by Tawna Fenske
“Right.” My answer comes out quick and sharp, making Bill jump in his chair. “If someone’s got past relationship trauma they need to work through, we have a psychologist on the team who’ll be helping with that.”
Bill’s looking from Vanessa to me, and I can tell there’s something he wants to know. “May I ask a personal question?”
Vanessa stiffens in her chair. “We’re not sleeping together.”
Bill blinks. “What?”
“Sorry.” She looks like she wants the floor to swallow her up. “Your question?”
“Oh. Um.” Bill tugs his tie with an uncomfortable little laugh. “Have you cast anyone yet who—well—this is embarrassing. Um, anyone who might be a good match for me?”
His sincerity almost breaks my heart. So does the fact that there’s no way in hell we’re hiring Bill the Boardroom Bangin’ Banker. “It’s pretty impossible to figure out who’d pair up well with anyone else, isn’t it?” I offer.
Vanessa looks straight ahead, nodding her agreement. “Right. Totally impossible to predict who might hit it off and who’d be an absolute disaster together.”
“Yes, definitely.” I clear my throat again. “Some people absolutely should not be in a relationship together.”
“Or any relationship,” Vanessa adds. “Sometimes, it’s nothing personal. Just where people are at in the process.”
“Yeah, okay.” Bill’s eyes ping-pong between the two of us. “That makes sense.”
I’m not sure we’ve answered his question. To be honest, I’ve forgotten what the question was. “We’re still in the early stages of things.”
“Of casting people,” Vanessa says quickly. “That’s what he meant. Again, to reiterate, we’re in a strictly professional relationship.”
“Okay.” Bill grabs a pen off the table and tucks it in his briefcase. I recognize it as one of Lana’s custom ordered Montblanc ballpoints with the rose gold accents, but she has plenty. It’s time to get Bill out of here.
“Thank you for your time, Bill.” I stand up and offer a handshake. “We’ll be in touch.”
“Right, yes, thank you.” He shakes my hand, his grip limp and clammy. “I appreciate the opportunity.”
“Let me walk you out.” Vanessa stands and gives me such a wide berth you’d think I have leprosy. “It can be tricky to find your way around all these corridors.”
Their voices fade down the hall, and I hear Vanessa telling him we have half-a-dozen candidates left to interview. Not entirely true, but maybe it’ll soften the sting when he doesn’t get the job.
A few minutes pass, and I hear the chime of the door opening and closing. Then footsteps tapping closer as she returns to the conference room. I swear my heart stops as Vanessa floats back into the room, looking like a dream in a slim black skirt and silky purple shirt that brings out the color in her eyes.
“Well, that was….enlightening.” She sits down about as far from me as she can get and still be at the same table. “What did you think?”
“I think Bill might need therapy.” I press my palms against the table, then catch myself imagining Vanessa spread out on it with her skirt hiked around her hips. I fold my hands in my lap instead. “Seriously though, not the right fit.”
“Agreed. We still have three more on the list, right?”
“Right. You think we should call them up and pre-screen to make sure they’ve never had sex on company property?”
She laughs, though from the way her cheeks just pinkened, I’m not sure she’s thinking about Bill. “Would that really be an issue if he were the right candidate?”
I consider that for a moment. “Probably not. I’d guess most people have done something like that at one time or another.”
She studies me for a moment, throat moving as she swallows. “I suppose so.”
“It’s more about having the poor judgment to share that in an interview.”
“Exactly. The last thing we need is a banker with bad judgment.” She looks down at the table again, and I wonder if she’s thinking what I’m thinking. That this table looks very sturdy. What would it be like to tip her back against the glossy surface and—
“Have you?”
I blink at her. “Have I what?”
A full-on flood of color rushes her cheeks. “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business. I got caught up in the oversharing.”
“Have I what, Vanessa?” I smile to let her know I’m not pissed. “Had sex at work?”
