Asking For It

by Alyssa Kress

  And yet the woman had known Ricky. She'd known his name, and she'd called him her attorney.

  Slowly, Deirdre set the telephone into its cradle. Was there more than one attorney named Ricardo Ascensios?

  But the cold weight settling in her stomach argued against it. Kate Darby must have been referring to the very same attorney named Ricardo Ascensios that Deirdre knew.

  Deirdre sat in her padded leather office chair while the office emptied around her. She sat until the last load of people went down in the elevator. The whole time, she kept thinking, trying to work it out.

  She'd promised herself not to get paranoid about Ricky, not to imagine he didn't actually like her.

  But...he was the lawyer for Camp Wild Hills? He knew about the camp and, presumably about Wild Tail Creek?

  Why hadn't he told her? Why hadn't he explained? He'd only said maybe his law firm might get involved. He hadn't said they were.

  Deirdre sat there and thought. She arranged the facts this way and that. She'd promised herself not to get paranoid.

  But she was very afraid this wasn't paranoia.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  What had that phone call been about?

  Griffith could see that something was wrong. Kate came back downstairs and participated in the festivities associated with the last supper of the camp session, but her smiles were stiff.

  And she wouldn't look at him.

  Fear lodged in his stomach. The fear wasn't rational. He couldn't imagine how a phone call to Kate could change her feelings toward him. It was just that he was so nervous about his coming success or failure in this novel venture: a real relationship. As soon as dinner was over, Griffith promised himself he'd get Kate alone. He'd find out what was upsetting her. He'd see if he could do anything to help.

  But dinner seemed to last forever. Prizes were awarded — for the best at this, the best at that. Kate had arranged for every single camper to win an award in something. A month ago Griffith would have been annoyed by the drawn-out distributions. Tonight he was filled with warm pride. Kate would make sure everybody felt special.

  Hopefully, later, she'd do the same for him.

  At last, the ceremonies were over. Campers were dismissed from the dining hall to their bunkhouses. With a whispered request to Orlando to take charge of his own campers, Griffith hurried after Kate, who was striding quickly in the opposite direction.

  "Wait," he said, nearly laughing. It was as if she were determined not to speak to him.

  Kate stopped. Was it Griffith's imagination or did her spine tense?

  "Kate?"

  She turned. The expression on her face stopped Griffith in his tracks. It was an expression of complete and utter loathing.

  Griffith could barely breathe. Kate had looked at him like this before, at the very beginning. It hadn't bothered him back then; he couldn't have cared less.

  Now he felt speared by the bitter hatred in her eyes.

  "What?" he managed to ask. "What is it?" He ran a frantic catalog of his recent sins. But she already knew about the boxing lessons with Orlando, and that he'd borrowed money from Lupe for new clothes. What could it be?

  Kate sank her weight onto one hip and raised an eyebrow. "You want to talk about it?"

  "Yes." Of course he did. Why was she looking at him like this?

  "Up in my office, then." Kate sounded disgusted, as if any discussion would be a waste of time.

  Griffith followed Kate up to her office, his emotions swinging between utter dread — he must deserve whatever was coming — and shock. He'd thought she liked him!

  Inside her office, Kate sat, while indicating the chair across from her desk with a scornful smirk.

  "It was the phone call," Griffith ventured. He did not sit.

  Kate, steepling her fingers, nodded. "The phone call was from a woman named Deirdre Marshal. You know her?"

  Griffith felt like he'd been knocked in the head. He'd forgotten all about Deirdre and the people at Blaine Development. He'd supposed they'd forgotten him. Certainly they hadn't managed — or perhaps, tried — to find him in two whole weeks. "She found me?"

  "No." Fingertips tapping each other, Kate peered up at Griffith. "I don't believe she had any idea you were here. Or cared. She wanted to know about water flow, how much water Wild Tail Creek could deliver."

  Griffith sat then. His knees practically buckled. "Oh." His gaze went, despite himself, to the map behind Kate.

  "Oh," Kate repeated. "I don't know what you thought you were doing, Mr. Blaine. I don't know what you thought you'd convince me to do, but the jig is up. I know who you are now."

