bakery itself was a total loss.

  He was wrapping up a call with the desk deputy at the station when he turned to see Chief Nelson headed toward him, carrying a clipboard and talking to Lauralie.

  “…appreciate you giving us your statement.”

  “I’m sorry I don’t have much to tell. Any other morning I’d have been in the kitchen by five-thirty, but we were closed due to the holiday.”

  Nelson offered the clipboard to Booker. “We’ll call that a lucky break, since it means we’re dealing with damage to property only, and not people.”

  Booker skimmed the chief’s notes containing the preliminary information for the fire report—which didn’t set forth anything he didn’t already know—and handed the board back. “Any word on the cause of the fire?”

  “Officially? No.” Nelson shook his head. “The fire investigator will determine origin and cause, but it will take some time for them to work their magic.”

  “Unofficially?” Booker pressed because Nelson had been on the job a long time. The guy knew how to read a structure fire.

  The older man glanced toward the building. “Based on the thermal pattern on the back wall, I’d say electrical.”

  “What happens now?” she asked. “Do I get some sort of report from you and submit it to my insurance company, or…?”

  “You can get a copy of the incident report in a few days, but don’t wait for that. Call your insurer today and give them notice of the claim. Who’s your carrier?”

  She named the company, and Booker watched a barely perceptible wince tighten Nelson’s lips.

  “What?” Apparently Lauralie noticed, too.

  “I hear they offer competitive rates,” the chief said diplomatically.

  “That’s why I went with them. Please don’t tell me they’re about to go bankrupt or something, because I need the insurance money to pay back my business loan.”

  “No, no. They’re solvent, as far as I know,” Nelson replied, “and it’s not my place to rate the carriers…”

  “But?”

  The man rocked back on his heels and squinted at the sky for a moment. “They’re not known for processing claims quickly, and they like their loopholes. You’ll want to stay on top of the adjudicator and the investigation. Don’t give them any reason to drag things out.”

  Laurie closed her eyes and groaned. Booker rested his hand along the back of her neck and gently kneaded the tense muscles there.

  “Okay. Good to know. I appreciate the tip.” She drew in a breath and refocused on Nelson. “I know it’s New Year’s Day, and I’m not the only case in your investigator’s workload, but about how long do you think it will take to complete the investigation?”

  “Our investigation? Maybe thirty days, assuming the lab isn’t backed up.”

  “Holy shit. Thirty days, seriously?”

  “And that’s just our investigation. Regardless of our findings, your carrier will conduct a separate investigation. They’ll have an independent firm come out and inspect the scene, gather their own evidence, and probably do their own analysis using their own forensic experts. If they identify a product failure or maintenance issue as the cause of the fire, they’ll have to notify those parties, and give them the opportunity to inspect the scene too.”

  “Oh my God. How long is that going to take?”

  “Stay on top of them,” was all Nelson said.

  “Great,” she murmured, and shoved her fists deep into the front pocket of her hoodie. The tension in the fabric mirrored the tension in her body. Booker watched her chew her lip and do some mental calculations. It didn’t take long and her expression told him the answer was a big, fat, You. Are. Fucked. As soon as they were alone, he’d get the specifics and figure out how to help. The trick wasn’t coming up with money—he had plenty—the trick was getting her to accept it.

  “Can I go in and—”

  “No.” Booker responded, even though he knew she’d directed the question to Nelson. Protocol prevented anyone except emergency personnel from accessing the scene until the investigators were done, but even more important, he wasn’t letting her wander through a burned-out, potentially unstable structure.

  Her indignant gaze swung his way, and her hands flew from the pocket of her sweatshirt to her hips. “It’s my property in there. I might be able to salvage some things.”

  Nelson backed him. “I can’t allow you inside until the building inspector signs off and my investigators complete their examination of the scene, but if you or your employees have any personal effects in the unit, my crew can retrieve them before we secure the premises.”

  “All right.” She released a pent-up breath, and pushed her hands back into her pocket. “I understand.” To Nelson, she said, “I can’t think of anything, but let me check with my team. I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll come over in a second,” Nelson said. Lauralie nodded, and walked across the lot to where friends and employees had assembled to commiserate and offer support.

  He turned to the chief. “Nothing looked suspicious?”

  “No. I’m pretty confident it started as an electrical fire. Burn patterns point to a wall outlet. There really shouldn’t be much for her insurance company to spin their wheels on, but you know how it goes.”

  “Yeah. I know her, too, though. She’s a fighter.”

  “Good. For my own selfish reasons, I hope she gets it sorted out and reopens soon. I’m partial to her cinnamon twists. Later.”

  “Later,” Booker echoed. His attention strayed to Lauralie. He wanted to go after her, but Deputy Petty approached and pointed out most of the looky-loos had dispersed now that the fire was out, which was his way of asking to go off the clock. Fair question. It was New Year’s Day, after all. Booker checked in with his deputies and worked out the logistics.

