by Anthology
Moving into the bathroom, she splashed cold water on her face. She should be grateful he forgave her so easily, but the more logical and understanding he was about the situation, the more irrational her resentment became. He had every right to be upset with her, yet he swore he wasn’t, nor did his actions imply otherwise. His refusal to even talk about it in any depth made Ivy suspicious. Nobody could be that laid-back, especially a guy as driven as Sam was. So the logical assumption was he didn’t take her seriously and thought to placate her with a pat on the head like a good little girl. She wanted to march back into the living room and demand he tell her he was pissed. At least then he would be human.
She contemplated herself in the mirror, unbelieving of her own stupidity. She wanted to pick a fight with him for no other reason than to assuage her own guilt? Or was there more to it?
She stared hard at her reflection. “Don’t mess this up. You can trust him.”
Until he breaks your heart, the tiny voice of doubt whispered before she quickly squelched it.
She traveled to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Her cell phone buzzed and she pulled it out of her pocket. Seeing a message from Beth, she read the brief text. She brought the water and medication to Sam, and lifting the remote control from the coffee table, turned the television to CNN. A deodorant commercial flashed across the screen. “Beth said we need to watch the upcoming segment.”
“Did she say what it was about?” Sam asked, downing the pills.
Ivy resumed her seat on the couch. “It’s probably about the tanning mom, or the breastfeeding mom, or hey, maybe it’s about your stay in the hospital last night. While you insist on playing the martyr, your fans won’t be as discriminate. I hope my name doesn’t leak to the press. The negative publicity will kill the restaurant.”
“Is that what you think this is about? You think because I’m not mad at you, I’m some sort of martyr?” He laughed, shaking his head. “Believe me, I’m no saint, or perfect as you keep insisting, but I’m clever enough to recognize a smartass comment when I hear one. You’re obviously annoyed. Care to tell me the real reason why?”
Ivy’s heart gave a jolt of nervous alarm. She wanted to tell him how she felt, but fear made her hesitate. It was one thing to accuse him of duplicity in her head, but quite another to voice her suspicions out loud. The news commentator came back on the air, stealing the decision from her.
“We now return with breaking news. Jonathan Craddock was found dead in his Queen Anne apartment by local officials who were carrying out a search warrant for his arrest. A prominent Seattle accountant, Mr. Craddock allegedly embezzled millions of dollars from his clients’ accounts to cover his own financial difficulties. No word from the officials if any of the money has been recovered, but an inside source claims Craddock moved the funds to an offshore account in South America. The federal government first became suspicious of Craddock when…”
Ivy stared at the screen, horrified. It didn’t take great powers of reasoning to realize Craddock was Sam’s accountant. “Why didn’t your agent call to tell you about this?” She, better than anyone, could relate to how it felt to have someone you trusted steal from you. At least her humiliation had been private. His was being splashed across the news.
“I shut my phone off.” Sam slipped the remote from her lax fingers and turned down the volume. “Would you hand it to me please?”
She complied and watched as he put in his code then thumbed down the smooth face to his message inbox where over twenty-nine messages awaited him. The majority were from his agent, asking for a call as soon as possible. He dialed the man’s number before putting the phone to his ear.
As much as she wanted to sit next to him and eavesdrop, it felt invasive. “I’ll warm up dinner.”
Once in the kitchen, she put a pan of homemade chicken noodle soup on the stove. From her vantage point, she could see him speaking, but his words were too faint to hear.
Ivy picked up her phone and called Beth.
“How’s he taking the news?” Beth asked.
Ivy looked back to the couch. “I can’t tell. He’s always so freakishly calm.”
“He’s probably in shock. According to the internet, he lost a helluva lot of money and now they’re reporting the endorsement deal is dead in the water. You’ve got your wish. Mr. Perfect ain’t so perfect anymore.”
