by Harper James
He took a tiny step back. “I’m your boss now.”
“You got hired at Herbal Remedies?”
He snorted. “God no. I bought the kiosk.”
“Why?” I asked, completely stunned. He had to be joking.
Landon gave a slight shrug. “I’m going to use it as a sales tool for Prestige Sports Medicine. It was the cheapest kiosk in the mall.”
My breathing turned shallow.
No.
Noooooooo.
I couldn’t work for him.
Wouldn’t.
His grin widened. “That makes you my bonus.”
“I’m not anyone’s bonus,” I snapped. “I’m not anyone’s anything.”
Ugh, did I have to add that last part?
He let my words hang there so long I started to wish I hadn’t said them. Because he was so bloody arrogant, but he knew the truth. It was too easy to read, and it was written on my face. I found him irresistible.
“So you were just playing along in the closet last night?” he asked.
I struggled to act impassive. “That was one kiss. For old time’s sake. You’re out of my system now.”
“Well if it was for old times’ sake, maybe we ought to do a little more. Recreate the moment,” he said.
“You’re an asshole.”
“I don’t to pretend to be anything else.”
His answer surprised me, throwing me off kilter. Maybe it was the way he spoke, his words flat. Honest. Like he actually saw himself as an asshole and was fine with it. Which only infuriated me more, because you can’t insult someone if they’re okay with the labels you sling at them.
He spun a watch around on his wrist, studying me. His eyes raked over me, from my messy, air-dried hair to the toe of my Chuck Taylors. I looked like the teens who frequented this mall, and he looked like he could stroll through Wall Street. His eyes were like liquid gold, burning, simmering. Jesus, I’d need an ice bath after this.
“I talked to my brother about you,” I said, desperate to change the subject. “I bet he’d love to hear about this little conversation. You know, your best friend? He’d be thrilled to hear you’re hitting on his little sister.”
“You may be his sister, but you’re not little.”
I swallowed. “So how is this supposed to work?” I asked.
“What?” His eyes snapped upward, to meet mine.
“You. Owning this thing. Am I fired?”
His expression changed, from one of burning sexuality to an empty, calculating one. More business than pleasure.
“Of course not. I need someone to run this thing, don’t I?”
I shook my head. No way was I getting into an employee-boss relationship with him. That could only end in disaster. “I don’t run this stand, I just put in eight hours and go home. Rudy was the one who ran it.”
“So I’ll promote you to manager.”
“Don’t you dare,” I spit.
His eyes widened, almost imperceptivity. I realized, then, that he wasn’t used to being caught off guard. “What did I do wrong now?”
“This isn’t a career. Don’t give me some stupid title like I’m going to do this for another forty years. I don’t want it.”
“Taryn, you need to—”
“You have no idea what I need,” I said, fighting to keep the shakiness out of my voice. “It’s bad enough you see me here, in this ugly polo, and you stroll in all smug about how you’ve bought the place. Throw around some money, show off how much you’ve done since you left.”
Silence fell around us. For the first time, it was like he didn’t know how to spin things in his favor.
He pursed his lips for a moment, staring at me like he was trying to rearrange the pieces of a puzzle and figure out how to make them fit. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to be around you.”
I laughed, hating how there was a little sadness laced into it. “That makes two of us.”
“Can we be cordial, at least? I’m not trying to trap you at this kiosk, but I could use your help figuring out how to get this thing transitioned over. If you want to quit after that, fine by me.”
“Fine.”
“Good.”
Thanks to my freak-out, we’d been reduced to one-word sentences.
I surveyed the cart, my eyes sweeping over the crap I’d been schlepping for a year now. “So I can get rid of all these shitty supplements?”
He chuckled under his breath. “Yes. I can have them dropped off at the center and see if any of them are useful.” He paused. “I kind of doubt it.”
I stared at the cart, dazed. Ten minutes ago I was supposed to shill crappy vitamins and now I worked for Landon.
I couldn’t decide if I was elated or upset.
Both. I was both.
The mall crowd had been steadily increasing, streaming past us with hum of conversation. A kid shrieked as he ran by, his mother struggling to keep up.
But Landon didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were on me, all-seeing. Like he could look inside my head and read my thoughts, if only he was patient enough.
“Don’t ask,” I finally said.
“Ask what?”
“How I ended up here.”
He picked up a bottle of cranberry extract, pretending to study it. “It’s just that you were going to go to UW when I…”
“When you ran off without so much as a goodbye?”
He set the bottle down and looked at me, his expression soft for the first time since our little reunion. “Taryn-”
“I don’t want to know. It was three years ago, Landon. Anything you say now doesn’t matter.”
“I hurt you,” he said, simply. Like it was a fact, but one he didn’t understand. Maybe he didn’t even have feelings.
“What the hell did you think would happen? I fell asleep in your arms and woke up alone, and I never saw you again. What kind of bullshit is that?”
“I thought you didn’t want an explanation.”
