by Vivian Wood
Silence reigns in the car. I glance back to him. His brows are pulled down, his expression intense.
“What?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I guess I just didn’t see you as a volunteer. That’s like… really…” He searches for a word. “Compassionate, I guess.”
“That’s me,” I say, pulling a face. “I’m known for being exceptionally compassionate.”
Luca glances over at me. “I’m starting to think…” He scrunches up one side of his face. “I’ve known you for eight years, but I didn’t actually know shit about you.”
That earns a half-smile from me. “I know. What have I been telling you this entire time?”
He smiles, looking straight ahead at the road. “You know I don’t listen that well.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m still smiling. “Whatever. Just remember, in seven weeks we go back to being enemies. So just keep that in mind.”
His low chuckle gives me a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. I sit back, enjoying the heated seats. Luca turns on the radio. I stare out the window as buildings pass by, blobs of color.
If this is a draw, both sides having exhausted themselves, I’m content enough with it for right now.
12
Luca
“If you’ll turn to page five of the contract you provided me with, I can go down the list of clauses that the band will have a problem with.”
God help me. In fact, God help us all if this deal doesn’t go through. I’m in my office standing near my desk. My phone is on speaker, the voice of manager for The New Deals echoing against the walls. He’s about a million years old and exceedingly cranky.
Marvin clears his throat loudly. “Now, the first clause, the definition of performer— that will obviously have to go…”
I am literally about to punch something. This is the third time that I’ve been on the phone with him in the last ten days. Every day is more irritating than the last. How do The New Deals get anything done?
Their manager is over here, telling me that the most basic language in my boilerplate contract won’t work. Who has time for this fucking bullshit? If I didn’t want the band so badly, I would just hang up right now.
Marvin drones on. “The thing about defining who the performer is… it’s bull. And let me tell you why…”
“Marvin,” I interrupt him. “Is there any way at all that I can get you to just send me a marked up draft of the contract?”
He sighs. “No. I hope you are making notes, because I only want to go through this once. I feel like you are young enough to learn something from it.”
I couldn’t roll my eyes any harder. Could he be any more condescending? “Yeah, listen. I’m going to have to call you back, Marvin. I don’t have anything to write on here.”
That’s distinctly a lie. I cast an eye over my notepad, open to a blank page, ready for my notes. I’m just not interested in having some old geezer lecture me about anything at this point.
Marvin clears his throat again. “Should we set an appointment for you to call me back?”
“Look for an email from me,” I say. Then I disconnect the line.
Rolling my shoulders, I walk to the office door. Across the hall, Owen’s light is on.
“Are you busy?” I call out.
There are several seconds of silence, then he yells back. “Come in, Luca.”
Striding across the hall and pushing his door open, I see Owen at his desk. His computer screen is open to a spreadsheet and there is a tired look on his face. He puts his hands behind his head and pushes back in his seat.
“What’s up, man?”
Shaking my head, I sigh. “You know that band, The New Deals?”
He squints. “Yeah, I think so. They’re new, right? Out of Houston, really grunge-y sound?”
“Yeah. I like to think they are a mix between the -era Stones and a heavier Nirvana.”
He nods. “Yeah, okay. I trust your judgment on that. What’s up with them?”
I lean against the metal doorframe. “Their manager is not from this era. Or the last, even. And he expects me to sit in my office and take notes on all the things in the contract that he takes exception to… and he’s so fucking condescending too.”
I make a strangled noise.
Owen’s eyes tighten. “That sounds like a drag.”
“Yeah. It really is. I really want the band to play here but I also like… I don’t let people talk to me any kind of way. He approaches me like I’m a kid or something. I’m a whole-ass adult that owns The Attic.” I make a face. “Marvin should be glad that I want to have his band come play a show.”
“Well, you own part of The Attic. Bradford and I own shares too.” Owen’s mouth curls up.
