Temping is Hell

by Cathy Yardley

  “What, you’re going to ravage me, let me feed you, and then just walk out on me?” He walked behind her, wrapping his arms around her. She felt the sizeable bulge of him, nudging against the small of her back, and she felt his breath on her shoulder as he gave her a few companionable nips. She shuddered, pressing back despite herself.

  “I’ve got a full day of work tomorrow,” she said, but her voice was breathless and frankly, her heart wasn’t in it. “I think, anyway. We never did talk about my duties.”

  “Well, let’s do that now, then,” he said, scooping her up and carrying her back to the bedroom. He plunked her on the bed, his smile wide. “I’m definitely one of those demanding bastards. I’m going to want you to do everything you humanly can to make me happy.”

  Since he was unbuttoning the shirt she was wearing as he said it, she smirked. “That so?”

  “Yup.” He stripped the shirt off, then skinned out of the sweats, stretching next to her. “And of course, I expect you to be thorough.”

  “If you say jump, I’m supposed to say how high, that it?” She closed her eyes as he cupped her breasts with his hands, then replaced one palm with his mouth. She gasped, arching her back.

  When he surfaced for air, he was grinning at her. “That said, I’m more than happy to explore your needs, and show you precisely what I’d like done,” he said, his blue eyes going midnight dark, his voice husky. “It’s a two-way street on my team.”

  “Oh, stop with the double entendres,” she said, dragging him up on top of her and kissing him solidly, her legs wrapping around his waist.

  “Now, Kate, you’re going to have to learn to stop being so passive,” he said, with amusement.

  She struggled, and finally managed to get him on his back. “I’ll show you passive,” she said, and went for him.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Kate woke up the next morning, sighing, stretching… wincing at the slight soreness of her body, like she’d just done a marathon of Zumba classes or something. She smiled.

  Then sat bolt upright.

  She was sliding around on million-thread-count sheets. The room smelled like expensive cologne and sex. She wrapped the sheet around her.

  You are such an idiot. She looked at the clock. Seven a.m. Seven o’clock in the morning. There would probably be reporters camped everywhere. And they’d just accused her of sleeping with her boss.

  So, naturally, she went ahead and slept with her boss.

  Her parents were right. She had impulse control issues.

  Thomas wasn’t in the bed with her. She rustled around in the dark, searching frantically for her clothes. She’d left her jacket and tie in the living room, and her shoes, she noticed, and the stockings were missing. But she was able to gather up her undies, skirt, and blouse. Clumsily, she pulled them on in the dark, wondering what she ought to say to him.

  Thanks for dinner, and all of the sexing. That was, after all, a fantastic grilled cheese. Ahem.

  I may be a little late into the office?

  Can we do this again some time?

  No. On that last one, absolutely not.

  She crept across the floor, heading out to the living room. Seven a.m. Maybe he’d made coffee. Maybe he’d cooked her breakfast. That seemed like the classy, over-the-top thing he’d do. He could be standing in the kitchen, just wearing a pair of pajama bottoms, making her crepes.

  She saw the light on in the living room, and headed for it.

  “We got a call,” she heard Yagi’s voice say, and she froze. It was one thing to see Thomas. But shame-walking in yesterday’s stylist nightmare in front of his already judgmental bodyguard was something else.

  “Oh?” That was Thomas. Hmm. Maybe she should go back, start making loud noises to encourage Thomas to get Yagi out of there. Unless—maybe Thomas didn’t want Yagi to know she was there?

  “It was from Victor Klauss.”

  Kate held her breath. What the hell?

  “The press conference worked. He says he knows what we’re trying to do. And he’s offering us a shot.”

  “A shot?” Thomas sounded puzzled. “At what?”

  “He knows we’re trying to trap him ‘with the pretty redhead’ and he wanted us to have our chance.”

  Okay, “trap him with the pretty redhead.” WHAT THE HELL? Kate’s subconscious shouted, but she still stayed rooted to the spot.

