by Misti Murphy
PAYNTER
Life plans are like assholes. Everyone has one. Garrett has a plan to raise his daughter and play the field at the same time. James has a plan to keep his company synonymous with corporate real estate and retire early. Ronnie has a plan. God knows what it is other than having her interiors on the glossy pages of magazines like Martha Stewart Living and Elle Décor. She always had those littered around our parents’ living room. The point is, everyone has a plan, including me, but there’s a huge difference between having goals and dreams to accomplish and micromanaging every single aspect of your life to some ridiculous expectation.
There’s no air around people like that. I don’t know why I figured Chloe was different. I was so wrong, it’s laughable. But I’m not laughing.
Instead I’m playing golf with James and trying not to consider his role in Chloe’s grand scheme and why his appearance at my house the morning after she’d spent the night in my arms sent her into a tailspin.
“Your swing’s off,” James says as my ball flies into the rough for the twelfth time this morning. “You haven’t played this badly since—”
“Don’t say it. I don’t want to hear it,” I snap, picking up my tee. The last thing I want to talk about is women, with their calculated plans that involve getting away from me so they can run into the arms of people like him.
I’m proud of my elder brother for being driven and successful. And it’s understandable that he looks the part, but what the hell is with Chloe freaking out when she heard him in my house? Obviously they know each other, and recalling our first meeting she did say she works in corporate real estate. It would be understandable for them to mingle in the same circles, wouldn’t it? I’m almost certain James would know every player in his field on some level, but Chloe’s reaction came across as much more than friendly, or not so friendly, competition between rival companies. It almost seemed personal. Did they date at some point? Does she want to date him? Is that why she lost it— because she spent the night with the wrong brother when she planned to get her mitts on James?
When he swings, the ball soars through the air with almost uncanny accuracy, landing on the green. “Look, I know you get tired of our bringing her up, but we worry about you. That house isn’t your style at all. The chandelier.” He shakes his head, since there’s really nothing to say about how damn awful it is. “It’s like you’re living with a ghost.”
“Well, I’m not.” I grimace. I can see where he’s coming from, looking in. Bernadette’s stamp is still on my life, but it’s only a house. “It’s a great house, in a great location where I happen to like living. I’m socializing again, but you know my work is mostly solo.”
“Garrett did say you met someone,” he says, as we hop into the cart and drive along the fairway toward where we last saw my ball.
“What did he say?” After everything Garrett said that night, I’d still believed he was wrong, but apparently, I have a type. The more stuck-up and emotionally unavailable, the better. But the first step in dealing with a problem is recognizing you have a problem. Whatever there was between Chloe and I is over. It’s not worth analyzing.
“He said you were hitting it off with one of your neighbors.”
He leans on his golf club while I poke around in the rough, locating my ball. Chloe and I had certainly been hitting it off, if that’s what James wants to call it. Then he waltzed into my house, and she went ice cold on me. I check my swing before I thwack the ball back onto the fairway. It bounces a couple times and rolls to a stop close to the green. “He should probably learn to keep his mouth shut.”
“That’s not Garrett’s style. You know that.” He checks his Rolex. “This’ll have to be the last hole. I have a business luncheon at the club.”
“You’re always working.” I shoulder my golf bag and lead the way to where our balls wait. “When was the last time you actually went out and had fun for the hell of it?”
“You’re one to talk. Up all night at that computer of yours. I bet you still sleep at your desk more often than not.”
“The difference between us is that work isn’t the be all and end all for me. I’m not trying to accomplish anything.” I’m not working my ass off because it’s part of some grand scheme to have the perfect life. As far as I’m concerned, the one I’ve got is as damn close to ideal as I need to get. Unlike James, who is always shooting for something better. Unlike Chloe.
“I suspect you might know my neighbor. Or at least I think she knows you.”
“I know your neighbor? Is this the one Garrett’s been talking about?” He shifts his iron from hand to hand with a puckered brow while he waits for me to take my next shot.
