by Mary Beesley
Tempest snatched the phone.
“Maybe you should try to work under him.”
Tempest rolled her eyes, but she chuckled. “Don’t even pretend that wasn’t one hundred percent sexual.”
“If that’s what you want.”
“Ew. Never.”
Blair grinned, showing her white teeth. Her eyes sparkled as if she knew Tempest was lying. “Work for him. Work with him. Work around him. Whatever works.”
“I don’t work.” She didn’t mean to be such a downer, but she was not ready to come out of her dark hole. She looked away from the couple sharing the same side of a single person booth.
Blair and Tempest lapsed into silence, picking at the remains of Parmesan fries and watching the mingling of humans out on the town on a Friday night.
“This guy ruined your carefully drafted life plan,” Blair said. “He cost you a job you love. And one I love because you can afford to buy me good presents.” Her fingers rested on the gold necklace Tempest had given her last Christmas. It had a tiny donut charm, and the sprinkles were made out of diamond shards. She never took it off. “He should pay.”
“I wish he would walk through those doors right now. I would march up to him and tell it to him straight…and slap him.”
Blair whooped. “You go, girl.”
Tempest sobered. “I do wish I could see the look on his face when he realizes he cost three people their jobs today. How does he feel? How does he sleep at night?”
“Probably quite well atop his piles of gold.”
She envisioned a greedy king sleeping atop bumpy bags of coins. “I bet that would be hard and uncomfortable.” She winced. Why had she said bet?
Blair’s eyes lit up, invoked by the magic of their little game. Whenever Tempest said that word, Blair thought of one.
Ah, crap.
“I’ll take that bet.”
“I didn’t say that word you think I said.” Tempest picked up her fork and pointed in at Blair.
“Are you going to stab me with that?”
She set the tiny trident down and smoothed out her napkin. “What’s for dessert?”
“Don’t try to change the subject. You said bet, and a bet you shall have.”
According to Blair, saying the word was akin to a binding contract. Tempest shook her head vigorously. “I said pet.”
“Tell me no more lies.”
She scowled at her grinning friend. “There is no bet here. We don’t know Leonard Allred.”
“There is always a bet to be made.”
That was true. Anytime, anywhere, Blair could come up with a wager.
“Besides. I know where your Red Romeo lives.”
Tempest let out a laugh at the smug look on Blair’s face. “Of course you do.”
Blair bit her lip as she nodded. “SMU was sending thank yous to the people who sponsored the big event last week. I might have taken a picture of all the return addresses.”
“What were you thinking?”
Blair shrugged. “They were business addresses of people in the community. I thought it might be good for a marketing list when I start my chocolate-ery.”
“It’s a chocolate-ery now?” Tempest stumbled over the non-word.
“I just tried it, and I don’t like it.”
Tempest picked up her drink and sucked in the last drop. “I can find Leonard Allred’s office online. Or I can just look up when I’m driving down Cole. It says Red Rocco huge on the building.”
Blair’s eyes gleamed. “But Romeo’s address on the list was his home address. I’m sure it was a mistake.” She wiggled her phone. “But I got it.”
“So what, we’re going over there and knocking on the door?”
Blair beamed.
“Yeah. No. And we should probably stop drinking now.”
“You’re right. That’s lame.” Blair set the phone down and turned her attention to the football game.
Tempest couldn’t stop herself. “Where does he live?” Blair found the address in her photos, and Tempest mapped it. “That’s a third of a mile from here.”
“Let’s go right now.”
“No.” Tempest didn’t dare call bluff. Blair never bluffed. Talking about it was easy, but she balked at the thought of actually knocking on his door at nine p.m. on a Friday night.
Blair’s bronze gaze flitted over Tempest’s face. “You’re not looking your best right now, anyway. Your hair looks like you’ve been in a convertible…or electrocuted.”
“Such flattery.” Tempest’s hair was shorter than her shoulders, and she had been pulling at it all evening. “But I’m not going to his house ever.”
