Absolute Zero (10 page)

“So, I leave you for two minutes and you’re already picking up other men? For shame, darling. I’m disappointed in you.” His easy smile wasn’t reaching his eyes. His focus shifted from her to the man sitting next to her. He gave a pointed look before seating himself next to her.

“Oh! Sorry. I didn’t realize…” Justin started speaking before McClellan cut him off.

“It’s all right, happens all the time. She’s just so darn cute, eh?”

Anne focused her attention ahead of her, not quite sure if she should bolt, hide under the bar, excuse herself to the Ladies room…it was just so
awkward
.

“Um, er…I’ll just go sit over there. Sorry to disturb you…” she could hear as the body next to her was moving. She continued to sit still as a stone waiting for her nerves to calm themselves.

“Nice to meet you, Anne,” she heard as she continued to focus on breathing. She didn’t respond.

McClellan waited for a moment before his voice washed over her. Far too close, much too personal for an employer.

“Were you trying to leave because of him?  Please tell me that was for
his
benefit,” he commanded in a low voice.

Her only response was to swallow with a slightly audible gulp.

“Hmm? Come on, coineanach, speak.”

“Coin-ea…what?” she mumbled before she could stop herself.

“Coineanach. It’s Scots Gaelic for rabbit. That’s you.”

“I’m a rabbit,” she stated completely deadpan.

“It’s the perfect description. Cautious, skittish, extremely cute and yet when faced with a potential predator, you freeze up like no one could see you. It’s ridiculous, and yet…ack, girl is there nothing that isn’t intriguing about you?”

How do you respond to that?

She didn’t have to. The bartender chose that moment to place their plates in front of them at the bar. Her Chicken Marsala, his…plop of brown…something.

“There you go. Can I get you anything else?” the bartender asked as he placed a linen napkin rolled bundle next to the plates. Her eyes were still affixed to the strange concoction gracing the plate next to hers.

“Two more drinks, please,” she heard next to her.

“No! I wanted this to go,” she stated as her eyes connected to the young bartender’s.

“Paul? She will
not
get this to go. And she’ll have another glass of wine. And I’m paying,” McClellan’s voice was authoritatively commanding.

“Yes, sir.”

Of all the…who the hell did he think he was?
She silently fumed before speaking.

“Paul? I distinctly remember asking for this to go. I do
not
want another glass of wine and I insist you charge me for this meal.” Anne piped up in an equally commanding tone.

“Umm…” The bartender swiveled his eyes from one to the other and back again.

“Paul? Ignore her. Just get the drinks and I’ll deal with her.”

The bartender immediately complied, almost as if he were relieved to remove himself from the tension crackling between them.

“I want to go,” she half-growled.

“And I want you to stay,” his voice was much gentler now. “Tell you what, Anne. We’ll just sit here, eat our meals – we don’t even have to converse if that works for you, eh?”

She stared at the food artfully arranged on her plate. It looked delicious and she was definitely hungry.

“Fine,” she breathed out after a few moments of debate. Besides, she couldn’t exactly go back to the house quite yet, what with
Irene
still lurking about.

“Good, then.” He reached out and grabbed the napkin wrapped bundle and removed the utensils hidden within before placing the linen on his lap.

Her eyes inadvertently crept to the mound on his plate, watching as his fork scooped a small portion of it. It smelled about as bad as it looked.

“Mmmm. Not bad. Do you want to try it?” She heard next to her as she un-wrapped her own utensils.

“I thought we weren’t speaking…” she practically grumbled.

“Oh, right. I forgot. Here, try it. It looks like jobby, smells like jobby, but it’s actually quite good,” he stated as he nudged the plate to the left.

“What is it?” she asked as her face took on a grimace of disgust.

“Haggis. Try it.”

Well, that would explain the Special…

“No thanks. I’m fine with this,” she stated as she focused her attention on her own plate.

“You dunno what you’re missing.”

