Northwest Romantic Comedies: Boxed Set Books 1-6

by Lia London

  Crawford grinned, wagging his head. “I can make phone calls, too, you know.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Huh?”

  He tossed blankets into place as he spoke. “I just finished the Lumberjack Lather gig, remember? They haven’t paid me yet, so I asked if they could pay me in product instead of cash.”

  Maris stumbled backwards, landing hard on a cot. “You what?”

  “They’re paying me in kind.” He shrugged nonchalantly, but his mischievous wink blew her mind. “I’m having them deliver it all here. Should be a few hundred cases of the stuff.”

  Her eyes widened as the air rushed out of her lungs.

  “Maris?”

  “You did not!”

  He chuckled at her shocked reaction. “I fixed it through Bran. They should arrive in the next week.”

  She spoke distinctly to make sure she hadn’t misunderstood. “You’re giving away your earnings to the homeless in the form of body wash?”

  He bit his lip. “Uh-huh. Is that okay?”

  In a single vault, Maris launched herself into his arms, wrapping herself around his torso as she had in the aerial park, but this time she kissed him with every ounce of gratitude in her being. Clinging to him, she ran her fingers through his hair, willing her lips to communicate how amazing she thought he was.

  Crawford’s strong arms folded tightly around her, and he returned her kisses with a sweet fire that melted her into him. She had found the handsome prince her mother had promised, and she was not letting him go.

  “Crawford, what a crazy move, but I swear, you can’t buy publicity like this,” Bran gushed the next morning. “I might have let slip what you did, and there’s a reporter who wants to cover the story. You need to come out to the studio now.”

  “Bran, I can’t. I’m still up in Spokane.” He rolled on his side and watched Maris slumbering on the cot next to his. They’d worked until three in the morning, cleaning and making the place homier. A midnight run to the local Walmart meant there were some cozy bedside lamps on crates that would double for nightstands, a few nature posters decorated the walls, and curtains hung from dowels attached to the ceiling, providing a measure of privacy for the sleepers beyond the entrance area.

  “Get down here!”

  “I’ve had two hours of sleep, Bran.”

  “I don’t want to hear about your escapades with women. This interview will shoot your stock through the clouds.”

  “That’s nice. Tell them I’ll get there by three. Maybe four.”

  “Crawdaddy!”

  “Talk to you later, Bran.”

  While a corner of his brain processed Bran’s announcement and its career implications, the rest of him focused on the way Maris’ hair lay in loose tangles across the pillow he bought her. Watching her sleep was better than yoga or meditation for clearing his mind of anything stressful.

  Careful not to make his cot squeak, he maneuvered himself onto his knees and bent over Maris to brush a soft kiss on her forehead.

  “Mm?”

  “Good morning, Maris.”

  She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and smiled lazily. “Hello.”

  “If I run out to get us some breakfast, do you promise not to run away this time?”

  Still groggy, she nodded. “I promise.” Her stomach growled comically.

  “We forgot to eat dinner last night.”

  Maris’ eyes popped open, and she yelped. “I was supposed to have dinner with Dad and Claudia!” Her brow furrowed. “He’s probably furious!”

  “Not when he sees what you did last night. The place looks great.”

  The dimples softened. “What we did last night.”

  Crawford had heard women say things like that before, but never for the same reason. Never for something as fulfilling as this.

  He patted her cheek. “I’ll be right back. Trust me to get the right things?”

  “I trust you to do the right thing,” she mumbled back.

  He wasn’t sure if she realized the change in meaning her paraphrase took, but the sincerity in her loving gaze cemented his resolve to win her trust in all situations.

  Maris hoped bringing in the photos of all she and Crawford accomplished at the Annex—Angel’s Rest?—would appease her father’s anger at her for missing their dinner meeting with Claudia, but to her surprise, he needed no soothing.

  “Ah, Maris. There you are.” He stood and rounded the desk to give her a hug.

