After Hours Bundle (18 page)

“Is the temperature okay?” Peggy asked him. Her professional, polite tone was really starting to irk him.

“Yeah, it's fine.” Then he added, “It would get hotter if you'd join me.” He could rinse off this nasty stuff and they could get on with some good, clean fun….

Her expression told him that would happen when developers launched planned igloo communities in hell.

Hookay.
“Look, regardless of my original nefarious intentions, I'm not going to break your lease here or try to boot you out of After Hours.”

Her expression didn't change a bit.

“Doesn't that make you happy? Or at least bring us back to square one?”

Peggy exhaled audibly and gave him a derisive snort. “What, the emperor has granted clemency and now I'm supposed to kiss your ring?”

The only emperor he was familiar with was the one who'd worn no clothes. Which, he supposed, was apropos for the current situation, since he was butt naked, too. “Peggy, I've said I'm sorry. I've said I'm not breaking your lease. What else is there to say, except that I miss you?”

“I don't know what there is to say, except that everything between us is not okay. I am still mad and hurt and I still feel used. Those feelings are not going to disappear overnight. And I don't think I can ever trust you again.” She got up. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go get some clean towels.” As she moved to the door, she inspected the waffle-weave robe that hung there. “This has a stain on it. I'll get another one of these, too.” Then she dimmed the lights and disappeared.

Troy lay back in the hot slop and wondered how to fix this. He refused to acknowledge defeat. He would find a way to make it up to her and make her happy…. The warm mud seeped into every crevice of his body, and he had to admit that it felt incredible. He laid his head back on the edge of the tub and nodded off.

When he awoke a few minutes later, the place was eerily quiet and his skin had pruned in the mud bath. “Peggy?” he called.

No answer.

“Peggy?” This time he yelled louder.

Silence.

Troy began to get a bad feeling. “Peggy!” he roared. Quickly he took stock of the room. Jars, bottles, CD player, CDs. No towels. She'd never returned with them as promised. No robe. Not even a box of tissues to dry off with.

Well, fine. He'd drain the slop in the tub, rinse off and find a towel in the locker room. Troy opened the drain and sat there while the mud gurgled down, leaving him brown, slimy and cold as well as naked. He turned the hot water tap on the tub, seeking relief.

Nothing happened.

He turned the cold water tap and got three small drips. The little redheaded witch had turned off the water main!

Troy stood and climbed out of the tub, eyeing the door to the locker rooms. She'd better not have…Dripping mud all over the tile floor, he sprang at the door handle and yanked hard.

It didn't budge. She'd locked his clothes in there!

His predicament began to hit home. Butt naked and caked in mud, Troy let loose a stream of curses that would have made a sailor blush. He tore out of the wet room through the main door and looked around for something, anything, to cover himself. Didn't salons have those capes for customers to wear when they got their hair cut? He stalked around opening cabinets, but when he found the right one, labeled Smocks, the only thing it contained was a note in Peggy's handwriting. “Oops,” was all it said.

“Witch!” he crumpled it up and threw it to the ground. She hadn't even left him a damned pillow. He was quite sure there was a pile of them sitting in a corner of the locker room, dead-bolted and secured. Even the phone was gone!

The only thing she'd left behind for him sat in the middle of the weird modern coffee table in the center of the reception area: his keys.

Troy looked outside at the cars whizzing by on the busy road, the people pulling into the parking lot to have dinner at Benito's. Peggy's car was noticeably absent. He looked at his own beautiful, freshly washed, waxed and detailed Lotus.

Then he looked down at his filthy, mud-encrusted, nude body.

He had two choices. He could stay here overnight, sleeping on the uncomfortable contemporary furniture and giving tomorrow's first employee an eyeful. Or he could grab a hair magazine to cover his privates and streak to his car.

Christ Almighty. He was going to open up a can of whip ass on one little redhead when he caught up with her. And to think he'd actually come close to groveling!

He looked at the bizarre excuse for a couch that these people had. Serve them right if he slept on it and trashed it with the mud. But it was downright cold in here, and the thought of shivering in discomfort all night was not appealing. He figured he'd already gotten some measure of revenge, because Peggy was going to have a hell of a mess to clean up—his muddy footprints tracked all over the interior.

Troy grabbed his keys and a silly oversize hair magazine. Then, holding it in front of his crotch, he marched out the door. There was no turning back: the damn thing locked automatically behind him.

A
FAMILY OF FOUR
stared at him slack-jawed, the father rushing to cover up his little girl's eyes. A group of businessmen guffawed. The counter staff in the Arrowroot Café doubled over in mirth. Troy ignored them all, striding with purpose toward the Lotus.

He'd lovingly detailed her interior over the weekend and washed and waxed the exterior until she shone. He'd even conditioned the cream leather seats.

It just about killed him to sit on those seats in his filthy condition. He opened the door, hid his crotch behind it and placed the magazine strategically so that at least he wouldn't have a big muddy ass print on the driver's side. Bracing himself for the carnage, he slid inside and slapped his hands onto the wheel. He jammed the keys into the ignition, pushed in the clutch and started her up. Then he negotiated five of the ten minutes back to his house without incident.

