“Kristen,” the woman said. “Hang on. I’ll get him for you. Wicked necklace, by the way.”
“Oh. Thanks.” It was too much. She’d told Harlan it was too much. She rarely wore jewelry, and not just because she didn’t have much. Because she didn’t call attention to herself like that.
She didn’t sit down to wait. She was too nervous. And when Blake said, “Well, hi. Early, huh,” from behind her, she jumped a mile.
“Sorry,” she said, turning to face him. “Hi. Yeah, I wasn’t sure how long it would take me to get here, so …” And snapped her mouth shut on the words.
She knew how to be Blake’s assistant. She’d been totally confident—well, almost totally—in the job in Wild Horse. Except that this wasn’t Wild Horse, and she wasn’t going to be his assistant. But still. She could do this. She didn’t have to babble and apologize.
He said, “Come on back and I’ll introduce you. But—huh.”
“What?”
He hesitated, and she said, “Come on, Blake. Spit it out.” The receptionist heard, because she looked up, and boy, did she look surprised.
Blake, though, grinned. “Well, yeah. That’s the Jennifer we know and love. Stop looking so nervous. You’re going to be great. But let me guess. Kristiansen’s buying your clothes now. What, moving you into his house wasn’t enough? I thought you were friends. That’s the story I heard. ‘We’re just friends.’ I distinctly heard that. I told Dakota I was pretty sure that wasn’t going to last. Got to say, though, I expected it to last longer than this.”
Jennifer folded her arms. “You know … this is rapidly escalating into none-of-your-business territory. Is there a point you were trying to make?”
“That necklace,” he said. “That thing’s a chain. It has a padlock.”
“It does not,” she said. “I left the padlock off. It’s a lovely string of freshwater pearls on one half, and a chain on the other. All right, a somewhat heavy chain, but that’s because it’s modern, not whatever grandma style you were expecting from me. And how do you know about the padlock anyway?”
“How do you think I know? Kristiansen’s not the only one who buys presents. Except that I’m buying that for my wife. Plus, you’re not edgy. If there’s one adjective I would use to describe Jennifer Cardello, it would not be edgy.”
“How do you know?” You didn’t rage at your boss. You didn’t call him on his stuff. You were diplomatic.
You were failing. “Maybe I’m exactly that edgy,” she told Blake. “Maybe I’m more edgy. Maybe you don’t know me nearly as well as you think you do.”
“I’ve known you for almost three years. Give me a break. Also, that necklace is about twenty-five hundred bucks, and those shoes are, what, seven-fifty? This isn’t some billionaire romance. This is a guy who’s never done ‘serious’ in his life, trying to impress you, or maybe just buy you, by giving you designer stuff.”
“Do you go around pricing designer clothing as a hobby?” she asked. “Is that it?” Trying to be lofty. Trying to keep the upper hand. Also trying not to scream at her CEO. “They were not that much, I’m sure, and neither was the necklace. It can’t have been. It’s sterling silver. The pearls are freshwater.”
“It’s Tiffany Hardwear,” he said. “Which you had to know, because I’ll bet you a hundred bucks he took you there to pick it out. Even Kristiansen isn’t buying that necklace unless he’s sure the woman wants it. What, he didn’t let you look at the price tags? Figures. The shoes are Louboutin, because they have those red soles, and you bet they cost that much.” He squinted at her like he was trying to read her mind. “He’d better not be pushing you to do anything over the top. You’re pregnant.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I hadn’t noticed. What, no comment on my dress? What’s wrong with that? Because, for your information, I look great. Also extremely professional. I am wearing a beautiful knit dress in a subdued aubergine with long sleeves, a high neckline, and a flared skirt. I’m wearing a lovely pearl necklace with a silver chain, and black suede pumps with two-inch heels. I’m the definition of professional and appropriate.”
“Dress doesn’t have a low hemline, though, does it?” Blake asked.
She sat down in one of the black-leather reception chairs and said, “Call Dakota.”
“What? I’m not calling Dakota. I’m at work. We’re here to work.”