  Holding the phone up, she received the embrace awkwardly. “I’ve brought evidence that my time was not wasted last—”

  “I wouldn’t question it,” said her father. Glancing up, he held out his other arm in greeting. “And now the gang’s all here.”

  Claudia entered with a smug grin. “Hello, Maris.” She dragged out each word with a suggestive lilt.

  Maris narrowed her eyes. “Hello. Sorry about—”

  “Are you kidding?” Claudia barked a laugh. “I’m delighted you pulled an all-nighter with Mr. Jacuzzi. Maybe now you won’t be such a little prude.”

  Her father coughed nervously but did not defend Maris’ honor, and the omission was not lost on her.

  Maris pressed her lips in a tight line before continuing. “I was working. We even helped a homeless woman give birth.”

  Claudia’s brows arched. “Busy, busy!” She gave Maris a patronizing pat on the arm. “Don’t worry. Rickert and I took full advantage of your absence.”

  “Ew.” Maris pulled away and stared at her father.

  “Maris, if you’d come last night to our dinner meeting, Claudia and I were going to make a little announcement.”

  Her stomach flipped. “You’re getting married?” Her fairytale life included a wicked stepmother?

  Claudia sneered. “It’s even worse. He’s bringing me on as a full partner.” She nudged him and added, “With benefits!”

  The wink Claudia gave her father made Maris’ throat constrict. “I see. Well, I have more work to do at the Annex.” Lowering her head, she shouldered past Claudia and into the hall. Her father caught up with her outside the breakroom.

  “Maris, what’s gotten into you?”

  With tears blurring her vision, she avoided contact. “Do I really have to answer that, Dad?”

  His hand rested tentatively on her shoulder. “Maris, I know she can be a bit …” He sniffed and withdrew his touch. “I know you two haven’t really hit it off very well, but maybe we can all get to know each other better.”

  Maris swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m trying to do my job, and while I put in a twenty-hour day, you…” She balled her fists in frustration. “Dad, how could you? She’s all wrong for this company. She’s a user and a manipulator, and she doesn’t care about the people in the community we’re here to serve. She—”

  “Maris, get your head out of the clouds,” he hissed, his stern face warning her to speak in subdued tones. “Your mother has been dead for many years now, and it’s time I move on. Claudia will bring new life to me and the company.”

  Maris wrapped her arms protectively across her chest lest her heart break and spill its contents all over the carpet. She blinked several times until the tears gave up and went back inside her head.

  “I’m tendering my resignation. As soon as the Annex is up and running, I’m out of here.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I won’t work with her.”

  Rickert’s face contorted with disbelief. “Where are you getting this attitude? Where is my Little Angel?”

  Maris rolled her eyes, something she’d never dared do in front of him before. “Your Little Angel refuses to work with the Devil’s own daughter.”

  “And what do you think you’ll do instead?”

  “I don’t know. Philanthropic work somewhere.”

  He snorted. “With whose money? I suggest you think twice about resigning. You don’t know the value of the money you play with every day.”

  Maris narrowed her e
yes. Her father’s suggestions were never just that, but he didn’t understand the value of the lives he played with, including her own.

  Ignoring common courtesy, she stormed into her office and slammed the door. A moment later, she heard Adi’s footsteps and the rustle of her chocolate bag. Maris flung her door open and let Adi in before slamming it again.

  “I heard the rumors Claudia’s spreading around,” said Adi. “But how about you tell me what really happened with Bubble Bath Boy?”

  Maris tried to summon the right words before she dissolved in a puddle of frustrated anger. Just thinking of everything Crawford had done for her in the last week took her breath away, and she gasped for air.

  “Adi, he believes in me and my core values, and he makes me feel stronger, like I can stand up for myself.”

  “I know. I heard you in the hall,” said Adi with a proud nod.

  Maris blinked back a tear. “Am I crazy?”

  A slow smile stretched across Adi’s face as she leaned back against the office door. “Sounds like love to me.”

  Chapter 12 ~ Profitable Affiliations

  “It really was you.”

