Asking For It

by Alyssa Kress

  Ricky was so lost in the rosy idea that Griffith was going to screw up his own financing for Wildwood, that it took him a minute to realize Deirdre was looking at him as if she was expecting an answer.

  He blinked. Had there been a question?

  "Somebody has to sign for that loan," Deirdre said.

  Ricky blinked again. Was she thinking...? "Oh, no," he told her. "You can't sign for that loan."

  "Helen in accounting has been signing all the paychecks, with Griffith's signature on a rubber stamp."

  Ricky straightened. "Uh uh uh. That's a different animal altogether." And he couldn't let Deidre keep that project alive, not when there was a good chance it was about to die a marvelous death.

  "I know, I know." Deirdre's gaze was beseeching. "But Griffith must have spent a few hundred thousand on the development of that site. It will all be lost if we don't get the financing to actually build and then sell it."

  Ricky didn't give a flying fuck how much money Blaine was going to lose. "You can't sign Griffith's name to that loan agreement. I'm speaking as a lawyer, Deirdre. You'd be taking on all kinds of personal liability, not to mention possible criminal charges. No, no. And besides it would be wrong." This last Ricky could say with utter conviction.

  Deirdre looked suitably chastised. "You're right. I know you're right." Her gaze went past Ricky. "I only wish I knew what's happened to Griffith."

  "I'm sure he's fine." Ricky fervently prayed the man was sipping Mai Tai's in Tahiti. He squeezed Deirdre's shoulder. "Meanwhile, you mind your p's and q's. I know you want what's best for the company, but Deirdre, there are some lines you just shouldn't cross."

  She set her hand on top of his on her shoulder. Hers was a gentle, feminine hand, a hand that could stroke his body to mindless delight — and a hand that had looked up a shitload of cases for him on Sunday. Ricky suddenly heard his own words echoing back at him. There are some lines you just shouldn't cross.

  "You're right," Deirdre said. "And thanks."

  "Hey." Somehow Ricky managed a crooked smile. "I'm just looking out for you." And then, because he didn't want her seeing his face, he bent to kiss her. But he suddenly felt dizzy.

  As if he wasn't sure any more exactly which lines he'd crossed.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Kate wasn't buying it. Griffith had to be up to something. He couldn't be serious about taking care of the kids and acting like a real camp counselor. The man was pure selfish slime.

  Late Wednesday morning she passed her campers off to Arnie in order to conduct a spot-check of Griffith's activities.

  She felt a spurt of satisfaction in discovering Bunkhouse Three was not in the barn stringing onions, their appointed job for the morning. She stepped into the cool, spacious structure and heard complete silence.

  Ha, he was spurning the rules again, despising the kids. Acting like the kind of man she'd always known he was. Kate's lips curved grimly.

  It took her twenty minutes to find him. He and his campers were splashing around in Wild Tail Creek, just below the fork where the water destined for drinking went the other way through the filter. Boys were jumping in and out of the creek, shouting and laughing and juggling clear plastic quart jars. Griffith stood barefoot on a boulder above this activity, smiling and shouting encouragement and directions.

  "No, no, leave the fish alone," Griffith bellowed. "We don't have a license, for god's sake. Only go for the polliwogs."

  "What about dragonflies, Mr. Griffith?"

  "If you can catch one, more power to you," Griffith laughed.

  Kate stood and drank in the view. Oh, it was rich. He was back to being a scoundrel again. She felt so much better.

  It didn't take Griffith long to see her. From his position atop the boulder, his broad smile managed to get broader. "Why, Miss Kate!" he called. "Come to join the fun?"

  Kate picked her way through the brush toward the stream. "Catching polliwogs? Yes, it does sound like fun. However..." She batted a branch of sumac aside so she could stand on the side of the stream. "However, it isn't exactly what you were supposed to be doing this morning, is it?"

  "It isn't?" For a moment he looked blank. "Oh." He waved a dismissive hand. "You mean tying onions? We finished that."

  "You did?"

  "Yep. And we finished cleaning up the peach orchard, which was the last bit of old business we hadn't done yet."

  Kate frowned.

  "So," Griffith went on. "I told the boys we could do something fun until swimming lessons."

