скачать книгу бесплатно
Scratch that. He’d keep her here because she could help, nothing more. Though he wouldn’t mind getting her naked.
His brain stuttered on the word “naked.”
“Are you even listening to me?”
The buzzing in his ears climbed an octave. As his gaze focused on Allison, he took in her furious pink face and it was all he could do to keep from grinning.
“Two weeks,” he said, then paused. Had he said that out loud? He gave a mental shrug. “You give me two weeks and I’ll give the agency four.”
He expected her to go ballistic—looked forward to it, in fact—but she didn’t give him the satisfaction.
“It’s been a year,” she said calmly. “Can you really still be holding a grudge?”
“There’s a saying. Something about a pot, a kettle and the color black?”
Her arms dropped away from her waist and she clenched her fists. “We hadn’t even been dating for three months when you suddenly asked me to dump everything and follow you up here. Expected me to walk away from my job, my apartment, my life in the city, everything I worked so hard to achieve. And for what? Cracked sidewalks and moldy floorboards? This was your dream, Joe. Not mine.” She relaxed her hands and wiggled her fingers. “But that’s in the past. In the here and now, I’m about to lose my job and you can prevent it. So will you?”
He ran his hands down the front of his T-shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles, pretending to consider. In the past, like hell.
“Two weeks,” he repeated. He pictured her trading in her designer duds for a pair of his old coveralls and this time freed the smile. She snapped her spine straight.
“I’m glad you find this amusing.” She marched to the doorway. “And I’m glad you can afford to...to humor your inner Bob the Builder fantasies up here in Mayberry-by-the-lake.” She swiveled back to face him, as graceful as a model at the end of a runway. “By the way, T&P authorized me to offer you a bonus. Ten thousand dollars. Considering you’ve already been here a year and the sidewalk has more cracks than the San Andreas Fault, I’m thinking you could use the money.”
That did it. Fury kicked at his temples and he tried for a calming inhale, but the air had turned dense. Disappointment, he realized. His throat was thick with it.
It always came down to money.
“Tackett would be proud of you, Kincaid.”
“How about you, Gallahan? Anyone proud of you?”
It hadn’t taken her long to zero in on that soft spot. In another life he would have admired her. Praised her. Pointed her out as an example to new-hires. Now he pitied her. Almost as much as he wanted to find out if she still tasted the same.
She must have seen something in his face she didn’t like because her chin went back up in the air. “So you won’t consider coming back.”
“The moment you consider picking up a drywall taping knife.”
She stared at him for a couple of beats. “Afraid you lost your edge? That you can’t do the job?”
He grunted. “Your job security depends on two weeks of kissing up to the guy who screwed you out of a promotion. Literally. Maybe you’d better stick to worrying about yourself.”
“I had to try.” She hesitated. The already rigid line of her shoulders tensed. “You’re looking good, Joe,” she said quietly. Her gaze locked on to his. “I’m glad.” She turned and walked out, her posture suddenly soft.
He reclaimed the paint roller, dipped it and faced the wall. Struggled to find the strength to raise his arms.
She still talked a good fight, but sometime during the past year her confidence level had taken a massive hit. How much of that was his fault? He looked over his shoulder, at the empty doorway.
He needed a whiskey.
Make that a double.
* * *
ALLISON SEETHED AS she guided her Camry around the pits in the motel parking lot, then slowed for a pair of squirrels that tumbled across the pavement toward a scraggly pine.
Damn Joe Gallahan and his miserable excuse for a motel, anyway. She was the injured party here. She was the one with the grievance. Yet there he had stood, acting all smug and superior, like the advertising hotshot he used to be. Though to be fair, despite the unruly, sun-streaked hair and construction worker getup, the hot part still applied. Or maybe it applied because of those things.
Good grief. Could she be any more pathetic?
She pulled out onto the highway, shaking her head over Hazel Catlett swooning over Joe’s bare chest and Audrey Tweedy knitting her brow over his protein consumption.
Joe Gallahan, still a sensation with the ladies. Her giggle turned into a groan and her fingers clamped tighter around the steering wheel. Sudden tears blurred her vision and she blinked, panic overtaking frustration. Time to pull over before she wrecked her car. Or worse.
Two minutes after passing a sign indicating a picnic area ahead, she parked in a small gravel lot and made her way along a path that led through a grove of shaggy pine trees down to the lake. Arms wrapped around her waist, shoulders hunched, she lingered above the beach, squinting across the choppy, platinum waters toward Canada.
He knew what he’d done. That confused look on his face? Had to be an act. He knew.