  Crawford stared at the small woman with delicate Asian features sitting in Bran’s office. “Chieko.”

  “At least you remember my name.”

  Crawford glowered at Bran, wishing he knew how to shoot acid from his eyes. How could his agent send another ex-lover his way?

  Bran, however, played the oblivious card. “You two already know each other?”

  Chieko folded her hands in her lap and regarded Bran. “We did some television work together not so long ago. Who Wants to Be a Soap Star.”

  Bran’s brow shot up. “That whole fiasco?”

  “Yes, wasn’t it, though?” she agreed.

  Chieko’s emotionless expression unnerved Crawford after seeing Maris’ buoyant face. He knew Chieko could be turbulent and passionate, too, but she held her emotions in check better than most, waiting for the best strategic moment to let them out.

  Crawford shifted. “Is this a TV interview? Where are the cameras?”

  “Only perform for the cameras, huh?” Chieko frowned. “What’s the matter, Crawdaddy? No free samples of your ab shots?”

  Crawford balled his fists. “Chieko, I just spent twelve hours helping set up a homeless shelter in Spokane, and then I made the five-hour drive in four because Bran said I had an urgent interview. I’m trying to do what’s right here, but if you’re going to trash on me, I’ll head back up north. There’s work to do.”

  Chieko’s stoic features flushed with surprise. “The new Crawford Andrews.”

  He shuffled his feet. “Trying to be, yeah.”

  There was a long silence followed by a nervous cough from Bran.

  “I’ll leave you two alone for a moment.”

  Crawford swatted the air, ushering his agent out. He crammed his hands into his pockets and stared at his shoes for a moment. “So.”

  “So,” she echoed.

  He glanced up, all pretense and swag aside. “Chieko, I screwed up. I’m sorry. I was being a selfish son-of-a—”

  “Yep.”

  Searching her face, he nodded. “Did you hate every minute of it?”

  Chieko’s brittle exterior seemed to deflate. “No. We were all swept away in the moment, I guess. I was stupid to fall for your crappy lines, but I did have fun.”

  He gave her a half smile. “I’m still sorry I was such a user.”

  “I am, too. But karma bit your butt, so I guess it’s okay.”

  Crawford snorted, shaking his head at the memory of Kamilah Krussman. The aging daytime drama diva wanted to use her status as a judge on Who Wants to Be a Soap Star to coerce a little Crawford magic her way, and he’d been hungry enough for the fame to give in … at least initially. Changing his mind had unleashed her venom, and he’d been removed from the show before his scenes ever aired.

  “And karma got you, too. Look at your success,” said Crawford.

  She shrugged. “It’s a start.”

  “A good start. You’re good at it, Chieko. Very professional.”

  The lines on her forehead softened, and she stood up. “Thanks. I’m trying.”

  Crawford licked his lips. Chieko had never been his type, but she’d been the only one on the cast who took his bait. Now, he could see her with detached interest and appreciate her talent.

  Cracking his neck, he forced a smile. “Well, is this interview playing hardball, or do I stand a chance of coming out of this the good guy for once?”

  “Did you really donate your earnings from a job to a homeless shelter?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you spent time setting it up?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you didn’t get any sex out of the deal?”

  He stood taller. “No.”

  Chieko smiled, transforming her face. “You really are the new Crawford Andrews.” She nodded approvingly. “Let’s plot this story out and see what we can do to help the homeless shelter. What’s it called?”

  “We’re kind of unofficially calling it Angel’s Rest, but it’s through Conway Communities in Spokane.”

  The interview became a conversation, which evolved into a comfortable reunion over dinner. As they tossed their napkins onto the table and leaned back, anticipation crackled in Crawford’s chest. He couldn’t wait to tell Maris all about it.

  “I don’t suppose you’re planning on staying up until two in the morning again?” Crawford’s voice was warm on the phone.

  Maris cradled the phone closer. “Why two?”

  “It’ll take me that long to get there.”

  Her heart leapt against her body’s weariness. “You’re coming back up?”