“Sorry, just being nosy.” She shakes her head. “It’s definitely not my business.”
“No, but I’ll answer if you want.”
I’m baiting her, I know. There’s a sick little part of me that wants her to be curious. That wants her to see me as a sexual person and not just the guy in charge of the company.
“You don’t have to…” she begins, cheeks still heated.
“Yes.” I fold my hands on the table. “That’s one of the perks of working for yourself, I suppose.”
Her eyes widen just a little. “Having sex at work?”
“Having the option if the mood strikes.”
“I see.” The way she’s looking at me makes me wish we were alone in this building. But Lauren and Gabe are right down the hall, filming test footage of candidates for an assortment of shop owners. Anyone could walk in here at any time.
“Was it—was it someone who worked for you?”
Her question throws me off guard, and it takes me a second to answer. “No.”
“No?” Something that looks like relief flickers in her eyes.
“No. My ex-fiancée. Andrea.”
She nods, processing the information. It doesn’t seem to bug her, but I’m no mind reader. “You two were together a long time.”
It’s not exactly a question, but I nod anyway. “Yeah.” I hesitate, not sure how much to share. “I mean, sort of. The relationship lasted a while, but the cumulative time we spent together wasn’t that much.”
“What do you mean?”
I shrug, pushing back the faint remaining traces of guilt and anger. “I worked so much we hardly saw each other. Or she’d be off somewhere filming, and I’d be too busy to go visit.” No, that’s not true. “I wouldn’t make the time,” I amend, knowing that’s how Mari would have me frame it. I can take ownership for my fuckups. “Of course she’d look to someone else for companionship.”
Vanessa’s brow furrows. “You can’t blame yourself.”
“Sure I can.”
She shakes her head slowly. “Accountability’s one thing. But you’re not to blame for her cheating.”
I quirk an eyebrow at her. “And are you to blame for the dickheads you’ve dated?” Her face registers surprise, and I realize the blow landed harder than I meant it to. I soften my approach. “At the waterpark the other day, you blamed yourself. For dating guys who screwed you over or turned out to be married or whatever.”
She looks at me for a long time, then nods. “You’re right. It’s not entirely on me that I pick guys who manipulate or patronize or talk down to me.” She looks down at the table. “It’s sort of on me, though.”
“Or your mother.”
She looks up sharply. “What?”
I kick myself, pretty sure I’ve overstepped. “The way you’ve described her, it’s like you ran straight from one controlling relationship and into a series of others. Repeating the pattern or something.”
A faint smile tugs the corners of her mouth. “Does having a sister who’s a shrink give you an honorary degree?”
I laugh and press my palms to the table. I can’t help but notice her gaze lingering, and I wonder what that’s about. “Maybe a little. So how about you?”
“What about me?”
I pat the table and her eyes flick to my hands again. “Scandalous workplace hookups. Not your thing?”
She smiles and shakes her head. “No, but I made out with my sister’s husband while we were dangling a couple hundred feet off the ground on the Morning
Glory at Smith Rock,” she says. “Does that count as scandalous?”
“What?” I gape at her, too stunned to come up with a better response.
Laughing, she tucks her hair behind her ear. “This was long before my sister met him. I was eighteen, visiting Oregon for the summer. We had this hot fling for a few weeks.”
Relief floods my system, along with a little intrigue. “Sounds…exciting.” My voice sounds weird, and I’m trying not to picture Vanessa having a hot fling.
She shrugs. “Hot may not be the right word. I was young and inexperienced, so we maybe only got to second base.”
It takes all my mental control not to picture second base. Not to recall the curve of Vanessa’s breasts brushing my arm in the waterslide or pressed against my chest when we kissed. “Is that awkward? Having your sister married to a guy you used to date?”
“Not at all,” she says. “He’s a great guy. Just not the right one for me.”
“I see.” I’m not sure I do, though.
