Susan Andersen - That Thing Called Love

But wouldn’t that just be the cherry on his fucking cupcake if his half brother Max showed up to arrest him? It would probably make the bastard’s day to haul his ass to jail.

He drew a steadying breath. “I don’t require that you believe me, but in the interest of playing nice with others, I’ll give you a freebie.” He pulled his wallet from his hip pocket and fished out a card, which he handed to her. “This is my assistant. Call her with your fax number and I’ll have her send you my latest bank statement.” He gave her a level look. “We have real issues to get through. Me stealing from my kid isn’t one of them.”

She folded her arms beneath little breasts. “What do you want from me?”

The reasonableness of her tone released some of the tension from his shoulders. “Austin clearly cares about you. I want you to be the conduit between us.”

She laughed in his face. “Why on earth would you think I’d do that?”

“Because while I’m willing to stay here for the next two or whatever months to let him finish the school year, in the end we will move to Manhattan.” He thrust a hand through his hair. “I’m going to be taking him away from everything familiar, and I don’t fool myself it’ll be a popular decision. If you care about him, you’ll make the transition easier for him. Or you can keep your mad on going with me and make it hard. I guess it’s up to you.”

She looked at him a long time. “All right. I’ll think about it.” Her extravagant eyelashes lowered until her eyes were mere coffee-dark glints shining between them. “For Austin’s sake,” she stressed. “Whatever I decide, I won’t be doing it for you.”

“No shit,” he muttered, but thrust out his hand to shake on the deal. Her narrow fingers were warm as she slid them across his palm, her grip firm.

He was caught unprepared for the spark of electricity that shot through him at the contact. But he buried his response, countering it with his all-purpose wry smile.

“Trust me, I didn’t assume otherwise for a minute.”

CHAPTER TWO

AFTER JAKE BRADSHAW LEFT, Jenny paced from the couch to the fireplace to the picture window, no sooner reaching one destination than lighting out for the next. The already small living room felt like it was shrinking decrementally by the minute.

She had no idea how much time had passed before her restless circuit finally ended back at the window. She stared blindly beyond the resort grounds to the peekaboo glimpse of The Brothers, the prominent twin peaks in the Olympic mountain range that the inn was named after. “Oh, God.” Thrusting her hands through her hair, she knocked her forehead once, twice, three times against the cool glass. “What the hell am I going to do?”

Nothing came to mind. And wasn’t that too whacked for words—she who had had a plan since her daddy was sent to the pen when she was barely sixteen? At the moment, however, her mind was nothing but white noise, her stomach awash in red-hot acid. And she couldn’t string two consecutive thoughts together to save her soul.

She needed Tasha.

Just the thought of her best friend made her stomach a fraction less messed up, and she dashed into the bedroom, snatched her purse from the top of her dresser where she always left it, and headed back toward the door.

On the way, she caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror on the inside of her open closet door.

“Holy crap.” She’d forgotten she was still wearing her cleaning clothes. Not to mention that she was devoid of so much as a hint of makeup and her do was totally pulled apart in front from her ten-fingered grab-and-bang. “That’s not pretty.”

Tossing her purse back on the dresser, she toed off her Keds and kicked them into the closet. She shimmied her jeans down her legs and wrestled her T-shirt off over her head. She was in no mood to go primp crazy, but surely she could do better than this.

It took her no time at all to pull on a nicer pair of skinny-wale cords, a thin red sweater and her three-inch Cuban-heeled black leather boots. She swiped a sheer red balm over her lips and gave her lashes a cursory pass with the mascara wand. Then, removing the rubber bands from her braids, she pulled a brush through her hair.

And called it good.

Two minutes later she was out the door, pulling on a military-style jacket as she headed for the boardwalk that followed the curving shoreline into town.

The wind whipped her hair around her head when she rounded the inn, and she pulled a knit beret out of her jacket pocket. Stretching its back opening, she caught up the bottom of her hair, tugged the gray angora front band into place and tucked in stray strands blowing around her face. The day was more blustery than cold, and the upside to the gusty wind was the clarity of the air now that the earlier clouds had blown away. The Olympics soared out of green layer upon complex green layer of foothills, rising a scant two miles away across the choppy, whitecapped water, their snow-blanketed peaks brilliant white against the clear blue sky.

Two blocks down the beach, the actual Razor Bay of the eponymously named town cut a deep, irregular half circle into the land. The boardwalk emptied onto Harbor Street, the face of the business district, with its brightly painted storefronts lining the long arc of the inlet. As Jenny walked away from the mouth of the bay, the winds dropped and the waters calmed within the protection of three sides of land.

Someone tapped on the window as she passed the orange clapboard Sunset Café, and she waved back at Kathy Tagart and Maggie Watson, who sat at a table on the other side of the glass. She strode past Razor Bay Jet Ski & Bicycle Rentals, darkened now as it was only open on Saturdays and Sundays this time of year. The neighboring aqua, blue and green building next door was Bella T’s Pizzeria, where she was headed.

Jenny whipped the door open, and the rich scent of pizza sauce wafted from brick wood-burning ovens to wrap around her like a security blanket. It was a little early for the dinner crowd, but an older couple she didn’t recognize sat at one of the window tables, and a group of teens, laughing and talking, crowded around two tables they’d pushed together near the game room. As she crossed to the order counter, the door to that room opened and closed, belching out the electronic beeps and clangs of the video-game machines behind it.

Tasha looked up from chopping something on a block below the sales counter—and broke into a wide smile. “Well, hey, girlfriend!” she said. “I didn’t expect to see you this afternoon. Thought for sure you’d be spending your day off eating chocolate-drizzled popcorn and reading romance nov—” Her smile faltered and she lowered her voice as Jenny approached. “What’s wrong? Is it Austin?”

“No, Austin’s okay.” A bark of laughter that threatened to morph into something else escaped her throat. “Well, ‘okay’ might be stretching it a bit, considering his father is in town, and he’s determined to take Austin back to New York with him.”

“What?” Setting aside her knife, Tasha wiped her hands on the white waist apron circling her narrow hips. Then she shook her head. “No, wait, let’s go over to the far table where we’ll have a little privacy. You want a slug of red?”

“Oh, God. That would be soooo appreciated.”

“One glass of wine coming up then.” She selected a wide-bowled goblet and filled it higher than usual with the house cab. “Here you go, sweetie.” Pushing it toward Jenny with one hand, she poured a less generous portion for herself. Then she gave Jenny a quick but thorough once-over. “When’s the last time you ate?”

“Breakfast, I guess.” She honestly didn’t remember.