by J. L. Mac
It’s a Friday night and the college guy that lives downstairs is pissing me off with his usual thumping music. I get it, it’s the weekend, but geez. Another five minutes pass, my tapping foot is a sign that my patience is wearing thin. I turn the volume up just as the song changes and the thumping speeds up. I roll my eyes and let my head fall back to the couch cushion behind me. Don’t do it, Linds. Don’t be the lame chick upstairs.
A loud crashing noise resonates through my floor and my shitty mood wins out over the popularity contest. Maybe it’s my personal life fueling my mood, but I slip on my flip flops and march out my door. I may be getting evicted, but I still live here for now, dammit!
I bang on the door three times with my balled up fist and wait. The door swings open and a kid bouncing a hacky sack between his feet answers. He’s not my neighbor. At least, I don’t think he is.
“Sup?” he chimes playfully then catches the ball in mid-air.
The smell of marijuana comes wafting out into the hall and I roll my eyes again and put my hand on my hip. “Seriously?”
“What?” the shaggy-haired guy asks.
“You all are way too loud.”
The Ashton Kutcher lookalike smiles and starts to snort and laugh.
“Look, I know the owner of this property and I swear I’ll call him right now if you don’t pipe down!” I threaten, knowing that I wouldn’t dare.
The stupid guy wipes the grin from his face and puts his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay.”
“And get rid of the pot, Ashton.”
His face contorts into a look of confusion and I turn on my heels, feeling a slight zip of confidence as I make my way back to my own apartment. I revel in the feeling. Confidence is nice.
When I step out into the hall on my floor, I see a package on the floor in front of my door. I pause in my tracks and scan the hall for a delivery person. No one.
I stoop down and pick up the small box, flipping it over and examining it like it might contain a bomb. It has no markings on the outside, no label, nothing. I set in on my table and snatch a knife up from the kitchen counter. I cut the seal on the box and flip it open. There is an envelope with my name written in black ink. Lindsay.
I turn the letter over and my heart pounds away in my chest. The embossing on the back of the envelope is raised and clear. I run my fingertips over the elegant letters pressed into the paper. LRB
“Russ,” I whisper. My hands open the envelope of their own volition and flip open the letter inside.
Linds,
Please forgive me for being an ass today. I hate that I have upset you but I don’t hate that we have met in person. I wouldn’t give that back for anything. We need to talk. I am a businessman and I have a proposition for you. Just hear me out. You know how to reach me.
-Russ
I ran across these today and couldn’t resist. You look amazing in dark blue. Please accept them.
I peek down into the box and see another small box. I crack it open and gasp. Inside is a pair of teardrop sapphire earrings that would make the crummy navy blue shirt I wore today look like a paper sack. I don’t have any valuable jewelry of my own and my heart speeds and swells at the same time. They’re beautiful and I feel an undeniable tug at my heart. My iron will may have met its match. I reread the letter for the third time and run my fingers over his signed name. The way he said he has “a proposition for me” has me feeling both nauseated and cheap. If he thinks he can buy sex from me, he’s got another think coming. The anger I felt earlier today comes rushing back in. I snap the small box closed and storm to my room to send a message to a certain gorgeous asshole.
My fingers graze easily over the keys, tapping out my message. I grab hold of the anger I feel and let it coax out some confidence. It does the trick.
LNZ84: I’m not interested in your “proposition,” nor am I up for sale. I’ll be returning the earrings. Find someone else to buy.
I stare at the screen and jump when my computer dings, notifying me of a response.
Russ_00: Come on, Linds. You know that’s not what I mean by the letter or the gift. You know me better than that.
LNZ84: That’s where you’re wrong. I don’t know you at all. You proved that today.
My words seem clear, but they’re anything but. I’m torn. Part of me wants to believe him, but my common sense knows better. It’s like Russ and the man I met today are two entirely different men. Then again, who can fake the funk for nearly ten years? If he’s been pretending to be something he’s not, then he deserves a freakin’ Oscar.