Mist-laden air swirled around her, flashing rainbows whenever the spray caught the waning sun. She dragged in a deep breath, smelled fresh water, decaying fish and seaweed. Over the hissing rush of the surf she heard a series of echoing thuds—oars, maybe, banging against the rim of a rowboat? Another breath, and gradually her panic began to recede. Despite the occasional drone of a car traveling the road behind her, she felt more alone than she had in a very long while.
Which was ridiculous. She was on edge only because she was used to having half a dozen people demanding half a dozen things from her, all at the same time—usually during her lunch hour. This “being alone” thing...she never did handle that well. She needed to get back to work. Back to her old self.
Though if she went back without Joe her old self would be out pounding the pavement, looking for a job in a bleak economy. Her stomach gave an unpleasant wriggle.
Maybe that’s why seeing Joe upset her so much. At Tackett & Pike, she was doing what she wanted to do. What she’d struggled to learn the skills to do. She reached out to the nearest tree and snagged a pinch of pine needles. Rolled them idly between her thumb and forefinger, releasing a sharp, sweet scent. Yeah, that was why she’d dreaded this visit.
She steered her mind away from Joe Gallahan, sprinkled the needles into the wind and stepped out of her pumps. Cautiously, she ventured out onto the beach, the sun-warmed stones grinding and clattering beneath her. A glint of green caught her eye and she bent over to get a closer look. Her cell rang, and a glance at the incoming number roused a sigh from the deepest, darkest pit of her belly.
She thought of the produce stand she’d passed on her way into town, pictured the heaping quarts of strawberries lined up for sale. She pasted a bottle of rum, a tray of ice and a blender into the picture, bit back a whimper and answered her phone.
“Mr. Tackett.”
He grunted. “See, the way you just said my name right there, that tells me you don’t have good news. And I need good news, Kincaid. The company needs good news.”
The man was doomed to disappointment. Unfortunately, so was she.
“He’s not interested, Mr. Tackett.”
“Make him interested.”
She’d get right on that. As soon as she solved the energy crisis and invented a toilet seat that put itself down.
“Why don’t you arrange for the client to contact Joe directly?” She bent over, left palm braced on her knee, and scoured the beach for another glimpse of that green. “Mr. Mahoney would have more success talking him around, seeing that Joe’s—” a chauvinist pig “—more likely to respond to a man.”
Tackett’s laugh was sly. “You and I know better.”
Her eyes fluttered shut and her chin sank to her chest. What had she been thinking, all those months ago? She’d compromised her professional image by getting involved with a coworker. A coworker with a reputation for being a player.
Tackett’s disapproving hum dragged her back to the here and now. “Did you offer him the bonus?”
“It made things worse.”
“Because you didn’t do it right.”
She held the phone away from her ear and hefted it in her hand. She looked at the lake, and back at her phone. If she threw it just right she could probably get four, maybe five good skips out of it. But it wasn’t worth losing her job over. Losing the promotion sucked enough.
“Mr. Tackett, I know how to negotiate a deal. The thing is, both parties need to be interested.”
“Well, what did he say?”
“That he wouldn’t consider it.”
“Bastard’s holding out for more money.”
She had no trouble recalling Joe’s contempt at the mention of a bonus. “I don’t think so.”
“Then what? The cliché about everyone having a price is only a cliché because it’s true. So figure out Gallahan’s price.”
Trouble was, she already knew it. And she had no choice but to pass that information on to Tackett. Because if he found out about Joe’s proposal before Allison told him about it, it wouldn’t matter if Joe came back to T&P and brought a dozen big-name clients along with him. She’d still be out of a job.
So, while crossing her fingers and envisioning a giant neon sign endlessly flashing the word NO, she told Tackett about Joe’s proposal. He interrupted before she had a chance to tell him she’d rather spend a winter in Greenland.
“There’s a multimillion-dollar account at stake, here. Mahoney refuses to work with anyone else so I don’t care how you do it. Hammer a nail, bake a cake, perform the dance of the seven veils. Just get Joe back here. Take the two weeks. Stick to him like syrup on a pancake. And, Kincaid? Don’t come back without him. Do what it takes, you hear? You show up two weeks from Monday without Joe Gallahan, you’ll be clearing out your desk.”
Her stomach dropped to her knees and her neon sign went from flashing NO to BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME, SUCKER.
She rolled her lips inward and disconnected the call. She had to go back. She had to cave. To him. Her head drooped and her spine sagged. How did she get herself into these messes? After several moments of pointless self-pity she found herself scanning the rocks at her feet.
Before she did anything else, she’d find the source of that glint of green. Maybe she’d snag herself a good-luck charm—she needed all the help she could get. She hitched up her pants and dropped into a crouch, blinking against an annoying eyeball burn.
