Cover Up

by Laura Westbrook

  She stopped jumping and arranged the folds of the robe. It wouldn’t do to have them flap about, showing more than she intended. She looked around for items she could use to wack it loose from his hand, but everything within reach was rather solid and would create bruises on his wrist as bad as the ones she had.

  “It’s my key,” she said, trying to see if diplomacy would work.

  “I signed for it, so technically it’s part mine, isn’t it?”

  “But it’s for my apartment.”

  “And whenever you need it, it’ll be here for you.”

  She made another attempt at a swipe. “Even so, I need it now. You know, to get inside…”

  He made a show of considering that statement. “No. Not yet. Besides, your apartment’s going to be cold. Maybe you should stay here in the warmth for a while.”

  It’s tempting, but you’ve done so much already…and now you’re teasing me like crazy. What she really wanted to do was wrap her arms around his body and forget the key, but there were other things going on.

  She lunged toward the couch, her fingers curling around one of the cushions. She caught the corner and held on tight as she spun. She half-closed her eyes, expecting to hit him any moment, but he ducked out of the way. On her way back around, he caught the cushion and held it in the air between them.

  “No fair,” she said.

  “Uh huh. Foiled again.”

  Then she realized that, with one hand on the pillow, his other hand wasn’t nearly as far away as it had been. She swiped for it even as he let the pillow go and jumped back. She picked the pillow up and tossed it at him. “Spoilsport.”

  He grabbed it and moved to toss it back, and she scrambled around his couch to hide. When she looked up, she saw him gazing at her, the pillow all but forgotten in his hand. She quickly looked down and realized that the borrowed robe had split apart again, displaying her legs well above the knee. She stood and pulled it closed, then turned back toward him even as his head snapped away.

  “Were you looking?” she asked.

  “I didn’t see a thing.”

  “Branson, were you looking?”

  “I wasn’t looking, but I started to see before I looked away. There’s a big difference.”

  She sighed. “Fine. Since you insist on playing games, I’ve got one for you.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

  “I’m pretty good at finding things, if you know what I mean.”

  “But you already know where it is.”

  She tilted her head. “Right, but if I didn’t, I could probably find it.”

  She didn’t know how to make it any more obvious. Any longer, and she’d have to spell it all out for him, which would ruin the fun. Just when she opened her mouth to do just that—

  “Tell you what,” he said. “On my dresser are some sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Put them on, and I’ll hide the key. If you can find it, then you can go. But while you’re searching, you’ll be here, keeping me company. It only makes sense to have your clothes dry before you put them back on, anyway. It’s the sensible thing to do.”

  She gave a satisfied nod. “Good choice, Branson. Nice to see you have a bit of an imagination. “Just make sure it’s in this room. And nowhere too hard.”

  As she walked back to his bedroom, she considered her options. It was better than jumping up and down. Did she prod him to the hide-and-seek game because it would be faster than his way or because she secretly wanted to stay? Just when she thought it was one thing, she questioned if it was another.

  She gave him an extra couple of minutes, allowing him time to hide the key. The room was spotless, and it suggested that he hadn’t cleaned up just for her benefit. He appeared to be a naturally clean and tidy person. He might even be more tidy than she was. Almost.

  She locked the door, slipped out of the robe, and pulled on the sweatpants. They were a little on the large size, but the drawstring helped. Then she pulled on the old sweatshirt and rolled the sleeves up, just to her wrists. It wasn’t glamorous, but she was presentable, and she felt a lot more comfortable. It had been annoying having to keep an eye on the bathrobe every few moments. She just needed to keep the sweatshirt as close to her neck as possible, yet another cover up operation.

  She returned the robe to its place on the bathroom door, then walked back into the living room. Branson was sitting in an armchair with a hot cup of cocoa in his hands.

  “Do you want a drink?” he asked.

  “I’m not a big cocoa drinker,” she replied.

  “I can douse it with cinnamon.”

  She laughed. He didn’t take no for an answer. “You should be in advertising instead of Wall Street. Fine. Go ahead. I’d love one.”

  He went to the kitchen for a mug, and it seemed he’d made a pot instead of one of those instant, single-serve packages. He poured it while she sat on the edge of the couch and began looking around the room, trying to guess where he’d hidden the apartment key and adjusting the neckline of the sweatshirt every few minutes.

  “It’s in here?” she asked.

  “Of course. I’m not cheating.” He handed her the warm drink. She took a sip and was surprised at how good it was. But then, Branson seems to make everything better.

  Still, the night had to end at some point. On with the hunt. The first thing to do was to check for things that had been moved.

  She peered around the room for areas where the key might be. He had a record collection, interestingly enough, of which there were hundreds, it seemed. Its range covered everything from some of the old jazz greats to some of the newer rock bands—ones she didn’t even know came on vinyl.

  “You’ve got quite a collection here,” she said. “Nothing digital though?”

  “I like digital music, too. I just have a soft spot for records. My grandfather used to collect them, and he gave me part of his collection. And I never was one for just a single type of music. As long as it’s good, there’s always a situation in life where it fits.”

