by Maria Geraci
Your tits belong in a museum.
Damn it. Get that out of your head!
The rest of the evening seemed to go in slow motion. She played a couple of rounds of Bunco, then went back into the tent. Dave never came near her, which made it abundantly clear to Georgia that whatever there’d been between the two of them was over. He had to have seen she was here alone.
She was about to go search for a piece of Frida’s cheesecake when she spotted Bruce Bailey slipping outside. It was the first time Georgia had seen him all night. She followed him. “Mr. Bailey, may I speak to you a minute?”
He looked guilty. “Of course.” He tossed his cigarette in the sand and crushed it with the toe of his shiny black shoe. “What can I do for you, Ms. Meyer?”
At least he remembered her name.
“I’ve tried calling you. Haven’t you gotten my messages?” It was dark outside, but the moon provided enough light for Georgia to spot the sweat dripping off Bruce’s head. “I’m sorry, this has been a busy week.”
“I need to know your decision about the loan restructure.”
He sighed. “It’s like I said, Ms. Meyer, your client, or should I say your sister is going to have to adhere to the terms of the loan. If she can’t repay the back-due amount, then she’s going to have to do the regular payback. We’ll need upfront money and she’ll have to pay late fees just like everyone else.”
“I thought we’d come to an understanding about that.” Bruce pulled a white handkerchief out of his pocket to mop the sweat off his head. “You misrepresented yourself to me. I don’t appreciate being lied to.”
“I admit,” Georgia began carefully, “that Frida Hampton is my sister, a fact I omitted because it has nothing to do with anything, but I never lied to you.”
“You told me you worked for Spencer Moody. Even gave me some trumped-up business card proclaiming yourself CFO of his company. If that’s not a lie, then what is?”
Georgia pulled back her shoulders. “I am the CFO of Moody Electronics.” At least she was until Tuesday morning when she handed in her resignation.
“Not according to Spencer Moody’s secretary. As a matter of fact, when I insisted you worked there, she told me to drop dead.”
What?
“Oh, that!” Georgia laughed in relief. “I told Crystal to say that if anyone called asking about me. She must have thought you were a headhunter.”
“I wasn’t born yesterday, Ms. Meyer. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a wife who needs some attention. This has been a very trying night for her.”
Georgia tensed. “Is this because of my dress?”
He looked blank. “What does your dress have to do with anything?”
“This isn’t some petty revenge thing because your wife wanted to wear my dress, is it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. The truth is this: Your sister and her husband are four months late in their payments.” He hesitated. “This isn’t the first time this has happened. A couple of years ago we went through the same thing. I was more lenient then, but I can’t be again. The simple fact is your sister doesn’t know how to run a business. If there was another source of income to consider, we could arrange a different sort of repayment. But according to our records that husband of hers hasn’t produced a penny in the last year from those paintings of his. With the Bistro as their only source of income I have no option but to either collect on the past-due amount or foreclose.”
“What if I paid the past-due amount? Could we do that without my sister finding out?”
Bruce frowned. “What are you suggesting? That I lie? That I falsify documents? I believe that’s your forte. Now you’re more than welcome to pay whatever you like toward your sister’s debt, but that’s between the two of you. If you’ll excuse me.”
Georgia watched in stunned silence as Bruce rejoined the party.
This was awful. Bruce wasn’t going to cave. And unless Frida got off her damn high horse she was going to lose the Bistro. And learn how to cook s’mores over a campfire.
Georgia could wring Crystal’s neck. But the truth was this wasn’t Crystal’s fault. It wasn’t even Frida’s fault. She was doing the best she could.
The rising sound of music and laughter caught her attention. Someone else was coming outside.
It was Ed. “Hey.” He reached inside his tux jacket to produce a pack of cigarettes.
“You shouldn’t smoke. It’s bad for your health.”
He grinned sheepishly. “Don’t tell Frida. She thinks I quit.”
Georgia could feel her blood boiling.
He did a double take. “Are you mad at me or something?”
“Frustrated is more like it.”
He waited for her to continue.
She shouldn’t do it. She really shouldn’t. But she couldn’t help herself. “Ed, do you know that the bank is about to foreclose on the Bistro?”
He nearly dropped his pack of cigarettes. “What?”
“Frida is four months behind on the rent.”
Ed’s shoulders slumped. “I had a feeling something was wrong. But she kept saying everything was fine.” He shook his head. “We had car problems a few months ago. Then the latte machine broke down. Our credit wasn’t good, so we had to pay for a new one upfront.” Suddenly, Ed looked angry. “She told you, but she didn’t tell me?”
“That’s because she wants to protect your artistic mojo,” Georgia said, hating the sarcasm in her voice. But someone had to shake some sense into Ed. “How long are you going to keep pretending you can make a living as an artist?”
Ed’s face fell.
Be strong, Georgia. “It’s not that you’re not talented. I know you’ve tried, but it’s not working. Frida has been busting her butt for the past ten years and look where it’s gotten her. You need to bring some money into the household. Some real money. Before Frida loses everything she loves.”
