Bargaining with the Boss (7 page)

She shrugged, and he fought the urge to scratch his head like a confused cartoon character. Dumb luck, maybe.

That had to explain it.

"Haven't you done business in Germany?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Not yet. We have talks there in a few months.

"It's the best. I love eating in Germany. They have the noodles and the gravy and the chocolate." She smacked her lips, and he repressed another laugh.

"The best part," she continued, "is that it's a compliment to burp at the end of a meal. It's pretty much the best place ever."

"I'll keep that in mind. So, now your list of international travel expands again. Paris, Asia—"

She hushed him. "Next question."

On the TV, Alex cleared his throat and then asked a question about newspapers and circulation.

"
New York Times
," Brooks guessed

"No, it's
The Wall Street Journal
."

"I'm telling you, I'm right."

The buzzer sounded, and Alex said, “That would be
The Wall Street Journal
. When we come back from the break--"

Brooks clicked off the television. "That's it. I quit. You're clearly cheating."

"How could I cheat?'

"You've seen this episode before."

"Oh, that's it. Because I'm a woman and I'm smart, you think I must be cheating?"

"No, because I've seen your sad attempt at typing, I
know
you must be cheating."

She
tsk
ed, then pulled her knees up to her chest and shook her head. "How little you know, sir. How little you know."

"Apparently. This place looks like you've got some kind of secret life. You've been to Tokyo? Beijing? And then Germany"

"Or I'm really good at Photoshop. And etiquette. Isn't that more likely since I'm such a big cheater?"

"Either that or you're with MI6 and you've got a license to kill."

"Oh, you'd be in big trouble then, wouldn't you?" She laughed and this time he joined her.

It was too hard not to. When she laughed, it was like Natalie was a whole new person. Not better or worse, but different. The lines around her face would smooth and the little trill of joy sounded softer than the hard edge that was always behind her voice when she spoke.

He wanted to move closer to her, to make her laugh again and again. He scooted slightly, but not so much that she might notice, then asked, "You'd kill me if you had a license to kill?"

"Oh no. Besides, you're the one living the double oh seven life. All those Bond girls and the fancy car."

"So you admit it. You think my car is fancy."

She held up her hands in mock surrender. "You've got me. I guess you win. Now does that mean you're going to tell me why you're here?"

He hesitated. It was always so hard to know the right answer with Natalie, and if he
did
know what she wanted to hear, that didn't mean it was the right answer either. So, he opted for the truth.

"I'm sick of you hiding from me."

"Hiding?"

"Yeah, you don't look at me when I talk to you. You make excuses not to see me. The only reason you went to the hotel without prompting was to save your friend, and even then you bolted when that was off the table."

"Seems like a pretty clear message to me."

"It might be if you didn't always look at me like you want me to rip your clothes off."

"I think you're confusing the two of us again." Her speech was as feisty as ever, but there was a hesitation behind her voice that he knew she couldn't hide.

"Oh no, see, the difference is, you
look
at me like that. I have no problem simply telling it to your face. Natalie, I want to rip your clothes off."

Her jaw ticked, and the tip of her tongue peeked out to swipe across her upper lip. With every passing second, his heart beat faster, wondering if now was the moment when she'd throw him out or quit. Slowly, he opened her mouth and then—

Ding dong.

"Pizza's here," she said, and then sprinted for the door.

"
T
his pizza is
..." She hedged, trying to find the word.

"Terrible." He bit a chunk out of his piece of bacon pizza and nodded.

"I'm glad I'm not the only one." She ate the pizza nonetheless, wrinkling her nose in the hopes it would help her ignored the canned taste of the mushrooms.

"I guess you had better stuff in Italy," he said.

If he'd meant to disguise the leading tone in his voice, he'd done it poorly. Not that it mattered. She'd already made up her mind on that front. He'd read her personnel file, fine. He knew about her marriages. Fine.

That didn't mean she had to embarrass herself further.

And to tell him about all that...

She shook her head. "My Photoshop skills are limitless, I guess."

"Come on, Natalie. You've got statues from the Louvre. You've got figurines from Africa--"

"Pier One is great for that stuff."

"Don't bullshit a bullshitter. I don't get the air of mystery. Were you really like a secret agent or something? Are you in the witness protection program?"

"Yes." She took another bite of canned mushroom pizza. She really had to go get some garlic and red pepper. Maybe then it would taste better. And she'd have a couple minutes to develop an exit strategy.

"What could be so bad? I've seriously never met anyone so guarded in my entire life."

"You're one to talk." Yes, that was it. Shift the subject. Throw him off the trail.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You flit from woman to woman. You never leave the office unless you're on a date. Nobody lives like that unless they're afraid of sharing too much of themselves with someone."

"Maybe so." He picked a piece of bacon off his pizza and popped it into his mouth.

She shouldn't have thought it was cute, and it was even crazier to think it was sexy, but there was just something about the way his mouth moved...

The way his jaw looked strong and commanding when he--

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours." His words broke through her thoughts and she nearly choked on her pizza.

