Based on little things I'd seen and heard, I was almost certain that her mom was surviving like she always had – by trading sex for money. If that's what she wanted, it was fine by me, as long as she didn't force Cassidy along for the ride.
But the thing that really set me off last night was that tense phone call from Cassidy herself. I knew her all too well. She wouldn't've asked for me to travel ten hours to pick her up if she weren't in serious trouble.
Now, a resigned sigh escaped my lips. "But what did you expect? You sounded scared. And I know how your mom is. You think I'd just give up because I couldn’t drive my own car?"
On the bed, Cassidy looked ready to cry. "I knew you'd come if you could, but God, Allie, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't've asked you in the first place." Now, she was literally wringing her hands. "It was incredibly stupid, and now I'm worried you're gonna get in trouble."
Hoping to ease her worry, I joked, "Did you just call me stupid?"
From the look on her face, she wasn't amused. "No. I called me stupid. For leaving that message, the first one, I mean."
"That wasn't stupid," I told her. "Now, moving down here? That was stupid." I leaned forward. "But calling me to take you home? That was smart, like the smartest thing you've done all month."
Finally, she gave me the ghost of a smile. "When do you need to be back to work?"
Oh, crap.
For a moment, I debated lying. But that would just make her worry in another way. Finally, I admitted, "I, uh, don't."
She blinked. "What?"
"I was fired, actually."
Her jaw dropped. "What, why?"
I waved away the question. "Long story. It's not important."
"It is, too," she insisted. "You were so excited to get that job. And you've only had it for what? A month?"
Actually, it had been five weeks. In truth, it had been the best and worst job I'd ever had. On the upside, I'd been working as the personal assistant to some bigtime country music producer. As a huge country music fan, the job had seemed like a dream come true. On the downside, however, my boss had been a total nightmare.
In fact, he'd been such a nightmare that he'd refused to give me any time off to get Cassidy, even when I'd explained that she was in serious trouble.
And then, when I'd informed him that I was going anyway, he gave me the proverbial heave-ho which meant that I was now officially unemployed.
Still, I tried to look on the bright side. At least I wouldn’t be working eighty hours a week anymore. So that was good, right?
In a quiet voice, Cassidy asked, "What happened?"
I gave a casual shrug. "Nothing. The job sucked anyway."
"Don't tell me…." She cringed. "You were supposed to work today?"
"Oh, you know how that guy was." I tried for another laugh. "I was supposed to work every day."
Her eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Allie. I'm so sorry."
That wasn't what I wanted to hear – not because I didn't appreciate her concern, but rather because I didn't want her to feel bad. She hadn't forced me to do anything, and besides, if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn't change a thing.
And I told her so, even as she stood and made her way to the nearby dresser, where she dug through a small stack of clothing. She pulled out a pair of shorts, a little yellow T-shirt, and even a bra and panties, both with the tags still attached.
And then, she hustled me toward the private bathroom, insisting that I take at least an hour to shower and rest.
The showering part was easy. But as for resting?
It didn't happen.
And why?
It was because I spent most of that time arguing with the jackass who'd answered the door.
Chapter 7
Freshly showered and dressed, I was standing alone on the front porch, staring at the empty electrical socket.
I felt my brow wrinkle in confusion. My phone – where was it?
Before barging into the house, I'd hooked it back up to the charger and then tucked it behind a potted plant, intending to retrieve the phone and charger before getting back on the road.
But then, in all the commotion, I'd forgotten both of them, at least until after getting out of the shower.
Now, I'd returned, but the phone and charger were gone. The charger, I could replace. But the phone? Not so much.
Especially without a job.
I bit my lip. Maybe Cassidy had spotted the phone on the way in and snatched it up?
No. If that were the case, she surely would've mentioned it. With a pang of new worry, I glanced around and then did a double-take.
What on Earth was he doing?
Earlier, I'd parked the truck out on the street. I'd even locked it, too.
Now, the truck was still there, but the passenger's side door was wide open, and my shirtless nemesis was leaning with his ass against the side of the truck while talking on his cell phone.
Technically, he wasn't completely shirtless, but he might as well be. The red hoodie was back, not that he'd bothered to zip it up.
When he saw me gaping, he should've been embarrassed – not because of his clothing, but rather because he'd obviously just broken into my vehicle.
But this guy – he didn't look embarrassed at all. Instead, he looked annoyingly at ease, leaning against a truck that wasn't even his own – or mine, for that matter.
I hollered out, "Hey! What are you doing?"
In reply, he held up an index finger, signaling for me to wait.
I felt my jaw clench. Wait, my ass.
I stomped down the front steps and stalked across the front lawn. I stopped within spitting distance and glared up at him. "Hey!" I repeated. "That's not your truck."
Ignoring me, he said into his phone. "Sorry, not gonna happen."
I made a what-the-hell gesture with my hands and moved closer. "You heard me, right?"
Ignoring this too, he focused all of his attention on whatever the caller was saying. And then, he frowned. "Yeah, but you're not dealing with her." An edge crept into his voice. "You're dealing with me."
I stifled a sudden shiver. Even when I'd destroyed his sandwich, he'd never sounded – or looked – quite so ominous.