  "Did you?" Kate found such industriousness on the part of children who'd been left to misbehave for the past week very hard to believe. "And how, pray, did you manage to do all that?"

  Griffith made a sweeping gesture, indicating the stream and the boys frolicking therein. "Motivation," he said, and grinned.

  Kate regarded him stonily. She didn't want to admit it was possible. She didn't want to admit he was actually good at this.

  Meanwhile, Griffith suddenly turned to address a boy who'd wandered upstream. "Uh, uh, uh, Carlos. Don't go above the fork in the stream there."

  "Why not?" Carlos called back, a plastic quart bottle in his hands. "There're a ton of polliwogs here."

  "Because the water you're about to stand in with your grimy feet is going to end up in your soup tonight, that's why not." Griffith beckoned with his arm. "Down below the fork, on the side without the filter, if you please."

  Carlos, his eyes wide, hastened to obey.

  "How did you know that?" Kate asked.

  Griffith turned back to her. His wide smile faltered. "Excuse me?"

  Kate pointed. "How did you know that's the water we're going to drink?"

  Griffith glanced upstream. "Oh...I know a filtration device when I see one."

  "You do?"

  He hesitated, then lifted a shoulder. "What else could it be?"

  Kate looked over at the concrete filtration device. Was it obvious? Or did Griffith have expertise in an area she wouldn't have guessed?

  "Listen," Griffith said, interrupting these thoughts. He lowered to a squat on the boulder. "I noticed something in the barn. Tack: bridles, a saddle, ropes. Do you have horses?"

  Kate hesitated. "One horse. And I don't keep her here when camp is in session." She shrugged. "It wouldn't be fair."

  On his boulder, Griffith smiled. "You're horsey."

  "Oh, please." Kate felt her face heat. He sounded like he was accusing her of...some entertaining sexual deviancy. She waved a hand, determined to stop blushing. "If I had my 'druthers, I'd keep Sugar here, along with a dozen other mounts. We'd have riding lessons. Oh, and sheep and cows and goats. It would be wonderful for the kids to learn how to take care of animals."

  Griffith's smile twisted. "I suppose you're working on the financing for that, too."

  "Of course."

  Griffith gave her an odd look. "You're tireless, aren't you?"

  "When it comes to the camp? Yes." Kate tilted her head. "You disapprove?"

  He gazed at her, chewing the inside of his cheek. "No... And that's the problem."

  Kate raised her eyebrows.

  "The longer you keep me here, the more I see what this camp is doing. The good stuff it's doing."

  Kate went still. Had he said what she thought he'd said?

  Griffith heaved a deep sigh, and hopped off his boulder. "Not that I wouldn't escape, mind you, given the smallest opportunity."

  That was more like it, but Kate still felt strange inside, off balance. Never had she dreamed Griffith would admit the camp was worthwhile — and seem to mean it. "Well...I guess I'll just have to keep you a week or so longer," she told him, making it pert. "By the time you leave, I'll have turned you into a major funder."

  Across the stream from her, Griffith laughed, his eyes dancing. "Now that's positive thinking."

  Kate stood fifteen feet away from him, across the rushing stream, but it was as if he'd just reached out and touched her. Mischievously. Sending a rush of happy heat through
her. She had a sudden, shocking image of smiling and laughing with him, of being, somehow, together with him.

  Surprised, she took a step back. Was she letting him get to her? Was he even trying to? Or was there some sick part of her that, after all the years of dormancy, insisted on choosing Griffith, a man who was basically shallow and untrustworthy? A man who reminded her so much of Eric.

  The thought was like a slap in the face.

  "Have your kids ready for their swimming lesson by eleven," she snapped. And then, before Griffith could reply and disarm her again, she whirled and batted her way through the brush.

  Of course it was possible, a dangerous part of her argued, that Griffith wasn't actually shallow or untrustworthy, that he really did believe the camp was worthwhile — that he might even decide to donate money to the cause once he got back to L.A.