  “He says that if we want to use Kate as bait, we ought to at least put her someplace sporting, instead of headquarters or the Havens.”

  Kate waited for Thomas to tell his bodyguard, and Victor, exactly where he could shove it. Instead, Thomas’s voice was pensive. “Did he offer any suggestions as to where we should do this?”

  “He was thinking Ogawa Plaza, or maybe the Coliseum. Nice and public. Plenty of exposure. Plenty of chances to capture, on both our parts.”

  “Hmmm.”

  Tell him to fuck off, Thomas! She was projecting the thought so hard, she suspected she could knock him out with it. You’re not using me to grab that psychopath!

  “What do you think?” Thomas said instead. Kate felt her hands ball into fists.

  “I think that we should consider it,” Yagi said. “It’s a setup, yes, but given his personality and his background, I think he likes the challenge. He likes the idea of toying with us. He thinks he’s smarter than we are, and stronger—he doesn’t imagine that he will fail.”

  Kate swayed a little, remembering just how strong Victor Klauss had been. Breaking all the bones in her wrists, pulverizing her kneecap, or crushing her skull would make an impression on a girl.

  “So we create the trap,” Thomas mused. “And then capture him.”

  “I want to research more, see what he’s got in mind—why he’s so confident,” Yagi said. “But otherwise, I would say yes.”

  “Come up with a solid plan,” Thomas said, his voice ringing like steel. “I don’t want to go into this with anything half-assed.”

  Kate sneaked back to the master bedroom, then made a big show of running the faucet in the master bath, washing her face, flushing the toilet. When she came out, Thomas was waiting for her, a cup of coffee in his hand.

  “Have a good night’s sleep?” he asked, with a warm smile.

  A warm, lying smile.

  “Okay.” She took a deep breath. “This was a huge mistake. Even for me, this was banner. So do me a favor, and we’ll never speak of this again.”

  He blinked. “Ashamed of me?” he said, and while his tone was joking, she got the impression that he was actually hurt. Or rather, he gave off that impression.

  And the Oscar goes to…

  “I don’t think this is what you want, either, so let’s just stick to business from here on out, okay?” she said, trying to keep her own hurt out of it. She could act, too.

  He put the coffee cup down on a nearby bureau. “All right, Kate. If you want.”

  She didn’t want. She wanted to go right back into his arms. She wanted him to be the guy who’d given her a chance and a job. The one who couldn’t stand watching her die. The one who mourned for his fiancée and risked his life and soul to save someone he loved.

  She wanted him to be a good guy, one who would protect her. One who listened to her and forgave her mistakes.

  A guy who, for frickin’ once, didn’t think she was a loser who obviously didn’t see what was really important—namely, him.

  As long as I’m wishing, I’d like a pony and a trip to Europe.

  “Can I at least take you to dinner?” he said, surprising her out of her bitter thoughts. “Just a business dinner, any place you want. We never did talk about your duties or what you’d be doing on the job.”

  A dinner, huh? Someplace nice and public and easy to get kidnapped from, I’ll bet.

  “I’ll think about it,” she said, moving out to the living room. Yagi was gone, thank God. She scooped up her jacket and tie, slipped into the shoes.

  “Kate, you okay?”

  She wished
he wasn’t such a good actor.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said, sounding hollow to her own ears.

  “Take the day off,” he said. “I’ll call you about that dinner.”

  “Sure. Whatever.”

  He stopped her by putting a gentle hand on her wrist. Reluctantly, she turned to face him. He was close—too close.

  He rested his forehead against hers. “Last night—the thing we’re not supposed to talk about?” he murmured. “I won’t forget it. Or you. Not ever.”

  She closed her eyes, leaning against him for a second.

  Liar.

  She pulled away, turned, and walked out.

  …

  Kate’s mother wasn’t working until second shift, so both her parents were home and waiting for her when she arrived back at around eight thirty that morning. After a quick, goggle-eyed look at her disheveled clothes, her mother stirred her coffee way past the point of necessity and simply stared at her. Her father, on the other hand, threw down his copy of the Oakland Tribune.