But I wasn't going to let that stop me. I squared my shoulders and hissed, "We need to talk."
In response, he turned away, facing the truck instead of me.
That’s when I spotted it – my own cell phone, tucked into the back pocket of his tattered jeans.
My mouth fell open. What an ass.
And no, I wasn't talking about his backside, which admittedly, was pretty darn nice.
I gave a small shake of my head. What on Earth was wrong with me?
Shrugging off the distraction, I focused on the phone.
Probably, I should've been happy to see it, but all I felt was irritation. For all I knew, he'd been planning to keep the thing, if only to make me crazy.
The guy had obvious boundary issues. Already, he'd helped himself to the truck and my phone. What next? My panties?
As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I felt an embarrassing rush of heat flash across my face and then, even worse, settle southward. The topic of my panties was so far removed from the situation at-hand that it didn't even make sense.
Plus, the panties in question weren't even my own. They were borrowed, which made the whole idea doubly ridiculous.
Into the phone, he was saying, "Go ahead. Call if you want. But I'm still the one you'll be dealing with."
I cleared my throat. "Hey! Remember me?"
When he didn't even flinch, I sidled up beside him, making myself impossible to ignore.
And yet, the ignoring continued.
I cleared my throat again. "Well?"
Finally, he pulled the phone away from his ear and studied the display. Speaking more to himself than to me, he said, "Guess he hung up."
I gave a snort of derision. "Yeah, I can see why."
Finally, he gave me a smidgen of his atte
ntion. "Meaning?"
I glared up at him. "I'm just saying, you weren't very nice."
"Good," he said. "I wasn't trying to be."
Yeah, whatever.
I crossed my arms. "Speaking of which, what are you doing?"
He gave me a look. "Aside from being hassled?"
I almost laughed in his face. "You're being hassled? Oh, please." I pointed toward the open passenger's side door. "You broke into my truck."
He didn't even look. "You think?"
I wanted to throttle him. So much for an apology or explanation.
"And," I continued, "you took my phone." I thrust out my hand, palm up. "Are you gonna give it back?"
"Yeah."
And yet, he didn't.
"Well?" I demanded.
"In a minute."
I thrust my hand closer. "No. Now."
"Sorry, I'm waiting for a call."
What? I gave a confused shake of my head. "So?"
"So, I'll give it back in a minute, just like I said."
"But—"
Just then, a ringing sounded from his back pocket. "Hold that thought." He reached back and pulled out – yup, sure enough – my phone. He glanced at the display and told me, "Sorry, I've gotta take this."
Un-freaking-believable. "You're kidding, right?"
But no, he wasn't. I watched in stunned silence as he answered the phone – my phone – with a bored. "Yeah?"
By now, I didn't know what to think. Obviously, the call wasn't for me. What did that mean? Had he given my number to some stranger? And if so, how did he get the number in the first place? It's not like it was scribbled on the side of the phone or anything.
This was just terrific.
And now, he was ignoring me again.
I wanted to lunge for the phone and rip it from his clutches. But he was practically twice my size, and unless he was willing to actually let go, the effort would be a total waste. Plus, I'd be risking serious damage to the phone.
With a sigh of frustration, I looked toward the house. Maybe the brother could help?
At the thought, I almost rolled my eyes. Yeah, right. Like I could even ask such a thing after trashing his house.
I looked back my tormenter and hissed, "You're an ass. You know that, right?"
If he heard me, he gave no sign. Into the phone, he was saying, "Yeah, you could do that. But I wouldn't recommend it."
Even through my rage, I couldn’t help but wonder, do what?
After another silence, he said in a dangerously low voice, "Because I know where you live."
I sucked in a breath. Holy crap. Was he threatening someone? On my phone?
I seriously hated this guy.
I waited with growing fury as the conversation continued.
"Here's the deal," he was saying. "I'll pay you double the value, plus a replacement. And in return, you're gonna stop being a whiny little bitch."
My fingers clenched. What a total bastard.
"And," the guy continued, "you're gonna forget it happened. No more cops. No more grief. Not today. Not tomorrow. And not fifty years from now." His voice grew a shade darker. "Or else."
Now, that was definitely a threat.
Obviously, the caller had taken it the same way, because the jerk was saying, "Or what?" He paused for a long, dreadful moment. "I'll be paying you a visit, that's what." He smiled. "And if you think she's a pain, you ain't seen nothing yet."
The conversation ended a moment later with him telling the caller that someone would be there in a half-hour to handle the details.
What details he meant, I didn't even want to speculate.
Aside from throttling him, the only thing I wanted to do now was recover my phone and get him away from the truck.
The phone part was easy. But the thing with the truck? That turned out to be annoyingly complicated.
Chapter 8
When he finished talking with whoever, he held out my cell phone, saying, "Told ya."
I snatched it from his hand. "Told me what?"
"That I'd give it back."
"What, you want credit or something?" My chin lifted. "Maybe you shouldn't've taken it in the first place."
"Yeah?" He gave a casual shrug. "Maybe you shouldn’t've left it outside."