  “Such as?”

  He laughed. “This is going to sound weird.”

  “Try me.”

  “Okay. Well, you’ve got the smooth tones of jazz for quiet nights in with someone special—not that I’ve had much use for those—and then you have rock and roll for when you’re cleaning. More avant-garde stuff is great if you want that energy boost to get stuff out of the way. And then the country music is for playing in the background while you’re cooking.”

  She checked all the record covers, but they were perfectly in line. Next, she checked around his stereo system. He said she was cold, directionally speaking, so she turned her attention to his pictures. Her finger brushed over the shelf to check for dust. One speck out of place and she’d find the key quickly.

  “Cold again,” he said, but she knew that already. The pictures were perfectly in line, no dust, but also no place to hide the key there anyway.

  “Who are all these people in the pictures?” she asked.

  “Old surfing buddies. Some I haven’t seen in years.”

  “How did you get into investments anyway? You seem too relaxed for that kind of work.”

  “I had to fund my surfing, so I took up day trading. I’m not sure why, but I was pretty good at it,” he said. “I made money for all my friends. They saw me making money and trusted me to invest some of their money, and many of them will be able to retire a few years early.”

  “But you’re still working,” she said.

  “Well, sure. It was their money I grew, not necessarily my own. But I also didn’t get into trading just for the money. It was the only other thing I was good at, other than surfing. I like it. It taxes my brain and keeps me on my toes.” He pointed. “You’re still cold, by the way.”

  She went around the side drawers and peeked inside. It wouldn’t be fair to hide a key in there. Besides, it was all straight and tidy.

  “Do you have a cleaner come in?” she asked, flicking through the magazines underneath the c
offee table. “Or is this all the result of rock and roll?”

  “I do it myself. I like knowing where everything is. Besides, it doesn’t take me long. Once in the middle of the week and on the weekends.

  He cleans twice a week?

  She looked around the room again. She’d almost searched everywhere, apart from on his person, but that would be too bold a move for him. So she stood and drank her cocoa for a moment, trying to decide where she’d hide a key.

  “How about you? How did you get into advertising?” He came over to fill her cup again, and she could feel her heartbeat race as he got closer. She knew he had to feel it, too. At least, she thought he might. She tugged on the sweatshirt, pulling it up higher on her neck, and he returned back to his chair. She realized it might’ve sent the wrong signal and wished she could tell him she wasn’t worried about him “seeing” anything. At least, not what he thought it was. But then, she might have to explain what she truly worried about.

  Instead she told her backstory about how she’d been a regular country girl who had moved to the city after college. Marketing had always fascinated her because it was all about persuading people and sharing information in an effective way. No matter what the product was, she enjoyed trying to think of the best way to get the point across without being boring or pushy.

  “So you don’t like most TV ads?”

  She laughed. “It depends. Some are well done. Others, not so much. And some of them I might’ve worked on, but only the good ones.”

  Then she walked up to his couch. He didn’t say anything, which she took as a good sign. She began poking around the cushions, still looking for the key, but at last he admitted that she was ice cold. She gave him a dirty look. “You could’ve told me.”

  “And spoiled your fun?”

  The only place she hadn’t looked was the bookcase.

  His bookcase. He’s got a lot of stuff there. Maybe…

  “Who’s your favorite author?” she asked.

  “I’m not telling you that. It might give the game away.”

  She decided on a less-direct approach. She was confident that the key was in there somewhere. All she needed was a little more information on him, and she’d easily find it.

  She sat down to drink her cocoa. “Tell me about surfing,” she said. “It always struck me as kind of dangerous. Did you ever have any big accidents?”

  He rattled off a list of bones he’d broken in his life. It was a long list, and then he began showing scars he’d received during his so-called daredevil days. She emptied half her mug of cocoa and drifted over to the bookshelf. He had plenty of fiction books—mostly science fiction and horror—but none of those related to him much.

  She looked back his way and tried to analyze his life. Money-making, action stunts…and accidents.

  He never mentioned any accidents in the water. All his accidents were on land, and he never said what the scar was on his leg.

  She focused on book titles, knowing he wanted her to discover where he’d hid the key. It was a mystery about him—she was sure of it. Her fingers ran across all the spines on the bottom shelf, and she worked her way up. She noticed there were lots of books that had since been turned into movies, and she wondered if he liked the books or films better. She hadn’t seen much of a movie collection, but he might keep all that in digital form somewhere.

  He just watched her, saying nothing about her being hot or cold, so she knew she was on the right track. She was on the middle row now. Even his books were organized. All the horror ones were at the bottom, then the action ones. Books on underwater photography were next. One book stuck in her mind, but she ignored it for the time being. She wanted to make sure she was right this time.

  “What’s the most exotic place, or should I say, the most dangerous place you’ve ever been surfing?” she asked.

  “Well, lots of places, mainly because of the sha—”

  “Aha! I got you.” She held up a book about sharks, and as she shook it, the key dropped onto the floor.

