Miss Fortune (8 page)

It would really be great if you could pay me just a hundred, or even fifty, she said, her voice noticeably weaker.

Myron sighed and stared at the floor for a moment. Look, Rach, I know I owe you some money. But you could not have possibly chosen a worse time to ask me for it.

I couldnt?

Ive been dealing with some stuff that I wasnt going to burden you with, but since you asked, I guess Ill have to.

What stuff? As far as she knew, the only stuff Myron ever dealt with was his lack of tenure.

Something happened at work. A forklift jammed and damaged a pre-Revolutionary hutch and some china. So we filed a claim. But I guess the claim wasnt done right, so now the insurer has come down to investigate.

Okay, Rachel said, still waiting for the stuff that stood in the way of him paying her back.

Okay ? Thats all youre going to say? Rachel , I am the one who prepares the estimates of loss. I am the one who works with the insurance company. I have the whole administration crawling up my ass over some stupid forklift accident!

Why?

You just dont get it, Myron groaned, rolling his eyes dramatically. The bottom line is a person cant just do their job anymore. The slightest thing goes wrong and everyone from the janitor on up is a suspect he said, making giant, invisible quotation marks with his fingers.

Suspect! Rachel exclaimed. That sounds like there was a crime or something!

Whatever the word is, he said dismissively as he returned to the breakfast bar and fell onto a stool. What I am trying to say is that bureaucracy can get so huge that theres nothing personal in a job anymore. They might as well line up a bunch of robots! His face was beginning to turn curiously red.

Okay I didnt know you were having such a rough time at work.

Thats because I didnt want to bring you down, he said miserably, then exhaled a long and weary sigh again. But you sort of forced my hand. Gawd, I feel like a beer. You wanna go get a beer?

Hello? Had he heard anything shed said? I cant, Myron. Im really broke.

Myron smiled then. Its on me, he said, and stood, shoving his hands into his jeans. Lets go down to Pratangelos and see whats going on.

What she really wanted to know was why the forklift accident had anything to do with the money he owed her, but before she could ask, Myron asked, Whats that?

She glanced down at the paper she was still clutching. Oh! I went to the employment agency today. Its a job referral.

A job. Really? he said, his face brightening. So youll get yourself a job! There you goproblem solved! he said happily.

Not really. Its just a temp agencypart-time work.

Myron shrugged. Itll at least give you grocery money.

Yeah, and if hed repay the loan shed made him, she could pay her utility bill. Which reminded her By the way, Myrondo you have my T-Mobile? she asked.

Oh yeah, he said, and laughed sheepishly. I meant to bring that back. I dont know where my heads been! Ill bring it back, I promise, he said, and walked to the door. Hurry up, will you? After what Ive been through today, I could really use that beer.

FRATANGELOS, near the Brown campus at the edge of the Blackstone neighborhood where Rachel lived, was a place Myron had always liked because of the cheap happy hour and even cheaper eats. Tonight, as usual, it was packed with an odd mix of the hip young urban crowd and the graduate studentprofessor crowd.

They had a seat at the bar and Myron ordered a couple of beers. He then proceeded the regular rant of his tenure problemsame song, louder refrain. I just need time to research the theory Im working on, he explained for at least the thousandth, millionth to the nth power time.

Rachel absently noddedshe had learned a long time ago it was best just to zone when Myron went down the gotta-get-tenure path. He rarely heard anything she said, and if he did, it typically made him mad. So as he continued to drone on about it, she let her gaze wander the crowded bar, saw Dave Stolanski, a permanent fixture at Fratangelos. Dave had been in school almost as long as she had, which wasnt a particularly comforting thought.

Rachel frowned at her beer, then at Davebut noticed someone behind him who looked an awful lot like Flynn.

She froze, the beer halfway to her mouth, squinting across the smoke-filled room.

What are you looking at? Myron asked, shifting his gaze in the direction she was looking. Oh, he said, seeing Dave Stolanski. Dont get your heart set on him, Rach. The guys a loser. Hes been in the program five years now and still hasnt made any progress toward finishing his doctorate.

