“I’m only sorry Kobe didn’t get to come with. What happened, Piper?” Miranda turned her head in time to catch Piper’s grimace.
“He’s being weird.” She sighed.
“What’s up with him, anyway? Didn’t he break up with you a week ago?” Rashae crammed her feet into slip-ons, but was otherwise ready to go roll with the puppies.
“Yeah. It’s...I don’t know. Anytime I think things are good, he sort of disappears. I know I told him I wanted to keep things casual, but this yo-yo on-again-off-again is seriously trying my patience.” Piper pushed to her feet, then wiggled out of her dress.
“Did you meet him yet?” Miranda asked Tamara.
“Uh, yeah, we did a double date a week ago,” Tamara said slowly.
There was something Tamara wasn’t sharing. Because she didn’t want to hurt Piper’s feelings? Or because she had suspicions she couldn’t back up? Whatever it was, Miranda would have to worry about it another night. They had the whole event to pack up, as well as dozens of animals to cart home and to foster parents. She wasn’t going to get to roll into bed until the early morning hours.
Miranda changed into yoga pants, a hoodie, and flip-flops before braving the ballroom.
She was overjoyed with what they’d pulled off, but the real work was about to begin. With the necessary funds in place, they could push the paperwork through, sign the lease, and get the foster babies into a more controlled environment. So many things to do, and that wasn’t even taking into account her job or the things she had coming up.
“Hey, there you are.” Raul waylaid her in the hallway.
“Hey, you. What’s up?” Miranda turned into his arms, sliding hers up around his neck. Things had been tense between them over the last week or so. She was hoping things would smooth out now that the event was behind them.
“The guy who won the Drudge concept set?”
“Frank?”
“Yeah. Frank doubled his donation.”
“Oh?” Miranda dreaded that sentence. Frank was...he was a good guy, but he set off her creep-o-meter, even though he’d never done anything wrong. In fact, he’d always encouraged her, even in the early days.
“He just wanted to have dinner and talk the game over with you.”
“What?” Miranda shook her head and her stomach churned. “No.”
“But...you weren’t answering your phone. I already said yes...”
“What? Why would you do that?” Miranda stepped back, out of Raul’s embrace.
“You said...earlier you said to do whatever it took for—”
“Yeah, smile, endure weird conversations, put up with people for tonight—not auction your girlfriend off to someone you don’t even know.”
“He...but...he sounded like you were friends...”
“That’s not the point. You don’t know anything about Frank. Who he is. What if he was some psycho killer weirdo and you just sold your girlfriend to him?”
“I did not sell you. He wanted dinner and game talk.”
“You put a price tag on me.”
“No, no that’s not what I did.”
“I’m not doing that. No.”
“He already wrote a check. I can’t give that back.”
“Well, I’m not going on a date—because that’s what Frank will see it as—for money.”
“Miranda.” Raul took a step toward her and she backed up, except his legs were longer, and the wall trapped her. He grasped her hands, his brow lined, lips turned down.
She couldn’t reconcile the sweet, kind man she’d come to know with this person. The one who’d sell her to the highest bidder. For a good cause, but still. Shouldn’t she get a say in this? The whole thing felt like an awful violation of her safety. Of her trust. He’d completely lost sight of them. The only thing that really mattered to Raul was his rescue. As much as she loved him for being this selfless when it came to animals, it also stung to realize where she rated. She’d never matter enough to him.
In that moment, she understood his ex-fiancé. Not that Miranda would steal Shiva or Demon, but she got it. And it sucked to be smacked in the face by reality.
She was being the sugar mama again.
Raul hadn’t needed to ask. She’d thrown herself into the exact same role all over again. And for what? A man who would never love her as much as she loved him.
She loved him.
Miranda hadn’t admitted it to herself but she’d fallen for him the night he took her home after her stalker sent her the flowers. He’d held her while she bawled, and in that moment she’d fallen for him. But he didn’t love her. And maybe he never would.
“There has to be a solution. You said to do whatever it took to get the biggest dollar amount from people tonight, so that was what I used as my guide when I couldn’t get you on the phone.” He squeezed her hands.
“Where was I supposed to keep a phone in that dress?”
“I should have asked you first. What’s done is done. Can’t we figure out a solution? What if I go with you? It’s not a date if your boyfriend is there.”
An evening spent with Frank still sounded like an awkward, miserable way to pass the time. But he was harmless. Hell, she’d known him since she was a kid. Her father used to work in the same building with Frank, which was how they’d met. Frank had too much money and an eye for investing. She’d needed backers for what would be a failed endeavor, but Frank had believed in her.
It wasn’t as if Raul were asking her to date her stalker. Frank was too...awkward for something like that.
“Fine. We’ll all go out together.”
“See? And if he says anything about it not being what he expected I’ll just tell him he misunderstood. Problem solved.” Raul bent, pressing a kiss to her brow.
It was the perfect solution, but her gut still said it was a bad idea. All of it.
12.
