Life of the Party

by Kris Fletcher

  “Really? I thought I was simply offering up a reasonable alternative.”

  “Oh, please.” Jenna allowed herself an eye roll. “You might be able to convince your students when you try these tactics, but I’ve known you all my life. I remember when you tricked me into going out with that weird exchange student just because you felt sorry for him. And I remember when you got me to have Kendall shell out for everyone to go to the Bahamas that Christmas because you said that Annie was depressed and needed sunshine or she would develop Seasonal Affective Disorder.”

  “Hey, that one was legit. I was worried about her.”

  “We all were. But that didn’t mean she needed a full week of family togetherness during peak season.”

  Bree twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “Kenny Dearest gave you a hard time over that, didn’t he?”

  Jenna clamped her lips together. She hadn’t meant to say as much as she had. It wasn’t Bree’s fault that Jenna had been a fool who married a man who saw her primarily as an investment. Nothing would be served by repeating that argument at this point. “It came up.”

  “In the divorce? Is that why he gave you such a lousy settlement?”

  “He gave me precisely what he owed me under the prenup that I willingly signed to prove to him that I was marrying for love, not money.” Idiocy had also played a part, as it turned out, but that was neither here nor there.

  “You’re sure?” Bree’s usual cynical sarcastic mode had been turned off, leaving behind the vulnerable, caring sister that Jenna knew would always be there for her.

  “Yeah. I’m positive.” Jenna pulled the scribbled-upon résumé back to her. “Just like I’m positive that as soon as my class is over, I’m going to march into the headquarters of Dekker for Mayor to see if they can use some help with letters or press releases or anything else that would be pertinent.”

  “You—I—Jenna, you know I wasn’t serious.”

  “I know.”

  “And as soon as they find out who you are . . .”

  “I have no doubt that if Cole didn’t know who I was before Rob made his appearance, his staffers have let him know.”

  “Yet you think they’ll want you anyway?”

  “Of course they won’t. But nothing could be more terrifyingly ridiculous than going to them. I’ll prepare my pitch, try it out on them, they’ll laugh in my face, and then I’ll refine my schpiel to work better when I go where I really want. Which, nope, no idea yet. But I’ll figure that part out as I go.”

  “You’re insane. You do know that, right?”

  “I’m told it’s one of my finer qualities. That, and my ability to hold my booze, but I don’t do that anymore so I guess I have to stick with the crazy.” She slid the collected papers and laptop into her book bag. “Gotta run. Places to go, people to see, politicians to terrify. Adios!”

  ***

  Cole didn’t usually stop in at headquarters during the workday, but he’d driven to the courthouse only to find that the DA had developed car trouble on her way and the case had to be adjourned. Cole wasn’t happy, but once he talked his client down, he headed back to his car and decided to swing by the office. There had been a problem with the printer the night before. He wasn’t Mr. Handy, but he had a feeling he could get this up and running if he had some uninterrupted time.

  Time, of course, being the operative word.

  He unlocked the office, flipped on the lights, and took in his surroundings. Usually when he was here, things were busy, bustling, fully charged. It normally got him pumped up, but there were times when he longed for a moment of peace, a chance to stop and think before he had to speak. If he won—when he won, he heard in a mental voice that sounded a lot like Allison’s—he knew he would be denied that luxury even less. He supposed he needed to get used to it.

  But that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy a few stolen moments with no one around, no phones, and no expectations.

  He tossed his phone on his desk, squared his jacket away on the back of the chair, and opened the printer.

  Ten minutes later, he was pretty sure he had identified the problem.

  “Okay, printer, let’s download this and see if that fixes your wagon,” he muttered. “But be warned, if that doesn’t work, I’m hauling you out back and shooting you.”

  “Oooh, cruelty to machines. That won’t endear you to the all-important cyber-voter demographic.”

  “What the—” He jerked upright, momentarily dazed by the unexpected voice.

