by Jill Shalvis
Kevin shook his head. “I didn’t—”
“Talk to the hand,” she said and lifted it palm outward, an inch from his nose.
Since somewhere in the previous century she’d undoubtedly mastered the art of arguing, he only sighed and kept walking. On the walls in the hallway were posters advertising upcoming games, events, clubs. Kids were still scarce, because after all this was summer school, land of the I-don’t-want-to-be-here, and they had twenty minutes until the bell.
But it turned out his classroom door was unlocked. Knowing damn well he’d locked it on his way out yesterday afternoon and that the anal Mrs. Stacy would have locked it as well, he stepped inside and staggered at the overpowering cloud of marijuana smoke. When he blinked, coughed, and waved the smoke clear, he realized the window was open, the screen still flapping.
He raced across the classroom, past the science burners lining the back, one of which was lit, and headed directly for the window.
“See?” Mrs. Stacy stood quivering righteously in his doorway, her blue hair waggling like a Dr. Seuss character. “How many times do I have to say this to you young teachers? You can’t be the kids’ friend. They’ll walk all over you.”
He didn’t plan on being their friend, but he did want to make a difference. It was why he taught, he had this need to fix people.
Well aware that a shrink would have a field day with that, given that he’d never actually succeeded at fixing anyone, he stopped listening to Mrs. Stacy and stuck his head out the window.
“You have to be smarter than them,” she said.
Gee, really?
But, damn, he was too late, his early-bird stoners had escaped, apparently the promise of an empty classroom too alluring to resist. Pretty ballsy to smoke right in the classroom, though. Maybe the first lesson would be going over exactly how many brain cells were lost to weed, and the long term effects.
“Mr. McKnight,” she said, tapping her geriatric loafers. “I’m talking to you.”
“No, you’re lecturing.”
“Well.” She said this with a sniff. “I never.”
Which was probably her problem. “Did you see who came into the school this morning?”
“If I did, I’d have told you.”
Yeah, that was undoubtedly true. Head still out the window, he eyed the ground. In the dirt lay a knit cap in Lakers colors, and he smiled grimly. He’d put it on his desk. Chances were, someone would want it back, and he’d be waiting.
Chapter Three
Mia walked through her quiet, peaceful, gorgeous house, with no particular destination in mind. She just loved all the big, wide-open space, the living room with views of the hills from a wall of windows, and her state-of-the-art kitchen, all meticulously and spartanly decorated by the best of the best and kept spotless by her weekly cleaning service.
No bumping elbows in the hall, no cheap paneled walls, no lingering grease smells, no cigarette-stained carpets.
But especially, no white, frothy lace.
As she moved into her sprawling earth-toned bedroom with the fabulous Century bed and dresser that had been her first splurge, she pulled the panties and bra out of her pocket and set them on her comforter. She slipped out of her skirt and top, fighting the flashback of Kevin doing the same but in a much more sensual, arousing manner.
How dare he throw her orgasms back in her face.
But man, oh man, the incredulous look on his face when she’d said she’d faked them, as if the thought was so beyond comprehension…
She laughed, even as she had to admit, with his skills in bed, it probably was beyond his comprehension.
Damn it.
She glanced at herself in the mirror over her dresser. Unlike her mother and Sugar, she was not blonde and luscious but brunette and average: average height, average weight, average shape, average coloring—and she’d always told herself she had no problem with that at all. When she got a new account at work or went out with a man, she knew it was because of her brains and wit, not her looks.
Still, she did have a nice rosy glow to her skin this morning. People underestimated how good sex was for their bodies. She also had stubble burn on a breast, a hip, an inner thigh…Warrior wounds, she thought and smiled in spite of herself.
Yeah, for last night at least, Kevin McKnight had found her beautiful. There was no doubt of that.
