The poor woman never had a chance, and melted like a Hershey’s bar left on the dashboard in August. Blushing furiously, she smiled. “Of course.” With apparent difficulty, she peeled her gaze away from Justus and backed out.
“Unbelievable,” Angela said. “You really ought to stop.”
Chuckling, he leaned back against the cushions and studied the ceiling as if he considered it perfectly normal to spend a Friday night in a ladies’ bathroom. “Do you need a ride home?”
“I asked the hostess to call me a cab.”
“I could take you.”
She felt an unexpected surge of fondness for him. “What are you? My knight on a white horse?”
“Just got my armor back from the dry cleaners. Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“What was his name?” he persisted. “Ronald? Fucking jackass.”
In the past, if she’d ever heard someone make a comment like that about Ronnie, she would have come out swinging. But under the current circumstances, defending Ronnie was a colossal waste of time.
“And here it took me three years to realize he’s a fucking jackass.”
Justus snorted out a laugh.
The door swung open again, and the hostess peered inside. “Your cab is here.”
“Thanks,” Angela said.
She and Justus both stood, and she put her hand on his arm before he could get too far. She meant to thank him for looking out for her tonight, but words, suddenly, seemed inadequate.
So she gave in to impulse, stood on her tiptoes, kissed his smooth, hard cheek, then wrapped her arms around his waist for a hug.
He stiffened.
“Sorry,” she said quickly, starting to pull back as a renewed wave of embarrassment hit her. She always had to go too far—
Without warning, his arms swept her in tight, contracting around her in a powerful hug that was warm, long, and wonderfully reassuring.
Just what she needed.
And then, with the warm brush of his lips against her forehead, he turned her loose and opened the door. His expression was somber but otherwise unreadable, and he didn’t look at her as she started to walk through.
She paused on the threshold. “Thanks. I hope your dinner isn’t too cold.”
His gaze flicked back to her, and she was startled to see its turbulence. He didn’t say anything.
“Well.” She took another step. “Good night.”
“Angela.”
“Hmm?” She glanced back over her shoulder.
Long pause.
“It’s...good to see you,” he said gruffly. “Really good to see you.”
“You’re telling me Ronnie dumped you over drinks?” Carolyn asked.
Angela balanced the phone against her shoulder, squinted against the glaring morning sun streaming through the kitchen window, and rubbed her tired, gritty eyes. Exhausted didn’t seem like a big enough word to describe how she felt. When the cab dropped her off at her apartment last night, she’d cried bitter, angry tears for so long she half expected she’d need to go to the hospital for a hydrating saline drip. Sleep was out of the question, so she didn’t even bother. Instead, knowing nothing cleared her head like a little cleaning and the orange scent of her favorite disinfectants, she’d set to work.
She’d cleaned her two bathrooms and scrubbed the grout. Then she’d changed the linens on the bed, dusted the living room from top to bottom, shaken the rugs over the edge of the balcony, and lined her kitchen drawers with the blue-and-yellow-striped shelf paper she’d bought the other day. Only the lateness of the hour had stopped her from also vacuuming, but she didn’t think her neighbors would appreciate the racket at two in the morning. Then she’d baked some fresh sourdough from the starter she kept in the fridge and eaten half the loaf while it was still warm.
Finally, having worn herself out a little, she’d fallen into her black wrought-iron four-poster bed—the bed where she would never again make love to Ronnie—burrowed under her crisp white hotel sheets, and lain awake until five. Then she’d gotten up, run her four miles on the treadmill in the second bedroom that served as both office and exercise room, and done two hours of paperwork so she wouldn’t have to go into the office today.
Finally, at eight, she’d called Carolyn, knowing she’d be up with Maya, her three-year-old.
“Technically, it was over salad,” Angela told her. She stopped rubbing her lids, focused on the granite countertop, sprayed it liberally with cleaner, and began to wipe even though it was already spotless. “He said he needed time, didn’t want to get married now, wanted to work on his career, blah, blah, blah.”
