Live for Me (6 page)

But I still found myself slowly pulling the door open and scanning the area before snatching the legal-size envelope off the front step. Not even a package, just some paperwork, clearly. I shut the door quickly behind me and flipped the dead bolt. Back in the kitchen, I hit play again for the French lesson and stared at the envelope addressed to Devin. Marked Express Urgent, it looked important. I decided to text him to ask him what I should do with it. Maybe it was something he needed right away.

He answered with a brusque
Open it
.

Wrinkling my nose, I started to pull the tab. I didn’t want to see something personal or his bank statements or something. I was pretty sure the shock of his wealth in black and white would freak me the fuck out.

But it wasn’t bank statements. It was a pile of pictures. Of him. Which might have seemed somewhat normal, except someone had written all over them with a Sharpie.
Liar. Cheater. Manwhore. Asshole.

“What the hell?” I murmured, shuffling through the stack. There was one of his sports car, and the license plate had been changed to read ET PUSSY. Everything about it was venomous and just a little bit crazy. Some of the shots seemed to be candids, like he knew the person taking the picture, others were magazine clippings or clearly printed off from online. As I moved through them, suddenly they were no longer pictures of him, but of women. Brooke, the bikini babe. A tiny brunette. A tall black girl with curls I was jealous of. Another blonde. Then me. It was a picture of me, walking outside with Amelia.

WTF. I dropped it like it was hot.

My phone buzzed.
What is it?

With trembling hands, I typed.
Pics of you and women.

That’s it?

Yes.

Just toss them.

That was it? He wasn’t bothered or creeped out? Of course I hadn’t told him about the slurs. I was debating if I should when the front door opened with a squeak. My stomach dropped and I turned to the dog and gestured for her to come with me. I was planning to go into my room, lock the door, and call the cops. But Amelia wouldn’t come with me. She had started down the hallway, tail wagging.

“Amelia, come,” I hissed in a desperate whisper. There was an intruder in the house and the dog was going to greet him. Fabulous.

But then I realized that I had locked the front door. No one could have jimmied the deadbolt. Only a key would open the door.

“Hey, girl,” a familiar masculine voice said. “You glad to see me? Yes, I missed you too.” Then, “Alright, get down.”

Devin.

In the house.

I loosened my death grip on my cell phone and started towards him, relieved and horrified all at once. I was wearing yoga pants and a T-shirt that had an explosion of flour down the front. It was likely I hadn’t brushed my hair that day. Maybe even the day before. Crossing my arms over my chest I paused in the doorway of the kitchen to watch him.

“Hi,” I said when he looked up at me.

“Hello, Tiffany.” He was wearing a leather jacket, and after giving Amelia’s head a final rub, he stood up and assessed me. “What?”

I shook my head.

“No, I recognize that look. It’s accusing. You’re mad at me for not telling you I was coming.”

Yes. “Of course not. It’s your house.”

The corner of his mouth turned up. “Yes, it’s my house, but you’re still annoyed with me. I can see it all over your face. You’re too honest to be a poker player, for future reference.” He moved closer to me and sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?”

“I made cupcakes.”

His eyebrows shot up. “No shit. Can I have one?”

What, like I was going to tell him no? “Of course, Mr. Gold.”

“Oh, I’m Mr. Gold again, am I? You really are annoyed with me.” Though he didn’t sound busted up over that fact.

“Why didn’t you mention you were almost here when I just texted you?” I couldn’t help it. I had to ask. I’d almost had a freaking heart attack when I’d heard the door open. “You scared me.” Even I could hear the reprimand in my voice and I mentally winced. He was my boss, damn it. I needed to watch what I said.

“I’m sorry.” He gave me a charming smile. “It was a last minute thing.” Then without warning his finger came out and brushed over my cheek. “You have flour on you.”

I sucked in a breath and pulled my face away from his touch. I couldn’t have him touching me. Not when he was so close and I was so attracted to him.

“But you’re right. I could have told you when we were texting. But I didn’t want you to go to any trouble or worry about the state of the house.” Then he moved past me into the kitchen. “I wanted you in your natural state. Mea culpa.”

