“Have a log-in?”
She shook her head. “Nope. But I can set one up.”
“Are you allowed to shop online?”
“I’m allowed to do anything but date,” she whined.
“Tell me what you like.”
Izzy’s head dropped to one side, and she pinched her lips together. “There’s a dance at school in a few weeks. Everyone says Lindsey Hetzler does a solid color theme, so I guess I’d like something totally not that.”
“Betsey Johnson,” I said with confidence. “Her new teen collection has an adorable pink bunny dress.”
“What’s that?” she asked, skeptical. “I don’t want to look like a bunny.”
“Come here.” I quickly typed in the URL and showed Izzy the dress. “There’s a pretty bow accent in the front, and it’s short, which will show off your long legs.”
“But it’s strapless. My dad will have a coronary.”
“So we get a chiffon sweater and you just leave it on until you get to the dance. He’ll never know.”
“Then let’s buy it,” she said, passing me her credit card.
“No, no, no. We look for it on eBay and save a ton of money.”
“But I don’t have to save money.”
Jealousy washed over me. “But if you save on the dress and the sweater, you can buy the perfect shoes and a purse and still not spend as much as full retail. It’s called shopping smart.”
“More like shopping cheap. What if it’s been worn?” she asked, her nose scrunched.
“Then you have it cleaned. What size are you?”
“A two, I think.”
Now I was majorly jealous and feeling chubby in my size four. I satisfied myself with a mental reminder that she wasn’t done growing yet. “Create a log-in, and let’s get to work.”
We found the dress and the sweater, and I showed her how to place an initial bid, then clued her in on the finer points of eBaying. The dress was a “buy it now,” but instead of the full price of four hundred twenty-eight, Izzy got it for three hundred eighty-nine. The sweater was more of a bargain. Gently worn and offered at half of the normal two hundred thirty-eight. Izzy would just have to watch the site in two days to make sure she wasn’t outbid at the last second. “To be extra careful, do you have a laptop in addition to this desktop?”
“Yeah.”
“Log in on both computers just in case one has a hiccup in the last minutes of the auction. Now for accessories.”
“This is pretty cool,” Izzy said. Her tone was now soaked in enthusiasm, and the snarl had morphed into a smile.
Freaking took long enough.
Once we’d theoretically saved her a bundle, we went looking for shoes and found a killer pair of kitten-heeled gladiator sandals with an adorable feather accent. Of course I practically commanded her to buy the matching hobo bag, insisting that it was necessary to stash the sweater she needed to fool Tony into thinking she was wearing a more modest dress. Unfortunately, neither was on eBay, so she had no choice but to buy them off BetseyJohnson.com, where she paid close to six hundred dollars for the accessories. To make up for the extravagance, I showed her my favorite funky online jewelry store, where she found a necklace and earrings to complete her look.
“That was seriously fun,” Izzy said as she took pages out of the printer and clipped the images like paper dolls.
“And you’re sure your father won’t get pissed? I can’t afford to lose my job.”
“If he does, I’ll play the mommy card.”
I watched her, finding it hard to keep my jaw from dropping. The girl obviously had no respect for the dead.
“Get over yourself,” she groaned, obviously reading the expression on my face. “It’s hard to mourn someone you don’t even remember. I was like eleven months old or something when she died. But everyone thinks I should have like issues or whatever.”
As cold as it sounded, the girl’s logic was flawless, and if anyone could understand that feeling, it was me. We left the computer area and sat on the hideously ugly—in my opinion—mustard yellow sofa with chrome armrests. I sat at one end, kicking off my expensive shoes and tucking my legs under me. Izzy did the same with her fuzzy slippers. She looked so comfy dressed in fuchsia Victoria’s Secret Think Pink sweatpants and a pair of spaghetti-strap tanks. The bottom one was also fuchsia, while the top one was a pale pink. With her jet black hair, even darker brown-black eyes, and flawless olive complexion, she was stunning. Tony would have his hands full when she got older. No wonder he didn’t want her to start dating.