Carolyn murmured sympathetically. “So do you think it’ll all work out, or...”
“I don’t think so. I don’t know.” Angela stopped the busywork. For the first time she could remember, cleaning—her favorite mindless, repetitive task—did nothing to settle her nerves. She was, in fact, getting more and more agitated. Throwing the sponge in the soapy dishwater, she leaned against the counter. “I’m so angry right now. I just don’t know what happened.”
“Well...” Carolyn said.
That didn’t sound good. At all.
“Well, what?”
“I don’t think he wants to ever marry you, sweetie,” Carolyn said in a rush. “V.J. and I have talked about it for years—”
“Years? Are you kidding me right now?”
“—and we just don’t think it would take him this long to propose if he was really serious about you. For God’s sake, you’re both in your mid-thirties, so what could he be waiting for? V.J. says if Ronnie was serious he wouldn’t have let so much grass grow under his feet.”
A fresh batch of furious emotion welled in Angela’s throat. She choked it back, picked up her broom, and jabbed at a spider web laced between the arms of the brass chandelier over the kitchen table.
This was just great. Everyone, including Ronnie, had known for years that Ronnie would never marry her.
She was the only dumbass that’d been in the dark.
“Well, why didn’t you ever say anything?” she barked. “This whole time I’ve been—”
“Put it down, honey,” Carolyn said, her voice now muffled. “Put it down.”
Angela knew what that muffled phone voice meant and resisted the urge to growl in frustration. The little monster Carolyn liked to call her daughter had entered the room and the adult part of this conversation was, therefore, now over.
“Would you like to say hello to Aunt Angela?” Carolyn asked, now speaking in that annoying squeal—Hiii-iii! How aaaaare youuuuuu!—suitable only for small children and pets. “Come here, sweetie.”
No! No she does not need to say hello, Angela thought frantically. Why did parents always think it was cute to put their little kids on the phone? Like toddlers were witty conversationalists. Please. Why didn’t love-blind parents ever realize that the rest of the world wasn’t as wild about their children as they were?
And why couldn’t she have the briefest conversation with her sister without Maya interrupting?
“Don’t put her on the phone, Carolyn. I really don’t have time for this now, and—oh, hello, Maya.”
This was just freaking great.
“Hi, Aunt Ang-la,” Maya said in her high-pitched singsong.
A long silence, punctuated by Maya’s heavy breathing, followed.
Angela wiped a fingerprint off the counter and impatiently cast around for something to say. “So...how is school?”
“Good.”
“Wonderful.” Her obligation to speak to the child now fully discharged, it was time to move on to more important matters. “Put your mom back on the phone, please. And don’t hang up on me this time, okay?”
Carolyn’s irritated, sarcastic voice came back on the line. “Hoo-boy, Angela. Such enthusiasm. I’m going to nominate you for the aunt of the year award. Maya, you go run and play. Bye.”
Angela had picked up the broom and started sweeping the
floor, but now she stiffened in surprise. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Can you at least try to be nice to her, Angela?” Carolyn’s voice rose. “Maybe pretend—just for once—like you have some interest in my child? You’re the only aunt Maya has! You and she are the only family I have! Do you have any idea how much it would mean to me if my sister actually liked my daughter? Can’t you do it for me?”
Furious, Angela threw the broom to the tiled floor, where it clattered. “Are you kidding me? Maya couldn’t ask for a better aunt! I’ve never missed a birthday or Christmas, and let me remind you that the American Girl doll I got her last year was not cheap! And what about the—”
“I’m not talking about spending money on her!” Carolyn shouted. “I’m talking about spending time with her, getting to know her, and—”
“I cannot deal with this right now!” As far as Angela was concerned, this whole stupid conversation had strayed way too far afield from the topic at hand, which was her ruined love life. In the background she heard muffled noises and Carolyn murmuring to Maya again, but she ignored them. “My life has been ripped to shreds and you want to talk about your daughter?” she continued. “I don’t have time for that! I need to know why you let me spend three years—”
“When are you going to stop being so selfish? When are you going to wake up and realize it’s not all about you and your career and your romance? What will it take for you to stop being so self-centered?”