Rachel gave him a withering look, but Myron took a swig of his beer, completely oblivious. Ive been in that long, too, she reminded him. Does that make me a loser?

Startled by the question, Myron quickly shook his head and tried to laugh it off. No, of course not, Rachel! Its different with you! He laughed again, only a little higher.

How so?

Because! he insisted nervously. At least youre at dissertation, right? Daves not even at dissertation! he scoffed, waving a hand at Dave, who was intently studying something atop the bar. Myron took another long swig of beer, then held up two fingers to the barkeep to signal another round. Listen, dont misunderstand. It took me a couple of years to get my dissertation out of the way, too. And you know, back then, I was the bomb . The profs loved me! They thought I was the greatest thing since sliced bread, and my work on pre-Revolutionary American history? He paused to sight loudly and shake his head. Golden .

Rachel rolled her eyes, put down her beer. Im going to the ladies room.

Thanks to Myron, all she could see as she made her way around the crowded bar was the word loser . And it was that word that prevented her from seeing Flynn at all until she turned down the little corridor that led to the bathrooms and practically collided with the hard wall of his chest.

Somehow, she managed to stop herself before doing that, and stared for a moment at the Oxford shirt, the silk tie the square chin, the sexy five oclock shadow, and the dancing gray eyes framed in very thick and dark lashes. And when she had made it that far, he smiled and said, Hello, Rachel.

Her pulse jumped up a couple of notches. Ah hey.

His smile was dazzling, all pearly white and gorgeous, just like in the James Bond movies, and he unabashedly let his gaze drift the length of her. How fortunateI thought it was you.

You did? she asked, still blinking up at him, still trying to reconcile that gorgeous smile with the fact that it was aimed directly at her. Again. Again .

Yes, of course, he said with a laugh. In case you havent noticed, Ive been working a bit to gain your attention.

Where here ? she asked, confused, and unthinkingly glanced over her shoulder into the crowded bar area. When she turned around, she startedFlynn had casually braced himself with an arm to the wall, one hand on his very trim waist, and had blocked her way to the ladies room.

Here, there, and everywhere, really. But Im rather beginning to believe Im invisible.

Oh nooooo, he wasnt invisible, he wasnt even remotely invisible. More like a peacock, gorgeous and impossible to miss, even in a crowd.

Its been rather bruising to the ego, actually, so if you might possibly shake your head just a bit to indicate that Im really not so invisible after all?

Rachel shook her head just a bit.

He laughed low, a sound that tingled down her spine. Thats quite a load off, he said, and shifted closer. So close that she thought she could detect the pleasantly spicy scent of his Calvin Klein cologne. And he was still smiling at her, his gaze sort of dancing between her eyes, her lips, and her bosom. So now that weve established that Im not entirely invisible, perhaps we might move on to discussing what it will take to get you to agree to have a drink with me unless, of course, its too complicated. The ketones, or the schedule, you know.

She loved the way he said schedule . Okay. All right, now there was a fire building in her belly and spreading to her limbs, to her face, and she smiled, her face practically splitting open with it. A drink, she repeated, and wished to God she could make more use of her tongue than to re-peat everything he said.

A drink. A cocktail, he said, moving even closer, a nightcap, or a belt, if you prefer, or even a cozy cup of tea whatever you desire, if youd only nod your head or otherwise indicate your consent that yes, it is indeed within the realm of possibility.

With a laugh, Rachel self-consciously folded her arms across her middle. He smiled softly, moved closer, and lifted his hand from his waist and touched a curl at her temple. Rachel froze, absolutely paralyzed by his touch. A real mans touch.

A fire-breathing dragon could not possibly have made her hotter than that single touch.

Ah you know? she stammered, seeing as how he was very casually fingering the curl at her temple and that fire-breathing dragon was setting her shorts on full-blown inferno. You, ah, really dont have to do this. I wasnt offended that day at the phone.

Quite happy to hear that you werent, yet I dont believe I am making myself entirely clear. I dont have to do this. I want to do this.

Okay, hats off to Dagnes She would never say a disparaging word about white magic again. Never . But still this was so improbable, so unrealmen never looked at her like that , never stalked her for a drink, and she had never, ever , melted under the intensity of a mans gaze like she was melting this very minute. That, naturally, sent up all sorts of red flags, and she suddenly blurted, Are you making a film?