“That’s fine. Consider me blissfully ignorant. Stop talking,” she responded without looking at him.

It took a moment to register. Had anyone ever spoken to him like that in his adult years?
Hell no. They wouldn’t dare.
And yet here she was, this little slip of a woman seated next to him, demurely cutting her chicken and ignoring him quite effectively.
It should infuriate him, right?
But, no. If anything, it was…
arousing
.

He blew out a silent breath and focused his attention on the plate in front of him.
Let her eat in peace.
He scooped up another small portion, trying to will himself not to look at her or speak which was proving to be a near impossible task. This subtle tug of war was stimulating, reminding of him of the thrill of negotiating in a boardroom.

And he
always
won. He would win this too…

Win what, exactly?

Paul arrived with fresh glasses for both of them, prompting her to take one last sip from the glass in front of her before he took it. Maybe it would loosen her up? Or maybe it would loosen her tongue to the point of complete unfiltered rudeness? Sad to say, but he was almost looking forward to that for some insane reason.

He was unaccustomed to this situation. Once women knew who he was, or rather, what he was
worth
– they were extremely friendly.
Way too
friendly
, and yet the woman next to him…well, to say she was unimpressed would be the understatement of the year.

“I had that last night. It was verra good,” he indicated her plate between mouthfuls.

No response. No surprise.

He continued to eat, effectively tamping down the urge to look at her or speak again until their plates were finished. She pushed her plate away from her a while later, revealing about half of the food still intact on it. The portions were huge anyway and she was a wee thing at that, he mused before taking one last bite and pushing his own plate away from him.

“Did you like it?” he asked before taking a sip of his drink and finally allowing himself to look at her.

She was looking at her plate. “It was excellent. Just too much,” she answered honestly before grabbing her own glass for a sip. The wine warmed her senses, relaxed her to the point where she should probably stop drinking it. A glance at her watch indicated she still had twenty minutes to waste before Irene was out the house. There was no way she would go back a minute before the two hours was up.

“So do you come out to eat often?” He was making small talk. Really
bad
small talk, but this was uncharted territory here.

“No. I like to cook but the house was infiltrated by Satan. I had to leave,” she stated on a sigh before her words registered to her own ears.  They just sort of slipped out. She blamed it on the wine.

“What? Did you just say…what?” he responded, surprised by the fact that she even responded at all coupled with her strange answer.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. I’m sure she’s a wonderful person…” she stated with a sarcastic edge.

“Who?”

“The cleaning lady,” she stated simply before taking another sip of wine.

“Irene.”

Her eyes flew to his at the name uttered from his lips. “You know her?”

“Of course I know her. Everyone knows Irene. She probably cleans half the houses in this town. She cleans
my
house,” he answered with an added shrug. “I love Irene. She’s my fourth favorite person in the world,” he stated confidently and added a warm smile.

Who are the first three?
She thought but caught herself before the words slipped from her mouth. Why would she even care anyway?

“I must have a thing for crotchety women,” he added softly as eyes seemed to intensify on hers once again. There was no doubt that he was referring to her. She shifted in her seat uncomfortably.

“At any rate, she’s not so bad once you get to know her. She’s just testing you out. Frankly, she was a bit scary when I first met her but I wore her down. She’s a sweetheart. At least to me,” he stated.

Irene, a sweetheart?
Highly doubtful
.

“I don’t want to talk about Irene. Let’s talk about you,” he added. She fought the urge to cringe visibly.

Let’s not.

“So Anne, what are you working on?”

I have absolutely no idea. In fact, I’m not actually sure why you hired me…

A small shrug was her answer.

“Don’t like to talk about work?”

You could say that
. Another shrug.

“Hmm. All right then. What do you think about the town? It’s nice, eh?”

That seemed safe enough…

“Sure. It’s beautiful, really. Although…it’s kind of odd in way,” she added as an afterthought.

“Really? What’s so odd?” Paul the bartender piped up. She hadn’t noticed he was standing there what with her attention focused on McClellan’s magnetizing stare.