Russ_00: You do know me. You know me better than anyone else. You know I’m right. Don’t over think this. Meet me tomorrow. Hear me out.
LNZ84: And why would I do that? You hardly heard me out today.
Russ_00: Agreed. Let me apologize in person. I’ll keep asking. I don’t accept defeat easily.
I sigh heavily and lean back against my headboard, knowing that I’m backed into a corner. If I entertain his request, maybe I can buy myself more time before I have to move us to another place. My only other option is in the form of a larger version of Trey and I am not contacting Jonathan. I’d rather gouge my eyes out with a fork than open that proverbial can of worms. Russ is definitely the lesser of the two evils.
My index finger pecks out my short response.
LNZ84: Fine.
I close my laptop with a slam and reach for my journal.
Journal,
IOU.
-L
A loud knocking at my apartment door has me stumbling out of bed to answer it. I’m half asleep and rubbing the sleep from my eyes when I swing the door open and blink rapidly at him. Him.
All at once my mouth gets even drier. I hastily fold my arms over my braless breasts. He just stands there for a moment and I watch hazily as his green eyes inspect me from head to toe.
“What are you doing here?” I force the words out even though my mouth is dry and my throat is scratchy.
“You agreed to meet me, but you aren’t answering your phone. I was worried.”
“I was sleeping,” I say easily, leaning against the door frame. My eyes involuntarily skate over him like he just did to me. This is the Russ I expected. He looks like I had imagined him all these years, casual in jeans and a cotton tee that hugs him in the right places. He’s gorgeous.
“Well, since I’m here…” he trails off. One arched eyebrow is my cue to invite him in.
I flick my wrist, motioning for him to come in, then turn to walk away from my open door. “Breakfast?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. Give me a sec to change and we can go.”
Twenty minutes, three different outfits, and a hair and makeup-a-thon later, and I’m rejoining him in my small kitchen. He’s standing at my stove flipping a pancake in the skillet. My mouth pops open and I’m feeling a little mushy. This isn’t fair. Cooking me breakfast in my own apartment? No woman can resist a man like that. We need to get down to business quick so I can get him the hell out of here.
I watch in silence as he plates my breakfast and sets it on the two-person table. I eye him warily, as if he’s a loaded weapon, and slowly take my seat. He’s set the table and everything.
I glance at the empty place on the table in front of him and look back up to those tantalizing green eyes.
“You aren’t going to eat?” I sound entirely unlike myself and I pinch my leg beneath the table to snap out of it. He’s just so handsome. His features are sharp and defined, but soft and inviting at the same time. Something about the stubble on his face has my palms itching to brush my hand across it. His eyes are warm and seem to twinkle when he looks at me like he knows something that I don’t.
“Thank you, but I’ve already had breakfast.”
The way his mouth moves draws my attention right to his lips. God help me. They look soft. And full. And warm. A vaguely familiar tingling sensation buds between my thighs. So embarrassing. I can feel my cheeks warm and I grab my fo
rk like it will save me from my own body.
As I’m shoving the first fluffy forkful of pancakes into my mouth, I peek up to Russ and see the smirk he’s wearing. I roll my eyes and quietly remind myself that he may be handsome, but he’s a suit. He’s a cold, indifferent businessman and I don’t have a hint of desire to be caught up in him. At all.
Okay, maybe a little.
A heavy sigh escapes my lips and I set my fork down. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Where’s Trey?” he surprises me by asking.
“Oh, um… he’s with Maggie. I needed to think after…” I trail off, unsure of what to call what happened yesterday.
He nods then tilts his head to the side, studying me for a moment. “Okay.” He interlocks his fingers and rests his bare forearms on the edge of my table, leaning slightly forward towards me.
