by Holley Trent
Nikki’s cheeks flushed red, and she swallowed, pulling her collar back with a crooked index finger. “Saw him in a suit. Scrambled a few of my brain cells. But just think about it. Jerry’s got a lot of fantastic raw material.” Nikki lumbered toward the barn door and Trinity followed close behind, scratching her head. Nikki’s hormone levels must have spiked in a new and unnatural direction.
“If by raw material you mean modeling dough…” Trinity let her voice trail off, confident she’d made her point.
“I think he’s got more of a backbone than he lets on.”
“He’s nothing.” Trinity cleared her throat. Perfect body and Adonis face aside, that was.
Nikki pulled the door open and let Trinity pass in front of her. “I wouldn’t generally encourage employee fraternization, but as peers, I think you two are a match. I wish you would get it together. You’ve been giving me heartburn for months with all the sniping.”
“Nikki, I’ve never said this out loud before, and you’ll probably fire me upon hearing it, but I think it needs to be said.” Trinity paused at her workstation, and leaned her butt against it. She crossed her arms over her chest, and when Nikki turned to look at her, waiting for her to finish, Trinity said, “You may be a little crazy.”
“Not gonna fire you for that.” Nikki approached Jerry’s cube, and extended a hand to ruffle his stiff hair as she passed by.
He looked back at her, gave her a head bob of acknowledgement, and readjusted his headphones to their previous, unmolested position.
“Oh, I know I’m crazy.” Nikki bent one side of her lush lips up into a smirk and narrowed her gaze. Walking backward, she raised her chin and pointed at her assistant. “Don’t ever forget it. Me being just a touch unbalanced is how I manage to run this business…and if I remember correctly, you want to run this business, too.”
Busted.
Trinity cringed.
Nikki closed her office door, and Trinity slid her gaze over to Jerry. He was totally oblivious, and likely hadn’t heard a thing given the deep scowl he directed at his oversized computer monitor. He rubbed his smooth chin and mouthed something written on the screen. Was he coding again? Making up some unintelligible programming language?
Trinity considered him and massaged a nearby chemical lid while chewing the inside of her mouth.
“Hmm.”
No witnesses. Seemed a good time to carry out a little experiment. She was a scientist, after all, and that’s what scientists did. They formed theories and tested them, changing one variable at a time.
Just how unflappable was Jerry Rouse? She was willing to bet her next bonus that a change in tactic would knock him off-kilter a while. Maybe treat him to a little sweet for a while, instead of heat.
She patted her hair down and padded up behind him.
He didn’t sense her there after a moment, so she slid between his chair and the cubicle wall and leaned against his desktop.
She crossed her arms over her chest and put on what she hoped was a coy smile. Wasn’t like she’d had practice with it. Her usual pleasant expression was something akin to what Internet pundits called “resting bitch face.” Once in college, a homeless man had told her, “Smile. It can’t be that bad.”
She’d put her two bucks back into her pocket and walked away, grumbling, “I’m smiling on the inside.”
Jerry pushed back his headphones. “What happened? Did something blow up? Do I need to get the fire extinguisher down again?” He stood.
“No, no!” She put her hands on his shoulders and gave him a gentle shove back into his seat. “Just wanted to talk.”
Both of his dark blond eyebrows crept up, and briefly, she wondered if his carpet matched the drapes. Where that thought came from, she had no idea, especially since she had absolutely no intention of squelching her curiosity regarding it.
“Really? About what? Can’t it wait until the next meeting?” His bottom jaw ground left, then right.
Poor guy, already annoyed. Good.
She pressed on, and hoped the grin she wore wasn’t too jubilant. “Oh, I didn’t want to talk about work. I just wanted to chat. Get to know you. We’ve been here nearly two years, and I don’t know a thing about you, really.”
He blinked.
Not the response she was hoping for. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and chewed.
What would Ginger do?
