Grinning, he returned to the dressing room. “Here you go,” he said, flinging them over the slatted door.
“Nice,” she called out. “We’ll be twins.”
“I’m sharing my secrets, and this is how you reward me?”
He went back to his couch and the TV. They were still interviewing the family with the huge feline. Royal weddings got less coverage.
Then she came out of the dressing room with a gleaming smile on her face. “We’ve got a winner!”
She looked terrible. The shirt and pants fit her well, and she’d buttoned and tucked herself together neatly, but she looked wrong. Like every androgynous clone in corporate America.
Like him.
“Take it off,” he said.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Excuse me?”
He stood up and pointed at the interior of the store. “I’ll find you something else.”
“No need. This is perfect.”
“It isn’t.”
“It is,” she said, pivoting on her heel, showing him the buttoned welt pockets on her ass. “You picked out the perfect size, too. Thanks.”
He strode over to her. “That’s all wrong for Fite. It’s too conservative. You’re an artist, not an accountant.”
She went inside the dressing room and banged the door in his face. “They don’t want somebody who looks like an artist. They want somebody who looks like you.”
“Just because some design assistant was yanking your chain doesn’t mean it had anything to do with the crazy stuff you like to wear,” he said.
She pulled the door open. She’d put her old clothes back on. “Crazy. There you go. Crazy isn’t the look I’m going for anymore.”
But he liked her look. Too much. “At least try on something a little more… I don’t know… fashionable. More… I don’t know, feminine. Like what the design assistants wear.”
“I already know I can’t wear that crap. The heels alone would kill me. I’d trip on the stairs. I wouldn’t even be able to get out of the house.” She slung the blue shirt and khaki pants over her arm and marched past him. “These are the perfect compromise. Comfortable, wash-and-wear, and they don’t clash too bad with my combat boots.”
“Not wearing the boots would be enough of a makeover. You don’t have to—”
But she was already gone, disappearing past the racks and displays to find a register.
The TV was now broadcasting a commercial for chocolate-frosted-bagel breakfast cereal. No doubt that’s what the cat had been eating.
He caught up to April at the opposite end of the store, where she was already handing over her credit card. Her hair had dried unevenly around her ears, sticking up at odd angles. Her lips were curled in a smile. He thought about kissing her.
Out on a Friday night with a woman he found irresistible, and here he was. Damp. Too sober. Frustrated. And she hadn’t even taken his advice.
“Are you in line?” a woman asked behind him.
He jumped aside. “No. Just waiting for…” He trailed off, avoiding eye contact with the dark-haired woman, who held a red-and-black sliver of fabric that might have been underwear.
Why hadn’t he brought that to April in the dressing room?
He rubbed his eyes. This had been a mistake. Just because he had iron self-control didn’t mean he should torture himself.
April bounced over to him, hugging a shopping bag to her chest. “I got three of the shirts and two pair of the pants. I’ll have to drive out to Concord this weekend to get a few more. Each store only has a couple per size, you know?”
“I’ll walk you to BART,” he said.
She bumped her shoulder against his as they headed for the elevator. “You aren’t really mad, are you? Just because I didn’t take your advice?”
“I’m not mad.”
“Yeah?”
“The trick is not minding,” he said.
Chapter 15
IT TOOK APRIL ALMOST THREE weeks to admit her new clothes weren’t doing the trick.
Teegan and the other Women’s design assistants had become increasingly difficult to work with. They asked her to do things one day and then backtracked the next, never admitting they had said otherwise. April’s hours sped by every morning in a haze of sketches and swatches and screen print designs, a parade of work that never ended, that she never completed.
One morning in late February, she hurried out with Virginia to the coffee truck in the alley for a quick caffeine fix.
“If these guys were really smart, they’d serve liquor,” April muttered.
It was already eleven, she wouldn’t be in the office the next day, and she had one hour to recolor six stripes, lay out a logo on a T-shirt, match a new palette into the computer, and… there was something else…
Right. Go to the bathroom. She’d had to pee for over an hour. At this rate she was going to get a bladder infection, no matter how much cranberry juice she chugged.
Always afraid of offending anyone, Virginia looked around and asked in a whisper, “What happened?”
“They don’t like anything I do,” April said.
Virginia scrunched up her face. “I know.”
“You do?”
Virginia gave her a sympathetic nod. “I hear them bitching while they wait for the elevator in the lobby.”
“About me?”
“Sorry,” Virginia said.
April paid for a bottle of iced tea and an apple that would probably taste like Fite Performance Cotton, but she was desperate for nutrients that didn’t come out of a bag. “The main problem is they make me redo everything, and then I get behind. It’s really annoying.”
“Any way you could pin them down better on what they want before you waste too much time?”
“I do. I ask millions of questions and make them write down what they want before I do anything. Then they see it, exactly what they asked for, and it’s like I’m the crazy one.”
“At least you get paid by the hour,” Virginia said.
“But it’s stupid. Inefficient.”
