She ran a hand through his hair, soothing and maybe even affectionate. “Except when I submit and let you take over entirely.”
He lifted his head and smiled at her, feeling wolfish. Pressing a kiss against her hand, he admitted, “I do like that part.”
Laughing sensuously, she cupped his cheek with her other hand and leaned in to kiss him. “I like it, too. I’m not even questioning why anymore, but—being with you is...amazing.”
Not what she’d been thinking when she started the sentence, but he’d take it. “It’s amazing for me, too.” He searched her face. “What else are you thinking about?”
She sighed, throwing up a hand. “I don’t know why you even ask when you can clearly read my mind.”
“Only that there’s something, not what it is.”
Taking a deep breath, she sipped her coffee, then held it in her lap, studying it. “I might have a chance at a landscape design job.”
A chill of foreboding ran down his spine. “Here?”
“No.” She met his gaze. “New Hampshire.”
“Are you considering taking it?” he made himself ask neutrally.
She shrugged and laughed, self-conscious. “All I’ve done is send my references. But...the girls won’t want to move and—I’m not sure I want to either.”
Part of him unclenched in relief. “Good. Because I want you to stay. You have the money you need. Don’t make any hasty decisions.”
“Not even to move in with you?” she teased him.
“That one you should make immediately.” He grinned at her, beyond glad that she seemed to have discarded the idea of the other job so easily. “I have a benefit to attend tomorrow night—would you go with me?”
“I don’t know what the girls will be up to.”
“I thought you could bring them over. They could watch movies in the theater or swim. Mrs. Matthews could keep an eye on them.”
She considered, nodded. “Okay. That would be fun.” Raising her eyebrows, she asked, “Any games?”
He allowed himself a wolfish grin. “We can negotiate.”
She laughed. “I can’t wait to see this one.”
“Excellent.” He glanced at his watch. “Unfortunately I have a meeting in a few minutes that I probably shouldn’t cancel.” Again. Since he’d canceled it already yesterday to take the chance to go home and see her.
“That’s my cue to go then.” She drank down the rest of her coffee and stood, smoothing the dress, casting a rueful glance at the way her nipples stood out against the silk. Catching him grinning at her, she scowled. “I should have put a regular backup bra in my bag for the ride home.”
Delighted with her, giddy with the prospect that she might unbend on moving in, he pulled her close and kissed her, careful this time not to smudge her fresh lipstick. “Eh—fuck ’em if they can’t take a joke.”
She smiled, warm and radiant. “My dad used to say that.”
“A wise man.”
“Yes.” She gathered her things, waited while he unlocked the door for her, considering him. “You know, I think he would have liked you.”
“I’m flattered.” More than she knew. It filled him with a strange emotion, to think of this man who might have been his father-in-law, approving of him. Trusting his daughter and grandchildren with him. Mentally, he added the man to the shelf with his mother, as people he needed to remember to honor. “Will I see you this evening? I should be home early—no other plans.”
“We’ll see how practice goes.” She started to go. Turned back. “I’ll talk to the girls, about maybe moving in, see what they think.”
Words rose in his throat and he choked them back. She wasn’t ready for that kind of declaration. Unable to get anything else past it, he gave her a wave and stood there by the open door, like a lovesick fool, just to hear her dulcet voice greet Anna on the way out, thanking her for the breakfast pastries.
He was a lucky son-of-a-bitch, no denying it.
Chapter Thirty-Three
She felt nearly giddy. Between the dean’s call offering her the coaching job, the utter release of that mind-blowing session, Ryan’s heady charm—not to mention a hit of sugar and caffeine—and the knowledge that she had a million dollars in her bank account, however ill-gotten, she practically danced back through the lobby.
Funny how that thought had hit her, that her hardworking blue-collar father would have liked Ryan. Her dad would have respected him, too, for being a self-made man. For being a good man.
Really, that was all that mattered, wasn’t it? Everything else they could solve as it came up. Ryan obviously believed in hard work and rewarding it fairly. They could talk about a deal with the girls where they’d be held to chores and other responsibilities. She could pay off the bills, start fresh and maybe...maybe build something real with Ryan. He might not love her, but he listened to her and treated her with affection. They were sexually compatible—putting it mildly. That was a hell of a lot more than she’d had with Noah those last few years. If ever.
At home, she paid some bills, at least the ones she had handy. Keeping track of all those zeros, indeed! She’d have to dig them all out from their various squirrel-holes. Now that she could pay them, she could bear to open them again. Enough with worrying. Her luck had finally turned and Ryan wanted to help her out. She’d take the help and be happy. And if she could make him happy in return, then that would help make it up to him.
It felt good, too, to have seen her water gardens, however dry, and remember the joy of creating them. It helped, having interest from the New Hampshire firm, knowing that they liked her portfolio. That design sense could be adapted. It didn’t have to be water. She could respecialize—maybe in xeriscaping, God help her. Suddenly there seemed to be many more possibilities than before.
