“Is there anything I can do to help the process along?”
“Yes,” she said regretfully and sat up. “Turn on the air conditioning. It’s really hot in here.”
He smiled at her. “I can do that.”
Later, after they were dressed, Gil grabbed a couple bottles of water from the supplies Cammy had brought and they sat in the car with the air conditioning running full blast.
Cammy tried calling Jonathan once more, but couldn’t get through. “I suppose we’d better get back on the road. I hope the traffic has thinned out.”
Gil fastened his seat belt. “Remember it wasn’t as bad in the other direction.”
“But we’ll be going south.”
“South?”
“Toward the coast? The beach house?”
He stared at her. “We’re not still going to the beach house.”
“Yes, we are. Why wouldn’t we?”
He said nothing for several long moments. “Because you don’t have to do that stuff anymore.”
“That stuff is my job.”
When more silent moments went by, Cammy added, “You can’t expect me to abandon Jonathan just because you—”
“Had sex with you?”
Her jaw tightened. “I was going to say because you mentioned me working with you. Jonathan has to approve job changes anyway.”
“Which he wouldn’t.”
“If I asked him—”
“Which you won’t.”
“Well, not if you act this way.” He’d obviously decided what she was going to do before she had.
Gil gazed straight ahead. “Fine.” He put the car in gear and drove out of the parking lot.
“WELL, WHAT DID YOU expect? That I’d profess my undying love for you?” It had been a silent and tedious, detour-filled drive to the beach house. When the house was finally in sight, Cammy couldn’t stand it any longer. “You wouldn’t have believed me if I had.”
“Probably not.”
“Certainly not. So what’s with you?” He’d been so chatty earlier.
“I can’t believe you still wanted to come down here. I thought you would have been jolted out of whatever trance Jonathan has put you in.”
“So we’re back to that?”
“Apparently, we never left.” Gil drove over a line of seaweed and trash to get to the beach house.
It appeared to have survived the storm. Only one car was parked in the car port.
It wasn’t Jonathan’s.
As soon as Gil stopped, Cammy got out of the car and hurried to the bottom of the stairs as the door at the top slid open and a man came out.
“Mr. Dean!” It was Jonathan’s client—the client who had called Cammy to say he was vacating the beach house. “Cammy Philips, Jonathan Black’s assistant,” she reminded him. “I thought you were leaving.”
He came down the stairs. “I am leaving.” He hefted a duffel over his shoulder. “We—I got caught by the weather. Uh,” he gestured up toward the house. “There’s no power. I—Was there supposed to be some sort of party here?”
Cammy threw an I-told-you-so look at Gil, who had walked up behind them. “I believe so.”
“Only one other person made it and she left.”
“Oh.” And Cammy felt, rather than saw, Gil’s I-told-you-so look at her.
“It was quite the storm,” Mr. Dean continued. “We manually lowered the shutters and raised them this afternoon, so they’ll need to be hooked back into the tracks.”
“Thanks. I’ll make a note of it,” Cammy said. “If you want to go ahead and leave, we can close up here.”
“That would be great.” He smiled at her and nodded to Gil as he passed by.
Cammy didn’t say anything as she climbed the stairs and went inside the house, but she heard Gil behind her.
It was cooler outside than it was inside the house even with the windows open.
“Now what?” Gil asked.
It was a valid question, but for some reason, it ticked her off. She whipped out her phone and hit Redial.
“Jonathan Black.”
Actually hearing his voice after getting the mailbox message caught her off guard. “Jonathan, it’s Cammy. Are you okay?”
“Ye-e-s-s. Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gil lean against the sofa back and knew he could hear Jonathan through her phone.
“Because of the storm. Because your voice mailbox was full.”
“Yeah.” He sounded harried and she visualized him running a hand through his hair. Which might be ever so slightly thinning on the top. Which made her think of Gil’s. Which was silky and soft and thick and tickled her thighs when he—
“I sent a private text to my whole address book by mistake and there was a little fallout, so I turned off the phone.”
“About the party at the beach house last night.” Her voice sounded calm even though the word mistake rang in her ears. Cammy was impressed with herself.
“There was no party.” He gave a rueful laugh. “Or rather it was supposed to be a private party. I guess you saw the text.”
“Yes. And got several messages about it when people couldn’t reach you.”
“Oh, hell. You don’t suppose anyone actually drove down there? The weather was vile. I hope the house is still standing.”
“It’s fine,” she snapped. “And only one woman accepted your bogus invitation. Heads-up—Adrian Dean was stuck here overnight—”
“Damn it! You told me he was leaving!” He was shouting in her ear.
Gil came off the back of the couch as though he was going to grab the cell phone away from her. Cammy held out her hand to stop him. This was her problem. Her boss. “He got caught here.”
“Oh, that’s just—wait. You said ‘here.’ You’re at the beach house right now?”
“I told you so,” Gil said.
She glared at him and turned away. “Yes.”
“Cammy! Come on. You should have known that text was a mistake.”
Because I would never invite you to one of my parties, he could have continued. But he didn’t need to. She waited for the crushing devastation she would have felt just yesterday.
