Dare

by Glenna Sinclair

  I picked up my cell phone and dialed.

  “Clementine Organics,” a female voice said smoothly almost as soon as the call rang through. “How may I help you?”

  “Hi, yes,” I said, a little startled by the sheer effectiveness. Here at the farm, our only help for answering the phone was the answering machine. Nobody was usually at the house to take the calls unless one of us was laid up sick and relegated to receptionist duties. Dad would usually check the machine at the end of the day, before dinner, and I’d usually be tasked with returning the business calls first thing in the morning.

  “Yes, how can I help you?” the woman repeated.

  “Um, I’m trying to reach Sebastian Clementine,” I said. “Is there a way you could connect me to his line, maybe?”

  “No,” she said, dispassionate. “Mr. Clementine doesn’t take calls. Do you have an appointment with him?”

  “No, I don’t,” I said, trying not to spend too much time puzzling over that one—Sebastian didn’t take calls? What, was he too good for the invention of the telephone? “But he is supposed to get in contact with me.”

  “What is the nature of your business with Mr. Clementine?”

  I found myself blushing furiously even though I didn’t think I had anything to be embarrassed about. She didn’t have to know about that dream I’d had about him. No one had to know about that but me.

  “He, uh, cut me off on the highway earlier in the week,” I said. “The collision damaged both of our cars, and Sebastian—uh, Mr. Clementine—admitted fault in the incident. He also asked that we handle it outside of insurance and said he’d get in contact with me, but he hasn’t.”

  The other woman was silent for a long enough time to make me even more uncomfortable, and when she spoke again, her voice was much chillier. “Are you trying to shake Mr. Clementine down for money?” she demanded. “Because you can be assured that your efforts will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”

  “That’s not at all what I’m trying to do,” I said, my face screwing up with tension. “I mean, I am trying to figure out why he hasn’t contacted me. My truck needs to be repaired. So if you’re asking if I’m trying to shake him down for the money he owes me, the money he said he would give me so that I wouldn’t go through insurance, then yes, I guess I am shaking him down.”

  “Your behavior is unacceptable,” the woman informed me. “You are lucky I am not calling the police to report your abuse.”

  “That’s just the thing,” I said quickly. “I told Sebastian that I wasn’t going to call the police that day, on the side of the highway, because he said he was late to a…hello?”

  I checked my cell phone and realized she’d hung up on me.

  “Seriously?” I asked the empty room. “Did that seriously just happen?” I hadn’t even left my name and number.

  I mulled it over as I swept, let it stew as I mopped, and found myself getting angrier and angrier about it as I walked down to the barn, the sunshine and warm weather doing nothing to lighten my mood. How was I now accused of doing something nefarious? Sebastian was the one who was at fault, not me.

  “Rachel, the headlight needs to be fixed today,” Dad said, grabbing my attention just outside of the barn. “You're not going to make it back before dark, and I don’t want to risk you getting in another accident or getting pulled over.”

  “All right,” I said, defeated. “I’ll take it now. The house is clean. Can you all hold off on loading the shipment until I get back?”

  “Yes—did that guy get in contact with you after all?” Dad asked, his face inscrutable beneath his hat and sunglasses. He didn’t have my fair skin, and his face had been tanned to leather from all the time he spent outdoors. The previous year, he’d had a spot of skin cancer removed, so at my nagging, he was getting better about covering up and using protective lotion. I felt an odd squeeze to my heart. What would I do without Dad? Even when I’d been away at college, coming home each time showed me just how quickly he was aging.

  “He did get in contact with me,” I lied. “Transferred the money right into my account. Technology is amazing, isn’t it?”

  I was going to have to dip into my own pocket to solve this problem that should’ve been solved long ago, but Sebastian had fooled me. I’d been blinded by his smoothness, by his good looks, and he’d gotten away with damaging my truck and my pride.

