Good Girls Don't (27 page)

“I asked you a question,” Amy said, plopping down and taking a bite of potatoes.

“I don’t know. I haven’t had a chance to get on the scale.”

“Haven’t had a chance? You’ve been moping around here with your nose in that book for two weeks.” Amy reached out, grabbed one side of the bulky pad and yanked it away.

Lettie glared at the long line of charcoal slashing the page. “Did you have to do that?”

“Evidently, I did.” She closed the book as Lettie gasped, grabbed a square of wax paper and quickly thumbed through the pad’s pages to locate her current drawing. Then she slid the wax in place to keep the image from smudging, despite the gray streak ripping down the page like a determined bolt of lightning trying to strike . . . her.

Great. Nothing like a vivid image to put things in perspective.

“Eat,” Amy said.

Lettie vehemently decided not to answer, but her stomach growled like a dog at a postman’s leg.

“See? You’re hungry. Eat,” Amy commanded, then took a bite of meat.

Lettie narrowed her eyes at her sister, but she couldn’t deny her body’s craving, so she spooned a bite of potatoes. Garlic and butter, salt and pepper, teased her deprived palate and she moaned.

Amy grinned. “Thank God.”

“I’ve never been able to turn down your cooking.”

“For someone who can’t, you’ve done a heck of a job faking it the past two weeks.”

“I’ve eaten enough to get by,” Lettie said, taking another bite. She knew the meat was tasty too, but her stomach craved something soft and easy. The flavorful potatoes were perfect, and Amy was right. Though Lettie hadn’t realized it, she was hungry. Very hungry. She scooped a couple more spoonfuls.

“Well, thank you for humoring me. If your favorite meal didn’t do the trick, I was going to get Cass to come over and we were gonna force-feed ya. She suggested a slingshot method, but I liked the hold-her-and-stuff-her plan myself.”

“God help you both,” Lettie mumbled, but she couldn’t control her smile. It was good to have a caring sister, and a great friend, at times like this. Times like this being when she’d personally lost the best man she’d ever hoped to find by waiting too long to tell him the truth.

“Are you ready to talk?” Amy asked.

“About what?” Lettie knew the topic of choice, and in all fairness, she didn’t know if she could talk about him yet. Lord knows if she could, she’d have talked to Amy, or Erika, before now. The two seemed to spend the majority of their days calling Lettie. Judging from the determination in Erika’s voice whenever she called, Amy suspected she was probably also talking to Bill. As if that would change his mind.

“Damn it, Lettie. Why didn’t you tell me?”

When would she stop hearing those words? Or the pain in every syllable?

Amy dipped a piece of steak in the well of brown gravy nestled in her potatoes, then plopped it in her mouth, rolled her eyes heavenward and chewed. “All right, it’s been two weeks. Cass, Erika and I have been overly patient, and it took a mountain of convincing to keep them from coming over here tonight and forcing it out of you. But it’s time for you to talk.”

“Okay,” Lettie said, surrendering, while Amy put another dollop of fluffy white potatoes on her plate. “Pick a subject.”

Smirking, Amy moved the remaining pieces of steak around her plate with her fork. Probably trying to decide what topic she wanted to tackle first. Thankfully, she started with the easiest, which only informed Lettie that the subject matter would progressively get harder to handle.

“Tell me about the new job,” Amy said. “You haven’t let us know where it is, what you’re doing or anything.”

Lettie took another bite, but her appetite was slowing, so she rested her spoon on the side of the plate until her stomach got its second wind. “I haven’t got the job yet.”

“Then tell me about the job you’re trying to get.”

Leave it to Amy to ask the one thing Lettie wanted to talk about. For the past week, since she’d spotted the ad in the
AJC
classifieds and called Charlene Frank, the owner of faire l’amour, she’d worked nonstop on her sketches. Turning all her attention to the drawings on the page, to the goal in her head, instead of what went wrong with Bill.

“It isn’t the dream job, yet,” Lettie informed.

“Well, I didn’t figure you’d start out owning a shop, but you are making headway, aren’t you?”

Lettie still planned to own a boutique, carry her designs exclusively, someday. Unfortunately, she hadn’t made enough money to cover the start-up costs when she left My Alibi, so she’d have to begin her career working for someone else.

