Bachelorette for Sale

by Gail Chianese

  “And now he’s working on your center.”

  “Yep.” A deep sigh forced its way out, saying more than her words ever could.

  Her gramps waited, knowing rushing her wouldn’t help the words form any faster. She didn’t want to talk about Jason, not right now. She’d been doing well to stay away from the center, and her desire to stop there had nothing to do with work.

  “I think I should go back to school. What do you think?”

  “You know my answer. Follow your dreams. Is this for the counseling gig?” He snagged a few of her fries, flashing his boyish smile.

  Nodding, she swallowed a bite of her sandwich. “I need to do something more meaningful with my life. Helping with the community center is a good start, but I owe them for what they did for me all those years ago, and I want to do more. And now’s a great time. The only commitment I have at home is Tucker; he won’t complain too much about the heavy work load for a master’s degree, and I can still work.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got it all planned out.”

  “Hmm, working on it. Gramps, when did you know Gram was the one for you?” She pushed her remaining fries in front of her grandfather. Thoughts were bouncing all around in her brain, jumping from one topic to the next. She didn’t want to think about Jason, but he was there all the same. Thankfully her gramps did the same thing, so he thought nothing of it.

  “Well, your grandmother will tell you she knew as soon as she saw me. Us men, we’re a little slower on the uptake. Somewhere deep inside I probably knew from the start, but I didn’t admit it until my teens.” He ate the last of her fries, studying her. “Do you think this Valentino fellow might be the one?”

  Gramps, ever the hopeful yet overprotective romantic. She would have corrected him, but she knew he was messing with her, looking for a rise. “Jason?” A small laugh escaped. “No. I was just curious.” Honestly, she doubted she’d ever find the right guy for her. He was probably out there. Somewhere. On the other side of the planet.

  As he listened to Dave, Jason stood in the middle of the empty community room, his mood as black as the thunderclouds outside. “What do you mean we’re missing tools? I locked up when I left last night, and the place was locked up tight when I arrived this morning.”

  Dave scratched the side of his head, looking around. “Do you see the reciprocating saw or the cordless drill? I’ve looked in every room, in both your truck and mine, and can’t find it. I know they were here yesterday.”

  What the heck, was he losing his mind? He’d left the tools in the main room last night. No one else had access to the place. No point packing them up only to unpack them this morning. Together, he and Dave walked through the building, checking every room.

  “Is that fresh paint?” Jason walked over to the wall, sniffing the paint. “I don’t remember graffiti in this room.”

  “Who can tell? The place was a tagger’s haven.”

  There were no new broken windows; those that were already broken still had the wood intact and secure. All the doors were locked with no signs of tampering.

  He stopped as they headed back to the main room, studying one of the classrooms. “Someone got in here last night or else it was gremlins. All the work we did in here . . . It looks like they took a hammer to the walls in this room, punching holes in the drywall.” Jason stood for a moment, reining in the anger pulsing through him. When that didn’t work he turned, punched the wall, and created another cavity.

  “Feel better?”

  “Get Smitty out here to change all the locks as soon as he can. If he can’t make it before we leave today, take everything with you.” He dropped the tool belt he’d put on only a few minutes ago.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To lose a fucking half a day’s worth of work while I go replace our stolen tools.”

  Dave pulled out his cell, thumb poised over the pad. “You’re not going to report the theft or go through the insurance company?”

  “No. The police would have to notify the board. I’ll give Cherry a set of the keys on Friday. Tell her we found one of the locks had been damaged during the storm, so we had them all replaced. There’s no sign of anyone breaking in, all they have is our word that we locked up. I don’t want them to think we’re trying to take them for more money. In the long run, it’d be better to take it as a tax loss than risk losing the job, especially if one of them is looking for a reason.” Jason scrolled through his iPad, running off a list for Dave to handle while he was out, along with what he wanted Tim and Bobby Lawrence, his two workers, to handle.