“Yeah?” She eyed him. Jeans. White cotton button-down shirt. Cowboy boots. Three-thousand-dollar jacket. She didn’t think he had too much room to talk.
Of course, he was the CEO, which meant he got to dress however he wanted. But still. No way. She said, “Call Dakota and tell her what you just said to me. See what she says. Go on,” she added when he looked like he had no idea how to respond. “I’ll wait.”
“Fine,” he said. “You do that.” And stalked off in all his I’m-in-charge, NFL-quarterback glory.
It took her thirty seconds to calm down, and another thirty to realize what she’d just done.
She asked the receptionist, “Where’s the ladies’ room, uh … Kristen?” A good assistant always remembered names. She’d barely pulled that one out. She was also lightheaded.
“There’s one in the hallway,” Kristen said. Jennifer recognized the expression on her face from eighteen years of Dyma. That was “Oh-my-god-I-can’t-believe-it! How awesome was that?” And probably something about the Tao.
She told Kristen, “The snow goose need not bathe to make itself white. Neither need you do anything but be yourself. That’s the Tao. I’m just getting in ahead of you.”
“Uh … okay,” Kristen said.
Jennifer said, “I’ll be right back. If Blake comes out again, I did not run off in tears. I went to the ladies’ room for a minute, and I’ll be right back.”
Harlan was at the gym, working out with the amputees, when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He finished his set of chest presses, then sat up and pulled out the phone.
“Hey,” Julio Vega said. “If you’re not going to work out, bounce.”
Harlan said, “I’m going. Keep your shirt on.”
“Yeah,” Julio said, sliding into place a little awkwardly, since his prosthetic leg was still new. “Some of us got a schedule, man. Some of us got to get jacked. Can’t impress the ladies without definition.”
Harlan wasn’t listening. The call had been from Jennifer, and she hadn’t left a message. He was pressing the redial button even as the thoughts flew through his head like startled birds.
She should be at work already, starting the first day of her new job. She’d never call him at a time like that. Not Jennifer. So, what? Her car had broken down? She’d had an accident?
No answer. Voicemail. He called again with the same result, then a third time, his heart pounding now.
Pick up, he thought. Pick UP.
“Hey, ’mano,” Julio said, finishing his set. “You OK?”
Harlan barely heard him. Jennifer’s real-live voice had finally come on the line, saying, “Geez, Harlan, I was going to the bathroom.”
He laughed. He also got a little weak in the knees. Relief would do that to you. “Yep,” he said. “It’s you, and the kidnappers don’t have you, either.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. I was a little worried. Not like you to call me, not once you’d got there. Not Miss Nose-to-the-Grindstone.” Might as well work on the leg press while he talked, he decided, and moved over to do it, switching the call to his Bluetooth earbuds. “So what’s up?” he asked while he racked the weights a little higher, then seated himself and started working.
“Is this necklace some kind of BDSM thing?” she asked, and he just about let go of the weight stack.
“Uh …” He looked around. Julio looked back at him, eyebrow raised. “No. It’s edgy, that’s all. Got a little edge to it. Plus, you took the padlock off before you wore it.”
Now, Julio wasn’t the only one looking. Harlan didn’t care. “Why?” he asked. “Did somebody say som
ething?”
“Yeah. Blake. Harlan, it didn’t cost twenty-five hundred dollars, did it?”
“Uh …” He couldn’t very well lie. All she had to do was look it up.
She said, “It’s sterling silver.” It was more of a wail. “And I’m an idiot. Look, I’m taking it off. Except then Blake wins. Also, he implied that my skirt was too short. It’s not any shorter than anybody else’s, I’ll bet. What, just because my knees are showing? You said I looked great! It’s Portland! The receptionist has blue hair and a pierced nose!”
“Baby,” he said. “Hang on.” She was practically hyperventilating. He wasn’t sure if she was mad or scared or … what. “You did look great. You do look great. And, yeah, you can look great and still look pregnant. You look classy, is what it is. He’s just not used to you being hot. And he’s out of line,” he decided to add. “I’m going to come over and tell him so. He doesn’t get to talk to you about your necklace and your hemline. Screw that.”
