After Hello (4 page)

Sam’s face paled and he dropped Rebecca’s hand like she’d sprouted claws.

Bootsie’s howl had turned into a harsh, labored panting, punctuated by a weird mix of yips and yelps.

“Do what you want,” Rebecca muttered. “I’m leaving.” She touched my shoulder as she passed me. “Last chance to come with me,” she offered.

I shook my head, but it didn’t matter. Rebecca had already stepped into the elevator.

“You sure?” Sam asked me once we were alone, the look in his eye making me think he was reevaluating me yet again, finding a new place for me in the filing cabinet of his mind.

I shrugged with more courage than I felt. “You already know I’m equal parts stubborn and brave,” I echoed his earlier words back to him, making him smile.

“Sam!” a sharp voice hissed from the suite doors. A man stepped into the hallway, dressed in the same kind of blue and gray uniform that Rebecca had been wearing. A whimpering bundle wrapped in a hot pink blanket was tucked in the crook of his arm. He closed the door firmly behind him before he turned back to us. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Delivering the book. Like you asked me to, Paul.” Sam adjusted his messenger bag but didn’t move otherwise. “How’s Bootsie?”

Paul and Sam could have been twins—same brown hair, same brown eyes—but because Paul was just that much taller than Sam, I could tell he was the older of the two brothers. That and the way he stormed down the hallway like an angry father preparing to scold a disobedient child.

“How do you think?” Paul snapped, barely sparing a glance for me. “The little rat has a broken leg. Where did Rebecca go? This is her mess; she should be here to clean it up. I swear when I find her—” Paul drew in a deep breath through his nose and exhaled slowly. “I need your help.”

Sam looked blandly at the blanket. “Obviously.”

“Not with the dog. I have to take her to the vet personally. She’ll ask me too many questions I won’t be able to answer if I’m not there. And forget going back inside without her pet. She’d have my head.”

“Tough day at the office?” Sam asked.

Paul’s lips flattened into an unhappy line. “Let’s just say I’m already on thin ice.”

“Is she okay?” I asked quietly, peering forward and trying to catch a glimpse of the small animal. “Bootsie, I mean. It sounded like she was in a lot of pain.” I loved all kinds of furry creatures, and my heart ached at the thought of the poor dog’s pain.

Paul rolled his eyes. “Apparently Bootsie likes Valium almost as much as her owner does.”

“You drugged the dog?” I blurted out. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“How should I know?” He glanced between me and Sam. A line creased his forehead.

“I’m Sara,” I sighed. I was getting a little tired of introducing myself all the time. “And before you say it, yes, I know I’m not supposed to be here.”

“I know that look, Paul,” Sam said, an edge to his voice. “What are you thinking?”

“You still have the book?”

Sam nodded.

“Good. Give it to her.” Paul jerked his head in my direction.

“What?” I asked.

“Why?” Sam echoed at the same time.

Paul shook his head, impatient. “The book is the perfect distraction, which is exactly what she needs right now. And if she thinks someone from the bookstore came to deliver the book
personally
—”

“No,” Sam said in a tone that refused discussion. “Not Sara. I’ll do it.”

Paul huffed out his frustration. “You can’t.”

“Why not?” Sam folded his arms and lifted his chin.

“Because she’s doing a cleanse this month, trying to align her feminine chi.”

I was impressed that Paul managed to say that without cracking a smile.

“So?” Sam challenged.

“So no boys allowed,” Paul said, biting off each word.

“You were in there,” Sam said, his head jutting toward the apartment doors.

I wondered why he was so determined to keep me out of Paul’s clutches. It was just a book. How bad could delivering it be?

“Why do you think she’s already mad at me?” Bootsie whimpered in Paul’s arms. He looked down, grimacing. “I gotta go.”

“But—”

“It’s not your call, little brother. Give me the book.”

Chapter 6

Sam

Paul held out his free hand and waited. Bootsie’s whimpers rose in pitch; she panted and squirmed. Sam wondered if the Valium was already wearing off. Paul snapped his fingers, demanding more than patience.

With a sigh, Sam flipped open the top flap of his messenger bag and withdrew the brown-wrapped package from the bookstore. He plunked it into his brother’s hand. A muscle jumped in the back of his jaw and the darkness in his eyes turned from brown to black.