  He strode toward the doors, pissed about the setback. Granted in the grand scheme it was small potatoes. Still, someone had cost them a week’s worth of work. Not to mention he’d worked too damn hard for too damn long to lose his business now, and tomorrow he had his first walk-through with Cherry. They’d be working overtime to make up for the loss. Fine with him. Exhaustion worked almost as well as a cold shower. And when you’re too tired to think, you’re too tired to dream.

  “Hey, boss,” Dave called after him. “Pick up lunch while you’re out.”

  “It’s nine in the morning.”

  “Your point? And since I’ll be here working my ass off, playing secretary for you, some flowers and chocolate to show your appreciation once in a while wouldn’t hurt, you know.” He playfully batted his eyes at Jason, flashing what he probably thought was a shy smile but in reality looked like a deranged clown’s.

  Jason turned and headed back for the door, but not before calling out to his friend, “I only buy flowers and chocolate for secretaries who put out.” He laughed all the way to his truck. Days like today he thanked his stars for friends like Dave, always there to watch his back and remind him not to take life too seriously. Somehow he balanced Jason out, kept him from blowing his fuse. But that didn’t mean that Dave hadn’t landed in the middle of a fistfight or two helping Jason out as they grew up. Not that he or Brody hadn’t returned the favor a time or two as well, usually because Dave’s mouth had chased off his brain and whatever was floating around in the space inside his skull fell out of his mouth.

  The guy didn’t think, he acted. He didn’t ask for permission, he asked for forgiveness. Like with the auction and Cherry. Granted, his scheme had worked, but for once Jason would have liked to be let in on the plans Dave made before they were put into motion.

  Forewarned.

  Forearmed.

  Cherry had been on his mind day and night. The lady had brains, humor, and courage. If he hadn’t sworn off relationships she’d be the type of woman he’d gravitate toward. It took more than a pretty face or a great body, both of which she possessed, to capture his attention, and Cherry Ryan had it. Then again, so had Steph.

  Unfortunately, in Steph’s eyes Jason hadn’t measured up to her standards. Oh, she loved him, or so she said. It was their lifestyle she had a problem with. She was tired of living on the west side, tired of scratching out a living and denying herself the finer things in life. So while he thought she was attending classes at the community college, she was working in a full-service massage parlor. Brody had bailed her out of jail the day her workplace was raided. She’d sworn she never provided any of the special services. That wasn’t what the guy who was with her said when they were busted.

  Of course, it was all Jason’s fault. If only he’d gone to college. If only he’d stayed with a bigger company and worked his way up, he could have given her the lifestyle she deserved. If only life were an effing fairy tale his dad wouldn’t have been an alcoholic and his mom a drug addict and they’d have lived happily-freaking-ever-after.

  Was Cherry looking for the fairy tale? Of course she was, why else would she go on that show, Finding Mr. Right?

  He never lied to his friends. One kiss didn’t mean anything, right? This thing between him and Cherry was nothing but business. His company meant too much to him for it to be anything else. Although it didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun during the proces
s.

  The phone in his back pocket pinged. Pulling it out, he read the text.

  Can we skip the walk-through & just meet for coffee? Slammed with work right now.

  This was too good to be true. He responded quickly, before she changed her mind. No problem. C u at Pastiche.

  Looking forward to it.

  And therein lay his problem, because so was he. She wasn’t anything like what he’d expected. Sure, he’d Googled her. It was important to know whom he was working for. He didn’t get it or her either. The media lambasted her, basically tore her up like a dog’s chew toy and went back for seconds. And it wasn’t just her ex-fiancé. Some of the guys she’d sent home had jumped on the bandwagon, describing her as a heartless diva who expected everyone to cater to her every whim. The stories didn’t jibe with the person he’d met. The shitstorm had lasted for weeks. Then she disappeared. And now she was back. Was it some kind of crazy mixed-up game she played? Damn puzzles. He’d always been a sucker for one.

  Chapter Ten

  “I don’t know.” Mrs. Gibson turned from the kitchen in the rental apartment to face Cherry and Mr. Gibson. “Anthony, baby, what do you think? Isn’t the kitchen a bit too small? How will we entertain in there?” She flipped her finger over her shoulder, pointing to the miniscule cooking space.