“I assume so.” I adjust my stance and bring my club up as I focus on where I want the ball to land. My grip on the stick is almost as tight as the joints in my jaw just remembering how Chloe called being with me a mistake, and how she’d ousted me because she has all these big plans. “She ran out of my house after you left like her ass was on fire.”
“Because of me?” He massages his temples, blocking out the sun with his hand. “Who is she?”
I swing and connect with my golf ball, sending it flying. This time it lands on the green feet from his. “Name’s Chloe. I’m not actually sure of her last name. She definitely works in your field.”
“Chloe? Dark hair, blue eyes? A little reminiscent of Liz Taylor?”
“Yup, that would be the one.” I nod.
He chortles and his shoulders shudder. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”
“Do I look like I am?” I glare at him, picking up my bag and marching toward the green. I’m grateful we’re almost done here if his reaction is anything to go by. There’s clearly a relationship of some sort between the pair.
“You’re hitting it off with Chloe Green?”
“I was.” I give a half-shrug. “Until she saw you.”
“Wait.” His brows draw together in a line over his eyes. “Do I detect jealousy in my little brother? Is that why your game is off today? Because you think Chloe and I—”
“I think she saw you and decided she wanted to have nothing to do with me.” I’m not going to waste my time trying to convince her that I’m worth her time when she’s obviously more interested in landing a guy who’ll further her career and whatever the hell else she thinks is so important.
“That’s probably because I’m her boss. She’s a partner in training, and she works directly under me.”
“Please don’t say under like you’re on top of her.”
My normally unruffled brother hoots. “You’re taken with her.”
“Nope.” There’s nothing to be taken with. She was transparent about how she felt about being with me. I don’t know why I wasted my time with her. I glance at James’s ball lying a mere yard from the hole. “I believe you’re up.”
Sliding his iron back in his bag, he pulls out his putter. “I’m not surprised she freaked out at the idea of dating her boss’s brother. Work is her life. But I like the idea of you two together. It actually makes sense and might help her loosen up a little. Just don’t be an ass to her.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Look, I like Chloe. She’s fantastic at her job. Dedicated. Probably the hardest worker I know. But she puts herself under a lot of stress.” The little white ball travels over the green before tipping into the hole. “I’ve been trying to get her to go out and socialize, to do something that isn’t wrapped up in work, but she’s got a bee in her bonnet.” He puts away his putter. “She came into the job with some serious hang-ups.”
He lifts his palm as I open my mouth to ask what he thinks her problem is. “I don’t know what, I don’t want to know. Unless she wants to tell me, it’s none of my business. All I’m saying is, she has something to prove to someone, maybe only to herself, but it isn’t going to be easy for her to let it go.”
“What makes you think she wants to let it go?” I knock my ball across the green and
watch it circle the hole. Either my brother is wiser than the rest of us give him credit for or this should be fair warning to stay the hell away from my sexy neighbor. The last thing I want to be is some woman’s chess piece on her way to proving herself. But given how she ran when Garrett was ranting about Bernadette, and the way she took off after James came to my house with a wild, fearful, glazed look in her eyes, I’m not as certain it’s directed at me.
***
I’m raking leaves in my front yard. Dragging them into a pile and then gathering up heaping armfuls and tossing them into the bin. Most of my neighbors pay gardeners to come in and do yardwork for them, but I enjoy the chill in the air and the damp sweat that sticks my clothes to my skin with a bit of hard work. The fresh outdoor scent is invigorating, even if it doesn’t clear my mind the way I hoped it would.
Neither had Mom’s key lime pie and freshly brewed coffee when I stopped in to check on them on my way back from golf with James. What he said about Chloe has my brain wrapped up in knots. I glance at her house every now and then as I tackle the huge pile of fall leaves. Red, brown, and orange crackle and crunch in my gloved hands. I should probably consider whether I want to decorate for Halloween soon. Instead of considering whether I should go talk to Chloe. What’s there to say, anyway? It’s not like she wasn’t clear about the fact I’d only get in the way of what she wants.
