by Cat Johnson
That anticipation had me tossing the last of the food—a box of cereal and a few cans of tuna—onto the counter so I could get going when I heard the front door open.
I frowned. Who the fuck could that be?
Yes, I’d left it unlocked but I hadn’t thought twice about doing that.
First of all, I was only running inside for a few minutes.
Second, that was what I was used to. The door of our house was never locked at the farm. None of us even carried keys. In fact, if I ever came home and found my parents’ house locked, I’d end up having to crawl through a window or the dog door to get in.
But this wasn’t the farm. This was the village. I was wondering if I’d made a serious mistake leaving that door open as I looked around for a weapon.
Given a choice between a kitchen knife and the fireplace poker, I chose the poker. Less bloody. Longer reach.
Armed, I slipped through the living room and headed for the front door.
Ready for battle, I leaped around the corner to confront the intruder.
My, “Ah, ha!” was met by Sarah’s yelp of surprise.
She pressed one hand to her chest and braced the other against the wall as she visibly tried to regain her breath.
Finally, she glanced up. “Boone, what the hell?”
I cringed. “Sorry. I didn’t expect you this time of day. And I won’t hold you to the swear jar since I did scare you. Stewie’s not here anyway.”
“Where is he?” she asked.
“At the farm. My Mom and Cash volunteered to watch him so I could run to the grocery store. I spent twenty bucks on your credit card. The receipt is on the counter if you want to look it over.”
She rolled her eyes, finally straightening and looking recovered from the fright. “I don’t need to look at the receipt. I trust you.”
Good to hear. I hoped that trust extended to other parts of her life, not just my use of her credit card.
“So, half day today?” I asked.
“Yeah. I needed to get out of there.” She let out a breath, her shoulders sagging as she made her way directly for the bottle of wine.
This woman needed to relax. That was more than obvious.
With the bottle in one hand, she spun in a slow circle, eyeing the good dozen drawers that could possibly house the corkscrew. I took pity on her and opened the correct one.
Equipped with the opener, I reached out and took the bottle from her.
“Everything okay? Did something happen?” I asked as I planted the bottle on the counter and liberated the wine from inside by removing the cork.
“Yeah. Sure. Everything’s fine. Just peachy.” She let out a bitter sounding laugh.
I poured a generous amount into a glass and handed it to her before leaning back against the counter, arms folded, ready to wait her out until I got an answer. “Tell me.”
After a big gulp, she sighed. “I nearly made a huge fool of myself today at work.”
“Nearly. So that means you didn’t, right?” I asked.
“I didn’t. But now I have some major work to do. And not one clue where to start.” She sighed.
I shook my head. “I don’t believe you could make a fool of yourself at work, not even almost. And I really don’t believe you have no ideas.”
She raised her gaze to mine. “Oh, no? Why not?”
“Because you’re one of the smartest people I know.”
She rolled her eyes at me. All it did was make me want to grab her and kiss her hard for her sass.
“Well, I hate to tell you, you’re wrong. At least I’m not smart when it comes to Millennials.”
Now it was my turn to let out a huff. “I’m pretty sick of that word. Just so you know.”
“Which word? Millennial?” she asked, looking surprised.
I nodded. “This summer that word hit my last nerve.”
She frowned. “You? Mr. Zen Guru who never gets upset about anything? Mr. Always Look on the Bright Side.”
I cocked up a brow at all the nicknames she’d given me. “See. You have plenty of marketing ideas. And I do lose my cool sometimes. I just hide it better than most.”
“What happened?” she asked.
“You don’t want to hear my bitchin'—uh, complaining.” I eyed the swear jar and then her.
“Yes, I really do. And I’ll wave the swear jar fee this time if you tell me.”
That sounded fair. I prepared to launch into my long tale.
“So it was the hottest day of the year. I’d just delivered a load of hay to one of the farmers a few counties away. He’s an old guy so of course I unloaded and stacked it for him. All two hundred bales. Stacking hay is a dirty job. The dust gets in your eyes, your nose, your mouth, your lungs. Everywhere. So by the time I was finished I was pretty hot and thirsty.”
“That would make me cranky too.” She nodded.
“Oh, I wasn’t cranky yet. Just hot and thirsty. I was planning on grabbing a tire and jumping in the river when I got home so I was in a pretty good mood. Until I stopped to get a cold drink at the farm stand. That’s when I heard some out of towner complaining about there being only one girl checking people out. The line wasn’t out the door, mind you. This lady was behind one other person. Then she sees me sitting there, drinking my iced tea, wearing my Morgan Farm T-shirt. Apparently she thought I should be checking out customers too so she says to her friend something about lazy Millennials who don’t want to work.”
Sarah cringed. “Ouch. What did you do?”
“I stood up and walked away before I said something I regretted.”
“I’m impressed with your restraint.”
I lifted a shoulder. “Eh, I try not to let things bother me. Life’s easier when you just don’t give a fu—uh, fork.”
She smiled. “Good catch.”
“Thanks.” I returned her smile. “I’ve been trying out different substitutes. I think I like that one.”