  Mr. Anthony Gibson leaned closer to Cherry, dropped his voice, and asked, “The bar?”

  “There’s two, one a block to the north and another just around the corner. Want to split up and check them out?” Right about then if she made a personal inspection of either establishment, she’d sample every bottle they had behind the counter and never report back her findings.

  One of the Realtors had foisted these two off on her three days ago when he couldn’t find them the “perfect love nest” to buy. Three long days of listening to honey, baby, pookey, snooky-bear, sugarlips . . . the list went on. She was about to go into insulin shock.

  “Sweetie, this will do for now,” Gibson told his wife.

  The woman stared at her husband as if he had three heads and a tail. “Ms. Ryan, surely you understand what I’m looking for? I need a kitchen like you had in that house you lived in on the show. If you could find me a home like that, it would be perfect.”

  Seriously? The mansion from the show was eight thousand square feet, had six bedrooms and nine bathrooms—not nearly enough for twenty-five women—still the kitchen alone must have been a good four hundred square feet, at least half the size of the apartments in the Gibsons’ budget.

  “I’ll take the bar around the corner.”

  Cherry grabbed Mr. Gibson’s arm, nailing him in place with a don’t-you-dare-leave-me-with-your-crazy-wife look. “I’ll be happy to pass the information on to your Realtor, Mrs. Gibson. I have heard through the grapevine that the villa is up for rent for a mere thirty-five thousand a month.” Call her evil, but a small thread of warmth spread through her as Mrs. Gibson paled at the mention of the outrageous rent.

  Maybe reality would finally set in and they could settle on a not-so-perfect temporary apartment until they found the perfect home. Something had to penetrate the woman’s brain and bring her out of the land of denial. With every place there had been some feature to set her off.

  “I can’t see the river.”

  Then at the next one: “Oh, dear gawd, what is that smell?” Uh, the river.

  And the next: “Such a lovely place, but I’ll never be able to sleep with children playing upstairs/next door/downstairs.” And in the next breath, she’d utter, “Oh, Pookey, I hope our kids have your eyes.” Please, someone kill me now.

  “I don’t like yellow houses.”

  “It’s too close to the university.” Puh-lease. Providence is home to ten colleges and universities. A person can’t move without bumping into a school here. The woman sucked Cherry’s patience, energy, and life force away. Mrs. Anthony Gibson was living proof emo-vamps existed.

  Mr. Gibson, the lush, guided his wife to the door with promises of tomorrow being the day they’d find “the one.” Yeah, don’t hold your breath, buddy. Anthony Gibson had three things going against him, in Cherry’s opinion: his love for alcohol, his tight grasp on his wallet, and Mrs. Gibson. In order to find the apartment of their dreams, he’d need to give up one of those three.

  Ditching the idea of going back to the office, Cherry headed straight for home, to her own slice of heaven.

  “Tucker,” she called out at she stripped off her work clothes and slipped on comfy wear. “I’ve decided two things today. First, I don’t care that it’s only Wednesday and not my weekly cheat day. Diet be damned, I’m eating what I want. More importantly, I need a new job.”

  Too anxious to get started, she cut their nightly walk short, dished up Tucker’s dinner—one cup all organic dog food plus a little ground chicken as a treat—and then grabbed the tub of cookie dough ice cream and headed for the couch. She powered up her laptop and started searching graduate programs. The plan had always been to push on past her bachelor’s degree, and today was a good reminder tomorrow would soon be here and she still hadn’t moved toward her dreams.

  In the midst of making a list of what she’d need to apply for the program, her phone rang. She eyed it like a two-headed snake or, even worse, the Gibsons calling. A glance at caller ID didn’t make her feel any better because she couldn’t think of one good reason why Jason would be calling her. Then it hit her, Jason was calling and she really wanted to hear his voice right now.

  “Hi, you’ve reached Cherry’s voice mail. If this call is in regard to a problem, please push one at the sound of the beep and she’ll call you back tomorrow. Beeep,” Cherry said.

