The Replacement

by Wade, Rachael

  “That was…weird,” Nate says under his breath, his brows furrowing as he glances over his shoulder at Miss Nosey.

  “Ah, you’ll see a lot of that around here.” I shrug, slipping my pen back into my bag. “Especially when I’m nearby.”

  “What do you mean?” he asks, looking genuinely lost. I wonder if Natalie has mentioned the things she’s heard about me. I wonder if he’s already heard them himself, and he’s just playing dumb.

  Nah, he’s too pure for that.

  “Haven’t you heard?” I give him a sly smirk and cross my arms smugly across my chest, my basket knocking into my side. I crane my head forward slightly and tip my chin down, as if I’m about to unveil my deepest, darkest secret. “I’m dangerous.”

  He’s still confused. “You’re…what?” He speaks in a hush, too, almost a whisper.

  “I make good people do bad things.” I also make bad people do worse things, but I don’t add that little detail. Mr. Boy Scout here needs small doses.

  His lips tip up at the corner, as if he’s trying to figure out whether or not he should smile at my words, and his eyes narrow as they dance from left to right. “Okay…”

  “Stick around long enough,” I say louder, dropping my arms and straightening up. I strut past him, tapping his shoulder playfully, then give it a light squeeze. “You’ll see. Bye, Natalie’s Nate.”

  “Uh…bye?”

  I glance back coyly, flipping my long blonde hair over my shoulder and make sure to let my hips sway subtly as I stroll off. That’s when I see it. His eyes are wide, alive with realization.

  Ah, Mr. Boy Scout’s caught on.

  I snicker and break eye contact, leaving him standing there, frozen, with soap dangling from his limp hands.

  Check out doesn’t take me long, and soon I’m back home, unloading my bags and checking my messages. There’s one from Les Trois Enfants—one of the teachers informing me of the upcoming class schedule. It doesn’t begin until after the New Year. I’m too late to join the fall session, but that’s okay because I don’t have the cash yet, anyway. I’d have to dip into my France travel fund, and that’s not going to happen.

  Glancing at my dream jar on my bedside table, I release a sigh, feeling my shoulders slump. I finish unloading my bags and give in to the need for a long, hot shower. All I want to do is crawl into bed and take a nap before I have to go back in to work this afternoon.

  I’m just about to retreat to the bathroom, but my cell phone vibrates on the dresser.

  “Hello?” I answer after three rings.

  “Elise,” Tim’s voice reaches through the phone and grabs me, and I still. I’m so not in the mood for his shit. Not anymore.

  “What do you want?”

  “You know what I want.”

  “I’m sorry, was I not clear enough when I dumped scalding coffee on your crotch the other day? Don’t call me again, Tim.” I go to hang up, but the anger in his voice alarms me. I’ve never heard him like this.

  “You listen to me and you listen to me good,” he seethes, his breaths broken as he pushes out the words. “Don’t you ever humiliate me like that again in public, do you hear me?”

  “Who do you think you are?” I scoff haughtily, shaking my head. Damn, this man makes me so indignant. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, Tim. Back off. This is the last time I’ll tell you to leave me the hell alone.”

  “Elise,” his voice quivers, some desperation seeping through. “Don’t hang up. Look…I’m sorry. Just come see me. Please?”

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  “Yes! I’m out of my fucking mind, alright? I can’t stop thinking about you. I was an asshole. I said things I didn’t mean. Please, come over. Come on, Elise.”

  I’m suddenly grossed out, picturing a balding, sweaty Tim pacing back and forth in his room with a raging hard-on. I’ve never found the guy attractive, but something about the neediness in his voice really sends me over the edge into no-way-never-going-to-happen-again territory. This one has definitely run its course.

  “I said no, Tim. I’m done. So stop calling me, or I’ll call the police and report you for harassment.” I hang up and shove the phone in the dresser drawer. I can’t face another call. Not from Tim.

  I groan and start for the bathroom, but there’s a knock on the door.

