Asking For It

by Alyssa Kress

  She opened her eyes to find Arnie giving her one of his impenetrable stares.

  "Interesting," he said finally.

  Interesting? That was his response to her dark secret?

  "And promising," Arnie added, inscrutably.

  Promising? She wished Arnie would explain that to her, but he seemed to be done with the subject. Visibly softening, he slapped his hat against his thigh. "Yep, so all right then. I'm goin.'"

  Now, when she actually wanted him to stay — at least long enough to explain himself — he was ready to leave. But Kate summoned up another smile. "Have a good time."

  Obviously deep in his own thoughts now, Arnie suddenly grinned. A roguish grin. "Oh, I will."

  That brief glimpse of Arnie's grin was terrible. It reminded Kate of a similar grin, when anticipating a similar activity. An arrow ripped through her chest.

  But she hung onto her smile as Arnie turned and got into his car. This part she didn't want to ask Arnie about. The soft-focus memories of Griffith were bad enough. No way she was going to confess she also longed for him, physically. The reason for it didn't matter so much as the effect it produced. Pain. Because she missed Griffith — in every way it was possible for a woman to miss a man. Griffith!

  Through the rising dust of Arnie's Jeep as it started down the road, Kate waved and did her best to look unaffected. Meanwhile she remained flabbergasted — and dismayed.