Paul immediately passed the book to Sara. “Don’t open it. Don’t be there when she opens it. Don’t ask what it is. Don’t invite conversation. Don’t sit down. Don’t touch anything. If you’re not in and out in five seconds, you’ve done something wrong.” He glared at her. “Do.
Not.
Get. Me. Fired.”

Sara froze, holding the book unnaturally in front of her as though she had caught it mid-drop but then had forgotten to bring it to her side. Her face had lost the rosy blush she’d had in the elevator. Sam missed it. A little color brought her to life, and seeing her so pale and stiff felt wrong.

Of course, there was too much about this situation that was wrong. The whole day was turning into a disaster. He should have sent Sara away with Rebecca when he had the chance. Or at least listened to Will and left Sara in the lobby. Better yet, he should have cut through the back room of Scoops and disappeared. It would have been safer—for everyone.

Paul shifted his intensity to Sam. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”

“We’ll be gone in twenty-nine,” Sam said, a weariness in his voice that he hated to hear.

Paul didn’t even turn around. “Be gone in two.” Then he stepped into the elevator and was gone.

Silence filled the hallway again for a beat or two. Sam shifted his weight, feeling the familiar demand for movement building in his bones. Paul was right; they should be gone sooner rather than later. He reached for the book in Sara’s hand. “You don’t have to do this, you know. We can just leave the book by the door.”

Sara blinked as though waking up from a dream. “I know.” She pulled the book close to her chest.

“Let me put it another way: I don’t think you should do this.”

“I know that too.” Sara hefted the book in her hands, eyeing the closed door at the end of the hallway.

He sighed. He knew that look. He’d seen it on his own reflection more than once. “You’re going to do it anyway, aren’t you?”

Shrugging, she cocked her hip out to one side. “If delivering the book keeps your brother out of trouble, then I don’t really see what the problem is. It’s like Paul said—in and out. Two minutes flat.”

“Paul isn’t always right.”

“Is he right about this?”

Sam’s lips thinned. His silence was his answer.

Sara took a step toward the door.

“Wait,” Sam said, catching her elbow. “If you’re going to go through with this, you might as well look the part.”

Sam’s eyes touched Sara at shoulder, wrist, hip, but softly. A glance. A brush.

Sara looked down at her clothes. “T-shirt and jeans. I know. Really original. But give me a break. I’m on vacation. I didn’t exactly plan on this.”

Sam shook his head. “You look—” The glance moved over her again, but on the opposite side—shoulder, wrist, hip—crisscrossing her body. A swallow moved down his throat.

He gently slid her camera off her wrist and looped the strap around his own. He plucked the sunglasses off her head. A wisp of brownish-blonde hair curled up and away and, without thinking, he smoothed it down by her ear and allowed the edge of his thumb to graze the edge of her cheek.

She glanced up at him in surprise, and he dropped his hand from her face, fumbling at his bag as though nothing was wrong. Instinct screamed at him to step back, to leave, to
move.

“I think . . . ah, yes.” His fingers found what he was looking for at the bottom of the bag, and he withdrew a small golden rectangle with a pin clasp on one side and the name “Sam” printed in black letters on the other.

He held out the name tag for her on his open palm. A gentleman might have offered to pin it to her shirt, but he didn’t dare get too close. Not again.

“Do I want to know why you’re carrying around a spare name tag?” she asked, tucking the book under her arm and plucking the gold bar from his hand. “I thought you freelanced.”

“I do. But you never know when a bit of official-looking identification will come in handy.”

“Like today?” She pinched the front of her shirt between her fingers and fastened the name tag just below her collarbone.

“Like today,” he agreed, taking a step back and leaning against one of the tables lining the wall.

“Sam,” she said, her tone thoughtful and careful.

He looked up, anticipating a question, then realized she was merely reading the name off the tag.

“Short for Samantha?” he suggested.

She tilted her head, considering, then nodded. “Samantha. And I work at . . .” She flipped the book back into her hands and read the name printed on the sticker holding the wrapping closed. “Chasing Pages.”

“New York’s finest bookstore,” Sam added. “With New York’s finest employees.”