  "You know who I — " Griffith stopped and sucked in his lips. Deirdre had no idea he'd made a new decision. She thought they were still building Wildwood. So she'd asked about water flow, something the bank must have asked her as they checked Blaine Development's numbers, making sure they'd sufficiently researched the situation.

  He let out his breath and felt the spear of pain in his chest begin to squeeze out. "Maybe I should explain." And he could explain. He could make Kate see he meant no harm. He wanted, in fact, to help. That look would go away from her face.

  "Oh, I don't think so." Kate's smile was a scornful smirk. "There's little you could say, Mr. Blaine, that I would be inclined to believe. In fact, nothing. Not a single thing that issued from your filthy lips would I credit with a grain of truth."

  Griffith felt a two-by-four come at him. Filthy lips? She'd kissed those lips, not twenty-four hours ago. She'd looked at his lips, at his everything, like he was important, like he mattered.

  But she was hurting, Griffith reminded himself. She was under a false impression. "Deirdre doesn't know," he told Kate. "I'm not taking the water."

  "Damn right you're not taking it." Kate's harsh laugh stripped Griffith's nerves. "You have no rights to it, for one thing. It's owned by the California Golden Holding Company. They own the property where the stream begins. And I own the lease on the property."

  "Ah..." Blaine Development owned the property, as of nine months ago. Griffith owned the water rights. And Kate's lease mentioned nothing about her rights to any water.

  Kate stood up from her chair. Her eyes were green fire. "Your little masquerade is over, Mr. Blaine. I'm onto you. I'm onto you like a tick on a dog. You came here and decided to worm your way into my life, into my...affections. And I — " Kate's voice cracked. She turned and paced to the end of her desk. "Never mind. I found out in time. Inside, you are nothing like the man you've been presenting to me. You are a fraud and an impostor."

  The spear of pain charged back into Griffith, flecked with shards of ice. He was nothing like the man he'd been presenting to her, but a fraud and an impostor. There was a disquieting element of truth to the assertion. He wasn't usually like the person he'd been these past two weeks. He usually didn't give a damn what anybody thought of him, he usually didn't lift a finger to earn a person's liking or respect.

  And now he knew why. It hurt too damn much. It hurt too much to do everything in his power to be good, to be liked, to have earned her respect — to find she'd seen through him anyway, right to his essential worthlessness.

  The spear inside Griffith turned and jabbed. He made one last attempt to push it out. "I'm not taking the water," he tried again. "I could, but I'm not going to."

  Kate turned and glared at him.

  "It belongs to me," Griffith explained. "I bought this land from the California Golden Holding Company nine months ago. The water rights are mine. But I'm not going to exercise them. I'm not taking the water."

  Kate's eyes glittered. "You own the property."

  "That's right."

  "You own the property." It appeared to take Kate a long moment to process this fact, a moment during which Griffith could see her nearly crumble beneath the sudden realization that she was not, after all, in the driver's seat. He owned the water.

  "Jesus Christ," she said.

  "But I'm not taking the water," Griff
ith repeated.

  She raised her eyebrows. "You're building a big housing project at the bottom of the hill, worth god-knows how much, and you expect me to believe you aren't taking the water?"

  Griffith did his best to maintain eye contact. "I'm not building the project. I'm not taking the water."

  Kate looked up at the ceiling and barked a laugh. "Oh, that's rich."

  She didn't believe him. She thought he was an impostor and a fraud. She thought everything he'd done since he'd come to Camp Wild Hills was a lie. The spear inside Griffith turned, ripping into his newly softened places. Suddenly he couldn't take the pain any more.

  Hell. Maybe she was right. Maybe it all had been a lie. A — flirtation with something novel and exotic, something about which he could never be serious.

  Maybe, when push came to shove, he really couldn't sacrifice fifty units of housing at a profit of a hundred grand per for the benefit of a little summer camp and its feisty owner.

  "Let me get this straight," Kate said. "You own the water already... So what did you hope to gain from the romantic charade?"