A hint of his cologne drifts my direction and the tingling returns with a vengeance. I try adjusting in my seat to mollify the growing sensation, but it’s wasted effort. He’s impossibly handsome and he smells amazing. The combination of seeing him and smelling him is a heady one that’s too difficult to ignore.
“You ran from me yesterday and I don’t blame you.” His broad, muscle-capped shoulders lift and fall in a shrug. His voice is smooth and deep but something in his eyes looks conflicted. “I’m not proud of how I spoke to you yesterday, but I can’t really say that I regret it.”
What? My brows draw together. He was a huge prick yesterday. How can he not regret that? I sit in silence and wait for him to explain.
“I can tell you that I had a shit day which included a morning meeting with my mother, who makes Maleficent look like an angel, but there’s no excuse for how crass I was. I regret the words I said, but I don’t regret meeting you in the flesh. No matter the circumstance.”
The only response his confession elicits from me is a small nod. I can’t help but hope that maybe he isn’t a raging jerk. The Russ that I’ve known for nine years is compassionate and kind. I remember every conversation where he spent encouraging me and using his wit to distract me when I needed a moment to escape. I search his conflicted eyes for insight, but there’s no obvious answer in those vibrant green depths. I wish there was.
I lean back in my chair and make my best attempt to feign indifference. I can only hope that I’m not too transparent. He has always had great intuition where I’m concerned. Even through typed conversations, he has always been able to decipher my mood. I expect nothing less in person.
“What’s this proposition you mentioned?”
He nods and presses his lips together before going on. “Yesterday, I told you that you had thirty days to clear out. I want to be afforded the same opportunity. Date me. Give me one month to prove to you that I’m not who or what you think I am. If I can’t persuade you by then, I’ll leave you alone… if that’s what you really want.”
The confidence that seeps from his mouth through every syllable is distracting. I envy him for it.
“Coercion, huh?” I lift my brows mockingly, but Russ doesn’t seem entertained by my half-hearted accusation. “What’s in this for me?” I ask honestly.
A look of relief seems to flicker in his eyes and it only adds to my confusion. “You and Trey can stay here as long as you like. I’ll take care of any of your outstanding debts and expenses. Just give me one month. I, of course, have a few conditions, but it’s just to ensure that I have a fair shot at this.”
His matter of fact tone has me all bristled and gritting my teeth. I feel like a complete whore right now. How dare he? If he thinks that he can just buy me like some new toy, he’s sorely mistaken.
“Think about it, Linds,” he urges me, successfully stunting my budding indignation.
It’s enough to pull me from my anger just long enough to realize this could be a small miracle for me. We both know I don’t really have another choice. I need a chance to get on my feet. If nothing else, Russ may be just that for me. My only other viable option is to reach out to Jonathan and my pride can’t withstand a blow like that. Not again. Not now.
I know Russ is the lesser of two evils and whether I like it or not, I’m in no position to be choosy. I’ll take his stupid deal, give him his thirty days to prove nothing, and be on my merry way. Simple.
I take in a deep breath and let it fill my lungs to capacity, looking up to see him watching me, waiting. I’m about to extend my hand to him across the table to seal the deal, but the scorned woman in me wants to make him suffer. I withdraw my hand at the last minute and shake my head.
“I have to sleep on this,” I respond curtly, “and I want to know what all of your conditions are before I agree.”
“Understandable,” he replies, calmly nodding. “When can I see you again?”
“Well, my schedule is pretty flexible right now, so—”
“Tonight? Can I take you out for dinner so we can discuss my proposition?”
“Okay. Dinner.” My response is a little meek, but I can’t help it. I’m sitting, entranced, in front of a man who means so much to me, a man I’ve known for the better part of a decade but only just met. He’s gorgeous and intimidating and only partially what I pictured, but I can see the traces of the Russ that I’ve known for so long. It’s not just that he ditched the suit for the jeans and cotton tee, it’s simply that I feel like us. Comfortable. Safe. This is my Russ.