“Here’s the bet. You have to get him to take you out on a date before Halloween.”
“What? That’s impossible.” But a flicker of pleasure flared at the thought.
“Oh, stop it. You’re a total babe, and he’ll love that you’re smart. Your legs are as long as Texas. And you can fit a whole maple bar in your mouth.” Blair’s brows popped up and down. “If you know what I mean.”
Heat rushed to Tempest’s cheeks. “Now we really need to stop drinking. And talking. No more words.”
“After he buys you dinner—order the lobster—and you get your revenge sex, you can ask him how it feels to destroy lives. Or you won’t even have to ask him. You’ll know from destroying his.”
“What if I don’t want to sleep with him? Because that would really be a win for him.”
Blair’s lips curled up like they always did when she had Tempest hooked. “Fine. That’s not part of the deal. The deal is you go out with him before the end of the month. That’s thirteen days. And on the first date, you must tell him he cost you your job. You don’t even have to kiss him. You can be super lame if you want.”
Tempest nodded primly. “Thank you. I will.”
“Winner gets to pick the paint color for the family room.”
It needed new paint so badly they could see faint outlines of the drywall seams through the paint. The landlord had told them they could choose the color if they took care of getting it done. She and Blair had not been able to come to an agreement or find a compromise between pink and cream. Blair kept saying how good pink would look with the gray kitchen cabinets. But really, it would make her so happy. Cream would make Tempest happy. So soothing and normal. So safe.
Tempest had very little chance of winning this. It was a fool’s bet. She had to do so much to win, and her success depended on an unknown factor—the enemy Leonard Allred. And Blair had to do nothing. This was where Tempest would usually negotiate a better deal. But she wanted to do something stupid and rash. And risky. She calculated risk all day at work—used to calculate risk. But she didn’t take any of the risk herself. She saved her pennies and walked the careful path forward, far from the edge. All that had gotten her was laid off. And not often laid.
Tonight she wanted to fly. To hell if she crashed.
Chapter Two
The Accident
Tempest stared at Blair’s bike, an old hybrid with peeling handlebars and rust on the gears. How the hell had she agreed to this? In the light of day, this felt beyond preposterous. She should admit defeat now and prepare for pink.
But nope, she would never back out of a bet without a fight. She would battle for the sad remains of her pride. She had twelve days, an address, and a bike.
She picked up Blair’s helmet, a hideous thing with long aerodynamic curves—like Blair ever went for speed. Tempest had spent extra time on her hair, washing it with the expensive shampoo and styling it carefully with cream. The dark bob curled around her jaw and danced with her neck. Was it better to be safe and look like a nerd, or if she didn’t wear it, would he think she was an idiot with no concern for her brain? She put the helmet on.
“Here goes nothing.”
A cool breeze ruffled the orange and yellow trees along her path. The sun had dropped low in the sky. She biked slowly. No good getting sweaty for the big “meet.” And she nee
ded time to settle her nerves. It had seemed so easy last night when they made their drunken plans. Just pretend to fall. But that wasn’t a thing. She’d either fall or not fall—for reals. She looked down, past her black leather slip-ons to the rocky ground. Adrenaline surged.
Leonard Allred’s house wasn’t far from hers. One-point-two miles. A high-end community of six condos. Gated. That was probably a huge selling point for him, but it made stalking him so much harder.
She biked past the front entrance, not stopping until she’d rounded the corner a block up. She panted, her face burning. She hadn’t even looked through the gates as she zoomed past. If that is what you call recon, you’re fired. She let out a maniacal laugh. Fired twice in two days. A record. When she finally sobered, she turned her bike around. This was so stupid. Why was she doing this? He cost me my job. Jaw hardening, she pedaled. She’d loved her job. All the numbers and data waiting for her to puzzle out. All the digits on the paychecks.
