She closed her eyes, rubbing her temples a little. Flashes came back to her. Something about Stephen, fashion, and Josiah . . . in underwear? She gasped, then realized no, that couldn’t be right. She’d woken up alone. The guys were in Colorado. It must have been some bizarre dream.
Chapter Eight
Four hours later, Anya walked into the main lobby of the Bobcats’ headquarters. She debated leaving her shades on, as the lights inside were almost as blinding as the sun. But she didn’t want to be weird, so she removed them and, wincing, approached the desk. “Hi, are you Kristen?”
The woman smiled at her. Extremely pretty, very professional, and totally fashionable. Her hair was swept back with a skinny braid from the temple down to her ear, and the whole thing gathered into a messy chignon at the base of her neck. Her dress, in red, boasted an asymmetrical neckline that was both edgy and demure, with its lack of cleavage. She was probably in her late thirties, or maybe early forties, but could have passed for younger.
“That’s me.” The woman smiled politely. “Can I help you?”
“Anya—I mean, Anastasia Fisher to see Cassandra Wainwright, please.” It was all so formal. From the way Cassie dressed normally, she wouldn’t have guessed there’d be such protocol to meet for lunch.
“Oh, Anya! Hi, it’s nice to finally meet you. Cassie goes on about her best friend from Georgia all the time.” The woman stood and held out a hand, giving her a more friendly smile now. “Come on back. Suze, I’ll be back in a moment. Can you page Cassie and tell her we’re on the way?”
The other woman, who sat at a desk a few feet away, gave her the okay sign just as she picked up a ringing phone.
“First time at the headquarters?” Kristen asked as she left her desk and started back toward a hallway. They passed through immaculate glass doors with a bobcat guarding a football frosted over them. Two men in khakis and navy polo shirts with gold stitching on the pockets stood beside them.
“First time, yes. Can I just say I love your dress?”
“Oh, thank you.” Kristen smoothed down the front, looking pleased with the compliment. “I know it’s probably foolish when I sit more than half my day, but I just have this thing about clothes.”
“I can totally relate. And the shoes are awesome.” Anya paused, taking a second look at the black peep toes. “Could I make a suggestion?”
“Fire away. You’re the expert, from what I hear.”
“Expert is pushing it. But try blue.”
“Blue . . . shoes?” That made Kristen slow down a bit. “With red?”
“Mmm-hmm. You like color. A cobalt would look great with this dress. Just a suggestion.”
“Blue,” Kristen said again, as if turning it over in her mind. “I love it. I just can’t afford it right now. I love quality, but as a single mom with a teenager of the male variety who often does an impression of an entire plague of locusts during dinner . . .” She shrugged. “What can you do?”
“His stomach before your shoe collection,” Anya surmised, laughing. “I understand. Hey, have you heard of this store a little south of here? It’s called Cynthia’s, a resale shop with designer brands.”
“No, I haven’t. What—Cassie, there we are.” Kristen stopped. “Your lunch date is here.”
“Not as handsome as my fiancé, but I’ll work with it.” Looping an arm through Anya’s, Cassie waved to Kristen. “Thanks!”
“Not a problem. It was a pleasure to meet you, Anya.” With another friendly wave of the fingers, Kristen headed back toward the front.
“I can’t tell if that woman was a former model or if she just missed her calling,” Anya murmured as she walked with Cassie farther down the hall.
“I’d say she missed her calling, except she’s brilliant at what she does. Her real calling is at that desk, keeping everyone’s heads above water. Here we go, left here, then a right . . . sort of like a dungeon, isn’t it?” Cassie opened the door to a dark room, illuminated mostly by computer screens and a few emergency lights overhead. Computers lined the perimeter of the wall, with nothing but a conference table and a few lone chairs in the middle. “Welcome to the Nerd Herd.”
Several men sat at computers, typing or clicking or just staring. None actually looked in their direction.
Cassie sighed. “They’re hopeless, God love ’em. This is my station over here.”
