Overdrive (Santa Lena Sizzles series Book 3)

by Jessa York

  That’s all the pep I had in me today. I hoped like hell it would be enough.

  In the parking lot, I ripped off my sunglasses, taking one final peek at my face in the visor before going into the office. “Ohhhh, no,” I whispered. The coffee had done nothing. All the makeup I had put on just seemed to exacerbate the issues and make the swelling look worse.

  Deep breath.

  Maybe I’d just lie to Dean and tell him I was having an allergic reaction to something. Yeah. Lying worked out so well for me yesterday. Let’s continue on that path. I replaced my dark glasses, deciding to face the music.

  The wind felt comforting on my face and blowing through my hair. Luckily, it was sunny out, so maybe I could just keep my sunglasses on all day. Even indoors. That wouldn’t be suspicious at all.

  “Hi, Harper. How are things going? Sorry I’m late. I hit a patch of traffic,” I lied. Shit, this was getting to be a habit now. I kept my glasses on, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  “Good,” Harper said in her cute, chipper voice. Nobody should be allowed to sound that happy all the time. “Dean’s in his office. No messages for you yet,” she said, smiling.

  “Thanks. I’ll go meet with Dean and then I’m traveling offsite, likely for the day. I’ll have my phone on.” The meeting was a couple hours away, depending on traffic. Not a terrible drive, but not one that I particularly felt like doing today.

  But the show must go on.

  I strode briskly down the hall, hoping Harper didn’t ask me any questions—especially why I was wearing sunglasses inside the office—and knocked on Dean’s door. He yelled for me to come in.

  “I’m about to leave for my meeting with the Langs. Just wanted to check in before I go. Anything else you need me to take down there besides the sample box?” The sample box was just as it sounded—a box with a fresh selection of our best produce for new clients to keep and peruse. It was a nice gesture that people really liked.

  He peered up from his paperwork, eyeing me suspiciously. Please don’t ask me to take off my glasses. Please don’t ask me to take off my glasses. Suddenly, a huge grin overtook his face. “Have a rough night, Vivienne?” he asked, thinking I was wearing the glasses because I was up late having good time. Boy, he couldn’t be more wrong.

  “Pretty bad. Thanks for asking. Now, is there anything else you need me to take?” I tried to be matter-of-fact, but as I spoke, I could feel my eyes start to get all watery again. Shit. You will not cry. You will not cry.

  He put down his pen, shoving away from his desk. Dean rose out of his chair and roamed toward me, intent on finding out what was wrong. His hands reached up, gently removing my glasses. He was taken aback—I could tell it in his eyes—but he quickly recovered, handing me my glasses.

  “Anything you want to talk about?” he said in his deep, soothing voice, his eyes still sizing me up, concerned.

  “Nope. Nothing at all. I’ve got to get a move on if I’m going to be on time, and I’m always on time.”

  “You sleep?”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay, change of plans. I’m driving. Get your shit and I’ll meet you at my truck,” he said, striding back behind his desk where he dealt with the computer then shuffled all his papers into one big messy pile. Poor Harper would have a hell of a time sorting through that. “I’ll grab the sample box on my way out.”

  “You don’t have to do this, Dean. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.” Another lie. In truth, I felt like a vulnerable child. I just wanted to crawl back into my bed and pull the covers over my head for a week.

  “You don’t want to talk about what happened, fine. But you’re not driving on no sleep.” Dean slammed one of his drawers hard, making me jump. Then he stomped over to the filing cabinet by the door and grabbed his keys.

  I remained stuck to the floor, as my mind thrashed around trying to find a way out of this. Part of me wanted Dean to drive so bad, I felt relief in every part of my aching, sleep-deprived body. The other part, the prideful part, was ready to fight him on this, even though I knew it wasn’t safe. That was stupid.

  So, I did something smart for the first time in twenty-four hours. I got my shit and let Dean drive my pathetic self to my meeting.

  We’d been driving for a while, and Dean hadn’t said word one to me. When I first got in, I assumed he’d be giving me the third degree, quizzing me about what happened. Instead, he didn’t say a thing.