  She called their time together a 'charade.' A wall rose inside Griffith, blocking the pain. Maybe she was right. She had to be right. He couldn't have cared. If he'd cared, there'd be no mortar for his wall, no way to hold out the pain. Griffith heard himself speaking, building up the wall. "I didn't show up here on purpose, but I did manage to...turn things to my advantage." He smiled. "Didn't I?"

  Kate's eyes were like pincers. "We'll just see about that, Mr. Blaine."

  "Oh, I'm not talking about the water. That's all sewn up." Griffith's smile broadened and he leaned back in his seat. "I'm talking about you sleeping with me."

  At the mention of their lovemaking, she managed to look even more disgusted. "Cockroach."

  Griffith laughed, reinforcing his wall. He'd never cared. Whatever he imagined had been going on during those starlit sessions — a lie. Kate hated him, just like everybody did. It was the same here as it had been everywhere else in Griffith's life. He lowered his voice. "Please. Don't pretend you didn't get anything out of it."

  To his satisfaction, a flush stole up her neck.

  "Yes," Griffith murmured. "I thought so."

  "You're despicable," Kate told him. "Lower than a cockroach."

  Griffith laughed again. Oh, the walls were good now. Practically impregnable. "Thank you," he said. "I hadn't been certain."

  Kate's breathing rasped. Griffith thought in another minute she might begin hurling things.

  "I'm going back to my bunkhouse," he told her. "Not only did I leave a juvenile delinquent in charge of eight unlikable brats, but I have to pack."

  He turned and, his wall of stone firmly in place, strode from the room.

  As Griffith walked down the stairs, he wondered if he was right about the crisis with GoldFed Financial that had provoked Deirdre into trying to call Camp Wild Hills. Whatever the problem was, he'd take care of it, just as soon as he got back home.