I wait for her to share more, but she’s pressing her lips together now. “Sorry, I kinda derailed things for a bit.” Reaching across the table, she grabs the notepad she used for the interview. “So that’s a no on Bill, right?”
“Right.” And the end of our conversation, as far as I can tell. I glance at my watch. “Next contender will be here in just a few. Maybe she’ll be a better fit.”
“Maybe.”
I can’t help thinking about the scars we both carry. About the ghosts of past relationships hovering above, waiting for the moment to swoop into the space between us.
***
It’s after five when I roll into the coffee shop. I know it’s late to be chugging gallons of espresso, but I can’t resist the siren call of caffeine.
Apparently, I’m not alone.
“Hey, buttface.” Lana waves from the table she’s sharing with Lauren and Mari. It’s rare to see all three sisters together, so I’m beelining it for their table before my brain catches up and reminds me I came here for some alone time.
Mari’s got her hands wrapped around a mug of tea. “How’d the interviews go?”
“Bankers, right?” Lauren scrunches up her face. “Please tell me you’re not hiring the guy who cried about his ex-wife in the screen test.”
“That would be Bill.” Poor bastard. “Nah, we had a really good interview with the woman from Minnesota. Angie someone.”
“Waller.” Mari gives a nod of approval. “I liked her answers on the questionnaire.”
Lana cocks her head. “We’ve got a female CFO, a female banker, and if Amy Lovelin signs on, a female police chief. Are we going to start hiring men at some point?”
“Do we have to?” Lauren makes a face. “Maybe we could find a female building contractor and scrap the idea of hiring Nick Armbrust.”
I’m not sure what to say to that, so I settle for letting Mari and Lana give her sympathetic pats. I always liked Nick, though I have no idea what happened between him and Lauren.
“Want me to have him murdered?” I’m only half joking. “Pretty sure Dad has some mob connections.”
“Thanks, I’ll consider it.” Lauren swipes a hunk of muffin off Lana’s plate. “How’s Vanessa doing?”
“Great.” I fight to keep my face from giving anything away, from breaking into a big, doofy grin.
“I got to meet Roughneck.” Lana beams like she met Santa or George Clooney. Or George Clooney dressed as Santa, which I’m pretty sure happened at one of our family Christmas parties. “She says I can go over anytime and read to him.”
“Read?” Mari cocks her head. “Is that some sort of therapy?”
“I guess so.” Lana shrugs. “Anyway, I get to walk him every day at ten. I bought my own leash and everything.”
My baby sister, the animal nut. It still kills me to think of the day her hamster went to the big sawdust heap in the sky. Lana cried for days, stopping only when I forced Gabe and Cooper to help build the biggest blanket fort she’d seen in her life. The thing had two stories, and Lana sat inside singing while we tacked up a roof made from our mom’s best French linens.
“So really, how is Vanessa?” Lauren shoots a smug look at Lana, and they both start giggling.
“What?” I look from Lana to Lauren, then Mari. “What the hell is wrong with them?”
She shrugs. “I’ve wondered that my whole life.”
Lana swats her arm, then leans forward to grin at me. “Lauren and I were making dinner the other night,” she says. “The evening of that really pretty sunset?”
I sigh, knowing what’s coming. Lana’s kitchen looks out over Vanessa’s back deck. “We were just getting it out of our systems,” I insist. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
The three of them exchange a look. “Wait, what?” Lauren laughs. “You mean something happened?”
“Yeah, we just saw you bringing dog food through the front door.” Lauren grins at Mari. “Apparently, that’s not all he delivered.”
“God.” I put my head in my hands and consider what my life would be like without three sisters. I might like to find out. “I’m going to recant my statement.”
“Actually,” Mari says, coming to my rescue, “there’s some scientific basis for the notion of getting someone out of your system like that.”
“Yeah?” Lauren perks up. “How do you mean?”