To hear her own words spoken so blatantly, and with such truth, made Ivy feel worse. “I’m a terrible girlfriend,” she said, biting back a sob. “I tried to pick a fight with him because he wouldn’t get mad at me about the soup. And you’re right, I wished he wasn’t so perfect, but come on. In the past three days he landed on stinging nettles, twisted his knee, got food poisoning, and now he’s lost all of his money and his endorsement deal? The guy’s having a really crappy week and I’m a crappy girlfriend. He deserves somebody better than me.”
Beth had the audacity to laugh. “Man, you’re high maintenance. So the guy’s had some bad luck; it’ll get better. He’s still as smart and as handsome as he was. Not to mention still possessed of what I’d like to imagine as being an impressive personality. The best girlfriend you can be right now is a supportive one. Unless the whole thing’s a turnoff. I mean, strip away his past, and all you have is an out-of-work boyfriend with a bum knee.”
“It’s not like that. I’ve dated my fair share of loser boyfriends, Kevin being the worse. Although he has suffered a setback, Sam still has his education. He just has to finish his dissertation and he’ll have his PhD.” Ivy stirred the soup, her gaze falling on Sam. He had set his phone down, and lay back on the couch. “Beth, I better go. Talk to you tomorrow.”
Ivy brought over the soup. Sam had his arm laid over his eyes and when she raised it, she found him fast asleep.
“Wake up sleepy head,” Sam said, nuzzling her neck, the smell of his aftershave tickling her nose.
Ivy squinted, wincing at the bright light. “What time is it?”
“I wish I could say it was time to have sex with your boyfriend,” he teased, nibbling at her earlobe, “but I have a physical therapy appointment in an hour and you know how the traffic is. Do you think you can drive me?”
Ivy allowed her eyes to drift shut for a moment, her neck arching for more of his kisses. Although he showed great restraint in demonstrating anger, Sam wasn’t afraid to release his inner beast in bed. The sex was unbelievable and although they had engaged in a fierce session of lovemaking right before dawn, she was primed for more. “I suppose, but you need to let me up.”
She stumbled into the bathroom and, pulling back her hair into a ponytail, brushed her teeth, then washed her face. Slathering on face lotion, she exited the bathroom to grab her purse. Sam limped behind her to the elevator, the ever-present phone to his ear. It had been a week since she had nearly killed him and despite his recent illness, he never seemed to slow down. She was curious if it was a part of his nature that she hadn’t noticed before, or given his luck of late, he was afraid to allow himself the luxury.
Since his injury, he had stayed at her apartment. During the rare times she spent with him in the day, he was either on the phone or waiting for a call. At night, well they didn’t usually waste time on conversation. He glanced over at her, smiling knowingly as he held her hand. The elevator doors opened onto the parking garage and she noticed the flashing red lights of the tow truck.
“Hey,” Sam said above the loud humming of the diesel. “What’s going on?”
“Car’s being impounded,” came the snarling reply from the tow truck driver. “Who wants to know?”
Sam stiffened at the rude retort, his fingers tightening around hers before he released her hand. Ivy eyed his stern profile, her heart thudding as tension filled the space. “It’s my car,” Sam said.
The driver snapped his head around, a fierce scowl curling his lip. His face immediately shifted to surprise, his aggressive stance lessening before he glanced at the clipboard in his hand, then back at Sam. “Shit, so
rry man. I didn’t know it was your car, Knute. The name on this says Caldwell.”
Sam’s shoulders relaxed. “It’s my company name. Do you think I can grab a few things before you take it?”
“Sure,” the driver nodded, stunned.
As Ivy helped Sam retrieve his belongings, her eyes darted to his face to gauge his temperature, but he remained unduly calm considering the circumstances. She frowned, her own ire simmering. The situation was so unfair. Sam was a good person; he didn’t deserve this.
Pioneers gym bag at his feet, he turned to the driver. “Thanks man. I appreciate the favor.”
The truck driver shook his hand. “Shit, I’m really sorry, Knute. If I’d known it was yours… ”
“You’re doing your job,” Sam said with a grim smile. He turned to Ivy. “It looks like we are taking your car.”
Ivy moved toward the Vicenzo’s catering van. “I’m sure it’s some kind of mistake.”