“Aw, you’ve got a photo of Trey and you as your screen saver.” Anya gave her friend a tug on the arm. “Trey and Cassie, sittin’ in a tree . . .”
“Stop it. This is probably where we’ll eat lunch, if that’s okay,” she added, waving to the table in the middle of the room. “I knew what you wanted so I went ahead and got you something. Kristen places our order for us and we chow down here. The rest of the Herd tends to be pretty nonsocial,” she added in a whisper. Though why she whispered, Anya didn’t know, since none of them had moved an inch since they’d arrived. It was as if they didn’t exist.
They sat at the table and Cassie sighed. “Before the food gets here and they swarm, I wanted to say I was sorry about the whole thing of pushing you and Josiah together.”
Anya straightened in her chair. “Are you actually sorry?”
Cassie bit her bottom lip, looked to the side, then said, “No. I really thought you two would hit it off. Obviously I was wrong. So I’ll own that part. But in general, I did it because I love you.”
Anya chuckled and hugged her friend. “It’s okay. Really. Not everyone will understand my blinding good looks and piles of charm from the start. I’ve accepted it.”
That made Cassie smile a bit, then the smile dropped. “Chad called, didn’t he?”
“What, do you have radar or something? A nanny cam in my bedroom?”
Cassie merely looked at her.
With a sigh, Anya nodded. “He did. It’s one of the reasons I was ripe for daiquiris. He’s just so . . . Chad. Nothing unusual from him, just . . . same shit, different day. Now that I’m out of his life”—mostly, hopefully permanently soon enough—“suddenly he can’t stop calling and talking to me. Two years ago, this would have been great. Now, it’s just annoying.”
“Can I help with anything? Maybe—”
“No. Stop.” With a hand slashed through the air, Anya cut that off at the knees. “I love you so much for offering help, when you don’t even know . . . never mind,” she cut herself off when Cassie looked at her blankly. Now was not the time. “I’ll handle it. I have to figure this out in my own way, unfortunately.”
“I don’t like that he still calls you, and you still feel compelled to answer. It leaves you vulnerable,” Cassie said sadly. “I hate that.”
“It’s a painful lesson. One I needed to learn. I’m learning. That’s all.” When the knock on the door came, Anya turned. Cassie went to open it, then flung it open as several young guys and one lady walked in, carrying the food. They wore gold polos with navy stitching and jeans or khakis. And if they were all old enough to legally drink, she’d eat her favorite pair of heels.
Interns, Cassie mouthed. That answered that. “Thank you, everyone. We appreciate it.” She hustled them back out the door, then motioned for Anya to stand back from the table. “Trust me, you’re not going to want to be in the line of fire when they realize there’s food. We’ll sit down afterward.”
As the first member of the Nerd Herd scented the food, Anya watched as he swiveled in his chair, locked his radar on the table, and lunged for it.
“They get so caught up in what they’re doing, they forget to come up for air, or nourishment,” Cassie said under her breath. “I can get like that, too . . . it’s just that usually Dad or Trey stops in and makes me remember the outside world. Speaking of Dad,” she added, as another, and then a third man went at the table like a starving man on a loaf of bread, “I talked to my dad last night on the phone. He gave me the okay to let you take ove
r the pool house. I still have the keys. I forgot to hand those over. It’s a little more bare than before, since Tabitha took almost literally half of whatever was in there, but there’s still a bed, a couch and a TV.”
“Sold,” Anya said quickly. “Rent?”
Cassie named a price that was less than the apartment she’d left behind in Georgia, but wasn’t so low that it was an obvious pity lease. “Month to month, so if you want to find somewhere with more space, you’re not locked in. He’s having his attorney draft up a very simple document, just to keep things clean, legally speaking. I hope that’s okay.”
A lease protected them both, so she wasn’t offended. “No problem. It’s really nice of him to let me stay there.”
“He won’t go near it, and he’s gone so much anyway. The girls might come sniffing around, especially Irene.” Cassie rolled her eyes at that. “When she hears you’ve got better clothes than I do, she’ll try to steal something. Don’t let her.”