She stopped by a streetlamp a few yards from the pedestrian entrance to the condo development. Through the iron gate, six front doors lined up facing each other in two well-manicured rows. If he wasn’t home, she was screwed. If he stayed home for longer than a few minutes, she was screwed. If he left through the garage, she was screwed. Of course he’d leave in his car. Like anyone walked anywhere. This was Texas. She pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed.
Blair picked up on the first ring. “Did you meet him?”
Tempest let out a sharp laugh. “Of course not. I’m standing here creeping on some closed doors. I can’t even tell which condo is his. There is no chance I’m going to run into him. Why did we ever think this would work?”
Blair laughed. She laughed so hard Tempest nearly hung up. “We might have been drunker than we thought last night.”
“That’s helpful. Thank you.” Tempest almost said the bet was off, but she bit her tongue. Blair would never let her live it down if she gave up with such little effort. The bet had been made and sealed with spit, wet pinkies intertwined, just like they always did it. She wouldn’t give Blair the satisfaction.
“I have to go back to work. You totally got this.” Blair was still laughing when she hung up.
Tempest locked her phone. What now? If she got close enough to the gate, she might be able to see into some windows. Maybe catch his house number, 121 according to Blair’s stolen contact sheet. But how was she going to fake a bike accident if she had her face pressed against the fence? She could stay down here on the sidewalk and pretend to be looking at her phone. But how long was that acceptable? Two, three minutes? And to stage an accident, she needed to back up so if she saw him, she could get some speed before falling at his feet—literally. She chuckled darkly as she tucked her phone into her back pocket.
Time to go home.
She pulled gum from her pocket. As she was putting it in her mouth, she heard male voices through the gate. Her pulse soared. Was it him? Could she be so lucky? A man came into view through the iron bars.
Leonard Allred.
No freaking way. What were the chances? Well, if he came and went on a Saturday an average of four times, more with good weather… Nope. No time to actually calculate likelihood. This was meant to be. But what was she going to do now? He was nearly to the gate. He hadn’t seen her, thank goodness. He stopped and looked down, pulling a phone from his jacket pocket.
Start biking and then crash into that bush by the gate.
Her body seized up. Abort. Abort. She couldn’t do it. Her heart was beating so hard she couldn’t see straight. She needed a new plan. One that did not include self-inflicted pain or injury. Or humiliation. A healthy run-in at the juice stop like last time perhaps. Go. Go. Go. She put her left foot on the pedal and jerked the handlebars. The right grip ricocheted off the light post. Oh no. The front wheel twisted. It slid on the loose gravel around the base. This could not actually be happening. Her pulse soared into hyperdrive. She hopped on her right foot to regain balance, and her calf nicked the sharp teeth of the bike’s chain ring. “Ow.” Reflex had her skipping her leg out, trying with everything to save her balance. Her overreaction caused her already teetering bike to lurch too far to the side. The crossbar knocked into her left thigh. She cursed as she went down with the bike.
Her butt slammed into the cement, and then her spine hit. The back of her foam-wrapped head bounced off the ground before settling. Good thing she wore the helmet. Sharp pain flared from her left ankle and her wrist where she’d tried to catch herself with one hand. “Ouch.”
“Are you all right?” a male voice asked.
She closed her eyes. Had she seriously just pulled this off? And by accident. That was how accidents worked. She opened her eyes, lifting her head and turning toward the sound. A man crouched at her side, balancing on the balls of his sneakers.
Not Leonard Allred.
Are you effing kidding me?
Pale blueish-gray eyes watched her below a brow knitted in worry. The man looked thirtyish, but with the hair covering half his face, it was hard to tell.
Annoyance surged over the waves of pain and embarrassment. “You’re going with the beard?”
He tilted his head back as if she’d flicked his nose.
She widened her eyes at her own incivility. Had she seriously said that out loud to a perfectly nice-seeming stranger?
He leveled his eyes at her the way Tempest’s mother used to do when she disapproved, as if to say, manners!
“I’m sorry. That was rude. It looks—well…you can do what you want.”
