By the Hour

by Roni Loren

  She hated that her first instinct at seeing Lane’s sports car was to wonder what Henry would think of it. He’d probably dismiss it as immature and impractical. He was a luxury car guy. The manufacturer had to be foreign and the price tag unfathomable or it didn’t warrant his respect.

  Ugh. She shook the thought away. She wasn’t trying to prove anything to him. She didn’t need to impress anyone. She didn’t need Lane to fit into some kind of mold.

  Lane climbed out of the car, his blond hair styled in that messy-on-purpose way he used on the weekends and his clothes casual but sharp—pale blue polo shirt and dark jeans that made him look downright edible. The man didn’t just know how to dress, he knew how to wear his clothes like they’d been made for him, like he was one-hundred percent comfortable in his own skin. She wanted to drag him into the house and take him out of those clothes, touch that skin.

  She curled her nails into her palms, trying to use the sting to shut down her rogue libido. Not yours.

  Anymore.

  Or ever, really.

  Lane sauntered up the drive, a surprisingly pleasant expression on his face. “All ready to go?”

  She stood, smoothing her dove-gray slacks on the way up, and grabbed the handle of her roller bag. “I’m packed, but I’ll probably never be ready. You sure you want to do this?”

  “Yep. I told you I keep my word. Plus, I owe you.” He reached behind his back and pulled something from his pocket—a paper. He turned it around and showed her the front. It was the title page of his research paper. A bright red A was scrawled on the front.

  A gust of pride swept over her. “You got an A?”

  “A-minus. Not too bad.” He shrugged but the curl of his lips betrayed him.

  She had the sudden urge to hug him, which was weird in and of itself. She wasn’t a hugger. But she didn’t know where the boundaries were with him right now. They weren’t at her mom’s house yet. They didn’t need to perform for an audience. She lifted her hand in a high-five motion instead, feeling like a complete dork. “Lane, that’s great. You did it.”

  He tapped her hand with his but then curled his fingers around her palm to give it a squeeze. “We did it. I owe you a big thank you. Not just for typing but for forcing me to get tested so I could get an extension. This grade feels good.”

  The heat of his palm against hers and the appreciation in his eyes made her stomach hurt. She wished she could rewind time and never invite him into her office, never have Ori catch them. Right now, they’d be in full celebration mode. He’d kiss her. She’d tease him. She wouldn’t feel as if there were an ocean of complications between them. She slipped her hand from his. “You’re welcome. But you deserve the credit. It’s your words in that paper.”

  “They are, but you got them on that paper for me and made sure I put them in the right order. So”—he tucked the paper under his arm and took her bag from her—“you deserve a thank you.”

  “Your thank you is you being here. I can’t believe you’re still going through with this.” She grabbed her purse from the porch swing and looped the strap over her shoulder. “You have a masochistic streak hidden in there?”

  “No. I’m keeping my promise and paying you back. But believe me, this is going to feed the sadist in me far more than anything else.”

  The statement and his accompanying smirk made her spine go stiff. She cleared her throat and walked down the steps past him, keeping her shoulders back even though she wanted to fold in on herself. “Yeah, I guess there’s no better way to get back at me for insulting you than to spend a weekend watching me get humiliated by my family and ex. Good plan.”

  “What?”

  She kept walking down the driveway to the car, hating the way her eyes burned. She would not let him see how he was affecting her. She’d been fielding barbs from him since the beginning. This should be no different.

  Lane grasped her elbow, halting her brisk march to the car.

  “Hey.” He stepped in front of her, his eyes searching hers. “You honestly think that’s what I meant? That I’d enjoy seeing you get hurt?”

  Her teeth clenched and she inhaled a deep breath through her nose, trying to maintain her I-don’t-give-a-shit face. “What else could you mean?”