“No it’s not,” he said, matter of fact. “We should hurry. It’s getting late.”
Ivy unlocked the doors and started the van. The minute they left the underground, the radio blared to life. Unfortunately, the news was on and the deejay was talking about Craddock’s suicide. Sam lowered the volume.
“What happened with the car?” she asked, eyeing his profile. “You didn’t seem surprised by the repo.”
“As it turned out, Craddock wasn’t a very good accountant.” He laid his hand on her knee and squeezed, his free hand flipping through his phone. “But don’t worry, everything will work out. Trust me.”
The tone of his reply hit her as condescending and she pressed on the brake harder than she intended, jolting the van. “I don’t have anything to worry about. I’m not the one screwed right now.”
He snapped his head up and although his eyes were shielded by his sunglasses, she read the perplexity in his expression. “And you think I am?”
“Craddock embezzled all of your money and since your car was repossessed, it doesn’t take a genius to realize things aren’t fine. I know what it’s like to have someone steal from you and it sucks. You don’t have to hide how you’re feeling from me. If you’re pissed, it’s okay if you need to vent. Even after all this time, I still get riled up when I think about how I trusted him and he…” Ivy paused, realizing she’d said too much. She looked out the driver side window to cover her distress. “Anyway, it sucks.”
Pulling the car into the parking lot, she waited for Sam to climb out. He shifted in his seat and removed his sunglasses. “If you trusted him, he must’ve been a friend? Or was he something more?”
Ivy experienced a paralyzing panic at his accurate assessment. Meeting his shrewd gaze, she realized she owed him the truth, but it was still too difficult to admit, even to herself, that she had been conned by a man she thought had loved her. Humiliation choked her and she took the coward’s way out. Ignoring his pointed question, she recited the basic facts. “He was the general manager at the restaurant. When I noticed money was missing from the deposits, he blamed the lead server for the theft. I fired her on his word. I naively believed him over her, a woman who had worked for my father for over twenty years. Neither she or my father have forgiven me.”
“Ouch,” Sam said. “Craddock wasn’t anything to me, not even my friend, but I obviously trusted him. You’re right. It does suck, but I can’t focus on the negative right now. My first priority, after kissing my hot girlfriend goodbye, is my knee.” He leaned in to kiss her and she closed her eyes at the first touch of his lips. She didn’t want to think about the past, just Sam and the present. He pulled back, flashing a sexy smile. “I’ve had my fair share of bad luck lately, but I’m still lucky enough to have you.”
Chapter 7
Ivy laid the carrot on the cutting board to chop. It was late but she was in no hurry to return to an empty apartment. For the first time in a month, Sam was staying at his house in Medina and although a small part of her was grateful for the respite, the apartment felt empty without him. He had invited her to come with him, but she had used the restaurant as an excuse to stay behind. What she really needed was time to think. Their conversation outside the physical therapy office played out in her mind and she was upset with herself for lying to Sam. She should have told him the truth, but she had chickened out.
“Ivy, those can wait until tomorrow,” Beth said, leaning against the counter, arms crossed.
She shrugged. “It’ll be one less thing to do.”
The cell phone in her pocket buzzed but she didn’t need to glance at it to see who it was. Sam had been calling her every hour on the hour for the past three days, but she had merely replied via text during the day and kept the conversation at night brief.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Beth asked. When Ivy picked up another carrot, her friend raised a brow. “I thought you really liked him. What gives?”
“I do like him. I think I even love him, but he keeps shutting me out. I’ve tried to talk to him but he somehow manages to turn every serious discussion we have into some kind of cheesy life lesson. I say: How do you feel about Craddock stealing all of your money? His answer: I have to focus on the positive. And while he’s given me no real reason not to trust him, a small part of me thinks he’s hiding something.”
Much to her annoyance, Beth began to laugh. “What do you expect him to do? Put his fist through a plate glass window, or worse, into your face? So he looks at the bright side of life, it has to be more pleasant than suffering through one of Kevin’s childish temper tantrums.”