The knowledge was better than a spa day. She showered and then dressed to kill in a Michael Kors silk camisole, jacket, and peasant skirt. It was her own personal armor, a way to put a barrier between herself and any more altercations that might come her way that day, and when she’d slipped into her strappy wedge sandals, she looked cool and efficient. Untouchable.
You were touched plenty last night. And this morning.
That nearly put the first chink in the armor, but she successfully shoved it back. Her new neighbor, his sexy body, and his ability to fling words as fast and effectively as she could weren’t worth another thought.
She left the house and got into the Audi she’d bought herself on her last birthday, the big three-oh. She was a tough cookie, but not quite tough enough to avoid taking a peek down the street, where just two days ago she’d caught her first glimpse of the most incredibly sexy motorcycle she’d ever seen.
Not to mention the man straddling it. Yeah, he’d lifted off his helmet and laid his eyes right on hers, eyes that held trouble and a spark of ready mischief, and when he’d gotten off the bike and stood to his full height, Mia had thought yum: tall, dark, and full of attitude—just how she liked ’em.
With all sorts of wicked thoughts swimming in his gaze, he’d smiled, and she’d involuntarily put a hand to her heart as her pulse leapt.
In turn, his smile had widened and she’d melted on the spot. Clearly, he was a bit of a rebel, a bad boy, which meant he was a man after her own heart, and therein lay the problem.
She didn’t like a man after her heart. She didn’t like anyone to get that close, to get beneath her carefully polished façade. But truth be told, if anyone could have, it would have been one sexy, sharp, smart-mouthed Kevin McKnight.
Oh, she knew his name. First and last. And if she was being honest, she’d never forgotten it.
But this morning, only an hour after she’d left his bed, his bike was gone.
Just as well. After the things she’d said to him, he wouldn’t be smiling at her again, wicked or otherwise. Stinky feet. Snoring.
God.
She’d been really frazzled to lose it so completely if that was the best she could come up with. She really wished he’d just kicked her out at two in the morning when he’d finished with her. And anyway, why hadn’t he been happy she wanted to get away? Weren’t men supposed to like that sort of woman, one who didn’t cling and carry on about relationships?
What was wrong with him?
With a sigh, she drove the freeway with the precision of an air force bomber pilot. The skill was required in LA, especially at nine in the morning in rush-hour traffic. She thought about work and crossed her fingers for the day ahead, as she’d been working her ass off to get the new Anderson account, a hot new national beverage corporation, and she wanted it so bad she could taste it. She’d designed the campaign from start to finish, with the help of a great creative team, of course, and could already see the media and public scooping up everything she dished out.
As the air was already getting warm, she turned on the AC. She listened to traffic and news as she transitioned to the 5 south, and when she got downtown she pulled onto Sixth and into her building’s parking structure.
By the time she entered the thirty-five-story glass-and-steel building that housed the advertising firm where she worked, she was ready. And when she stepped out onto the top floor, she smiled.
Oh, yeah, she had it all: a fabulous career, an office overlooking all of downtown, a beautiful house in the hills—absolutely everything she’d ever dreamed of as “Apple,” sitting in a single-wide and looking out at the neig
hbors fighting on their porch while her mother and Sugar made plans to devour some man or another.
No one in her life from that time would recognize the woman she’d so carefully become. Sophisticated, elegant. Cool, calm ice.
Just as she’d always wanted.
Gen, the receptionist, waved at her. All around, the office buzzed. Phones rang; people moved, talked, wheeled, and dealed. Mia knew there’d been rumors of layoffs, that the powers-that-be wanted to downsize, but she loved the place this big and crazy and hoped it stayed that way. She strode toward her department. Assistant Tess Reis sat at her cubicle in front of the three offices of ad executives she worked for, her fingers pounding her keyboard, either for the slimeball Ted or the more even-keeled but insanely competitive Margot—Mia’s equals.
Unlike Mia, Tess wasn’t average height. Tess wasn’t average anything. She was a tall, willowy, creamy-skinned twenty-seven-year-old who resembled one hell of an expensive collectable porcelain doll. She could have been a model, should have been a model, except for one thing.