  “Where were you last night?” he barked out.

  She winced. She knew how it had to look. She was wearing yesterday’s clothes, no makeup, and her hair was a frizzy, air-dried mess.

  Because it’s not a true shame walk unless you’re in front of your Irish Catholic family.

  But the real capper was the newspaper, with its big, bold headline:

  FIENDISH SECRETARY DENIES BANGING HER BOSS.

  “I can explain,” she said reflexively.

  “God damn it!” her father exploded, and both Kate and her mother winced. “I’m going to have to face all my friends—cops, damn it—and listen to those guys talking about how my daughter’s a slut. Is that what you wanted?”

  “If you read the article or saw the press conference,” Kate said, trying to keep her voice calm and reasonable, “then you’d know that reporter was baiting me, Dad. She brought up Thomas’s relationships with old secretaries, and then threw my temping in my face like it was something to be ashamed of. She even brought up San Clemente…”

  “And how the hell did she know about that?” His face was as red as his hair had once been, his eyes wild.

  “Well, it’s not like I told her!” Kate snapped back.

  Her mother’s lips were pursed like she’d just eaten a moldy strawberry. “Well, it’s not like the reporter was lying.”

  Kate turned to her mother, letting out a hiss of dismay.

  “You haven’t kept a job,” her mother said, with more exhaustion in her voice than fury. “You haven’t been able to start a career. And that boss of yours… I’ve read about him. His last secretary died under suspicious circumstances, did you know that?”

  Kate felt anger bubble in her bloodstream. “She killed herself, Mom. She had cancer, she was in a lot of pain, and she killed herself.”

  “Oh, really? Did your new boss tell you that?” her mother slapped back.

  “The one that you spent the night with last night?” her father tacked on, adding his punch to the combination.

  Kate wanted to sink down in one of the kitchen chairs. They were sitting there, like judges in a tribunal, and standing made her feel like the accused. Hell, she was the accused.

  On the other hand… like her mother said. It wasn’t like they were lying, was it?

  It wasn’t like they were wrong.

  “I know I don’t do things the way you want me to…” she started.

  “Do you ever think?” her father demanded, cutting across her words. “Do you ever think about the consequences of what you do? Do you ever even give a shit about anyone but yourself?”

  “I know I’m a fuck up,” she said, ignoring the flash of her mother’s eyes at her language. “But I do what I do with good intentions.”

  “That means exactly nothing,” her father growled.

  “No, it means that I don’t do what you want me to, and that makes things hard for you,” Kate snapped back, taking a step toward her father. “I can’t even tell you what I’ve been through in the past week, and I’m not going to start because you wouldn’t give a shit. But this isn’t about what’s best for me. This is about you having to face me not living up to your expectations. This is you, worried that your friends are going to judge me and you’re going to have to deal with what it looks like. Do you care if I’m hurt or unhappy? If I’m in over my head?”

  “You’re not,” he snapped bitterly. “If you were, you’d have already asked us to bail you out.”

  It stung. More, because she suspected it was the truth. Hadn’t she always been looking to someone, anyone, to bail her out?

  Even now. But now, it was quite clear—she didn’t have anyone. Not her family, sure as hell not her new lover and boss. Not even Prue.

  “You’re right,” she said. Then she turned and headed for her room.

  “We’re not finished here!” her father bellowed.

  “I’ll be right back,” she called out. She headed to her room, shutting the door behind her. She made a quick call to a cab company, then grabbed her largest duffel bag out of her closet, stuffing jeans, T-shirts, and underwear in pell-mell. She collected the clothes the store manager and stylist had forced on her—work clothes, they’d claimed—and then kept only the few she knew she’d wear. She’d buy whatever else she needed, she decided.

  She then saw the pictures of her family, and of Prue. Biting her lip, she left them there on her bureau.

  She grabbed the duffel and the hanging clothes, and then headed back out.