“Well, it’s hard not to notice. And maybe…I don’t know…” she trailed off.

“What?” both men asked at the same time. She was drawing attention to herself and becoming more apprehensive from their focused concentration on her.

“Who’s Shelby Collins?” she asked innocently enough. Her eyes were on Paul, whose expression changed from smiling to stunned in a mere fraction of a second.

Silence. And then movement to her right.

She noticed at least three hundred dollar bills appeared on the bar surface before McClellan stood next to her, pushing the stool back under the bar. She watched as he shrugged his coat on, never bothering to look at her as he performed the task.

“Paul? Keep the change. Anne? Good evening,” he stated politely enough before turning and wandering toward the front door. She watched him until he disappeared from her view and continued to stare at the front door, completely confused.

A throat clearing behind her caused her attention to shift back to Paul.

“What did I say?” she asked quietly. He was still looking at her with the strangest expression on his face.

“You probably don’t know…” he offered, his eyes peering at her closely.

“Know what?”

He blew out a short breath before answering.

“Shelby Collins was Ian’s wife.”

I am a moron.

Even the music thumping through her earbuds early the next morning wasn’t enough to drown out that one single thought that kept popping up in her brain. She pressed the button on the treadmill accelerating to the highest speed setting as her body naturally adjusted into a full-out run.

What he must think of her. He probably thought she did that on purpose. Of course, it was an innocent enough statement. How could she have known?
Stop thinking about that. Concentrate on running…

He must have loved her profusely, turning the town into some sort of shrine to his late wife. How long ago? What happened to her? If she would have stayed long enough, Paul would have told her, she was sure. Instead she left soon after McClellan did, mentally lambasting herself the entire ride back to the house.

She should apologize. She might be a ‘surly curmudgeon’, as McClellan pointed out the night before, but she was never purposefully nasty.  Not unless provoked. So he came on a bit strong the night before, but it certainly didn’t warrant the unintended hurt her words probably caused. It must have hurt. He went from friendly to cold in a blink.

I should apologize.

I should stop thinking about this. I didn’t do anything wrong. Why am I still thinking about this?

Her hand reached out to increase the acceleration a bit more, pulling back when she realized that she wasn’t going to be able to run way any faster from her thoughts than the machine would allow.

*****

She was practically flying on that treadmill. Her body was cut, perfect really. Sweat glistened off her shoulders, on her chest. She was wearing tight-fitting workout clothes, the bright purple of the tank stained darker by a trail of sweat. He stood mesmerized for a moment before shaking his head and heading for the weight area.

Maybe she had no idea. She had only been in town for a couple of days. Maybe she didn’t know. It wasn’t as if she was a sociable creature anyway. But then again, if she
did
know, well, that would put her into a whole other category of person…

Everyone in the small town knew to keep that subject from popping up. Who knew what they said behind his back, but they certainly knew enough to keep from talking to
him
about it. He laid in bed last night, thinking about her innocent enough words, reliving the past that should be dead to him by now. Apparently it wasn’t. Apparently it was still fresh enough to cause pain. Apparently time did nothing to heal deep wounds to the subconscious mind.

He would push Anne from his mind, concentrate on his body for now; forget that the compelling creature running hell bent for nowhere was in such close proximity.

*****

He was here. In the gym. At 5:00 in the morning. As soon as she caught a glimpse in her peripheral vision, her stomach immediately performed a flip, followed by a strange fluttering. She might have thought that her mind could keep that reaction at bay. Her body had other plans, unfortunately.

The perusal she involuntarily gave him last night was affirmed by the ripped, corded muscles on his arms, his legs. Terri the Tour Guide wasn’t kidding when she said he was a big proponent of physical exercise. Her eyes wandered yet again to the mirror in front of her, angled in a way that she could watch him in the weight area. He was lying on a bench, pushing a bar laden with weights on either side, performing bench presses. Her eyes shut and squeezed together, trying to stop looking. One eye popped open slightly before she squeezed it shut again.