  His mouth sank into a frown. “Jesus, Elle. I meant I was going to enjoy irritating your ex-husband because the guy deserves it. I can’t believe you’d think—” He exhaled loudly and ran a hand over the back of his head. “Look, I’m not happy with how things went down with us, but I don’t wish bad things on you. I’m not cruel. I wouldn’t be here unless I was here to help.”

  She blinked, his words making her stomach fizz and her anxiety about this whole weekend bubble over. She looked down, trying to hide her face from him. “I’m sorry. I just—I guess I was thinking what I’d do in your place. If someone hurts me, I want to hurt them worse.”

  “Well, that’s you. I’m a way nicer person than you are.”

  She snorted, the laugh surprising her and getting caught in her nose. She peered up to find him grinning. “Asshole.”

  “There she is.” He put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “And I’m serious. I’ve got your back this weekend. Nothing will give me greater pleasure than pissing in your ex-husband’s and bitchy sister’s Fruit Loops—or their healthy, organic, non-GMO, gluten-free, sugarless tree bark. Whatever their pretentious asses eat for breakfast.”

  She couldn’t help but smile at that. “It will definitely be something pretentious.”

  “Good. I’d be disappointed otherwise.”

  She sighed and put her hand over his, some of the tightness in her muscles easing. “Thanks, Lane.”

  He lowered his hand to the handle of her bag again and gave a quick nod. “No worries. We’ve got this.”

  He turned to the car and rolled her suitcase behind him, her heart giving a completely unhelpful kick. This man could’ve been her friend, her lover. She liked him. He was a good guy.

  But that was the problem.

  Lane wanted more than she was capable of giving. Deserved more.

  She couldn’t be that woman for him. She would always hurt him.

  This weekend he’d see why.

  Lane picked up speed, the engine purring like a big cat, as they turned off the two-way roads that cut through the bayous and the towering cypress trees and made it to the interstate that would bring them into the city. Elle kept her eyes on the scenery, trying to focus on anything but where she was going. She needed to remember her mother was ill. This was about her mom. Her sister and ex were just a sideshow. Hopefully, they’d be too wrapped up with wedding shit to bother with Elle anyway.

  “Hold up,” Lane said, his voice startling her out of her thoughts. “You got them a wedding present?”

  She turned to him. “Huh?”

  He nodded toward her purse, which had come open at her feet. A present with silver and white wrapping stuck out. She reached down and tucked it back in before snapping her purse shut. “Yes. It’s the proper thing to do.”

  “The proper thing?” He gave her a you-must-be-out-of-your-mind look. “What the hell did you get them?”

  She adjusted her seatbelt and smoothed her expression. “A nutcracker.”

  Lane’s eyes lit with amusement. “Nice. A metaphor to your ex?”

  She smirked his way. “No, I’m not that subtle. It’s a straightforward fuck you. Henry’s allergic to nuts.”

  A laugh burst out of him, one of those like she’d heard in the cafeteria. The hearty sound filled her like helium, making her feel lighter inside. He shook his head. “You’re something else, Elle McCray. Remind me to stay on your good side.”

  She sniffed. “Who said I have a good side? Or that you’re on it?”

  His smile turned smug. “I’ve seen you naked. I assure you, there are lots of good sides. Mainly the front and back. And I’ve been on both.”

  She rolled her eyes but warmth crept through her, making her skin tingle. She knew
it was harmless flirtation, Lane’s way. But to her it felt like much more. It felt like an olive branch. He was showing her that at least for this weekend, they could leave the heavy stuff back at The Grove and be relaxed around each other.

  They both got quiet for a few minutes, the interstate taking them over the Bonnet Carré spillway, a wide expanse of water that took the overflow when the Mississippi River and Lake Pontchartrain got too high. When she’d first moved here with her parents from Napa Valley, a local had laughed when she’d pronounced it in proper French. No, dawlin’, not that fancy. We say it Bonnie Carrie.