“I don’t,” I said, standing up and fishing the key out of my pocket. “You know what? I don’t think I can do this. Take all your bottles and lock it when you’re done. You can find someone else to help you out.” I tossed the key at him, and it bounced off his chest. “And I’m billing you for the whole eight hours.”
The key clinked against the pin on his tie and then hit the floor, nearly drowned out by the stomping of my feet.
4
“Taryn.”
I ignored him, ignored the almost apologetic tone to his voice. It didn’t suit him. He was too cocky and self-assured to be apologetic about anything he’d ever done.
“Taryn.”
It’s not until he touched me, when I was just a dozen feet shy of the door, that I stopped.
“Come on,” he said. “Don’t leave. I need you.”
“No you don’t,” I said, curling my lip up in disgust. At him or at the job I’d been doing for over a year, I’m not sure. “You could train a monkey to run that kiosk.”
He sighed, giving me a frustrated look. “Don’t quit.”
“Why not?”
He squeezed my shoulder, and I did my best to ignore his touch. Act unaffected. “I need someone I can train, and I know I can trust you.”
I laughed under my breath. “Too bad I can’t say the same for you.”
“Come on. I’ll double your wages.”
I blinked, hesitating. Hating that the difference between twelve bucks an hour and twenty-four was enough to stop me. “I want thirty an hour.”
He nodded without hesitation. “Okay. Let’s go for a drive.”
My eyes snapped to his, suspicion and excitement, stupid, wretched excitement, racing up my spine. I shouldn’t want to be in a car with him. “Why?”
“The new supplies for the kiosk were shipped to my place. You can help me unpack them.”
I didn’t know why I did it, but I followed him out the front doors of the mall, like spending all day alone with him wasn’t the most disastrous thing I could
think of. We walked into the summer sun, and I blinked against the brightness. The air was hot and humid against my bare legs.
If Landon was hot beneath his pleated slacks and button-down, he didn’t show it. We crossed the parking lot, my flip-flops slapping against the concrete.
He rounded a black range rover, holding the door open.
I made no comment as I slid into the passenger seat, the leather like warm butter on my legs. He closed the door gently beside me and then rounded the car, hopping into the driver’s seat.
“You upgraded the Nova,” I said, thinking back to his blacked-out muscle car. I couldn’t think of the car without picturing all those times I’d tagged along with Landon and Matt, folded up into the tiny back seat as I secretly watched Landon, falling deeper in love with every shift and turn.
“Nah, I still have the Nova. You don’t upgrade American muscle. You just get another car so you can baby the first one.”
His smile was captivating, lighting his eyes in the way he used to look. In a way that reminded me of the years I spent following him around.
“I did fix the dent in the fender, though.”
I couldn’t help but burst out laughing as I remembered how the dent had gotten there. Landon’s car had been his pride and joy in high school, and after six months of begging him to let me drive it, he’d relented.
I’d then proceeded to back it straight into a light pole.
The memory lingered as I grinned and leaned forward, twisting the A/C vent so it would blast me right in the face, making my hair billow out around my shoulders. “I probably should have warned you I didn’t know how to drive a stick.”
Landon stared straight at me, the smile still playing at his lips. “I knew.”
I shoved his arm. “You did not.”
“You really think we just happened to be in an abandoned parking lot when I finally said yes? I admit, the light pole was an oversight. Should’ve seen that one coming.” He put the SUV in reverse and pulled out of the parking stall, heading toward the surface street.
I thought back to that night. To the dusk light and the old, broken light poles that had long since stopped shining. We’d driven to an old, shuttered movie theater. For one heart-stopping moment, I actually thought he’ been taking me on a date, and had simply forgotten that the theater was closed.
Instead, he’d stopped the car and tossed me the keys.
He’d been different that night. Quiet strength, tempered with something like sadness. I thought back on that night over and over and over, wondering if he knew then that he’d be leaving me. If letting me drive his car was some kind of peace offering.
“I figured you’d forgotten the theater was closed,” I said, before I realized what I was saying. That I was admitting to my silly, girlish fantasy that he’d actually planned to take me out on a date.
He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “You thought I was taking you to the movies?”
“Does it matter?”
“It does to me.” He stared straight forward, as if driving took all of his concentration.
“Then yes. I was seventeen and stupid, clearly.”
He said something under his breath, but I couldn’t make it out. So I turned to the window and watched the strip malls pass in a blur.
“What have you been doing all this time?” he asked, several long, silent miles later.
I glanced back at him. “You don’t want to know.”
“Of course I do.”
“I sell vitamins at a mall kiosk,” I said. “I think you can fill in the blanks.”
“Are you okay?” His hand slid off the console, resting on my knee. I tried to ignore the warmth, the strength in his touch.
“Not really,” I said softly, training my eyes on the window.
He knew not to fill in the silence, to just let me know he was there, never taking his hand off my leg. There was a confidence to it, like he knew that I wanted it to stay right there, his thumb making little circles on my thigh.
My heartbeat was doing a rapid thump-thump-thump against my ribcage, moving faster every time his thumb increased its speed against my flesh.
