Mad About You (2 page)

“You’re methodical and practical,” Scott went on, oblivious to her sarcasm. “You’re kind and a good listener. And you have nice breasts.”

Her cheeks warmed at this hint that he even noticed she was a woman. She shouldn’t mind so much. As a best friend, he was beyond awesome. He put the “super” into superlative. He knew when she wasn’t happy, knew what made her laugh, what kind of books she liked to read, what flavor ice cream was her favorite. All the things he never did for his girlfriends, he did for her.

Which was incredibly nice, of course, but she didn’t get the things his girlfriends got, like the sex and kisses and the romantic words and the hope of a happy ever after. That was okay because she didn’t think about him that way, either. She’d learned her lesson back in ninth grade, when at the height of her crush she’d kissed him on impulse. He’d jerked away and she’d been so humiliated she hadn’t been able to face him for weeks. When they’d finally started talking again, Scott acted as if the kiss never happened. She’d never tried it again. And never would.

“The thought of your geeks perving at my breasts isn’t exactly winning me over,” she said drily. “I don’t know anything about finance on the level you’re at. What do you turn over? Ten million a year? Twenty?”

“More like fifty. Maybe a hundred. Dunno. I don’t worry about that shit.”

“Oh, God. You really do need someone to manage your finances.”

“So you’ll do it?”

She opened her computer’s calendar and checked her upcoming commitments. “I guess I could finish off the accounts I’m working on, stall some of my clients, and refer the others to colleagues.”

“Thanks, Cass. I knew I could count on you. Come up this weekend and be ready to start on Monday.”

She hung up feeling excited and a little sick to her stomach. Despite Scott’s faith in her, she wasn’t qualified to handle finances on his level. Oh, she read a lot on financial management, but she didn’t have an MBA or any actual experience in what he was asking for.

She got up and went into the living room to check on Rupert. He swam out from behind a waving frond of freshwater algae, black and bug-eyed, mouth gaping.

“I won solitaire this morning in only seventy-two moves,” she told him, adding a few flakes of fish food to the tank. “Now listen, I have to go to Seattle to save Scott’s ass. I’ll get you one of those food tablets that last a month. While I’m there, I’ll make him pay for that crack about my cat pajamas.”

Rupert flicked his tail and disappeared into his grotto. Maybe he didn’t like cats, either. She closed the lid on the fish food container. The prospect of a challenge got her blood pumping. Could she do this? She could, of course she could.

She had to, for Scott.

…

Scott bumped down the steep flight of steps on his mountain bike and tooled around the corner of his apartment building to find Cassy sitting atop her piled-up suitcases. Her curvy figure was clothed in a sky-blue dress printed with tiny swallows, her legs were bare, and she wore sneakers with no socks. Her elbows were planted on her knees and her brown hair spilled out of a loose knot onto her shoulders.

Thank God she’d come. He’d been half-afraid she might bail at the last minute. He should have known better. Cassy was dependable, loyal, and trustworthy. He didn’t have a better friend in the world.

He hopped the curb and dismounted, leaning his mud-splattered bike against a lamppost. “Hey, Cass. Good to see you.”

“Scott! Finally.” She jumped up and gave him a hug, her arms tightening around his waist as she pressed her head into his chest.

A hug was nothing new for them, but he hadn’t seen her in over a year because he’d been so busy getting the Dreamcatcher up and running. This felt different. For some reason he noticed the warmth of her skin through her thin cotton dress. She smelled fresh and fragrant, like the avenue of cherry blossoms he’d just ridden through. He had the strangest urge to hold her a little closer, for a little longer. But that would be weird. This was Cassy. They were just friends. Thank God for that, otherwise they would have parted ways long ago. He didn’t claim to be an expert on women, but one thing he did know—girlfriends came and girlfriends went. Friends were forever.

Feeling uncomfortable, he started to ease away. She helped by giving him a little shove. “Hey, quit manhandling me. Where have you been? I’ve been sitting here for hours.”