I shoved my cell phone into the front pocket of my borrowed shorts. "I didn't leave it 'outside,'" I told him. "I left it on the porch."
"Same difference, you ask me."
"Except I didn't ask, did I?" I glanced around. "And where's my charger?"
He pointed vaguely toward the front door. "Kitchen counter, near the fridge."
I turned and looked toward the house. So he'd taken the charger inside? Why? Surely, it couldn’t've been just to be nice.
When I turned and gave him a questioning look, he said, "What, you need directions?" The corners of his mouth twitched. "Turn left at the sandwich."
Stupidly, I wanted to giggle. And I wanted to scream. He was doing this on purpose. I just knew it. I gave him a stiff smile. "What, you didn't eat it?"
At this, he had the nerve to laugh. It wasn't a big laugh. It was more of a chuckle really. Still, I liked the sound. And, I hated the fact that I liked it.
I was definitely losing my mind. And he wasn't helping.
Sometime in the last minute or two, he'd gone back to leaning his ass against the truck. This would've been annoying enough, but with him, it was doubly annoying because he looked so stupidly good doing it.
His hair was wavy and thick. His mouth was full and lush. And his eyes? They were dark and intense – the kind of eyes I might've gotten lost in, if only they weren't connected to the most obnoxious person I'd ever met.
It didn't help that his body was just as annoying. His legs were long. His hips were tight. And his whole upper body was too maddening for words, partly because I was seeing way too much of it.
His hoodie wasn't wide open, but it was open far enough to give me another good look at his tattooed torso. His pecs were firm, and his stomach was flat, except for all of those interesting ridges and valleys of tight muscles. Even as far as the tattoos, they'd never been my thing. But on him? Let's just say, I was reconsidering their appeal.
I blinked. Damn it. I'd gone all fuzzy again.
At least I hadn't been staring.
Had I?
In my stupefied state, I had to remind myself that my phone wasn't the only thing he'd grabbed without asking.
There was the truck, too.
The reminder was the perfect cold splash to the warm, funny feelings dancing in my stomach. I gave him a no-nonsense look. "So tell me, how'd you get in?"
"In what?" he asked.
I pointed toward the open passenger's side door. "That."
"You mean the truck?"
Through gritted teeth, I replied. "Of course I mean the truck. What else would I mean?"
He shrugged. "You tell me."
Oh, I wanted to tell him, alright. Unfortunately, calling him names would only waste time. "Well?" I demanded. "How'd you get in?"
He flicked his head toward the truck bed. "Through the slider."
I gave a confused shake of my head. "The slider?"
"The rear window."
"Oh."
"It slides open. You know that, right?"
I hadn't known.
But so what?
Even now, I didn't know much about the truck at all, except that it guzzled gas, drove like a brick, and had no air conditioning whatsoever.
Oh yeah – and if Stuart made good on his threats, that godawful truck would be the thing that landed me straight in jail.
In front of me, the guy was saying, "You should've locked it."
"Oh, so it's my fault you broke in?"
"I didn't break in," he said. "I crawled in. Big difference."
"It is not."
"Sure it is," he said, giving the window a quick glance. "You see anything broken?"
"Oh come on. You know what I mean."
"I
'm just saying—"
"Well, don’t," I snapped.
None of this was going how I'd anticipated. It's not like I'd expected him to grovel at my feet or anything, but seriously, shouldn't he be at least a little ashamed to be caught in the act of, well, whatever he'd been doing.
When he made no reply, I pointed toward his hips. "Maybe you should get your ass off my truck."
At this, his eyebrows lifted. "Your truck?"
Now, that made me pause. Oh, crap.
Did he know something? In what I hoped was a casual tone, I asked, "What do you mean by that?"
"I mean, the truck's not yours."
I felt myself swallow. So he knew? How?
In the back of my mind, I had visions of police cars screeching up to the house, and then – I gave a hard swallow – one of them leaving with me in the back, cuffed and stuffed like a common criminal.
The image was more than a little disturbing.
And he still hadn't answered my question.
I made a sound of frustration. "Are you gonna answer or not?"
Amusement danced in his eyes. "You're awful bossy for someone so little."
I felt my gaze narrow. "Are you calling me short?"
"No. I'm calling you fun-sized."
What was this? Another so-called joke? If so, I was in no mood. And yet, I couldn’t help but wonder what he meant. Fun sized? Like what? One of those bite-sized candy bars?
Candy bars were sweet.
And delicious.
Everyone loved candy bars.
Was this some sort of come-on?
No. Definitely not.
The whole time I'd been here, he'd shown exactly zero interest in me – not that I wanted him to show interest. After all, I wasn't interested in him either.
Not one bit.
Really, I wasn't.
Deliberately, I changed the subject. "Alright, if you're so smart, whose truck is it?"
He flashed me a wicked grin. "Mine."
Annoying or not, my shoulders sagged in relief. It was an obvious joke. Or maybe he was hoping to goad me into flipping out again. Either way, I was just glad that he hadn't mentioned the real owner – a guy with no sense of humor whatsoever, especially when it came to his "sweet baby."
One Bad Idea: A Billionaire Loathing-to-Love Romance Page 4