The to-do list pinned onto the wall at Jerry’s left, scribbled onto neon green paper, drew her attention. She hoped she’d be able to grab some conversational snippet from it, but no. May have well have been written in Greek for all the sense she could make of it. SQL queries? What were those?
Bullshittery would have to do. She forced herself to meet his hard stare once again, and crooked her thumb toward his headphones. “So, what are you listening to?”
“What am I listening to?” He studied her for a moment, as if waiting for her to recant—to say, “Just kidding”—then lifted his headphones over his head. He untangled the cord from around his armrest, and handed the unit to Trinity.
She stared at them, warily, for a minute, expecting his calm and cool expression belied a musical accompaniment that would rip her eardrums to shreds.
“Do you want an alcohol wipe or something to rub over them or something?” he asked, now smirking. “Nikki probably has some in her desk drawer.”
“Ha ha.” She placed the headphones on her head, slowly, holding the earpads away from her lobes a moment to assess the volume. Realizing it was moderate, she let the headphones retract into their designed shape and listened quietly, although maintaining eye contact was an distraction she hadn’t expected would test her so.
Maybe looking at the man point-blank had been easier before when she was just looking through him. Now, thanks to Aunt Ginger, she had no choice but to not only look at man, but also see him.
She’d never noticed his eyes were blue because they were so dark. The most intense blue she’d ever seen, and all that time she’d assumed they were brown.
“Um.” She swallowed, and forced her stare to his computer monitor. “Who is that, Sting?” she asked, studying his music player’s ticker.
Jerry shook his head and extended his hand.
She nudged the headphones forward, and returned them to him.
He pegged them onto the plant hook he’d installed in his cubicle for exactly that purpose, and maximized the music player on the screen. “Gotye.”
“Isn’t he a fashion designer?”
Jerry smiled, this time for real.
It was a nice smile—a gut-warming smile—even though it was at her expense.
“No, not Gaultier. Gotye. G-O-T-Y-E, see? He’s a Belgian-Australian musician who actually gets compared to Sting a great deal, so you get half credit.”
“Do I get a gold star?”
“If you want. Where do you want me to put it?” Jerry rested his elbows on the chair’s padded armrests, and tented his fingers. His lips edged dangerously close to forming an irreverent smirk. Lush lips, pink as though they’d been recently crushed in a kiss.
Since she was looking anyway, she let her gaze scan upward to his elegant nose, to his lips again, and paid special attention to the slightly plumper bottom one. Realizing her tongue had started moistening her own lips, she scoffed and closed her eyes.
Taking a breath, she re-engaged, and propped one hand onto the cubicle’s half-wall for support. “Um, never heard of him. I tend to latch onto two or three bands and basically put my blinders on to the rest of the industry.”
“Mm-hmm.”
He had brown rings around those dark blue irises. Polygenics at play. Lots of blue eyes in his family with a brown-eyed rogue, perhaps?
God, what an interesting face. Now that she’d started looking, she didn’t want to stop. She understood the whispers—the rumors—about Jerry now. She hadn’t understood the reason for the hype before because she’d been mentally compartmentalizing him into that same box she’d put
her professors and advisors into.
Her pulse drummed in her ears, and suddenly her mouth was very dry.
What were they saying? Why had she walked over there?
Oh, yes. Now she remembered.
“So, that was smart—the cameras, I mean.”
He swayed from side to side in his rolling chair, giving her that same nonplussed gaze again.
Already, she missed the smirk. At least that had felt personal.
Finally, he opened his mouth. “Well, it’s makeshift until Charlie gets the security system installed. They’re having to call someone in from Virginia to do the work since there’re no approved techs in Chowan County.”
“Great. Sounds like a plan.” She cleared her throat and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She must have looked like a besotted teenager, stuttering and stammering in front of him, and she’d never been prone to that kind of silliness.
What was wrong with her?
Wow, those cheekbones. She cringed. “Okay, so…back to work, I guess.”
“Okay.” He spun his rolling chair back toward his computer, and blandly retorted, “Yes, ma’am.”