“I’ve only been gone forty-five minutes.” He pulled off his helmet and pushed a gloved hand through his hair.

“Okay, but it felt like hours with your doorman glaring at me like I was a bag lady. You sounded so urgent on Skype. I thought you’d be waiting for me.”

“It is urgent.” And he had been waiting. All weekend. Here it was, Sunday afternoon and she’d finally shown up. “I needed some air so I went for a quick spin. Never mind, you’re here and I’m glad.”

She began gathering up her luggage, tucking a suitcase under each arm and slinging a bag over her shoulder.

“Here, let me.” He took the suitcases off her and introduced her to Martin, the doorman who guarded the glass-and-gilt entry. “Cassy will be staying with me for a month.”

Or a year. Or two. Oh, maybe not in his apartment. But after he launched the Dreamcatcher he hoped he could convince her to work for him. He’d always thought they would make a good team. Not only did they know, like, and understand each other better than anyone else in the world, they trusted each other implicitly. And Cassy was wasting her talents doing taxes. He’d always thought so.

Martin piled her suitcases onto a luggage trolley behind the concierge desk. “I’ll bring these straight up.”

“Thanks.” Scott slipped him a bill, then took Cassy’s arm. “Over here.” He steered her away from the main bank of elevators to one set apart from the others.

The doors closed and the elevator began a swift ascent.

“My ears are starting to bleed,” Cassy said. “Where do you live, the penthouse?”

“That’s right, you haven’t been here. As a matter of fact…” The elevator stopped and the doors opened straight into the spacious, plush-carpeted living space where floor-to-ceiling windows framed a panoramic view of Puget Sound.

“Oh my God! I knew you were doing well but I never imagined you living like this.”

“That home medical app I invented went viral.” He’d bought the three-bedroom penthouse a few months ago because of the view, but not in the usual sense. West Coast weather came in off the ocean and from this vantage point, he could see exactly what systems were heading toward the mountains where the best bike trails were. “Hungry?”

“I am, actually.” She followed him into the kitchen and perched on a barstool, idly flipping through the stack of unopened envelopes piled on the counter. “What are all these?”

“Invitations.” He pulled jars of mayonnaise and mustard from the fridge, along with sliced meats and cheeses and a French baguette. He’d learned to make his own meals after his mom died, before his dad dumped him on his aunt and uncle. Nowadays, his fridge was stocked with wagyu steaks and gourmet delicacies, but his favorite food remained the humble submarine sandwich.

“When did you become so popular? Holy crap, is this the crest of the Australian Consulate?” She stared at him. “What’s going on?”

He might as well tell her the worst of it. Scott flipped over the glossy magazine lying on the counter. His face stared out from the cover with the caption, “Seattle’s hottest young entrepreneur. Sexy, rich, and single.”

Cassy gave a wolf whistle.

Scott shrugged and carried on making the sandwich. Being the man in that picture vindicated all the grinding years of work to achieve success. However, accolades weren’t what drove him. And he hated that his notoriety brought him to the attention of society matrons who wanted fresh meat for their charity functions.

“Since this story broke last week, I’ve been inundated with requests for my presence at every social event in town.”

“You must be beating women off with a stick.”

“It’s a pain in the ass. Completely nuts.” He fielded at least three calls a day from women who had seen the magazine article and wanted to hook up. Some made an excuse that they were reporters working on a story while others bluntly asked him out on a date. One deranged woman actually wanted him to father her baby. “People recognize me now when I walk down the street. Strange women call me out of the blue. They take up the valuable time that I would prefer to be spending on my work.”

“I hope I’m not going to be a distraction,” Cassy said. “I’d planned to stay here since you said you had room but maybe I should get a serviced apartment.”

She will be a distraction.

The thought came without warning. Scott pushed it away and slapped on the top of the sandwich. That fleeting moment when he’d hugged her earlier had to be an aberration, a fluke. He’d never been attracted to her before. Well, not for years. At any rate, he’d never given in to that attraction, not wanting to threaten their friendship. And he wasn’t going to give in now. He liked women—a lot—but even the sexiest woman was no match for his self-control.

