One Good Crash

by Sabrina Stark

  "Yeah," he said. "You should. But it's not about Allie. It's about you."

  Chapter 31

  I stared at him from the other side of the desk. I didn't want to talk about me. I wasn't the one in trouble, at least not at the moment. I said, "But what about Allie?"

  He looked annoyingly unconcerned. "It's handled, just like I said."

  "But for how long?" I asked. "I mean, she's not gonna get arrested when she leaves, is she?"

  "That depends."

  My stomach clenched. "On what?"

  "If she goes for another truck."

  I gave a little shake of my head. "What?"

  "The thing with the first truck, it's handled." He paused. "No telling what'll happen if she goes for another."

  Another truck?

  Was that a joke? If so, it wasn't funny. "She's not gonna do it again," I told him. "She wouldn't have done it at all if I hadn't worried her for nothing."

  His eyebrows lifted. "For nothing."

  "Yes," I insisted. "For nothing."

  He looked at me for a long silent moment, and I swear, I could tell exactly what he was thinking.

  It was the same thing I was thinking. Last night, I'd been on the verge of sleeping outdoors because I had nowhere else to go. Maybe that was cause for a little worry.

  Under his steady gaze, I shifted in my seat and mumbled something about it all working out in the end.

  It was a stupid thing to say, of course, because the only reason it had worked out was because Jax had given me a place to stay.

  Had I even thanked him? I thought so, but I couldn't be sure. "I guess I should thank you–"

  "If you want to thank me," he said, "give me an answer."

  I wasn't following. "About what?"

  "The job."

  Oh. Right. The job.

  I wasn't naïve. Even when he'd first mentioned it, I'd seen that job for what it was. It was a pity job, something to keep me off the streets or wherever.

  I didn't want anyone's pity. I summoned up a smile. "Look, that's really nice of you–"

  "I'm not nice."

  I felt my eyebrows furrow. "You are, too. I mean, look at all the favors you've done for me already."

  When he made no reply, I began rattling them off. "You gave me a ride, invited me to your party, and even put me up in your guest room. If that's not nice, I don't know what is."

  He gave me another long, penetrating gaze. This time, I had no idea what he was thinking. But as the silence stretched out between us, I would've given almost anything to know.

  Finally, he said, "With you, it's different."

  Now that surprised me. "It is? Why?"

  "When I figure it out, I'll let you know."

  As an answer, this was hardly satisfying, but I didn't want to dwell on it, not now, with that crazy job offer hanging between us. "About the job," I said, "I can't take it."

  He frowned. "Why not?"

  "Because I'm not qualified."

  "It's not that hard," he said. "You've just got to be organized." He paused as if thinking. "And your boss? Eh, he's a bit of an ass." A ghost of a smile crossed his features. "But I think you can handle him."

  I felt myself swallow. Oh, boy. I'd like to handle him in more ways than one. At the mere thought, I felt a rush of warmth flash across my cheeks and, like too many times already, settle southward to places best left unmentioned.

  Damn it. I should be laughing, not lusting. After all, he'd just called himself an ass. In spite of my own jangled nerves, I was charmed by his self-deprecating humor. And – holy hell – he had a very nice ass, at least from what I'd seen.

  Oh, for God's sake.

  I gave myself a mental slap in the face. What the hell was wrong with me? It was like every thought led to his body and the things I wanted to do with it – and yeah, the things I'd like done to me in return.

  Suddenly, I blurted out, "I can't take it."

  As my statement echoed off the walls, I tried not to cringe. I wasn't even sure what I meant. That I couldn’t take the job? Or that I couldn’t take any more thoughts of Jax that were decidedly unprofessional.

  Probably, I meant both, because let's face it, working for a guy who made your panties combust was a recipe for guaranteed disaster.

  Plus, Allie and I were leaving, and that's all there was to it.

  Jax replied, "You can. And you should." His gaze hardened. "And if it gets too tough, let me know. I'll rein it in."

  Reining it in – that sounded like a terrific idea. I took a deep steadying breath and forced myself to say what needed saying. "Honestly, thanks. But I see this for what it is."