Virginia paid for her hot chocolate and a granola bar. “Are you coming in tomorrow? We could splurge on dim sum.”
“I wish, but I’ve got Merry all day.” April took a bite of her apple, and it was worse than she’d feared, mealy and bruised. She frowned at it, tempted to ask for her money back but not wanting to add to the bad energy already spoiling her mood. “I have to watch her this afternoon, too. I’m going to get really behind.”
Merry was five months old now, rolling around the house and getting into even more trouble. April loved being with her, and the proud parents had insisted on paying her nicely—but her babysitting hours, because of Bev’s work schedule, were usually during business hours, and she kept running out of time.
With Rita still out—she’d filed for family leave, and nobody knew when she’d be back—the workload was snowballing. The design teams had permission to hire more freelancers, but none had appeared, and April was skeptical Jennifer or Darrin would bother. Easier to dump it in April’s lap and complain.
“I’ll have to come in early Monday morning,” April said. She couldn’t believe she’d reached the point in her life when she would regularly get up before five a.m., but what else could she do?
“I heard Rita’s other kid is sick, too,” Virginia said.
“She left me a message,” April said. “Her older daughter had double pneumonia. She spent a night in the hospital. And her six-year-old has always had really bad asthma, and of course it flared up at the worst time.”
They walked back through the back door, nodding at George, who scowled.
“Rita’s a single mom,” April continued. “I can’t imagine how she’s coping. Hopefully I can keep things from totally falling apart while she’s away.”
“You’re just a freelancer,” Virginia said. “Don’t kill yourself trying to cover for her. They’ll hire more people if you can’t handle it.”
But she wasn’t
just any freelancer—she was the family slacker, the baby. She had to handle it. She would.
When she went back to her desk, she saw the pile of clothes, boards, swatches, and paper. Her stomach twisted. Less than an hour now to get it done. And they’d hate it anyway.
She sat down and got to work. Whatever she didn’t finish, she could get in between six and eight Monday morning.
The phone rang. Teegan’s line.
On the third trill, April picked up the receiver and slowly put it against her temple, as if it were loaded. “Yes?”
It was a man’s low, calming voice. “Just thought you might like to know they’ve all gone to LA for the rest of the week.”
At first she thought it was God. Or an angel. “Zack?”
“In case they forgot to mention it to you,” he said. “It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. They just left for the airport.”
“Who?”
“The entire team.”
“Teegan?”
“All of them. Men’s and Women’s. Designers and assistants. They decided to go shopping,” he said.
“Just like that?”
“You’re one to talk,” he said. “Spontaneous shopping trips are your specialty.”
“But…” She looked at the pile of work on her desk. “Do they want this shit or not?”
“Sorry. Not privy to their inner workings. So to speak. Just couldn’t help watching them all run off with their suitcases.”
“If they had suitcases, they must’ve known they were going at least last night,” she said.
Zack was silent.
“Thanks for letting me know,” she said. “I’ll… talk to you later.” She hung up.
Virginia appeared in the opening of her cubicle. In a daze, April looked up at her. “The entire design team just went to LA.”
Virginia nodded. “I was coming to tell you. I saw them go a few minutes ago.”
April got to her feet, gesturing at the mess of her desk. “Teegan said she wanted it by noon. Today.” April picked up the top sheet, flung it back down.
“Who was it who just called you?”
April felt her face flushing. “The business consultant. He’s using a cube in their department and overheard.”
Virginia laughed. “Zack, you mean? ‘Business consultant.’ As if I don’t know his name.”
“Yeah, well, he thought I’d like to know.”
“Nice of him,” Virginia said.
April hadn’t told anyone about the kiss. That way it was easier to pretend it hadn’t happened. But now the memory washed over her, leaving her hot and achy. “He’s just doing his job. He was hired to improve morale.”
“Starting with yours.”
April sat down. “Watch it.”
“He likes you.”
“Who doesn’t?” April asked. “Other than the design team of Fite Fitness, that is.”
“Do you like him?”
“This isn’t sixth grade,” April said.
Virginia nodded. “I’ll bet you lunch something’s going to happen between you two.”
“Save your money. He never gets involved at work.”
Virginia’s brown eyes widened. “He told you that?”
Too late, April turned away and began rearranging the swatches of fabric and sketches on her desk. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“He must be interested. He wouldn’t call you like that otherwise.”
“Trust me,” April said, “he’d rather gnaw off a limb than touch me again.”
Virginia whistled softly. “Again?”
“Nothing happened.”
Virginia cocked an eyebrow.
“Over a month ago,” April muttered. “So don’t waste your money. It’s not going to happen.”
“A hundred. I bet you a hundred it does.”
“You’re throwing your money away,” April said.
“I doubt that. Deal?”
To get rid of her, April agreed, and Virginia finally returned to the front desk. April looked at all the work on her desk, finding it difficult to motivate herself to do any of it.
Her phone trilled again. Teegan’s line. She picked up, her heart skipping. “Why do you keep using her phone?”