Beg your pardon?

Or maybe a documentary? Like a reality show where you maybe go around asking American women out to see what theyll say or do?

Clever idea, but not the case. And if it were, Id be the bloke whose face was flashed across millions of tellies with the caption, Horribly unsuccessful thus far .

So you really want to have a drink with me? she asked as his hand dropped to the braid that hung over her shoulder, calmly feeling the weight of it. Why me?

He smiled, stooping a little so that he could look her directly in the eye, and she could see the glimmer of amusement in his. Ah, Rachel, its all quite simple, really. Where I come from, if a man is interested in getting to know a woman, he asks her out for a drink. Its quite a common practice around the world, actually. Are you not familiar with it?

Thats an understatement, she muttered.

Aha. So what, then, is the proper protocol on your planet?

Luck. Pure dumb luck.

Hmm. Perhaps fun, but not entirely effective. So as it stands, and without much luck thus far, you really leave me no choice, he said, and took her braid fully in hand, using it to pull her a little closer, than to declare straightaway that I find you terribly attractive. And as it would be frightfully inappropriate to jump your lovely bones in this horrid little corridornot to mention that hardly being the most romantic gesture in the world, and fantastically presumptuous as wellIm hoping for at least the chance to chat, he said, and let go of her braid. His hand drifted across her jawline, then down her neck.

Ooh , she whispered.

Rachel?

Myrons voice was no less startling than a screech of tires, and startled Rachel so badly that she actually bumped into Flynn as she jerked around. Myron! Why did Myron have to choose that moment of all moments in the universe to show up? It made her feel angrily flustered, angry that he even existed.

Myron was staring at Flynn, and idiot that he was, unabashedly sizing him up. Whats going on here?

I ah this is ah Flynn.

Flynn Oliver, Flynn said, extending his hand.

Myron reluctantly took Flynns hand and dropped it quickly. Is everything okay? he asked Rachel, still staring at Flynn.

Yes, of course! she exclaimed a little heatedly.

I just wondered if everything was all right. I mean, when you didnt come back

I wasnt gone that long.

Well, your beer is getting warm, Myron said. Are you going to drink it?

I didnt realize, Flynn said politely, and stepped away from her, leaving a cold draft on her back. Im sorry to have interrupted your eveningit would seem I owe you another apology. He made a move to step around Myron.

No, really, you dont owe me an apology! Rachel exclaimed as she realized he was leaving. I didnt I mean, Im not really

Oh, sorry, Myron said as he moved out of Flynns way and bumped up against Rachel.

Flynn smiled, let his gaze flick over her once more before lifting his hand. Have a good evening. He turned and walked on, leaving her there with a moron.

As he disappeared into the crowd, Rachel sighed with great exasperation and showed Myron away from her.

What? he demanded. I thought that dude was bothering you!

He wasnt bothering me!

You mean you liked him? the dolt asked, looking over his shoulder at Flynns retreating back.

Oh just shut up , Myron! she said hotly, and walked into the ladies room, furious with herself for not having more guts.

FLYNN walked to the other side of the bar, nodded slyly at Joe, then proceeded to the parking lot, Joe following behind. He got in the passenger side of the car; Joe got in behind the wheel and started up his blue 1977 Camaro, revving the motor a couple of times as he liked to do.-

So? Joe asked as he coasted through the parking lot toward the street.

Apparently shes already hooked up, Flynn said.

You mean you got nothing ?

I wouldnt say nothing , Flynn said. I got a look.

A look? What look?

A look, Flynn repeated, motioning vaguely with his hand. You know a bloody look .

Dude Joe sighed, shook his head. Youre going about this all wrong. You have to come on to her! Let her know you want in her pants. Rub up against her, like, let her know what youre working with. Women like that.

Seems terribly doglike, doesnt it?

Joe shrugged as he turned the Camaro onto the street. Works for me, he said, and hit the gas.

RACHELS night went from bad to worse, but all things being equal, the incident involving the police later went pretty well, considering Dagne was involved.