This comment made Sanford laugh out loud, and he turned to look over his shoulder at me. "That's hilarious."
"Why? What's funny about it?"
For a moment, he hesitated, but then sighed and turned around to fully face me. "Back when I was a senior, I was probably at the lowest point in my life, that's why," he replied. "That was just before my mom passed away, although I knew it was coming."
"What??" My mouth dropped open.
"Every day, I hung around at school because I didn't want to go home and find her dead, sprawled out on the floor of our trailer," he answered, his lips still slightly curved up in a sardonic smile that held no actual humor. "I made it most of the year before she finally keeled over. Fortunately for me, the mailman happened to stop by and found her before I made it back home."
Holy shit. I just stared at Sanford, wondering if this was some sort of sick joke. He looked back at me steadily, however, and then shrugged, turning back to the pile of furniture. "What next?" he asked.
I couldn't spare a single thought for thinking about what furniture piece to examine next. "Your mom died in high school?" I repeated, still not totally convinced that he wasn't playing some sort of twisted prank on me.
He turned back to me, planting his hands on his hips. "Do you really want to hear about this?"
Yes. No. "If you're okay to talk about it," I finally said softly, wondering what can of worms I'd just opened.
He hesitated for a second, glancing over at the pile of stuff still in the room, but then shrugged his shoulders. "Sure, why not. Therapist said that I ought to tell someone, kept on insisting it, even up to the point where I fired him."
Oh. He'd been in therapy, too. Good job, Elaine, picking a real winner to totally develop a girly crush on. "I mean, I'm not a therapist, but I'll listen."
Sanford opened his mouth, but then paused and leveled a finger at me. "But this stays between the two of us," he warned, and this time his stony glare really did scare me. "No one, not your friends down at the bar where you drink, not your old gal pals, learns any of this. And if someone else starts talking to me about any of this, I'm not only firing you, but I'll also sue you for breach of confidentiality. Understand?"
I didn't know if he could really sue me for something like that, but I wasn't going to take the risk. "You got it," I squeaked, staring at that finger pointed at me like it was the barrel of a gun.
In the room next to our current location, the old couch that we'd dragged out of the pile yesterday still sat there, still dusty and unexamined. Sanford wandered over to it and dropped down onto it, once again sending out a little puff of dust in all directions.
"Over here." He patted the cushion beside him.
Feeling a little self-conscious about being directed around, I stepped over and sat down next to him. "So, where do you want to start?" I asked.
He shrugged. "I dunno. Just go ahead and ask something."
"What happened to your dad?"
Sanford tilted his head back until it lay against the back of the couch, his eyes staring up at the ceiling. "Ah, going right to the good ones," he murmured.
"Oh, I didn't - should I ask something else?"
"No, that's okay." He grunted, and I watched him bite his lip for a moment as he considered his words. "I don't know much about him. He ran off when I was a kid, and I can barely even remember anything about him. Left me and my mom alone."
"Oh," I said again, not knowing how to respond to this. "And then your mom died in high school?"
"Yeah."
"Why'd she die?" I asked, guessing that it was totally inappropriate, but not knowing what else to say.
He shrugged. "Drug overdose. Probably heroin."
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," I said again, trying to ignore how I was starting to sound like a broken record.
"That's alright. I knew she was a user, knew that all those times she promised me that she'd get clean were just lies. She'd say just about anything, towards the end. Whatever it took to get her the hit that she craved." I stared at Sanford as he said these awful, terrible things so matter-of-factly, as if this happened to people all the time. Although in his childhood world, maybe these things really were an everyday occurrence.
"So... so what did you do?" I asked after another minute. I already felt uncomfortable, like I was staring into the very heart of this man's soul. I definitely didn't know him well enough for this, but at the same time, I felt an almost suicidal sense of curiosity drawing me in deeper, seeking more illicit answers. "After she died, I mean."