  "Yeah? And what's that?"

  "A pity job, like you're only offering it because you think I'm desperate."

  In a quiet voice, he said, "And you're not?"

  "No. I'm not. In fact, I'm leaving for Nashville as soon as Allie's ready. And maybe, if I'm lucky, I can get my old job back, and…" I hesitated. "…a new place to live, unless Allie and her cousin don't mind me crashing with them for a while…"

  As I spoke, I considered all of the logistics. The apartment was a two-bedroom, and Allie's cousin was a little on the prickly side.

  But so what? I'd dealt with difficult people before, and besides, it wouldn't take me that long to save up for my own place. Would it?

  And yet, the longer my thoughts churned, the more I started to wonder. What if I couldn’t get my old job back?

  And what about Allie?

  Thanks to me, she was unemployed, too. The apartment's lease was in her name. But how could she afford even a portion of the rent with no income?

  And then, there was the matter of the truck. We'd been planning to drive it home. Was that still an option?

  Doubtful.

  For all I knew, the truck was already gone, towed away to some police impound lot or something.

  And if that weren't bad enough, I just knew that Allie's decision to borrow that stupid thing would be haunting her forever.

  I hadn't been lying about her ex. Stuart really was a jackass. And, as long as he owned that truck, he'd be lording it over Allie every chance he got. It would be pathetically easy, too. Even if he didn't press charges now, he could threaten them nonstop back home, just for kicks.

  The more I sat thinking, the more my head pounded with new uncertainties. Everything was a total mess, and it was all my fault – first for stupidly moving down here and then for calling Allie to rescue me.

  In a million years, I'd never be able to make it right – my breath caught – unless…

  I sat up straighter in the chair. "This job, how much does it pay?"

  As an answer, Jax reached into his top desk drawer and pulled out a typewritten sheet of paper. He slid it toward me, face down across the desktop.

  I snatched it up and felt my eyes widen. The answer to my question was shockingly clear, right there in nice big digits. The job paid very well.

  With growing excitement, I scanned the description. From listening to Allie talk in Nashville, I was familiar with the duties she'd performed for that music producer. Compared to that job, this one would be a cakewalk.

  I leaned forward. "What are the hours? Like, is this a Monday-to-Friday thing? Or is it weekends, too?"

  "That depends," Jax said. "Yeah, there's a few weekends, and maybe some travel, but when that happens, you get time off during the week."

  Time off. Allie hadn't had that in forever. I felt myself smile. "What about benefits?"

  He pointed to the sheet. "You saw 'em."

  Had I? I'd been so focused on the description and the salary that I hadn't noticed much else. Again, I looked to the sheet. "Full medical? And vacation time, too?"

  Holy hell. This was Allie's dream job. And she'd be terrific at it. I was absolutely certain.

  I looked to Jax. "Did you mean it when you said this wasn't a pity job?" Before he could even think to respond, I added, "I mean, it's a real job, and you want a real candidate." I swallowed. "Someon
e really good. Right?"

  He looked at me for a long, silent moment before saying in a carefully neutral tone, "If I didn't, there'd be no offer."

  I hesitated. "What's wrong?"

  He frowned. "I know what you're gonna say. And I don't wanna hear it."

  I shook my head. "But you can't know."

  "Yeah? Try me."

  I gave a nervous laugh. "Shouldn’t you be telling me if you're the one who's reading my mind?"

  "Fair enough." Looking decidedly unenthused, he said, "You want me to hire your friend."

  I sat back. "Oh." Go figure. Apparently, he was a mind-reader.

  And now, I had to convince him.

  Chapter 32

  Before he could stop me, I launched into an impromptu sales pitch. "Okay, you're right. I do, but only because Allie's a perfect fit. And she's really terrific."

  Across from me, Jax looked anything but convinced. "Uh-huh."

  "And she doesn't always steal trucks." I paused. "I mean, borrow trucks."

  "Uh-huh."

  I bit my lip. That was the second "uh-huh" in a row. I wasn't a master negotiator, but even I realized that this wasn't a terrific sign.

