Going for Broke: Oakland Hills Friends to Lovers Romantic Comedy (Friends with Benefits) (19 page)

“
H
i
,” Billie said, her mouth too dry to say anything more.

“Only takeout after two,” the woman said. “What can I get you?”

“I need to talk to you about Doc.”

Her eyes widened. “I remember you.” She looked past Billie at the sparsely occupied restaurant, then nodded for her to follow her to an empty table closest to the restrooms.

They both sat. The woman pulled a pack of green chewing gum out of her pocket, offering a stick to Billie—she refused—before tugging one out for herself.

Although Billie had rehearsed a tempting, polite, and dishonest introduction to get the woman to talk to her, seeing her in the flesh told Billie that hard, cold honesty would be the best policy with this woman.

“He’s trying to get me fired because I saw you two together,” Billie said.

Chomping her gum, she rolled her eyes. “Sounds like him.”

“He’s filed a report against me claiming that I was the one who… you know. And they’ve put me on leave.”

“You sure drew the shit end of the stick,” the woman said, “when you got Doc as your boss.”

Encouraged the woman wasn’t wasting away from love, Billie reached into her bag and pulled out the sheet of paper. “I was hoping you could help me.”

Her gaze drifted reluctantly to the paper. “Do I need a lawyer?”

Billie hadn’t thought of that. “I… No, why would you? Did you ever work for the city?”

“Felt like it when I was married to him.” She took out a second piece of gum and peeled off the wrapper. “The girl before you used to thank me for taking the edge off.”

“You were married to him?”

“He didn’t mention that, I suppose.”

“No. He didn’t mention anything other than how much he hated me.”

“I know how you feel.” She shoved the second piece of gum into her mouth.

“So… if…” But there was no understanding the mysteries of sexual attraction. Billie knew that better than anyone. She looked down at the paper, smoothing out the wrinkles. “Anyway, I was wondering if you’d sign this. It’s just a little statement that says you, uh… Well, you can read it. I kept it tasteful.”

The woman barked out a laugh. “Didn’t mention he owed me money, I hope?”

“No, I didn’t mention that,” Billie said primly.

“It was unrelated to what came after. That was the same stupid impulse that got me married to him in the first place.” She grinned. “I got the cold hard cash out of him first.”

Billie was ridiculously pleased to hear that. The thought that any woman would accept Doc’s naked body as currency was too disturbing a burden to carry around with her forever.

“Would you read it?” Billie pushed the paper closer, rotating it to face her.

The woman brushed a braid off her shoulder and picked up the paper. “I don’t know. I don’t want to get pulled into anything else with him. I’ve already started thinking about changing locations so I never have to see him again.”

Twisting her hands together under the table, Billie swallowed. “Please?”

The woman blew a little green bubble, snapped it with her teeth, and began to read.

It was a short paragraph that spelled out the basic truth but not the gory details. On February twenty-fifth, when Billie entered the permit center, she interrupted her boss, Arthur Engles (his real name that nobody ever used), in a sexual act with a friend who had come to see him. Respecting his privacy, she’d quickly departed.

This particular statement said nothing else since it was the one she wanted the woman to sign. Billie had written a statement of her own, too. And she’d collect more from the work friends who’d contacted her today.

“See? At the bottom, all I ask is that you sign, agreeing that this is what happened.” Billie cleared her throat. “I don’t know your name, so I left a line for you to fill that in.” And her address, which she needed to make it legitimate.

“This is going to piss him off,” the woman said.

“I’m sorry, if I had any other choice—”

“No, I’m happy to make him mad. But he might think it’s like, you know, flirting.” She made a face. “I’ve tried to end it before, but he just can’t let me go. No matter how bad I treat him. With the shop right here, I just can’t get away from him.”

“I can’t promise anything, but if you sign that, and they decide he did what he did to get rid of me, maybe they’ll fire him.” Billie smiled.

“You’re a glass-half-full kind of person, aren’t you?”

If she didn’t sign the statement, Billie’s entire plan fell apart. “You could send him a poisoned lettuce wrap.” Her arguments were weakening, but she was desperate.

The woman threw her head back and let out a series of hoarse staccato laughs like the sea lions at Pier 39 in San Francisco. When she was done, she clicked the back of the ballpoint pen and hunched over the paper. “What the hell. My name’s Darlene Butterworth, by the way. Everyone calls me Butter.”

“Is that why you opened a sandwich shop?”

“No, that came later,” Butter said, barking another laugh. “And you don’t want to know why.”

Butter was right about that. As soon as the last letter of her signature curled over the page, Billie reached forward and reclaimed the paper for herself. “Thank you,” she said, gripping it tightly. “Thank you so much.”

“Yeah, whatever. He’s the gift that keeps on giving. Take it from me, never get married. It only encourages them.”

Billie scanned the paper, relieved to see Butter had put her address and phone number. She stood up. “If you’d rather I never came back here, I mean as a customer, I totally understand.”