"You know this part. I dropped out of school, went off to seek my future in the big city. I'm sure the other high school kids thought that it was very grand and idealistic." Sanford's grim smile told me what he thought of this viewpoint.
"But it worked, though," I pointed out, waving my hand around to take in the big house.
"Suppose." He didn't sound convinced. "I started working at an auto repair shop. We had a broken-down car that my mom used when she wasn't too high to drive, back in high school, but things kept on going wrong with it. I probably spent more time under that car, taking it apart and putting it back together, than I spent in front of an open textbook. When I got to the city, I started with what I knew - working on cars."
"You got rich from fixing cars?" I asked skeptically.
"Nah. I soon realized that, while I was doing all the hard work and had all the knowledge, my bosses were the ones making the real money. So I struck out with some friends that I've made, opened up my own shop, and promised that I wouldn't just focus on squeezing every dollar out of my customers like most of the other competitors seemed to want to do." Sanford tilted his head to look over at me, and a sardonic grin flickered across his face. "Who would have guessed that customers just wanted an auto mechanic to be honest and straightforward with them, instead of trying to scam them out of more cash?"
"I'm sure your realization took the auto repair world by storm," I fired back, glad that he wasn't dwelling on dead people any longer.
"It kind of did, actually," he admitted. "Before I knew it, I'd opened up a second location, and then a third. People kept on giving me these huge checks, and I had to learn everything as I went. I'm still impressed that I didn't do anything really stupid and lose it all."
"And then what?"
"At some point, I started attracting the notice of the bigger players, some of the national shops. They wanted to get a part of the action, and to tell the truth, I was already in so deep over my head that I would have taken any lifeline they offered me. A group of other CEOs and executives came to me with a buyout offer, and they didn't need to ask twice."
"So you sold it all, and then came back here? Why?" I asked.
Sanford's expression momentarily shifted into one of worry. "I'm still working on an answer to that."
I didn't have a response for him, and we both fell silent for a minute, sitting side by side on the dusty old couch. I kept on sneaking glances over at the man beside me, now seeing him through different eyes. I'd thought that he was arrogant and cold because he held himself as better than everyone else around him, but I now knew that he'd already endured far more than his own share of personal problems.
Maybe, for a man like Sanford, acting cold and cruel and distant was just his way of handling all the cruelty that the world dished out to him.
With both of us sitting down on the couch, no longer moving around and hauling furniture out of stacks and into position for me to examine the pieces and take photographs, I suddenly felt a little chilly. I leaned over slightly, and brushed against Sanford's warm arm on the couch next to me.
He didn't say anything, but he didn't draw away.
After another minute, however, I looked up at the sound of a soft cry. Whiskers had wandered into the room, and now made a beeline over to us. He stopped for a moment at the foot of the couch, looking up at it - and then, before I could stop him, hopped right up onto Sanford's lap!
"You can push him off, if you
don't want him there," I said immediately, not wanting my cat to further embarrass me.
Sanford, however, smiled a little as he looked down at the fat orange tabby sitting on his lap. "Nah, he's alright," he replied, dropping one hand down on top of Whiskers' head and rubbing him behind the ears. Whiskers' purr ratcheted up by about ten notches in volume and he looked up at me, wearing the most satisfied grin that I'd ever seen on an animal.
"Traitor," I told him, pouting that he'd chosen Sanford over me, and the man sitting beside me let out what might have been the very first genuine laugh I'd ever heard from him.
Chapter Thirteen
*
"Yes!" I cheered, as Sanford stacked the last of the chairs on top of its fellows. "The first floor inventory is complete!"
Just as I'd expected, the man rolled his eyes at me for cheering over such a mundane little thing, but I could see that, deep down, he was also proud of our progress. We'd been working for nearly the entire week to reach this point, but we'd finally managed to disentangle all the furniture from the stacked piles. I had tossed out most of the crap, and had enough photographs and measurements of the potentially valuable items to get through my research to figure out their values.