He knew that he was in trouble the moment he saw the Miami-Dade squad car. He stared straight ahead, pretending utter nonchalance, as it pulled up next to him.

A black female police officer look a long, hard look at him. She rolled down her window and leaned out, gesturing him to do the same. He complied, abject fear starting to beat a tattoo in his lower belly.

“Sir, are you all right?”

He gave her a wide, toothy grin. “Just fine, thank you, Officer.”

“What is that all over you?”

Troy looked down. In the fading light of the sunset, the mud smeared on his chest looked rusty brown. “Oh, that. It's just, uh, mud. I slipped and fell on a…construction site.” Please, God, let her swallow it and drive on.

She shot her partner a significant glance before turning back to him. “Sir, please pull over.”

No! Dear God, please don't let this be happening.
“I—uh, is there a problem, Officer?”

“Just a routine stop, sir. Now pull your vehicle over.”

Troy weighed his options. If he gunned the Lotus, he had a small chance of outrunning them, even in the Miami traffic. But they'd still have his license plate number and would inevitably track him down.

If he pulled over and sprinted out of the car, they'd eventually catch him and then he could add charges of resisting arrest to a booking for public indecency. And when he was released? They could just add on a murder-one rap, because he was going to strangle Peggy Underwood with his bare hands.

Miserably, reluctantly, he pulled over.

The lady cop approached the driver's-side door and he instinctively put a hand over his privates.

“Hands on the wheel!” she roared.

Troy slapped his hand back over the polished walnut.
This is not happening…it's just not happening to me.

Her footsteps came closer. Troy stared straight ahead, unable to even look at her.

“License and registration, please—oh, Lord have mercy! Where are your
clothes,
sir?” She spoke into her radio. “We've got us a streaker, here. Naked as the day he was born. Possibly covered in blood.”

“It's not blood,” Troy said. “I swear to you, it's mud! I fell on a construction site—” Too late, he realized that he shouldn't have lied. Now they definitely wouldn't believe the truth.

“License and registration, sir.
Now.
”

His wallet was in his pants. “I don't have any ID on me, ma'am. Somebody stole my clothes.”

She put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh. At the construction site, right?”

He swallowed.

“Where you were paradin' around in nothin' but a hard hat? Real nice, pervert. What's your name?”

“Barrington,” he croaked. “Troy Barrington. Registration's in the glove box. Permission to open it?”

“Slowly. Keep your hands where I can see 'em.”

“Ma'am, trust me, if I had a gun in there it'd be my own head I'd blow off.” Troy reached over, opened the glove box and fished out his registration card. He handed it over. Had he been upset that nobody recognized him anymore? Now he thanked God and all His angels.

“But you don't have any photo ID on you.”

“No, ma'am.”

“What is your address?”

He told her. She wrote everything down. “Now step out of the car, please, sir.”

Troy looked at the traffic backed up behind them, every driver looking bored and ready for entertainment. “Is that strictly necessary, Officer?”

“Step out of the car, sir! Don't make me ask you again.” She cuffed his hands and ordered him into the back of the cruiser, where his bare butt immediately stuck to the warm vinyl seat.

The lady cop's partner took a long, disbelieving look at him. “Jesus Christ. Didn't you used to play strong safety for Jacksonville?”

Troy hunched his shoulders and kept his cuffed hands strategically placed. Had he really missed being recognized? Anonymity looked better and better.

The cop shook his head in disgust and spat out the window. He put the car into Drive and edged out into traffic. “Whose blood is that all over you?”

Troy gritted his teeth. “It's mud!”

God,
he thought.
Just kill me now. Please. But do me a favor—take Peggy Underwood, too. You can drop her off with Satan at the portal to hell. They'll get along just great.

 

P
EGGY LAUGHED HERSELF
sick on the way over to Marly's. She'd have one big mess to clean up early tomorrow morning, but it was so worth it.

She hoped Marly had ordered the deep-dish pizza and not the thin crust. It tasted so much better. She pulled up to her friend's condo complex and parked the Mini, schlepping a bottle of red table wine with her as she made her way to the front doors. Marly's building, like almost every other one in Miami, was tall, vast and white. Some of the rooms overlooked the ocean and others overlooked a bunch of ugly warehouses.

Marly claimed she'd paid extra for the warehouse view, and draped the windows with sheer purple and scarlet curtains. This, combined with various exotic throws and cushions, made her living room look like a fantasy harem. Adding to the atmosphere were jeweled lanterns hanging from various architectural details. Marly placed tea lights in them and lit them whenever she was home.

Peggy thought it was quite the fire hazard, but refrained from comment.

She knocked on her friend's door, swinging the bottle of wine and feeling more cheerful than she had in days. Revenge had put her in a great mood.

Marly opened the door and yanked her inside. She looked flushed and excited. “Open the wine. I have something to celebrate.”

“Me, too,” said Peg. “But you first. What's your news?”