“I feel like I stopped moving when my mom died,” I said. “My dad’s back at work now. Matt’s always out with friends and at least he has a good job. My life just totally stalled out and I don’t know how to get it moving again.”
“Close your eyes,” he said.
I flicked a look at him, but he was staring at the road. In profile, his jaw was strong, prominent.
I did as he asked, my eyes slipping shut.
“Picture yourself in five years. What does it look like?”
I snorted, feeling awkward. Landon and I. . . we had never talked about our futures. I guess I should’ve assumed we didn’t have one together. “This feels suspiciously like I’m interviewing for my new job.”
He squeezed my leg, letting his fingers slide back and forth, back and forth. I think it was supposed to be reassuring but it was driving me crazy, making me want to lean into him.
“I’m serious,” he said. “If someone showed up and waved a magic wand, giving you everything you ever wanted, what are you doing in five years?”
With the way he was touching me, all I could think was, I would be with you. But that was ridiculous.
And epically stupid. Landon had always been a player. He dated a different girl every week in school, and judging by his co-workers snide comment when he caught us in the closet, that behavior hadn’t changed.
“I don’t know,” I said, self-conscious. I’d thought of this too often to just not know. I’d practically picked out the paint colors for my imaginary lab. And also the name for the dog I’d have someday, when I finally moved out of my Dad’s house. “I guess I’m done with my degree. I’m working in a lab somewhere.”
“Now open your eyes.”
I opened them. He said nothing else.
I scrunched up my eyebrows. “How was that supposed to help?”
“It’s fine to be a dreamer, Taryn. We all have dreams. But when you want something, you need to go out and take it. This,” he said, gesturing around us. “Is reality.”
“Wow, thanks for the inspirational speech,” I said drily, taken aback by his reality check.
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. The world streamed by outside, but it was like the space in the car got smaller, more intimate. “I realized a long time ago that if you don’t like the world you live in, you have to change it yourself. No one else is going to do that for you.”
“Your motivational speaking skills need some work, ” I said.
He chuckled. “Or maybe you need to open your mind.”
“No, the first one.” I grinned a little, though. But what I really wanted to asked was, is that why you left? Because you had to change your world?
His parents hadn’t exactly been kind. If they weren’t going at it with each other, they were fighting with him.
And not always with words.
It’s why Landon and my brother were so close. As kids, Landon would stay over more often than not. My mom would set his place at the table without even asking if he’d be staying for dinner, because we all knew he would. My mom was too kind—too perceptive—to send him home.
And then he got his license, and things shifted again. I didn’t know where he went on his long drives, or if he just finally got big enough that his dad quit picking on him. He was distant for a couple of years, and somewhere in there, I stopped seeing him as my bonus brother and started seeing him as something so much more.
He stopped at a red light, looking over at me. “I drove away from this town in a dented-up car, with four hundred bucks to my name. And I came back to open up a multi-million dollar sports facility. Dreaming doesn’t actually get you your dreams, it gets you a mirage. Until you put in the work, nothing is going to materialize.”
I raked in a shallow breath and turned away from him, the truth needling away at me. He’d walked awa
y from this town as just another one of us. And he came back as a billionaire, an air of confidence and a Range Rover to go with it.
His words hurt, but sometimes the truth did too. Because he was right. Unlike him, I’d just stalled out and stayed where I was.
Twenty minutes later, we were winding up into the hills, and a panoramic view of town unfolded below us. Landon took a left, pulling up in front of a glass and concrete house. I stared at it in awe. It bared not an ounce of resemblance to his crumbling childhood home.
“Come on,” he said. “We can see what’s in the boxes and then I’ll make you lunch.”
It wasn’t until he went to unbuckle his seatbelt that he finally let go of my leg. I swallowed and followed him, past the manicured shrubs and curved retaining walls.
At the front porch, the railing was made of steel and cable, all hard angles. The walls were enormous sheets of glass, reflecting the sun and the clouds.
We must’ve been outside Orting city limits, because this house was too good for our little valley town. Instead, it was perched up here looking down on everything, the farms and little housing developments dotting the view below.
“How long have you lived here?”
“Just a few days.”
I chewed on my lip. He must’ve come into town at least a few times before closing on the house. He was here, and I didn’t know it.
But I bet my brother did.
“So you’re back for good?”
“I still have a house in LA, and a townhome in Phoenix. The Phoenix facility is a pilot project. It’s essentially an inpatient rehab clinic, made to feel as much like a vacation as it is work. One part clinic, one part retreat, so it operates on a different model than the other facilities. I check in on all of my centers regularly, so I live out of a suitcase half the time.”
He unlocked the front door, punching in a code on the keypad. “But this is home now, if that’s what you’re asking.”
I didn’t know what I was asking, not really. So I simply followed him into the soaring entryway of his glass and concrete mansion.
He kicked off his shoes, so I followed suit, lining my flip-flops up next to his expensive-looking leather loafers.