  I had to remind myself that of course he'd need a little convincing. He'd known Allie for how long now? An hour?

  This might've been fine, except for the fact that during that hour, she'd cussed up a storm, trashed at least one bedroom, and led the police straight to his front door for grand theft, well, truck, I guess.

  "Look," I said, "I know you probably don't believe me – and I can totally see why – but she really is wonderful. She's smart and capable, and really super loyal." My voice picked up steam. "And she's experienced, too."

  On the other side of the desk, Jax's only response was a long, steady look.

  Was that better than another "uh-huh"?

  I wasn't sure.

  So I kept on going. "And she's always wanted to live near the beach. Plus, she's an Army brat, meaning her dad was in the military, and they moved all the time, so it's not like Nashville is her hometown or anything. Her parents, they live in Alaska now, and Allie hates the cold, so she could live anywhere, like Florida, it's the perfect place."

  I gave him my most encouraging smile. "If you'd just give her a chance, you wouldn't be sorry. I promise."

  From the look on his face, he was already sorry.

  Okay, I knew I was being obnoxious. And yes, I was asking way more than I should. Already, Jax had done me a ton of favors, and here I was, asking for another.

  But if he just picked Allie for the job, he'd see that I was doing him a favor, too, even if he didn't yet realize it.

  He sat in grim silence while I extolled the virtues of her work ethic, her creativity, and her terrific people skills.

  This got me a raised eyebrow.

  I cleared my throat. "Okay, so she gets a little riled up sometimes, but she only did that today because she was worried. Normally, she's really super nice." I gave Jax a pleading look. "I mean, who else but someone really wonderful would steal a truck to rescue a friend?"

  At this, he looked almost ready to smile. "Steal, huh?"

  I waved away the distinction. "Oh, you know what I mean. And she was only borrowing it, honest."

  "Uh-huh."

  Damn it. That was number-three…not a good sign.

  But I refused to be deterred. "Oh sure, there might've been a little confusion with the ex, but in Allie's defense, he used to borrow her vehicle all the time, and without her permission, too."

  I wasn't lying. It was one of the things they used to fight about. Before the vintage pickup, Stuart had owned a motorcycle instead. Almost every single time it rained, Allie's car would turn up missing just when she needed it most.

  For someone who rode a motorcycle, the guy was strangely allergic to a few raindrops, almost like he'd melt or something.

  What a wuss.

  I tried for another smile. "But forget that. She really is the perfect candidate." When Jax still made no reply, I continued with my sales pitch.

  I kept on talking until he held up a hand, saying "Stop. Please."

  I didn't want to stop, but I did anyway. Probably, that was for the best. There was, after all, such a thing as over-selling, and already, I was repeating myself.

  I leaned forward, dying to hear what he'd say. I said a silent prayer. Say yes. Say yes, say yes.

  His response – a single word – landed with a thud. "No."

  Chapter 33

  No? Just like that?

  With no discussion? No reasons? No nothing?

  The hope that had kindled in my heart died a slow, sputtering death. I looked to Jax. "But why not?"

  He pointed to the document that I was still holding. "You see that paper?"

  "Yeah. Of course."

  "It's got your name on it, not hers."

  "So?"

  "So, it's non-transferrable."

  "But why?" I asked. "She's a lot better candidate."

  "Maybe. Maybe not. But the offer's for you. Not her."

  Feeling utterly deflated, I slumped in the chair. "So it was a pity job."

  His jaw tightened. "I never said that."

  "You didn't have to." I returned the sheet of paper to the desktop. "Because if it wasn't some sort of pity thing, you'd want the best candidate, not someone you feel sorry for." I crossed my arms and waited for to him to deny it.

  He didn't.

  Instead, he sat there, studying me with that penetrating gaze of his. His hair was perfect, and his clothes – the same casual ones he'd been wearing earlier – looked way too terrific on him, even if they were at odds with our formal surroundings.

  I met his gaze head-on, giving him the same level of scrutiny that he was giving me.

