Page 34 of Catch a Kiwi
“Yep. Like an idiot. And not at all like a woman who’s been supporting herself for most of her life and knows what that means.”
“Not to mention your mum and cousin.”
Some white on the knuckles that gripped the wheel, and she wasn’t laughing now. “Yes. And here we see the big differencebetween you and me. It’s one thing to do stupid things when you’re the one with the resources. It’s another to throw your life away in a moment of madness when you can’t afford to. You’re right. I let them down, too. I promised my mom I’d pay for Delilah’s college. What would she have thought if she’d seen what happened to me? I couldn’t tell her, and I …” She stopped.
I said, “Pull into the café here.”
She said, “I don’t need a coffee, and it’s, what, a half-hour drive to your office? I can’t believe you do, either.”
“Believe what you like,” I said. “But pull in.”
15
TRULY RICH
Roman
She followed me into the café. To fight me, probably, when I’d only been trying to give her a break. Another reason I didn’t need her, no matter how soft her skin was or how much intelligence shone out of those gray eyes. No matter how brave she might be, or how hard she’d fought to get Delilah out of that van. You didn’t want a stupid woman, or a heartless one, but all that brain and ticker, not to mention her insistence on having her say—or, possibly, winning—would mean a woman who was more trouble than she was worth.
I’d hire her. I just wouldn’t get into any kind of relationship with her, unless it was the kind I could control.
Which wasn’t easy to remember when I held the café door for her and she brushed past me with that bit of sweetness to her scent and those arms and legs, pale as creamed clover honey. Especially since the shirt was pink. How much trouble could a woman be who wore pink?
I knew better.
I ordered my coffee and glanced at her, and she said, “Nothing, thanks.” When I stepped aside, though, she pulled out her bank card and said, “No, I do want something.” And then didn’t even stand with me to wait for it. Instead, she browsed amongst the tui-and-pohutukawa-covered tote bags and tea towels and coffee flasks like the tourist she wasn’t.
I didn’t go over there. The person who blinked first was the loser. When our coffees came, I grabbed mine and headed out to the car. I held the café door for her, but only because she was right there, and bad manners weren’t any kind of asset.
When she’d merged onto the motorway again, she said, “The silent treatment isn’t working.”
“I’d say it is,” I said, “as you just talked.”
“I’m not saying anything nice, though.”
I hid my smile. “I can buy you a coffee. I can afford it. You can’t.”
“What I can afford,” she said, “is my business. ‘If you realize you have enough, you are truly rich.’ Lao Tzu. I forestalled you there. Bet you’ve never met a woman who can quote back at you.” She took a sip of her coffee. A small flat white, about the cheapest thing on the menu, when surely she’d wanted a mocha with whipped cream. After the way she’d hoovered up that fish and chips last night? After all those hours struggling up and down the hill through the mud with her rake? Whatever she’d said, she was thin enough to look fragile when she was tired, and a mocha wouldn’t have come amiss. How thin had she been before?
“Surprised you’re wearing a skirt,” I finally said. Wait, I was talking first. Bad idea.
“Oh?” she asked. “Given my lack of femininity?”
“Yeh, right. Given that you’re meant to be renting some pretty heavy equipment, buying cleaning supplies, all that.”
“You’ve caught me,” she said, breezy again. “I’m actuallygoing to— Wait. I can’t come up with anything shady I’d be doing in Dunedin on Monday morning, in my perfectly normal T-shirt and skirt. Which is a skort. I won’t be flashing the populace, no worries.”
“Oh.” I’d thought I had her there.
“You still have some questions for me,” she said. “I can tell. Fire away.” Not an easy woman to keep on the back foot.
I didn’t shift in my seat. I also didn’t ask her what I’d planned to—about “the show,” about meeting Moyano. I couldn’t find a way to make it my business, was why. I could have looked it up, but so far, nothing about Summer resembled the public version of her story. The only truth I could see was what she’d told me that first night, in the dark, on my bed, with her legs in my lap and my hands on her. Just thinking of how that had felt was affecting me too much. That’s why I said, “What are you planning to do at the house?”
“I told you. Clean it.”
“Not much of a conversationalist, are you?” I asked.
She finally flared up at that, which was why I’d said it. For some reason, I liked her stroppy. She’d driven me mad, but I hadn’t seen her defeated yet. “I am an excellent conversationalist.”