What is
wrong
with you?

She should finish up, go to the women’s locker room, get ready for work and hide out until six when her keycard would give her access to the office. It was only an hour. She could take a leisurely shower; spend extra time on her hair and makeup, read a book on her phone or something…

He sat up suddenly, their eyes meeting in the mirror for a quick moment before he turned away. She almost stumbled. Almost.

Her finger pressed the button to decelerate as she dropped down to a brisk walk before shutting the machine down completely. Looking at the digital readout on the screen, she realized that she had just run a mini-marathon in half-decent time.

She busied herself with wiping the machine down, her eyes inadvertently wandering over to him before snapping back to the task at hand.

This was absolutely ridiculous. She was a well-educated, grown woman acting like some awkward teenager.

Just do this
.

Throwing the towel in the small bin near the door, she took the deepest breath possible before turning and walking with resolution toward her intended target. He was seated on a machine near the far end of the room, his back turned towards her as he pulled two bars toward him, causing his biceps to bulge. Her mouth was suddenly dry as her nerves decided to return at the precise moment when he looked up to see her standing before him. Swallowing the lump in her throat she immediately opened her mouth after licking her parched lower lip.

“I’m sorry.”
There. She did it.

“What?” he immediately answered before setting the bars down and removing the ear bud from one of his ears. “What was that?” he added, his gaze now fully penetrating hers.

She gave a nervous cough to clear her throat. “I said I’m sorry,” she stated again, her weight shifting from one foot to the other.

“For what?”

For real? Was he going to draw this out?

“For…you know. I didn’t know, and…I’m just sorry, that’s all,” she stated before waiting a beat while their eyes locked and her discomfort rose to an almost unbearable level.

“All right?” was his only response and it was even more confusing than if he would have said nothing at all.

She unconsciously licked her lower lip again, before taking a step back. “So…Ok then,” she stammered before turning away and walking at a brisk pace toward the door to the women’s locker room.

He watched her retreat until she disappeared behind the door before he was able to take a breath again.

A smile spread on his lips ever so slowly. It positively had to
kill
her to do that.

There might be hope for Anne Bennett after all.

*****

Happy Birthday.

I miss you. CALL ME!

Love you - Beth

She stared at her phone, confused for a moment before realization dawned. It was her birthday. Thirty…something. She had already passed that point where birthdays had become meaningless other than to remind her that she was getting closer to middle-aged and there was nothing she could do about it.

Thanks for reminding me.

I’ll call you tonight. Promise

She finished typing, taking note of the time on the top right of her screen. 6:02. The office would be open, the only glitch was leaving the relatively safe confines of the women’s locker room and venturing out through the gym to the door that lead to the office. She wondered if he was still in the gym, hopefully he was in the men’s locker room or maybe he had made his way to his office.

She slowly opened the door leading to the gym, her eyes giving a quick scan of the room beyond to find it empty, thankfully. This, of course, was ridiculous; emphasized by the fact that she ran on tiptoes through the room before waving her keycard near the sensor by the door.

Please open
, she thought as her head turned toward the inside of the gym quickly. Still no one there. The sensor gave a beep and the door lock clicked; a most welcome sound as she pushed the door open and stepped through to the empty hall beyond.

*****

“Happy Birthday.”

Her head snapped up in total confusion to see Emma or “Em” standing in front of her desk with what looked like a large domed Tupperware container.

“I made red velvet. Do you like red velvet?” she asked with a smile as she lifted the object in front of her chest.

“Umm…what? How did you know?” Anne’s eyebrows scrunched together as she stared at the translucent plastic container.

“Oh! We get a list from HR, it’s one of the first things we do around here, put everyone on the birthday list. Everyone gets a cake for their birthday.”

“But…you don’t even
know
me,” Anne blurted before biting her bottom lip.

