by Kylie Logan
“I just stopped by your store,” he said, tilting his head back the way he’d come. “Some girl was there. She said she didn’t know when you were coming back.”
“Brina.” I supplied the name, not so much because it mattered that Kaz knew, but because when he was standing there looking me over and I caught a whiff of the aftershave I used to buy him every Christmas simply because it magically seeped into my brain and made me nuts from wanting him, I knew it was wiser for me to concentrate on work than on Kaz.
Kaz in nicely worn, butt-hugging jeans.
And a dusky blue shirt, open at the collar, the sleeves rolled up above his elbows.
I forced myself to watch a passing bus, the better to keep my mind on other things, and said, “Brina is my assistant. I left her in charge.” I lifted the white carryout bag in my right hand. “While I went out to grab some dinner.”
It was all I was willing to say. In fact, as soon as I got back to the Button Box, I was going to send Brina home. It was only five-thirty, and Kate wasn’t scheduled to arrive for this evening’s appointment until eight, but I wasn’t taking any chances. When Kate made this appointment, she’d insisted we meet alone. None of her assistants, and no sign of mine. Apparently, after looking over my buttons, she was ready to make her choice, and like everything else about her royal wedding, she wanted this detail to be a surprise. For everybody.
“An assistant, huh? You’ve come up in the world.” I didn’t have to look at Kaz. I could hear the amusement coloring his words. “She sure doesn’t look like an assistant. She doesn’t even look like your typical button nerd.” He didn’t bother saying he was sorry for the slam. But then, Kaz never does. In the long line of things that had pushed me over the edge from Mrs. to ex, it was the one that still grated the most. “She looks like she should be working at some biker bar.”
“She’s Adele Cruikshank’s granddaughter.” Kaz didn’t need to know that Adele had begged and I had given in. Kaz already knew I gave in far too often. It was the only thing that could possibly explain why we’d stayed married for three years.
As for what had finally forced us apart . . .
It wasn’t much of a mental leap for me to remember the two goons in my shop. Or that just about the first thing I’d thought of when I ran into them (after the whole terror/panic/ scared-senseless thing) was Kaz.
The thought threw ice water on the heat that had been building since I set eyes on him. When I looked Kaz up and down, I’m surprised goose bumps didn’t blossom on his arms.
“Who are you in trouble with now?” I asked him.
Kaz has a way of stepping back, throwing up his hands, and proclaiming his innocence. It’s a great act. Too bad I’d seen it so many times, I know it means he’s as guilty as hell. He did it now, and when I didn’t immediately cave, he looked genuinely disappointed.
“Come on, Jo.” He poked his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “You know me better than that.”
“Yes, I do.”
One heartbeat.
Two.
When you’re married to a man like Kaz, you learn how to work a punch line.
“That’s why I’m asking.”
There was no point in waiting for him to tell me I was wrong. Of course, that’s exactly what he was going to do. Of course, he’d be lying through his teeth. I started walking. It was the un-subtlest way I could think to show Kaz we had nothing to say to each other. Not anymore.
He tagged along. Just like I was afraid he would.
“You think I’m here to ask for money, don’t you?”
I didn’t even bother to give him so much as a sidelong look. But then, I could afford to act like I wasn’t concerned. For one thing, because I wasn’t. For another, it was exactly what I expected him to say. “I think somebody you owe money to is looking for money,” I said. “And since they didn’t find any in the Button Box the other night—”
“What the frig!” He clapped a hand on my arm and stopped me so fast that, before I knew it, we were toe-to-toe. Kaz is a heavy-equipment operator at the Port of Chicago, and he looks the part. Wide shoulders. Slim hips. Abs that won’t quit and biceps that owe their definition not to some fancy equipment at some fancy gym, but to long days of hard work.
That is, when he isn’t dodging that hard work so he can place his next bet.
He cocked his head to give me a probing look. When I saw a wave of concern cloud his expression and actually thought it might be genuine, I gave myself a mental slap. “You mean somebody broke into your shop?”