  How could she miss Griffith?

  ~~~

  "Would you please close the door?" On Tuesday morning, Griffith looked up from his position seated behind his desk, his elbows propped on top. He saw Deirdre hesitate, probably thrown by how genteel-like he couched the demand. She must think her boss had become a roller coaster since she'd picked him up last week at Grace Church.

  Little did she know he was about to take the roller coaster on its steepest turn yet.

  She turned and closed his office door.

  Griffith dropped his hands to the tabletop and rose from his seat. "I want to talk about Wildwood."

  Deirdre looked about frantically. "I need my iPad."

  "No, you don't need to take notes. This is...an informal discussion. Something to knock around a few ideas."

  Deirdre gazed up, understandably puzzled. Wildwood was pretty much in the can. There were few new ideas that needed to be batted around regarding the big housing project.

  Griffith paced out from behind his desk. No, nothing new...except a burgeoning sense that the whole thing was a mistake. He'd been using all his construction projects, and Wildwood in particular, to distract himself from what he really wanted, and couldn't get.

  But as he'd discovered the night before, it wasn't going to work. No matter how much money he made off Wildwood, it wasn't going to fix the aching place inside himself.

  Deirdre tapped a hand on the back of her chair. "Speaking of Wildwood, the bank wants an appointment for everyone to sign and finalize that loan."

  Griffith waved a hand. "Yeah, yeah."

  Deirdre drilled him with her eyes. "I told them today. Lunch. We'll buy."

  Griffith turned a surprised gaze on her. "Did you, now?"

  "Griffith, you know you've been dragging your feet on that project."

  Had he? Griffith felt even more surprised. Had a part of him realized the housing project wasn't going to do it for him — even before last night?

  But what would make him feel right? He had to figure it out and, it appeared, he had to figure it out before lunch today.

  "What did you want to say about Wildwood?" Deirdre asked.

  Griffith turned from her to stalk toward the window. He heard himself ask, "Do you like me?"

  When he turned to peek, Deirdre looked appropriately taken aback. This was hardly about Wildwood. "Uh...sure, I like you," she replied warily.

  He smiled. "So polite."

  "No, no." She lifted a hand to give a delicate cough. "I'm not just being polite."

  Now Griffith was grinning. "You're the only person who noticed I was missing. So I guess you like me a little."

  Deirdre blinked quickly. "Um, yes, I just said so, didn't I?"

  Griffith laughed, but not very loudly. He didn't have a single friend. No wonder he was unhappy.

  "Mr. Blaine?" The voice was the receptionist's, speaking through the intercom set on Griffith's desk.

  Turning toward the machine, Griffith said, "Yes?"

  "There's a Mr. Ascensios here. He says he'd like to see you, but I don't see an appointment for him."

  In front of Griffith, Deirdre visibly started. Griffith turned toward her. "That name means something to you?"

  Deirdre's eyes were very wide, her expression an odd mix of excitement and anxiety. She nodded. "He's — he was — my boyfriend."

  "And he wants to speak to me?" Griffith was intrigued.

  "I — It might have something to do with Wildwood." Deirdre's face flushed.

  Griffith turned toward his intercom, while keeping his eyes on Deirdre. "Send him on in." To Deirdre he asked, "Why would he be here about Wildwood?"

  "I — He's a lawyer," Deirdre admitted, too late.

  A dark-haired, dark-eyed man in a well-tailored suit stood at Griffith's door. He was holding a suspicious-looking manila envelope. But the dark-haired man didn't even look in Griffith's direction, not at first. No, first he sent a smoldering look toward Griffith's plaid-skirted assistant, a look of such intense hunger it nearly fried the air.

  "Uh, can I help you?" Griffith asked only in order to help Deirdre, whose self-possession looked scattered. Otherwise he had no desire to aid an unknown lawyer with an envelope.

  But Ascensios turned toward Griffith as if he'd just remembered he was there. The big manila envelope in his hand came forward. He thrust it into Griffith's hands. "Consider yourself served."

  "Ah. Thank you so much." Griffith never liked getting lawsuits, even though nine times out of ten his lawyers could make it go away. He untied the envelope, however, curious since Ascensios, having done his dirty deed, seemed in no hurry to vacate the premises.

  "Hello, Deirdre," Ascensios said, his voice gruff.

  "Ricky." Deirdre tossed her head, smiling. Self-possession regained.

  With a good idea of who was in the driver's seat in this relationship, Griffith took a look at the lawsuit. At the top he read,

  Camp Wild Hills, a nonprofit corporation, Plaintiff.

  "Kate?" he asked, choking. "You work for Kate?" And she was suing him? Or at least she was attempting to do so. Griffith had been assured, at three hundred-fifty dollars an hour, that she would not win any lawsuit. He looked over at Ascensios. The attorney, risking life and limb, was still in the room, and still staring starvedly at Griffith's assistant.

  "Kate?" Deirdre asked, blinking and looking over at Griffith. "You're on a first-name basis with the head of Camp Wild Hills?"

  Ricky turned his intense stare onto Griffith. "So I've heard."

  "But — ?" Deirdre's brows were drawing together.

  Griffith returned Ricky's stare. "Son, I hope you're not charging her too much for this nonsense."

  The young lawyer turned a dusky shade.

  "I don't think he's charging her anything," Deirdre put in dryly. "He's a personal friend of hers, from way back."

  Griffith glanced toward Deirdre, then back to Ascensios. "Wait a minute. This is a little too much of a coincidence. You're a personal friend of Kate, and just happened to start romancing my assistant?"

  "'Kate,'" Deirdre repeated. "Griffith, how do you know — ?"

  "It's not a coincidence," Ascensios had the balls to admit. His gaze remained steady on Griffith. "I met Deirdre on purpose."

  "To find dirt on me, or Wildwood." Griffith nodded, understanding that much, though not the way Ascensios was looking at Deirdre like he wanted to eat her up. "But...if you knew what I was planning about Wildwood, why didn't Kate know who I was when I showed up at her camp? It wasn't until Deirdre called her she figured it out."

  "Wait
a minute. Wait a minute," Deirdre called out. She waved her hands. "Griffith, you were at Kate's camp? That's where you were those two weeks?" Her eyes were wide.

  "Of course that's where I was." Griffith was starting to feel punchy. "Could Simon Grolier have picked a more awkward place to leave me? But lover-boy here — " Griffith gestured toward Ascensios, who was going dusky again. "Mr. Ascensios hadn't seen fit to tell his client who I was, apparently, or the danger I posed."

  Ascensios was definitely blushing now. "I didn't want Kate worried. I thought — hoped — that I could get what I wanted and stop you before she ever had to know."

  "Mmm. Confident," Griffith observed.

  Ascensios lifted his chin. "And who's calling the kettle black?"

  Griffith laughed. He had to be the least confident man right then he'd ever known. He was standing here with a nuisance lawsuit in his hands that inexplicably filled him with terror. In less than two hours he was supposed to sign a ten million dollar loan that he wasn't even sure he wanted.

  Confident?

  He didn't know what he wanted to do in the next five minutes, let alone during the rest of his life, except maybe...

  ...to be liked.

  Griffith blinked. If he knew anything, it was that he wanted to be liked. Failing that, he wanted to be likable. That's when he'd been happy at Camp Wild Hills, the happiest he could remember being in his life: when he'd acted like a good guy.

  When he'd liked himself.

  Griffith swallowed and turned back to Kate's lawyer. But Ascensios was too busy eyeing Deirdre to notice Griffith's attention.

  "Deirdre." Ascensios cleared his throat. "Would you mind — I'd like to talk to you, alone, for a minute?"

  Griffith raised his eyebrows. Ascensios' precise relationship with the woman he'd supposedly duped was delightfully hazy. Right now he looked an awful lot like a badly stricken Romeo who was deep in the doghouse.

  For her part, Deirdre, who'd been maintaining a smug superiority toward her former paramour, now appeared as if the air had been let out of her balloon. Her gaze flew toward Griffith, apparently hoping he could tell her what to do.

  "You might as well talk to him," Griffith recommended, since it was obvious they were both dying to kiss and make up.

  "Well." Deirdre made an effort to retrieve her cool persona. "If you think so..." She gave a tiny nod to Ascensios. "We can talk...for a minute."

  Griffith watched Ascensios follow Deirdre out the door, a lapdog following his mistress — a sight Griffith didn't find nearly as pathetic this morning as he might have a month ago.

  Then he drew Kate's lawsuit fully out of its envelope and looked at it. The terror inside him receded as a slow smile grew over his face. A big smile.

  A...happy one.

  Griffith tossed the lawsuit onto his desk. He knew what he was going to do, finally. He should have known during his bus ride down out of Camp Wild Hills but hey, better late than never.

  A low chuckle rumbled in Griffith's chest. Kate. Ah, Kate. She thought she should sue him? Did she think that would get him out of her life? She was about to get a very big surprise.