“In a way, it’s more annoying. He’s lost a lot. He’s entitled to be distraught. I’m not saying I want him to go crazy on me, but I want him to exhibit some sort of strong emotion, some indication he’s not a psychopath.”
“If it’s any consolation, I don’t think he’s a psychopath. I think he’s a typical guy trying to impress a girl. Honestly, you guys have been dating for little over a month and he’s had a helluva lot of stuff happen to him. Some women would’ve dumped him by now. Maybe he’s afraid if he shows weakness, you will too.”
Ivy felt ashamed at the comment. Was Beth right? Was Sam trying to keep a brave face for her? “If that’s the case, then he’s chosen the wrong tactic to use with me.”
“Have you told him what Kevin did to you?”
“Yes,” she nodded, and then shook her head. “Well, not everything. He’s aware someone stole from me, but not the nature of the relationship.”
“I realize it’s humiliating, but if you expect Sam to bare all, you need to reciprocate. He’s a good man and despite your occasional bouts of crazy, you know it. If you really love him, then make him listen.”
Ivy stared with utter disbelief at the sign on Sam’s front yard. Beneath the realtor’s name was a foreclosure plaque.
Sam came around the side of the house. After days apart, she’d nearly forgotten how sexy he was, especially barefoot and in a worn pair of jeans with a white cotton button down. He hadn’t had a haircut since they had met and the moist breeze, heavily scented with the coming rain, ruffled his dark hair. He sported a sexy scruff and her heart dropped with affection and remorse. The romantic in her loved him, but the practical side cautioned not to let the fantasy rule her head.
“This is a surprise. I wasn’t expecting you,” he said.
“You never told me the house was being foreclosed.” She knew she sounded harsh, but it was easier to focus on her anger than to lose herself in the deep pool of his green eyes.
“It would seem Craddock stopped paying the mortgage a long time ago,” he said, indicating she precede him down a small pathway leading to an expansive patio. A single folding chair and a ratty deck table shaded by an umbrella sat forlornly on the warm brick. Out of place amongst the cheap lawn furniture was a rocking chair, old and beautifully crafted. “I thought you were the realtor,” Sam said. “She’s supposed to be stopping by with some papers for me to sign. I can’t say I’m sorry to see this place go. I never liked
it much. It’s not really me.”
A set of French doors opened into a professional style kitchen overlooking a huge and noticeably empty living room. “You lived here without furniture?” she asked, brow raised.
“Funny you should ask.” His hand came to rest on her lower back. “Other than the rocking chair, it was all rented. As you can see, it’s gone now. No use for furniture when I don’t have a place to keep it.”
She stared at him over her shoulder, disbelieving. “Why didn’t you tell me it was so bad?”
He didn’t answer, but leaned in to kiss her. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to enjoy the feel of his lips against hers, exciting yet bittersweet. The kiss choked her with emotion and she pulled away, breathless. He tilted her chin up with his knuckle and looked at her with such intensity, desire mingling with affection. “I haven’t lost everything; I still have you.”
Although he didn’t utter the words, love was reflected in his eyes. A surge of unexpected joy rose at the revelation, before doubt set in. He might love her, but was it enough? The nagging doubt threw her into action. She longed to come clean with him and if she ever hoped to get through this, she needed distance. She moved to the rocking chair and allowed her hand to glide along the back of it. “We need to talk.”
“Are you saying we need to talk as in, ‘I have something serious to discuss with you’, or are you blowing me off?” he teased. Uncertainty must’ve shown on her face for his own hardened. “Unbelievable—You picked a really shitty time to spring this on me,” he swore, arms crossed.
For the first time since she’d met him, he glared at her, his eyes snapping with accusation. “Unless you were strictly in it for the money? I never expected that of you. I thought you were different. I thought you cared about me as much as I care about you.”
She blinked at the unexpected attack. He was obviously furious, but his temper didn’t frighten her. Instead, it gave her hope. “I do care about you, but no matter how many times I try to initiate a serious discussion, you give me some blanket platitude that everything will be fine. Frankly, it’s condescending and annoying as hell. If you’re angry, be angry! You have every right.”
