by Julia London
The thing about Evan was, when he wasn’t trying to get in her pants, he was actually a decent guy, and really very smart. They talked for a while that night about the account Girt had managed to snare, and ended the conversation with Evan promising to look into a couple of questions she had about Girt’s new account. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said.
The next day, he called mid-morning and walked Robin through the numbers she needed to complete her analysis. “Remember the calculation we used to look at Peerless? This should be pretty much the same thing, but you’ll want to factor in the potential increase in revenue since she has that new account in hand.”
“Right,” Robin said.
“You’re doing great, Robbie,” Evan offered. “You’re really starting to get the hang of this.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. Next time I’m down, we’ll have to celebrate your success in acquisitions.”
“Not just yet,” she warned him. “I haven’t actually acquired anything yet.”
“But you will, I have no doubt. So it’s a date—next time I’m down, we’re going to celebrate the near close of this deal. All right? I’ll be talking to you.”
He hung up before she could really answer or at least ask him to call before he came down. With an unconscious shrug, she hung up the phone, then noticed a movement from the corner of her eye. It was Jake. “Evan,” she said, waving absently at the phone. “You know, he is really very smart. I can see why Dad likes him so much—I’ve learned a lot from him.”
“I’ll just bet you have,” Jake said and picked up a can of primer.
His tone surprised Robin; she paused in the gathering of her papers. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means he’s more interested in landing you than some new plant.”
“Jesus, how do you jump to such conclusions? You don’t even know him!”
“I don’t have to know him. I’m a man, he’s a man, and I know exactly what he’s after.”
Robin frowned darkly. “That is so ridiculous. You don’t know—”
“Apparently, neither do you,” Jake said sharply. “Or maybe you do. Maybe you know more than I give you credit for,” he said and continued up the stairs before Robin could tell him to keep his stupid opinions to himself.
A few days later, Lucy arrived with a thick file stashed under her arm.
“Dude,” Zaney said as she sauntered inside. “Looking gooood!”
Lucy shot him a frown. “I’m not a dude, Zaney.”
“I’ll say!”
Lucy actually smiled a little at that before plopping the file down in front of Robin. “Evan said to bring you this.”
“What is it?”
“Some stuff about Wirt. He said you should look into the age of the equipment.”
“I already did that,” she said and pulled the file closer, flipped it open. On the top was a chart showing the list of equipment in each shop, the approximate age, and the approximate cost of replacement.
Lucy took a chair across from her. “I am so ready to get out of that freight yard!” she exclaimed as she casually examined a nail. “You know Albert? He’s about to get a swift kick in the balls if he doesn’t keep his hands to himself. And it’s so friggin’ hot out there! They leave those bay doors open all the time, and it’s like standing in an oven.”
Robin scarcely heard her—the file Evan had sent over had several documents, covering both Peerless and Wirt. What she found a little puzzling about it was that it looked as if Evan had done much of the same work she had done, running through the same calculations. In short, duplicating everything she’d done. That he knew she was doing.
She was startled by the sound of a dropped hammer. Zaney had dropped it by Lucy’s foot—well, kicked it, actually—and hurried over to retrieve it. He bent over, grabbed the hammer, then smiled up at Lucy. “Girl, you’re a hottie, you know it?”
“Yes. I know,” she sighed, barely sparing him a glance.
“You must be like, you know, a speeding ticket or something, ‘cuz you got fine written all over you.
“Oh my God, is that the best you can do?” Lucy asked, smiling at her nail, her foot swinging carelessly.
“Well . . .” He paused to think about it, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s about it.”
Why would Evan have gone to the trouble to duplicate her work? Robin wondered. She had told him what she was doing at each step, had discussed it with him. She would have thought nothing of it, but this was several documents, several different cuts at the same problem, just as she had done.