He went right back to tweaking code as if her presence had been merely an insignificant blip on his radar screen. She certainly felt insignificant.
“Okay, then.” She retreated to her workbench, brain in a state of utter chaos as she filtered through thoughts and emotions, trying to make sense of uncomfortable realizations that made her heart race and mouth dry.
Jerry Rouse was a gorgeous man, and a highly intelligent one.
It’d taken two years for that revelation to smack her in the face. If she were to be assigned a grade for her study, she would have gotten the only “F” she’d ever received in her life.
CHAPTER FIVE
What the hell was going on with the women at Natural by Nicolette lately? Trinity was acting weird, which initially he’d ascribed to her Napoleon complex, but now he wasn’t so sure. Keeping her in check didn’t scare him—he’d dated enough girls like her before to have picked up a few tricks. Truth be told, those girls were a lot of fun once they established their ebb and flow, but long-term they weren’t worth the hassle. They required too much maintenance, and Trinity seemed like the sort whom would always keep him hopping.
Then there was Nikki, who knew better than anyone his limits. Being pregnant, however, had made her respect for those limits soften a bit. She’d cornered him with her eyes narrowed and jabbed a finger at his chest. “Jerry, I need to put you in an ad,” she’d said.
“No,” he’d said.
When her brow furrowed, he put up his hands and sighed. In two-plus years, she’d been good at not pushing him. She gave him space to handle business in the way he saw fit and didn’t supervise him nearly as much as she did the rest of the staff. So, for Nikki to make such a request of him really meant it was technically an edict. He’d play nice, although this particular order chafed him. Being in national advertising materials meant his old agent might catch wind of what he was up to and try to lure him back.
In fact, the likelihood of that was quite good, because Bobby regularly set up web alerts under his name and whenever he popped up somewhere online, she swooped in like a hawk and shot off an email.
So, whatcha doing now? Ready to work again? Coe Beachwear is asking about you.
He was through with that shit. Sitting around all day, waiting for sets to be decorated. Having people fuss with his face and hair when he just wanted to surf. He’d only gotten into modeling in the first place so he’d have money to pay his rent between surfing tournament wins.
Still, he knew even though Nikki had some oftentimes uncomfortable requests for him, his position in the company was basically locked in, ironclad safe. He did what she said, because she was a damned good employer. If she weren’t, he wouldn’t be sitting in front of his real estate agent at Edenton Bakery, nursing a grilled chicken panini, and filling out a housing wish-list.
He set his pencil down and raked a hand through his dreads. “It really needs to be detached, Lynn. If that means I get a crappier house that needs some work, then I’m okay with it. I can swing a hammer if I’m forced to.”
Lynn giggled and covered her lips with a dainty hand—a most unusual quirk for a fifty-year-old woman—and batted her false eyelashes at him.
He stifled a groan.
“Oh, I just bet you can! I’m sure you have all sorts of delightful muscles under that plaid shirt of yours.”
“Not really. I’ve got all kinds of delightfully crass tattoos that aren’t fit for viewing in Edenton. Naked women and pentagrams and such.”
Half-lie.
“Listen, did you find out anything about that distressed property out in Rocky Hock?”
“Um…” The Realtor’s face flushed purple, but she recovered, and drummed her acrylic nails on the tabletop as she thought. “Oh!” Her eyes went round as saucer, and she snapped her fingers at Jerry.
Guess I’m a dog now.
“You know what? I did.” She bent down sideways and riffled through her briefcase. “The county is going to auction it off soon for back taxes. No clue what happened to the owners.”
“When’s the auction?”
“Tuesday.”
“Tuesday? God.” Jerry threw his napkin down, and pushed back his plate. “For fuck’s sake, the one day I can’t get out of the office.” It was like a conspiracy. Every move he tried to make in respects to finally vacating his parents’ property was met with obstacles. Seemed almost like black magic.