“Until Stewie starts pre-school and says it to the teacher,” she pointed out. “Not sure how that’s going to go over.”
“Mmm. True. But he’ll be your sister’s problem again by then, no?”
She snorted out a laugh. “Yes, he will.”
I liked hearing her laugh. Liked it better than her bad mood when she first walked in today.
And I definitely liked laughing with her rather than looking ahead to when our cohabitation would be over. But we had a long way to go yet before then.
“So I shared. Your turn. Sit down. Relax. Tell me about this supposed screw up you made.” I picked up the open bottle of white wine and eyed her now empty glass. “Refill?”
“No, but thank you for the offer. I think I might have some of that iced tea I saw in the fridge though.” She moved toward the refrigerator.
I held up my hand. “I’ll pour. You talk.”
Drawing in a breath, she finally settled on a stool at the kitchen island. “I’m embarrassed to even tell you this.”
My brows shot up. “Well, now I really can’t wait to hear. Sounds interesting.”
She rolled her eyes again. “Okay. Fine. So yesterday I heard your girl friends in the bakery—”
“Whoa. Let me interrupt you right there. Just so you know. None of them are my girlfriend. Never have been. They’re just friends who happen to be female.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “Yes. I get that. Thanks.”
“Continue,” I prompted, sorry to have stopped her but happy I’d reinforced that I was free and available.
Completely available. For her.
She drew in a breath. “Anyway, I heard Bethany say bee's knees. And then her two friends both said something else equally . . . odd, colorful, out of character, I guess you could say. I jumped to the conclusion that these were becoming common phrases that Millennials, as a generation, were all using.”
“Oh.” I started to see what had happened.
Sarah glanced up and met my gaze. “I incorporated all the terms I’d heard into my marketing
plan for a new product that’s targeting Millennials.”
I couldn’t control my smile, though I tried.
Poor Sarah. I did feel bad for her. I wiped my hand across my mouth to erase the expression before I explained to her what the deal was.
“It’s not a Millennial thing. It’s a Bethany thing. She says crazy stuff like that all the time. She lived with her grandma for a few years, who used to say stuff like that, so she does too. Bethany does it so often that Red and Harper tease her about it now by doing it too.” I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I should have told you. It just never crossed my mind that you’d go and use anything Bethany said at your work.”
She let out a huff of a laugh. “Well, that’s the thing. I almost used it. I was planning on using it. It was in my notes for my presentation, but the bastard—” Her gaze cut to the swear jar.
I shook my head. “Swear jar penalties are waved for the moment. This is important. Go on.”
She drew in a breath again. “I found the guy on the account with me sneaking a look at my notes right before the meeting. The son of a bitch stole my idea. But it backfired. He presented first, made a big deal about using these hot new Millennial terms in the campaign and got completely shot down by the two bosses in the room because—of course—these aren’t hot new terms at all.”
“Good. Son of a bitch got what was coming to him.” The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. “Who is this asshole anyway?”
Feeling the frown settle on my brow, I was ready to put this guy up against a wall and teach him a thing or two about stealing other people’s shit. I didn’t care if it was an idea or something tangible. Stealing was stealing. He was a fucking thief.
She shook her head. “He’s just some dickhead who got hired a little while back.”
I enjoyed hearing her cuss.
Too bad the swear jar would be going back into effect at the end of this conversation.
I realized my attraction to Sarah had momentarily distracted me from my anger over the dickhead at her job. But now that I thought about him again, my full rage was back.
“You need me to take care of him for you, you let me know.”
A smile bowed her lips. “You would really do that for me?”
“In a heartbeat,” I said, with complete sincerity.
She evaluated me closely with those green eyes, and for a second, I swore she looked interested in more than my nanny services.
Her gaze dropped briefly to my mouth before she pulled it away to focus on the damn glass of iced tea instead.
Had she been any other woman, I would have grabbed her in both hands and kissed the hell out of her. But she wasn’t any other woman.
Maybe that was the point exactly. The reason I wanted her more. Why I pursued her less. Sarah was different. And I was ready, willing and able to rise to the challenge. But first I had to get her out of her work jam.
“So you didn’t make a fool of yourself at work because dickhead saved you by stealing your idea. Right? So everything is good. Correct?”
My gaze dropped to the rise and fall of her chest as she drew in another big breath.
One more button undone on her blouse and I could easily slip my hand inside. Though I’d so much rather have my mouth on her . . .
The fantasy of her nipple between my lips was broken when she said, “I still have no idea for my marketing campaign. The boss wants something different. Memorable. But I’m fresh out of ideas. I was hoping something would come to me if I got out of the office. That’s why I came home early.”
I pushed aside the thrill I got that she was calling the house where she and I lived together home and focused on the issue. “What kind of product is it?”
She cocked her head to one side. “You really want to hear about this?”
I tipped my head. “I really do.”
“Okay. Technically, it’s a new mobile streaming platform but that’s too simple of an explanation because it’s so much more than that. It’s kind of like if you combined the functionality of the best search engines on the internet, with all the paid streaming platforms plus the free ones, then added the learning and customization and voice command capabilities of AI. That’s MOD.”