  To be honest, it was driving me a bit batty. We suddenly pulled into the parking lot of a pharmacy. Dean parked but left the truck running. “You want anything? I’m just going to get us some drinks for the drive,” he said as he opened his door, not looking at me.

  Yeah, I’d like a do-over on the past twenty-four hours, then a great big nap. “Get me a chocolate bar. Any kind, surprise me,” I told him, peering out my window, wondering if Jason was out there driving some hot chick around who liked him and didn’t lie to him about ex-boyfriends and stupid awards banquets.

  When the door didn’t close, I glanced over. Dean’s mouth was opened like he was going to say something, but then he closed it and the door. Hmm. Weird.

  Silence was not my friend right now. I reached over to turn on the radio, trying to drown out the chaotic voices in my head. Why didn’t you just tell Jason the truth? Why did you lie? Evidently, the music didn’t help one bit.

  A short time later, Dean’s door suddenly swung open. He threw a few bags in my direction as he climbed in. I quickly scrambled to hold onto the handles so the crap inside wouldn’t go flying every which way.

  He pulled out of the parking spot with the grace and agility of a racecar driver. Before I knew it, we were off. “There’s a bag of peas in there,” he said to me without even a glance in my direction. Confused for a moment about what he wanted, I grabbed the bags, starting to search for the elusive bag of peas. Ah, there were the little green suckers.

  The bag felt cool in my hand as I held it out to Dean, still wondering what his deal was with the frozen peas. “Not for me, honey. Hold them on your eyes.” He turned to me. “It’ll help, trust me.”

  I was getting cry-face advice from my boss. Heaven help me, he was being so nice to me. I was sure he had my best interests at heart, so I ignored the offended demon that wanted to rise up out of me and give him shit. And hey, who knew? Maybe frozen peas had been the puffy eye cure for hundreds of years.

  What did I have to lose? My dignity? My pride? Nope. Too late. Those were already gone. So I decided to lie back, holding a bag of generic peas to my eyes.

  Just as I began to get comfortable, Dean switched the radio to a country station. It wasn’t normally my style, but for some reason, I found hearing about lost love and found love soothing to my shattered soul.

  “Vivienne, honey, wake up,” I heard from somewhere far away. I ignored it, trying to dive back into my dream. “Vivienne,” someone barked, shaking my knee. I reluctantly gave in and sat up.

  A soggy bag of previously frozen peas dumped onto my lap. I shrieked, “Ah, shit!”

  I looked over to see Dean chuckling beside me. Pompous jerk. “I didn’t want you to completely freeze your eyeballs,” he said, checking me over with a grin on his face. He reached over, tipping up my chin with his index finger. “Much better,” he said, then pointed to the other bags on the seat between us. “There are some creams and shit in there. Take a look.” He turned up the music and put his hand back on the steering wheel.

  Creams and shit. My curiosity was piqued, so like a stupid idiot, I peered inside the bag. There were roughly half a dozen anti-eye-puffing creams and a bottle of eye drops. Genius. “I didn’t know what kind you buy, so I bought what was there.”

  I didn’t know whether I should be grateful or irritated. There were no more options left for me. The man offered me hope in a bottle, which always helped. It might not be visible to the human eye, but it always worked in your mind and your heart. That was what mattered. Picking the one that looked like the best fit for m
y skin, I opened it and began applying.

  Not sure if it was the nap, the peas, the friendship, or the anti-puff cream, but I was starting to feel more like myself.

  I had to admit, Dean knew his beauty products, because by the time we got to the meeting, my cry-face was nearly cured. Nary a soul would have known that I spent the entire night bawling my face off.

  The meeting went well, thanks to Dean. He stepped in and our clients were extremely impressed that the big boss had taken the time to drive all the way down there to speak exclusively to them.

  To say I was relieved I hadn’t cost him a client would be an understatement. I was overwhelmed by Dean’s help, I’d dropped the ball. “I’m sorry about today, Dean. I really screwed up and almost cost you the Lang deal. It’ll never happen again, I promise,” I told him in as confident a voice as I could muster up. My stomach twisted knowing that I’d disappointed him.