  “Hi.” Jenna the cute barista waved to him from the door. He was so accustomed to seeing her in her apron and Brews and Blues shirt that it took him a second to truly process the fact that it was her standing there in the floaty skirt and simple black top.

  “Hope I didn’t scare you,” she continued. “I saw you in here alone and decided to drop in.” She raised a bag and a take-out cup he hadn’t noticed. “I come bearing bribes.”

  “Bribes, huh?”

  “You bet. Turkey and Swiss with horseradish mayo on cranberry bread.” She flashed a smile that got him where he lived. “Yes, I totally brought you my favorite item on the menu. Call me shameless.”

  Now he was intrigued. And hungry.

  “I will have to pay for this,” he said. “But I’m not turning it down.”

  “Glad to hear it. Okay if I come in?”

  “What? Oh, sure. Sorry. Forgot my manners for a minute there.”

  Who was he kidding? He had a tendency to forget a lot of things around her. Including the fact that every single member of his staff would be hyperventilating if they knew he was hanging out with her.

  But he wasn’t so image-minded that he was going to turn away a pretty woman who made him laugh and who had brought him lunch. He hoped to God he never reached that point.

  He pulled out a chair for her. “Come on in. Let me give my hands a quick rinse and I’ll be right back.”

  Two minutes later he was seated across the desk from her, pulling the solo sandwich from the bag. “Not joining me?”

  “I told you. It’s a bribe.” She tipped her head toward the bag. “Besides, I already ate. So chow down.”

  He did as instructed—damn, he really had been hungry—until his curiosity couldn’t be held off any longer.

  “So, Just Jenna. To what do I owe the honor?”

  Her grin was the slightest bit embarrassed. “I guess that by now you know who I am.”

  “Nope.”

  She blinked. “You don’t?”

  “I know who your father is. I know who you used to be married to. But you . . . you are still an unknown quantity.”

  He knew he’d said the right thing by the way her smile switched from guarded to warm.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “For what?”

  “For . . . I don’t know. For saying exactly what I needed to hear before I even knew it.”

  “My pleasure.” Especially because it was true.

  “In that case, let’s do this right.” She stood and extended her hand. “Jenna Carpenter. Pleased to meet you.”

  Remembering the efficiency of her shake the last time, he opted for a two-handed clasp, encasing her palm with both of his. Her eyes widened the slightest bit but she didn’t pull back. Not her. She tipped her head and scanned him, like she was searching for hidden motives, but there was no worry or hostility in the gesture. Just curiosity.

  At least, that was all he saw on her part. For himself, he was having a hard time remembering how to swallow.

  “Cole Dekker.” He felt kind of like a tool, but it gave him a chance to hold on to her for an extra second or two, so it was all good. “Good to meet you, Ms. . . . did you say Carpenter?”

  “Yep. Legal name change. Come to think of it, you’re the first person to hear it.”

  He’d always wanted to be some
one’s first time.

  Just in time, he hauled his brain back from the danger zone. “So tell me about the bribe,” he said as he let go of her hand and dropped back into his seat.

  Some of the guardedness returned to her eyes. “Here’s the elevator version. I’m finishing up a long-interrupted degree in communications with an emphasis on public relations. My résumé is woefully inadequate. I’d like to take you up on that offer to do some volunteer work, assuming I could do something more relevant than fetching coffee or cold-calling undecided votes. Not that I wouldn’t do my share of those. I’m not a diva. But I have to be kind of selfish about this.”

  Sweet baby Jesus, what was he supposed to say? “I . . . yeah. That’s perfectly understandable.”

  She sat back in her chair. “The other thing that’s perfectly understandable is that now that you know precisely who I am—that is, who I am connected to,” she added with that wondering smile, “you’d probably prefer that I don’t come any closer than is required to hand you your coffee. I know all about baggage. If mine is too unsavory, you have every right to ask me to keep it away from your campaign.”