  She’d felt like a stranger in a strange land. California had been home. But her parents had fallen in love with New Orleans on a vacation and the cost of living had tempted them here when she was fifteen. In Napa, they could live well. In NOLA, they could live like royalty. What did it matter that it completely uprooted their oldest child right in the middle of high school?

  “So what’s my story?”

  Lane’s question broke her from her thoughts. “What do you mean?”

  “What’s the story we’re giving your family about me? I assume you don’t want to say I’m a professional surrogate.”

  He said it casually but she knew that was still a raw wound. He should be able to say what he was. But she cringed inwardly at the thought of announcing that to her family and ex. They wouldn’t understand what that meant. They’d dismiss him out of hand.

  Like she had.

  She frowned, hating that she was anything like them, and absently turned the fake engagement ring round and round on her finger. “I told my sister we work together. We can say you work in the couples therapy department and are in school to…wait, what are you in school for? What’s your end goal?”

  “What?”

  “What’s your goal for school? Do you just want to add the degree to get a raise or something?” She’d never thought to ask him. He didn’t need a degree for what he did, just training and a certification.

  He looked back to the road, his jaw flexing. “Right now my goal is not to fail out, but when I started, my hope was to get a master’s degree in counseling or clinical social work. It’s probably a pipe dream, but I’d like to do what Donovan and Marin do.”

  She stared at him, the revelation surprising her. “You don’t want to stay a surrogate? I thought you liked your job.”

  He sent her a wary look. “I do. But I also would like a job one day that doesn’t involve sleeping with strangers. I believe in the work I do, but I don’t want to be doing it when I’m fifty. The therapists get to dig into so much more with the clients. I only get to help with one aspect.”

  She considered him, the new information giving her a fuller picture of the man she kept trying to box up neatly in one category. “Why does it have to be a pipe dream? You get the hang of those accommodations at school and you can go for whatever you want.”

  He grunted in an utterly male, we’re-not-talking-about-this way.

  She sighed. “Well, either way, that’s what we’ll say. You’re going to school for your master’s degree. Henry will probably ask why you waited so long and what you did before school.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll tell him I lost my parents when I was sixteen and needed to get a job to make ends meet and save up for school.”

  Her breath caught. “Is that true?”

  His knuckles whitened against the steering wheel. “For all intents and purposes. That’s when I failed my junior year of high school. I refused to repeat the year, and my dad didn’t bother to ask me why I was having such a hard time in school. He just kicked me out of the house because I was a ‘lazy and ungrateful punk’ who needed to see what the real world was like. My mom would’ve never done anything to stand up to my dad, so she didn’t intervene. I think they expected me to come crawling back when I ran out of money. I didn’t.”

  Her lungs compressed, the matter-of-fact way he’d said it hitting her more than anything. “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “Old news. A teenager doesn’t start taking money for sex because his home life is awesome. My story isn’t as bad as most of the guys I worked with. Once I got enough money to be comfortable, I got my GED and started looking into ways I could get a legitimate career. One of my former clients was actually the one who made the suggestion that I look into surrogacy. I’d helped her after her husband had passed, and she said I had an empathetic ear and a calming nature. I figured it was worth a shot. Turned out to be the best decision I’ve ever made. God knows where I’d be otherwise.”

  Elle watched him for a long minute, this polished, intelligent, kind-hearted man. How he’d gotten himself to this point all on his own was a testament to an iron core of strength. Hell, she often felt sorry for herself because of her screwed-up family, but she’d had every advantage given to her. Private schools. Tutors for outside lessons. A college fund. A car as soon as she could drive. She hadn’t had to work until she was out of school.

  And what had she done to Lane to convey how impressed she was by the epically difficult mountain he’d climbed? She’d denigrated him for what he did. Made him feel less than. Bile burned the back of her throat.

  People often called her a bitch, but in that moment, she felt like one.

  “Is this the exit I should take?” Lane asked.

  She’d typed in the address on the GPS for him, but it was giving them two route options.

  “Yeah. This way’s the quickest.”