Propping myself up with the rake, I wipe the back of my wrist over my forehead to dash away perspiration. The air might be chilly, but it’s a beautiful day and the sun still has kick to it. I shed my shirt and tuck it into the back pocket of my jeans.
A dog yaps somewhere close by, and I turn to see that same orange fluffball and its owner from the morning I made a mad dash to Chloe’s in my pajama pants. Both of them gawk at me before sticking up their noses and continuing down the path. I hold in a laugh; both human and dog manage to have the same expression. The women in this neighborhood could host a competition to see who has the biggest pole shoved up their ass, and I’m pretty sure that prissy dog would come a close second.
“I can’t believe you would do this.” Chloe barges into my yard. “You have some nerve. I thought I made myself clear.”
If the woman walking her dog had issues with my half-naked state, I bet the look she gave Chloe was a lot worse. Dressed in one of those suits she favors and a pair of heels that sink into the ground with each step she takes toward me, Chloe shoots me a glare that would kill if facial expressions had that power. In her hand she holds the end of a length of rope. At the other end is a kid. By that I mean she’s walking a baby goat. On a leash. As if that’s a completely normal thing to do.
“Nice, uh, pet?” I smirk.
“Don’t you dare.” She hauls on the rope and the goat bleats and trots behind her. “Don’t smirk. This isn’t funny.” She throws one arm back, gesturing at the road. “Helena Warburton, whose ex-husband is a managing director at Goldman Sachs, just saw me walking a goat. Can you imagine what she’s going to tell the other neighbors?”
“I can’t say I particularly care what that woman thinks or has to say. She should mind her own business.”
“Well, I care, and I can’t believe you would go this far.” She comes to an abrupt halt in front of me, and the goat starts munching on a leaf.
“Wait.” Is she blaming me for that woman catching her walking her goat? “You think I had something do with this?”
“Of course you did. Why are you pretending you didn’t?” She scowls. “This is obviously one of your pranks. You set this creature loose in my yard to get back at me because I told you I don’t want to see you.”
“Hold up.” I drop to a crouch and pet the goat’s head. It nuzzles my hand before going back to grazing. I almost wish it were one of my pranks. “However this little guy got into your yard had nothing to do with me.”
“It didn’t?” She stares down at me, slack-jawed. “You didn’t put it in my yard?”
“No, I didn’t.” Standing up, I push my thumbs through my belt loops. “Do you think I’m so desperate to have you yell at me again that I’d pull a stunt like this? Believe me, if I wanted an earful, I would have knocked on your door, sweetheart.”
Which was what I’d been close to doing before our four-legged friend intervened.
“I-I thought you wanted…” She shakes her head, clearing whatever she was considering. “Never mind. What am I supposed to do with a goat?”
“Looks to me like you have it sorted.” I chuckle at the idea of her keeping it as a pet, walking it around the neighborhood and feeding it out of a dog bowl.
“I can’t keep it.” Her voice rises several octaves. “And this isn’t funny.”
“Come on, it’s funny.” I wiggle my eyebrows at her. “Admit it.”
“No. It’s not. Dogs are bad enough. Dirty and smelly, and always needing to be looked after. A goat has to be worse.”
“So now you have something against dogs. I guess if it doesn’t wear a suit, it doesn’t fit your lifestyle. You’re probably allergic to human kids, too.”
“I’m not. I happen to like kids. As long as they aren’t mine. I don’t have time to look after anyone or anything else.”
“Too busy shooting for the top of the corporate ladder?”
She huffs out a breath, and her shoulders fall. “Can we just concentrate on the goat? I can’t keep it. What am I supposed to do with it?”