“So anyway, I’m going back to the yard,” Lucy announced, nudging the file Robin was poring over. “Evan’s around today and tomorrow, and he said to tell you he’d probably stop by. Okay, call me!” she said and popped up out of her chair, strutting past Zaney with a very self-satisfied smile as he gave her his best wolf whistle, which really sounded more like a wheeze.
Robin put Evan’s file aside, returned to the work she was doing on Wirt, but she couldn’t concentrate. The more she thought of the papers in that file, the more it bothered her. Did he not trust her? What about all the encouragement he was giving her? Just lip service? It sort of felt that way, and Robin was trying very hard to give him the benefit of the doubt. She really had no reason to distrust him . . . did she?
Even if she had wanted to think about it, she couldn’t when Grandma and Grandpa showed up. Grandma had made sandwiches for the work crews— “My famous egg salad,” she announced proudly—and Grandpa had on his overalls. “Jake and me are gonna take down the last part of that wall,” he informed her as he went shuffling by.
Grandpa and Jake did indeed try and take down a wall, making such a racket that Robin could hardly hear herself think. She finally gave up and joined Grandma on the terrace, where they sipped iced tea and watched Raymond cut the lawn by making lazy circles with his riding mower.
They discussed Dad and his last round of chemo for a while. But during a lull in the conversation, Grandma casually said, “That Jake’s a nice boy, isn’t he?”
Robin stole a look at her from the corner of her eye; Grandma adjusted her cola-bottle glasses. “He’s all right,” she said slowly.
“I think he’s a dish. When I was a girl, he was exactly the kind of man we all dreamed about. Handsome, strong—clever enough to work with his hands and know how to build or fix things—and smart, too. I guess I should consider myself lucky that your grandpa had at least two of the three,” she said, sighing.
Robin didn’t dare ask which two.
“I stopped at the grocery store this morning to get some peas for my pea salad. You know that pea salad I make? With the eggs and celery? Elmer loves that pea salad and he’s been after me to make it again. I swear, he could eat his weight in it. Anyway, the last time I made pea salad was the day before your office burned down, and it got me to thinking how far you’ve come since your . . . you know, getting arrested and all that—”
Robin groaned—her grandmother could not come to her house without mentioning that singularly spectacular event.
“—and I was saying to Elmer that it seems to me you are much happier than we’ve seen you in some time.”
“What? Happier?”
“Um-hm. Without all the stress of that terrible job and a nice young man to keep you occupied—”
“Grandma, I am not seeing Evan.”
“Well, I wasn’t talking about him,” she said slyly. “I was talking about Jake.”
“Jake,” Robin repeated.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Grandma said with an impatient wave of her hand. “Your grandpa saw you holding hands, didn’t he?”
“No, not exactly, he—”
“Well, it doesn’t take a brain surgeon to figure it out. I can tell just by the way you look at him.”
Robin was about to put an end to this budding rumor, but paused. “Wait—how do I look at him?”
Grandma laughed. “Oh, Robbie, you k
now . . . like you’re in love, honey!”
That stung like salt in a raw wound. “I am not in love, Grandma, and don’t you dare get on your hotline and start spreading that around town!”
“You can’t fool me,” she continued cheerfully, clearly enjoying herself. “Why on earth you would be ashamed of it is beyond me. He’s such a nice-looking man.”
“I mean it, Grandma—don’t say that!”
“Touchy, touchy,” Grandma said, and put her tea glass down. “All right, I’m not going to say anything. It’s your business. Mum’s the word.” She made the motion of locking her lips and throwing away the key.
Robin’s eyes narrowed. Grandma lifted her chin. “By any chance, did you mention something to Mom?” Robin asked, her suspicions shooting right up to high alert.
Grandma looked off in the other direction. “Raymond certainly does good work, doesn’t he?”
“Oh, great,” Robin groused and downed her tea.