  It was something that continued to boil in me at the truck repair center. Just who did Sebastian Clementine think he was? His car had to be worth several times over what the truck was worth. Just because he had a bunch of money didn’t make him any better than me. He was in the wrong. He’d admitted it. And because he’d been so nice about it, so handsome, he thought he was going to get away with crashing into my car.

  “Miss, do you want us to hang the bumper for you, too?” a technician asked me, pulling me away from my ruminations. “It would be no trouble.”

  “That’s all right,” I said, straightening from where I’d been leaning against the side of the garage, watching them dig the broken bulb from headlight. “I can do that myself.”

  “If you can do it yourself, what’s the hold up?” he asked, probably meaning well. “I’ll do it now, free of charge.”

  “I was waiting on something, but now I don’t have to wait anymore,” I told him. “Thanks anyway.”

  I’d been waiting on Sebastian to come through on his promise. I’d trusted him to do so. But that was all over. I wondered if he was just as unscrupulous in his business dealings as he was with simple matters of fender benders.

  It was a quick trip back to the farm to load up the produce before I got back on the road, with two working headlights and a bumper I’d hung in the barn, pushing back the delivery even later. But as I’d tightened the last bolt to secure that length of steel, I knew what I was going to do.

  I was going to utilize my time well in the city and pay a visit to one Sebastian Clementine to see if I couldn’t exact some reimbursement from him—and maybe even an apology.

  Chapter 4

  Clementine Organics had an impressive building with its name emblazoned on a sign out front, right in the heart of Los Angeles. It had to cost a fortune to be located where it was, especially for an agribusiness, which told me one of two things: Either it was doing very well for itself, or its president and CEO was a wealthy enough man that he could put his business anywhere he damn well pleased.

  I bypassed the front desk as I walked inside, which was fairly easy to do. The lobby was bustling with people from all walks of life. Maybe I’d been on the farm for too much of my life, but I could tell a fellow farmer when I saw one. Faces were burnished from being exposed to the elements, and boots were part of the ensemble even if the ensemble was a suit or a nice pair of jeans. Here, the farmers mingled with businesspeople, and there were so many conversations going on at once that I was able to slip right through the brightly lit place and to the bank of elevators toward the back. I didn’t want to get held up by certain a receptionist who might recognize my voice or my purpose for seeing Sebastian.

  The building itself was sprawling, and I hesitated inside the elevator. Of all the floors, on which one was Sebastian likely to be located? Maybe this was a fool’s errand. If he was really the president and CEO of the entire company, it was more than likely that he would be traveling for business, meeting offsite with associates, or taking the day off for a round of golf or something. But I made a snap decision and punched the highest number on the sleek panel in front of me. Didn’t they keep the most important people of a company on the top floor?

  When the elevator doors opened, I crept out, aware that my outfit didn’t mesh with the business casual I was seeing, certain I’d be found out at any moment—maybe even, somehow, by the woman who’d taken my initial call. Maybe she’d just be able to identify me by my uncertainty, the way I carried myself, the errant inquiry as to the location of Sebastian Clementine’s office and whether he was in there. No, I had to l
ook calm. Sure of myself. Even if I marched back and forth across this floor several times before I found what I wanted, it was my hope that no one would notice I wasn’t supposed to be here until I’d completed what I came here to do.

  A burst of faraway laughter, muffled, perhaps, by a closed door, led me down a hall, away from the open floor plan of the rest of the office, the workers separated by translucent glass cubicles. On one side of the hallway was a row of windows looking in on a conference room, and right there, belly laughing with a bunch of other men, was Sebastian Clementine himself—not such a hard man to find after all. He was just as handsome as ever, as handsome as he was in the troubling dream I’d had, as handsome as he had been with his sunglasses pushed up on top of his head on the side of a highway. His eyes rose slowly to meet mine as he laughed, and they stayed there, watching me. Maybe he didn’t recognize me. Or maybe he did recognize me, and he was laughing at me for coming all this way just to get what he’d promised me.