She didn’t like to be the center of attention.
What she did like was organization, a fact that Mia was thankful for every single day of her life since Tess had come into it.
At every turn Tess mothered, bossed, and stuck her nose where it didn’t belong. “Listen,” she said before Mia could even open her mouth. “It’s a good news, bad news sort of day.”
As they were good friends as well as coworkers, Mia trusted Tess as much as she trusted anyone. “Good first.”
At that moment Margot walked up to the desk, sleek and professional in her smart black Chanel suit and blond chignon. Never one to pull punches, she eyeballed Mia while handing Tess a stack of files.
Mia lifted a brow.
“Bee-yotch,” Margot said.
Adrenaline suddenly pumped through Mia. “I got the Anderson account?”
“I’m assuming so, by the huge delivery that came for you this morning.” Margot shook her head. “Damn it. I’ll congratulate you when I can say it without spitting.”
She was so excited she couldn’t hear. “Delivery?”
“A big-ass plant, which I’m sure you’ll kill pronto like all the others.” Turning on her heels, she walked away.
Huh. The world kept spinning on its axis. Behind them a trio of assistants, all twenty-something and young and silly, were tittering over a computer screen. Fifties jazz came out of the sound system, fitting right in with the art deco theme of the office. The office had the scent of hip success and coffee, Mia’s favorite combination.
She felt like yelling Woo hoo! but that seemed rather high school, so she settled for a shit-eating grin instead.
Tess bent down out of sight and came back up with a huge, lush green plant in a beautifully hand-painted clay pot. “Well, now you know the good news. Do you think I should keep the plant out here? You know, to protect it?”
Yeah, yeah, so she’d killed every single plant she’d ever had, not to mention every goldfish…
She’d gotten the Anderson account. Everyone in the free advertising world wanted the Anderson account. She’d fought long and hard—and she’d won.
All around her the carefully controlled chaos continued, and though she’d have liked to burst into song and do the happy dance, she just continued to grin. “This is definitely good,” she said in grand understatement.
Tess laughed and set down the plant to hug Mia.
“Does everyone know?” Mia asked.
Tess’s grin widened as she pulled back. “Oh, yeah.” She shifted close. “It’s said that Dick actually smiled at the news that it landed in-house.”
Dick Sterling was Mia’s boss. “So give me the bad news,” Mia told her. “Not that anything can be bad today.”
Tess’s smile faded. “You’re not going to like it.”
“Never start out with that sentence.”
“Ted is waiting for you in your office.”
Mia’s eye twitched. “What does he want?”
“There’s no telling.”
“Why don’t you tell him that at the moment I’m out of my mind, but he can feel free to leave a message.”
Tess smiled tightly. “He says he has a beef with you, but we both know he really has a beef for you.”
Mia wrinkled her nose. “Don’t, I just ate breakfast.”
“You don’t eat breakfast.”
“Yeah. Damn.” She inhaled deeply and concentrated on the Anderson account. “All right. I can handle him.”
“Like you handled—what’s that guy’s name on twenty-five?”
“Phil.” Mia had gone out with tall and hunky Phil one night after they’d met at a mutual friend’s birthday party. But he’d been a piss-poor kisser, not a promising sign. “I told you, that didn’t work out.”
Tess sighed. An eternal optimist always looking for “the one,” she worried that Mia had commitment issues.
“Speaking of things working out. Did your sweet little old lady neighbor enjoy the cookies I baked yesterday?”
“Uh huh.” Mia reached for her stack of phone messages.
Tess nabbed them first, holding them out of reach.
Mia, knowing what was coming, sighed. “What?”
“Talk to me.”
“Yes, thank you, the cookies worked wonders. Look, I just got the news of the year. Trying to remain excited here.”
“Do you think I can’t tell when you’re lying through your teeth?”
“I am excited.”
“The cookies, Mia.”