“You’re right,” he said flatly. “I’m a failure.”
Georgia wanted to scream. She needed Ed to be proac tive, not wallow in self-pity. “Do you know that I asked her where the two of you would live if you lost the Bistro? She said you could live in a trailer, or a tent.”
Ed didn’t say anything.
“Look, I can help,” she said, trying to hold on to her patience. “I have the money. I’ve offered it to Frida but she won’t listen to me. But if you talk her into it, I know she’ll take it.”
“How much?” Ed asked.
“Twelve thousand.”
He winced.
The tent flap opened. It was Kitty. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you two. Shea’s movie is going to start in fifteen minutes.”
“Okay,” Ed said woodenly.
“I guess we should go,” Georgia said after Kitty had gone back inside. “So are you going to take care of this? Are you going to convince Frida to take the money?” she pressed. She had to know this was a done deal.
“I’ll take care of it,” Ed snapped. He opened the tent flap for her but he didn’t make a motion to follow her inside.
Georgia hesitated. The anger she’d felt when Bruce had told her he was rejecting the loan was now gone. If Ed was going to talk Frida into taking the money, then there wasn’t anything to be upset about anymore. “Aren’t you coming?” she asked him.
“I need a minute,” he said, not looking her in the eye.
Georgia had never seen Ed like this. Maybe telling him about the foreclosure had been the wrong thing to do. If only she hadn’t had that encounter with Bruce Bailey seconds before . . .
She headed for the bar. Her legs suddenly felt like rubber beneath her. She hadn’t wanted to be the one to burst Ed’s bubble. But Frida certainly was never going to do it. She’d done the right thing, telling him about the foreclosure.
So why did she feel like she’d just told a four-year-old that there was no Santa Claus?
She ordered another glass of champagne but it tasted flat. The night had started out like magic. B
ut all she wanted now was to go home—back to Frida’s place where she could take off the dress and wash off all the makeup and sleep for twenty-four hours.
But she couldn’t go. Not yet. For one thing, she’d driven over with Frida and Ed. And after all the Babes had done for her it would be rude to leave early. Maybe once Shea’s video montage played, she could excuse herself and walk home. She could slip off her sandals and take the beach route back to the Bistro. She hadn’t really taken any time to think about her future, about what she was going to do after she quit Moody Electronics. One thing was certain. She sucked at business consulting.
Tears welled up behind her eyes.
Stop it! She was being a wuss.
She made a dash for the bathroom. But as usual, there was a line just to get inside the door.
So she opened the first closed door she could find.
It was a walk-in closet filled with brooms and cleaning supplies and carpentry tools. But it was darkish and quiet. She could stay in here until she pulled herself together and got over this ridiculous crying jag.
She hadn’t been in the closet a full minute before the door opened and the light switch came on.
It was Dave. And he looked angry. “Whose ass do I have to kick?”
21
Georgia gulped. “Pardon me?”
“Whose ass do I have to kick for making you cry? And if you tell me it’s Bettina Bailey, I’m going to be really disappointed.”
Georgia smiled through her tears. “Because you don’t ass kick women?”
“Because you should be able to take care of her yourself.”
She laughed.
He swiped a tear from her cheek, making her skin tingle. “Why are you crying?”
“How did you know I was crying? And how did you know I was in here?”
“I’ve known exactly where you’ve been all night. Every long-drawn-out miserable second of it.”
“You have?” For some reason, that made her feel better.
“You didn’t know that?”
“I . . . I thought you were avoiding me.”
“Where’s your boyfriend? Wasn’t he going to be here tonight?”
“Spencer’s not my boyfriend. Not anymore. I caught him lying to me.”
He waited for her to go on.
“You were right. He’s never going to ask me to marry him. But at least now I know what I have to do.”
His jaw twitched. “And what’s that?”
“Quit my job. For real this time. I can’t work for Spencer after everything that’s happened between us.” Everything she’d ever heard about office romances being a bad idea came whooshing through her head. The fact that Spencer was her boss made it doubly hard. She thought she’d been smart enough not to get tangled up in a bad situation. Apparently in matters of the heart she was as clueless as every other woman in America who made the mistake of sleeping with her boss. “But it’s okay, I won’t have any trouble getting a new job. According to Spencer’s secretary the headhunters are already sniffing around.” Georgia could only hope Crystal hadn’t told any real headhunters to drop dead.
“So that’s why you were crying. Because of Spencer?”
“No.” She’d tried to cry over Spencer. She just hadn’t rented the right movies to get her going. “It’s my sister. Actually, it’s my brother-in-law, Ed.”
“Ed made you cry?” Dave asked incredulously.
“I think I screwed up,” she admitted, although the truth was she didn’t think it, she knew it. She’d never forget the expression on Ed’s face when she basically told him he was a failure. She cringed now just thinking about it. She should have found another way to get Frida to take her money.
“I told Ed about the foreclosure.”
“He didn’t know?”
Georgia shook her head. “And then I told him to man up and get a real job.”
“I bet he took that well.”