  He'd never cared, never loved. Ridiculous. All he'd ever cared about was making money.

  ~~~

  Deirdre sat before a table set with white linen, real china, and solid silver. She tried to look calm and dignified as she waited for Ricky to show up. He'd told her he would meet her at the restaurant at seven-thirty. It was now twenty-five past.

  Was it paranoia or reality to believe Ricky was actually the lawyer for that unpleasant Kate Darby woman, the one who'd threatened her over the telephone? How could this be true? And, if true, why hadn't Ricky told her?

  An idea of why Ricky would not have mentioned so salient fact as his connection to a woman opposing the Wildwood project occurred to Deirdre, in ugly colors.

  Ricky had known Deirdre was involved with building Wildwood, and was therefore his client's antagonist. He'd known this all along. All along he'd only been using her. Deirdre's mind flitted over her memories of the times she'd spent with Ricky, trying to see if the theory fit.

  Then, from her high-backed, padded seat, she saw him. Athletic and beautifully male, Ricky strode around the other side of the maitre d.' Deirdre felt her heart take a leap, but she managed to raise a hand, to show Ricky where she was.

  He didn't smile when he caught sight of her, but gave a curt nod of acknowledgment. As he began to stalk toward her, Deirdre thought his expression was that a physician might wear just before delivering a fatal diagnosis. Grim was an understatement.

  Oddly, once Deirdre saw his attitude, and guessed what it meant, she felt a calm settle over her. Perhaps it was simply the end of uncertainty. She now knew what was coming.

  Ricky looked very grave as he stood behind the chair opposite her at the exquisitely set table. Around them couples in elegant clothing were engaged in quiet conversations over wine, chilled salads, and tasteful meals. Ricky looked directly, and solemnly, at Deirdre.

  An arrow of fear went through her. But then the arrow passed through. Her calm returned. There was no reason not to be rational about this, not to be dignified. In this calm state, then, Deirdre realized Ricky was looking more guilt-ridden than guilty. At the very least, he felt bad about the ruse.

  He sat. Without picking up his napkin, without touching the menu — without saying hello — he began. "I heard you spoke to Kate Darby."

  No beating around the bush.

  Wanting to get it over with? In pain, himself?

  "Yes." Deirdre was thrilled with the sound of her voice, so strong, so calm. With no hint of fear or terror. Quite frankly, her fear and terror had disappeared, put to flight by the way he was looking at her, as if he were the one terrified. Yes, he looked terrified and concerned that he might have hurt her.

  And she was supposed to believe he didn't care? That their whole relationship had been a lie?

  "Yes, I spoke to Kate Darby," Deirdre said. "She told me you're her lawyer. That was not a fact you wanted me to know, I presume?"

  Ricky's lips flattened. "I hadn't wanted you to know, at least not until — But perhaps it's just as well. In many ways it's past time you did know."

  Deirdre nodded. "That conflict of interest you were talking about."

  Ricky's eyes narrowed. "It's a bit more than that, Deirdre."

  "Oh?"

  "Yes. A conflict of interest would mean I'd just so happened to meet you, and have this conflicting interest. That isn't the case. I knew from the beginning who you were, your connection to Wildwood, and the water your company intends to take from Kate. I met you on purpose."

  His words should have reduced her to a puddle of pain. They were honest to the point of brutality. But looking into Ricky's face, remembering everything she'd experienced with him, Deirdre just wasn't buying it.

  He was trying to push her away. One might say frantically trying to push her away. As if he feared she was already too close.

  Was she being delusional? Seeing a glimmer of hope in a dark situation? Perhaps. Or perhaps she simply wasn't letting fear and insecurity determine the way she was viewing the scene. Perhaps she was seeing the relationship clearly.

  Deirdre clasped her hands on the tabletop. "You thought going out with me would somehow help your client?"

  "Kate is more than a client. She's — " Ricky paused and his lashes swept down. "She's been a mentor, an ally, a...an inspiration. Without Kate and Camp Wild Hills I'd never have made anything of myself. I owe her."

  "And dating me would help her?"

  "It was a means to an end." Ricky's gaze came back to Deirdre. "I was hoping you'd drop some kind of bomb: about your company, about Griffith. Best yet about Wildwood in particular." He paused and a corner of his mouth twitched. "You never did."

  "No. I didn't." He'd just told her precisely why he'd started to go out with her, only to gain inside information, and yet Deirdre's calm didn't desert her. It was almost eerie the way his confession instead made her feel in charge. "So you deepened the relationship, hoping to learn something."

  "Yes." Ricky looked almost comically relie
ved that she'd arrived at this conclusion.

  "It wasn't because you were actually starting to feel something for me." Deirdre wanted to make this clear. "You were just trying to get this inside information."

  Ricky didn't hesitate. "Yes."

  Deirdre looked back at him...and felt very much like laughing. He was the one deluded. For it now occurred to her that if ever a woman existed who could detect when a man wasn't interested, it was she. She could detect days — weeks — before anyone else if a man had no deep or real feelings for her. She had an antenna specially tuned to a man's lack of interest. Her antenna had been picking up such vibes for years.

  She leaned over the little table, looked Ricky straight in the eye, and said, "Bullshit."

  She might as well have taken her glass of ice water and splashed it in his face. Ricky blinked and his head snapped back.

  His reaction fed Deirdre's sense of power. She was not wrong about this. For weeks her interactions with Ricky had been feeding her self-confidence, building her self-esteem. Everything that had happened between them was so different from her previous interactions with the male species that she knew she wasn't wrong. He liked her. He really liked her.

  "I — Pardon me?" Ricky spluttered.

  Deirdre leaned back. "Oh, it may have started out the way you've described. You intended to use our relationship. But...that's not how it's ended up."

  Ricky's answering expression of alarm was deeply pleasurable. It was like a bell ringing, "Correct!" Deep down, he knew they were involved, but he was afraid to admit it. Where his fear was coming from, Deirdre didn't know. Was it merely guilt over the present circumstances, or was it something deeper and older?

  "Look, Deirdre, I — "

  "You like me," Deirdre informed him.

  Ricky looked torn between exasperation and terror. Deirdre felt another surge of power. It seemed that once some confidence had taken root in her psyche, it had dug in deep. "You didn't intend to like me," she went on, "but it happened just the same. Now you're involved with me."

  "No." Ricky looked appalled. "I mean — Listen. You're a wonderful person. And you don't deserve the way I treated you, but — No. I'm not involved. We don't have a relationship, not what you thought it was. I'm sorry about that. Very sorry. But — no."