“As if I’d part with my clothing so easily,” Anya scoffed. “Is it safe to sit?”
“Yup.” Cassie sat and pulled the bag containing what was left their way.
“Good.” Anya pulled out her hummingbird notebook, tracing the corner a moment, smiling as she remembered how aghast Josiah had looked when she’d spent five deliberate, insipidity-filled minutes cooing over it. “We’ve got a wedding to plan.”
* * *
Josiah pulled up to Trey’s house on Monday next to a small two-door car he didn’t recognize, ready for another day full of drooling over cumberbunds or whatever ridiculous business Anya had in store for him. He hadn’t actually spoken to her since that drunken FaceTime call, but she had said Monday would be their shopping day. She’d be expecting him.
What he didn’t expect was to see Anya hauling her heavy-ass suitcase from the garage. She struggled to get it over the transition from house to garage. He hopped out of his SUV and jogged over to help. “Problem?”
“What?” Out of breath, she put her fists on her hips and glared at the suitcase. “No problem. Just the stupid wheels aren’t working.”
“It’s caught on the transition. Hold on.” He picked it up and set it back down again on the concrete of the garage floor. “There we go.”
“Oh. Right.” She took the handle and started wheeling it toward the bright yellow car. “Thank you. Trey’s not here, by the way.”
Josiah stuck his hands in his pockets and watched as she fumbled with the keys and popped the trunk. “Whose car is this?”
“Mine.”
It was an older model, he could tell, but well maintained. “You bought a car?”
“Yup.” She grabbed the second handle and hefted, but the bag didn’t budge. She grunted, trying again, but no dice. He grinned and propped one hip against the front of his SUV, wondering how long it would take her to ask for help.
After another moment, she just glared at the bag, then shifted her narrow-eyed gaze at him. “Are you just going to stand there watching me struggle?”
“It’s amusing.”
“Thanks.” She muttered something else, and he thought it sounded a lot like “ass” but he wasn’t sure.
He pushed off and headed for her. “Move aside.”
“I’ve got it.”
“No, I do.” With one hand, he lifted the bag into the trunk. She scowled at him. “Where’s this going?”
“With the rest of my suitcases.”
He felt a sudden shift in his gut. “Rest of your suitcases . . . as in you’re leaving?”
“I don’t live here. Cassie and Trey have been great about letting me stay, but it’s time to move on.”
“Oh.” Why did the idea that she was heading back to Georgia put such a clutch in his insides? “So you’re driving there?”
“Of course I am.” She went back into the garage, saying nothing when he followed her into the house. There were several more suitcases sitting at the bottom of the staircase. Silently, he grabbed the two largest while she took the smaller two. “How else would I get there?”
“Fly, which was how I thought you got here,” he said testily.
“Fly?” Her voice was disbelieving. “It’s not that far.”
“That’s how you . . . wait.” He set the suitcases down in the hallway and turned. “Where exactly are you going?”
“To my new place.” When he just kept staring, she made a face. “What? I can’t stay here with them forever. I’m not their kid. I need my own space.”
“That’s not . . . I mean . . . so this is permanent?”
“If by this you mean my being in New Mexico, then yes. As permanent as anything else.” She wriggled by him with her two bags and went out to the garage. He followed behind. “Nobody knows what tomorrow brings, you know. Maybe someone working for Tom Ford will swoop by next week and decide to take me away from it all, to Paris where I can become the next big designer and roll around in the lap of fashion.”
“You want to design?”
“Not in the least. But the point is, it’s all up in the air, when it comes down to it. You could be traded tomorrow. Our roots are only as deep as the universe will let them grow.”
“That was . . . insightful.”
“Thanks.” She grinned at him. “I’m thinking of starting a side business writing greeting cards for Hallmark.”
“Smartass,” he retorted. He wrestled with the front seats, finding the lever to get them to fold down so he could heft the bags into the back. It was a tight fit, but he managed to barely make it work.