“Come on, Kaz.” I ripped my arm out of his grasp. It was that or fall into the trap of remembering how good it felt to be skin to skin. Believe me, this wasn’t the time or the place for that. Or the century. Or the universe. “You’re telling me you’re not into somebody for big bucks?”
“That’s not what we were talking about. We were talking about somebody breaking into your store. How much did they take?”
“How much did they need to take to cover your losses?”
He flinched, and honestly, I might have fallen for the whole wounded-animal look if I hadn’t seen it . . . oh . . . about a million times before. My exasperated sigh pretty much said it all, but just in case he wasn’t into nuances, I spelled it out for him. “I don’t know what they took. Not yet. I’m putting my inventory back in order and I worked on it all day today and I’m tired and I’ve got an appointment I have to keep so maybe I’ll just see you around sometime.”
Nuances aren’t Kaz’s thing. Neither is the oh-so-obvious. When I started up again, he didn’t get the message; he was right at my side. “I had nothing to do with any burglary, Jo. I swear.”
Honest to Pete, I wished I could believe him.
And I knew if I did, I’d only be proving that I never learned my lesson. This time, I did look at him, out of the corner of my eye. “You didn’t answer my question. I asked if you were into somebody for big bucks. Then again, I don’t suppose I need an answer. Why else would you stop to see me? It’s always all about the money, isn’t it?”
“Just happened to be in the area.” There was that grin again, hotter than the sun in Barbados and just as dangerous to those who were foolish enough to go out without plenty of protection. “Who says I can’t stop in to see my favorite button collector?”
“I’m the only button collector you know. You made sure of that because you made sure you kept far, far away from my business.”
“Oh, come on. If you’re going to start in on me again because I never went to any of those stupid button shows with you—”
“I’m not starting in on you. Not again. Because I never did in the first place. And this has nothing to do with you not going to button shows with me.” We were at a cross street, and the light was against us. I’d rather have taken a chance on an encounter with a Yellow Cab than continue our conversation, but traffic was heavy, and though I talk a good game, I’m really not much of a risk taker. Except, of course, when it came to Kaz. “I’m not stupid, Kaz,” I pointed out. I shouldn’t have had to. “We both know this is the time of the month I get my royalty check.”
Oh yeah, he is quite the actor. If I didn’t know better, I actually would have believed that fleeting look of surprise. “Royalty?” His eyes lit. “Oh, you mean for that movie you worked on with that Hugh Weaver guy. You’re still getting money from that?”
I bit my tongue. After all, we were on a public street and there were children nearby. They didn’t need to hear what I was thinking, which was pretty much that Kaz was the lousiest liar I’d ever met. Only the words that pounded around inside my head weren’t nearly that nice.
“You know I get a check every month,” I said instead, skirting the whole nuance thing again and laying it on the line. “You know this, Kaz, because back when I got my first few royalty checks, I put all the money in the bank to save it for the down payment on a house. And you withdrew all that money because you knew in your heart of hearts that the Colts were going to
beat the Saints in the Super Bowl. Let’s see . . .” I tipped my head, thinking. Or maybe one side of my head was just heavy from all the sarcasm I was storing up and ready to let loose. “The way I remember it, you lost all that money and you didn’t care. You figured you’d just get more the next month.”
“For richer or for poorer!” He was the only one I knew who could make that part of the wedding vows sound like a joke.
The light changed and I crossed the street. It wasn’t hard for Kaz to keep up. I am, after all, a short woman with short legs.
“It’s just a couple thousand bucks, Jo, and I wouldn’t ask at all if it was for me. But I’ve got this friend, see, this guy down at the port. He’s been sick, and he hasn’t been able to work. And he’s got a wife who’s on disability. And kids. Three of them.”
Yes, he talked a good game, and I would have been a noble and charitable person had I listened. But I’d heard it all before. Always a sick friend. Or a relative in need. Always a story. Over the years, I’d learned that none of them were ever true. “No,” was all I said.