"You what?" She coughed.

"Don't be so dirty. I'm saying you're right. I have my own little
Dr. Phil
episode going on inside my tortured soul. But I'll share it with you if and only if you'll share your
Oprah
Special of a life with me." He shrugged. Like he was asking about the weather instead of, say, her innermost secrets.

"Are you crazy?'

"No, just curious."

"I don't see why. And why do you think I'd be curious about you?"

"Because you are." He spoke with so much certainty that she didn't have it in her to argue. That and, of course, he was right.

She hated it, didn't understand it, resented it, but there it was: the truth. She wanted to know more about him. But enough to tell him all about her?

That was a hefty bargain. Even bigger than the one he’d wanted before.

In truth, she might have slept with him a million times if only to avoid telling him—or anyone else--this.

“You don’t know what you’re asking me.” She hedged, but the ice in his eyes had melted into a cool, understanding blue. He was listening. Really listening. Interested.

And for the life of her she couldn’t decide whether that made it better or worse. Yet, even if she tried to argue with herself, she knew her decision had been made.

"You have to promise not to judge me," she said and he held up his hands in a show of innocence.

"No judgment here."

"And you can't tell anyone at work. Including Eliza. And Garret. And Rachael."

"Deal."

"And--"

"Natalie. The longer you post-pone this, the more nervous you're going to be. "

He was right. She just had to rip the words out. Like tiny band-aids on a series of paper cuts covering her boy. She cleared her throat.

Best to start at the beginning. With Jimmy. And with Dad.

"Well, I was married twice."

Brooks nodded. "I know."

"And you know I'm twenty eight."

"An impressive track record." He smiled, and though she didn’t want to, she grinned back.

"What happened to know judgment?"

"Hey, if anything it's a compliment."

"Okay, well, my first husband was a guy I'd met in high school. I'd grown up with my dad and he wasn't terribly interested in raising me."

"I'm sorry--"

She held up a hand. She didn’t want the pity or the apologies. They made it all so much worse. "Hey, this isn't a sob story. It's just a story and that's just the truth. It's fine. Anyway, I needed to get out of my town and I was stupid and, well, one thing led to another and I was married. He was a musician, see, so we traveled a lot."

"That explains the pictures."

"Actually, no. It doesn't." She cringed, remembering what travelling with Jimmy had been like. Cramped buses at first and then, when the money was gone, their tiny minivan. "We traveled the country. Major cities and stuff. And then we got to Vegas and he had a regular gig."

"Right."

"And with his regular gig came...regular fans. Anyway, it started with the groupies, but then he got so famous that he felt I couldn't understand him. He fell in love with another performer on the strip and, well, there I was. Divorced by twenty."

"Wow. That's...quite a story."

"It's pretty normal when you think about it. I'd never been really loved that way before and when you have a guy writing songs about you and making all that sacrifice sound less like a horror movie, you go with it." She shrugged.

"So the travel?"

"The travel was husband number two. He was...different than Jimmy. In a way, at least. In another, they were weirdly the same."

She could stop it here if she wanted to. She didn’t have to say the rest. She could live with it, carry it by herself. Nobody had to know…

But she wanted him to.

Wanted to tell him everything and leave nothing out.

So, when he prompted her to continue, she didn’t pause to deliberate or try to figure out why she was pouring her darkest secrets out to a person she’d convinced herself she hated. She just kept going.

"So, after Jimmy left I was stuck in Vegas with no money, so I got a job as a cocktail waitress and I worked days as a maid in one of the hotels. It was a disgusting job, but I found ways to sleep and eat on the cheap, so it worked out."

He nodded, and she was momentarily surprised by how genuinely interested he seemed.

"Anyway, I was living like that for a couple of months and then one night this guy came into the club where I worked and started making small talk. In a job like that, it's pretty common, so I shrugged it off. But there was something about him. The way people looked at him when he walked into the room...the way he...I don't know." She shook her head. There was no way of explaining Dominic to a person who hadn't met him.

He simply had an air of power around him. And intelligence. And strength.

Like Brooks.

But unlike Brooks, that strength didn't know its limits.

"That's beside the point, I guess. He came in every night asking for me, and one night when he offered to take me out on the town, I accepted. There was just something about the way he asked things, you sort of
knew
you couldn't say no. So over the next couple of months he showed me everything Vegas had to offer. He taught me how to gamble, took me to the best shows, introduced me to the biggest stars..."

She swallowed hard. What an idiot she'd been back then. A young, stupid girl accepting gifts and favors without the thought of what he'd want in return. Without understanding the world. Or men.

"It wasn't the money. I don’t think anyone would ever believe me, but it wasn't. I didn't care about the dresses or the parties or the people. It was the way he doted on me. He made me feel...important. Like I belonged. And I was young and stupid, so I fell back into the same trap."

She shook her head. "Three months into his visit, he had to take off for Italy. He wanted me to go with him, and when he asked me to marry him, I said yes."