  “Well done, Sherlock. Now you’re free to go,” he said. He beamed a wide smile, but she thought he looked a little disappointed too, as though he was sorry to see their night together end so soon.

  “You know what, it’s not fair to take your clothes. I wouldn’t want to deprive you of them. Maybe I’ll stay a bit longer and let my clothes dry. If that’s okay with you.” She could have another mug of cocoa. It wasn’t all that late yet.

  The smile he gave her made her certain it was the right choice. On her way back over to the couch, she had half a mind to let him hide the key again, just for an excuse to stay longer.

  Chapter Nine

  Nicole woke early and was out of her apartment in a flash, ready to be up and doing things. She thought about knocking on Branson’s door to wish him a good morning but ultimately decided against it.

  Still, the day was looking up. As far as she was concerned, the sun was out, the sky was blue, and birds were singing in the trees. The fact that it was actually overcast with dark gray clouds and had rained half the night didn’t matter to her. Even though the streets were still soaked and full of puddles, it did nothing to dampen her spirit or squash the spring in her step.

  She headed down the stairs and stopped at Charlie’s office to give him back the spare key, now that she had the original back. She wondered if Branson was disappointed she didn’t let him have the spare key, which would be ridiculous, because she hadn’t known him that long. They weren’t that close. Were they?

  She was up way too early to go straight to the office, so she stopped by the park and headed directly to the pond. She had a small bag of uncooked rice in her pocket, perfect for the ducks—far better than bread. She scooped up handfuls and threw them into the water, watching while the ducks dabbled and ducked their heads. They dipped underneath the surface, just leaving their tails sticking up in the air.

  They seemed happy, and she felt good, sharing her joy of life with nature, so to speak. When the bag was empty, she returned it to her pocket and finished the trek to work.

  The day wasn’t the sort to drown out with music, so she refrained from pushing her headphones into her ears. She strolled along, breathing in the fresh air. The calmness of everything helped her think. She’d started out trying to keep an empty mind, but Branson kept nudging back in.

  If they were there together, she’d probably hang off his arm and talk with him, and they’d have a blast enjoying one another’s company. Just like last night.

  She reached the sidewalk, and the sounds of nature changed to the din of traffic and chattering from people on their cell phones. They were all business types and were busy making their plans to conquer their respective corners of the world. Some of them seemed worried about being late, from the rush in their steps while others simply seemed determined.

  Nicole felt confident today. Whatever came her way, she felt she could tackle it with ease. Her feet hardly touched the sidewalk, and she had a bounce in her step. She felt like she was floating. And when she did approach a small puddle, she easily dodged it. Not bad for three-inch heels.

  “Morning, Tricia,” Nicole said as she pushed through the revolving door and looked over to the young woman who managed reception on the ground floor.

  She raised her hand and waved back. Nicole hit the elevators and pushed the button. Rather than cursing that the elevator was slow, she hummed a song to herself. The doors finally opened once the elevator arrived, and a throng of people entered. Nicole’s mood was so good that she didn’t even flinch when a woman accidentally stopped on her toe and apologized. Nicole barely felt it.

  “Good morning,” a guy from the accounting department said.

  “No, it’s a great morning,” Nicole said.

  “You sound happy today.”

  “Oh, you know, life sometimes deals you a full house, and you run with it.”

  “Okay, there’s that,” he said blankly.

  It didn’t matter if anyone shared h
er good mood. She had it, and that was all that mattered.

  The elevator doors opened, and she headed to the sixth-floor break room. Normally, Leila made the coffee, but today, Nicole beat her to it. She walked straight up to the coffee machine. It wasn’t turned on and the water reservoir looked low, so she filled it and put her single-cup coffee pouch in. Then she leaned against the counter while she waited for the water to heat up.

  “Good morning, Nicole,” Nancy said as she walked into the coffee area. “I can do that for you.” She was going for assistant of the year, apparently.

  “Don’t worry about it. I felt like doing it today. Do you want one?”

  “I will take one. Thank you,” Nancy replied.

  Nancy usually juggled everything for Nicole, acting as the promised “right-hand-woman,” but not today. Today was different.

  Nancy smiled. “I’ll be at my desk in case of calls.”

  Nicole took her coffee cup, now full, out and put one in for Nancy. Moments later, she handed the brimming mug to her assistant.

  “So, what do we have on the schedule for today?” Nicole asked.

  “Fernando Ruiz cancelled, so you have a free morning.”

  “He didn’t.” For one moment, it felt like all the sunshine had fled. She’d cleared her schedule specifically for him. He was supposed to fly in from Toronto, and he’d wanted to discuss a new ad campaign for his company.

  Nancy bit her lip. “His assistant said his flight was delayed until early next week.”

  “Check who’s still available and see if they can make it this morning. I’m in the mood for spreading the word.”

  “Okay.” Nancy chuckled. “What’s the word you’re spreading today?”

  “I don’t know. Goodness, maybe. Charisma. Something power-phrase-y. Anyway, I should get to it.”