She didn’t care, though. No amount of money was worth what lying cost her with Bill.

“If the shop owner likes these, I’m definitely moving in the right direction. We’re meeting this afternoon to go over them.” Lettie timidly reached for the sketchpad, half expecting Amy to smack her hand, since she hadn’t finished her dinner. But her sister merely scooted her chair around the table for a better view.

Seeing Amy on the maternal side of their relationship, since that had been Lettie’s role for the majority of their lives, felt odd. Odd . . . and nice. In fact, Lettie knew now more than ever that she’d done a good job raising Amy. Her little sister had turned into a well-rounded, productive woman, who was no longer afraid of love.

Lettie’s throat closed in as Amy pulled at the pad.

“Let me see.” She flipped the cover and slowly turned the pages, then oohed and ahhed, providing Lettie with the boost of confidence she’d been lacking since things ended with Bill. A confidence she’d direly need when she met with Charlene. “You really like them?”

“They’re elegance and sexiness combined. What’s not to like?”

Pride spiraled outward from Lettie’s chest. “I hope she agrees. When I told her the concept, I wasn’t sure whether she’d be interested.”

“The concept?”

Lettie’s cheeks burned. “Yeah.” Bill had been the main instigator in her current theme, but now what she’d originally envisioned for her own destiny would never happen.

“Care to fill me in?”

“Each gown has a honeymoon-night theme, sweet and sexy and seductive combined,” Lettie explained. Her finger ran down the sketch of her favorite, the actual wedding gown made for bed, with beaded bodice, rich satin and a train. “She said she needed a slogan for the line.”

“Did you come up with one?”

Lettie nodded.

“And?”

“For the woman who makes the night of her life last a lifetime,” Lettie said, her heart pounding. That’d
so
been what she planned to do with Bill. Make the friendship of her life last a lifetime. Make the love of her life last a lifetime. Make everything with Bill Brannon last a lifetime.

“No wonder she’s wanting to see your stuff,” Amy said. “What time is your meeting?”

“Eight. She had dinner plans, but we’re meeting afterward to discuss the potential for my designs.”

“And to let her make the offer.”

“Lord, I hope so. I sure don’t want to end up mooching off my sister.”

“Now that would be a switch,” Amy said.

“You never mooched.”

“Funny, I remember you taking me in and covering food, rent and bills for the two years it took me to find a job. In my book, that’s mooching.”

“I wanted you here,” Lettie said simply. “I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

Amy laughed, breaking the sentimental moment, then moved her chair back in place and returned to her steak. “You realize you have two hours to get ready,” she informed.

“Is it six? Already?”

“Time flies when you’re out of work,” Amy said, fighting a smile, but unable to keep it from sparkling in her eyes.

“You’re a riot.” Lettie picked up her plate. “And I’ve gotta get ready for my meeting.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“No thanks. It’s up to me and the sketches in that book now.”

“She’ll be lucky to have you, sis.”

Desperately needing to feel positive about something, Lettie stopped midway between the kitchen and her bedroom. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

Those tiny spots beneath both ears started burning. She really didn’t want to cry. Not now. “Thanks.”

Amy turned in her chair, propped an arm over the wooden back. “You know what would help you loosen up and get relaxed for this thing, don’t you?”

“No idea.”

“A nice, long shower.”

Lettie’s laugh trickled up her throat, then burst free. Although Amy probably thought she was laughing at her sister’s perception, Lettie was actually laughing at the irony of Amy’s inference. That showerhead wouldn’t be getting any orgasmic action today, at least not from her.

She could tell her sister she hadn’t had an orgasm in fifteen agonizing days, since that morning Bill controlled her body completely with the aid of a long-stemmed rose. But she wouldn’t.

How would Amy understand?

There was no way she could climax without remembering Bill’s tender touch, his coaxing words or the way she felt when they were totally connected—his hard length deep inside.

And she wasn’t ready to remember that clearly. Not yet. It hurt too much.

“She made a promise to Amy,” Erika said, flipping through a
People
magazine while Bill studied the notes for his newest ad proposal.

