Wrong Number, Right Guy

by Elle Casey

  Thibault and Toni look at Ozzie. He nods at them. They get up and leave the table, going into the sword room to the outer stairs. I hear the main door close behind them. I guess that nod from Ozzie was code for Leave, so I can talk some sense into her.

  “I’m not staying here, Ozzie, and that’s final.”

  His eyes are storming but his expression remains impassive. “I’ll stay somewhere else if being around me makes you that uncomfortable.”

  “It’s not that.” I chew my lip after the lie leaves my mouth. I cannot think of an excuse that will make any sense. I like my own shower? Your dog has gas? I’ll miss my hibiscus bush?

  “Whatever it is, I’m sure I can manage it.”

  “Okay, fine!” I say way too loudly. “It’s you! There—are you happy now?”

  “No.”

  I’m not sure, but from the look on his face, it kind of seems like I hurt his feelings. I try begging instead of being frustrated. “Ozzie, come on, you must be able to understand how this is for me.”

  “No, not really. Explain it.”

  “I just met you not even a week ago, and you were wearing the most hideous beard that ever was on a man’s face.”

  “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “Yes, it was that bad, trust me. There were probably small birds living inside it. But then you saved me, and you shaved it off, and you cooked amazing food, and you kissed me! And I’m not immune to those charms, okay? I’m just not. And as I embarrassingly admitted to you earlier, it’s been awhile for me, so I’m kind of on a hair trigger where you’re concerned, and that’s not a good place for me to be when you’re sleeping down the hall from me.”

  He sits there just staring at me for the longest time. It’s making me crazy, but I refuse to say another word until he does. No one can do stubborn like I can do stubborn when I set my mind to it. Besides, I’ve already humiliated myself enough for one day.

  “So, if I understand you correctly, what you’re saying is . . . I’m irresistible.” His expression doesn’t change.

  “Your words, not mine.”

  “If I promise to give you your own space, where you can lock the door against me and do your own thing, you’ll be okay with it?”

  “No, I never said that. I said I want to sleep in my own bed, in my own house.”

  “And risk having someone come there to make sure you can’t describe him to the police?”

  When he puts it that way, I have a harder time answering. But I do it anyway. “Yes. I can handle it.”

  He shrugs. “Fine. You have two bedrooms. I’ll come stay with you in the second one.”

  “No!”

  “Okay, I’ll have Thibault come stay with you.”

  “No, not Thibault!” It’s getting worse, not better. Since when did I become such a horrible negotiator?

  “Lucky? He could bring his goldfish to your house without too much trouble.”

  “No, absolutely not.” I cannot inconvenience my colleagues like that. How embarrassing! My nickname will never change if I need a babysitter my first week. Besides, I really don’t think I’m in trouble at all. If that guy were going to come for me, he already would have.

  “Dev can’t do it,” Ozzie explains, “and I’m pretty sure Toni would be a pain in the ass about it, so that leaves you with me.”

  I lift my chin. “I’ll take Toni.” I could manage it if it were a woman and not one of the guys. I don’t know why. It makes no sense; babysitting is babysitting. But at least with a woman I’d feel like it was more a temporary roommate thing than a bodyguard thing.

  “You’d rather have Toni watching your back than me?”

  Is it my imagination or does he sound hurt by that? Maybe he’s just offended. She is pretty puny.

  “No, it’s not that. It’s just that with Toni, I can be myself. And I want to be able to be myself when I’m at home.” My tone goes into a pleading mode. “You can understand that, can’t you?” I think I’ve almost got him convinced. He’s on the ropes. I can see him caving . . .

  “No,” he says. “That makes no sense whatsoever. I’m staying with you tonight and into the foreseeable future until we’ve assessed the threat and determined it doesn’t exist anymore or have removed it.”

  I stand. “What if I say no?”

  “I know the code to your alarm.” He looks like he’s about to smile, but lucky for him, he’s smart enough to hold it in.