She looked up at him, her eyes meeting his, then shifting away.

He bit back a curse. He’d made her uncomfortable. He hadn’t meant to do that. But, on the plus side, that warm hint of color had returned to her cheeks, and there was nothing wrong with that, in his opinion.

Sara took a deep breath and touched her hair with her free hand. “Why am I so nervous all of a sudden?” she asked, her voice filled with a breathy laugh.

His own throat constricted a little at the sound. What was that about? He had only just met her. He shouldn’t be reacting like this. But it had been a long time since he’d felt so comfortable with a girl so quickly. And a pretty girl at that. Not since—no, he cut off that line of thought and looked down at his boots.

“Because, Samantha from Chasing Pages, this is your first time making a delivery to Piper Kinkade’s personal penthouse suite—and that would make anyone nervous.”

Sara’s mouth dropped open, and her brown eyes glazed over in shock. “Piper Kinkade?”

Sam relaxed, knowing Sara’s attention had been successfully diverted to a safer topic. Though how safe Piper was remained to be seen.

“You lie,” Sara accused, her eyes narrowing.

“You don’t know me well enough to know when I’m lying.”

“
The
Piper Kinkade? As in the
actress
Piper Kinkade? Star of
Graffiti
and
Central Park West
and
Sunflower Girl?
” Her voice slid up in an excited squeak.

“She also had a bit part in
Dance Dance America: A Two-Step Story,
but that was her first movie; she doesn’t like to talk about it.”

Sara stared down the hallway. “Are you telling me that your brother works for Piper Kinkade, and that I’m supposed to go in there and make sure she doesn’t fire him?”

Sam bobbed his head right, then left. “More or less—yes.”

Sara swallowed. Her hand touched her hair again, a nervous habit Sam noted and filed away.

“There’s still time to change your mind,” he said quietly.

His words seemed to break Sara from her paralysis, and she blinked three times. She took a deep breath. “You don’t know me well enough yet to know that I never change my mind.”

She slung her bag off her shoulder and handed it to Sam. Then she secured the book under her arm and touched the name tag as if for luck. When she walked toward the door, she didn’t look back. Her knock was perfectly halfway between a request and a demand. Professional, but courteous.

After a moment, Sara squared her shoulders and opened the door. She stepped through, leaving Sam alone in the hallway.

The afterimage of her shape lingered in his eyes.

Yet.
He liked the sound of that.

Chapter 7

Sara

The room I stepped into was an extension of the hallway of light outside. Everything was white. The couch. The carpet. The curtains. I wondered how Piper survived in such a sterile environment without going crazy, but as my eyes adjusted, I noticed that the billowing clouds of whiteness were not all exactly the same color. There were subtle hues and tones to the throw pillows, the paint on the walls, the blanket artfully draped over the back of a chair that somehow gave the room depth and dimension.

Someone had spent countless hours and dollars to make it look like no effort had been spent at all.

Someone else had defied the aesthetic and demanded their own style be seen.

Splashes of hot pink were scattered throughout the room. A dog dish encrusted with sparkling jewels sat near a distant door—I hoped the baubles were glass, but somehow doubted it. A fluffy pink pillow embroidered with Bootsie’s name along the edge seared my eyes like a laser. Dozens of pictures of Piper and Bootsie hung on the walls or rested on the otherwise clear tabletops, each photograph framed in hot bubblegum pink. Some frames even had dark pink hearts painted on them.

What decorating madness had I stepped into?

The suite was empty, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Paul hadn’t needed to worry about his job. Sam hadn’t needed to stay in the hallway. Whatever fireworks they had expected to happen had fizzled. Piper’s feminine chi—whatever that was—could be aligned without worry, because wherever Piper was, it wasn’t here.

I had to admit it, I was a little disappointed. I had loved Piper in
Sunflower Girl;
she had played Claire, who, at sixteen, finds out she’d been adopted and then spends the rest of the movie searching for her birth mother and the family she hadn’t known she had. Claire was so brave and so vulnerable, and I could relate to her feelings of loss and abandonment. I’d seen the movie four times in the theater and had cried every time. And now I was going to miss out on my one chance to meet, in private and in person, the girl who’d brought Claire to life. Just my luck.