“Why would I care? I need all the business I can get.” Blowing another green bubble, Butter got to her feet, braids swinging to and fro, and tapped Billie on the arm. “Good luck, hon.”

Billie thanked her two more times before marching out the front door, triumphant and proud.

She’d done it.

In her car, she laughed and banged the steering wheel to celebrate, then had to disable the alarm system that she’d set off with her excessive exuberance.

When it was quiet again, she was still smiling, feeling an overwhelming urge to call someone and tell him what she’d done.

Only then did she stop smiling.

Him
.

She brushed thoughts of Ian aside. First she’d collect all of her statements.

Then, only then, would she let herself think about Ian and decide if Butter was right. Did she want to encourage him? What if someday it was Lorna who walked in on her and Ian doing it in that recliner, long after they’d had a bitter divorce but still couldn’t resist one another?

When her first impulsive thought was
it would be worth it,
Billie reminded herself she wasn’t going to think about him until later.

I
an was surprised
he didn’t hear from Billie on Wednesday either. It had been over twenty-four hours since she’d driven away angry and left him in the Flores Verdes parking lot. He hadn’t expected her to return his calls (he’d left many messages) before getting his gifts, but afterward—yes, he’d assumed she’d say something then. He’d lingered at his office, waiting for her call, figuring he’d be going over to pick her up at some point. But at nine that night, he had to admit to himself that she’d received his offerings and deemed them insufficient.

He went home.

What else could he do? Now that she’d been unreasonable for a second day, he discarded any of the blame he’d been willing to accept yesterday. He’d kissed her behind a closed door. He hadn’t bent her over the printer, peeled off her sexy sweater with his teeth, and sucked one of her pink nipples, tightly puckering and luscious, into his mouth. The way he’d wanted to.

The phone finally rang just before ten. He jumped out of his recliner and pulled it off the table, knocking it onto the floor in his haste.

Breathing hard, he looked at the screen. Not Billie’s cell, but a local number.

Thank God. Spending the night moping didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t like him.

“Ian?” asked a familiar voice. But not Billie’s.

“This is Ian Cooper.”

“And this is Jane Garcia,” she said dryly.

“Oh. Hi.” His desire to hear about Billie overcame his slight embarrassment for not recognizing Jane’s voice.

“Can I talk to her?”

“Excuse me?” he asked.

“Billie. Isn’t she with you?”

A chill crept over him. “No,” he said slowly. “She’s not here. Isn’t she there?”

“No. And she’s packed her bags,” Jane said. “Her toothbrush is missing. And other things. That’s why I assumed…”

He walked to the door and began putting on his shoes. “I’ll be right there.”

“Hold on. Did you two have a fight, by any chance?”

“I wouldn’t call it a fight.”

“You just felt like sending over thousands of dollars’ worth of appliances and electronics?”

“They’re for the house,” he said stiffly. He refused to talk about Billie being mad at him for kissing her at the Flores Verdes permit center. “For both of you.”

“The installation crew said it was an emergency rush order. They were waiting on the doorstep when I got home from work, upset nobody had been there earlier to let them in.”

“I messengered the keys over to the distribution center in Concord. Those guys should’ve had them.”

“You messengered them,” she said flatly.

“First thing this morning.” He was furious. “Somebody screwed up.”

“Sounds like somebody did.” She let out a short, humorous laugh. “And then Billie wasn’t here to receive your apology.”

He ran his hand through his hair. “We need to find her.”

“You don’t need to do anything. Except maybe put your credit card away.”

Talking to Jane wasn’t helping anything. “Thanks for calling,” he said, “I’ll take it from here.”

He grabbed his keys and wallet from the table by the door. Billie probably drove up to her mother’s. It was a little late for him to visit, but their moms were like sisters, right? Sandra would forgive him for showing up on her doorstep. There might be awkward questions, but he’d make up something about house repairs. Plumbing related, perhaps.

“Don’t bother calling my mother,” Jane said. “She’s not there. I called there first.”

“Maybe your mom—” He stopped, not wanting to call her mother a liar.

“No, she’s really not there. My mom might lie to you, but she wouldn’t to me.”

Ian paced back and forth in front of the door. “Where could she be?”

“What’s the matter with you?”

“What do you mean? Billie’s missing.”

“Yes, but…” Jane fell silent. “You sound really upset.”

He clenched his teeth to stop himself from shouting. When he had control of himself, he asked, “Why aren’t you?”

“I figure she’s probably with friends.”

“But why didn’t she tell you?”

“Now that I’ve talked to you, I’ve got a pretty good idea why she didn’t.” She paused. “She thinks I’m going to rub it in.”

That didn’t relieve his mind. If she was avoiding people who knew and cared about her, maybe she’d ended up in some dump somewhere, sleeping on a couch or worse. He knew she was too cautious about money to use a credit card on a nice hotel.

“Tell me about her friends,” he said. “Give me any phone numbers you have, and I’ll call around.”

“She obviously doesn’t want to talk to either one of us. Leave her be.”