"There's still the second floor," Sanford pointed out after a moment, as if determined to prick my happiness and deflate me back down.
It wasn't going to work, however, and I grinned at him. "Yeah, but we're halfway done! This is still a big step, and I'm still really proud of myself."
"You're proud of yourself?" he protested. "So I don't get any credit for handling most of the heavy lifting?"
"Brains trump muscles every time," I told him, while carefully making sure that I didn't admit how much I liked watching his muscles in action. For the last couple of days, Sanford had worn a tight tee shirt instead of his normal, slightly baggier button-up shirt, and I'd nearly started drooling several times as I watched his body flex in the tight clothing.
"Whatever." Sanford sat down on one of the chairs, ignoring how the aged wood creaked alarmingly as he flopped down onto it. "So what next?"
"Next?" I didn't have to consider the question for long. "Now, we should go out and celebrate! And you should come with me!"
For just a moment, I saw a deer in the headlights look flash across Sanford's handsome face. "Me? No, that's okay, you go ahead-"
Not letting myself stop and think about what I was doing, I grabbed his hand off of his lap, squeezing it in both of my own. "Oh, come on," I wheedled. "Don't you want to just go out and have fun for a night, not be trapped in this dusty, dirty house with no one but your butler to entertain you?"
"It's not dirty," he protested weakly, but he didn't pull his hand away from my grip. It felt warm, and I could feel the strength in his firm fingers as I gripped them.
Good lord, I was crushing so hard on the man that I didn't even want to let go of his hand! This was really getting out of control, a little part of me thought, but I told that voice inside my head to hush. Nothing was going to come of it, anyway. Just like a statue, Sanford didn't return any of my few and far between attempts at flirting.
"I'm insisting," I said, giving his hand a firm squeeze to drive my point home. "This afternoon. You can either meet me there, or I can give you a ride, but if you don't come out, I'm going to come to your house and drag you out by force if I have to."
"Really. I'd like to see you try," he said, raising his eyebrows at me, and I very nearly giggled. Wait a minute - was this flirting? Was the man of stone starting to open up and actually flirt back with me? Would wonders never cease?
"So?" I pressed. "What's it going to be?"
He sighed, but finally gave me a reluctant nod. "Fine. Where are you dragging me out to, then?"
I gave him the location and address of Della's wine bar, Vini, and he promised me that he would meet me there later that evening. "I'm trusting you to be a man of your word," I told him as I headed home to take a quick shower and get some of the dust and cobwebs out of my hair. "If you don't show up, I'll be very disappointed!"
"Bye, Elaine," Sanford answered me, closing the front door after me, but I saw another brief little smile dance around his lips as he pushed the door shut. Either I was growing on him, or he'd given up on trying to keep me at arm's length through coldness.
And two hours later, as I sat at a high table in Della's wine bar and sipped at a glass of chardonnay, trying to restrain myself from gulping down all the little bite-size bruschettas that I'd ordered on a whim, I heard the bell tingle above the door. I glanced over, and my mouth dropped open.
There stood Sanford, looking incredible in his dark jeans, white shirt, and a black blazer. Even though I'd spent a solid hour in my closet and in front of my mirror, choosing an outfit and checking my makeup and trying to get that last stubborn hair to lay flat and not stick out like a cowlick, I still felt completely disheveled when I looked at Sanford.
I wasn't the only one looking, either. Every single female eye in the bar immediately shot to him, drinking in the sight of him like he was the single most expensive vintage in the place. I could have sworn that I heard a couple women audibly sigh, and the middle-aged woman with the dyed orange hair that I'd met a few days ago looked in imminent danger of falling off her stool in a swoon.
Sanford looked around the bar, clearly feeling uncomfortable and out of his element. Trying not to laugh at seeing this powerful, dominating alpha male looking out of place, I gave him a little wave to catch his eye. His expression cleared slightly as he spotted me, and he headed over to my table.