  ~~~

  What was he thinking? Ricky's brain was a storm of confusion as he led Deirdre from Griffith Blaine's high-powered office. Why had he asked Deirdre to speak with him? What did he intend to say to her?

  "No, not your office," he muttered. It was a fishbowl, with three walls of glass that he knew from late-night experience were far from sound-proof. Not that he planned to say anything that'd require sound-proofing.

  "This way, then," Deirdre replied. She reached out to tug his hand, but only to indicate he should follow her in the other direction, down a side hall. After that, she let him go.

  But not before a flash of heat went through Ricky from her flesh pressed to his.

  Hot, and then cold. He'd been feeling those sensations ever since he'd left his car in the underground parking lot and started up for Blaine Development's office. He wanted to see Deirdre, he didn't want to see her. He was afraid — No, he wasn't afraid. What was there to be afraid of?

  Ricky reminded himself of this latter, rhetorical question, as Deirdre led him into what appeared to be a graphic composing room. There were shelves filled with colored paper, markers, and great rolls of paper hanging above a huge table. There was nothing to be afraid of, he told himself, as he closed the door behind them.

  But his stomach wrenched into a hard knot as Deirdre walked to the big table and turned to face him. Her clear, adorable eyes, her heart-shaped face, her whole persona of self-possessed good girl — all these things made him feel like breaking into a cold sweat.

  She leaned against the table behind her, with her expression much sweeter than he deserved, and waited for him to say whatever the hell he was going to say.

  "Hello," Ricky said, and immediately wanted to shoot himself. Hello?

  But Deirdre only smiled and replied, "Hello."

  Ricky swallowed. Simply being in the same room with her felt like being given food after having been starved. Good. Yes, very good — but not necessary. He could live without her. "I, uh, so how are you doing?" Another idiot question.

  But once again, she answered as if he was making sense. "I'm doing well." And then, with a frown curling her brows, she added, "Lonely."

  Her candor was disarming. Ricky felt the tightness inside himself relax. "Yes, me too," he heard himself confess. "I think I got...used to being with you — with somebody," he quickly corrected. "Palling around and everything, you know."

  Palling around? his brain repeated derisively. Is that what he was going to call it?

  Yet again, she didn't mock his clod-footedness. She just nodded, slowly, thoughtfully, while watching him like a hawk.

