by Brenda Novak
She could dwell on Eve’s kindness, which she was so grateful for—hers and Gail’s—but not Ted’s. Gail had called to check in with her just yesterday. She didn’t want to get her hopes and expectations up where Ted was concerned, didn’t want to imbue this job offer with more meaning than it had. But...it was tempting. She’d often felt such revulsion when Skip was making love to her that she’d imagine he was Ted just to get through it, especially when he demanded that she moan and writhe and pretend to enjoy herself. She knew those fantasies would complicate her situation if she let them.
A group of preteens entered the restaurant. They noticed Alexa but didn’t come over to say hello. They whispered behind their hands and giggled, as if it was funny to see her sitting there.
The moment Alexa noticed them she dropped her spoon, even though she’d barely started on her shake. “Can we go?”
Sophia tucked her own hair behind her ears. It wasn’t comfortable for her to be out in public, either. She felt so disliked and unwanted. But letting Skip’s investors strip the house seemed to have neutralized her worst enemies. When they’d gone shopping at the grocery store, and even now, she felt a tentative truce between her and the citizens of Whiskey Creek. No one acted pleased to see her, but they didn’t glare at her like before. They usually glanced away.
“You’re ready to go?” Sophia asked. “But you were so excited about coming here. And that’s your favorite shake.”
“I’ve had enough.”
The girls were crowding into a booth along the wall. Sophia recognized them; they’d been over to the house several times in the past, although not since Skip’s death. “Aren’t you part of that group anymore?” Sophia asked.
Alexa shook her head.
“But you said everything was going well at school.”
Alexa shrugged, keeping her eyes on her food. “It’s fine. I can deal with it.”
“So...is this about what Daddy did? Or is it something else?” She knew what life was like at that age, how girls who were best friends one day weren’t even friends the next. They were trying to figure out the ins and outs of relationships and seemed to try just about everything on for size. But the timing of this was certainly suspect.
Alexa slumped in her seat. “Do we have to talk about it?”
“Isn’t it better if we face our problems together?” Sophia lowered her voice. “You helped me when I needed you.”
That elicited a faint smile, and a grudging response. “Amberly’s dad invested in the fund.”
The fund. The infamous SLD Growth Fund. What other seventh-grader would be so familiar with that investment term? “I didn’t see him at the meeting the other night.” He hadn’t called her, either—not that she knew of, anyway.
“I don’t know why,” Alexa said, “but he told Amberly she can’t talk to me anymore. Clara’s parents lost money, too.”
Sophia hated knowing that her daughter was being treated as an outcast. She’d wondered, of course, but as long as Alexa was denying it she’d been able to avoid the reality. “Have all your friends turned on you?” she asked softly.
Her daughter’s cheeks reddened. “Not all of them.”
When Sophia kept staring at her, insisting on the truth, she laughed without humor. “Just the popular crowd.”
“But those were your closest friends.”
Lex took another spoonful of ice cream but her downcast expression didn’t change. “Doesn’t matter. There’s still Emily from my softball team.”
“That’s who you eat lunch with every day?”
She nodded.
Emily hadn’t even been her daughter’s favorite. “Go ahead and wait in the car while I take care of the check, okay?”
Alexa hurried out of the restaurant without even glancing over at her former friends, but that didn’t stop them from gossiping.
“My aunt Linda said she deserves what she’s getting for thinking she’s too good for the rest of us,” she heard one of them say. Sophia guessed they were talking about her now, but she didn’t care. Not about herself. She was dying to tell them to leave her little girl alone, though. Now that she was beginning to rally, the hurt she’d been feeling was turning to anger. She wasn’t sure that was a good thing; it would probably cause an even deeper rift between her and everyone else. But she and Alexa weren’t to blame for the losses Skip’s investors had sustained. They hadn’t asked him to do what he did. And anger was better than despair. It gave her the strength she needed to fight back, to find herself, to provide a foundation for her daughter instead of giving way.
Suddenly, she wanted to flip off the whole world. She couldn’t believe she’d let the citizens of Whiskey Creek, not to mention Skip’s parents, treat her so badly these past few weeks. She almost marched over and told those kids exactly how she felt. She would have, except verbally attacking thirteen-year-olds wasn’t going to rectify the situation. Her interference would only make matters worse for Lex, so she held back.
She was just putting some money on the table so she could leave when Chief Stacy walked into the restaurant. His eyes narrowed the second he spotted her, and he made a point of walking past her, even though the hostess guiding him to a table had circled around a different way.
“Out and about already, Mrs. DeBussi?” He said her last name as if it had become some kind of curse.
According to Eve, he’d carried off quite a bit of her jewelry, had been one of the greediest of those who’d come to the house on Friday, although he’d admitted to investing far less than the others. She’d even heard Reverend Flores say something to him about that.
“Is there any reason I can’t be here?” she asked.
“If I were you, I wouldn’t show my face in public. People might think you’re not remorseful.”