Angie Atwater had apparently taken the offered out with relief, happy to focus on her ballet students, so running dance team practice was up to Tina. Sticking to the theme of making things fun for people, she had the girls break out their iPods and improvise dance moves to their favorite songs. It worked amazingly well and the team forgot some of the squabbling and even began incorporating pieces into a new routine. A fresh start for them all.
Josie and Carly bounced into the car so psyched about the great practice that they didn’t even complain about riding in it. Once she was sure her bills were paid, she’d buy a new car. Nothing showy, but something the girls wouldn’t bitch about being seen in. More important, one she wouldn’t have to hold her breath every time she turned the ignition, afraid this time it wouldn’t start. Of course, if they moved in with Ryan, poor Ernesto would probably get the job of driving the twins hither and yon.
“So, you guys.” Tina turned down the radio. “I have something to run by you.”
“Are you and Ryan getting married?” Carly nearly shrieked the question. “Can we be bridesmaids?”
Tina nearly choked on her own spit. “No!” She scaled it back. “No,” she said more normally. “Marriage is a huge commitment that takes a lot of thought and consideration. I haven’t known him anywhere long enough to be thinking about that.” Ha-ha—just committing to cohabitation and sexual slavery instead. No worrying.
“Then what?” Josie asked, her forehead creasing in a concerned frown. The girls hated change as much as she did, for much the same reasons. All their changes had been bad ones.
She patted Josie’s knee. “Nothing bad. And you both get veto power, okay?”
“What is it?” Now Carly looked worried, too.
Probably could have handled this better, but she pushed the guilt aside. “Ryan did invite us to come live with him.”
“Us?” Josie repeated. “You mean, we’d live there, too—with you?”
“In Ryan’s house?” Carly added on. “The one we went to?”
Tina laughed. “Yes, of course that one.” Though, for all she knew, he had others.
“So he would be like our step-uncle,” Josie said.
“We would figure out rules of the household we all could live with, but yes. It’s his house and we’d have to adapt.” Don’t let your mind wander to the rules he’d have just for her. “But he definitely included you on the deal. He would probably pay for college.”
“What’s the catch?” Carly sounded suspicious and Tina caught her puzzled expression in the rearview mirror.
“There is no catch.” That she knew of. “He likes you two and it’s a big house.”
“And he’s totally into you,” Josie said, smiling at her aunt’s blush.
“That’s probably true,” Tina admitted, feeling like she was acknowledging the truth of that to herself for the first time. “And I—I’m really into him. I think that, maybe this could work.”
“Would Ernesto take us to school?” Of course the thing Carly most wanted to know.
“Yes, unless I did.”
“Could we bring our stuff?” Josie asked.
“Of course! Ryan said you two could have your bedrooms redecorated however you like and he even offered to remodel so you could have adjoining rooms—like your own suite. I was thinking we could keep our house and rent it out. That way we would have a place to go if things didn’t work out.”
“So...” Josie said slowly, as if trying to work it out. “He’d really do all that for us, because of you?”
“Partly because of me, but also because he likes you two. He would like us to be—” wow, amazing to put it into words “—like a family. I think he’s been lonely.” Something else they recognized in each other.
“Being lonely sucks,” Carly said. “His mom died, just like ours. We understand how that feels. We could keep him company.”
That simple sentiment, especially from the usually careless, self-absorbed Carly, made her a little weepy. “Yes, we could. But we don’t have to decide right away. Take your time.”
“What’s to decide?” Josie shrugged. “This is like the prince showing up with the glass slipper, right? Cinderella didn’t say, oh, well, gee—lemme think about it.”
“We’re going to live in a mansion and have our own limo driver.” Carly bounced in the backseat. “Wait until I tell Kasey Pearlman. Do you think Ryan would let us have a pool party? Maybe for our birthday?”
She laughed, going from sentimental to giddy again. “I’m pretty sure Ryan would do a great deal to make you guys happy, to make all of us happy. He’s a really generous person. I’m very lucky.”
Josie gave her a little punch on the arm. “So are we, Antina.”
“Lucky!” Carly crowed and started singing the Pharrell Williams “Happy” song, but substituting “lucky” instead. They all chimed in, singing like crazy women.
In that supremely joyful moment, they seemed very much the same thing.
* * *
When they walked in the house, the girls stepped over the mail as usual, tossing down their backpacks and heading to the kitchen, arguing gleefully over how to decorate the new bedrooms they didn’t yet have. An angry-looking Certified Letter caught Tina’s eye immediately and her happy mood curdled into icy dread. No, two of them.
It’s okay. Whatever bill it is, I can pay it. The money is there.
With shaking hands, she made herself open the first immediately. No more being in denial. The letter didn’t make any sense. She couldn’t quite process the sentences. Her eyes kept jumping to words like audit, penalty, criminal investigation, as if they stood out in red ink. Sitting down at the kitchen table, because she felt too weak to stand, she forced herself to read it. It still made no sense. She hadn’t paid taxes? Yes she had. They went with the mortgage on the house.