Outrage rendered Angela speechless for a couple of beats while she pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it, but she recovered quickly. “Well, forgive me for wanting to talk about what’s going on in my life! Forgive me for being a little upset about being dumped! How could I be such a bitch?”
A long silence followed until finally Angela wondered if Carolyn had hung up on her.
“Hello?” she snarled. “Hello?”
“What did you say, Angela?” Carolyn sounded harried. “I didn’t hear you. Maya, don’t touch that. I said don’t touch it.”
Disgusted, Angela jerked open the cabinet under the sink, fished the window cleaner out, sprayed some on a fresh cloth, and attacked the window. Typical. This was the way it always went with Carolyn and her: they talked, one or the other got angry, they shouted invectives at each other, and then they moved on. If Carolyn’s attack just now was a little more personal than usual, or hit a little closer to home, Angela did not particularly want to explore the reasons why. Some dogs were best left quietly asleep.
“I said, I want to know why you let me spend three years of my life—”
“PUT IT DOWN, MAYA!” Carolyn yelled.
On the other end of the line, there was a huge, wet, crashing sound, quickly followed by Carolyn yelling and Maya crying.
Angela cursed and shook her head. Unbelievable.
“I’ve got to go,” Carolyn said. “Maya just knocked the flowers off the table.”
Of course she did. That little devil’s spawn had more arms than an octopus family reunion and a reach to make George Foreman weep with envy. For God’s sake, why couldn’t Carolyn put her foot down with Maya every now and then and whip her into shape? The child was three and a half years old, and she ran their whole household. Who was the parent over there? Anyone?
“Well, I need you right now, Carolyn! I’m having a personal crisis here, and I need a little of your time!”
“I’m doing the best I can, Angela!” In the background Maya’s crying increased ten points in volume, and Carolyn’s voice began to sound a little wobbly, as though she was on the verge of her own meltdown. “I can’t be everything to everyone all the time!”
It really was a shame, Angela reflected sadly, the way motherhood had reduced Carolyn to this high-strung, shrieking mess. Angela remembered a time, not so long ago, when Carolyn had been a wildly successful bond trader. She’d worn power suits and talked in complete sentences and read the newspaper. What had happened to that sophisticated human being?
If she was ever lucky enough to become a mother (which, thanks to Ron’s abandonment, she probably wouldn’t, but that was beside the point right now), Angela vowed she’d do it much better than this.
Carolyn sniffled and spoke calmly now, her tone conciliatory. “Look. My car’s still in the shop, but maybe V.J. can drop me off over there after dinner and we can talk for a while. He can take Maya to the mall or something. Okay?”
“Fine,” Angela said, slightly mollified. “By the way, before I forget to mention it, I saw Justus last night. What’s he been up to?”
“Oh, he just opened his gym,” Carolyn said. “He’s pretty excited about that. Still screwing every woman in sight. Same as always.”
Angela laughed. “That’s what I figured. I’ll see you later.”
But Angela never spoke to her sister again.
4
“Uh-oh!”
Flapping her arms to keep her balance, Justus’s client (twenty-something; cute; sweet; well south of smart) made a dramatic and probably staged fall off the BOSU ball. Justus reflexively caught her, which gave her the opening he knew she’d been looking for the whole training session: she threw her hands onto his biceps, squeezed hard, and thrust her titties against his chest. The hard little points of her nipples were unmistakable, as was the invitation in her hot eyes and the seductive smile on her glossy lips.
“Sorry,” she said, stepping closer.
Justus tried not to grimace.