  “People have suggested that to me.”

  “People whose advice you usually take?”

  “Yeah.”

  She studied him, her gaze seeming to take his measure without once leaving his face. “Are you going to listen to them this time?”

  “I already told them that I wasn’t.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Already?”

  “Yeah.” He helped himself to a swig of coffee. She’d guessed with the sandwich, but she’d got the coffee just the way he liked it. If she was as good at handling other details as she’d managed these, they’d be damned lucky to have her, no matter what her name might be.

  “I’m dying to hear this story,” she said.

  He shrugged. “I asked you to come on board because of the way you see things. Plus you can obviously handle yourself in unpleasant situations. None of that changed when I learned about your baggage.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “So am I. That’s why I invited you.”

  Her grin gave her a childlike glow, as if she was the kid who usually got picked last when choosing teams and he had turned around and called her name first.

  It faded fast, though.

  “What about your people? The ones who said you should stay away from me?”

  “I’ll talk to them. Though I have the feeling you could manage just fine on your own.”

  This time her grin was pure sass.

  “I think you called that one right.”

  The conversation turned to logistics, hours, and who was who in the office. She listened attentively and asked questions that had him pausing, wondering why he hadn’t posed that same query. It wasn’t until his phone sounded a calendar reminder that he realized how deeply he’d been sucked in by her interest.

  “Damn!” He grabbed his phone, shoved it into his briefcase, and stood up. “Sorry. I’m due in court.”

  “Do you need a note?”

  Something about the way she said it made him cease his racing to stop and look, truly taking her in. The swirl of her skirt . . . the length of her legs . . . the fullness in places where Cole was trying desperately not to look, but damn, at some point the scarf around her neck had slipped sideways so it ran like Rambo’s bandolier across her chest, nestling between her breasts in a way that made him ache.

  He swallowed. He had just agreed to let her work with him and had promised to make sure that no one bothered her. He had no business aching when he looked at her.

  Except he did.

  “Cole?” she prompted. “Is court like school? Do you need a note for being late?”

  He would have been okay if not for the tilt to her head. Or was it the saucy note in her question? Like she was . . . teasing him?

  He hadn’t felt this buzzed since the last night of law school final exams.

  “I . . . Sorry. I was thinking about the case. I really need to get moving.”

  “Of course. I’ll get out of your way.” She swung her bag over her shoulder, looked down with a frown, and tugged on the scarf so it hung straight once more.

  Thank God. He could breathe again.

  But he had the terrible feeling that unless he got his act together—fast—breath was going to be in short supply when Jenna was around.

  Chapter Five

  Later that night, Jenna was in her bedroom, snarling at the textbook open on the bed in front of her, when there came a knock at the door. A second later, Kyrie appeared, pushing aside one of the many swaths of gauzy fabric that Jenna had suspended from the ceiling.

  “I don’t know how you sleep in here,” Kyrie grumbled. “Doesn’t this stuff blow across you in the night?”

  “Sometimes. Once I dreamed that I was in the middle of a Venus flytrap. That was pretty gross.” Jenna tossed her highlighter onto the page. “What’s up?”

  “It’s your turn to do the vacuuming and sweeping this week.”

  “Right. I know.”

  “Soooo . . .”

  “So, I’ll do it.”

  “Could you do it tonight?”

  Jenna tilted her head to focus on her sister. “Okay. I know you don’t have a hot date, because you’re here and Ben is in Philly. And if he was here, you’d be too busy boinking like bunnies to care about the floor.”

  “Seriously, Jen?”

  “Oh, don’t act so offended. You’re not the one who has to stock up on earplugs to get any sleep when he’s in town.”

  “We . . . I . . . must you?”

  “Which is exactly what I say when it’s two in the morning and you guys are still at it.”

  Kyrie made a noise that Jenna interpreted as a cross between a shriek and a swear word. In either case, it came out so garbled that laughter was the only proper response.