Raul trudged up the steps to Miranda’s house, sweat and cool rain dripping off him. He’d thought a run might help him find the answers he needed after spending the last few days—since the fundraiser and the girl’s leaving—in a funk. No such luck.
Things should be awesome.
The fundraiser had solved their money problems across the board.
This should be the most exciting period of his life. They were filling out the paper work, they’d toured three possible sites, and yet, every time he looked at Miranda he felt as though everything that mattered was crumbling around him.
He fit the key in the lock and let himself into the house.
The front room was dark. Shiva yawned at him from the sofa. Lola and the babies were upstairs, now that the kittens were into the extremely mobile and destructive stage. He crossed into the kitchen, peering into the dim bedroom. Miranda’s face was up-lit by her laptop screen. Judging by how loudly she banged the keys, she was either writing or...something.
Raul drank some water while he mulled over his options.
He could leave things be, hold on for the ride, and hope Miranda’s ruffled feathers settled on their own.
Or he could ask Miranda, yet again, what was bothering her.
He’d attempted to discuss the auction fiasco with her. So far, she’d stonewalled him.
There was no winning this, not until Miranda chose to talk to him about it. And that killed him. All because of a stupid dinner with someone she already knew.
Fuck.
If he could go back and say no...
But that money was going to buy them some very expensive equipment...
Miranda was worth more to him than equipment, but those machines might be the difference in deciding if he could quit the clinic and work the rescue full time.
Shit.
There was no easy answer.
He put the cup in the sink, did a quick once-over of the house, ensuring all the windows and doors were locked, then braved the bedroom.
“Hey, babe. How’s the writing going?”
“I’m not writing.” Her tone was flat, and sh
e didn’t even glance up at him.
What the hell was he supposed to do?
Raul stepped into the bathroom. He needed a shower. Then he’d probably go get a few games in while she slept. Working his frustration out on imaginary characters was far more productive than having it out with Miranda. Except...they were supposed to be in this together. Why couldn’t he share the most exciting time of his life with her anymore? He wouldn’t be here without her.
“What are you up to?” He leaned on the bathroom door, wishing the path back to her was so clearly marked.
“Nothing.”
“Okay.”
She continued to type, clearly doing something, but nothing she’d share with him. Anymore.
A week ago that wouldn’t be the case. She’d have babbled at him about ideas and things they were going to do together.
But it was now.
Things were different.
“Can we talk?” he asked.
“What’s up?” She didn’t even glance up from the screen.
“Will you stop typing and talk to me?”
Miranda tapped the keys a few more times before folding her hands over her lap and spearing him with a look he could only call cautious.
“Are you still upset about the auction thing?” After discussing it and coming to an agreement, he’d thought the whole incident was behind them. He’d avoided the subject, hoping a few days not talking about it would smooth matters over. Now he could tell that was exactly the opposite of what he should have done, and they were far from being on the same page.
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
No beating around the bush.
He appreciated that.
“Okay.” He crossed to the side of the bed and sat next to her feet. Demon gave him a one-eyed glare. It was clear his dog had a favorite, and it wasn’t him anymore. “Can we talk about it?”
“What is there to say you haven’t already said? I shouldn’t be upset because you only did what I said to do, and I’d be having dinner with a friend anyway, is that about it?”
Raul winced. Yup. Those were his words. His very incorrect words, it would appear.
“I clearly didn’t understand the full picture here. Can you explain to me why you’re still upset with me?” He set his hands on her feet, her blanket-covered feet, but still her. It was about as much contact as she’d permitted the last few days.
“My problem is that you see zero issue with throwing your girlfriend in for a bargain. You saw a way to make more money by using me. Me.” She jabbed her finger at her chest. “You never stopped to think about how I’d feel about it.”
“I thought I was doing what you wanted. I get that I made the wrong call now, and again—I’m sorry. What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to think about me.”
“I am. That’s why I’m trying to talk to you.”
“No, you’re trying to figure out how to have your cake and eat it, too.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Miranda, you’re clearly upset about something I’m not getting.”
“Fine. You want me to spell it out for you? You’re so in love with this rescue that you’ll use anyone to get what you want. And in this case—you used me. And I don’t like it.”
“I—what? No. I never asked you to do any of this. You practically had the whole thing organized and done before I even knew about it. The last thing you got my input on was the damn website a month ago.”
“Because I didn’t understand your world order. The rescue. Then everyone else. I thought I actually mattered to you.”
“No. That’s not the deal. I thought I was doing what you wanted.”
“And letting some dumb bimbo stick her hands down your pants was what I wanted?”
“What?”
“Yeah. Piper got that on video.”
“The—that red head? No.” Raul shook his head. “She reached for my hand in my pocket. I stepped back, I told her no, and I went straight to you.”
“You never told me about that.”
“I didn’t know I was supposed to report every instance of someone hitting on me to you.”
“Whatever it takes to get the money, right?” Miranda rolled her eyes.