“What if she’s hurt?”

“Then you’re the last person she wants bothering her right now.”

“I didn’t mean that kind of hurt. You know what I meant. And you’re wrong about that.”

“Good-bye, Ian.” She hung up.

He stared at the phone in dismay. How could she be so calm about this?

He thought back to the scene in Flores Verdes. He never should’ve let her drive away when she was upset. If Jane hadn’t told him Billie’s toothbrush was missing, he’d be calling around to all the hospitals.

His inability to act made him want to throw the couch across the room. Smash glass. Call Jane and shout at her, make her do something.

He bent over and braced his hands on his knees, struggling to regain his composure. Remembering a yoga class he’d taken a few times, he stretched out on the floor faceup, legs and arms limp, and focused on the smoke detector screwed to the ceiling over his head.

But even after a full minute of slow breathing, he still felt like he couldn’t get a proper lungful.

Her own sister thought she was fine. Why was he freaking out?

Struck by this question, he rolled onto his hands and knees, stood up, and stared into space, pondering the question like the detached analyst he was.

He’d never felt this way before.

What was the matter with him?

* * *

“
H
ow could
you still not know where she is?” Ian stepped past Jane to get into the house. Maybe she was lying. It was now Thursday. Billie wouldn’t let her family worry about her for so long. “I’ll just look around if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind.”

“I need to check on the new washing machine. See if they hooked it up properly. It needs a drain pan in case of emergency leakage.”

“Of course it does,” Jane muttered, following him through the house as he searched for any sign of Billie.

“She’s not here.”

“Are you sure?” Jane asked. “You didn’t check the roof.”

“She’s afraid of heights. I don’t think she’d go up there.”

“Maybe she’s more afraid of you,” Jane said.

“Is she?” Ian spun to face her. “Is that what she said?”

Eyes widening, Jane took a step back. “No, no, of course not. I was just kidding.”

“I’d never hurt her. Never.”

Jane stared at him. “She texted me twice today, saying she was fine. So you need to calm down.”

“I’m calm.” He started to adjust the glasses he wasn’t wearing, veering his hand to one side to brush hair out of his eyes to hide the gesture.

He hadn’t slept more than an hour the night before.

“I’ve never seen you like this before,” Jane said. “Is everything all right at work?”

“I suppose so. I didn’t go into the office today.”

“What? Where were you?”

“What do you mean? I was looking for Billie.” He rubbed his eyes. She hadn’t gone to work. He’d waited in the parking lot for most of the day. No sign of her.

Jane was staring at him. “You were looking for her all day?” She sounded incredulous.

“She must’ve taken vacation time, but I know how little of that she has. If she’s not at your mother’s and she’s not here, where could she be?”

“I think you need to come into the kitchen and sit down.” Jane put her hand on his arm.

Her gesture surprised him. Jane hadn’t touched him since that night a decade ago, not even when the other members of their families were hugging each other. She’d stand off to one side and cross her arms over her chest.

“I bought some good coffee,” Jane continued. “You don’t have to endure Billie’s tea.”

He wanted to endure Billie’s tea. And he wanted Billie to make it for him and drink it with him and smile at him.

Jane squeezed his arm and then whacked him on the shoulder. “Snap out of it, lover boy. Come with me.”

“She’s really not here?”

“She’s really not. Come.”

Deciding some caffeine was a good idea, Ian followed her into the kitchen. It infuriated him that the vinyl floor was in such bad shape. If she hadn’t run off like that, he could’ve been here today putting in tile or hardwoods.

Jane tried to push him into a chair, but he wouldn’t bend his knees. “Sit.”

“I won’t be staying.”

“Sit or I won’t tell you where I think she might be.”

Rage flooded him. “You know where she is? Why didn’t—”

“Sit.” Jane pointed at the chair.

“—you tell me?”

“So this is what Ian-in-love looks like. I’ve always wondered.”

He stared at her. Then looked at the chair. He sat.

He wouldn’t take her bait. Only her information. “You promised me coffee,” he said calmly, crossing his legs.

Shaking her head, Jane went to the cupboard and took out a bag. With the anal-retentiveness she was famous for, she began making the coffee, grinding beans, measuring the grounds, boiling filtered water, setting a timer.

Watching her move so slowly was torture, and he dug holes into his palms with his fingernails during the process. After she’d had enough time to grow her own coffee plants from seed and sail home from the plantation in South America, she finally set a steaming mug in front of him.

“Cream or sugar?” she asked.

“No. Thank you.” He scowled at his drink. “Tell me.”

“Not until you drink your coffee.”

“It’s too hot.” He was suddenly reminded of Billie and the saltshaker. Too salty.

Too sweet. Too funny. Too beautiful.

“I have to find her,” he said. “I have to apologize.”

Jane sat across from him and held her cup with both hands, gazing down into it. “Was it like before?” she asked quietly.

“Before what?”

She glanced at him. “You know.”

“I don’t know.”

Her voice became so quiet he could barely hear her. “Like with me.”