“You know, I’m coming to like that you see me that way. I’ve never really been considered a smartass before. It’s fun.”
God save him from women in transition. He looked up at the sky. “Why are Trey and Cassie not here helping you move, since you can’t lift these suitcases yourself?”
“They’re off doing wedding stuff. They’ve got a list I gave them, and they’re not allowed to come home until it’s complete. I want to get a move on and give them their privacy, as well as get a little privacy of my own. So I’m heading out.” She tossed her keys in her hand. “Thanks for the help.”
The basic way she’d said it—no sarcasm at all—surprised him a little. “You’re welcome.”
She waited another moment. “Are you going to move your SUV? I don’t think I can get out with you so close. And they’re not here, as I said.”
Right. Basically, it meant he had the day free to do whatever. He should be jumping for joy. No wedding errands. No driving her around the city, eating up gas, and wasting brain cells on which table setting was shinier, or do bows on the chairs look ostentatious or just right? But . . .
“Who is going to help you get those suitcases back out of the car?”
She looked at her backseat and grimaced. “I’ll figure something out.”
After another few moments, he sighed and walked around to his own driver’s door. The woman was truly infuriating. “Lead the way.”
She grinned and hopped in her car.
* * *
“I think you got turned around, darlin’.” Josiah stood beside her, staring up at the mansion in front of them. “This is the Jordan residence. As in, Coach Jordan? Cassie’s dad?”
“I know whose house it is.” She looked at it another few moments. What a cold home. Nothing about it said anything of warmth, of happiness. Oh, the lawn was manicured, the shrubs all perfectly trimmed. There were yellow flowers in happy gold and rose springing up from clay pots here and there. Keeping a lawn nice like this in the Santa Fe climate meant serious time and serious money. But the home itself . . . wasn’t a home at all. It was a house. A museum, maybe. Cassie had never been comfortable the times she had hung out with her sisters in the big house, preferring them to come to her in the tiny pool house. More cozy, she’d always said.
“So . . . wher
e to next?” he asked. When she didn’t move, he nudged her gently. “Yoo-hoo, earth to Anya.”
“In,” she said decisively. She’d take the pool house for as long as she could have it. It wouldn’t shock her if Coach Jordan decided to sell the place and downsize, even just a little. It had to be depressing to come home from being on the road to an empty house, and add a few thousand square feet onto the average American home . . . ouch. She reached back into her car, grabbed the clicker Cassie had passed her along with the keys, and hit the button. The iron gates protecting the home from the street shrieked a little, then opened in a slow swing.
“No way,” Josiah muttered, then stopped himself. “You’re taking the pool house.”
“It pays to have friends in high places,” she sang, sliding back into her car. They drove through the gates, pausing only long enough for Anya to click them closed again, and drove around the back as instructed by Cassie, parking next to the little cottage-style building beside the fenced-in pool. Josiah pulled up behind her, although there was room enough to park beside her. Almost as if he were blocking her in. That caused her to shiver, before she could scold herself for thinking stupid thoughts. Of course he wasn’t blocking her in. She lived here, for God’s sake. You couldn’t block someone in when they didn’t intend to leave, anyway.
“I haven’t been back here, myself. Came a few times for parties thrown by Mrs. J, or the soon-to-be former,” he corrected, looking around. “Seemed pointless then. Seems even more pointless now.”
“On that, we can both agree,” she said, pulling the small bags from her front seat before stepping aside. He managed to get her front seat folded down in one fluid motion she’d yet to perfect since buying the car yesterday and pulled the first bag from the back. “This way, bellhop.”
He grumbled, but followed her to the door, where she paused to unlock and open it.
The pool house smelled faintly of cleaning products, as if the maid had disinfected everything after Cassie left. Wouldn’t have shocked Anya to hear that was true, given Tabitha’s dislike of Cassie. The whole “evil stepmother” thing baffled her, truly, as she loved her own stepmom. Luck of the draw, she supposed.
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