Page 54 of Sexy as Sin
And then there was that other thing. The thing he hadn’t realized until noon, when Graham McDougall had responded to a request for a meeting at ten the next morning with,I’d prefer to shift it to 9 AM your time, if possible. I’m taking my girlfriend out to dinner, and I’ve had to make a reservation in order to ensure a table. I’d reschedule, but it’s Valentine’s Day, and she says that’s not an option.
To be honest, Brett’s first thought was,Graham McDougall, head of the ancient clan of financially astute vampire lords, has a girlfriend? That he’s taking out for Valentine’s Day? What’s he getting her, a fine bouquet of white carnations? A single red rose with accompanying fern from 7-11?Probably the kind of thing people would say about him. What theydidsay about him.
Oh. Wait. Valentine’s Day was tomorrow? His brain did the conversion. Not too hard. That meant it wastodayhere.
That meant it wasnow.
He was definitely gunning for induction into the Financially Astute Vampire Lord clan. You didn’t expect a woman to come over to your house and cook you the best meals you’d ever eaten, wash and fold your laundry, clean your kitchen like an obsessive, then take off her clothes, push you down onto your back, and make you glad you were a man, and totally ignore her on Valentine’s Day. Especially not a woman who’d just been told by somebody else that she wasn’t feminine or desirable enough to be worth making an effort for. He didn’t carehowmuch she focused on unicorns and rainbows, she wasn’t going to miss that. Also, he was an idiot.
He’d done something about it, though. He’d done what he could, anyway. He was all set to be a better... whatever it was they were doing here, but she hadn’t shown up for him to do it.
Six o’clock. He thought about texting and called her instead. No answer, but a text a minute later.Just got home. I’ll be there at seven to make you a hamburger.
He thought of something he should have realized hours before, and typed a phrase into his search engine.
After that, he texted Dave.
Azra was still talking. “I have a month, anyway. Time enough for you to find someplace new, or a new flatmate,” and Willow was trying not to put her hands in her hair.
Not this, too. Shebounced.It was her thing. The ball had to have time to hit the wall first, though. You couldn’t keep smacking it in a different direction in midair and expect it to bounce indefinitely.
Except when you didn’t have a choice. And poor Azra. This was just wrong.
And then the doorbell rang. Azra’s handswerein her hair, the tears staining her cheeks, her eyes puffy, and her dressing gown askew around her. Willow said, “We’ll ignore the door, love. And don’t worry about me. I’ll find a way, and surely you will, too.” At least, shestartedto say that, but it rang again. And again. Like somebody was leaning on it.
Azra moaned, banged her head against the kitchen wall, and said, “No. No. No.” Which was a “no,” as far as doorbell-answering went. Willow headed to answer it, prepared to give whoever was out there—unless it was a kid doing a fundraising appeal, possibly, because how did you yell at a kid—a piece of her mind. Couldn’t two desperate women be allowed to have a breakdown in peace?
She saw the car out the window first.No.She couldn’t. Absolutely not. The doorbell was still ringing, though, and Azra was saying, from the kitchen doorway, “It needed only this.” Willow opened the door.
Brett. And the Batmobile in the drive, with his sidekick at the wheel.
For once, Brett wasn’t looking unflappable, and he wasn’t smiling, either. He was scowling, balanced on his crutches and wearing a gray T-shirt, and his hair was rumpled like he was preparing to join the hair-pulling party. He asked, “What’s going on?”
She shook her head. Normally, you dove under the wave, or you threw yourself over it. Once in a while, though, you missed, and the wave smacked you hard. In another ten seconds, she was going to get smacked. She could feel it happening. “I just...” she said. “It’s a... bad day. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll come up and make your dinner.”
“I don’t care about dinner. Forfuc—for Pete’s sake, Willow.” Nowhishand was in his hair. “Sorry. I actually said that. I apologize. You make me nuts. Why didn’t you tell me what was going on? Why wouldn’t you ask for my help? This is what I do, and you know it, because I told you.”
There was a sort of squeaking noise from behind her, and then the slam of a door. Azra, fleeing into her bedroom. An attractive prospect, at the moment.
“Why wouldn’t I tell you what?” She wished, now, that she’d put on one of her dresses, but she hadn’t had the heart. As a result, she was wearing shorts and a gauzy white top. She’d forgotten to do Azra’s stupid half-tuck thing on the shirt, and Azra had been too upset to remind her, with the result that she was looking about as shapely as a string bean wearing a tent of cling film.
Which was the least of her worries.
Brett shook his head. “Come on. Let’s go. We’ll talk about it at my place. I’ll bet you didn’t eat lunch, and I know you barely ate breakfast.”
“Can’t,” she said. “I need to go by the grocery first.”
“I’ve got it,” he said. Not smoothly, either. Bloody impatiently.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I used to think that I wanted to see the real you. Just changed my mind. Go back to being perfect.”
He exhaled. “I am about two seconds from throwing you over my shoulder and carrying you out of here. Fair warning.”
She crossed her arms. “Except you can’t, because, I will point out, you have a broken leg.” Why was she feeling so much better? And like she wanted to laugh? Nothing was better, and yet it was.
Wait. Something was happening around his mouth. He started to smile, and then he started to grin, and so did she. She wouldn’t have said she could ever laugh again, but she did. “Yeah,” she said. “That’s told you. One sec. I’ll grab a few things, say goodbye to Azra, and let myself be chauffeured to the grocery. That’ll be novel.”
“You don’t need to grab anything,” he said. “Except your purse, or whatever. I’ve got this.”