My natural state wasn’t going to be of any particular interest to him, so I found his motives odd. But I was suddenly distracted by the sight of the suitcase he’d left by the front door. It was huge. That was no overnight bag.

Help me, Jesus, he was planning to stay for awhile.

“The house feels different,” he said. “Lived in.”

He went into my fridge and emerged with a soft drink, rolling his shoulders. Glancing around, I wasn’t sure if he was upset with me or not. The kitchen did look lived in. The counter was scattered with baking supplies and the frosting was open and ready to be spread over the chocolate cupcakes.

“Are you learning the language of love?” he asked with a small smirk, gesturing to the laptop. His laptop. I had been using the computer that had been lying abandoned and collecting dust on the kitchen desk.

“It’s just background noise.” I started frosting the cupcakes. “I’ll clean up as soon as I’m done with these.”

“Don’t worry about it. Do what you do. I’m not even here.”

The look I shot him over my shoulder was incredulous. There was no pretending he wasn’t there. Devin laughed out loud.

“It’s very obvious when you’re irritated,” he said. “More challenging to tell when you’re pleased.”

I had been pleased ten minutes ago. Now I wasn’t so sure.

“Why does it matter?” I had imagined him coming back to Richfield and me somehow impressing him. But I didn’t know how to do that. He spent all his time with sophisticated women and I was just… not.

“I want you to be happy here.”

Call me skeptical, but I didn’t believe he really gave a shit. Why would he? He didn’t know me. I was an employee. There had to be an angle, I just didn’t know what it was. But I knew how to play the game. “Thank you. I am happy.”

Frosting a cupcake, I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He had picked up the express envelope and was glancing through it. He didn’t look surprised or upset by anything he was seeing. At one point he did pause on a particular picture and study it, a frown marring his handsome face.

“Something wrong?” I asked.

“Hmm? No, no, not at all.”

So not believable, especially when he folded up the picture he’d been staring at and slid it into his pocket.

Curious which picture he’d taken, I held out a cupcake in offering. “My first attempt at cupcakes. I can’t vouch for how they taste.”

Casually he tossed the whole envelope with all the other pictures into the trash receptacle next to the island and reached out for the cupcake. My eyes followed the motion. I looked at him in question but he just smiled.

“Thank you. I’d love one. I kind of have this sweet tooth, if you hadn’t noticed.”

I noticed a lot of things about him. Everything. “If it tastes awful you don’t have to be polite. Just spit it out.” Okay, that sounded way too pathetic. I decided to rein it in. Be normal.

Undoing the foil wrapper, he gestured with his head to the laptop. “So how is the French going? Seriously?”

“I just started. I thought I would listen to the entire book first, then redo it, stopping to do the written exercises for each chapter.”

“That sounds very disciplined. But I have a feeling that’s your personality.” He put the cupcake between his teeth and held it there so he could free his hands to peel off his jacket. “Mm.” He bit and chewed, holding the rest after he tossed his coat aside. “Good. Delicious.”

Ridiculously pleased, that was me. The corner of my mouth lifted, I couldn’t help it. He looked like he wanted to be alone with his cupcake. “Really?”

“So that’s what you look like when you’re pleased,” he teased me.

My smile disappeared and I rolled my eyes, self-consciously.

“I’m glad you’re using the kitchen. No one ever does.”

Devin pinched off a piece of the cupcake and started to bend down to feed it to her.

“Don’t!” I said, taking a step forward and grabbing his wrist. “Dogs are allergic to chocolate!”

He paused. “They are?”

“Yes. Deathly. It can kill them. I read it online.”

“Oh. Jesus.” He looked down at Amelia. “Sorry, sweetheart. I wasn’t trying to murder you.” He petted her head, bending down to give her a kiss. “I missed you, by the way. Yes, I did. But I guess I’m an idiot. Thank God we have Tiffany, huh?”

I was blushing and he knew it. God, seriously? Like my social life wasn’t shitty enough? Now I had to act like a complete moron in front of my boss, Mr. Hot Shit? But first the weird envelope of pictures, then him showing up and scaring the crap out of me, had me thrown. I had been anticipating another night of being relaxed in a house I was starting to really feel comfortable in and now here he was, smiling at me and complimenting both my cupcakes and my common sense.