  It did no good. He was a mix of contradictions, and I couldn't begin to figure him out. Even his muscles, they didn't belong on someone with his kind of money or this kind of house.

  No, they belonged on a biker, and not the wussy, fake kind of biker either – but rather the rough-and-tumble kind, the real kind who'd laugh at the rain and fuck like a Trojan.

  I stiffened. Oh, my god. Where had that idea come from?

  In a fit of frustration, I blurted out, "What are you thinking?"

  "The truth?" He leaned back in his chair. "I'm thinking, you're different."

  "I'm not different," I said. "I'm just like everyone else."

  But already, Jax was shaking his head. "And I'm thinking, why is it, you did such a sorry-ass job of looking out for yourself, but you're going to bat so hard and heavy for your friend."

  I couldn’t decide if that was a compliment or an insult. "Hey, I look out for myself just fine."

  His gaze didn't waver. "Do you?"

  I crossed my arms just a little bit tighter. "Definitely."

  "Not the way I see it."

  I felt my gaze narrow. "Is that so?"

  "Yeah. It is. And I'd say more, but you wouldn't want to hear it."

  I gave him a stiff smile. "Oh yeah? Well go ahead, I'm sure I can handle it just fine."

  And I could.

  It's not like my life had been all sunshine and roses. I'd heard plenty of foul language and seen a lot of things that I shouldn't've. Even the spectacle last night with my mom, it was pretty tame compared to some of the other stuff I'd witnessed.

  True, she'd never included me in her schemes before, but she hadn't sheltered me from the sights – or sounds – of her activities either. Living with my mom, I'd had to grow up fast and learn to keep my mouth shut, if only to avoid attracting unwanted attention from her male visitors, which, let's face it, had been numerous.

  And that was putting it mildly.

  Jax gave me a dubious look. "Do you mean that? You want the unvarnished truth? That's what you're telling me?"

  "If you mean your version of the truth, sure, why not?"

  He looked at me for a long moment, as if waiting for me to take it back. And when I didn't, he said, "Alright. B
ut remember, you asked for it."

  My only reply was an indifferent shrug. He might think otherwise, but there was nothing he could say that would shock me.

  Or so I thought.

  "Your mom," he said, "she's a gold-digger."

  My mouth tightened. Okay, this was probably true, but did he seriously have to rub it in? I muttered, "Oh, really?"

  "Yeah. And that's putting it nicely."

  "As opposed to what?" My chin lifted. "Calling her a whore?" That word, even on my own lips, sounded so very wrong, and immediately, I wanted to take it back. But his implication had been clear enough.

  And I'd wanted to shock him.

  The only problem was, he didn't look shocked at all. He replied, "You said it. Not me."

  "Oh, so you are calling her that?"

  "You want me to be blunt?" He gave a tight shrug. "Alright. Yeah, your mom's a whore."

  My mouth fell open, and I jumped to my feet. "What the hell?"

  Still seated, he continued, "And I don't mean figuratively. I mean, she has sex for money."

  I was glaring at him now. "You didn't just say that." Was I being a hypocrite? Maybe. But just because I'd said it, that didn't mean that he should. She wasn't his mom, after all.

  He gave a low scoff. "What, you want me to use nicer words?"

  "No," I said. "I want you to take them back entirely."

  "Yeah?" he said, looking annoyingly calm in the face of my wrath. "You wanna know what I want?"

  "No."

  He continued as if I hadn't spoken. "I want you to listen, because you asked, and I'm not done." He pointed to my chair. "So have a seat. This might take a while."

  "That's what you think," I said, "because I've heard more than enough already." I turned to go, intending to march out with my head held high.

  But that didn't happen. And why? Because, like some kind of fiendish fisherman from hell, he tossed out the one piece of bait that I couldn't resist. "Ten minutes," he said. "Give me that, and I'll interview your friend."

  I was halfway to the door when his words sunk in. My steps faltered, and I slowly turned to look. He was standing now, looking noticeably less civilized than he had just moments earlier.

  I felt myself swallow. His cheeks were pale, and his muscles were bulging.