A Bad Bit Nice

by Josie Kerr

  Em scoffed. “Uh, no, not lingerie shopping. But I do need a new dress for the Holbrook Firm holiday party. All the consultants go and regardless of this whole Tripp thing, Ed wants me there. I owe it to him.”

  “Okay, Em. Let’s get you a killer dress for that party.”

  *****

  Two weeks later

  Mick rolled his eyes at the sound of Rory’s text alert. He rolled his eyes again and added a scoff when he saw that Rory was actually checking the alert.

  “Really, Rory? It’s Saturday night. Surely whoever it is can wait until Monday.”

  Rory frowned at the phone. “Shite, it’s my new hire. I hope she’s not pushing back her start date. I’m right fucked if she is. I need to listen to this. It must be important or she wouldn’t be calling on Saturday night.” Rory’s Irish brogue came out more when he was excited or agitated or somewhat drunk. Tonight he was all three, because they were watching a football match on the television at the pub.

  Rory listened to the voicemail and pumped his fist in victory when he heard Em’s message.

  “Good news, I take it?” Mick asked.

  “Excellent news, as a matter of fact. She’s moved her start date to Monday! She can be at a client site full-time, wherever a client site may be.”

  “Is this that woman that you met at the networking thing a few months ago?”

  “Indeed it is. It turns out that she was serious about changing jobs. And better yet, the recruiter that I hired? She was her number one pick for me.” Rory considered his friend. “You’d like her, Mickey.”

  “Oh, no, Rory. Don’t even think about it.”

  “She’s wicked smart and has a sharp sense of humor.” Mick snorted again. “And she’s got a figure that you’d like.” Rory traced a silhouette of a curvy woman in the air.

  Mick groaned. Oh, good grief. “Rory, I told you, I’m not ready to date yet. Just...don’t. If you’re that impressed with her, why don’t you date her?”

  “Remember, I don’t play in the corporate sandbox, Mickey, especially if she’s an employee. It makes things way too complicated.”

  “Just for grins, how old is this woman, Rory?”

  “She’s in her forties, so totally age-appropriate. No rings.” Rory grinned as he waggled his left ring finger suggestively. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

  Mick just shook his head. “Not really. I just need to get these studios finished and then we’ll talk about getting my social life in order. Is that a deal?”

  Rory grinned at his friend. “That’s a deal.”

  Chapter 3

  May

  Mick stood looking at the obnoxiously chipper note Rory had left on the counter with his mail. The neatly written letter was apparently from his new upstairs neighbor, Em. He knew her full name was Ermengarde, but Lord knew if his name was Ermengarde, he’d go by Em as well. He couldn’t imagine anyone under the age of 90 with that name.

  He looked at the house he had called home for the past five years. He could see the appeal for an older person. The note apologized in advance and warned him of moving trucks that would arrive bright and early and block the driveway. At least she was thoughtful. He grinned and put the note back down on the counter.

  Stepping into the kitchen, he began looking through the mail, steadily avoiding the small porcelain box on the counter. When he had exhausted all the small chores that came with returning home from a business trip, he moved to the couch, the note in his hands.

  He looked at the note again. Mick hoped that the new neighbor wasn’t one of those nosy types that couldn’t leave well enough alone; Rory was quite enough of a mother hen for him to handle. His cell phone buzzed and Mick snorted. Speak of the devil.

  “Whaddya at, Rory?”

  “Oi, boyo. Where are you?”

  Mick looked at his watch. “You do realize it’s two in the morning here, right? Like a normal person, I’m in my apartment, getting ready to go to bed. Where are you? You sound like you’re in a nightclub.”

  “Nah, I’m in the bar of an airport resto, about to catch the red-eye back from Portland. I’ve never seen so many fleece jumpers and sport sandals in my life. I’ll be glad to get back to civilization where women appreciate a good pair of stilettos and a Brazilian. “

  “And a man whose spa budget rivals her own, I’ll bet,” Mick laughed. “Thanks for picking up my mail and keeping an eye on things, Rory. I appreciate it.”