“Jerry, if you give me the cash I’ll go bid on your behalf. I’d love to do that for you.” She propped her chin up on her intertwined fingers and batted her heavy lashes at him once more.
“Really? That’d be great. I just can’t swing it since I’ll be tied up all morning.”
“Literally?”
He just stared at her.
She batted those lashes again, and he expelled a strained chuckle.
What was wrong with people lately? “No, not literally.”
She sat back in her seat and straightened her pile of paperwork. “But are you sure you want that property? Keep in mind you won’t get to inspect the inside of the building before the auction, only the grounds and the outside of the structure.”
“I get it. And really, Lynn, it’s okay. Even if the house is shit, if I get the property cheap enough it’ll be worth it just for the land. I can just cart the trailer over there until the house is habitable.” He shrugged. “It’s not ideal, but I’ll do it.”
“Well, all right,” she acquiesced. “Just give me a limit and I’ll see what I can do. The auction hasn’t been heavily advertised, so that may work in your favor. There are always a few flippers out there looking to make a buck, but when they see this one I think they’ll go running.”
He finished his sandwich and hastily bid the real estate agent good evening, claiming he had an appointment. It wasn’t quite a lie.
Juan beat Jerry back to his trailer. He stood on the steps holding a six-pack of Tecate and his wireless game controller. “You got the new Vampire Thief game?”
Jerry slogged up the path with his messenger bag and a grocery bag full of mail. Kate’s mail withholding threats had meant nothing because he knew her far too well. He’d been having his mail delivered to a PO box for months. He’d also purchased a generator so he’d always have power. Disconnecting him from the well would be a far more difficult feat, so Jerry didn’t worry about water. She didn’t have the smarts to cut the flow on her own, and no one Jerry knew in the county was going to do it for her. Her reputation tended to precede her.
“Yup,” he said to Juan. “They also sent along some girly shopping game hoping I’d take a look at it. No dice. You can give it to your kids.”
“Hey, thanks!”
“Jeremiah!”
Jerry closed his eyes and groaned. “Fuck.” He pulled the screen door open and nodded, indicating Juan should enter. Awful timing.
As Kate picked across the side yard, other regular visitors of his loosely organized game night pulled into the shared driveway.
“You can’t keep doing this!”
Jerry leaned onto the wooden banister and gave her a look he hoped conveyed sufficient boredom. “What now?”
“The cars, Jeremiah. The tires are tearing up the sod. The ground is still soggy from all that rain we had a few days ago.”
Right, because people in the boonies cared about pristine lawns. Why concern themselves with the inevitable messes the gophers, deer, and rabbits would make? He took a deep, centering breath then straightened his back. “I’ll deal with it. I’ll have them park on the shoulder.” He was halfway down the stairs when she said, “Good.”
She couldn’t see him rolling his eyes.
She followed him, talking at his back. “Now, what’s the timeline for moving your trailer?”
Is she for real?
He stopped abruptly, and faced the battle-ax. “You ask me the same question every day as soon as I get out of my vehicle. I give you the same answer. I’m trying to get out of your hair and off your grass as soon as I can. That’s all I can tell you.”
She put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. “You could be a little more gracious, Jeremiah. We raised you better than that. We didn’t have to put you up.”
Jerry raised an eyebrow at that statement, but couldn’t address it at the moment. He waved at Trey and Carter, who’d just debarked their cars, and held up his index finger telling them to wait. Turning back to the glowering harpy, he whispered, “What’s wrong? Did you commit yourself to the ladies’ group fall garden show again and had a sudden revelation my trailer’s not ornamental enough to make the cut?”
Her silence was his answer.
“All right. You know, you’re right. I’m a big boy. I’ll be gone as soon as the ground dries enough to pull the trailer out of here. That is, unless you want more ruts in your yard.”
“Don’t you worry about the ruts.”
He put his hand over his heart in a conveyance of false shock. “Oh, I see. You’re finally getting the driveway paved after all these years of me suggesting it. Onward and upward, right? That’s goddamned fabulous.”