“It was like a lamb being led to the slaughter. He looked so . . . stunned.” Georgia shook her head. She could feel the tears start up again. She angrily swiped them away.
Dave drew her into his arms. He felt so big and solid and warm. It was easy to just slide into him and forget about all the shit going on in her life. “And now you feel guilty,” he said.
He rubbed his hand over her back, making tiny circles that sent shivers down her spine. “I don’t know what to do,” she said. “Or how to help them.”
She snuggled in closer to him. The smell of his cologne was making her dizzy. It was the same kind of dizzy she’d experienced sitting next to him in his pickup truck the night he’d driven her home from Bunco. If she was being honest, she’d admit to herself what it really was.
“You’re a good girl, Georgia.”
“No, I’m not. A good girl wouldn’t be thinking what I’m thinking right now.”
She could feel him tense. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking I want you to kiss me,” she whispered.
She raised her head to look him in the eye. She couldn’t tell if he was mad. Or turned on. Or both. But he definitely wasn’t kissing her.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have.”
It wasn’t the response she was expecting. But he wasn’t pushing her away. In fact, it was just the opposite. His hand kept making those deliciously slow little circles over her back drawing her closer.
“Maybe I’ve got it all wrong. Maybe you shouldn’t kiss me. Maybe I should kiss you,” she said, feeling breathless.
“Maybe you should.”
It was all the encouragement she needed. She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled his head down. He let her take the lead in the kiss while he shrugged himself out of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor. She ran her hands across his broad back feeling the muscles tense and bunch beneath his crisp white-linen shirt.
He broke the kiss and lifted her onto a waist-high wooden workbench, bringing them eye-level. She wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him in as close as possible.
He ran a finger over the front of her bodice, lazily following the sequins’ pattern. Georgia could feel her nipples tighten. “Where did you get this dress?”
Georgia quickly worked off his necktie. It was a clip-on, thank God. “Do you like it?” she rasped, tearing through the buttons of his shirt at lightning speed. She was disappointed to find he was wearing a T-shirt. Damn it. She wanted to see some skin.
“Like it?” he muttered. “I don’t know if I love it or hate it.”
He reached for the zipper in the back, lowering the dress to her waist. With an efficiency she didn’t want to think about he unhooked her strapless bra and drew one breast into his mouth. He sucked her soft and slow, making her restless. His tongue drew tiny circles around her nipples. Your tits belong in a museum. It might be the cheesiest pickup line she’d ever heard, but who cared? No man had ever made her feel this wanted before. The dress might be beautiful, but Dave was making her feel beautiful. Had Spencer ever done that?
Georgia grabbed on to the top of his head and threaded her fingers through his hair.
He placed one hand on her knee and snaked it up her inner thigh. She couldn’t help but smile. She sure as hell wasn’t wearing granny panties tonight.
“Whatever this is,” he said, rubbing the lacy edges to her white silk bikini underwear, “I can say with utmost certainty that I like it.”
“Why don’t you find out?”
He locked gazes with her and grinned. God, he had the most gorgeous green eyes. She wiggled her hips from side to side allowing him to drag the white bikini underwear down her thighs, over her knees, then slowly down her ankles and over her sandals. He took a long, hard look at the small scrap of silk. “Definitely an improvement over last time.”
Georgia laughed.
“What are we doing?” he asked suddenly.
“Don’t you know?”
He shook his head. “I’m seriou
s, Georgia. Either we stop. Now. Or I’m going to fuck you. Right here in this closet. With two hundred people on the other side of that door.”
She swallowed hard. She didn’t know how to respond to that. So she reached out and rubbed the palm of her hand over his erection. “You’re right. It’s not a hammer.”
“Damn right it’s not.”
“I say we go for option number two,” she said quickly, before she chickened out and changed her mind.
He stared at her a second, then leaned back in to kiss her. Only it wasn’t like his other kisses. It was hot and wild and furious. His mouth was everywhere, on her neck, on her breasts, and somehow, and she wasn’t quite sure how he got there (and she didn’t care either), between her legs.
He wrapped her knees around his neck and pinned her waist with his hands. She couldn’t get away if she wanted to. Not that she wanted to. She wasn’t crazy. She leaned back on the rough wooden table and closed her eyes, oblivious to anything but the feel of his warm tongue lapping against her skin. Georgia had never experienced anything like this before. It was beyond crazy. Dave was going down on her in this tiny closet in the middle of a gala event and the only thing she knew was that if he stopped, she’d kill him. She had to muffle her scream when she came.
It could have been seconds or minutes or hours or days, she wasn’t sure, but all of sudden she noticed the bright light above her head shining obnoxiously in her eyes.
“That was . . . that was . . .” She sat up and tried to readjust her dress while she fumbled for the right words. “Thank you,” she finally said. It seemed inadequate, but it was all she could muster at the moment.
“No need to thank me,” he said, looking amused. “I was kind of hoping you’d reciprocate.”
“Of course!” she said, suddenly feeling embarrassed. And extremely unsophisticated. She slid not so gracefully off the worktable to land on shaky legs. “Should I, um—” She searched the floor for a good spot to set up.