  Her parents saw the belongings, and her mother rolled her eyes. “Oh, God. What now? Do you have to make everything a Broadway number?”

  “You’re going to go run away to Prue’s, I suppose?” her father asked.

  “No.” Kate went past them, putting the things down on the couch. She walked back, then let out a deep breath. “I know what this looks like, and I could tell you I’m not running away, and that this is different, but I think I’ve used up all my ‘trust me’ cards, so let me just say this. I know you won’t understand it, but I really did the best I could, the best I knew how at the time. I really am sorry for the trouble I’ve caused you, and I’m going to fix it. “

  Her father snorted. But he was also starting to turn his normal ivory color. “Damn it, Kate, I am not interested in your dramatics right now.”

  “I know. I just wanted to let you know that I am moving out.”

  “For how long this time?” Her mother’s voice was acidic.

  Kate let it slide. Instead, she reached into her purse, pulled out her checkbook, and wrote down an amount equal to the “signing bonus” Thomas had insisted on giving her. “Here.”

  Her father glanced at it, then scoffed. “You don’t have this much!”

  “Actually, I do now.”

  “How?” her father asked, suspicious, handing the check over to her mother. Her mother’s jaw dropped.

  “I know that you loaned money to Felix to try to keep me employed,” she said. “I overheard your phone conversation with him. I know that you might lose the house.”

  Now, her father flushed again, not a full red-purple angry but a deep, embarrassed pink. “We’ll manage.”

  “I’ll keep sending money,” Kate said, mentally adding at least until Thomas stops signing checks—or until I’m dead. Whichever comes first. “It’s up to you if you take it or not.”

  “How are you making this kind of money?” her mother repeated. “Kate, what are you doing?”

  Kate closed her eyes, then shot her a devil-may-care grin. “Sold my soul, Mom.”

  Her mom goggled. “You…”

  “Well, technically,” Kate corrected, “I think I used it as collateral.”

  “Are you some kind of…” Her mother couldn’t bring herself to say the words, so instead she made a weird waving motion with her hands.

  “What, hula dancer? No, I’m not getting paid for sex,” Kate said, when her mother frowned at her. “That’s just a perk.”

&nbs
p; Her father was on his feet. “Damn it, if you walk out of this house, don’t bother coming back!”

  Kate’s taxi honked out in the driveway. She swallowed hard.

  “Love you,” Kate whispered, then gathered up her stuff and walked out the door.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Kate had her taxi take her to the Washington Inn—it was a hotel that she used to book clients into on one of her temp jobs, and it seemed pretty swank. Even better, it wasn’t too close to the Havens. The last thing she wanted was to look out her window and see another thing Thomas owned.

  That snake.

  So he wanted to use her for bait for the psychopath who had nearly killed her, huh? She wondered, absently, if the sex was just part of that idea—softening her up, encouraging her to do things his way. Because any secretary who would sleep with him probably assumed that he “cared” about her or that what they did “meant something.” Or because sex with him was so utterly incredible that she’d go gooey and stupid and ignore the fact that he was hanging her out to dry.

  Not this secretary, asshole.

  She took a long shower, then changed into jeans and a sweatshirt. Pain and confusion seemed to hang around her like a cloud of cigarette smoke. She didn’t have anyone to talk it over with, and she needed more than a sulk—she needed a plan, now. Hanging out in the hotel room with what was left of her worldly possessions would only depress her, locking her up further. So Kate went to the only place she could think of to find solace.

  “Welcome to Starbucks,” the barista said cheerfully. “Can I get a drink started for you?”

  Kate let out a low sigh of relief. Temporary “home,” approximately two blocks in any direction. Thank you, Starbucks. “Venti Extra Coffee Caramel Frappuccino,” Kate said aloud.

  “Do you want whipped cream on that?”

  Kate stared at the girl. “Look at my face. What do you think?”

  The girl’s eyes widened. “I’ll add as much as it’ll hold,” she said quickly, taking Kate’s Starbucks card. She even offered her a sample of molasses cookie with a very nervous smile.