  But she didn't believe enough in her own emotional health to put much credence in the idea. Dammit. She was attracted to Griffith Blaine, of all people.

  ~~~

  It was ten-twenty. Lights out had happened twenty minutes ago. Griffith lay in his bunk bed, staring at the springs of the bed above him. How in the name of heaven was he supposed to fall asleep as early as ten-twenty?

  Given all the time spent outdoors in physical activity, he probably could have fallen asleep this early if it hadn't been for the thoughts spinning around in his head.

  He'd told Kate he could see the value of her camp. If that hadn't been a hoot. And she'd looked at him... She'd looked at him as if maybe he actually existed.

  And he, fool that he'd become, had liked that, he'd liked existing in her world.

  What was happening to him?

  Scowling, Griffith rolled onto his side.

  She was winning, that's what was happening. She'd wanted him to become her missing counselor, and damned if that wasn't exactly what he'd become. She'd wanted him to take the place seriously and...damned if that wasn't happening, too.

  Griffith huffed and pulled the blanket tighter. But — he was still going to build Wildwood. The water was still his. Kate could just — She could just move her damn camp somewhere else, and have a real lawyer look at her lease beforehand this time, dammit. Griffith had poured three hundred thousand dollars into plans and engineering work on the channel to divert the water, not to mention the money he'd spent to buy the Wildwood site, itself. That was too much to walk away from, plus the damage it would do to his reputation. Griffith had never abandoned a project.

  The narrow camp bed was impossibly uncomfortable. Griffith rolled viciously to his other side.

  Facing the interior of the bunkhouse now, he saw he wasn't the only one still awake. Down at the other end of the room, Orlando was sitting up in his bed, cross-legged and staring morosely in Griffith's general direction.

  As if Griffith had needed yet another problem to go spinning around in his brain tonight.

  He watched Orlando for thirty seconds, then tossed aside his blanket and sheets. Sleep wasn't going to come anyway. Maybe it was time he took care of Orlando.

  In his bare feet and borrowed, striped pajamas, Griffith padded down the length of the bunkhouse. Orlando watched Griffith's approach with apparent indifference. Only his eyes moved, snapping, when Griffith stood right in front of his bed.

  Griffith leaned down until they were eye to eye. He spoke softly. "Come outside." Without waiting for Orlando to answer, Griffith straightened, turned, and walked out the front door of the bunkhouse. He let out a small, inaudible breath as he heard the quiet padding of Orlando's bare feet behind him.

  Once they were outside, Griffith closed the door of the bunkhouse, and turned to face Orlando. The boy had gone full sullen mode, leaning extravagantly against the railing of the porch. The air was cooler than it had been during the day, but still warm, with a dusty scent of sage. Crickets sang like mad.

  "So," Griffith said. "I know what's keeping me awake. What's wrong with you?"

  Orlando's answering expression spoke better than words. As if I'd tell you?

  Griffith took a position opposite Orlando, leaning against the rail, too. "You've made it clear you don't want to be here."

  Orlando snorted.

  Griffith felt a spurt of impatience. He doubted the kid could have anything better to do somewhere else. If anyone should be complaining, it was he. And yet, here he was, racking his brain for a way to convince Orlando to be glad he was at Camp Wild Hills.

  "Okay." Griffith called on his patience. "Let me ask. What would you rather be doing for the next week, if not participating in camp activities?"

  Orlando snorted again. "Anything."

  One of Griffith's eyebrows rose. "That's rather broad. Care to elaborate?"

  "I just want to be left alone."

  "Alone," Griffith repeated. "So you're saying you'd like to simply wander the camp all day, doing whatever you want?"

  "Yes," Orlando breathed, as if relieved somebody finally got it.

  "Hmm." It sounded like an awfully boring way to spend time. But then, if memory served, the fourteen-year-old male didn't have much judgment. Orlando probably had no idea how unpleasant it would be if left to his own devices for an entire week. No, not much judgment going on there...

  An idea began to form. "Tell you what, Orlando. You can have what you want, being left alone. I'll even cover for you with Miss Kate..."

  "But," Orlando said, bitterly, into Griffith's pregnant silence.

  Griffith nodded. "Yeah, there's a catch. First you have to prove to me you could handle it."

  "That I could handle it?" Orlando's arms uncrossed. "What does that mean?"