Besides, he looked so goddamn gorgeous, hair falling in his eyes, his beard scruff sexy and carefree. He looked like the men in movies who convinced a woman to fuck them in a restroom at a swanky restaurant. Hell, he probably didn’t just look like that guy. He
was
that guy. I imagined him tearing Brooke’s expensive dress off her lithe body and taking her against the nearest wall.

Ugh. I might not have any personal experience with that kind of lust, but I’d seen enough TV and movies to imagine it, and I was instantly sorry for the visual.

His presence definitely put me off balance. “I read it online,” I repeated, because it seemed like I should say something. Then I went back to frosting cupcakes, which I had also read about online. I had attempted the swirl technique but I was pretty much sucking hard at it. Since I wasn’t looking directly at him, I gathered the courage to ask, “So what’s the story with those pictures?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Just some work stuff.”

Oh, bullshit. That was no work packet. Unless his work was stalking himself. But I couldn’t exactly press him on it. He was The Boss. A fact that seemed to keep hitting me over the head. He was from a totally different world, one of giving commands and demanding what he wanted. I was servant class. On the Titanic, I would have been on the lowest deck possible, and the first to drown.

But did he think I hadn’t seen the picture of myself? I couldn’t tell. He was hard to read.

“So what have you been doing since I was here last time?”

I shrugged, still frosting. “Reading, studying, cooking.”

“Are you in college?”

“No. Not yet.”

“Why not yet?”

“It’s not practical.” Meaning, I had no money.

“Have you talked to your grandmother?”

I paused, the unexpected reminder of my past making my stomach tighten. “No.” I was surprised I hadn’t, actually. I had thought she would get tired of doing things for herself, but apparently having to take care of the house solo was worth being rid of me. It did hurt, even though I didn’t want it to.

I was finished with the cupcakes, and not wanting to stand there and blink stupidly at him while he grilled me pointlessly, I started to fill the sink to wash dishes.

“You can just put those in the dishwasher,” he said.

“I don’t mind doing it.” I didn’t, because it allowed me to keep my back to him.

He didn’t offer to help. But he did move over to the laptop and turn off the French lesson. That was an indicator to me he wasn’t going to head to the master bedroom or to the family room any time soon.

“So you’re reading
The Hobbit
?”

Glancing back, I saw he’d picked my book up and was studying the back. “Yes. I’ve read it before, but I’m rereading it.”

“I read it in high school. A million years ago. I loved Tolkien, but I loved music more.”

“So you always wanted to be a producer?” I asked, sloshing my hand around in the hot water to get the suds going. I was curious about his path to success. I hadn’t found any evidence of him being music royalty, with family in the business before him. I’d briefly popped my head into his music studio at the back of the house upstairs but the equipment had been overwhelming and I’d been afraid to touch anything.

“That was something of an accident. I had visions of being a performer, but then it gradually became obvious that I am neither good-looking nor charming enough to be an onstage star. I’m much better behind the scenes.”

What world did he live in that he thought he wasn’t attractive?

I supposed a world of obscenely beautiful people. “Obviously it turned out all right for you.”

“I was lucky in that I had some help. I met Owen Creed when I was still an undergrad and he really opened some doors for me.”

Devin had also married his daughter. I wanted to ask him about that relationship but I knew that was crossing a line. Personal curiosity aside, he was my employer, not my friend. Though I was well aware of the fact that I wished he were. “I’m sure there was luck involved, but you should give yourself credit too. He wouldn’t have offered you his help if he didn’t think you deserved it.”

“More likely at first he did because I was dating his daughter and he was afraid we’d end up sponging off him for the next decade. He was determined to get me solvent.”

I turned in the middle of scrubbing the mixing bowl to study him. He was wearing a smirk and I wasn’t sure how serious he was. “I guess that’s possible.”

He laughed. “Well, there’s that honesty I asked for.”

“How does he feel now that you’re divorced?” I went back to scrubbing.

“I think he feels guilty that he encouraged our relationship.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. Frowning, I turned the water on to rinse. What did that say about Kadence? Anything?