"Why is every other woman in this place, aside from you, staring at me like they want to see me naked?" he asked me in a whisper as he slid onto the stool next to me at the little high table.
"Probably because they all do want to see you naked," I answered him in a similarly low-pitched voice, wondering if I should feel relieved or offended that he didn't include me in his assessment of the other women. Man, if I could get a glimpse of him naked, I'd have enough material for fantasies to last me for years...
Sanford grimaced, and reached out to snag one of the bruschetta pieces. "Awful. This is why I wanted to stay home."
"Oh, cheer up," I told him. "You could tell these women whatever you want, that you're a secret agent, a tech billionaire, that you won all your money in Vegas betting with the Mob's cash, and they'd believe you! This is your night to have fun, after spending all day cooped up in your dusty house with just me and Whiskers for company!"
I knew that I was fishing, but a little part of me hoped that maybe he'd reassure me that I wasn't so bad, that he really did like spending time with me. Instead, however, he just heaved another sigh, swallowed the mouthful of crisp French baguette, diced tomato, and olive tapenade, and then nodded.
"Fine. Where do I get a glass?"
"Della," I called out, but I needn't have bothered raising my voice. Practically even before I opened my mouth, she popped up at our table, all smiles and bouncy curly hair and cleavage and curves, directing every single bit of her ample charm at Sanford. She set a glass down in front of him, but leaned so far forward to do it that I was afraid both of her big boobs would come tumbling out of her top!
"Welcome to Vini," she said, sounding almost like she was purring at him! I gaped at her, my mouth literally hanging open. That tone could be scandalous in a boudoir, much less in public here where everyone could hear! "I'm Della Ruthers, the proprietor. We went to high school together, actually - I was in Elaine's year. If you want to come with me, I can show you how this works-"
"Thanks, but I'll let Elaine guide me," Sanford said. Della's mouth snapped shut mid-sentence in surprise, and I silently swore that I'd never again get mad about Sanford's habit of interrupting people. "After all, she's the one who insisted I come out, and I owe her for her help."
I turned my open-mouthed gape to Sanford. Wait, what? What in the world had gotten into him? He owed me? He was one of the most arrogant and ungrateful men I'd ever met in my
life! Why was he acting like he'd just received a blow to the head?
But before I could say any words to that effect, he stood up and slipped a hand around my waist, guiding me down off of my chair as well. Through my clothing, I could feel that hand on me like a red-hot branding iron, and I knew that the eyes of every other woman in the bar had shot down to stare at this point of casual, flirty contact.
"Now," said Sanford, leaning in towards me and smiling in a way that seemed totally unlike the cold, harsh man that I knew, "as my good friend," and he really emphasized these words, "where do you recommend we start for getting a drink?"
And then, before I could ask him if he'd just taken a blow to the head, he winked at me!
Suddenly, everything clicked, or at least became slightly less hazy. As soon as I'd pointed out that all the other women were checking him out, Sanford immediately must have decided that the best way to avoid all of that unwanted attention was to attach himself to one woman in particular, using her as his deflecting shield - and he'd chosen me!
Without asking me, of course. He somehow just believed, it seemed, that I'd be totally happy to go along with pretending that the two of us were close, maybe even hooking up together.
Figures. Just like him.
But as we headed over to the wall of wine dispensers, I decided that this wasn't such a bad thing. After all, this now meant that he was stuck with me for the night - and, even better, that he'd have to fake being nice to me, instead of getting mad or storming off! He was at my mercy!
Of course, any theory required some testing. "I do have to admit, Sanford and I have been having a wonderful time together at his mansion, looking through all of the antiques left there by previous owners," I commented casually to Della as she tagged along, still trying to figure out what to say next but not giving up on cracking this nut. "Isn't that right, Sanford? Hasn't it just been the best time?"
Bad Boy of Wall Street: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance Page 25