  While he accomplished the chore, he kept watch over Lauralie. She and her employees congregated at one end of the parking lot, in a small area inside the yellow caution tape, sorting through the few items firefighters pulled from shop. Occasionally she took a call, or stopped to speak with someone who wandered over despite the tape. Through it all she wore her patented I-can-handle-anything look.

  Time to wrap this up. Picking through charred remains and putting on a brave face for employees and customers wouldn’t rebuild her business any faster. He walked over. She stood with her back to him, listening to a red-faced blond woman who punctuated her rapid-fire speech with air pokes from her extended index finger. He didn’t recognize her, but whoever she was, she’d evidently decided the warning tape didn’t apply to her, and she clearly hadn’t stopped by to offer assistance.

  “…bad luck, or your own negligence. Ultimately it’s not my problem. My problem is you have a thousand dollar deposit on a wedding cake you’re not going to be able to deliver. I want my money back, and I want it back now.”

  He increased his pace, and prepared to call out, because he was ready to boot the blonde for trespassing, but Lauralie responded first.

  “You know what, Cindy? I don’t walk around with thousand dollar rolls on me. If you check the order form you signed, you’ll note I have thirty days from the date you cancel to issue a refund.”

  The blonde pulled a folded form from her purse, flicked it open and scanned the page. Then she looked up and glared at Lauralie. “I’m canceling.”

  Lauralie nodded. “Fine. You’ll get your refund within the specified time f
rame.”

  The other woman stood for a moment, obviously unsatisfied and seemingly prepared to argue. Then her attention shifted to him. She swallowed, and smoothed a hand over her hair. “I’d better, or I’ll see you in court.” With that, she stomped off.

  Lauralie let out a long breath and pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. Finally, she turned, and stopped short when she saw him. “You’re still here.”

  “I’m still here. Did you think I’d just sneak off?”

  …

  Her cheeks burned. Yes, she’d snuck off this morning, but, hell, she’d done him a favor. One he’d never know about, if she had her way. Nobody deserved to kick off New Year’s Day dealing with her mother. Look what it had done to her. Less than an hour after she’d handed the contents of her safe over to Denise, the place had burned down. Another example of her mother’s toxic Karma. Or maybe she was she producing her very own toxic Karma now? Like mother, like daughter.

  “I didn’t sneak off. I left you a note.”

  “I can’t tell you how comforting that note was to me when I woke up alone in your apartment to the sound of my dispatch supervisor telling me your shop was on fire. I didn’t have a fucking clue if you were inside.”

  Shit. Defensive words sprang to her lips, but she swallowed them down, because the look on his face silenced her. She wasn’t so absorbed in her own situation she couldn’t put herself in someone else’s shoes. “I’m sorry you worried. I’m fine.”

  Just fine. My business is gone. The people I employ are out of jobs. I owe six thousand dollars in deposit refunds I used to make my mother go away. My insurance sucks, and I’m probably going to default on my business loan. But otherwise? Best New Year ever.

  The tension in his jaw relaxed. His shoulders came down a notch. “You’re not fine, but you will be.”

  “Yeah.” She meant to sound confident, because she didn’t intend to pour out her troubles to anyone, but the single word fell short of the mark to her ears.

  “You’re tired, and you’ve done everything you can do for now. Let’s go.” He held out his hand, palm up. “Give me your keys. I’ll drive you home.”

  Sweet of him to offer, in his I’m-in-charge way, but invisible hooks inside her refused to detach from the charred remains of her livelihood. As painful and illogical as it was to linger in the parking lot, so long as she did, Babycakes existed in her present. Once she left, her dream-come-true officially became part of her past. A memory. Her days wouldn’t start with her strolling under the striped awning. No more unlocking the door to the tidy shop, and feeling her chest swell with pride. She couldn’t let it go yet, but Booker didn’t need to hang out while she mourned. More importantly, she didn’t need any witnesses.

  “Thanks, but I’m going to try to reach my insurance agent before I leave. Make sure I’m not overlooking anything. I’ll see you…” shit “…around.”

  He let the tactless choice of farewells pass without comment, but not the underlying attempt to stand her ground. “Lauralie, it’s time to go.” He closed his hand around her arm, and gently but firmly guided her toward her car. Out of nowhere a memory rose up, of the same gentle but firm hand guiding her off the beach a lifetime ago, rescuing her from her own bad judgment.

  Funny how history repeated itself. Still, she wasn’t sixteen anymore, and she took pride in having the strength and smarts to deal with any situation she faced. On her own. She genuinely appreciated peoples’ kindness today, and their efforts to help, but she’d sent them away for a reason. Laurie Peterson didn’t lean on anyone. She gave out advice. She supplied a shoulder to cry on, not vice versa. Chelsea was the only possible exception, and even their dynamic tended to work the other way.

  Fumbling the good-bye to Booker didn’t qualify him as the second exception, especially not to confide all the troubles weighing on her now. She needed time alone, all the more so because some weak part of her longed to crawl onto his lap, and bawl her eyes out against his chest while he held her in his arms and told her everything would be okay.

  No bawling except in absolute seclusion. Forcing her spine straighter, she dug her keys out of the front pocket of her shorts. “I can drive myself. You must have had plans for today.”