  “Anytime, boyo. Next time I’m out of town for an extended time, you’ll be the first person I call,” Rory said. “Hey, have you met your new neighbor? Is she that flashy blonde?”

  “No, I haven’t met her yet, but no, the blonde isn’t the neighbor. That’s the real estate agent. She’s right up your alley: big mouth and bigger attitude. Typical loud mouthed sales chippie. I know the neighbor’s name is Ermengarde, but that’s about it.”

  “Ermengarde? Huh,” Rory mused. Surely there weren’t two Ermengardes in town, both moving on Friday?

  “I know, right?”

  Rory seemed to be considering something. “Maybe she’ll be a hot cougar that’ll need to borrow a lot of sugar to make you pies.”

  Mick could imagine Rory’s eyebrows waggling over the phone. “Leave it to you to make baking sound filthy,” he laughed.

  “Seriously, Mick,” Rory said quietly. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’re not wearing your ring at all these days. This is good. She would want you to be happy.”

  “I am happy.”

  “No, you’re not. You aren’t sad, but you’re not happy.”

  They sat quietly for a few moments before Rory whooped. “Okay, boyo, you’re going to karaoke tomorrow night. No fussing. You’ll be my wingman, and maybe you’ll get a snog out of the deal.”

  Mick groaned. He hated karaoke, but he knew that Rory wouldn’t let up until Mick’s ass was on a barstool at the pub, watching him belt out classic country songs.

  “Fine, I’ll go. But the moment that Garth Brooks song comes on, I’m leaving.”

  Rory barked a laugh and signed off.

  Mick got up from the couch and went back to the bar. He picked up the small box and stroked it thoughtfully, then opened it and gently touched the three rings inside. Mick took out the wedding set, touched his lips to the rings, and gently put them back; then he took out the larger ring and placed on his finger. He looked at his hand, imagining her delicate hand in his. With a sigh, he put his ring back in the box, closed it, and put it back in its place on the counter.

  *****

  Em checked her watch again, willing the train to go faster. Of all the flights she had taken in the last six months, this one was delayed. She knew she had tempted fate, scheduling movers on a Friday at the tail end of a project.

  “Today’s the big day, no?” Rory said with a grin. Em grinned back at him.

  Rory had never seen Em so excited. Sure, she was a friendly, pleasant work companion, but she kept her private life exactly that: private. He had just learned a few days ago that she had been living out of suitcases and hotels for the seven months that she had been at Tara Security Systems, staying with a friend the few days a month that she wasn’t traveling. Rory didn’t know how she stood it.

  “You don’t need any help?” he asked. “I can lift shite.” Rory flexed his muscles, the sleeves of his custom shirt straining around his bulging biceps.

  Em laughed. If Ashley saw those big arms, she would die. Her friend was forever trying to set Em up; maybe after she got settled, Em would give Ashley a taste of her own medicine.

  “I actually acted like a grown up and paid people to move me in, Rory, but thanks for offering. I’ve got some really, really big pieces of antique furniture and since my apartment is on the second floor, those movers are going to earn every cent.”

  “Well, you’ll let me know if you need anything, yeah?” Rory scolded. He knew Em could handle almost anything the world threw at her, but it didn’t mean that she had to go at it alone.<
br />
  “I will. Oh, we’re here! I’ll see you at the St. Louis site on Monday, right?” she said as they made their way to the escalators.

  “Monday in St. Louis it is. Good luck, Em!” Rory called as Em raced up the stairs, pulling her suitcase behind her and grinning.

  Em flew through the airport lobby and into the parking deck, her excitement building the closer she got to her car. She threw her bags in the trunk, left the parking deck with a cheerful “See you soon” to the attendant, and sped to her Brand New Home. It was perfect, and it was all hers and hers alone. No roommates, no boyfriend, just her and Beauregard.

  Okay, it might be a little sad that she was so excited to share a converted Victorian mansion with a 15-pound cat, but it was all hers—the top floor, anyway—and it was the final piece to her brand new life.

  Since she had taken the red eye back from Portland, she just had time to stop for breakfast before the movers arrived. She made her way to her favorite breakfast café, practically vibrating with excitement. She settled in at the small bistro table, and ignoring the early hour, called her soon-to-be former roommate and best friend in the world.