  “Can I?”

  “Crawford, are you kidding? I need you here!”

  He let out a gentle laugh. “Really? What’s going on?”

  Maris chewed her lip and braced herself for a change in his favor. Surely, he would call her a naïve idiot. “I … Um. I quit.”

  “You what?”

  “I put in my notice of resignation. I can’t take it anymore. He’s—”

  “Wait, what about the shelter? What happens to it?”

  “I … I don’t know yet. I’ll stay until we open it.”

  The silence lengthened, and her stomach seeped down past her knees. “I’m sorry. After all the work you—And the Lumberjack—”

  “Tell me what happened.” He didn’t sound angry.

  “It’d be easier in person, but you’re so far—”

  “I repeat my question,” he said, a smile coloring his voice. “Are you going to stay up until two o’clock tonight?”

  “I will be if you’re coming.” She hid a yawn behind her hand.

  “Tell me where you live, and I’ll be there by 1:30.”

  She knew she was exhausted and emotionally vulnerable right now, but she trusted Crawford to respect the boundaries she had set.

  “832 SW Bingham Street. I’ll leave the porch light on.”

  Despite the drizzly rain, Crawford kept the windows rolled down, so the cold air would blast him awake. This Portland-Spokane commute wasn’t going to work for long. He could feel his muscles dissolving into oatmeal.

  But even as he downed another swallow of the energy drink, he counted the cost and still came out ahead because Maris was at the end of the road.

  Was he crazy? He’d given up a whole paycheck. Hours of workout time. Dozens of female contacts and the physical pleasure they provided.

  What on earth could possibly be worth all of that?

  Maris.

  Maris and the way she inspired him to be more, the way she gave him purpose and tugged him upward towards real manhood. He found joy in serving, even without applause or cameras. And his heart found inexplicable bliss in the simplicity of her grateful smile.

  Someone once told him sacrifice meant giving up something good for something better.

  Crawford took another swig
and pressed the accelerator a little harder. He had 241 miles to decide if he was man enough to change, to sacrifice, to give it all up to be the man Maris saw in him.

  ***

  “Maris, you’re killing me here. Pink bunny slippers? Really?” He laughed, charmed by her Cookie Monster pajamas and messy bun. “Do you have to be this cute dressed like a three-year-old?”

  She slipped her arms around his waist, resting her head on his chest. Could she hear his heart beating?

  “Mmm. You smell like Uppercut aftershave.” She hooked her arm through his elbow and pulled him inside.

  “That’s because I’m wearing it. Like it?”

  “One of my favorites.” She stood on tiptoe and brushed her nose along his jaw line, sending dangerously delicious tingles through his body.

  Exhaling and distancing himself a few inches, he rolled his eyes. “Maris, Maris. I’m not kidding. I …” He fixed his eyes on her, cupping her cheeks in his hands. “I promise not to push anything physical, but you’ve got to try not to pull, too. You have no idea how …” He suppressed a moan and gave her the most chaste kiss he could muster.

  The surge of electricity that accompanied their blinks told him they both wanted much more, but he stepped back. “You had something to tell me, and I have something to tell you.”

  Maris’ eyes lost their dreamy shine, and she folded her arms across Cookie Monster’s eyeballs. “Mine’s bad news. What’s yours?”

  “I guess it’ll depend. How about you go first?”

  “Okay. Want something to eat or drink?” She walked through her cozy living room, arranged much like the Tree House, but with well-worn, stuffed furniture instead of sleek, modern lines.

  “I’ve put away a gallon of Manilicious on the way up, so I’d probably better not.” He sank into the recliner. Snuggling on the couch might distract the budding honor out of him.

  Maris folded crossed legs beneath herself and grinned. “Manilicious? Uppercut? Lumberjack? Do you exclusively use manly-man, stud-muffin products?”

  “No muffins allowed,” he said, chuckling and patting his tight torso. “But yeah, a lot of that stuff is promo from my modeling gigs.”