Nothing. Not even a little. If anything, she felt irritated with him and annoyed with herself. The past three years hadn’t been a total waste; he’d taught her a lot. Maybe she’d convinced herself she loved him because it was safe, because she wasn’t ready for the intensity of real love.
Her eyes sought Gil’s. She was ready now.
“WHY WOULD I THINK it’s a mistake? I usually organize your parties.”
Gil listened as Cammy was drawn back into Jonathan’s orbit. He’d actually thought they had something together, that she was over Jonathan.
In his mind, he remembered how she moaned and gasped his name. Gil. His name. She’d been with him. But he was losing her.
“Yeah, but…” Jonathan apparently thought better of coming right out and telling her he’d never invite her. Gil wished he would.
“Well, as long as you’re down there,” came Jonathan’s voice through the phone, “take a look around and see if anything needs repair so we can arrange to get that done. While you’re at it, would you straighten up the place? You know, towels, sheets, stray glasses. That kind of thing. I might make it down there tomorrow.”
Great. Cammy would want to stay now.
“There’s no power here.”
“Oooh. No ice in the fridge. You better check and see if there’s any food in there you need to throw out.”
Gil was surprised Jonathan didn’t ask her to restock.
“Okay,” Cammy said. “Anything else?”
Gil rolled his eyes.
“I’ll call if I think of anything. Otherwise, I’ll see you Monday.”
“Great.” She looked straight at Gil. “We can discuss me moving back to the creative department then.”
Gil thought his heart would stop.
“Cammy, what are you ta
lking about?”
“Just that I’m ready for a job more challenging than providing maid service to the company beach house.”
“Oh, hey, Cammy, I didn’t mean—”
“Sure you did. We’ll talk on Monday.” And she not only ended the call, she powered off her phone.
She’d hung up on Jonathan. He couldn’t believe it.
“You know,” she said to Gil, “That’s the same expression you had when I took off my bra outside the car.”
He didn’t doubt it for a minute. “You just told Jonathan that you wanted to move to the creative side.”
“Hello? You asked me. Did you change your mind?”
“No. No!”
Cammy looked around the living room. “I can understand why you’re surprised. There’s nothing more annoying than a person who says I told you so. But I’m overlooking that.” She reached over the sofa back and fluffed a couple of pillows. “What?” she asked him when he continued to stare at her. “I told you I need time to process. I’ve been processing.” She headed for the kitchen.
Gil followed cautiously. She was way too calm.
There were a few dishes in the sink. Cammy ran some soapy water and handed Gil a towel. “Dry.”
“Why are we doing this? I’m sure P&D has a service that comes in.”
“They do. But not on a Saturday night after a major storm.”
She quickly washed and rinsed a plate, holding it out for Gil. He wished he knew what she was thinking.
After drying the plate, he said, “It’s late and I don’t want to spend my Saturday night cleaning the company beach house.”
She continued washing dishes. “We’re not. We’re going to be making love and skinny dipping in the ocean. I don’t want this stuff in the way.”
Gil nearly dropped the cup he was drying.
She laughed. “I told you I’ve been processing.”
“You want to fill me in?”
Nodding, she said, “You were right, as you took such pleasure in telling me. I’ve spent long enough as Jonathan’s starry-eyed assistant. I’m over it. Over him. I’m done.”
Gil dried another plate and glass before he said anything. “So now that you can’t have Jonathan, you’ll settle for me? Is that it?”
She handed him a mug. “You’re assuming quite a lot.”
Gil slammed the mug on the counter and hauled Cammy to him, wet hands and all. He kissed her angrily and then hungrily. And she responded, opening her mouth beneath his and meeting his tongue with hers. He assumed nothing. She belonged with him.
Cammy pulled back. “Gil, I’m falling in love with you. Really fast.”
His heart squeezed as he heard the tremble in her voice. “I do not want to be a revenge boyfriend or a rebound boyfriend.”
“Can you just be a regular boyfriend?”
He’d take it—for now. “I will be a fantastic boyfriend—who doesn’t share.”
Grinning, Cammy backed away from him, pulling off her top and shimmying out of her shorts. “How about a boyfriend who skinny dips?”
He did love this woman. Gil yanked his shirt off. “I can do that.”
Epilogue
JONATHAN HAD NEVER before enjoyed a late-Friday client meeting. The stupendously luscious Terry Simmons was bright, sometimes charmingly flustered, had a great idea for a job-sharing company, and Jonathan could swear her breasts were growing as the afternoon faded into evening.
Every time she moved or leaned over Ross’s shoulder as he sketched an idea, Jonathan got a little buzz, a little zing. A glance around the room told him he wasn’t the only one looking down her blouse. Not that anyone could see more than a shadowy cleft, but never had shadows hinted at so much.
Distracted by what those shadows hid, he didn’t realize that the little buzzes were due to his cell phone vibrating in his pocket. When he did, he just sat back and enjoyed the sensation. Cheap thrills. So what?
Jonathan’s strict policy was that no one took calls in front of a client, but his phone was going off like it was possessed.