  He looked at me, but didn’t answer. Instead, he just kept on driving. A few minutes later, he stopped in front of a store I knew well.

  “You goin’ in or what?” Dean asked, his hands still on the steering wheel.

  I gazed up at the pink and blue sign, grinning. “I guess. You coming with me?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

  “Can’t do that.” He stared at me with a somber expression. “But if you need help carrying shit, text me.”

  “Pfft, as if I’ll need help carrying stuff,” I said jokingly, although we both knew I totally would.

  “Can I help you with anything?” the sales associate inquired while I was browsing through the sweetest little onesies ever.

  “Do these come in newborn sizes as well?”

  She smiled, touching my arm briefly. “Come to the back. We have an entire newborn section you’ll love.”

  I followed her down the aisle. She turned a bit toward me. “How far along are you?”

  “Uhh, umm, a couple of months.”

  “You’re smart to prepare early. Before you know it, your little one will be here. Let me tell you, your lives will never be the same again.”

  My eyes welled up, just thinking of bringing a baby home.

  “Aw, the hormones are the worst part, aren’t they?” She gave me a quick, unexpected hug. “Don’t worry, every new mom that walks through the door ends up crying at some point in here.” I pushed away, blinking the tears away. “It’s a wonderful thing, bringing a new life into the world. Nothing like it. I’ve done it five times. Each one is just as amazing as the last.”

  I thanked her before taking some big breaths to get under control.

  “Did you leave anything in the store?” Dean asked, one eyebrow raised when he saw my haul.

  “One or two things,” I answered dryly.

  He grabbed my bags from me. “Anything else?”

  I stared at him, unmoving. The man knew me too well. “Maybe.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said.

  “There was a sale, so I thought since you had the truck here, I might as well take advantage.”

  After he packed up and strapped in my wares in the back of his truck, we stopped at a place called Nelly’s just outside of town. The sign was retro, flashing in bright green and orange. The building itself was painted a matching lime green. Eye-catching, I guess, especially for hungry travelers on the highway.

  By that point, I was far from picky. It had been so long since I’d eaten, I was pretty sure my stomach had digested itself. Just in case it hadn’t, though, I’d try the pie. Maybe a burger. And a milkshake.

  Dean grabbed my hand as I rounded the truck, pulling me into his body. His arm moved over my shoulders, and that was how we walked into the diner. It felt good, like he was holding me up, telling me with his body language that everything was going to be okay.

  Even though it wasn’t.

  16

  Vivienne

  The inside of the diner matched the outside perfectly: big, orange bench seats in the booths, cute orange stools at the counter. The walls were painted green and orange. Bright pictures hung on the walls of various objects: faces, landscapes, flowers, all in bold colors, outlined in black.

  A cute, middle-aged waitress came to seat us. She was much older than me, but her body was still in great shape and she worked what God gave her, swinging her hips in her flared white skirt. Why they made servers wear white, I’d never know.

  She handed us the menus and a smile, then swayed on back to her station. “Isn’t she hot?” I asked Dean, who was currently too absorbed in his menu to notice any females in a one mile radius.

  He answered with a, “Hmm.” Whatever the heck that meant. Someday I’d get him to wake up and realize there were still women on this Earth.

  “Is it bad that I want one of everything? This menu looks delicious.” And it did. Big, old-fashioned milkshakes, hamburgers, baskets of fries, fried chicken—pretty much everything a great ’50s wannabe diner would have. Yum. I kept flipping the pages, even though I already knew what I wanted. Dean didn’t seem so sure. He ate pretty healthy, and in this kind of place, good luck finding something to order that wasn’t covered in grease.

  He eventually sighed loudly, shut his menu, and slammed it on the table in frustration. Poor guy. He took care of himself. One look at his body and anyone knew that. I was sure he worked out regularly, too. Many times, I’d seen him in the warehouse, picking up heavy stuff in a tight T-shirt. You could see pretty clearly how ripped he was.