“So you’ve said.” Bill didn’t want to discuss this again. His niece had been pleading Lettie’s case for the past two weeks and he’d heard quite enough from her. He’d heard nothing, on the other hand, from the woman in question. He’d been so certain she would want to work this out, for the sake of their friendship, if nothing more. But she hadn’t made any effort to contact him.
That
hurt, particularly when coupled with the fact that she’d lied to him about Erika, her job and her residence. . . .

“She did plan to tell you.”

“That’s what she said,” Bill confirmed.

“Well? She was going to tell you the truth. Isn’t that enough?” Erika asked, accusation in every word, as if
he
were in the wrong.

He cleared his throat. Hell, you’d think two weeks of solid explanations would suffice. “Erika, she lied about her residence. She lied about her job. And she lied about your whereabouts, which, whether you agree or not, put you in danger. How am I supposed to believe that she’d ever decided to tell the truth?”

“Yeah, but—”

“You don’t understand. She ruined the thing I loved most about her, her honesty. That was the one thing I could count on from Lettie. It was something we always guaranteed each other. I trusted her to tell me the truth. And you too, for that matter.”

“I made a mistake, and you
said
you’d forgiven me.”

“I have,” he clarified. “And I totally believe you’ve learned from your mistake. But it’s different with Lettie.”

“Why? Why does she have to be perfect?” she asked, dropping the magazine on the coffee table. “Well?” Erika goaded, obviously believing she’d found her winning strategy.

She hadn’t.

“She doesn’t have to be perfect,” Bill corrected, his words slow and steady, to coincide with his harnessed emotions.

“Then what’s the problem? Can’t you forgive her too? You’ve been miserable for the past two weeks, and when you’re miserable, I’m miserable.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t complain about my disposition over the past couple of weeks, particularly since your hiring of an alibi company started this whole mess.”

Her mouth twitched as she fought one of those teenage smiles Bill loved, but he refused to reward her by grinning back. So he clenched his jaw and attempted to look even more stern.

“You know if I hadn’t hired My Alibi, you’d never have hooked up with Lettie. And evidently, you always had a thing for her; you can’t deny it.”

“I’m not denying anything,” he said.

“So, why can’t you go for what you want? She made a mistake. Everyone does. Why can’t you forgive her and the two of you be together?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “And for the record, she hasn’t asked.”

Erika picked up another magazine and flipped it open with a bit more zeal than necessary, so the crisp swoosh of turning paper penetrated the living room. “I thought you loved her.”

“I believed I did. Unfortunately, I was mistaken.”

“I don’t think so,” she mumbled, knowing he would hear.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.” She snapped a few more pages, then dropped the magazine on the sofa. “It’s because of me, isn’t it?”

After two weeks of beating around the bush, Erika had decided to lay everything on the table. He’d been waiting for it, trying to provide the patience any parent would need when a child disobeyed, particularly a child who, according to the government, now qualified as an adult. It damn near killed him to find her at that hospital, crying for the man who’d defended her when that idiot biker jerk had attempted to assault his niece.

His niece. Moreover, Ginny’s daughter.

Evan Carter had done what Bill would’ve done, if he’d been told she needed help. Which he hadn’t, since Erika had deliberately lied to him . . . with Lettie’s help.

Problem was, Erika had gone there of her own accord. She had only decided she didn’t want to be there when Butch had moved on to his next biker babe and then retaliated when Erika moved on as well.

Erika, a biker babe. Had
that
been what she was going for? He cringed. Ginny wouldn’t be pleased.

“What’s because of you?” he asked, knowing exactly what she meant, but wanting to hear her say it. God, he really was a parent.

“The reason you won’t give her another chance. You may have forgiven me, or so you said, but you’re still mad at me for lying to you about where I went.”

“You did more than lie, Erika; you hired a professional company to help you in the deceit.”

She drew her legs underneath her on the couch and leaned back, as though his accusation didn’t faze her in the least. “You gotta admit, that took a lot of nerve to hire them, don’t you think?”

Bill shook his head. If she only knew how much she sounded like Ginny, defending her wild streak. “Erika, you surely wouldn’t do it again.”

“No,” she said, grinning. “But I’m just saying that most people my age wouldn’t have done it. Wouldn’t have even thought about hiring an alibi agency.”