Late that afternoon, after El had smashed his thumb with a hammer, Jake finally sent the crews home. They were almost finished with the upper floor and half of the bottom. There was some cleanup work that needed to be done—finishing out the archway they had just busted out, for one—but all that was really left was to move Robin’s increasingly large spread of office upstairs so they could complete the dining room. As he walked through the upper floors to check one last time, he paused at the bay window of the master suite to look at the little inscription carved into the wood trim.
It fascinated him, because he understood for the first time in his life what would possess a man to do that.
Speaking of which, he called Robin up, watched her bounce up the stairs, took her hand in his and led her through the various rooms, showing her what they had done.
“It’s so beautiful!” she exclaimed in every room. “I can’t believe this is the same house!” But when he walked her into the master suite, she caught her breath, twirled slowly around to take in the new wood floors, the ten-foot ceilings and new crown molding, the refurbished fireplace, the restored brick. And the large master bath had been remodeled into a den of luxury.
“It’s gorgeous.” She turned around to face him, her eyes sparkling with delight. “It’s all gorgeous, Jake.” She slipped her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly. Jake could feel himself crumbling into that lovesick boy again.
They wandered through the rest of the second floor, then made their way downstairs, Jake explaining that when they finished the kitchen, they would be close to done with the work. And then Jake convinced Robin they needed to make a trip to Paulie’s for a burger or he might very well expire. He promised to be back within the hour to pick her up.
Showered, shaved, and dressed in jeans and T-shirt, he was back by seven, pulling into her drive on his bike.
He let himself in and wandered to her bedroom. Robin wasn’t ready, so he lay down on her bed and admired the very feminine motions of putting on makeup and combing her hair as she regaled him with the tale of Zaney’s flirtation with Lucy. “He actually kicked a hammer at her,” she said. They were still laughing about it when they emerged from her bedroom at a quarter past seven, strolling arm in arm down the long corridor.
Robin was the first to hear the knocking, and as she quickened her pace to answer the door, it swung open, and in walked Slick, dressed in strange, baggy striped pants, a white shirt open at the collar, and leather loafers without socks. Behind him was a man dressed in similar fashion, and Robin’s friend Mia, who was wearing a little more than a pillowcase with straps.
“Evan?” Robin asked, walking into the entry. “What are you doing here?”
It was a miracle Cool Breeze even heard her—he was too busy staring a white-hot hole through Jake.
“I’m sorry, Rob,” Mia said. “We let ourselves in since you didn’t answer the door. You didn’t forget, did you?”
“Forget what?”
“Oh God, Robin,” Mia said impatiently. “I told you like five thousand times. We’re going out on the boat.”
“Well, you mentioned it, but I really don’t remember you saying when—”
Mr. GQ cut her off with a condescending laugh. “Robbie, it’s not a big deal. Sorry if we got our wires crossed. Mia and Michael and I are going out to the boat. I thought you were coming along. You and I were going to celebrate your success, weren’t we?”
Robin’s back stiffened. She pressed her lips together, looked at Jake, then at her three friends standing there like they were posing for some magazine ad.
Not one of them had deigned to acknowledge Jake.
Robin looked at Jake again, then her eyes narrowed as she swung her gaze back to Slick. “Sure. Jake and I will come along,” she said, surprising the hell out of him.
“Robin—” he started, but she was quick to interrupt his protest.
“No, really, Jake. It will be fun! Evan has a big boat he likes to show off. By the way, have you met my dear friends Michael and Mia?”
At least Michael had the decency to come striding forward, hand extended. “Good to meet you, Jake . . . ?”
“Manning.”
“Manning.” Michael pumped his arm. “Don’t recall meeting your people.”
“That’s because I don’t have people,” Jake said coolly.
“This is my fiancée, Mia—well, this week, anyway.” Mia was so busy staring daggers at Michael that she couldn’t be bothered to get up from the dining room chair she had melted into, and lifted a lazy finger in greeting.
“And you know Evan,” Robin said.
Evan strolled forward, looking at Jake quizzically. “Jake, right? The handyman.”
Indignation surged through Jake, but he clamped his jaw shut to keep from saying something he knew he would really, really regret.