Rolling my eyes, I sigh. “You are ever the money guy, Owen. I just meant to say I’m not unsuccessful.”
He sits upright, arching a brow. “Do you want to have a drink? It’s only early afternoon but I’m about to go cross eyed if I look at another list of numbers.”
“God yes. Come on, we can grab a drink and pretend that our offices don’t exist together.” I turn around and head down the hall toward the front of the house. When I get out to the bar area, I stop for a second.
Down at the other end of the bar Cate stands with a guy wearing a shirt with the logo of our liquor delivery company. Cate is already full dressed for work, in her short dark dress and tall high heels. When I see Cate grin at something he says, hooking a strand of her hair behind her ear, my gut reaction is straight up jealousy.
I never felt that way before Madisyn dumped me. It just didn’t occur to me to care. Why would anybody I dated have any complaints? As far as I know, I’m basically perfect boyfriend material.
But now I’m broken. Seeing Cate talking to another guy, knowing that she doesn’t really belong to me… something inside of me twinges and curdles. Owen claps me on the shoulder, looking at me as if I’ve grown three heads.
“You’ll have to keep moving if you want to get to the whiskey.”
Shooting one final glare down to Cate and the delivery guy, I swipe a bottle of Four Roses and two glasses from off the bar. “I’m going, I’m going.”
I turn and head to a table two dozen feet away, setting the whiskey and the glasses down. When Owen gives me a questioning look, I shrug. “Privacy.”
We both sit down at the high top table. Owen glances at Cate and the delivery guy, pursing his lips. I pour out two fingers of amber liquid into each glass. Then I slide one to him with a frown.
He raises his glass, waiting for me to do the same. I clink my glass against his, shooting Cate another dirty look before I turn the glass bottom up, drinking the whole shot in one gulp.
Owen frowns. “If it’s bothering you so much, go say something.”
Narrowing my gaze at him slightly, I shake my head. “Not until he leaves. I’m sure our liquor distributor would be interested to find out that their driver has so much time, though.”
He shrugs. “She is your wife, man. At least technically. Isn’t that the deal you guys have worked out?”
Pursing my lips, I pour myself another shot. “We don’t have any rules about flirting with other people.”
He sighs exasperatedly. “Obviously you should, though. Look at you. You’re so tense. I would laugh at you if I didn’t think you would punch me in the face.”
I slide my gaze to Cate again. “I should set a boundary. Just until the marriage is dissolved, I mean. No flirting with other people. It looks bad.”
Owen sips his whiskey, shaking his head. “Like that’s the only reason.”
I snort. “What, are you calling me stupid? Look, I know that I am a control freak—”
“You like Cate.” He grins and finishes his glass.
My expression goes dark. “I do not.”
He seems unworried. “You do so. You can admit it. She is your wife, you know.”
“We’re getting a fucking annulment, for fuck’s sake!” I snap.
He nods to Cate. As I look over, the delivery guy leaves. She smiles to herself a little bit.
“Look, now’s your chance. At least set some basic rules, dude. You have bigger things to worry about than who Cate is giving her number to. Like, for instance, The New Deals. And a million other things, probably.”
I shoot him the dirtiest look. “Fuck off.”
Pressing himself up, he picks up his glass. “I think I hear the spreadsheets calling out my name.”
Waving him away, I finish my second shot and follow him to the bar. When Owen sets his glass on the bar and heads into the back, I scoop his glass up. Putting the Four Roses away, I take the dirty glasses down to where Cate stands, unloading one of the dishwashers. As she unpacks each glass, she gives it a wipe down, making sure it’s dry.
Only then does she put it back behind the bar. She eyes me curiously.
“What’s up?”
I set the glasses down, trying for a neutral tone. “I saw you talking to that guy.”
For a second, her brow furrows. Then she puts the pieces together. “Oh, you mean Justin?”
Folding my arms across my chest, I sigh. “Yup.”