  “Ha! Bet you thought I wouldn’t be up!” Ashley said smugly, answering on the first ring.

  “I’m actually shocked as shit, Ash! What the hell are you doing up? You’re never up this early unless you haven’t been to sleep. Wait, have you been to sleep?”

  “I’m actually supervising the loading of all your shit, I mean, treasures from your storage unit. Girl, did you know you have 23 boxes labeled ‘Kitchen’ and 47 boxes of books? Do I want to know how many boxes of glassware and Christmas crap you have?”

  Em laughed. “And how many shoes do you have, Miss Ashley?”

  “Okay, fair enough. So were there any hot men on your flight, Em?”

  With that deflection, Em cackled outright and Ashley sheepishly joined in.

  “No, there weren’t, and you’d think there would be at least one tattooed, bearded, manly piece of eye candy on a flight from Portland if there was going to be one anywhere, but no, there wasn’t. The flight just had the typical harried middle managers.”

  “Damn. But now that you’re going to be in your Brand New Home, the next item on your list to a Brand New Em is to get you a man friend. Or at least laid. Maybe your new neighbor will be an option.”

  “I thought you said he was a widower of 20 years?”

  “Well, you do like older guys,” Ashley said.

  Em snorted at her friend.

  “Anyway, the guy has something to do with the music industry, and I know how you love your music. Maybe he’s all covered in tattoos. You like that, right?”

  “So an older, tattooed musician? Yeah, I’d like that, but an older musician that’s been a widower for 20 years? Maybe not so much. Just because I don’t date 25-year-olds doesn’t mean that I want to date someone that’s old enough to be my father, Ashley.”

  “You know I don’t date 25-year-olds, Em; I just sleep with them,” Ashley said in an exasperated tone. “Would you stop being an analyst for once and maybe have a little fun?”

  “Would you just let me get moved in and settled before you start playing cupid?” Em shot back.

  “Okay, but because I’ve helped you so much, you owe me a night of karaoke.”

  Em groaned. She detested karaoke, but she did owe Ashley. Not only had she given Em a place to sleep in after she moved out of Assclown Tripp’s townhome, she had given her a heads-up on her new place and handled all the real estate crap. Ashley was a gem—a brassy, big-mouthed gem, but a treasure nevertheless. Em would have never made it through the previous months without her.

  “Fine. But as soon as some idiot starts singing ‘I’ve Got Friends in Low Places,’ I am so out of there.”

  Chapter 4

  Em surveyed what seemed like a million boxes.

  “Hm. Maybe I do have too much stuff,” she muttered to herself.

  She looked in delight at the shelves that lined the tall windows. She was so glad that she had display space now. She’d missed seeing all her pretties.

  Em was tempted to unpack her glass collection first thing, but she wanted to make cookies or cupcakes for the widower downstairs for being such a good sport about having his day disrupted by moving vans and huge guys clomping up and down the stairs.

  She had just pulled the last batch of cookies out of the oven when Ashley called.

  “Remember, karaoke tonight, Em! We’ll get some drinks and pick up hot Irishmen! It’ll be great! And if we don’t, we can still have fun. We haven’t gotten to hang in ages.”

  “Ashley, I just technically moved out this morning,” laughed Em.

  “You’ve been out of town for two weeks! You’ve been working so much and on the road, I barely get to see you. I thought you might be more social once you got rid of Assclown Tripp and started staying with me, but I barely see you! It’s work, work, work, all the time. That new boss of yours seems like a slave driver.”

  “Ashley, he’s on the road as much, if not more, than I am. He’s a true working boss. He’s really dedicated.”

  “Is he at least attractive? Y’all spend so much time together; I hope he’s at least easy on the eyes. Maybe it’s time for mixing a little pleasure with your business, if you know what I mean.” Em shook her head. Ashley had a one-track mind.

  “You know that I’m not going to defecate where I masticate anymore, Ash. That’s what got me in the situation with Tripp in the first place.”

  “Do not ever utter that phrase again, Em. It’s horrible.”

  “I’m trying not to curse as much.”