“But that movie you worked on with Hugh Weaver, the one you did the costumes for all those years ago . . . it’s hotter than ever. I saw DVDs in a bookstore the other day and—”
“No. I sunk all the money I could afford into the shop. And I need some money to live on until things finally take off. How else do you think I was able to quit my job at the insurance company?”
“My point exactly!” Kaz’s eyes were the color of a cup of double espresso. They packed the same wallop. “You’ve got enough money to quit your job. And enough to start this crazy business of yours. And thanks to that goofy movie, you’ll have more coming in next month.”
We were in front of the Button Box, and I stopped and said, “Yes, I will. And you won’t be getting any of that, either.”
“Ah, come on, Jo.” Kaz was brazen enough to skim a finger up my arm.
I was shameless enough to let him.
That is, right before I said no again, and turned to walk into the shop.
“But you’re going to be more successful than ever. You know, after this.”
I turned around just in time to see him pull a newspaper out of his back pocket. He unfolded it, and I wasn’t surprised to see the photo of Kate from the previous day’s paper. He waved it back and forth in front of my nose.
“Once word gets out that you’re catering to the stars, you’re going to be one hot button dealer.”
It was my turn to smile. Now that I thought of it, it was the first time I’d bothered since I ran into Kaz. “I’m counting on it,” I told him.
“So you’ll have more customers than ever, and you’ll sell more buttons than ever, and the money will just keep rolling in.”
“I’m counting on that, too.”
“Which means all that royalty money is just gravy, and here’s this guy, this friend of mine, who can hardly afford to put groceries on the table, and it’s only a couple thousand lousy bucks, and—”
This time, I didn’t even bother to answer, I just groaned.
And I guess Kaz took pity on me, because he gave me a quick peck on the cheek and turned to walk away. Right before he disappeared around the corner, I heard his parting comment. “By the way.” He grinned and waved the newspaper. “Nice butt!”
THE FACT THAT I was breathing hard had nothing to do with my walk down North Wells. Or the fact that the clock was ticking and Kate was scheduled to arrive in just a couple hours.
It had everything to do with Kaz.
Attraction or repulsion?
I was so busy trying not to think about it so I didn’t have to decide that I wasn’t paying attention. That would explain why I jumped when I heard a man say, “Hey, you’re the button lady.”
I turned just in time to see him round the corner of the alley that led between my brownstone and the one next door and back to the common courtyard shared by the nearby buildings. He was middle-aged, average height, and as bald as a baby’s backside. He had a camera slung over one shoulder. Just the hint I needed—paparazzi.
He obviously recognized me.
I hoped it wasn’t because my butt looked familiar.
“So, she’s coming back, huh?” The man had a round face and heavy jowls. There was a single gold stud in his left earlobe. He couldn’t possibly have known I was busy rehashing the close encounter of the shake-my-resolve kind with my ex so he assumed I was either being coy or I was offended by his question. Covering his bases, he smiled an apology. “I can understand you don’t want to say anything. After all, you don’t know me from Adam.”
“I don’t know Adam, either.”
He laughed. “Hey, it’s like this . . .” He took a couple steps closer. Like it or not—and I didn’t like it one bit—I had an automatic and gut-wrenching flashback to the morning of the burglary; I took a couple steps back. He reached into his pocket and handed me a business card. “Mike Homolka,” he said, pointing to the name printed on it. “I’m a journalist.”
“You’re one of the paparazzi.”
“You say tomato; I say tomahto.” He shrugged. “What matters is that I make my living getting the story. Get my drift? And I know you’ve got a story to tell. I’ve done my homework, see, and I know you worked with Hugh Weaver on Trolls.” He chuckled. “Whoever thought that goofy movie would make Weaver some sort of Hollywood god! And you were the one who did the costumes for that movie, right? From rags to riches! And all because of some cult hit. That makes you grist for the ol’ gossip mill. Know what I mean?”
I didn’t, but then, Homolka didn’t give me time to tell him that. He was as fast-talking as he was loud. And he was plenty loud.