  “No, you don’t.” He never did change it for me when he was at my house.

  “Thibault’s birthday.”

  The loss of my almost won victory deflates me like a balloon. “Dammit.”

  He loses some of his bravado too. “Would it really be that bad to have me around after hours?”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t know. Can you keep your hands to yourself?”

  He shrugs. “I can if you can.”

  I roll my eyes. “Please. Check your ego at the door, Oswald, because I’m not going to be falling for any of that charm you like to spread around like peanut butter.”

  He chuckles. “Like peanut butter, huh?”

  I throw a pencil at him. “Oh, shut up.” Knowing that anything I say from here on out is only going to be defensive and stupid, I leave the room. His voice follows me out.

  “Don’t leave without me!”

  “I’m leaving in five minutes, so you’d better be ready!” I mean it too. I’m taking off whether he’s with me or not. He can’t make me wait for him. Stupid, egotistical, bossy . . . boss person.

  My feet slow down, even though I’m telling myself I need to hurry up and go. It takes me forever to get to my car. I hate it when my body defies my brain like that. It seems to be a big problem for me whenever Ozzie’s around. So how in the hell am I going to listen to my brain telling me to stay the heck away from him when my body is constantly wanting to reach out and touch his glorious muscles?

  Ugh, this is a mistake. This is going to be awful.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Okay, so it’s not as bad as I thought it was going to be. Ozzie follows me in his truck, Sahara tied up in the back, but calls me on my cell and tells me to turn into a plaza on the way. When we park next to one another, he explains that they have a great organic grocery here with ingredients he needs to make a chicken curry dinner for us. When I told him before I didn’t want him to stay with me, I’d temporarily forgotten how well he cooks.

  Ninety minutes later I’m eating the last bite of the most delicious meal I’ve ever had. I groan with the pain of my stretching stomach, but I don’t regret a single calorie of it.

  “Good?” he asks, sipping a bottle of beer. It’s his second. I’ve stuck to water, because I don’t trust myself not to be an idiot in his presence. Sobriety is my only hope.

  “Good? No. Not good at all. Excellent. Amazing. Delicious.” I rub my stomach. “You can cook for me anytime.”

  “So you don’t mind me being here, then?”

  His question is a challenge. I stand and gather plates, wondering whether I should jump into the game or just be real. I vote in favor of being up front about things. Playing games with Ozzie can be dangerous. I have a feeling I’ll lose every time.

  “I guess I never minded that you be here. That’s not the right way to explain it. I just don’t like being considered weak.”

  “Just because someone might have it in for you, doesn’t make you weak. In your case it’s a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s no reflection of who you are or whether you’re strong or not.”

  I let the water from the faucet wash away the remnants of our dinner as I contemplate those words.

  “I don’t know . . .” Sometimes things are really clear for me, and other times they’re murky. This is one of those less-clear situations. Whenever The Fates seem to be interfering in my life, I wonder how much of it I have control of. “Um, I guess I’m having a hard time rationalizing those words with what’s happened.” It feels like a confession to tell
him that.

  “In what way?”

  “Well, I started talking to you because you were a wrong number.”

  “Another one of those wrong place, wrong time situations,” he says.

  “No, not really.”

  He takes some dishes from the table and joins me in the kitchen. He stands at the dishwasher and takes plates and silverware from me, loading them carefully in the available slots.

  “I was thinking that even though it seemed wrong at the start, and you seemed wrong at the start with that horrible beard and all, things turned out pretty good in retrospect.”

  “You mean you’re happy I had the wrong number.”

  “Yes. Wrong number, right guy.” I grin. “You’re a good boss.”

  He grunts, leaning over the dishwasher as he puts a plate near the back. “Is that so.”

  “Yes, it is. You have a nice workplace for your employees, you provide lots of benefits, and you care about their safety. You’re here at my house, in fact, making sure I’m okay. Not many bosses would do that.”

  He stands up and takes the next plate from me. But he doesn’t bend over and put it in the dishwasher. “You’re right. Not many would.”