“Do you have both your parents?”
I shrugged. “Not sure.”
Izzy’s Brooke Shields-like brows pulled together. “Huh?”
“My mother’s alive. My birth father is a wild card.” I’d just told an underage virtual stranger more than I shared with most of my adult friends. Great, when did a thirteen-year-old girl become my confidante?
“Did you lose touch? Lemme guess. He married someone else and like tossed you aside.”
I shook my head. “Nope. As far as I know, he has no clue I exist.”
“Wow. That’s like beyond weird. Ever try to find him? You know, Google him or something?”
Again I shook my head. “Don’t know if it’s Mr. Finley or Mr. Anderson.”
“Has to be Finley. Why else would your mother name you that?”
“Finley Anderson Tanner.”
“Wow, that is weird. And it spells ‘fat.’”
I rolled my eyes. “Thanks for pointing that out.”
“It’s better than Pepper,” she said with unchecked disdain. “I mean, like what kind of parents name their kid after a spice?”
“How long has your dad been seeing her?”
“Counting tonight?”
I nodded.
“Twice.”
“Think it’ll get serious?”
“Only if her IQ goes up like a hundred points. I think my dad just needs to get laid.”
“Izzy!”
“Oh, c’mon. Like you aren’t thinking the same thing.”
“Yeah, but I’m not his teenage kid.”
“Haven’t you ever gone out with a hot guy just for the sex?”
“I’m not having this conversation.”
She laughed. “You’re like all blushing and stuff. Which so means you have.”
I glanced down at my acceptable Liz Claiborne watch. “It’s almost midnight. Do you have a bedtime?”
Izzy groaned. “It’s Saturday night.”
“That doesn’t mean you don’t have to go to bed at a certain time.” As evidenced by the third yawn she’d swallowed in the past three minutes. “Besides, how will it look to your dad if he comes home and you’re still awake? He’ll think I’m a failure.”
“Whatever,” she said, standing. “Wanna see my room?”
“Sure.”
“It’s like the only room without plastic.”
“That’s good,” I said as I followed her up the plushly carpeted staircase. In complete juxtaposition to the living room, the artwork on the wall was French Impressionist, yet somehow it worked with the stark furnishings.
“Good God,” I muttered, before I could check my reaction.
“Tell me about it,” Izzy said on a groan. The room was Pepto-Bismol pink, dominated by a bed that was a replica of Cinderella’s glass coach. The dressers and end tables were bright white, and my eyes immediately homed in on the framed photograph on the left nightstand. It was Tony and a stunning woman who looked a lot like a young Sophia Loren holding an infant.
“That’s the shrine,” Izzy said.
I moved closer. “Your mother was beautiful.”
“I guess,” she said, with a shrug of her shoulders. “At least it got scaled back when we moved here. In New York my grandparents made me a whole thing, complete with a rosary, a candle, and a crucifix made out of resin.”
“I’m sure they meant well.”
Izzy hopped into the bed-slash-coach, sl
ipping beneath the pink fuzzy spread. “Yeah. They used to spend hours telling me all about her. Dad said I had to listen, or at least pretend to. Liam told me to nod every now and then, and when I’d had enough, I was supposed to tell them I had a thing and leave the room.”
“Liam is big on the thing,” I said, my irritation with him coming back full force. “How long have you known him?” I asked, hoping I sounded casual.
“You hot for him or my dad?”
Hope dashed. “Neither.”
“That’s like a total lie.” She raked her hair with her fingers, each nail painted a different shade of neon polish. “Liam and Dad met when Dad taught classes at Quantico. Liam took the classes, and the two of them became friends. Liam would visit us in New York. I think they bonded over the whole wife thing.”
“Liam’s wife is alive.” And probably draped over him as we speak.
“I know. But he was getting a divorce then, so he and my dad used to drink beer and pretend everything was okay.”
“What’d you do, eavesdrop?”