  “Seriously?” I blow out a breath and storm toward the front door. If it’s a Jehovah’s Witness, I’m going to strangle the poor bastard. At this rate, I’ll never make it to the shower and I certainly won’t get a nap in before my next shift. I swing open the door with a scowl, finding a startled guy with a tool kit in his hands. “Yes?” I snap, impatiently placing one hand on my hip.

  “Uh…sorry, I was sent to look at your garbage disposal?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut for a second then blink, shaking my head. “Huh? Sent by who?”

  “The landlord?” He looks at me like he’s trying to jog my memory, pressing his lips together. “You reported a problem with your garbage disposal?”

  I move my hand from my hip to my forehead and blink again. “Oh. Yeah, yeah. Sorry, I completely spaced out. Come on in.” I step aside and wave him in, my focus returning. My gaze falls on his gray utility shirt. It’s rolled up at the sleeves, revealing two other kinds of sleeves—intricate, colorful tattoos, one wrapping around each forearm. My eyes are drawn to the works of art, but quickly flick up to his chest, settling on the name patch sewn to his right pocket: Ryder.

  “You’re maintenance?” I ask, sure I’ve never seen him around the building before. “Are you new?”

  “Yep. Just started a few weeks ago.” He shifts his tool box to his left hand and extends his right for a shake. “Ryder Jacobson. Nice to meet you.” It’s then that I look at him—really look at him—and it dawns on me that he’s really fucking good looking. The maintenance department has been taking recruits from a new, very blessed gene pool, apparently.

  He’s tall, dark, and handsome, but there’s nothing flashy about his good looks. He is no star athlete or pretty, squeaky-clean model. Just careless, comfortable sex appeal wrapped up in an easy boy-next-door package, complete with grungy maintenance man khakis and kind, brown eyes to match his tousled chestnut hair. His eyes might be soft, but there’s certainty there, like he knows exactly who he is. It’s unnerving.

  “Elise,” I say, taking his hand. The dark stubble over his cheeks and chin distracts me for a second, but I quickly recover and show him over to the kitchen sink. “It’s all yours.”

  “Thanks. Is it running at all?” He moves to the counter and sets his tools down.

  “Nope, I think the motor’s completely fried.”

  “Huh.” He studies the sink for a moment before reaching to flick on the switch. “I think you may be right. Is this a good time? Do you mind if I take a look at it?” He turns his gaze on me, and I shrug with a half-smile.

  “Sure. Now’s good.”

  “Okay, cool. It shouldn’t take me long to figure out what’s going on here.”

  “No rush.” I leave him to it and turn for the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water. “You want anything to drink?”

  He starts tinkering with the disposal, glancing over his shoulder. “Nah, I’m good, thanks.”

  “I have something stronger.” I grin and retrieve a cold beer, offering it to him. He stops what he’s doing and swivels to face me. It’s then that I see it. He notices me now.

  I can tell by the way his jaw goes slightly slack, his gaze doing a quick once-over, dropping to my tits and snapping back up, lingering just long enough to get a good eyeful. His mouth closes and he looks down, like he’s just been caught ogling me.

  He has.

  It’s the same deal every time a man notices me. I’ve come to recognize the signs well. I humor him, letting my eyes travel from the toes of his boots, over his liberal dose of ink, and up to his broad, strong shoulders. Resting a hip against the counter, I twist the cap off the beer and wait.

 
“I probably shouldn’t drink on the job,” he says warily, a grin sneaking onto his lips. One of his front teeth is slightly crooked and perfectly imperfect. “Eh, what the hell. Thanks.” He accepts the offer and kicks back a swig. He makes a satisfied sound deep in his throat and sets the drink down, turning back to the task at hand.

  “I won’t tell if you won’t tell.” I smile and turn for the bathroom. “I’m jumping in the shower,” I say with a yawn. Sleep is calling to me, and I’m going to need it if I expect to make it through tonight’s shift. We’re going to be slammed. “Thanks for stopping by to fix that.”

  “No problem,” he calls out as I disappear around the corner. “Thanks again for the beer.”