  Too bad he seemed oblivious to female attention. “She was practically throwing herself at you. Why don’t you throw her a bone?” I whispered loudly, shoving the arm he was leaning on. He frowned at me, shaking his head.

  “You think every woman I walk by wants me,” he said, leaning back in his seat, more relaxed now.

  “That’s because they do. You’re just too blind to see it.”

  “You ready to tell me what happened?” he suddenly blurted out without warning. I felt my cheeks heat up. My heart started racing again. Get out, get out, get out, it pumped. Listening to my heart, I slid out of the booth.

  “Be right back,” I told him with a fake smile before I dashed off to the ladies’ room.

  It was way too bright for me in the restroom. The glare was painful. I squinted, covering my eyes while I found a stall.

  The mirror taunted me as I washed my hands. I’d decided not to bother looking in it. What was the point? The meeting was over. It wasn’t like Dean cared what I looked liked. But it was just too tempting, so I gazed up, checking myself out.

  Hmm, not too bad. Not too good either, but way better than I expected to look after what I woke up to. The swelling was nearly gone. My heart and soul were still crushed—anyone could see that—but at least I would no longer scare young children and pets. I did a touch-up anyway before heading back to our booth.

  Dean gazed up at me skeptically. I knew he was waiting for a response. An answer I was not ready to give him. “I screwed up. Big time. Can I tell you about it on the way home? It’s just too colorful and happy in here. I’m still on a shopping high, and I really need to eat something. It feels like forever since I ate.”

  He didn’t argue with me. Instead, we discussed the meeting. If Dean was one thing, it was positive. Even when the cards were stacked against him, he always found the bright side of a situation.

  We spoke about work until a huge basket of fries with a juicy hamburger was plunked right in front of me. The fried smell drifted directly up my nose. Right on cue, my mouth immediately began to water. “But I didn’t order?”

  “Ordered for you. Wasn’t sure you’d ever get out of the bathroom,” he told me as he picked up a fry, examining it.

  “It’s a French fry, Dean, not a deadly weapon of mass destruction,” I sneered, a bit pissed off that he took it upon himself to order for me. Of course, it was exactly what I wanted, but still.

  “Look,” he reached across the table and grabbed my arm, “you were starving to death, so I took a risk. If you want something else
, I’ll get it.” Jerk. Being all thoughtful and nice.

  “No.” I sighed. “I’m tired and bitchy. Don’t mind me.” I stared into his worried face. “Thanks for the burger.” No sooner had I taken a bite than the cute waitress was back with the biggest strawberry milkshake I’d ever seen. Anything could be cured by a good milkshake.

  I sucked up one delicious mouthful, instantly feeling better. “This is exactly what I needed,” I said into the vat of pink, milky, rich goodness and took a few more sips. Delicious.

  Dean smirked at me, French fry still in his hand. Finally, he took a bite, frowning. I’d never met anyone quite as averse to junk food as he was. Who didn’t like fries? He looked at me again, knowing I was watching him carefully.

  “It was the closest thing to a vegetable they had on the menu,” he said, swallowing down the one bite of fry with his water. The ice clinked around in his glass, sloshing forward when he set it back down. The whole scene tickled my funny bone. If you added in the lack of sleep and complete starvation, well, that just spelled disaster.

  I started laughing, really hard. Like can’t-breathe-your-ribs-hurt hard. Then the tears came and didn’t stop. While I was sobbing into my perfect milkshake, Dean got up and grabbed the waitress. He came back to our table, picked up my purse, then pulled me up and out of the diner in one fell swoop. Turning back, I gave my perfect milkshake one last longing look as he dragged me out.

  Before I knew it, we were both in the back seat of his truck, his window down, me clinging to him like a monkey to her long-lost mother. “Honey, it’ll be okay. What happened?” He stroked my hair in a rhythmical motion. Damn, it was comforting. “I can help. We can fix this,” he murmured into the top of my hair, because he was a loving, caring person, and I was a terrible, awful, lying witch. The tears started to flow uncontrollably again. Dean handed me more tissues.