“No problem.” He set her to rights, stepped back, smiled coolly, and pointedly checked his watch. “Let’s be more careful next time. Try not to lose focus, okay? I think we’re done for today.”
“Oh.” Her face fell. “What about Monday?”
Justus stooped to pick up the ball, walked across the blue exercise mat, and put it with its mates over in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Turning back, he picked up his water bottle from the weight bench and took a long sip while dredging up a diplomatic answer.
Which was getting harder and harder to do every time a client tried to hit on him.
Giving her a dispassionate and discreet once-over, he sighed. If they’d met in, say, a club, and it was a slow night, he’d have no objections to a quick hookup. He was only human, right? But he hadn’t met her in a club. She was a client. At the exercise studio he now owned. Where he had many female clients, a few female employees, and no plans to piss in his own fucking pool. He couldn’t think of a quicker way to ruin his reputation and torpedo employee morale than by failing to keep his shit in his pants and acting like a fool just because the opportunity presented itself. Kept presenting itself.
So, yeah, thanks, but no thanks, little cutie.
“The beginning of the week’s pretty tight,” he said firmly. “But if you check at the desk, I think I have a cancellation on Thursday afternoon.”
“Oh,” she said again. “If you think that’s soon enough...”
“Absolutely.” He held his hand wide to indicate she should head to the door. “I’ll walk you down.”
He watched as she glumly gathered her high-end gym bag and hiked up her skintight yoga pants until they almost reached her belly button. Her negligible bra top similarly left nothing to the imagination. This girl did not believe in subtlety. Her whole committed-exerciser routine would be much more convincing if only she’d actually exercised while she was here, but breaking a sweat did not appear to be one of her goals. She was only twenty-one and time was on her side, at least for now. Little did she know that in a few years she’d really have to work to keep her shape.
The thought of her drenched with sweat after an hour on a treadmill was strangely cheering.
He was sick of clients like this one—and a lot of them seemed to be just like this one—who saw coming to the gym as a chance to see their friends, show off their new hundred-dollar outfits, and seduce him. He wouldn’t be surprised if some of these little babies—he sometimes thought of younger women as babies because a lot of them were silly and vacan
t—had made a bet among themselves to see who could seduce him first. He wished he could post a sign on the front door informing them they were wasting their time.
But he had to be nice. They paid their membership dues and put food on his table.
Justus trailed behind her down the steps to the second floor, performing a silent inventory as he went. On the plus side, the gym was in full Saturday morning swing, thank God; exercisers occupied all the treadmills, ellipticals, and bikes. The mirror along the main wall sparkled, fingerprint free, as did the tall windows, where the bright sunlight streamed in. The powerful beat of Jay Z kept the energy level high. In the hallway the hardwood floors gleamed with polish. Across the way in the converted parlor, spinners groaned and struggled to keep up with the instructor, who barked out orders like Lou Gossett Jr. in An Officer and a Gentleman.
On the minus side, the stairs still creaked. That was the thing about this old Victorian house. Sure, it had been a steal, and it made an interesting place for an exercise studio. But even though they’d finished the major renovations already, there was always another creak, leak, or break that demanded his attention. And his money. Luckily Brian, his silent partner, had deeper pockets than he did, courtesy of a bequest from his grandmother.
He’d just turned to go down the second flight to the first floor lobby area when he saw V.J. barreling up the steps toward him, shoulders squared, his mouth compressed into a tight line. At the top of the landing he looked around, caught Justus’s eye, and glowered.
Ah, shit. That was quick. Crossing his arms, he scowled at V.J.
His client stared, wide-eyed, at them. “Well...bye, Justus,” she said, scurrying down the steps.
“Bye.”
V.J. came closer. “Got a minute?” he asked sharply.
“Not really.” Justus continued down the steps to the lobby, where the receptionist sat at her post answering phones. To the right, clients occupied every table in the smoothie bar, and a steady stream of people came and went out of the locker rooms.
Risk (It's Complicated Book 2) Page 4