  He was heating up again, starting to sweat beneath his Brooks Brothers suit. "We kind of ended things cold turkey, didn't we? I mean, there was no...wrap-up." A bald-faced lie. They'd had that fancy dinner together. He'd ended things then.

  But Deirdre didn't correct his statement. She merely kept watching him, her eyes waiting.

  Ricky could feel sweat gather in the center of his chest. Where was he going with this? What was he after?

  He sucked in his lips. "I think maybe it would be helpful if we could get together again, in a nice way." Oh, good Lord. Had he just said that? The fear that was curled in his gut lashed out with a sting. They couldn't get together. That would be significantly different from what had been before, where he'd merely been using her. If they spent time together now, it would mean they were entering a relationship, a real one.

  That was the last thing Ricky wanted.

  Drawing in a deep breath, he straightened. "Yes, I think we should get together. We could use...a last date. Not a confrontation, but...a goodbye. Yes, a nice farewell." Farewell. For a moment the word slithered through him like a razor until his brain caught up. Farewell, goodbye. It was brilliant. A date to finalize and terminate.

  Deirdre, meanwhile, was giving him a good, hard stare. "A last date," she repeated.

  "I'm not going to be dishonest with you any more." Ricky felt downright sanctimonious now. He was being honest, scrupulously so. It would be their last date. His feelings for her were not deep or important. He simply needed to see her once more — to get her out of his system. That was it! Yes, he would get her out of his system. Get rid of this...clinging emptiness. "If we go out on a date, it will be to say goodbye."

  Deirdre kept watching him. Ricky knew her well enough that the sweat hotly clamming his chest went suddenly cold. She was going to say no. And then what would he do? How would he get rid of this — this thing that wasn't need, but was almost as bad?

  "Please," Ricky whispered, and was horrified to hear the way his voice shook.

  God help him, but it worked. The terrifyingly neutral expression on Deirdre's face cracked.

  "Okay," she said. "I'd like to go on a date with you."

  Ricky was so relieved he didn't bother to quibble about her omi
ssion of the 'last' part. It was going to be their last date. He'd get to see her again and — and resolve this whole wanting deal.

  "Saturday?" he asked.

  "Seven," she replied.

  He took a step toward her, intending — what? Fortunately, he was smart enough to halt the motion. Had he meant to kiss her?

  Ricky frowned, suddenly wondering if this whole date business was such a good idea. Nevertheless, he told Deirdre, "Wear something nice."

  "I will." She smiled, oh, so sweetly at him. "Don't worry, I will."

  ~~~

  "Are you okay?"

  Deirdre looked up. Somehow, she'd made her way back to Griffith's office from the composing room.

  Ricky had come back to her. Just like she'd predicted. He'd asked her out.

  To say goodbye, Deirdre forcibly reminded herself. He'd asked her out only in order to say a proper goodbye.

  But he had asked.

  "Um, yes. I'm okay." She forced a limp smile to her lips. Her boss was watching her with a frown of concern between his brows.

  She wondered if she ought to feel concerned for herself, too. She'd told Ricky she'd go on his 'farewell date.' Now, had that been a brash show of confidence, the act of a woman certain he didn't actually want to say goodbye at all?

  Or had it been the act of a woman who was a desperate doormat, one happy to drink the last drop this man was going to allow her?

  Deirdre cleared her throat. "I'm just fine. Now, where were we?"

  "I'll tell you." But Griffith was still watching her, the way a man might watch a smoldering volcano. "First thing I want you to do is cancel our lunch date with GoldFed Financial."

  Deirdre blinked a few times. "But won't they find that a bit...flaky?" To put it mildly. Not to mention they ought to get the ink on that loan before the bank found out there was a lawsuit.

  "Cancel it," Griffith confirmed. He lifted the manila envelope that Ricky had brought, the lawsuit he'd probably put together based on information Deirdre had unwittingly fed him. "I want you to run this straight over to Granger and Dodge, our attorneys."

  "Of course, Griffith." It was the least she could do. Meanwhile, however, it occurred to Deirdre that Griffith, himself, might have fueled part of that lawsuit. What had he been doing at Camp Wild Hills for two weeks?