Cate shakes her head a little bit. “He introduced himself. It turns out that we went to neighboring high schools. We know a lot of the same people.”
“I don’t care,” I say. “What I do care about is not looking like a fool.”
She stops wiping one of the glasses and cocks her head. “Okay?”
“I don’t pay you to flirt with every guy that comes in here. Especially not delivery guys.” I frown.
She throws her towel down and faces off against me. “I didn’t flirt with him. I was just nice. There is a difference.”
I take a step closer. “Not to Justin. And you can just bet that he goes back to the liquor distributor and tells the guys there that the owner of The Attic has a new wife who seems easy.”
“Ahh!” she makes an angry sound. “That is unfair. If he were to tell the guys that, it would be making a big leap of logic. Just because I was nice doesn’t mean I want anything more to do with him.”
As if to punctuate her point, she crosses her arms. I shake my head, laughing a little.
“Cate, you don’t get how guys work. You’re nice to a guy? Well, in his mind, you just gave him permission to hit on you. You encouraged it.”
She rolls her eyes. “So his imagination runs away with him. So what? That has nothing to do with me. Maybe he does think that but the second he starts acting like some kind of pick up artist, I’ll set him straight.”
I scowl. “You’re not listening. I’m talking about me and my reputation here.”
Cate steps forward, jabbing me in the chest with her index finger. “No, you’re the one not listening! This isn’t about you at all. It’s about how I interact with other people. Who do you think you are, anyway?”
Reflexively I grab her hand and back her against the bar. My breathing is a little faster than usual, my pulse racing. She just knows how to make me so mad. I lean over her, relishing the way her head drops back and her eyes widen. She’s sexy like this, shaking her head defiantly.
I press my hips against hers lightly, glaring down at her. “I’m Luca Leone,” I growl. “And for the next six weeks, I’m your husband.”
Her eyes glitter. “So?”
She’s taunting me. Daring me. She thinks that I won’t do anything?
Oh, she’s wrong. So damned wrong.
I press my lips against hers, just to show her that I can. She tastes sweet, like she’s just been eating berries. I press further, bending her back a little. Cate struggles, slapping me in the face, but for some reason that just makes me want to kiss her harder. So I breathe in deeply and sink my hand into her hair, pulling her against me as hard as I can.
I kiss her again, my lips working against hers. She’s not exactly made of stone either; I feel her lifting up on her tiptoes, her mouth moving in time with my lips and tongue. I hear her panted breath. The blush on her cheeks. I feel her small body pressing against mine.
Fuck. She tastes good.
Not only that, but she feels good in my arms.
Who would’ve guessed?
At that moment, Bradford walks in. “Hey Luca, do you have…” He stops and stares. “Oh, I didn’t mean to intrude—”
Like a flash, Cate worms out of my grasp. “Let go, Luca.”
And I do. I step back, watching her flee toward the locker room. She doesn’t look back, but I can still feel her heat on my lips. Her delicate rose scent is still in my nose.
“Like I said, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” Bradford says. He’s smirking at me.
I feel my face begin to heat. “Shut up.”
Bradford makes a face and then huffs off to the back. I’m left to stare after Cate, my body tense and my brain full of confusion.
13
Cate
Long black skirt, grey knee socks, a gray blouse. The standard wardrobe of a very boring person. So Luna and Luca say, anyway.
I’m dressed for mass, although it’s not the fancy Sunday one. It’s late Wednesday afternoon; the sun is just beginning to set, the cool Seattle shadows growing longer and longer. I pick up my shoulder bag, heading down the stairs toward the front door. It’s funny how I have only been here in Luca’s for a few days but already I have a routine.
Get up early, find something to do outside the house. Come back when I’m already tired. No time to spend lazing around the house or looking as if I’m inviting Luca’s company. Actually, it isn’t that different from my grandmother’s house, come to think of it.
What can I say, I do love a schedule. It’s human instinct I guess. Plus, it limits the amount of time I spend thinking about Luca… and that kiss.