  “I’m wide open at the moment.” He looked around the empty parking lot. “I’m also stranded.”

  The secluded bawling part of her day just got pushed. She unlocked her truck. “Hop in. I’ll give you a lift to your car.” It was the least she could do after…everything. She could hold herself together a little longer.

  Dark eyes roamed her face, looking for what, she wasn’t sure, and even less sure she wanted him to find it. But she couldn’t turn away. After a moment, he nodded. “Thanks.”

  She started the engine, and waited while he got in and buckled his seat belt. His five o’clock shadow from last night was now a full-blown unshaven jaw. His finger-combed hair waved back from his face in the kind of ridiculously attractive disarray that only worked for guys. All the rugged masculinity sent her mind back to this morning, when she’d left him sprawled in her bed. Her system reacted with a violent and inappropriate burst of lust—like an engine backfiring in a funeral procession.

  Reassuring how in the midst of a crisis, your hormones remain in full working order. She put the car into gear and pulled away from the curb. The burned-out remains of Babycakes slanted across her rearview mirror, and failure sat like a boulder on her chest. She pushed through the pain to locate her voice. “Where’s your car?”

  “At my parent’s house.”

  Her foot smashed the brake. “Where?”

  “I left it there last night.” He looked uncharacteristically defensive. “Is that a problem?”

  “No.” She shook her head, and resumed driving. Not a problem. A reminder. They called the same town home, but Booker and she came from very different worlds. His parents lived in the most coveted part of Montenido. The part she only visited as a member of the hired help. Yes, technically, for a moment there, she’d clawed her way up to business owner, but fate had kicked her back down.

  A hand moved her hair behind her shoulder. “Tell me.”

  “Tell you what?”

  “I spent the better part of a decade watching you, and the best parts of last night inside you. The tough-as-nails act you put on for everyone else doesn’t work on me. Tell me what you need.”

  The whole curl-up-on-his-lap-and-cry scenario suddenly threatened to become a mortifying reality. Slippery panic and a desperate need to push him a safe distance from the shit-storm of her life had her responding with a cynical laugh. “I need six grand in the next thirty days. How much can I put you down for?”

  “Six grand.” His reply came without hesitation.

  A scrolled iron gate flanked by carved marble lions passed on the left. She drove on, steering her SUV up the winding, palm-lined road to the rarified hilltop Montenido’s wealthiest families called home. His family included. He didn’t choose to live like this, but six thousand wouldn’t set him back. Not in the least.

  It set her back though—to a place she’d sworn she’d never go. Just asking for the money made her exactly like her mother, approaching every person in her life with her hand out and a hard-luck story on her lips. Her mind recoiled from the realization, and struck back with unflattering meanness. “That certainly puts a price on last night.”

  She braced for anger. Disgust. She had it coming after such an obnoxious comment. But he laughed.

  “Yeah, right. If we’re charging by the orgasm, you owe me for last night. I would have let you try to even the score this morning, but you chickened out.”

  “I didn’t chicken out.”

  “No?”

  “I had…reasons…for leaving.”

  “I checked the surf report. The waves weren’t that good.”

  The quiet disappointment in his voice tempted her to come clean. “My…” Nope. She couldn’t do it. God, she sucked. “This is a pointless conversation. I’m not
taking your money. I’m not a freaking charity.”

  “I’m not offering a donation.”

  She expelled her breath and prepared to cut him off, but he kept talking. “Once you get the bakery running again, you can pay me back. In the meantime, I reduce the amount of time I’m deprived of my morning carbs and coffee.”

  “I can’t take your money as a loan either.”

  “Why not? I’ve got some I’m not using.”

  “Because…” Frustration sent the response tumbling out of her mouth, unfiltered. “You wouldn’t understand, because you’ve never had to worry about money. The stakes in life go down considerably when you have that kind of security. Everything’s easier. I don’t have the same safety net. I’ve had to earn every damn thing I’ve gotten. It’s who I am, and what I expect of myself. Right now I have no income, no collateral, and a bunch of debt. I can’t qualify for a loan. Taking one from you is just a different brand of bailout.”

  Without direction, she pulled to the shoulder beside the privacy hedge demarking the perimeter of his parents’ property. She’d never been here before, but she knew the Booker family home the same way locals in Hyannis Port knew the Kennedy compound—from a distance, on the other side of gates and walls.

  He stared out the passenger window while red rose under his cheekbones and a muscle in his jaw ticked. “Believe it or not, money doesn’t buy everything. I’ve actually had to work for a few things, too.”

  Great. She’d offended him. He resented implications his family’s wealth or connections afforded him advantages, and, in all fairness, he never played the wealth and connections cards to get ahead. Still, they were there, putting him ahead of the game even if he preferred not to leverage them. A sighted person walking around with his eyes closed could tell himself he understood what it was like to be blind, but he didn’t. Regardless, the man had stood shoulder-to-shoulder with fire fighters, his deputies, and the rest of the emergency responders, and tried to rescue her business. He deserved respect and she hadn’t meant to imply otherwise. “I’m sorry. I just meant—”