  “Get over yourself.” Jenna snagged a pillow and tossed it toward Kyrie, who grabbed it, hugged it, and glared. “I’m just torturing you.”

  “Right. Now I have a complex. I’ll never be able to do anything in this apartment again.”

  “Nah, don’t worry. The sound doesn’t go through the walls. Honest.” Jenna grinned. “But you know, your bedroom is right over the cash register area of the shop . . .”

  Kyrie let loose with the strangled-moose noise again, and Jenna burst out laughing. Damn, but she loved teasing her sister.

  When Kyrie had first suggested that Jenna come live with her and help with the shop, thereby giving Kyr more freedom to spend time in Philly with her now-fiancé Ben, Jenna had been wary.

  Much as she loved her sister, she hadn’t been sure that this was the best solution. They hadn’t shared a living space in years. Worse, when they had, they’d been horribly mismatched. Jenna was a night owl while Kyrie was one of those horrible people who loved early mornings. Kyrie liked schedules, Jenna loved freedom. Kyrie did coffee and yoga, Jenna did iced tea and naps.

  Add in the fact that the apartment was atop a very long set of very challenging stairs—ones that would have given Jenna a run for her breath even without a bad leg—and yeah. She’d been a little more than uncertain.

  But time, or experience, or the simple fact that Jenna didn’t have a lot of options all meant that she’d had to give the idea consideration. The prenup she had so willingly signed entitled her to walk away from her marriage with barely enough to pay for a couple of years of tuition and medical insurance. In a fit of something that Kendall probably thought was generosity but Jenna knew was a face-saver, he had agreed to cover her deductibles and co-pays while she was back in school—go him—but that was about it.

  And, as Jenna had quickly discovered, there weren’t a lot of jobs open for a woman without a degree, without much experience in anything but being an unpaid event planner, and with a need to
schedule in a shitload of physical therapy.

  So she had taken Kyrie up on the offer. Much to her surprise, it had worked. Kyrie was only around half the time, Jenna was too focused on juggling school, work, and recovery to keep her old hours, and it turned out that living together as adults—without Neenee to keep an eye on them—was actually kind of fun. Jenna was going to miss these days once she moved on.

  Not that she was going to let it stop her. But still.

  “If you must know,” Kyrie said, “Paige is coming over tomorrow afternoon. We have to go over wedding stuff. If you’re available, you can sit in and tell us how ridiculous we’re being.”

  “Ridiculous because of the whole double-wedding thing? Nah. I think it’s adorable.” A little schlocky, but hey. That was allowed. As long as the right bride left with the right groom, the rest was gravy. “Thanks, but I’m booked.”

  “With what? You’re not on the schedule then and I know you don’t have a class.”

  “Nope. I’m lending a hand at the campaign headquarters two doors down.”

  The astonishment on Kyrie’s face was almost worth paying for. “Hang on. You are helping someone run for office? You?”

  “It was Bree’s idea.” Okay, Cole had suggested it first, but still. “She said I need to beef up my résumé.”

  “Oh.” Kyrie peeled herself away from the bedpost she’d been hugging—apparently she’d needed the support after Jenna’s announcement—and joined Jenna on the bed. “You know,” she said slowly, “we haven’t talked much about what happens after you graduate. I know you want to get a real job, and I completely understand, but just so we’re clear, I’m not in any hurry for you to leave. You can take your time. Make sure you find the right place for you, not just taking the first job that comes along. I want you to be happy, Jen.”

  The sentiment was so unexpected and so obviously heartfelt that Jenna had to make a couple of attempts before she could speak. “Thanks, babe. I appreciate it.”

  “I know you think that when I asked you to work here, I was doing it to be nice. And yeah, that was a little bit of it. But it’s turned out so well. I love being able to spend a week or two with Ben and know that I’m leaving you in charge, and everything will run perfectly while I’m gone, and it will all be safe and secure and . . . well. You know.”