  “Hi, Cherry’s voice mail. What button do I push if I want the woman herself?” Jason asked in that smooth as melted chocolate voice of his.

  Sixty-nine. For a moment the dead air made her think she’d actually replied out loud, then she realized Jason was waiting for her reply.

  “How about seven? They say it brings good luck.”

  “I always heard it was multiples of three. You know, like third time’s the charm. So wouldn’t three or even six or nine be better?”

  Cherry choked on her ice cream. Did the man read minds? “Today proved three is not a lucky number.”

  “Been one of those days, has it?” Jason replied.

  “Put it this way, I’m afraid to get out of bed tomorrow.”

  “Too bad tomorrow’s not Friday. Could have made for an interesting meeting.”

  It took her a minute for what he said and meant to register. Heat stole over her body as the mental picture he painted took shape. Thank goodness they were on the phone and not in person or video chatting.

  “Um, yes, well . . . sorry about missing our meeting last Friday.”

  “Actually, I was calling to confirm we’re still on for this Friday and to brighten your day by telling you everything is moving along smoothly.”

  “Yes, I’ll definitely be at the center at three for my walk-through.”

  “Is there anything I can do to make your day better?” His voice held a touch of sympathy and a hint of something else.

  “You already did. You don’t happen to have a personal connection with Mother Nature, do you? Maybe have her private number and can call her up and ask her to hurry up and send us a bout of sunny days to chase away the winter blues?”

  He laughed in response. “Afraid she’s not in my little black book, but I get what you mean. Even Dave, who is the easiest-going guy I know, has been cranky lately. I thought about having some fun with duct tape today just to have five minutes of silence.”

  “I’ve got you beat. One of the Realtors shoved Mr. and Mrs. Bridezilla off on me to find a temporary place while they decide what they really want in a permanent home.” Cherry sat the computer down next to her on the couch, grabbed a throw pillow, and snuggled in.

  “Let me guess. Everything is either too small, too big, too old, too new, and nothing is just right?”

&nb
sp; “Oh, I see you’ve met them.” Cherry laughed, the stress from the past three days melting away as she talked to Jason.

  “I’m pretty sure I did a master bedroom rehab for them last year. The wife wanted floor-to-ceiling windows to let the natural light in the room. The husband didn’t because he worked nights. And I won’t even go into the discussion about what each wanted for the bathroom.”

  “Yep, definitely their doppelgängers—personality-wise, at least. I really don’t get some people. Lucky me, I get to spend the day with them again tomorrow. I’m thinking between now and nine in the morning I’m going to come down with the bubonic plague.”

  “Seems a bit drastic, but I think it will work. Maybe you should wait until you are in the middle of showing them the first place for the day and then have the symptoms appear. You know, some chills, a little muscle cramping, and throw in a seizure for good measure. Then promise them it won’t get in the way of finding them the perfect place. Don’t forget to mention you read it wasn’t really contagious. Bet you they suddenly fall in love with the place they’re looking at.”

  He made her laugh, something she had noticed that he had a talent for. They talked for a couple more minutes before hanging up. Cherry looked down at the half-melted ice cream and decided she didn’t feel like drowning her emotions in sugar anymore. Actually, her mood had taken a one-eighty during the call and she didn’t mind that tomorrow would soon be here, because the day after would be Friday. Not that she was on the market. Nope, she was still on a hiatus from men. No matter if the guy in question was smoking hot and made her laugh.

  Jason didn’t know why he was here. It was Friday night. He knew two things though. He’d been disappointed today when Tawny had showed up for the weekly inspection instead of Cherry. He’d had his fair share of craptastic days and understood what it felt like to come home to an empty house with no one to vent to. He had coaxed Cherry’s address out of Tawny with no idea of what he planned to do with it. So here he stood outside of apartment two, listening to the beagle howl in response to his knock. If he’d thought his plan out better he’d have brought Bam with him to keep Tucker occupied. Hell, if he’d thought about his plan for more than three seconds he’d be home sipping on a beer, minding his own freaking business.