“Sounds good. Sign me up.” I grinned.
“If only all potential subscribers were as easy to convince as you. Although age wise, you’re right in the target demographic so it’s encouraging you like the concept. Now I just have to figure out a way to make the marketing Super Bowl ad worthy, to quote my boss.”
“Mmm. Super Bowl ad worthy is a tall order,” I agreed.
She let out a huff. “Tell me about it.”
“You know, I don’t think you were totally off-base with the Bethany thing.”
“What do you mean?” She frowned. “You told me yourself that nobody that age range says things like that except for her.”
“Right. But no one said a bunch of the things made popular in commercials until after the ads ran. I mean what was with everyone saying dilly-dilly from that beer commercial a couple of years back? Or from when I was a kid and they aired that what’s up commercial. That stupid saying was so popular they remade it this year into new commercial.”
“You were a kid for the original what’s up commercial?” she asked, with an oddly repulsed look on her face.
“I wasn’t little-little. I was a teenager.”
Sarah sighed and looked defeated again. I ignored it.
I’d always suspected she had an issue with my being younger than her and I wasn’t about to feed that beast, so I continued, “The point is, I remember that commercial all these years later. It was catchy. Annoying as hell after the hundredth time I heard it, but memorable. And you know what else is catchy and memorable? The things that Bethany says. The bartender at the Otesaga in Cooperstown even put a drink on the menu named the Bee’s Knees because of Bethany.”
Sarah narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know. I mean I see where you’re going but this product isn’t well known like Budweiser. It doesn’t have a huge existing following of customers who want to jump on the bandwagon of their newest marketing campaign.”
“That’s true,” I admitted.
I loved that Sarah and I could talk about something other than Stewie or what was for dinner. But I hated I couldn’t solve her problem. That my one good idea was a bust.
“But you know . . .” she began.
My ears perked up as she picked up her cell phone.
“Yeah?” I asked.
“I’m pretty sure that bee’s knees and cat’s meow and all those phrases are from the nineteen-twenties.”
I nodded. “That sounds about right.”
Eyes on her cell, she continued, “And we are now in the twenty-twenties. A hundred years after the roaring twenties, we’re in the next century, presenting the next great new idea.”
“I like it.” I nodded, seeing where she was going with the idea.
Not that I knew shit about advertising, except for what I liked as a consumer. But maybe that was enough.
“Yup. Those sayings are definitely slang from the twenties.” Her eyes narrowed. “What year was television invented?”
It looked as if she was talking to herself, more than to me, which was good since I didn’t know the answer to her question. But as she typed away on her phone, I had a feeling she’d find the answer.
A second later her eyes widened. “Nineteen-twenty-seven. It was in the twenties. Oh my God. That’s perfect. This idea might work. TV then versus TV now.”
She put down her cell and reached into the big bag on the counter to pull out a pen and notebook. I could practically see her brain working.
“I haven’t quite nailed down the concept yet but at least I’ve got an idea.” She raised her eyes to meet mine. “Thank you.”
“I didn’t do anything.” I shook my head.
“You did everything. You gave me an idea. A unique, memorable, wonderful idea.”
“Well, if that’s all tr
ue, then you’re welcome.” I grinned, loving I could help her. And more than happy to accept her gratitude in any form she’d be willing to give it.
I watched as she practically bubbled over with excitement.
If only I could get her this excited over every idea I presented to her. Such as us sharing a bed instead of sleeping all alone in our separate rooms. Personally, I thought that was a stellar idea.
I was happy to be a part of this current brainstorm until she started to gather up her things.
She glanced up to meet my gaze. “I’m going to go upstairs and work on this.”
“Oh. Yeah. Sure. Of course. I, uh, promised Stewie I’d be back to eat lunch with him anyway.”
“Great. See you for dinner?” she asked.
“Yup. Definitely.” I nodded, forcing a smile.
And with that we were firmly back to employee-boss status.
From where I stood, I watched her leave, enjoying the sway of her hips in the tight little trousers she wore. All while hating where I stood with her.
That was it. Come hell or high water, I was going to get myself out of the nanny-box she’d put me in. No matter how long it took.
FIFTEEN
Sarah
“Sarah.”
“Hmm?” I asked, barely hearing my name I was so engrossed in the graphic I was working on.
“You said you were coming down for dinner two hours ago and never did.”
I turned and saw Boone, standing in my open doorway.
“Sorry for barging in. But I knocked, more than once, and you didn’t hear me.”
I knew he was telling the truth because I knew myself. I got so engrossed in work that sometimes hours would fly by.
Some nights I’d look up from my computer at work to find it was dark outside and everyone had gone home but me. Too often I worked right through lunch.
It seemed I’d done it again. At least I was home this time.
Boone took a step inside and I noticed the dish in his hand. “I microwaved a plate for you.”
“Thank you. But I’m not hungry.”
“Nope. You’re gonna eat. And drink. Jeez. You don’t even have water up here?”
I glanced around. “I guess not.” But now that he mentioned it, I was kind of thirsty.