“Totally. I was like eight or nine, and I thought Liam was hot. Even if he is old.”
“Thirty-seven is hardly old.”
“To you,” she said as she grabbed the book next to her bed.
“Want me to read to you?”
Izzy rolled her eyes. “I’ve been reading since I was like four.”
“Excuse me. I’m a tad out of practice at this whole babysitting thing.”
“It shows.”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re a bit of a snot?”
She shrugged. “We all have to have a skill.”
“On that note,” I began, as I backed toward the door, “I’ll leave you to read.”
Her expression suddenly grew somber. “Will you come back?”
“I’ll come up in a little while to check on you.”
“Not tonight,” she said with a tinge of a whine. “I mean come back again. Maybe the night of the dance, to help me with makeup and stuff?”
“Sure,” I replied, totally taken in by the pleading look in her eyes.
I was almost out the door when she added, “I had a good time tonight, Finley.”
I surprised myself with my own response. “Me, too.”
As I descended to the first floor, I headed straight for the galley kitchen. Lots of stainless steel, and, judging by the lack of fingerprints, Tony had a damned good maid. I checked the time on the microwave: 12:17.
Tony had one of those one-cup-at-a-time coffeemakers that drew me in like a magnet. My caffeine level was dangerously low, and I needed a fix.
It took less than a minute for the mug to fill with strong, aromatic coffee. I was in my element. Well, except for the fact that I’d missed the end of an eBay auction I’d been nursing for eight days.
Coffee in hand, I went to the computer and silently prayed that even though I’d been inattentive, the Rolex watch face would be mine. My heart rate increased as I logged in with one hand while lifting the cup to my mouth. I still needed about seventeen more links and other assorted parts for my build-it-from-scratch Rolex project. Reaching my by-age-thirty-five goal was important to me. Even if I conned Vain Victor Dane, managing partner and all-around pain in my ass, into raising my salary, I still couldn’t swing the thirteen thousand I’d need for the pink oyster-face watch.
An unpleasant image popped into my head. In the not-so-distant past, my cheating, former boyfriend Patrick had offered me the watch as a make-up gift. Like I’d ever forgive that sniveling weasel. Still, I was kicking myself for not taking the watch, then slamming the door in his face.
“Damn,” I mumbled as I checked my account only to find that I’d been outbid on the watch face by a mere fifty cents. TimeBandit had bested me again. This wasn’t the first time we’d gone head-to-head over a Rolex part, nor was it the first time he/she’d beaten me in the process.
I spent a few minutes searching new listings, stopping only to make another cup of coffee and to check the time: 1:05 a.m. The new vision in my head soured my already pissy mood. It didn’t take two-plus hours to get back from the Kravis, so safe money said Tony was getting lucky.
I barely remembered the last time I’d had sex. I’d had a couple of near misses with Liam, but something always seemed to prevent us from consummating our complicated, frustrating, nonsensical relationship. Not that we had an actual relationship. No, it was more like mutual lust. Which was fine with me. Liam was not The Guy. In my twenty-nine years I’d finally learned that you can’t fix a guy’s faults by loving him. Hell, you can’t fix a guy period. Nor, as it turns out, can you trust them. Two years wasted on Patrick proved that much. The next time I met a guy, I was running a full background check.
The sound of the door opening gave me a jolt. Enough of one that I sloshed coffee down the front of my brand-new Azria dress. It made the jersey fabric cling to my body, outlining my boobs. Great, just great.
Grabbing my pashmina, I quickly covered myself and used the edge of the fabric to dab up the few drops of coffee on the computer desk.
“Hi,” Tony said, his bow tie untied, top button undone, and hair mussed. He might as well be wearing a sign that said JUST GOT LAID. “Sorry I’m so late.”
“Not a problem.”
“How did it go?” he asked as his cologne tickled my senses.
“Great.” As you’ll find out when you get the Visa bill. “Izzy is an amazing kid.”