  I grin. “See? Great boss.”

  He gives me a wry look. “I have to be honest, though. I’m not sure I’d do it for Lucky and his goldfish.”

  I force the butterflies to go away and not take up residence in my chest or my stomach. He’s just being funny.

  “Well, he’s a guy. And he’s been highly trained.” I take the plate from Ozzie’s hands and put it in the dishwasher myself. I’m not going to let this thing turn into a flirtation. We can be adults sharing the same living space without things getting silly.

  “I’m not sure I’d do it for Toni either,” he says.

  Now I’m not as certain he isn’t saying something about us. I try to laugh it off anyway.

  “She’s highly trained too.”

  “Yeah, she is.” He puts the next plate in the washer. Then he leans over and grabs my sponge from the edge of the sink and leaves the kitchen to wipe down the table. The scent of him lingers, and I breathe it in quietly.

  I’m sad he’s left the conversation, but happy to have a moment to gather myself. Wow. He’s saying I’m special. He didn’t go so far as to say he likes me, but I’m definitely getting that impression.

  So what do I do? Ignore it? Play it off? Send him signals that I’m not interested? Send him signals that I am? I really need to talk to my sister. She’ll know what to do.

  “Do you mind if I go upstairs to make a phone call?” I ask, wiping my hands dry on a dishtowel. “My sister gets kind of freaky when she doesn’t hear from me in the evening.”

  “Yeah, sure. I’ll finish up down here. Then I’m going to get on my computer in the living room, if that’s okay.”

  I wave my hand around. “Oh, sure, no problem. My password’s stuck to the front of my computer over by the window. Do whatever you want.” I put the dishtowel down and try to walk casually over to the staircase. What I really want to do is run, pounding up the stairs as I dial my sister’s number and give her a blow-by-blow recounting of my entire day, gushing like a schoolgirl. But I need to act like the adult I am and have some control. It’s not that big a deal if Ozzie wants to sleep with me. We’re both consenting adults. It’s not like I’m going to fall in love with him.

  I lock my bedroom door and put on some music, just in case he has plans to try and listen in. My sister picks up on the third ring.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  You were supposed to call me earlier,” she says in a scolding tone.

  “I know. I’ve been crazy busy with work.” Felix jumps up on the bed and curls up in my lap. I stroke his tiny head and ears absently as I focus on my sister.

  “I guess that’s good news. You’re talking about your new job, right?”

  “Yes. How are the kids?” I need time to figure out how to broach the subject with Jenny about Ozzie being here. I’ll distract her with talk about the children while I do that.

  “Good.” She sighs. “Miles is coming to get them next weekend, or so he says.”

  “That’ll be nice for you.”

  “If he shows.”

  “What will you do with two whole days to yourself?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Take a bath with a bottle of wine. See a movie. Get my nails done. Sleep for twelve hours straight.”

  “Call me if you want company for any of that. Except the bath. I’m done taking baths with you.”

  “You could sit on the toilet and keep my wineglass full.”

  “Yeah, I suppose I could do that.” I smile. I would totally be my sister’s bath-time wine filler-upper. It’s the least I can do for the girl who taught me how to ride a bike and tie my shoes.

  “So, what’s up with you?” she asks. “How’s the new job going?”

  “Pretty good. I’m getting some training.” I decide not to tell her about the surveillance stuff in detail. She’d worry too much. “Took some pictures. Did a little hand-to-hand combat.” Oops. Probably should have held that back too.

  “What, what? Did you say combat?”

  I laugh, thinking about Dev crumpling to the floor. I hope it doesn’t make me a sadist that I find that so amusing. “Yeah, there’s this guy Dev, the one I told you about before, the really tall one . . . he tried to sneak-attack me today, but I had a weapon ready, so he lost.”

  There’s a long silence before Jenny responds.

  “Babe, I’m worried.”

  My mood falters. “Why?”