“I had nothing to do with what Skip did.”
“I’m not sure I believe that,” he said. “And even if I did, you certainly didn’t seem to have any trouble having fun on other people’s money.”
He was heaping on the persecution because he thought she wouldn’t do anything about it. But she’d had enough. “I do know how to have fun,” she snapped. “Particularly with your money. Thanks for investing.”
His eyes bugged out and he came to a sudden stop. He was probably surprised that she wasn’t the cowed, tolerant woman he’d seen at the house after that church meeting. “You really think you should provoke me?”
Sophia poured all the contempt she was feeling into the look she gave him. “I’ll do as I please. And as long as it’s not against the law, there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it.”
“Watch yourself,” he murmured, his voice gruff. “You don’t want to give me a reason to make your life any more difficult than it has to be.”
“By doing what?” she asked. “Carting off more of my jewelry? I don’t have anything left to lose, Chief, except Alexa. And if anyone hurts her, they’re going to be sorry they ever met me, and that includes you.”
He grabbed her arm so she couldn’t walk away from him. “I’m already sorry I met you. The whole town is.”
“Go to hell!” Jerking away, she marched out to her car.
“What happened?” Alexa asked as she climbed in.
“Nothing.” She started the engine of her beautiful Mercedes. She missed who she used to be. Missed the admiration and respect. She was going to miss her belongings, too. But her encounter with the arrogant chief of police reminded her that she wasn’t going to miss Skip. She’d never let another man control her.
“Are you sure?” Alexa said. “Because you’re breathing hard. And—and your face is all...splotchy.”
She put the car in Reverse. “Chief Stacy and I had a little...disagreement.”
“Did he hurt your feelings?”
She patted Alexa’s leg before shifting into D
rive. “Don’t worry. I’ll survive. We’ll survive this together.” He hadn’t hurt her feelings. He’d made her so angry that telling him off had felt damn good.
Fighting back beat the hell out of crying and feeling sorry for herself, she decided.
She was done being a victim.
* * *
When Sophia showed up for work on Monday morning, she was still angry—at Skip, her in-laws, Chief Stacy, almost everyone. She wasn’t going to let them push her around anymore. But just before she knocked on the door, some of that anger faded, and the fear and uncertainty returned. The job Ted had offered her was the only thing standing between her and complete disaster, the only thing that made it possible for her to fight back—because now she had a way to provide for herself.
But what if he didn’t like her cooking? Or she couldn’t manage the clerical tasks he expected her to do? Or being around each other was simply too awkward?
She wasn’t sure she could take any more disappointment or rejection.
Especially from him.
Maybe he was giving her the job so he could take it away, dash her hopes and send her packing. Hurt her the way she’d once hurt him.
She twisted around to look at her Mercedes, parked in a gravel lot to one side so she wouldn’t block his driveway, and nearly walked back to it. She was crazy to think any type of arrangement with Ted Dixon would be successful. She’d be working for her old boyfriend, of all people. They had too much history, would never be able to put the past behind them. He’d barely been civil to her the mornings she’d joined his friends at Black Gold Coffee....
But before she could take a single step, the door opened and he stood in the entryway, looking more handsome than ever. He’d always been tall and thin, with a rangy, rock-star build. Truth be told, he was a little too thin, even at thirty-four, but he’d put on a good twenty pounds over the past decade. The added muscle was apparent beneath the tight-fitting thermal shirt he wore with a pair of faded jeans and expensive-looking house shoes.
He’d also grown into his hawkish features. She’d noticed that before, of course. Although his face retained a sort of raw-boned quality, his eyes were so intelligent and his mouth so expressive and dynamic that he drew immediate interest, if not admiration.
His looks appealed to Sophia, but not as much as his blatant sexuality. He had a way of taking command of...everything, including a woman’s body, without becoming an insufferable, selfish pig—a distinction Skip had entirely missed.
Anyway, the zing that went through her the moment she laid eyes on him worried her. It was too risky to feel so...aware of her new employer.
“You’re early,” he said.
She’d been afraid she might be late when she dragged Alexa out of the house at seven-fifteen instead of seven-thirty. She was already getting off at three today, for Halloween. “I’m sorry. I came as soon as I dropped Alexa off.”
“It’s fine. Come on in.”
His house was a converted sawmill that appeared to have four levels, all of them open except for the top one—most likely his bedroom. It was loft-like, artsy and unique with brick walls and a wood-beamed ceiling.
She loved the pop art he had hanging all over, too. “Nice place.”
“Thanks.”
There had to be a story behind his home. She’d known when he converted the old sawmill. She’d heard his friends talk about it at coffee and had secretly driven past several times when Skip was out of town. But she didn’t know what had inspired him to buy the property and make such radical changes to it, and he didn’t volunteer any details.
“You can leave your purse and coat over there.” He indicated some rolling shelves of corrugated metal that had hooks on one side. “I’ll show you where the kitchen is.”
