REBEL, a New Adult Romance Novel (The Rebel Series) (18 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I CAN ONLY SLEEP ABOUT four hours before I’m awake again.
 
With a pile of all my dirty clothes, I head out to the laundromat that rejected me for not being fluent in three languages.
 
An hour later, all of my laundry is washed, dried, and folded and I still have time to stop and grab some food at the mini-mart before heading back to Colin’s place.

When Mick walks into the office at seven in the morning, I’m already thirty minutes into my bookkeeping with a box of donuts on the counter for everyone to share.

“Well, look at you. Early bird gettin’ the worm.”
 
Mick grabs a donut, examines it for I don’t know what, and then shoves half of it into his mouth.
 
Powdered sugar coats his lips.

“That sounds really wrong, you know that, right?” I say, going back to my work.
 
A laptop I found in a back cabinet is now being loaded with details from client files.
 
I’ve almost finished with the A-names.

“You’re right,” he says after swallowing. “Strike it from the record.
 
You want coffee?” he asks, pouring himself some.

“Nope.
 
Already had three cups.” And that caffeine is thrumming through my veins as we speak.
 
I am wonder woman and super man all rolled into one badass computer genius superhero.

Mick goes into the car bay and Rebel comes in the front door.
 
He stops at the coffee pot and pours himself a cup while I type away and pretend to be very, very busy.

I can’t bring myself to look at him because I hate the idea of him seeing me as a desperate little girl.
 
That comment he made last night about his brother eating girls like me for breakfast created a vision in my head that grates on my pride, where Rebel views me as a child and not an adult.
 
It’s probably for the better, I know this … but I really don’t like Rebel seeing me that way.
 
I’m a grown woman, dammit.
 
I don’t just fall for any old guy.
 
I’m not easy.
 
I’m not some wienie who goes gah-gah over a pretty face and a troubled past.

When Rebel leaves the room without a donut and without saying a word, my heart sinks into a puddle of goo in my chest.
 
I am so full of shit. He didn’t even say anything and yet here I am, devastated.
 
Whatever I imagined about mutual feelings between us disappears in a puff of disappointed smoke.
 
I hate being in one of those one-sided crushes.
 
They hurt.
 
Oh, shit.
 
I’m admitting it now.
 
I have a crush on my boss.
 
And here I was thinking I couldn’t be any lamer.

“Morning.”

My head jerks up just in time to catch Rebel disappearing around the corner again.
 
His hand is the last thing to go, sliding off the door jamb.

He came back!
 
He talked to me!
 
My heart soars like it has the great big wings of an eagle attached. The angels are singing up on high!
 
The sky is a brighter blue than it ever was before! Even though I can’t see it from inside my office!
 
The world is a nicer place to be, as of right this moment!
 
I want to go out and do charity work and make the less fortunate feel like I feel right now!

His head comes back around the corner.
 
“Oh, and make sure you clean the bathroom out.
 
We have clients coming later today.”
 
His head disappears once more.

My heart?
 
It’s a whoopie cushion, and Rebel just sat on it.

I throw my pen across the room at the place where he was standing.
 
It bounces off the doorframe and goes out into the car bay.

When I’m done twisting my mouth at the filing cabinet and fantasizing about storming out in a huff, I get down to business.
 
“Clean the bathroom?” I grumble to myself. “You’ve got to be high on premium crack, yo, because I am
not
a maid.
I
am a college almost-graduate.”

Grabbing the phone directory, I page through the yellow section and start calling janitorial services, but after getting three ridiculously expensive quotes, I slam the book shut in frustration.
 
Taking a few deep breaths, I face my new reality. “Note to self.
 
You
are
a maid until a better offer comes along.”

The next few hours of my day are not spent computerizing the client files. They are also
not
spent expanding my intelligence in any way, form, or fashion. They are spent turning that disgusting hole of a toxic waste dump bathroom into one I’d be proud to drop my panties in. By the time the rock-n-roll bad boy of my wet dreams walks through the office door, the bathroom floor is so clean, I could eat off it.

“Hey,” says Tarin Kilgour, lead singer of By Degrees, one of the most amazing bands to ever record music, “is Rebel in?”
 
He lets the door swing shut behind him.

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out except some gurgling sounds.
 
“Guuhhh, guummm, derrrrr, yyyeeeaaahhhh.”
 
I walk over to my desk and sit down, grabbing up the phone handset in a panic.
 
As soon as the hard plastic hits me in the side of the head, I realize I have no one to call, so I put it back down.
 
It rattles loudly in the cradle.
 
Picking up a pen, I point to the door that leads into the car bay.
 
“There,” I finally manage to say.

He grins and follows the direction of my pointing pen.
 
He must be used to people turning into complete idiots in his presence, he handles my brain break-down so well.

As soon as he’s gone, I put my head down on the desk and try to breathe.
 
I can hear all three of their happy voices over the sound of my beating heart banging loudly in my ears.
 
Apparently, they’re very excited to see each other.
 
Hopefully, Tarin will forget I even exist and I’ll be able to go on without too much of a memory of my famous person paralysis problem.

A minute or two passes and my heart gets back to a regular rhythm.
 
I’m scared to death to actually face that rock star again - the actual Tarin Kilgour in the flesh - but I’m too intrigued by hearing Rebel’s voice with this much emotion in it to ignore it.
 
After only hesitating for a few seconds, I jump up from my desk and run to the door, peeking around the corner in an effort to spy on them.

Mick’s face is transformed.
 
He’s totally hyped, and who could blame him?
 
It’s not every day that a Hollywood god graces this place with his presence.
 
I know the names on the files in the drawer and most of them are people I’ve never heard of.
 