“Give it to me.” I thrust out my hand and take the rope from her then scoop up the kid. “Well, Dog, it looks like you’re going to be living with me. At least until I can work out where you came from. Although it might be time I got myself a pet. Might have to see what we can do about keeping you around.”
“Dog?” Chloe follows me as I cross the yard to enter the house. “You’re going to keep it as a pet and call it Dog? It needs a real name.”
“Dog’s a great name for a goat.” I traipse through the house into the kitchen and set the goat on the floor. Its hooves tap on the tiles as it wanders around sniffing. I’m going to need a bucket out on the deck for water, and build a pen or some kind of shelter.
“Dog’s a ridiculous name.”
I glance at her standing in the middle of my kitchen. I’m not sure if it’s the fact she keeps arguing with me about the goat when it’s now none of her damn business or it’s purely because she followed me into my house without an invitation that ticks me off.
“So it’s all right for you to wander into my house whenever you feel like it, like we’re friends, but I come to you and I get told to stay the hell out of your life?”
She freezes.
Okay, that was probably a bit harsh. I close my eyes and breathe through my nose. Somehow she pushes my buttons, and I’m not talking about the ones that make me irritated and tense. It’s the fact that even after we both declared we desire to have nothing to do with the other, I can’t stop myself from wanting to wrap my arms around her and kiss her. Or just have that girl in my sweatshirt, curled up at my side while we converse about nothing and everything. She frustrates the fuck out of me with her hoity-toity attitude one minute and her one-eighty relaxed sensuality the next.
“Forget I said that. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
She smooths her hands down her jacket then tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. Her cheeks mottle. “No, you’re probably right. It’s your house. Your goat.” She snorts nervously and covers her mouth. “I should go.”
“No, wait.” I move in front of her, take one of her hands between mine. She doesn’t yank it away, which must be a good sign. Maybe James is right. She’s hung up on something, but she’s still here, standing in my kitchen. Do I want to let her keep running? “So what do you think we should call the damn goat?”
“I don’t know. It just shouldn’t be Dog or Goat. Maybe Spot. It has one on its back.”
The goat butts the back of my knee and bleats. I reach down to pet it. “Think she likes it?”
“I don’t know. How am I supposed
to know what a goat likes?”
I don’t bother pointing out that goats are meant to be stubborn beasts, and certain parallels could be drawn. Instead I address the newly named Spot. “What do you think, little buddy? Are you going to come to Spot?”
It head butts my shin this time before rubbing its forelock against my leg. I scoop her up and carry her outside, down off the deck into my backyard where I tie the rope to a support beam. I don’t want her getting too close to the lake, so the rope will have to do until I get a chance to build her a run.
Chloe follows us outside, standing on the deck and overseeing the whole thing. “I shouldn’t be surprised that you’d take her in like she’s a pup, should I? You’re definitely not who I thought you’d be when I first met you.”
I jog up the stairs to join her. Now that she’s not peeved about Spot, her posture is more comfortable and her gaze roves my torso. I forgot about the shirt hanging out of my pocket, but I’m pleased it means she ogles me. Still, I give her space. Not too much, though. I get close without actually brushing up against her as I head back inside. “Do you drink beer, Chloe? We should toast to my new pet.”
“Just one,” she says. “Then I should leave you alone.”
I fish two bottles from my fridge and knock the tops off before handing her one. We stand facing each other on the deck as we each take a swig. A little of the amber liquid escapes her parted lips and drips down her chin. Before she can swipe it with the back of her hand, I catch it up with my thumb and suck on it. She might have a plan she doesn’t think I should be part of, but her quick intake of breath and the way her tits rise tells me part of her wishes it weren’t so.
“But you don’t want to let me alone, do you? That’s why you were so upset about Spot. You wanted me to come get you, to change your mind about letting me in. How long did you wait before you brought her over?”
“I didn’t,” she says, straightening her spine.
I’ve had just about as much of this as I can take. Dropping my hand to her waist, I slide it to the small of her back and bring her against me. “How long did you wait?”