They descended half a flight of stairs and then another half a flight before entering a gourmet kitchen with a floor of polished rock, windows that overlooked the river and copper pots hanging above an extensive woodblock island. Somehow this part of the house managed to be cozy, even though it was large and reminded her of a medieval manor. There was a fire burning in the hearth at one end, a pantry off to the other side and stairs leading down to what she guessed would be a wine cellar. She inhaled the aroma of fresh mint hanging on a drying rack not far from the oak table and the rich smell of coffee.
These would be very pleasant surroundings....
“I put on a pot of Black Gold’s finest,” he said. “Feel free to pour yourself a cup.”
She was far too nervous to eat or drink. “Maybe when I take a break midmorning.”
He paused for a second, and his eyes ranged over her. She wondered if she was inappropriately dressed. She’d put on a pair of jeans, a lightweight sweater and tennis shoes, and she’d brought an apron in case he didn’t have one. “Is this okay?” she asked.
“Is what okay?”
“What I’m wearing.”
He averted his gaze as if he hadn’t really been looking at her in the first place. “Of course. Dress however you like. I rarely get company during the day when I’m working.”
So it would be just the two of them in his secluded house for hours on end....
She rubbed sweaty palms on her thighs. “When’s your next deadline?”
He was leading her back up the stairs. “End of December.”
“Will you be able to meet it?”
“Maybe.”
“I’ll do everything I can to help.”
Instead of thanking her, he turned and gave her another assessing look before continuing the tour. As they passed through the dining room, which was quite formal, she guessed he typically ate in the kitchen. His living room had more of a lived-in feel. So did the game room, which included a pool table, darts and video game systems, along with a big-screen TV. The only thing he didn’t show her was his bedroom. It had to be on the top floor, as she’d initially guessed.
On the third level, double doors separated his workspace from the rest of the loft. Inside, Sophia saw an extra desk. He said that was where she’d be handling the clerical tasks he assigned her and gestured at the chair. “I’d like you to take a typing test, if you don’t mind.”
“Right now?” she asked.
One dark eyebrow quirked up. “Is there something wrong with right now?”
“No.” Except that her anxiety had her feeling queasy. “What do you want me to type?”
He grabbed a research book from the shelves lining the two walls that weren’t glass. “How about half a page from this? I just want to get a general idea of your speed.”
She was a far better cook than she was a typist. She preferred to start proving herself in the kitchen, but she couldn’t say that, not without sounding as if she was making up excuses. At home, she’d used a laptop to surf and shop on the internet. She could limp along on a keyboard but wasn’t what anyone would consider a crack typist.
He held the book while she tried to copy it. But having him so close, watching her, brought out the worst of her nerves. Her hands shook so badly she couldn’t avoid making mistakes. Soon her eyes were burning, too, with the tears she was holding back, and that made it difficult to read. Terrified that he’d notice she was about to break down, she blinked and blinked and consequently finished the paragraph by slaughtering almost every word.
He shut the book. “Maybe we can get you an online typing tutor.”
She curved her lips into a smile. “If you don’t mind letting me borrow this laptop, I’ll take the clerical work home and do it on my own time since I’m slow, if that’s okay.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose—as if hiring her was the worst mistake he’d ever made. “That’s fine.”
“I’m not as bad as I seem at the moment,” she insisted.
“It’s fine, like I said. This is just a stopgap until you
find something more suited to your, uh, skills. We can work around...whatever.”
In other words, he’d put up with her until he could conscionably get rid of her.
“And what do you think would be better suited to me?” she asked.
He shrugged as if he didn’t care as long as she eventually secured alternate employment. “There’s always retail. Or...maybe you should take some online classes while you work here to gain skills in other areas. Medical transcription or...or web design. Something like that.”
She winced but hoped he couldn’t tell. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
If he heard her sarcasm, he didn’t respond to it. With a nod, he went to his own desk. “I’m going to get a few pages done. The cleaning supplies are above the washing machine. Maybe you can start with the house.”
She curled her nails into her palms. His tone said, Anybody ought to be able to do that. “What time would you like breakfast?”
He was opening his document. “I had a piece of toast with my coffee earlier.”
“So skip breakfast?”
“Right.”
“And lunch?”
“I’ll eat at one and five, just to give you a rough schedule. Lunch you can bring up and set on that desk.” He indicated the desk she’d been using. “I’ll get to it when I can. Dinner should be ready at five so you can eat with Alexa before you go home. I’ll have the leftovers when I finish up for the day.”
He wasn’t planning on seeing much of her, despite the fact that they’d both be in the house, she realized. Since she couldn’t type, she’d been relegated to the nether regions. “Got it.”
When she didn’t immediately leave, he turned to look at her. “Is there anything else?”
“I might not be quite as worthless as you think,” she said and walked out.
12
He was an idiot. He’d thought he could employ Sophia for a few months without finding it too much of a sacrifice, but that was a joke. She was in his house where he’d have to face her every time he left his office. And she was going to be there all day every day, except weekends.