“But hey, I’m not going to hassle you about the whole Trolls thing. Not today. We’ll talk about that another time. You know, when things are slower and I’m hard up for a story.”
This was supposed to make me feel better?
I had no plans to sit outside and eat my turkey sandwich, but I didn’t like the idea of Homolka hanging around outside my shop. Maybe if I headed to the courtyard and sat out there for a while, he’d get bored. And leave.
No such luck.
He followed right along.
“So . . .” One of Homolka’s eyebrows slid up his forehead. “What’s it like working with Kate the Great? And what did she say about that wedding gown of hers? Did she look at white buttons? Ivory buttons? Or is she going to be less traditional and go with a color?”
When I sat down on one of the park benches the local merchants had donated to our little courtyard oasis and didn’t answer, he leaned in closer and lowered his voice, like he was sharing a secret. “Hey, honey, I’ve got people who are willing to pay for this information. You’re a businesswoman. You understand, right? You can’t blame me for trying.”
“I can’t.” I opened the bag with my sandwich in it, took one look inside, and changed my mind. Somehow, being with Homolka had robbed me of my appetite. “But you can’t blame someone who has a professional relationship with someone else for refusing to betray a confidence.”
“Is that what it is? A confidence? So, she wants you to keep it all hush-hush? Of course she does. That’s just like Kate. She knows the more she keeps those luscious lips of hers shut, the more people will talk about what she might be thinking. See, she’s a smart businesswoman, too.”
I reclosed the bag.
“Kate loves the spotlight,” he said. “And oh, how she loves letting us take her picture. But then when any of us tries to get her to talk so we can get our stories straight and make sure we’re publishing nothin’ but the truth, she clams up like one of them marble statues. Claims it’s all about her right to privacy. That’s why stuff gets published sometimes that isn’t quite . . . well . . . stuff that isn’t totally true. But you . . .” Homolka looked me up and down, and I felt a chill. “With your help, I won’t have to make anything up, and then my editor won’t end up printing a bunch of lies. So you see what I’m getting at her
e, right? Talk to me, and you’ll be doing Kate a favor in the long run. The truth will get out, and no one will have to speculate.”
I knew whatever I said, my words were going to be twisted around and turned into a quote I wouldn’t want to see in the papers any more than I wanted to see that photo of my butt again. I stood. But apparently, even a closemouthed button dealer wasn’t enough to put off a guy as pushy as Homolka. When I made my way back down the redbrick alley and onto North Wells, he was right behind me.
“You’re working late.” He tried one last ploy. He’d obviously been on this sort of fishing expedition a couple billion times before, and he knew that according to the law of averages, the normal person would eventually cave.
What he didn’t know was that I’m not normal.
Not when it comes to this sort of schmoozing, anyway.
There was Kaz, after all.
“Seems funny that you’d be working late the same week Kate was here to visit. I mean, if she already ordered buttons from you, that sale would be all wrapped up, right? And you wouldn’t need to still be hanging around. Unless she’s coming back, of course. This evening?”
I was back in front of the Button Box, and I tossed him a look that would have warned a smarter man to back off.
“I’ll pay you a thousand dollars if you’ll talk to me.”
I guess he wasn’t one of those smarter men. I froze and turned to stare at Homolka, but only because I was so knocked for a loop by his offer, I needed time to process it. Processing over, I whirled around the other way, anxious to get into the shop, praying he wouldn’t be bold enough to follow, and worried about what Kate would say (and do) if she got there and found Mike Homolka lying in wait for her. I couldn’t tell him to go away. That would only make him more suspicious. But I hated the thought of Kate getting ambushed.
Torn between appealing to Mike’s human side and wondering if human and paparazzi were oxymorons, I turned one last time when I had my hand on the shop door. He had walked away. He was watching me from in front of the blues club two doors down. The only thing I could do was go into the shop and hope that by the time Kate arrived, it wouldn’t look like my problem.