Oh, that kiss. The one that curled my toes and sent heat shooting through my veins. The one that got my blood pumping, especially when he ground his lower hips against mine.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Luca is sexy. He’s just also a total jerk.
I catch myself remembering what it felt like when he caged me against the bar and kissed the daylights out of me. I mean, I think about it every few minutes on average. Every single time that I do, I sternly remind myself.
It’s never been a problem with the way Luca looks. The problem is with his personality, which totally sucks. Estimating the number of times he’s been mean to me would be impossible. There is a very good reason we’re enemies. I just have to remember that.
Thundering down the stairs, I make it all the way outside before almost running into the man I’ve been trying so hard to avoid. I can tell from the way his motorcycle is parked just behind him, his hair messy from the helmet, that he just climbed off the bike. He stands at the bottom of the stairs, arms folded, surveying me boldly.
How he makes me blush while I wear my most conservative outfit, I don’t know. A little smile plays upon his lips as he considers me.
“Where are you going, princess?” He folds his thick arms across his broad chest.
I swallow. “Out.”
He glares at me. I can feel my cheeks begin to heat. “Out isn’t really an answer.”
Rolling my eyes, I hitch my shoulder bag on my shoulder. “I’m going to mass.”
There is a note of surprise in his voice. “Isn’t that on Sundays?”
I shake my head, tucking a piece of hair back behind my ear. “I don’t go on Sundays. It’s too crowded. I prefer the Wednesday services.”
“You actually go every week?” He looks fairly impressed. That makes me scowl.
“Yes,” I say, pushing past his big body. “Twice, sometimes. Confession is good for the soul.” I cast a glance at his motorcycle. “Are you still riding that thing?”
Luca chuckles. “Yes. I’m all alone for a while when I ride. It gives me time to think.”
Turning to walk away, I sigh. “You could say the same for going to mass. It’s quiet. It gives me time to work out problems, in b
etween singing prayers. Now if you don’t mind…”
I start heading for the bus. Luca is quiet for a second, then he calls out to me. “Hey. I’ll go to mass.”
What the what? I turn, making a face. “I’m sorry?”
“I said I’ll go. I’ve never been. I can’t really shit talk the Catholic faith without any firsthand experience.” He narrows his eyes. “But you have to do something for me in exchange.”
I shake my head. “Why would you think I care about whether or not you go to mass?”
Rolling his eyes, he gestures. “Come on. Ask what I want in exchange.”
Exhaling a long stream of air, I open my arms. “Okay, I give. What do you want in exchange, Luca?”
He smiles, turning to indicate his motorcycle. “I want equal consideration. You say that you like church because it’s calm and meditative. That’s why I like my bike. So tit for tat.” He pauses, his smile turning rueful. “It’s that or a Radiohead concert, okay?”
Crossing my arms, I narrow my gaze on his bike. “That’s it? You just get to take me around the block?”
“No.” He shrugs. “I’ll drive you somewhere special sometime.”
I check the time on my phone. “Will you let me get to mass now if I agree to let you take me on a ride?”
Luca sighs. “Yes. Actually, I will drive you there. In the Porsche, that is.”
I arch a brow. “Fine. But you’re going to need a suit jacket.”
He smirks. “I keep an extra in my car. I’m not a farmer, Cate.”
“Fine.” I press my lips together.
He gestures to the car, digging for his keys in his pocket. I head over there and he opens the passenger side door solicitously.
“Thanks,” I say automatically. I glare at him, wondering what he wants.
His smile gives nothing away. “See how we can get along when we want to?”
“Oh, good lord in heaven.” I make the sign of the cross as he closes the door and jumps in the driver’s side.
The whole ride there I stare out the window, trying to puzzle out why Luca even cares about what I think. I quickly become aware that this car smells like him, the light scent of musk and cinnamon combined with lemons.