  And then, I didn’t know what came over me. Seeing him in that conference room, laughing with the rest of those well-fed men, did something to me. The part of me that was still able to function logically took a moment to recognize that things could’ve been worse in the wreck. Neither of us were hurt, and the damage done was relatively minor. The thing that really upset me was that his life had simply kept on going instead of stopping for a moment to help me out with getting my truck fixed. That’s what he’d said he would do, and he simply hadn’t done it. It was enough for me to see red and barge right on into the room to join the fun.

  “Hey, asshole, remember me?” I barked, effectively interrupting whatever jolly meeting Sebastian had been trying to have. He blinked at me in surprise, which somehow made me even angrier.

  “Well, if it isn’t Rachel Dare,” he mused, giving me a once over as I flushed. I hadn’t thought this through. I should’ve come in here in battle dress and war paint—a sassy, sexy outfit to throw him off guard and gorgeous makeup set off with a bright red lipstick to match my hair. Instead, my hair was in braids, I probably still stank from sweating while cleaning the house, and I’d dirtied my jeans from leaning up against something oily at the auto repair center. I was almost too upset to care, but being better prepared would’ve made me feel more empowered.

  “I’m surprised you remember my name,” I remarked sarcastically. “Gentlemen, did you know that if you get in a car wreck with Sebastian Clementine, he’ll try to convince you to circumvent regular channels of police and insurance and then refuse to contact you for reparations? Is that the kind of man you want to be doing business with—a damn liar and a cheat and an all-around son of a bitch?”

  “Gentlemen, that’s enough entertainment for this afternoon,” Sebastian said, seizing me by the elbow and steering me toward the door. “Let’s pick back up where we left off tomorrow, shall we?”

  He didn’t wait for their replies, and I didn’t hear any as I was hustled out and away from the conference room. Sebastian pulled me along almost urgently toward a door at the end of the hallway, and halfway there, it finally hit me that I should put up some kind of fight.

  “Take your hands off me,” I spat, trying to shrug him off of my arm. “I can walk myself, thank you very much.”

  “Graceful along with eloquent?” Sebastian asked sarcastically. “Now you’re pulling my leg.”

  He opened the door he’d been marching me toward and flicked on the light, even though there was no need. It had a sublime view of downtown Los Angeles, and the sun was like fire against the tall buildings.

  “This your office?” I sniffed, looking around. What kind of businessman had a couch in the place where he was supposed to work, or a fully functioning bar, at least a dozen bottles of various spirits lining the shelves? How did he get anything done at all between taking naps and day drinking?

  “You like it?” he asked, going to the bar now and pouring an amber liquid into a crystal glass. I couldn’t call myself a connoisseur of alcohol, but the sting in my nose named his drink whiskey.

  “I’ve seen better,” I lied. Better was relative. Better could mean better for me, which would be a de facto office in a barn. This wasn’t really my style, even if the view was nice from up here.

  “Can I fix you a drink?” he asked, and I tore my eyes away from the windows.

  “Nope. I’m driving.”

  He coughed with amusement. “So am I. It’s one drink, not seven.”

  “You going to be careful with that damn car of yours?” I asked, raising my eyebrows at him. “Or are you going to ambush some other poor driver out there on the highway?”

  “Is that how everyone talks on the farm?” he teased me. “I ought to make a swear jar for you. A dollar per swear, and I’ll be rich before you leave tonight. I know my colleagues had to have been impressed by you.”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing you bastards haven’t heard before,” I said coolly. “And now they know just what kind of person you are—dishonest.”

  “Please, tell me why you think I’m dishonest,” Sebastian said, holding his arms out before taking a slurp of his whiskey. “What have I ever done to you to make you think that?”

  I laughed incredulously at him. “Are you being serious right now? What have you ever done? You hit my truck on the highway and said you’d get in contact with me, but you never did.”