  “Anytime.” I shut the bathroom door behind me and prepare myself for the hot spray of water my tired muscles so desperately need. As I turn on the faucet, an image of me and Christian tangled in a passionate embrace in his luxurious, tiled shower pops unbidden in my mind. I chase the memory away and scold myself for thinking about him, knowing damn well I have no business doing so. But I still see his face, and I still feel his touch.

  I feel him in every part of me.

  CHAPTER 4

  A week passes before I get the courage to call the French school back. I’m still unsure whether I’m ready to commit to the financial obligation. Tuition for the new session after the New Year would be due just before Christmas, and I have no idea if I’ll be able to swing it then.

  I have no idea if I’ll be able to swing it at all.

  I brush my teeth a little too roughly, sneaking a side glance at my dream jar from the bathroom. It sits there on my bedside, taunting me. It’d be all too easy to withdraw just enough cash to pay for the classes. I drag my gaze away from the jar of cash and lean down to spit in the sink.

  I can’t bring myself to do it. Not when I can keep teaching myself the language at home, and not when I know that cash has and should continue to have one purpose and one purpose alone: getting me overseas. Not to mention, it will likely continue to act as my emergency fund when the next unfortunate mishap seeks to drain me.

  Rinsing my mouth out, I decide to close the lid on those thoughts and hurry to make the phone call before I lose my nerve. Or my mind. Or both.

  A polite woman answers and takes my name, then proceeds to give me enrollment instructions. It’s a small, laid-back organization, so they seem pretty flexible. She tells me to come by anytime between now and the end of December to drop off the check, and then adds a few more details about books and what to expect the first session. I thank her for her time and breathe a sigh of relief the second I’m off the phone.

  Hurrying out the door for my evening shift, I make sure to erase the texts from Tim before I leave the parking lot. He’s bombarded me with them all week, and I know that if I don’t delete them now, they’ll only stress me out. I don’t want to see them each time I rifle through my messages. By now, he’s obviously taken my threat to report him to the police with a grain of salt, and I hate that he’s right.

  I won’t go to the police. Not because I’m too chicken shit to do something about the persistent bastard, but because I don’t want to stir the pot any more than I already have. He is Jay’s brother, and word travels fast in this town. I don’t give a rat’s ass what these people think of me around here—they’ve already formed plenty of theories about me, most of which are 100 percent true—but I’d like to keep my place in the spotlight to a minimum. My reputation might be full of noise, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy a little peace and quiet, just as much as the next girl. Besides, aside from being a total douchebag, Tim’s harmless.

  I turn off my phone and chuck it into my purse, and my mind starts to wander again, wondering what would really happen if Jay found out about me and Tim. For a while there, I was so sure the news would harm Jay’s trust in me, but now I’m not so sure.

  Would he be disappointed in me? Absolutely. Would it crush me, knowing I’d let the one man I respect down in a truly horrible way? Hell yeah. But could I get past it? Could he get past it, and would he stand by me anyway? Probably.

  Casting my worries aside, I reverse and pull out of the parking lot, directing my mind back toward more important matters, like the money I need to make tonight. I need to add to the dream jar soon. It’s been a few days since it’s seen any action, and that trip overseas and those French lessons aren’t going to pay for themselves.

  ***

  Natalie talks my ear off as we clock out that night, rambling on about something to do with her goldmine finds at the mall yesterday. I vaguely take in the conversation, which is entirely one sided, but become very alert the second she begins harping on the double date topic again.

  “So, what do you think?” She smiles widely, twisting a red ringlet between her fingers as we walk to our cars. “You, me, Nate, and the mystery man you’re seeing, tomorrow night? The holiday festival begins at 7 p.m. and runs through the weekend. It’ll be fun!”

  “Mmmm,” I swish my lips to the side, pretending to consider it. “Don’t think I’m free this weekend, sorry.”

  “Come on, Elise,” she whines, nudging me in the shoulder like we’re best pals. Where does she come up with this stuff? “You should get out and have some fun. You’ve been working hard.” I pretend to cough, choking on a laugh. This girl has no idea how much fun I have off the clock. She must really have selective hearing when it comes to rumors.