“You won’t distract me. We don’t have that type of relationship.” She gave him a dry twist of her mouth and he added, “Right? I mean, don’t get me wrong. Lots of men would love to…”
Fuck you silly
. The words just popped into his mind. Jesus. Where had that come from? Flustered, he tried to regroup. “I mean…”

“Shut up, Scott,” she said, unperturbed. “I get the picture. If we haven’t hooked up before now, it’s not ever going to happen. Anyway, you’re not my type. Hurry up with that sandwich. I’m starving.”

Only too happy to abandon the subject, he cut the baguette and passed her half.

“What are you going to do with the invitations?” she asked, chewing. “Am I supposed to answer them?”

“Write back and send my apologies. Make up any excuse you like.” He bit into his sub. Mustardy mayonnaise oozed out and he licked his fingers. “Think of yourself as my firewall, protecting me from everything that tries to tempt me into deviating from my strict work schedule. If I’m going to beat those assholes at PacTech I need total tunnel vision. Blinders on, head down.”

The phone rang.

“Let it go to the machine,” Scott said.

Too late. Cassy snatched up the receiver. “Scott Thornton’s residence.” She winked at him with a little smile. “How may I help you?”

Faintly, he could hear a woman’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Sorry, but his girlfriend wouldn’t like it,” Cassy said. “Who is his girlfriend?” She glanced over at Scott, eyebrows raised.

He shook his head. He hadn’t been out with anyone in months. No time.

“I am, so get lost,” Cassy said to the caller. She hung up and grinned at him. “Firewall.”

“You’re good.” But Cassy calling herself his girlfriend made him uneasy and he didn’t know why. “Who was on the phone?”

“Jessica Mulgrave from some Tacoma newspaper. She wanted an interview—over dinner. She didn’t fool me for a second. She wanted in your pants. I fixed her.”

“Except that now Jessica Mulgrave is going to spread the news around that I have a girlfriend.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re too busy to go anywhere in public, so no one will be monitoring who you’re with. Unless you suddenly find me”—she leaned over and lightly blew in his ear—“irresistible.”

The top button of her dress had come open, revealing a glimpse of lace and curving breast. He jerked his glance away. No, no, no, no. This was Cassy, his buddy, his pal. She was like a sister to him. He should say something snarky, but his brain didn’t seem to be functioning properly. “I, uh…”

She punched him hard in the shoulder and, while he was rubbing the bruise, she grabbed his half of the sandwich. “Want to watch TV? There’s an old movie on this afternoon,
Roman Holiday
with Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn.”

“Get real! We’re going to watch a basketball game.”

Whew! She’d been joking. Of course she’d been joking. Cassy had said it herself—he wasn’t her type. Which was good. He had enough problems without getting hot for his best friend.

But when they moved across to the living room to sit in front of the wide screen plasma TV and she stretched her bare brown legs to prop her feet on the coffee table, he positioned himself at the opposite end of the leather couch. Living in the same space might be more challenging than he’d thought.

Chapter Two

The following Friday, Cassy knocked once on Scott’s office door and walked in, skirting a mountain bike and a rowing machine to get to his desk. He was seated in front of a massive computer surrounded by three monitors, tapping furiously at the keys.

“We’re going to a cocktail party tonight,” she announced. She’d had a week to learn the office routine and tidy up his accounts, all the while planning her strategy to find an angel investor. She’d been having a ball doing it. Now she couldn’t wait to start putting her plan into action.

He didn’t look up, didn’t even acknowledge her. She tapped a pen on the notebook in her hand, waiting for his attention.

Scott had a strict rule that he was not to be disturbed while he was working. However, he’d dragged her away from her home and business to do a job and she was damn well going to do it. Typical of Scott that he didn’t fully comprehend what he’d asked of her. He could do advanced calculus in his head but he couldn’t figure out that all those social invitations he wanted her to refuse were actually his ticket to success.