“Oh, boy,” she said. “He just walked in. Hang on.” He heard her say, “Blake. It’s the ladies’ room. There’s a reason they call it that. It’s for women.”
“I wanted to talk to you in private,” Harlan heard Blake say.
He said, “Jennifer.” Then he shouted it. “Jennifer.”
“I have to go,” she said.
“No, you don’t. Put him on. I need to talk to him. Now.”
He heard Jennifer saying, “Harlan wants to talk to you.”
A second, then, “Yeah? What do you want?”
Yep. That was the quarterback, all right. “You’re out of line,” Harlan informed him. “Way out of line.”
“Yeah,” Orbison said. “Dakota just told me that.”
“And you thought your best next move would be to find Jennifer in the ladies’ room?”
“Privacy,” Orbison pointed out.
“Privacy, hell.” Harlan was always cool. He was famously cool. He wasn’t cool now. “Get out of there. She’s the one who gets privacy. If you want to talk to her, you take her to the … lobby. To a coffee shop. To a conference room. Wherever. You don’t get to talk to her in the ladies’ room!”
He heard Jennifer saying, “I can fight my own battles.” He’d bet she was reaching for the phone, too.
He told Blake, “Tell her that I still have something to say,” and waited while Orbison did it. The sound got less echo-y, which hopefully meant that they were out of the frigging bathroom. “You ready to hear it?” he asked.
Orbison sounded resigned. “Guess I asked for it.”
“You bet you did. Jennifer looks beautiful today. I know, because she showed me. She looks beautiful, and she looks professional. What the hell are you giving her shit about it for? Don’t you know how nervous she is? Do you have any idea how many hours she’s spent studying all your crap so she’ll be prepared for today? Do you have a single clue how much she fights for confidence?”
“I know it a whole hell of a lot better than you know it,” Orbison said. “Since she’s worked for me for three years. I know for sure that she doesn’t need somebody pushing her into some kind of kinky sex that she’s not ready for! Especially not when she’s pregnant!”
A squawk from Jennifer, and Harlan had to breathe a couple times. “You aren’t this big of an idiot,” he said. “Back right the hell off. Tell her you were wrong, too, or I’m telling her to quit.”
“Yeah,” Orbison said. “Because you get to do that. How about if you let her make her own decisions?”
“How about if I stick up for the woman I love?”
He didn’t even realize it was out there until a second had passed. Then he said, “And the mother of my child. Our relationship is none of your goddamned business, but for the record: I’m not doing one single thing with her that she doesn’t want. I’m buying her clothes because she’s pregnant, and because, yeah, I want to. If I want to buy her something nicer than she’s used to, I’ve got the money to do it, and I’m enjoying it. If you aren’t doing that for your wife, why the hell not?”
Orbison didn’t seem to have anything to say to that, so Harlan said, “Yeah. I thought so. Put Jennifer back on.”
Orbison said, “You realize I’m …” After that, though, he didn’t seem to know how to go on.
Harlan said, “Yep. You’re nothing but wrong, that’s what I realize. You’re going to have to say it, or I predict she’s going to be walking on out of there. The woman’s a redhead.”
49
A Little Tenderness
His doorbell rang at six that evening. When he went to answer it, it was Jennifer. Still dressed in her work clothes, with those purple shadows under her eyes.
“Hey,” he said. “You don’t have to ring the doorbell.” After that, he bent down and gave her a soft kiss on the mouth, and held her a little while, too, just because she looked so fragile. He could feel her hauling in her breath against his shoulder, and he held on a little tighter.
She stood back, finally, came inside, and said, “Of course I have to ring the doorbell. It’s not my house. I came over to check on Dyma, and to see about cooking dinner. I bought stuff for a casserole, and I told you, I’m a whiz at family dinner. I’ve decided that can be my contribution. On days when you want that, of course. When you need a break, you can send the girls over to me.” Going for some more of that brisk and efficient and capable.