  Ashley laughed so hard that she almost dropped the phone. “Em, you wouldn’t be you without your fussy knickknacks, granny furniture, and foul mouth. Don’t ever change, sugar.”

  Em ignored her friend’s commentary but answered her question. “Yeah, Rory is hot, but in addition to being my boss, Ashley, he isn’t really my type at all. He’s just up your alley, though: red hair, wicked Irish brogue, and smooth moves. He probably spends as much on shoes and grooming as you.”

  “He does sound like my type, but quit trying to distract me from my goal, which is to get you situated in the man department. You need something different, Em.”

  Em sighed. “I know, Ashley. Tripp was never really my type anyway. I dated all those broken creative types in college. They never had money, or transportation, or jobs, or really even any talent. I took Tripp’s interest in me as a sign. He seemed to be just what I needed.”

  Ashley’s heart hurt for her friend. Em was beyond confident at work, but Tripp had really done a number on her personal self-esteem.

  God, she hated that guy. He constantly tore Em down but in such subtle ways that Em didn’t even realize that it was happening. Little digs about the way she dressed and talked, and when they moved in together, Ashley couldn’t find one bit of Em in that condo. Ashley shuddered. The townhome was so cold, like Tripp, with none of the homey warmth that Em had radiated in the past.

  Em had always had a little wild streak, but it was tempered with selflessness. She was the first person to offer to cook if someone was sick or caring for a loved one. She volunteered at various charities, giving time and money whenever she could spare either.

  Em was kind of a Mom—a foul-mouthed, tattooed mom, but a real nurturer, which was another cruel irony. That fucker Tripp hadn’t even visited her in the hospital when all of that had gone down.

  Em had put on a brave face, but Ashley knew she had been devastated. Ashley suspected that Em’s barrenness had been more of an issue in her relationship with Tripp than she let on. Ugh. Yet another reason to dislike Tripp. It wasn’t like Em really had a choice in the matter. It broke Ashley’s heart to see her treated with such callousness.

  “So what do you want, Em? I’m curious. If Mister Ideal walked through the door right now, who would he be? What would he look like?”

  “Mister Ideal? Hm. I don’t know. I’d have to think
about it.”

  “Oh shut up. You know exactly what you want. Don’t think about it. Just tell me what’s in your gut.”

  “Mister Ideal would be tall and lanky with tattoos covering him and a big beard. A take-charge guy, but with a sensitive side. He’d have a good job, but not be a workaholic, maybe something that combined practicality and the creative, like an architect. He’d be someone who isn’t obsessed with sports; a reader, someone who really likes music but isn’t into the club scene. My age or older, but not a lot older. Oh, and someone who makes my toes curl when he kisses me, and can’t wait to get me naked and make me scream. I guess that’s about it.”

  Ashley whistled through her teeth. “You don’t want much, do you? Good God, woman.”

  “You said to be honest, not realistic,” Em laughed. “I know that man doesn’t exist, but he’s fun to imagine.” She sighed.

  What in the world had she been thinking, dating Tripp for the past ten years? He was none of those things, not one. Okay, he wasn’t a workaholic, but he was too far in the other direction. Content to rely on his father’s hard work and reputation, he had no ambition at all.

  “Well, Mister Ideal is not going to magically appear in your backyard, Em. You’ve got to get out, and not to go to the airport and back. I’ll be over at eight o’clock tonight to help you pick out an outfit for karaoke.”

  Em groaned. “I had hoped you had forgotten about karaoke.”

  “Not a chance girl. I’ll see you at eight, and I’m driving. I don’t trust you to not ditch me and be back in your apartment, drinking whiskey and dancing around with that giant cat of yours by a quarter ‘til nine.”

  Em laughed out loud at that. “Oh, you know me so well, Ashley. I’m lucky I have a friend like you. Let me go and at least try to get a few more boxes unpacked. See you tonight.”

  Em shook her head. Ashley was a mess. It wasn’t that Em didn’t like to go out. On the contrary, she enjoyed going to live music shows and concerts and all sorts of things, but those things weren’t something Ashley enjoyed at all. Em wasn’t in town much, so they stuck to dinner and movies.