  Lane followed the GPS directions, taking them off the interstate and into the city. The streets went narrow and bumpy and the buildings grew older, history rising up around them in a city that cherished its age and didn’t feel any driving ambition to modernize. She appreciated that about New Orleans. It didn’t change for anyone or try to be something besides itself. You either loved it for all its quirks and grit and personality, or you could get the hell out. Despite missing Napa when she’d moved here, she’d always felt a connection to NOLA in that way.

  They took a few more turns until they were on her mom’s street in the Garden District. The sunlight became dappled along the windows and enormous oak tree shadows painted the road, the ancient branches looking both welcoming and threatening all at once—depending on if your ex and betraying sister were waiting for you, or if you were just on a stroll after having brunch and a cocktail at Commander’s Palace. Unfortunately, Elle hadn’t had a cocktail.

  “Wow,” Lane said, leaning forward to peer at the houses on the right side of the road. “This isn’t bad living.”

  “Yeah.” Even Elle had to admit that this part of the city was nothing short of gorgeous. Beautiful, historic homes in white and sometimes frothy pastels displaying the best of New Orleans architecture. Lush gardens and short iron fences that were art pieces in their own right, with all the intricate designs and scrollwork. If she’d been a child when she moved here, she may have thought she’d entered some kind of fairytale land. But as a teenager, it’d looked like a gilded cage.

  “I’ve never really driven through this part of the city. I didn’t realize it’d be so beautiful.” When she didn’t respond, Lane glanced over, brow dipping. “You okay?”

  She rolled her lips inward and nodded. “I’m good.”

  He reached out and gave her knee a squeeze. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be fawning over this like a tourist. This place isn’t a happy one for you.”

  She shrugged, trying to shake off the feelings with it. “I can’t blame the neighborhood.”

  He nodded and gave her an empathetic look. “Believe me, I know that pretty houses can hide ugly situations. I used to visit a lot of pretty houses. I’m sure it was hard living here, everyone thinking you were leading a charmed life, but feeling lonely and out of place inside.”

  She swallowed back the emotion that his statement sent rushing through her and forced herself to take a breath. “It’s the second one on the right, with the two-story porch and white columns. You can park on the street.”

  Lane
gave her one last concerned glance and then eased into the spot in front of the house. The lantern-style light above the front door was on even though it was daytime. Other than that, the house looked postcard pristine—every bush pruned, the crepe myrtles winter-naked but still pretty with their smooth, pale bark, and the steps leading up to the porch free of debris. Perfect as always. Her stomach knotted.

  Lane looked over. “You ready?”

  “No.”

  “Want to go to the French Quarter and get hammered on hurricanes instead?”

  “Yes.”

  His mouth kicked up at the corner. “Don’t say that. I’ll do it.”

  She sighed and reached for her door handle. “How about we go in and do this, and if I say my safe word, you immediately haul me out of there and we’ll go do exactly that.”

  He smiled fully. “That’s a deal, doc.”

  “You can safe word, too,” she said gravely.

  He laughed. “That bad?”

  “Worse.”

  They climbed out of the car and headed for the front door. The silver garden sign stabbed beneath a large English boxwood said Bienvenue. Welcome.

  Elle filled in the rest: to your personal nightmare.

  Chapter 17

  Lane kept Elle in the corner of his vision as she prepared to ring the doorbell. She took a deep breath and seemed to grow two inches as she made her spine poker straight and tilted her chin up—Elle’s armored stance. He’d seen it from time to time, had witnessed how intimidating and unflappable she could look. But he knew her too well now, could almost hear the pounding of her heart. This was taking everything she had.

  He reached out and grabbed her hand, linking his fingers with hers, feeling the ring he’d given her press into his skin. She glanced over as if surprised to see him still standing there, like she’d forgotten she didn’t have to face this alone. He squeezed her hand and her steely expression softened a bit.

  “Want me to knock?” he asked.