His tawny hair was thinning on top, so maybe he was compensating. It didn’t help, but he clearly wasn’t in the mood to hear that now.
“Thank you for your permission.” His voice was deadpan.
She craned to see over the man’s shoulder as Leonard Allred exited the gate. He had his phone to his right ear, blocking the accident on the sidewalk from view. Look up. See me. Help me. He turned left. And walked away. Just like that. Gone.
She let her head fall back, the helmet smacking into the cement again. “Ion to Camp,” she whispered. “Total mission failure.”
The man chuckled.
She was not ready to see the humor in her little stunt. And her ankle was throbbing now. “It’s not funny.”
“That was a nerdy thing to say.”
“You got that phrase?”
“I have read book five in the Ion Biode series.”
She tried to ignore the flicker in her core. He liked her “weirdo sci-fi books,” as Blair called them. “Now who’s the nerd?”
“Guilty for sure, but you can call me Arty.”
“Arty?” She failed to keep the skepticism from her tone. She blamed him entirely for ruining her meet-cute, but she gave him a small smile. “Tempest.”
One side of his full mouth curved up, the beard quivering in the lip corner. “You don’t have the right to look at me like that with the name Tempest.”
“I’ve heard all the jokes.”
“That sounds like a challenge.”
Now was not the time. She was still lying on her butt with a bike between her legs.
As if he read her thoughts, he glanced down. “Do you need help up?”
She followed the line of his gaze to her sprawled body. Limbs everywhere. She didn’t know if she needed help. But it would be nice if he did something besides gawk. Her left ankle was pinned around the pedal and bar. It pulsed. “I think I actually hurt myself.”
“That sometimes happens when you crash.” He chewed his lips, as if holding back humor.
She scowled. “You saw me fall.”
“If it makes you feel better, most bike accidents happen at zero miles per hour.”
“If that were even remotely true, then that might help. As it is, I feel worse.” She shifted, trying to wiggle out from under the bike. He gripped the middle bar. No wedding ring, she noticed as he lifted the weight off. She hissed as her ankle sparked in pain.
He frowned. �
��You’re hurt.”
“Is that not exactly what I just said?”
He studied her face for a second with unconcealed interest before scanning her legs. “It’s your ankle?”
She nodded as she sat up, reaching for the unhappy foot. She’d worn black skinny jeans, a terrible choice now that she saw how well the gray cement dust showed up on the fabric. Today could not have been more of a failure if she’d planned it that way.
“Good thing you wore a helmet.”
Oh hell, she still had that on? Good thing Leonard Allred was not seeing her like this, or she would never get that date. She unbuckled the chin strap and lifted it off, then fluffed her matted locks.
“You can tell your daughter she did a nice job with that necklace.”
She looked down at her chest where the blasted macaroni had come free again. It lay like a clown smile over her blouse. She’d been so careful to tuck it into her bra so Leonard Allred wouldn’t see it. She only had to wear it one more day. “I don’t have children. Or a husband.” Satisfaction flowed through her at the change that came over him. “I have a roommate who likes to mess with me.”
Arty looked puzzled, then his brow cleared, and he let the tips of his straight teeth show. “Lost a bet?”
“I certainly didn’t win it.”
He laughed, his mouth a pink and white crescent moon in a sky of dark beard. It was a good laugh, even if it was at her expense.
“Just help me up already.”
“Let’s get you some ice. I live just through the gates.”
“You live here too?”
“You know someone who lives here?”
“No.”
He looked at her sideways as he held out a hand. She set her palm in his. It was dry and clean. A friendly hand. He tugged, and she lifted to her feet, immediately shifting all her weight to her right foot as her left, in an angry strike, refused to do its job. She grimaced.
Arty strung her helmet through the handlebar. With the bike in one hand, he held out the other to her. “Come on, I’ll help you.”
She eyed his outstretched arm warily. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? You were leaving, weren’t you? I don’t want to be a bother.”