  “Actually, I’m not sure whether to be more worried about the fact that your colleagues are attacking you or that you think it’s no big deal. They’re both very disturbing situations to any normal person. You used to be normal. What has that place done to you?”

  A picture of Ozzie standing there with his arms crossed over his chest pops into my head. Ozzie happened to me, sister. It was Ozzie.

  “I’m totally fine, really—I promise. Actually, though, I do need your advice about something.”

  “Does it relate to this crazy workplace?”

  Now I’m nervous. Maybe this was a mistake calling her. She’s already being kind of judge-y. “Yyyeeeesss.”

  “I’m listening.”

  It’s too late to do anything but confess. I try to keep my tone light so she won’t panic overly much. “Ozzie’s staying at my place temporarily.” Yay, good plan; yay, me! Jump right into the deep end without any warm-up!

  “Oh my god! Are you serious?!” At least she doesn’t sound too angry.

  “It’s kind of complicated.”

  “Do you like him? Does he like you? Have you guys had sex yet?”

  “Ack, no! Stop! Just listen.”

  “Okay, I’m listening. Just remember, though, that I have no life, so anything you have going on is going to seem way more exciting to me than it probably is.”

  I laugh. “Okay, good. Thanks for the warning not to take your enthusiasm to heart.”

  “That’s not what I meant, but go ahead. I can’t wait to hear the details.”

  “Remember that night I was texting him, and I thought I was texting you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that guy who was shooting a gun that night in the bar—I can identify him. And Ozzie’s worried that the guy might be able to figure out who I am, so he’s moved in here just until they can assess the threat.”

  “Threat.”

  “Don’t say it like that, Jen. Seriously, it’s no big deal.”

  “I’m preeeeetty sure it’s a really big deal, actually.”

  “No, it’s not. I promise. I have a great security system, I have Ozzie and his giant dog here, I have Felix . . .”

  “Who’d be really good at maybe puncturing the skin around a murderer’s ankles, assuming he isn’t kicked into a wall first.”

  “Now you’re being mean.”

  “This isn’t meanness, May; it’s called si
sterly concern. And like I said before, I think this new job has twisted your sense of reality. When a gunman comes after you to find you, he kills you. He uses bullets. He doesn’t walk up to the door, ring the bell, and have a conversation with you first. He can get you through a window or a wall, even. It’s true. I’ve seen it on real-crime TV.”

  Her voice reminds me of my conscience. They have the same tone and everything.

  “Well, this is my life, Jenny. I saw what I saw when I was out rescuing you and the kids, and I can’t undo that.”

  “That’s totally unfair, blaming this on me!”

  “I’m not, I’m not.” I take a breath to calm myself down. “Or I don’t mean to. I’m just saying, it’s fate. That wrong-number text coming to my phone when you were buying a new phone, me going to Frankie’s where Ozzie was working undercover, me being a photographer when they need a photographer—it’s all fate. It’s meant to be.”

  “And you think Ozzie being in your house right now on a sleepover is fate too?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I called you.”

  “You want me to tell you if Ozzie being there is fate?”

  “Kind of.”

  “You’re thinking about sleeping with him, aren’t you?” Her tone loses some of its angry edge. “You little slut.”

  “Stop. This isn’t funny.”

  “No, you’re right, it’s not. He’s your boss. He’s there to make sure no one hurts you.”

  “So, you’re saying I shouldn’t sleep with him, then.”

  “No, I’m not saying that. I’m just saying what I’m saying.”

  “You’re saying what you’re saying. That makes no sense at all.”

  “I’m saying that it’s complicated.”

  My hand flies up and waves around the room. “Hence my phone call to you!”

  Felix looks up at me, concerned. I pat him on the back, and he goes back to napping, resting his head on my thigh.

  “Okay. Fine. Let’s analyze.”

  “Yes.” I’m filled with relief. “Let’s.”

  “He’s your boss.”

  My eyes roll to the ceiling. “We already covered that.”