  “We’re in contact now, aren’t we?” he asked, his eyes twinkling. “Haven’t you gotten what you wanted?”

  “No!” I shouted, outraged. “No, I haven’t! You were supposed to call me and arrange for payment to cover the repairs to my truck, and you never did.”

  “You never gave me a number to call,” he reasoned. “I was the one who gave you my business card.”

  “Which didn’t even have a phone number on it,” I said hotly. “What a waste of a piece of paper.”

  “I disagree. That piece of paper gave you the address to come see me again, and I have to say, Red, it is good to see you again.” He hoisted his glass up in the air, toasting me, and I flushed again.

  “It’s Rachel, not Red,” I said hotly. “And it’s Ms. Dare to you, because you’re no friend of mine.”

  “Fair enough, Ms. Dare,” Sebastian tried out, rolling each letter around in his mouth like my name was fine whiskey. “Oh, I think I like that. I like that very much. It’s almost kind of dangerous. Ms. Dare. Like we’re in a spy movie or something.”

  He was impossible. “I found a phone number online,” I told him, trying to get this derailed conversation back on track. I wondered if he was like this with his business partners—chatty and fond of misdirection. How would they get any business done?

  “Whose?”

  I rolled my eyes. “A phone number for your company. You should look into this. The woman who answered was very rude.”

  “No, really?” He was so genuine that I knew he wasn’t being genuine. “Could there be any chance you were being rude first? You do have quite a track record with that.”

  “I wasn’t being rude at all,” I protested. “I was trying to explain to her that you owed me money after the wreck, and she accused me of trying to shake you down.”

  “I do have pretty loyal employees.” Sebastian took a long sip of his whiskey, looking at me over the rim of the glass.

  “She also said that you didn’t take calls?” I asked, wrinkling my nose. “Is that a good business practice? How do you find that works out for Clementine Organics when its president and CEO refuses to take a phone call?”

  “Pretty well, in fact, when it’s a matter of small importance to the company,” he said, swirling the liquid around in his glass.

  “Oh, hell no,” I snapped at him. “I get that maybe it’s small potatoes to you, but your utter disregard for doing something you promised to do for me dragged me all the way here to your office to tell you just what I think of you.”

  “And what is it that you think of me?”

  “I think you’re an asshole.” I raised my chi
n at him, defiant. “And I’m not leaving here until I get what’s mine. You’ve inconvenienced me for long enough.”

  I don’t know what about my statement made Sebastian do what he did next, but suddenly his lips were on mine, his tongue in my surprised mouth, tasting of whiskey and want.

  I pushed him away. “Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing?” I wiped my lips with the back of my hand, my eyes darting all around the room, trying to find someplace to settle on that wasn’t his face. I was afraid of what I’d find on his face, and I was just as afraid of the liquid desire pooling in the bottom of my stomach. If possible, I was even more aroused now than before, when I’d dreamed we’d hooked up in the back of my truck. Of course, this was real. This was real and really confusing.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve never been kissed before,” he said. “I’ll refuse to believe that.”

  “Of course I’ve been—what’s the point?” My heart hammered in my chest. What was going on here? I’d come here to get the money I was owed and instead I was kissing a man I didn’t even like. I didn’t like him, did I? I didn’t like him at all, despite the way my body had responded.

  “Hasn’t anyone ever told you how beautiful you are when you’re angry?” he asked. “Your nostrils flare and your green eyes take on this glow. You should see the way your cheeks flush…like you’re in love.”

  “I have hazel eyes,” I said, dazed and confused and a whole host of other emotions. “And I am angry at you. Why did you kiss me?”

  “Because I wanted to.”

  I huffed. “Let me guess. You do whatever you want to do, anytime you want to do it.”

  “That about sums it up.” I chanced a glance into his eyes and looked away just as quickly. His brown eyes were amused, but something shimmered just below the surface. I didn’t like that something. And I didn’t like the feeling that the same something was lurking in my own eyes.