  “I don’t know…”

  “Is it because you want some alone time with your boyfriend? If so, then I totally understand. I don’t want to intrude on your time together. It’s just…well, I think we’d all have a good time. Nate and I don’t know many other couples our age around here. And Nate is new in town and all, so—”

  “Natalie,” I raise my hand to stop her, “you’re not going to quit asking me until I do this, right?”

  Her cheeks puff up with a breath of air she’s holding, and her eyes are bursting with excitement. She looks like a 5-year-old who’s about to be served a banana split, with extra whip cream and cherries. She remains silent, nodding enthusiastically.

  “Fine,” I say. The decision comes out so simply, the ease of it surprises me. “What time do you want us to meet you?” Never mind the fact that there is no “us.” I’m sure I can cart someone along. Maybe Brad. We haven’t hooked up in a while and I know he’s down for it anytime.

  “How about 8 p.m.? We can grab a bite and just mosey around. Sound good?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Yay!” She squeals and leaps forward, wrapping me in a quick hug. My body stiffens. “Let’s meet out front of Stella’s. We can just walk from there.”

  “Okay,” I say, relaxing the second she releases me. “See you tomorrow night.”

  “Yes! I can’t wait! And I can’t wait to meet this guy of yours. You’ve been so tight-lipped about him.” She turns for her car and gives her shoulders a shimmy, again, like we’re best friends sharing some super-scandalous secret. There is nothing super about our conversation, but my secrets are quite scandalous.

  I give her a phony smile and wave, making a dash for my car. I have a date to wrangle up. Shouldn’t be hard, but I know one thing: Christian and Tim are definitely off the menu.

  ***

  I’m awakened the next morning by a knock on the door. I fumble my way out of bed and scamper to turn up the heat in the hallway, shivering from the temperature drop. November in this part of the world is mostly cold and wet, the kind of dampened cold that cuts straight to the bone.

  I yawn and stretch as I hobble over to answer the door. Ryder, the maintenance guy, stands there, looking a little pale. His rich, mocha eyes are wide, and he swallows hard, looking all sorts of uncomfortable. “Hey,” I greet him, my voice groggy with sleep. “Come on in.”

  “Would you rather me…uh, you want me to come back later?” He shifts and runs a hand through his disheveled hair, his jaw muscles flexing. If I’m not mistaken, he’s grinding his teeth.
r />   “No, why?”

  “Well, you know…” He casually waves at me, his eyes dropping down my body, then off to the right, like he’s searching for an exit.

  I shiver again and cross my arms over my chest, glancing down to find whatever’s making him so uneasy. I’m wearing nothing but a sheer white tank top and lace panties. Well, that could be the cause for his frazzled state.

  I laugh and let my arms flop to my sides, gesturing to my near nakedness. “Sorry. I should put something on. Come on in.” I turn and let him follow my lead, feeling his eyes on me. I reach for the terrycloth bathrobe hanging over the back of one of the dining room chairs.

  “Call me crazy,” he says as he closes the door behind him, averting his gaze until I have the bathrobe secured tightly around my waist, “but most people in November wear things like thermals and long johns. You know, warm clothes.” He laughs good naturedly and two incredibly adorable dimples form on his cheeks. Damn. How did I miss those before? They make his smile all the more charming, and I find myself staring for a moment, wishing I hadn’t seen the blasted things.

  “Ha-ha,” I say mockingly, rolling my eyes.

  “So, how’s the disposal been working?” He walks to the kitchen and begins sizing up the sink, moving dishes around to get a peek down the drain.

  “It’s been good— no other problems.” I walk over to the kitchen and hoist myself up onto the counter to watch him work. He’d discovered that a peach pit was jammed in the flywheel the other day. It was an easy fix for him to remove the pit and get the blades moving again. I’m happy to see him stop by to double check and make sure it’s working properly. The old maintenance guy never followed up like this. Sometimes he didn’t show up at all when I needed him. Guess that explains why he’s the old maintenance guy.