“I’ll pick you up tonight at six.” Russ stands, obviously ready to leave, and worry inundates me.
“Wait. Wait. I, uh, where are we going to have dinner?”
“Do you have a request?”
“No. Nothing like that. I just—this is embarrassing, but…” I trail off, my voice dropping as I go. I look down at my feet, wondering how to explain to this gorgeous mystery of a man that I can’t go anywhere fancy or anything because I don’t have anything appropriate to wear.
Russ lifts his hand and brushes his palm against my cheek so tenderly that I fear I imagined it. “Do you know how many times I wished I could be standing in front of you when you’re feeling this way?”
“What? Why?”
“So that I could help you look up when you’re looking down. I don’t want you worrying about anything, Linds.”
“Habit,” I explain weakly.
Russ nods subtly in understanding as his hand falls away. I find myself missing the warmth of his touch almost instantly.
“Dinner at six,” he reminds me.
“I’ll be waiting,” I confirm, and the irony of the statement is isn’t lost on me. I’ve waited so long to meet Russ. I think I would have waited forever if I had to.
I watch as Russ slips out my door and closes it behind him. Something oddly reminiscent of hope seems to bubble up somewhere just beneath the surface. It makes me think that maybe there’s something to the whole Jekyll and Hyde bit. There must be a reason why the man I’ve known all this time, the man who just left my home, seems so very different from the man I encountered yesterday in his office. Maybe Russ, my Russ, is a completely different person than Logan R. Barnett of McCullough Developing.
I take a deep breath and do my best to shut down any hope or other naïve notions that have done nothing but land me right in the middle of disaster. I’ll go to dinner. I’ll listen to his proposition. I’ll probably accept. I can’t kid myself about doing anything else. But most importantly, I will keep a level head and keep my heart safe. Dad was right all those years ago and he’s still right today. Men are trouble.
I have barely five minutes to myself to think about my chaotic situation before my phone begins to ring. My heart skips a beat thinking that maybe it’s Russ, but it isn’t.
“Hey, Bri.”
“Hey, babe.”
“Bad news,” he begins and I roll my eyes at the irony. My life is composed of bad news. “…and good news.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I can’t make lunch today. Boss man has thrown me a curve ball and I’m doing damage control. But, I did mention you
to Jo and she said you should come in Monday morning at nine. I don’t know if working at a bookstore is something you’d be interested in, but I think she may be interested in hiring more help. What do you think?”
“That would be—yeah—I’d take it if she offered a job. Definitely!”
“Yay!” Brian sings into the phone like a Broadway superstar, winning a laugh from me.
“Thank you, Brian,” I say softly. A job, any job, would be a godsend right now.
“Uh-uh! Don’t thank me yet. Jo is a hardass and you may not want the job or she may not want you. We’ll just have to see.”
“Any advice for getting on her good side?”
“Yep! Don’t be bubbly and overly nice or anything. Jo hates that kind of stuff. Besides, I’m all the bubbly she can handle.” He giggles into the phone. “Just be yourself, babe. Truly. Jo admires people who have had it rough like her but don’t walk around like life is unfair. She likes hard workers and honesty. She’s tough on the outside but she totally has a huge heart. She just doesn’t know it yet. I’m working on it.”
I inhale deeply, trying my best to catalogue Brian’s advice but feeling seriously nervous that she’s going to hate me. “Okay, I’ll be there at nine on Monday. Thank you, Bri. Thank you a million times.”
“No problem, babe. I’m always here.”
If taking Russ up on his offer wasn’t a sure thing before, it’s sounding more and more appealing by the minute. I’m not scared of him like I’m petrified of Jo. I know he likes me. I trust him… I trust him. He’s something I know I can succeed with right now, and I badly need a win. If he can help me keep the apartment and Jo gives me a job, I’ll be well on my way to well-adjusted adulthood, which suddenly seems so much more than wishful thinking…
