Janice Maynard - A Wolff at Heart

Muttering beneath her breath, she finished up the last big pile of junk upstairs by stuffing it all into a trash bag and tossing the bulging plastic blob out the back window into a Dumpster in the alley.

With one last quick glance around the room to make sure she hadn’t missed anything of value, she descended the stairs, checking first to make sure Pierce was still out at the street. She didn’t want to have to squeeze past him on the narrow stairs. Never had a man made such an impression on her. He was impossible to ignore, both by virtue of his forceful personality and his ruggedly masculine looks.

She’d dated wealthy guys in law school a time or two. But when all was said and done, each relationship ended by her choice. The gulf between her past experience and theirs was too great to sustain a long-term commitment. It occurred to her on reflection that it had been almost two years since her last date here in Charlottesville, and even longer than that since she had been intimate with a man.

Her wide circle of friends kept her social calendar filled, and on the rare occasions when she had free time, she used the extra hours to power through the backlog of work that always dogged her.

She loved her job. The diplomas on the wall were more than mere window dressing. They were a testament to how far she had come. Those same diplomas now rested back-to-back in a sturdy cardboard carton that would go straight into her car when she and Pierce were finished. The only real challenge remaining was her desk. She snagged two packing boxes, pulled up the appropriate spreadsheet on her computer to label them and started opening drawers.

* * *

Pierce stood in the doorway, unnoticed, and studied the woman who was going to help him make sense of the unbelievable. She worked quickly and methodically, using Ziploc bags to corral paper clips, pens, rubber bands and a host of other office necessities. He knew what she was doing. He’d carried out enough boxes to realize that she had color-coded and cross-referenced each one. He had to admire such single-minded organization, but he didn’t possess any of those genes. If it had been left up to him, he would have managed to box up the whole place in half a day.

But Nikki Parrish was too meticulous to cut corners. Which was why she would never be searching for a washcloth and towel at one in the morning, as Pierce had been the night he’d moved into his new house.

While he watched in silence, he saw her reach into the back of the flat center drawer and extract something small that looked, from this distance, like a metal animal.

“Gift from an old boyfriend?” he asked, entering the room and sprawling onto her settee with a groan of relief. The window beside the fireplace was open, letting in a much-needed breeze.

Nikki clutched the figurine to her chest, her eyes wary. “I’m not sentimental, Mr. Avery.”

“I told you to call me Pierce. And if you’re not sentimental, then why do you have that whatever-it-is hidden away in the bowels of your desk?”

It was a fair question, and a simple one. But Nikki seemed taken aback by his query. She shrugged, turning the object in her fingers, her expression pensive. “It’s a pewter collie. Someone gave it to me when I was a child.”

“So if you’re not sentimental, why keep it?”

A shadow of something dark danced across her face. “It reminds me of a particularly bad day.”

“I’d think you’d want to toss it, in that case.”

She looked up at him, her gaze bleak. “Sometimes we have to remember the past, even when it hurts. Acknowledging our mistakes can help us make sure we never repeat them.”

The note in her voice disturbed him. What did Nicola Parrish have to regret? Surely nothing too terrible at her age. He thought about pressing for details, but decided it was not a smart idea. He couldn’t take a chance of pissing her off. Not when he needed her help so badly.

He rolled his shoulders, feeling the pleasant strain of exertion. Despite the physical nature of his job, two hours of lifting heavy boxes tapped into a whole extra set of muscles. “The upstairs is clear,” he said. “And the outer office minus the furniture. All we have left is whatever is in here.”

“You’re fast.”

“No point in wasting time.”

“I appreciate your help,” she said, her manner a trifle stiff.

He shrugged. “It’s a quid pro quo, remember? I’ll take you to dinner tonight and you can tell me what you’ve uncovered so far.”

She leaned forward to drop the dog into a box...hesitated...and at the last moment, tucked it into the pocket of her shorts. “Dinner isn’t necessary.”

“You’ve had a long day, longer still by the time we’re done. It’s the least I can do.”

“I’m not dressed for dinner.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll go home and get cleaned up while you do the same. There’s a new place over on East Market I’ve been wanting to try.” He paused. “Are we taking the boxes to your house? I’ll be quicker unloading than loading. I took my time packing them in, but it’s still going to take two runs.”

She shook her head. “My condo is tiny. I’ve rented a storage unit two blocks over. If you don’t mind, I’ll give you the key and the code, and by the time you get back, I should be finished. This desk and that furniture grouping go also...but none of the pieces in the outer office.”

When she handed him the keys, her fingers brushed his palm. The two of them were close enough that he could inhale the not-unpleasant scent of overly warm feminine skin. He flashed for a moment to a vision of the both of them showering together. Holy hell. Not an auspicious time to get hard.

He backed away as casually as he could. She handed him a slip of paper with the address and the code. “Thank you for doing this.”

Trying to ignore his baser instincts, he cleared his throat. “Have you had any luck with the records?”

She perched on the edge of her desk, one leg swinging. “You’re lucky we live in the high-speed age, Mr. Impatient. Something came through on my laptop just a little while ago. I’ll print out the attachments and bring them to dinner. With both of us looking at them, surely we can spot any anomalies.”

His arousal faded as he once again felt the crushing burden of knowing that something terrible had happened when he was born. Did he really want the answers? No, but he didn’t really have a choice.

“I won’t be long,” he said, striding from the room before she could read his unease. “See you in a few.”

* * *

Unloading the truck was a piece of cake since he could carry boxes directly into the unit Nikki had rented. It occurred to him that she was literally storing away a large part of who she was while she tried to relax, unwind and decide the next step her life would take.

In that way, their situations were similar. Pierce, who had been comfortably assured that his life’s course was mapped out, was suddenly faced with putting his assistant manager in charge of the business in order to wade through deep, unknown waters. He wasn’t his father’s son. Even now, with plenty of time to get used to the idea, he was incredulous.

As he drove back, he tried to imagine how he would react when he found out the truth of his birth. But the problem was, he had no idea how to spin that. No scenario made sense.

Nikki was waiting for him on the stoop when he got back, her face tilted toward the sun, stylish black sunglasses hiding her expression. He put the truck in Park and got out. “All done?”

She nodded, handing him a water bottle. “Yep. I feel a little sick to my stomach.”

“How come?” He sat down beside her, their hips practically touching. Her arms and legs were pale in the afternoon sunlight. Workaholics were rarely suntanned.