Whatever it was, she was clearly screwed and she knew of one person who could help her. Pulling out her phone, she texted Ryan.
Are you busy? Can I come see you?
Not thirty seconds before he replied.
I was hoping you would.
Not for that—I have a problem. I need help.
Want me to come to you, so you don’t have to leave the girls?
No questions asked, just the immediate offer. It warmed her heart, even through her panic, that he seemed to be always there for her like this.
No. They’ll be okay for a couple of hours. I don’t want them to overhear anything.
I’ll be waiting at home.
She took a deep steadying breath. Put the letter back in its accusing envelope and put it and its companion into her bag. The other one was probably more of the same.
Getting the girls to agree to make their own dinner and promise to do homework, she told them she had an errand to run and would be back soon. One thing about them being focused on moving, they cheerfully agreed to everything and asked no questions.
Driving to Ryan’s, she fought the rush-hour traffic with the radio silent. She wouldn’t let herself cry over this. Maybe it was just a blip, or overstated. The creditor letters always did that—made things sound like the end of the world was coming.
When Ryan opened the door as she pulled up, though, a look of concern on his face, the stupid tears spilled over and she ran up the steps into his embrace, burying her face against his shirt.
“Hey,” he said, rubbing her back. “Whatever it is, we’ll fix it, okay? No reason to cry.”
“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I warned you I’m a mess.”
“You’re not a mess. Come on, let’s go sit.” With his arm around her, he guided her back to his office. He’d clearly been working, with the computer on and some papers on the desk.
“I interrupted you. I’m—”
“No more sorries. You’re a welcome interruption.” He handed her a glass of brandy and sat in the chair next to her, where they’d sat that first day she came to negotiate their contract. “Tell me what happened.”
Instead, she pulled the certified letters out of her bag and handed them to him wordlessly. He frowned at them, then got up and went around his desk, to sit in the better light. Pulling a pair of glasses out of a drawer, he took out the one she’d opened already. The brass wire-rims should have been too light for his face, but instead they emphasized the strong lines of it. Her brilliant street-fighter.
He looked at her over the top of the glasses. “You haven’t paid your taxes in three years?”
“Yes, I have! They go with the mortgage payment. Even I know that much.”
“Not your property taxes,” he said in a tone of strained patience. “Your income taxes. They say you haven’t filed a 1040 since 2011—is that right?”
Her stomach iced, despite the warming brandy. Stupid. Unforgivably stupid. “I don’t know, so probably not.”
He looked incredulous. “Who doesn’t know to pay their goddamn income tax?”
“Someone who never paid her own taxes her whole goddamn life!” she shouted at him, standing up in her fury and crawling shame. She tried to snatch the letter from him, but he whipped it back in time.
“Explain that to me. How could you be so foolish that you never paid income tax?”
“Because I never had an income until after I was married, and Noah always did it, okay? I’m an idiot. There. Are you happy?”
“I never called you an idiot, Celestina.”
“Close enough. I’m clearly an idiot for not knowing this. But it’s mine to deal with.”
“How?” He regarded her calmly, but with a challenge in his gaze. “What’s your plan?”
“I don’t know. I’ll hire somebody to fix it.”
“You came to me. I’ll handle it.”
“I came to you as a friend. Not to have you rescue me from this, too.” Not entirely true. He was the obvious choice. B
ut she hated that he’d seen how stupid she’d been.
“What I think we should do is for you to gather all your bills and financial information and let me go through it. That way I can see if there are any other surprises lurking.”
“You don’t need to control my finances, too.”
He took a long breath, which did little to smooth the annoyed lines around his mouth. “I’m not trying to control you or your finances—I’m trying to help you. Obviously you need it.”
“I’m not helpless.”
“In some arenas, you come pretty damn close. That’s why you like submitting to me, because I handle things for you. You need that from me.”
“Fuck you for saying that.” She said it softly, but she might as well have slapped him, the way he flinched. Grabbing her bag, she held out a hand. “Give me back my letters.”
His jaw set in a stubborn line. “No. Sit down and let me read the other one.”
“It probably says the same thing.”
He gave her a long, cool look, saying without words that this attitude was what got her into trouble in the first place. All those unopened bills and letters she’d shoved in the filing cabinet. The prospect of handing all of that over to him filled her with shame and dread. How could she possibly let him see just how badly she’d mucked everything up?
“Sit, Celestina,” he said more gently. “Drink your brandy.”
Her anger draining away, she did, the snifter a warm, smooth weight against her palms. He read the second letter, pulled off his glasses and rubbed his temples with thumb and forefinger. “And this one is my fault.”
“What does it say?” She braced herself for the worst. Clearly not the same thing as the other letter.
“It’s from your bank. They’re questioning the large deposits to your account. It doesn’t say directly, but they likely think you’re laundering money.”
“Like from drugs?”
“Or other illegal activities. This one I have to get my lawyers involved in, as the money came from my accounts and they’ll be looking at me, too.”
Under Contract Page 29