“That’s a no,” he said. “What, your first day at your new job? Not happening. It’s the offseason. I’ve got it. I already planned it, in fact. Dyma and Annabelle are watching a movie, I think, because I smelled popcorn. Having some downtime after rearranging my cabinets this afternoon, once the tutor left. Cooking could be an adventure, since I don’t know where anything is anymore. They had everything pulled out of there. I thought we’d be living in squalor for days, but nope. Dyma’s pretty much a human dynamo. How’d you name her that well? Did you wait until she was two, or what?”
She smiled, but it still looked tired. “I don’t know. Magical foreknowledge? She brings a lot of energy to the room. That’s one way of putting it.”
He brushed a hand over her cheek. “Here’s an idea. Why don’t you go get changed, or better yet—bring your stuff over and have a swim, some gym time, whatever, while I make dinner? That’d be relaxing, right?”
“Well, the way I swim, it would be,” she said, getting some spark back. “Not the way you do it, like you’re in the Olympics. Although I don’t know where the gym is. Do I have to take the elevator, or what?”
He laughed. “I’ll give you the tour.” After that, he kissed her again and said, “Go get changed. I’ve got this.”
He’d worked out hard himself today, she was right about that. Because he’d been nervous, that was the truth. He’d said he loved her. To Orbison. Why had he laid himself on the line like that? But either Blake hadn’t told her what he’d said, or she’d brushed it off. He couldn’t tell which.
Nobody at the gym had brushed it off. When he’d hung up after that call, Julio had said, “I’m just gonna ignore the ‘padlock’ thing, because I’m classy, and go for the ‘pregnant’ part. Your lady’s pregnant?”
“Didn’t know he even had a lady.” That was Calvin, who was in a wheelchair, but had been building up his upper body with the kind of single-minded determination that earned a guy a starting spot. Harlan would bet he’d been a hell of a soldier.
“Well, yeah,” Harlan said. “I’ve got a lady. You heard it here first.”
“Uh-huh.” That was Brandon, who was on the leg press machine now, since he’d nudged Harlan off it somewhere in that conversation. Brandon was missing an arm, and an eye, too. He was also leg-pressing three hundred already. People thought Harlan motivated these guys. In fact, it was more the other way around. Brandon didn’t usually say much, but now, he said, “Sounds like it might be news to her, too. Which is weird, but I’m not sayin’ nothin’. New job, though, huh.”
“Yep,” Harlan said, and then, for some reason, add
ed, “Working for Blake Orbison. She was his assistant before, up in Idaho. She’s a little nervous about the new job. Not really a big-city girl. Just moved into my place, along with her daughter.”
He was confiding. He never confided, and here he was doing it. To five guys. What was he, crazy?
“Well, damn,” Julio said. “If she was already working for Orbison, guess you can’t use the money and the looks and the cee-lebrity status to impress her. Man, that’s all your ammo shot. What else you got?”
Brandon said, “Sounds like he’s going with telling the truth.”
Some hooting and hollering at that, and Julio said, “Dangerous move, ’mano. Tell you one thing, though.”
“Yeah?” Harlan asked. He might as well get advice here, he guessed. Not like good advice was pouring in from anywhere else in his life.
“If she’s pregnant?” Julio said. “New job, too? Single mom? Be sweet to her tonight. Like the man said. Try a little tenderness.” That sparked some singing. Of course it did.
They gave him some more shit after that, too, but he figured the advice wasn’t bad.
A little tenderness. He could do that.
It was such a relief to get out of her shoes. Her feet had swollen a little today in the fancy new shoes—which had cost seven hundred fifty dollars? Really? They were just pumps. Pumps that hurt at the moment. A swim would feel good, though. A swim would feel great. With no onlookers to stare at her in her too-small bikini? (Which she had to wear, because the one-piece didn’t fit at all.) That would feel extra great.
Except that when she put the top on, there was no way. How had her breasts grown even more in about four days? She struggled with the hooks, ripped it off, shoved the thing back in the drawer, and wanted to cry. Just … climb into bed, pull the covers over her head, and cry.
This was too hard. She’d known it would be too hard, and it was too hard, and …
Suck it up, she told herself. You’ve got this. It’s a first day. First days are always awful. And Mom isn’t here, and …
Shame the Devil (Portland Devils Book 3) Page 38