Robin stepped between him and Evan to get her purse. “If we’re going to go, let’s go.”
Mia and Michael were already out the door, an argument apparently underway. That was followed by a brief, polite little argument between Robin and Evan over which vehicle they would take. Robin marched to her Mercedes, jerked the door open, threw her purse in the back, and got behind the wheel. Evan slipped into the front passenger seat without even looking at Jake.
Against his better judgment—and in fact, ignoring a voice that told him to get the hell out of there while he could—Jake got in the back and tried to arrange himself where his knees didn’t gouge his eyes. He finally gave in and sat crooked in the seat, feeling one step removed from moron.
The boat, as it turned out, was a yacht.
At first, Jake thought Evan’s boat was one of those small commercial outfits they used for dinner cruises, but as Evan went striding up the gangplank, he realized that he had, once again, severely miscalculated the orbit of Robin’s planet. As Mia went slinking up the gangplank after Evan on Michael’s arm—their argument, apparently, put aside for the moment—Jake grabbed Robin’s wrist. “What are we doing?” he asked quietly, so as not to be overheard by the others.
“Oh! Evan—he likes to have these dinners catered on his boat.”
“Robin, this isn’t a boat, it’s a yacht.”
“Boat, yacht, whatever.”
“I thought we were going to go get a burger. Something really simple, something easy. I didn’t anticipate sailing to Mexico.”
“We’re not sailing to Mexico,” she said patiently. “We won’t even leave the dock, which is really what’s so absurd about it. He buys a boat with his bonus and doesn’t even know how to operate it. Look, I know we were going for burgers, but Evan was really irritating me, and I said okay without thinking,” she said, glancing up the gangplank. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done it. We’ll just eat and go, okay?”
“I don’t know why you want to have dinner with someone who is irritating you,” Jake said, a little irritably himself. “I damn sure don’t want to dine with these people.”
“Come on, it’s not such a big deal. We’ll just grab a bite to e
at and get out of here, okay?” she asked and came up on her tiptoes, kissed the corner of his mouth. Jake frowned down at her; she lifted her hand in Boy Scouts’ honor fashion. “Promise. One hour, no more.”
Slick was waiting for them by the time they made their way up the little gangplank, a martini in his hand. Robin walked past him, into the main cabin, but Slick caught Jake with a clamp of his hand on Jake’s shoulder. “You ever been on a yacht before, Jack?”
“It’s Jake. And no, I haven’t.”
“Well, then this ought to be quite an experience for you,” he said, and patted Jake’s shoulder before preceding him into the main cabin.
Robin met him at the door, handed him a beer. He gratefully accepted it, but noticed that he was the only one with a beer bottle. Michael and Mia looked to be drinking martinis, presumably made by the guy standing behind the bar in a white shirt and black bow tie. Robin had a glass of wine in her hand.
Slick sat down on a bar stool, sipped his martini. “Come on in, Jake. Don’t be shy.”
Oh yeah, he was really beginning to dislike ol’ Slick, a lot. And really, what self-respecting guy wore pants like that? Jake walked into the room, casually sipped his beer, and tried to take it all in without gawking like some low-rent tourist. The cabin was a huge room, lined with benches covered in thick cushions, the walls in mahogany and brass fixtures. In the center of the room was a rectangular table, covered with a tablecloth, sporting two vases of fresh-cut roses and a six-point candelabra. The table was set with gold-rimmed china, crystal wine goblets, heavy silverware. Each place setting— only four of them, thank you very much—had three plates, five forks, two knives and three spoons. It was enough to intimidate the most cultivated of souls.
Mia sat on one of the cushioned benches and sighed so heavily it was a wonder the yacht wasn’t pushed away from the dock. “I’m sick of this heat already,” she announced with all due petulance.
“It’s only May,” Michael chided her. “Are you going to start whining already? Just let me know so I can prepare myself for a long summer.”