“She has you on speed dial,” Zack said. “Big yellow sticker next to your name.”
“Surprised it’s not a bull’s-eye,” April said. She loved his voice, deep and rich.
“It is slightly round. Should I draw a black circle in the middle?”
April put her hand over her heart, felt its ridiculous dance under her palm. “What are you calling about this time? Not that I’m not thrilled to hear from you.”
He paused. “I was headed your way at lunch. Thought I could offer you a ride.”
“To Oakland?”
“I have a meeting with Bev at their house,” he said.
“You could take BART.”
“I’m continuing on to Bakersfield for a few days to see my parents. I actually rented the car just for that reason.”
It was only Thursday. Interesting that he wasn’t waiting until the weekend. “Is everything all right?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” he asked.
He obviously liked his privacy. She’d try to respect that, but it wasn’t her strong suit. “When are you leaving?”
“Noon. Meet you in back. I’m parked in the alley.” He clicked off.
She set down the receiver and stared at her screen, where the latest version of a polka dot Fite logo flickered in pink and blue spots.
He seemed rigid, but made his own rules. He was aloof but went out of his way for people.
For her.
She brushed her fingers against her lips, remembering.
The phone rang again, this time from Liam. “I just talked to Jennifer,” he said. “She called from the cab. She said Teegan expected you to revise the sketch for the 534 hoodie before they left for the airport. She’s asking me why you didn’t get it done yet.”
Teegan had specifically told her two hours ago that she would do all her own sketches. And having her boss call her brother… that was a new level of slime.
But April’s thoughts had drifted to Zack, and latched on. I hope his parents are okay. Why hadn’t he waited until the weekend?
She glanced at the clock. Not much time until she’d meet him. A different kind of stress pulled at her now.
She opened up the sketching program on her computer, made the revisions in three seconds, and put it on the network, all the while holding the phone at her ear.
“What should I tell her?” Liam asked.
“The sketch is done,” April replied. “I just checked. Maybe Teegan was looking in the wrong network folder. She’s not exactly a computer genius.”
“Good to know,” Liam said. “Thanks. Sorry to bother you.”
Smiling, she hung up, pulled out her compact, and reapplied her lipstick, realizing that, indeed, her morale was much improved.
* * *
Zack tried to hand a few bucks to George at the back door for watching his car—parking spaces in San Francisco were as rare as affordable housing—but the old guy waved him away, wrinkling his nose.
“Save it for a haircut,” George said. “You’re a few weeks overdue.”
Zack ran his hand through the waves flopping over his eyes. “More like a month. I haven’t found a place I like to get it done.”
“What’s not to like?” George asked. “You got hair, they cut it off.”
Zack didn’t explain that the quarter-inch of white stubble at the base of George’s skull didn’t need as much skill as his own hair. In the wrong hands, his thick, cow-licked waves would look ridiculous, with tufts sticking out at odd angles unless he plastered it down with gelatinous goo that worked for only an hour or two.
His mother would tell him to get a haircut, too. His father would tell him his mother was right and then haul him to Quickie-Cut himself.
Maybe that’s why he hadn’t cut it yet. It would g
ive him something to do with his parents while he was home, even if the results would lead him to wear a hat for the next month. His parents were even more introverted than he was, happiest when they were at work on their own solitary tasks. They were slow to talk, reluctant to pry, and always went to bed early. He spent most of his time at home reading on the couch.
He thanked George again and got into his rented Mazda, keeping one eye on the back door for April. His promise not to talk to her brother about the way Teegan was treating her was becoming increasingly difficult to keep. The drive over to Oakland would give him the chance to… he didn’t know what. Suggest she ask for help. Now that he’d been in the design assistant area for almost two weeks, he was convinced that Teegan—and the other assistants—were trying to sabotage her in particular. While they weren’t always nice with other support staff, they didn’t laugh about them once they’d left the room.
He saw April pop out of the back door, scan the alley for him, and jog over, looking much happier than he’d expected. If Teegan had hoped for tears and a resignation letter, she’d failed. April was rosy-cheeked and smiling.
An increasingly familiar hunger struck him.
She climbed in and caressed the plastic dash. “Sweet wheels. Went all out, did you?” She put on her seat belt. “Let’s bail this jail.”
Her uniform was different today. She continued to wear the conservative trousers, but the poncho had returned. And pink safety pins pierced her ears like a punk rocker’s.
“You look nice,” he said, starting the car.
“Let’s not kid ourselves.”
“I’m not kidding.”
She held up a hand and made a dismissive gesture. “Sorry. You look nice, too.”
Luckily, his ego wasn’t entangled with his appearance. Turning his attention to the narrow pavement, he snaked his way through the busy city streets to the Bay Bridge.
After ten minutes of silence, when they were careening away from the city on the bridge over white-tipped black water, she asked, “Are you sure everything’s fine?”
“So far as I know.”
“Have you visited them since you got here?” she asked.
Not Quite Perfect (Oakland Hills Book 3) Page 14