There. With a quiet squeak of glee she scooped up the square of tumbled glass. The stone felt sleek and cool against her skin. She stroked her thumb across the surface worn smooth by the water.
Her phone rang again. She glanced at the caller ID, lost her balance and almost fell on her ass. Forget the strawberries. Straight rum would do just fine.
The strident sound continued. She rose out of her crouch, her thumb hovering over the connect button. But only for a millisecond.
No way she could handle this. Not now.
Seconds later a much-too-cheerful chime signaled the caller had left a voice mail. Nerves prickled in her chest as she pocketed the piece of polished glass, entered her password and held the phone to her ear.
“Where’s my money, bitch?”
CHAPTER TWO
OH, NO. OH, no, no, no, no, no. Staring blindly down the rocky expanse of beach, Allison listened to the remainder of the message. Her mother had hit Sammy up for another two thousand. He’d staked her, even though he’d promised to cut her off. And she’d lost it all playing blackjack.
Allison swallowed against the bitter panic rising in her throat. Sammy wanted his money, and he wanted it now. All of it.
I’m talking lump sum, bitch. No more of this payment shit.
She didn’t have it. Her mother knew it. Sammy knew it. Which was why he’d previously offered to take payment in trade.
The bastard.
In his dreams.
God, what a nightmare.
Her fingers started to ache. She relaxed her grip on the phone, felt suddenly graceless as rocks shifted and rattled beneath her feet.
She’d call Sammy back. Try to negotiate more time.
She stumbled forward, almost stepped on a half-decayed fish. Her throat tightened. The bottom line was, she would have to deal with Joe. Assuming he hadn’t changed his mind. Though why would he? Having someone he considered a traitor at his beck and call for the next two weeks? Considering how he felt about Tackett and his methods—and her, by association—no way he’d make it easy on her.
But she could handle it. For a guaranteed paycheck at the end of every two weeks she could handle anything. She had to.
Sammy was the most merciless—hence the most successful—moneylender in the Washington metropolitan area. But if she could convince him that padding loans was bad for business, maybe he’d cut her a break.
She shoved her feet back into her pumps. She’d downsized her apartment, her car, her wardrobe. In view of the debts her mother had racked up—not to mention the money she’d siphoned out of Allison’s bank account—a PR rep’s salary didn’t stretch anywhere near far enough. Allison had looked for other jobs, with no luck. Not a shocker, given the state of the economy.
She had to keep her job. Yes, her mother had messed up. Big time. But no matter what she’d done, there was no way Allison would let her own mother spend her days fretting that one of the people in line with her at the supermarket might just be someone sent by Sammy to deliver a “friendly reminder.”
She marched back to her car. She’d return to Castle Creek first thing in the morning because she’d had more than enough of Joe Gallahan for one day, thank you very much. And since T&P was paying her expenses, she’d snag a room at the Hampton Inn the next town over, call room service and order up a strawberry daiquiri.
Or two.
Then she thought of Joe as he’d been a year ago and winced.
Club soda would have to do.
* * *
THE FAMILIAR RUMBLE of a truck outside the room provided just the excuse Joe needed to set aside his trowel. He winced as metal clanged on ceramic. No, the relentless throbbing in his head was just the excuse he’d needed. Or it should have been. But instead of pausing and taking something to ease the pain he’d decided to punish himself. Not for drinking—hell, he’d have to punish himself every damned day for that. No, his crime was in wishing, even for a moment, that Allison Kincaid had come to see him simply because she’d wanted to.
Not because she’d had to.
He pushed up onto his knees and went still, the sudden greasy churn in his gut making him grateful he was inches away from a toilet. Hell. He breathed in deeply, slowly. The nausea passed.
With a grunt he pushed to his feet, grimacing at the stiffness in his legs, the ache behind his eyes. He brushed the grit from his palms and studied the floor. Once he got it grouted and scrubbed and got the walls repainted, he could cross another unit off his list.
Three down, six to go. He had ten rooms altogether, but the one at the far end was currently his personal gym, and no way was he giving that up. No matter what Allison had implied the day before, he was making progress. He already had a good head start on this room and, hell, he and a crew had spent an entire month replacing the roof—
He blew out a frustrated breath. Why did it have to come back to her? Why should he care what she thought? This was why he’d moved four hundred miles north. To get away from the expectations and the guilt. The responsibility. And the woman who’d cared about her job more than she’d cared about him.
He lifted his hands over his head and leaned left, then right, in a careful stretch. Here in Castle Creek he had no one depending on him but himself. And whenever he let himself down, he invited himself for a drink at Snoozy’s and got over it. Life was good.
He was well rid of her.
So why did he suddenly feel so damned restless?