  "It means I want to be sure you could hold your own if you came across, say...a rattlesnake." Griffith had been wondering how Kate had gone about killing his. "Or a coyote, or some other, unexpected problem."

  Orlando's gaze went suspicious. "How am I supposed to convince you of that?"

  Tricky. This was going to be tricky. Griffith shrugged. "How about you show you could handle, say...me? Human male, six foot one, hundred and ninety pounds. If you can do that, I'll assume you can handle anything."

  The boy's eyes narrowed. "You want me to fight you?"

  He didn't sound completely cowed, which worried Griffith. Just what had the kid learned on the street? "Yeah." He did his best to sound nonchalant. "We'll call it a test. You willing?"

  For a long while the kid just stared at Griffith. Griffith could practically see the wheels turning in his head. He prayed that faulty fourteen-year-old logic was at work, mistaking odds, over-estimating ability, pushing wishful thinking over reality.

  Meanwhile, he wondered if his own, thirty-five-year-old logic was properly functioning. He was proposing a fight? This was going to accomplish exactly what? For the love of God, he might get hurt, himself.

  But instinct, the gut-level impulse he'd learned to follow when it came to business, told him this was the way to go.

  Finally, Orlando gave a slow, thoughtful nod. "Okay, I'll fight you."

  It was either fourteen-year-old logic at work, Griffith thought, or the kid knew some dirty street tricks. He tried not to wince as he recalled the sore spots from his beating in the garage the week before.

  But it was too late to back down now. "All right." Griffith gestured down the stairs. "Let's do it."

  Orlando gave a sneering smile and preceded Griffith down the stairs. They were both in their pajamas and barefoot, but Griffith thought it best to get right to business.

  "We'd better go behind the building." Griffith glanced around the deserted quad. One never knew when Kate might come around on her nightly inspection. It wouldn't do to have her interrupt his highly unorthodox motivation technique.

  "Good idea." Orlando gave a similar glance around. "Miss Kate would have a hissy fit."

  Griffith was pleased the boy perceived the finer implications. "She'll never have to know."

  Behind the bunkhouse, on a plain patch of dirt, Griffith indicated Orlando should take a position
opposite him. "This'll do." Thankfully, it was well-softened dust. No rocks to interfere with bare feet.

  Orlando looked around and appeared to agree. It occurred to Griffith, watching the kid's satisfied expression, that he'd like to state some ground rules: no hitting below the belt, and so on and so forth. But a second consideration told him to keep his mouth shut. Orlando would think he was throwing his weight around when they were supposed to be entering this arena as equals.

  That's how they were entering it, anyway. Griffith hoped a definite hierarchy would be established on their way out of it.

  "On the count of 'three,'" Griffith said.

  "Cool," Orlando replied carelessly. Just a shade too carelessly.

  Finally, almost too late, Griffith realized the kid was scared. Suddenly, like a window had just opened, he recognized Orlando: skinny, under-sized, wary. The kid everybody thought it was safe to beat up.

  Just like Griffith Blaine had been, once upon a time.

  He drew in a sharp breath and swiftly recalculated as he called, "One, two, three."

  Orlando went into a crouch. Griffith made a similar move, his brain moving as fast as his muscles. He couldn't just flatten the kid. He was going to have to be more clever than that.

  Orlando signalled his intention to strike about a year before he made his move. Griffith blocked his punch with ease. He threw one of his own, making sure to signal his own motion so Orlando could likewise block.

  And so it went for several minutes, Orlando striking, Griffith blocking.

  "Try feinting," Griffith suggested.

  Orlando glanced up, meeting Griffith's eyes with suspicion, but took the advice. He managed to get through Griffith's defenses, striking squarely, if not heavily, just below Griffith's ribs.

  "Good one!" Griffith said. "Now do it again, this time with a hook."

  Orlando took the advice unhesitatingly. Another punch connected with Griffith's side.

  "Excellent," Griffith said. "You've got the idea. More power."

  Using the advice Griffith was giving him, Orlando went after Griffith again and again. Sometimes Griffith managed to block him. Other times, he hit through. Griffith was, indeed, reminded of his beating in the parking garage as Orlando found some tender places, but the expression of growing pride on Orlando's face made the pain worthwhile. Griffith could practically see the kid's self-esteem rising.