I got the dimple smile. Dimple smile plus mussed hair was a powerful combo. Right now it made me feel like a fool. I slipped on my shoes before I did something stupid like jump into his arms and offer to be his second conquest of the night.
“Sorry I was so late.”
“Really, it was no problem,” I lied, grabbing my clutch.
Tony reached in the front pocket of his pants and pulled out a small collection of bills. “Is ten an hour enough?”
“Enough for what?”
“Your time.”
Lord knew I needed the money but not as much as I needed my dignity. Besides, if I made this a freebie, he owed me. It’s always good to have a man in your debt. “Don’t be silly. I’m not taking your money.”
“I’m not comfortable taking advantage of you. Especially not when I inconvenienced you on such short notice.”
“No inconvenience,” I insisted. “Happy to help.” I was impressed that I’d made that sound so sincere. There was an awkward silence before I added, “I’d better be on my way. I have a brunch tomorrow.”
“You have quite the social schedule,” he remarked as I moved to pass him in the hallway leading to the door.
Almost reflexively he pulled my pashmina up on my shoulder. The feel of his hand brushing my skin was enough to cause a jolt through my whole system. It was definitely time to make a speedy exit. “I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Thanks, Finley.”
“You’re welcome.”
My shoulder still tingled as I slipped behind the wheel of my car. I toyed with the idea of stopping off at the Circle K for another cup of coffee, but my desire to get home won out. A decision I regretted when I turned into my drive and saw the battered Mustang parked in front of my cottage.
Liam sat perched on the step with a bottle of beer in his right hand. A surge of renewed irritation had me fantasizing about running over his feet, but I knew better.
After parking, I stepped from the car and made sure my face conveyed my feelings about babysitting and board games.
“Nice dress,” he commented, then rose to his full height of six-three while his eyes ran up and down my body like a caress.
“Thanks. You can leave now.”
He grinned, the sparkle of amusement visible in the slice of illumination from my porch light. “Not very hospitable of you.”
“It’s late. I’m tired, and you’re annoying.”
“And you suck at Scrabble.”
How did he know these things?
“Izzy sent me a text,” he said, as i
f reading my thoughts.
That explained why her cell phone was never out of arm’s reach.
“Yes, I do,” I agreed. I carefully sidestepped him as I dug out my house keys.
“So how was babysitting? Hope Tony paid you enough to cover the cost of that new getup.”
Getup? A two-thousand-dollar head-to-toe makeover was not a getup. And how did he know it was new? I shook my head slightly, clearing away the thought. “I enjoyed myself.” As I said the words I realized I’d meant them. But that still didn’t get me past my anger over Liam turning me into a modern-day Mary Poppins. “Thanks for the referral.” I’d make him pay later. Right now I just wanted to get inside. “Why are you here?”
“Just making sure you got home safely.”
“I’m safe, so your job here is done. Don’t you have a thing you can go to?”
“Yeah. I thought I’d come in for a drink.”
“Well, you thought wrong.”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re sexy as hell when you’re angry?”
“Not lately. Go home, Liam.”
He reached out and gently closed his hand around my arm. I had no choice but to tilt my head back so our eyes locked. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice deep, sensual, and way too inviting.
Hesitation was my downfall. Liam noticed it, so there was no point in pretending that, in spite of my better judgment, I was immune to his charms. “One drink,” I said, more for my own benefit.
“That’s all I’m asking for.”
We went inside, and even though the contractor had arranged the space to give the illusion of grandeur, Liam’s presence made it seem small and close.
“Beer, or are you going to make some girly drink?” he asked, offering a beer in my direction.
“Beer is fine,” I said as I placed my purse and pashmina on the countertop.
Liam had been in my house for less than a minute and already the temperature seemed to be soaring. Maybe if I put some physical distance between us …?
As I started to move away, he slid his hand around my waist and kept me close. Taking the bottle from me, he placed it next to his and took a half step forward. I should have put a stop to things right then and there but that was easier said than done.
4 Slightly Irregular Page 3