“This isn’t fair. You’re pissed at me because I misunderstood what you said to do. I own that. I have apologized every fucking day for my screw up. Frank is totally fine with me tagging along for dinner. I don’t know what else to do to make you happy, Miranda. The rescue does not matter more than you. If you want me to tell you every time some woman I’m not attracted to hits on me—fine.”
“Why wouldn’t you tell me about that?”
“The red head?”
“Yes.”
“Because she was drunk and embarrassing herself.”
“And that doesn’t even rate a mention?”
“No, because after I walked away I forgot about it.”
“Then why do you know exactly what I’m talking about?”
“Shit. What do you want me to say? I’m sorry. Would you like me to list out the other completely inappropriate encounters of the evening?”
“There were more?”
“Yeah, I don’t know who the fuck brought some of those women in, but they had no boundaries.”
“What happened?”
“Besides hands-down-my-pants? There was some rich bimbo who thought she could tell me to fuck her and I’d do it for money. Then there was the chick who completely disrespected you—to my face. And three other airheads who couldn’t seem to comprehend the words I’m dating someone, no thanks.”
“Wow, you must feel like real hot shit.” Miranda crossed her arms across her chest. Never a good sign.
“No. No, that’s not what I feel like. Shit? Yes. Do I feel good about it? No. Hell no.”
“Must be so hard being you.”
“You want to be pissed at me, don’t you? Nothing I say is going to fix this, is it?”
Miranda’s glare could draw blood.
Had drawn blood.
Well, he wasn’t going to sit here and bleed for her amusement.
“I’m sleeping on the couch.”
Raul pushed to his feet and stormed into the living room, pacing back and forth.
How did he fix this? How had he so monumentally screwed things up in one night without even trying?
Miranda pressed dial to the clinic’s number.
Again.
“Hi, Jen, it’s Miranda. Again.”
“Hey! Raul’s still not out of surgery, I’m sorry.”
Shit.
Miranda stared up at the fancy building she was due to meet both Frank and Raul at.
“How long do you think he’ll be?” she asked.
“He’s had me calling the emergency surgeon for the last four hours. He’s really trying to get out of here, but...”
“Okay, thanks for letting me know.”
Miranda hung up and bit her lip. Again.
For all their fighting this week, he was still the one person she wanted nearby. Especially now.
There was no logical reason for Frank to give her the creeps. She’d known the man for over fifteen years. What was the big deal?
And yet, her gut still said to run. To go home, lock the doors and wait for Raul to get there.
But that was silly, wasn’t it?
Behaving like that meant her stalker won. It would alienate her, keep her alone, scared...
No. She had to suck it up and deal with life. The same way she’d been doing things since before Raul, though he made handling it infinitely better.
She blew out a breath, tapped out a text to Raul, and gathered her things.
It was just dinner.
She’d be fine.
If nothing else, maybe she could finally put this whole thing behind her. Yes, she was mad and hurt at Raul, but there was only so much mileage a single misunderstanding could get. Except, then she looked at Raul and she got so crazy mad all over again. It made n
o sense, and yet it did because this thing with him mattered.
Tonight when she got home, it would be different.
She had to promise herself that.
She was in love with Raul.
He might never be capable of loving her back the way she loved him, but in the grand scheme of things, maybe it was worth it if it meant she wouldn’t be alone anymore.
She locked her car, pushed her shoulders back, and strode up the walk to the front doors. The place was some sort of small event site. Frank had mentioned something about hiring a private chef and making use of the viewing room to really appreciate the Drudge concepts. Frank was a true eccentric—intelligent, strange, and brilliant. There was no understanding him sometimes, which was half his charm. Or had been. Somewhere along the way he’d become creepy.
Miranda approached the frosted glass doors and let herself in.
The strands of familiar music made her smile.
She’d never realized Frank was so into the Drudge games. He’d discouraged her from starting Grunge Games so hard she’d always assumed he didn’t like the direction she’d taken things. It was nice to find out she was wrong.
What else was she wrong about?
“Frank? You here?” Miranda wandered through the narrow entry and into the main space.
She paused, sputtering a laugh.
One side of the area had an open, galley kitchen and bar. Frank stood behind the range, flames licking up around a frying pan. He had an apron wrapped around himself.
“Miranda! Come in. Have a seat. I’m just tinkering around a bit. You like scallops, don’t you?” Frank flipped little white discs wrapped in what appeared to be crispy bacon onto a plate, where parsley leaves were already placed.
“That looks...delicious.” She slid onto a stool within easy reach of the plate.
“Hope you think so.” Frank glanced up and smiled. The years had been kind to him. Despite his failing sense of style, he’d aged into a dashing silver fox. “Wait until they cool a bit.”
“This is fantastic.” She studied the room and the view of the water with the sun setting on the horizon, painting the clouds in an epic color scheme. “How’d you find this place?”
“I know the owner.”
“Oh.” She leaned over the bar, peering at what he had laid out. “Are you doing all the cooking?”
Mr. Purr-fect and the Geek (Gone Geek, #2) Page 12