“Fine. The cookies were a huge hit,” Mia said with great exaggeration, waggling her fingers for the messages.
“By—let me guess now—a man.”
“Does it matter that they weren’t for the exact neighbor you thought?”
“No, except I would have charged you double if I’d known you were going to use them as a seducing technique.”
“What? Why?”
“Why? Because I made them thinking you were being kind to old ladies. Because I made them so you’d remember to give me a raise next month when I’m due for review. But, damn it, all that’s really going on here is you’re getting laid and I am not.”
“I’m always kind to old ladies, and you know I’m going to recommend you for a raise. It’s well deserved. Except, of course, when you hassle me. And FYI, to get laid, you have to stop waiting for your prince and date.”
“Fine change of subject.” Tess let out a long breath. “Just lay low on any destroying of hearts at the moment, okay? Especially with this impending Ted disaster.”
“It won’t be a disaster.”
“Says Hurricane Heartbreaker Mia Appleby.”
Unconcerned, Mia eyed her messages. “I have a creative team meeting, and then a research review for that last campaign we did for Sorvenson Foods. Busy day, as you know all too well. Can I have my messages now?”
But Tess continued to hold the messages hostage. “Was he cute?”
“Who?”
“Whoever gave you that glow.”
Though Mia appreciated men, she did not sleep with them that often. She had her standards, after all, and besides, being a serial one-night-stander was simply too dangerous in this day and age. Last night had been her first…break, as she thought of it, in a while. “He was gorgeous.” Again she reached for the messages.
“Are you going to see him again? Wait a minute, why would I ask such a stupid question?” Tess smacked her head. “Of course you’re not. You don’t repeat.”
“Unlike some people who shall not be named. I’m not looking for a husband.”
“Good, because you’re not going to find him in the sack.”
“I’ll have you know, Kevin was quite amazing in the sack.”
“Kevin.” Tess nodded. “I’m impressed. You got his name.”
Mia tried to snatch her messages, but Tess hugged them tight. “I’m just worried about you. You never attach. It’s not good for you.”
�
��I’m attached to you. Though I’d be more attached if you gave me my messages.”
“I’m talking about the person you’re going to grow old with. Get gray hair with. Sit on the porch swing and tell stories about the good old days with.”
“I’m never going to get gray hair, thank you very much. And I don’t like swings. Messages?”
“How could you not like swings? Tell me the truth. You’re not human, right? You grew up in a pod and were placed here on earth when you were twenty-two. Fine. Take your damn messages.” She slapped them into Mia’s hand.
Mia looked at her, amused. “Grew up in a pod?”
“Well, that’s just a guess since you won’t talk about yourself before college. It’s all a big mystery.”
Some of her amusement vanished. “Nothing before matters.”
“Mia.” Now Tess gave her one of those patented maternal expressions, full of worry and concern and, damn it, affection. “Of course it matters, it—”
“Stop. Okay? Just stop. You worry far too much. Thanks for the messages.” Mia grabbed the plant.
“Don’t punish the poor plant!”
Mia just shook her head and headed for her office door, passing by the cubicles of the four members of her creative team, Janice, Tami, Steven, and Dillon. They were all at work on various projects, so she waved and moved on. So she didn’t want to talk about her humble beginnings. So what? No reason to feel that twinge of guilt—no reason at all—just because Tess gave everything of herself, no holding back, whatever Mia needed at all times, including cookies.
Damn it, Ted Stokes was in her office, lounging in her chair as a matter of annoying fact, leaning back, feet up as if he owned the place. Luckily, or maybe unluckily, he’d been blessed with a face that women everywhere thought of as California beautiful. He was strong and tan, and when he smiled he flashed baby blue eyes and a dimple, melting hearts and dampening panties everywhere.
But Mia wasn’t fooled by him. Beneath that fun-loving exterior beat a cold, purposeful heart. She set down the plant and gathered her bitchiness around her like a Gucci coat.