Something big must be happening. He couldn’t tell if anyone else in the room was getting message after message, which was both good and bad.
As the clouds rolled in, the room grew darker. Casually, Jonathan got up and walked behind Terry to the light console where he turned on the spots that illuminated the display board. Facing away from the room, he quickly flipped open his phone and scrolled through message after message, all from women, including his ex-girlfriends.
Not a good sign when the exes texted.
He read Jennifer’s reply declining his beach-weekend invitation, which he wasn’t entirely unhappy about. He read one other calling him a jerk, or words to that effect, and shoved the phone back into his pocket.
Turning around, he found several people watching him. Not everybody, but enough for him to know they’d seen him check his phone in clear violation of his own decree.
Covering, Jonathan stared out the window, obviously scanning the sky.
“Jonathan?” Ross and Terry were looking at him.
“Let’s take a short break,” he said. “I want to check on the weather.”
“Good,” Terry said. “I’ve got a seven forty-five flight and I’d like to know if it’s still on time.”
Now that he’d said he was going to, Jonathan quickly accessed the local weather on his phone. Heavy thunderstorms, flash-flood warnings, yeah, yeah. Wind shear advisory…hmmm. Not looking too good for Terry’s flight.
So what was up with all the women calling and texting him?
After reading a half-dozen widely varying messages including one from a woman informing him that she was married and he was never to contact her again, Jonathan had an uneasy hunch he knew what had happened. His text to Jennifer had gone out to all the women he’d either dated or was thinking of dating.
This was going to cost him.
A sickening knot settled in his stomach. He’d asked them all to the beach house—no one would actually take him up on it, would they? Especially when it looked as though the weather was going to be so much worse than expected. And especially since he hadn’t responded to any of them. No. No one would drive down there without verifying first. Besides, some of these women didn’t even know where the beach house was.
Jonathan was still scrolling through the list and sending little “my bad” texts when the others began trickling back into the room.
“Let’s try and finish up so we can all get home. It’s going to be a messy weekend,” Jonathan announced. “Terry, what else do you need from us?”
Twenty minutes later, the meeting was over, the room had emptied and Terry was talking on her cell in a low, worried voice. Sheets of rain poured down the windows.
“My flight is canceled,” she explained when she closed her phone. “Nothing is leaving until conditions improve and apparently all the hotels near the airport are full. I need to get online and try to find a vacancy. Is it okay if I use this room or is there somewhere else I should go?”
Jonathan gazed sympathetically into her limpid, brown eyes and saw a hint of worry and a whole lot of stress. The canceled flight was just too perfect. Asking her to the beach house would have been presuming too much too early. But offering to shelter a storm refugee was his civic duty. “Terry, as you know, Peck and Davilla is a full-service media agency. We pride ourselves on meeting all our clients’ needs. And you are a client in need. You’re going to find that most decent hotels and motels will be booked solid. People who live near the coast always reserve rooms in case the power goes out or they have storm damage, and the airport will be dealing with stranded passengers for hours. I live in a downtown loft with a guest room I keep for circumstances just like this. You’re welcome to stay there.”
Terry had opened her laptop. “Thanks, but that’s really above and beyond what anyone would expect from your agency.”
“Which is exactly why I’m offering. Peck and Davilla wants to exceed your expectations. In a
dvertising, you never know what will happen or when an opportunity will come your way. Our agency prides itself on moving quickly and capitalizing on…call it serendipity.”
She was tempted, he could see it, could see the anxiety change to hope.
She’d be relieved and grateful. Jonathan loved grateful women.
“There’s plenty of space.” He mentally inventoried the contents of his fridge and planned a dinner featuring his signature four-cheese macaroni dish. The recipe was easy and nobody made mac and cheese from scratch anymore. It was a stealth seducer masquerading as innocent comfort food. “You won’t be the first client to stay there and you won’t be the last.”
“Plenty of space?” she repeated.
“It echoes.” Not that they’d need plenty of space should the weekend go the way Jonathan intended.
She heaved a great sigh of relief. He watched the tension drain from her shoulders. Oh, yeah. A glass of wine and a meal of carbs and she’d be blissfully relaxed.
“Thank you so much. I’ll call Warren and let him know. He and the kids are at a McDonald’s down the street.”
“Kids?”
Terry already held the cell phone to her ear. “Honey, we’ve got a place to stay.” Then she saw Jonathan’s expression and faltered. “It’s still okay, isn’t it?”
“I—uh…kids?” White carpet. Painted concrete floors. Metal and glass corners. Expensive electronics. Not kid friendly. Or husband friendly, either.
“Hang on, Warren.” She looked up at Jonathan. “I have a three-year-old and a baby. Is that a problem?”
Jonathan’s vision of the weekend underwent a radical change. “No, oh, no. We’ll have to do a little childproofing, but it’ll be fine. Please.” He held out his hand for the phone. “Let me talk to your husband and we’ll drive over and pick them up.”
As Jonathan talked to Terry’s husband, he heard shrieks and screaming in the background. Exactly how much alcohol did he have at the loft?
His Little Black Book Page 18