Mick is obviously a fan-boy, but I have to admire the fact that he can actually speak like a normal human while standing just a few feet away from Tarin.

Rebel, on the other hand, is just Rebel.
 
He stands there stoic, as cool as a guy can possibly be, one hand casually on his hip and the other gesturing to one of the cars that’s halfway done.
 
I envy his bad assitude.
 
I wish I could not be a puddle of fan-goo right now.

The door leading to the parking lot opens.

I spin around to see a girl coming in with a baby on her hip. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see that she’s not the blonde from the club. Standing up straight, I try and pretend like I wasn’t just oggling a customer.
 
“Hi.
 
Can I help you?”

“Yes, I’m with Tarin.
 
I just had to get the baby out of the car.”
 
Her diaper bag swings in as she gets through the doorway and throws her a little off balance.
 
I recognize her as the girl who was with Tarin outside the club just the other night.

My face falls.
 
What a dick, leaving his wife and baby to struggle in without him.

She grins.
 
“Don’t look at me like that.
 
I told him to go in without us.
 
She was sleeping, and I didn’t want to wake her up, but as soon as her dad was gone she started yelling.
 
Total daddy’s girl.”

I let out a sigh of relief.
 
I don’t know why, but I need my fantasies about people to stay intact right now.
 
That burglary has made me hate humans in general, I think.
 
To know that Tarin is a good papa is calming my nerves already.

“Can I get you anything?” I ask.
 
“A chair?”
 
I watch the child struggle in her arms.
 
“A shot of whiskey maybe?
 
A spa day?”

She laughs, her face lighting up.
 
“The chair would be nice.
 
The whiskey and spa day I’ll take another time.”

I scramble to roll my chair around the desk for her.
 
Once it’s around the opposite side, she sits in it and settles the squirmy kid in her lap before looking around.
 
“I took your chair,” she finally says.

I hitch my hip up onto the corner of the desk.
 
“That’s okay.
 
You’re getting me out of work, so stay in it as long as you want.”

Her gaze scans the room.
 
“I’ve been here once before, but it looked different.
 
Really different.”

“Like a garbage dump, right?
 
Pizza boxes?
 
Dust bunnies bigger than your diaper bag?”

She nods.
 
“I didn’t want to say it quite like that, but yes.”

“Yeah, I did some cleaning.”

“Good for you.
 
What’s your name?”

“Teagan.
 
I’m the queen of files.
 
What’s your name?”

“Scarlett.
 
I’m Tarin’s wife.
 
And this is Geneva.”

I wiggle my fingers at the baby.
 
“Hello, Geneva.
 
You have ants in your pants.”

“Yes, she does.”
 
Scarlett puts the squirming baby down and blows a big breath of air up into her face when the little girl starts to totter off.
 
“She never sits still.
 
I’ve lost six pounds running after her.”

“She’s cute.”
 
I remember reading something about this baby in a magazine once, but thank the stars my mouth has remembered how to stay shut for a change.
 
Maybe it’s just being around Rebel that loosens my tongue.
 
I clamp my teeth together just to be sure.

“Yeah, she’s a doll baby.”
 
Scarlett gets up and stands in the doorway to the car bay.

“Are you guys looking to buy a car?” I ask, hopping down from the desk and going over to the baby, steering her away from a sharp corner that I know is waiting for her on the edge of the filing cabinet.

“I guess so.
 
Tarin met Rebel a couple times a while back and he hasn’t stopped talking about muscle cars since.
 
He’s getting a little obsessed.”

“Yeah, it’s a disease, I think.”

“Do you have one?” she asks, looking at me.

“Me?
 
Heck no.
 
I drive a Beetle.”

“A classic.”
 
She smiles.
 
“Not that far from these classics, I’d bet.”

I shrug.
 
“Guess I never thought of it that way.”
 
I pick up the baby and bounce her on my hip.
 
She’s cute with a ton of little curls all over her head.

She grins at me and a giant glob of drool comes out of her mouth to land on her chest.
 
I catch a flash of a two tiny teeth in her bottom jaw before I’m blinded by a side-winder baby-smack to the eyeball.

“Ow,” I say, squinting through the pain.
 
I don’t move, afraid I might drop her.

A second baby smack comes right after the first, hitting me in the same eye.

“Ouch!
 
Holy right hook, Geneva...”

Scarlett comes rushing over.
 
“Oh my god, I am
so
sorry.
 
She’s in a hitting phase.
 
I should have warned you.”

I blink through the tears.
 
“Don’t worry about it.
 
I’m fine.”
 
I rub my eye gently once the baby is lifted from my arms.
 
“Do you have her enrolled in Tae Kwon Do or what?”
 
I can feel a little swelling coming up.
 
“Kung fu fighter alert.”

Scarlett is still laughing when Tarin and Rebel join us in the office.

“What’s going on?” Tarin asks, looking from me to her.
 
I can see him with my one good eye.

“Nothing much,” I say, wiping the tears coming out of my bad eye, “just got my ass handed to me by a baby, that’s all.”

“She slapped her,” said Scarlett, like she can’t believe it happened. “
Twice
. Geneva is a beast.” She squeezes her baby and showers her with kisses, making me think the kid is being rewarded for kicking my ass, but whatever.
 
I’m no parent. Maybe that’s how you keep a baby from turning into a prize fighter.

Tarin gives Geneva a not-very-threatening frown.
 
“That’s bad, Gigi.
 
No hitting.”
 
He points a finger at her. “No hits.”

She grins and reaches up in a flash to deliver a slap to his nose.
 
Her little arm is like a damn windmill the way it keeps going around and around trying to catch some grown-up unawares.