Marly produced a corkscrew and started the process of liberating their libations from the bottle. “I got a call from the governor's people today.”

“Yeah? No kidding!”

“And I'm going to cut his hair tomorrow. At his hotel here in Miami. Can you believe that?”

“Good for you! And great for business.” Peggy's smile faded as she thought about them having to move After Hours. After her little stunt of today, it was a definite. She still didn't know how to tell Alejandro or Marly.

Impulse control, Peg. What happened to impulse control? Guess it went out the window along with the year of no men and the lentil salads.

Suddenly she was ashamed. It was one thing for her impulsive behavior to blow up in her own face. It was quite another for her lack of self-control to affect her friends' livelihoods. If she had just accepted Troy's apology…he'd said that he wouldn't break the lease. She wouldn't have had to date him. He wasn't
that
slimy.

“What's wrong?” Marly asked. “Why the long face?”

Peggy sighed. “I kind of did something today that I shouldn't have. Something that made me feel really good at first, but now makes me feel really bad.”

She told Marly what had happened, glad that her friend's first impulse was to laugh. But then she looked devastated.

“We're going to have to move? What about all the remodeling, the huge loan, the fact that the clientele loves this location?”

“I know. God, I'm so sorry. I don't even know how to tell Alejandro.”

“Can't we just get a retroactive permit for that tub or something?” Marly asked.

“Under normal circumstances we probably could. But these aren't normal. We're screwed.” Peggy stared into her wineglass. “I guess it wasn't such a brilliant idea to offer me a partnership in After Hours. I've done more damage than good.”

A couple of telling seconds went by before Marly jumped in with “Oh, that's not true.”

Peggy met her eyes, her mouth twisting. “How am I going to tell Alejandro?”

The pizza arrived, rescuing Marly from having to answer. They ate it straight out of the box on the living-room floor, sitting cross-legged on big squishy pillows.

After a few minutes Marly put down her slice and wiped her fingers on a paper towel. “You can't tell Alejandro,” she said. “He'll go into cardiac arrest. He's got his business school loans, the remodeling/build-out loan, the cash-flow issues and his executive MBA program on top of it all. His stress level is off the charts, and moving locations could damage us beyond repair—we'd have to close for six months just to get a new site ready.

“Peggy, you can't do this to him, you can't do this to yourself, and you can't do it to me. We have to figure out a way around this. Didn't you say that before your little stunt today, Troy was going to let us stay?”

The pizza now tasted like salty cardboard drenched in modeling glue. Peg nodded.

“Then you have to go find him and apologize. You have to make this right.” Marly looked at her calmly.

Somehow Peggy managed to swallow. “You want me to tell him I'm sorry for getting even. After he's lied to me and used me and made a fool out of me.”

“Do you see an alternative?” Marly's face still radiated beauty, despite her stern expression.

“No.” Peggy's stomach roiled, and the wine she'd poured down her throat now decided to try to make it back up, burning her esophagus.

“You know I love you, hon, but I don't see why Alejandro and I have to pay for your petty revenge.”

“It wasn't petty!” Peggy jumped up and set down her glass on a side table.

“Okay,
petty
is the wrong word.
Infantile
is more apt.” At Peggy's gasp, Marly got up, too, and took the pizza box into her kitchen. “The truth may hurt, but bankruptcy is going to hurt worse.”

“I think I'll leave now.” Peg headed for the door.

Marly came after her and caught her arm. “I know I'm being harsh right now, and I'm sorry for that. I hope this doesn't have to spoil either our friendship or our business relationship—but you have to make it right, okay?”

 

P
EGGY DROVE BACK
to After Hours with a mop, a bucket and a pair of bright yellow rubber gloves. She wanted to be furious with Marly, but when she looked at things from her partner's point of view, she couldn't blame her. Peggy herself would have said the same thing. Sometimes your friends had to tell you painful home truths.

Morose, she unlocked the door and relocked it after letting herself in. The place was an unholy mess: Troy had obviously looked everywhere for something to cover himself with before streaking to his car. She got to work with the mop, no longer finding the scenario funny.

Instead, what she'd done seemed small, mean and immature. Infantile, to use Marly's adjective. Still, a tiny part of her brain defended her actions. He'd been a total jerk to her and then compounded it by threatening to sue After Hours if she didn't agree to see him! He had
so
deserved her revenge.

But the other people in her life shouldn't have to pay for that revenge.
Impulse control, Peg. What the hell is wrong with you? Why couldn't you have thought it through? Realized the consequences of your actions?
She'd been utterly selfish.

If she were the only person affected by the issue, she wouldn't apologize to Troy Barrington if her life depended on it. But as she scrubbed mud off the floors of After Hours, cleaned the wet room and replaced all the things she'd locked away, she had to face facts.

And they added up to one thing: she needed to return his clothes and wallet to him and even kiss his feet, if necessary, so long as he agreed not to take out his anger on her friends.

Peggy folded Troy's clothes neatly, setting his watch and wallet on top of the pile. She took them out to the car with her, leaving the spa spotless. Nobody would be any the wiser in the morning.