"Who was this guy? Is he...?"

She shook her head. He'd gotten her this far, but she wouldn't do that. Couldn't. "I can't tell you that."

"Can't or--"

"Can't. It's part of the divorce agreement." But then, so was the restraining order…

"I see."

"So, for the first year we were married, things were wonderful. My husband took me all over the world and showed me off to his friends. I got to know his family. It was...fine. But then..."

She swallowed hard. She'd gotten this far. It was almost over. There was just that one little detail. That one small bit of information.

"So, I always knew that he had a temper. You know, his family sort of laughed it off. But at home...at home it wasn't a joke. He, um, well, I'm not going to get into the details, but I think you understand what I'm trying to tell you."

Brooks' jaw ticked and he nodded solemnly, his gaze still trained on her.

"It escalated quickly, and because we traveled so much I didn't have anyone to go to. He was powerful enough to cover his tracks and strong enough to...well, I didn't dare disobey him. Only his family was ever around long enough for me to make friends with."

She bit her bottom lip. If she put a wall up, she could separate herself from the past. She could pretend it had been someone else. That she'd been someone else.

"One day, his brother came by unannounced and found me on the floor. I think about that day a lot, what might have happened if he didn't come by. I probably would have..." She shook her head. "His brother beat him within an inch of his life and after that I never saw my husband again. They negotiated the divorce contract within the family, and I was able to go free so long as I never breathed a word about it to anyone. His brother fought against it, but..." She sucked in a deep breath. "Anyway, it would have hurt the family as much as my husband, and old money can't afford scandal, so...I know he keeps an eye out to make sure nothing happens to anyone the way it happened to me."

"Are you—"

She held up a hand. "I'm fine. But you can see why...It's not the abuse. Not really. That came from a deeply flawed place inside of him and I know it wasn't my fault. But even if I know that, it doesn't mean I want to defend myself to other people. I made a mistake, but I thought I was in love."

She leaned back and let out a deep breath. She hadn't told that story since...well, she hadn't told that story ever. Her friends knew bits and pieces, the bare bones in order to make sense of her life, but the whole of it? That had been her cross to bear alone.

"So anyway, if there's one thing I learned from marriage, it's that I have no idea what love is. I used to think it was my pasta sauce recipe, but you saw how that turned out." She smiled at him, hoping to defuse the murderous look in his eyes, but to no avail.

"You gonna be okay, big guy?" She nudged him, and it was as if a switch had gone off in his brain. He eased, his lips tilting again into his cocky smile.

"I'm fine. But I think I probably should have told my story first. There's no topping that one."

She laughed and the knot in her stomach loosened. Thank god he didn't go all GI Joe on her. She couldn't have handled it if he'd peppered her with questions or tried to track Dominic down.

Not that he would have any cause to.

But the whole "damsel in distress" thing was so not her anymore.

The fact that Brooks recognized that...warmth spread through her chest and she let out a deep breath. "Yeah, I probably should have warned you that mommy and daddy not loving you wouldn't exactly measure up to my sob story."

"Not a sob story. Just a story." He tilted his head toward her and she smiled.

"Right you are."

H
e wanted
to kill the bastard. He'd track him down, set him on fire, and then squirt gasoline onto the flames. He'd stomp on him with steal-toed boots and then kick him off a cliff.

He'd—

"So, what should we watch now?" Natalie changed the channel on the television, and he shrugged, trying his best to look impassive. "Whatever you want."

"Oh, now that you know my background you're going to go easy on me?"

"No, now that I know you've still barely eaten and you get cranky when you're hungry, I'm going to go easy on you."

She shrugged and then flicked to something in black and white.

He'd have bet a million dollars Franco Del Rossi was involved in here somewhere. He wasn't sure how or why, but he knew it just like he knew his own name. But if he asked...

He couldn't do that, not when she'd finally seemed to soften toward him. He just had to do something to get Franco and her bastard ex-husband off his mind.

His stomach growled, and then he rolled onto his feet and started toward the kitchen.

The tapping of her slippers behind him let him know that's she'd noticed and followed him. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to cook us something. What do you keep around here?" He opened the pantry to find a can of tuna and crusty bread and...nothing else.

"I eat out a lot."

"Looks that way." He picked up the groceries, set them on the counter, then headed for the fridge. Bacon and cheese. Just what the doctor ordered.

"This isn't exactly the French Laundry, you know," she muttered and when he turned to grab one of the skillets hanging from the rack about the island, it was to find her staring at him.

"Believe me, I can tell." He chuckled.

She took a swipe at him from across the island, but he dodged her and set the skillet on to heat.

"Don't worry," he said, "that's a good thing. I never liked fancy French food. Or any kind of fancy food, for that matter."

She nodded. "I'm with you there. My second husband took me to Paris for our honeymoon and forced me to try escargot. It was like garlicky, buttery, rubber." She shook her head and made a noise of disgust while he did his best not to think about what else that bastard had forced her to do during the course of their marriage.