“There was this study a few years ago through the University of Washington.” Mari shoves her glasses up her nose. “They investigated the theory that it could be therapeutic for exes to plan a mutually-agreed-upon sexual encounter with carefully established parameters as a means of establishing closure for the relationship.”
Lauren cocks her head to the side. “You mean a bunch of shrinks invited random exes to bang it out for the sake of science?”
Mari shrugs. “In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“Damn.” Lana steals a bite of Lauren’s cookie. “What did they find out?”
Mari folds her hands on the table. “They determined that a structured regimen with established guidelines for physical contact led most couples to feel a stronger sense of closure. Roughly seventy percent of participants responded ‘definitely yes” when asked if they felt ready to move on from the relationship. That was more than a fifty-percent increase from their responses at the start of the study.”
“No kidding?” I’m trying not to sound too interested, but the look Lana shoots me suggests I’ve failed. “So there really is something to the idea of getting it out of your system.”
Mari’s brow furrows. “In terms of data, it’s a strong possibility. Of course, there were couples who emerged from the exercise intent on giving the relationship another try.”
“And we’re talking about exes, right?” Lauren lifts an eyebrow at me. “Not relative strangers who have the hots for each other.”
I open my mouth to defend my honor, but Mari interrupts. “Theoretically, it could work either way,” she says. “But yes, there’s a different set of psychological and emotional factors at play with exes.”
Lana laughs and pats my hand. “Good try, big brother.”
“What?” I force myself to keep a neutral face, not giving anything away. “I was just curious about the research.”
“You were curious about getting into Vanessa’s pants,” Lauren points out.
Lana nods. “Which all of us would approve of, for the record.”
I glance at Mari, my lone sister who doesn’t seem to be jumping on the bandwagon of…well, me jumping Vanessa. “I’m not saying I’d go there,” I begin. “Because I probably wouldn’t, and it’s not up to me anyway and—”
“Yes.” Mari takes off her glasses and folds them beside her empty mug. “In theory, the act of demystifying your physical chemistry by establishing parameters around a desired connection before engaging in some mutually pleasurable contact could produce satisfactory results.”
Lana makes a face. “That’s hot.”
“Not everythi
ng needs to be hot,” Mari shoots back.
“Fair point,” Lauren agrees. “Maybe it’s the act of eliminating the hotness that leads to…well, whatever the opposite of hot would be.”
As my sisters launch into a discussion of hotness or lack thereof, I’m saved by the ringing of my phone. Slipping it out of my pocket, I catch sight of Vanessa’s name and number. My heart ticks up, and I take a second to collect myself before answering.
“Hey, Vanessa. How’s—”
“Oh my God, Dean! I need help right away.”
Chapter 10
CONFESSIONAL 316
Vincent, Vanessa: (CFO, Juniper Ridge)
I hate being vulnerable. There, I said it. [heavy sigh] I hate it so much. My mother, she’s the one who used to say all the time, “Don’t lift that heavy thing, Vanessa. Ask a man to help, Vanessa.” Always, from the time I was a little kid. It drove me bonkers. I mean, come on. I’m smart and capable and can do everything for myself. Even orgasms, thank you very much. I know what I need, okay? What I like.
You’re not going to use that, right?
By the time Dean shows up at my front door, I’ve stopped hyperventilating. Roughneck, on the other hand, is losing his shit.
“Roo-roo-roo-roo-rooooooo!” He’s at the other end of my cabin, shouting though the back door as he lunges at my worst nightmare lying on the deck.
The doorbell chimes again, and I snag Roughneck’s harness to pull him across the living room and over to the front door. Swinging it open, I take a few breaths to slow my heartbeat.
God, Dean looks good. And worried. But also really, really good.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him as I struggle to keep Roughneck from jumping up on him. “I just found the booklet with the number for maintenance. I should have called them first.”
“No, you shouldn’t.” Dean shoulders past me, pausing to pet Roughneck, who promptly settles down. “You did the right thing.”