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” she laughed before leaning in and speaking in a lower tone. “We love to eat for any occasion around here. I mean
any
occasion. Like when McClellan leaves? We’ll have a cake for that,” she stated honestly causing an unexpected small snort of laughter to erupt from Anne.

“I…ah…Ok,” Anne stammered.

“Hopefully you like cake?”

Actually, cake and I used to be the best of friends, Em
.

“Umm, sure?” To be honest, she couldn’t remember the last time she had even allowed herself to eat something as nutritionally worthless as a piece of cake.

“Great! It’s my secret recipe. I broke out the big guns for you. I hope you like it,” she stated before backing away. “I’ll just put this in the fridge. We’ll cut it at lunch OK?”

Anne’s response was a small shrug and a nod as her eyes followed Em’s retreating back before she turned a corner.

When was the last time anyone actually
made
her a cake?

Way too long ago.

The cake was far too big for a four-person family and it had taken her mother and sister hours to decorate it while Anne was at school. It was beautiful and her Mother was so proud of it, presenting it after dinner. Of course Sam ruined the moment, as he always did…

“Why’d you make it so big? Like she needs more cake,” he practically sneered as he stared at Anne with barely concealed hatred.

Anne stared back defiantly from across the table refusing to let the jab puncture her. She could cry in private later.

“I think it’s beautiful, Sam. Mom? Thanks for the cake,” Anne’s eyes shifted and a small smile appeared for her Mother only.

“Anne, honey…it’s not right to call your Dad by his first name…” she stated meekly before he rudely interrupted her, as usual.

“Please, no. By all means, call me Sam. We all know you’re not mine anyway. There’s no way I produced anything
that
ugly. One day your mom will finally confess to an affair with the neighbor’s dog and we can put this shit to rest, right? So call me Sam…”

“Sam! How could…?” Her mother couldn’t finish as the ever present trail of tears appeared on her beautiful but drawn face yet again.

“It’s true. Look at her…” He jerked his head in Anne’s direction.

“Maybe it’s karma,” Anne stated quietly, her pointed glare piercing Sam’s before wandering over to her sister seated to the left of him. Immediately Sophie’s vivid blue eyes cast down toward the table.

Sam would retaliate. Not against Anne – never against Anne. Her father was a brilliant man, a well revered Professor of Chemical Engineering, an upstanding citizen and most beloved member of the community in which they lived. He was, to the casual outside observer, a staunch family man, a good provider for his two daughters and stay-at-home wife. He hid his madness well; controlling the two other women in the room with relative ease by his threats. He would not control Anne, or at least that’s what she would tell herself. She was too smart for him and his words and actions proved his intimidation of her even though he would never voice it. He didn’t have to. He would try to break her down, making snide comments about her physically, trying to juice some sort of reaction but he would never succeed. Their relationship went beyond strained to frayed and almost to the point of snapping. He hadn’t quite pushed her over the edge yet, but in time, he would. And then he would pay.

She looked at her younger sister, a once playful, intelligent and gorgeous young girl who had slowly morphed into a withdrawn, quiet, delicate, almost soulless entity. He did that to her. He did that to their mother also. Another beautiful, delicate, soulless woman who stood for nothing; spoke up but backed down immediately after one of his threatening glares.

Anne was fifteen at the time, a child prodigy of sorts, taking college level courses in Physics, Chemistry and Biology. She had skipped two grades, once in elementary school and once in middle school which only served to alienate her from the rest of her classmates. No one wanted to hang out with the chubby, ugly, younger kid that had absolutely no purpose socially. That was OK. It helped her focus her attention on the important things in life such as good grades, the possibility of academic scholarships and most importantly, getting out of this house of horrors as quickly as possible.

Her eyes had snapped to Sam’s to find him staring at her with a wicked, almost knowing smile. His eyes held some sort of sick promise.

“Got anything else you want to say?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

Anne contemplated a moment, her gaze flitting once again to Sophie’s bowed head and then shifting to linger on her mother’s pleading eyes.