Here Comes Trouble (3 page)

“She’ll be here later, if you want to come back,” he suggested when Lacy continued to gnaw on her lower lip.

She glanced back at him but didn’t say anything.

“Or she might already have it started in her office. I could take you back there.”
Okay, now you just sound creepy.

Her emerald eyes narrowed at him as though she’d just read his thoughts. “I’ll just get it tomorrow night when I come to work.”

“Is something wrong?” he found himself asking.

Her steady gaze dropped down to his midsection for the dozenth time in the past few minutes. He forced himself not to react.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she replied.

“You really can’t lie worth a damn, can you?” he countered as he took a step toward her.

She didn’t bother backing up. “I can lie a lot better than you think.”

He lifted his brows, and took another step until he was a whisper away from her. Lacy stood her ground and for once didn’t have some smart ass comment. Chase prided himself on being excellent at reading people. Lacy always pretended indifference around him, but her eyes gave her away. All he had to do was look into their depths to see through her.

“Really?” He bent over and whispered in her ear. “Because your attention is focused on things it probably shouldn’t be.”

Her jaw just about hit the floor as he brushed past her. Point one for Chase.

Two

Tonight was supposed to be Lacy’s night off. An hour ago Becky-Lynn, one of the other servers, called begging Lacy to fill in for her. Lacy, being the gosh-darn nice person she was, couldn’t say no. Instead of spending an evening at home, listening to Boris’s snoring, here she was, waiting tables for people who couldn’t decide if they wanted their steak rare or medium. The tips tonight had better be good.

Not that McDermott’s wasn’t a fine place to work, because it was. She’d been working there for two years now. What was supposed to have been temporary until she found something better, ended up being a full-time career waiting tables. Over time McDermott’s had sort of grown on her. Kind of like a bad haircut; eventually you say to yourself, “Eh, what the heck I’ll keep it.”

Plus she was good at her job. Probably one of the best servers there, if she did say so herself. The other wait staff was friendly, and Henry was a doll. He didn’t yell at his kitchen staff the way some chefs on those reality shows did. Lacy could deal with that.

There was one teeny, tiny thing she could do without. Most women probably wouldn’t share the same complaint. But most women didn’t have to deal with Chase McDermott the way she did. The man had been the bane of her existence as a teenager. He’d single-handedly coined the phrases “Twiggy Taylor” and “Lanky Lacy.” What surely was meant to be a joke had stuck with her all the way to college. So what if she’d been a little on the thin side in high school? Was that a reason to make someone’s life miserable? She couldn’t go hang out with his brother Brody without Chase answering the door and saying, “Well hello there, Miss Twiggy.” Even now the phrase made her want to snarl like a rabid animal. Brody had never said those things to her because he was such a swell guy. Why couldn’t she have had a crush on him instead of his mean older brother?

Okay, so she really didn’t hate working for Chase. He was a good boss. And kind of, sort of, easy on the eyes. Well, more than that. She was adult enough to admit Chase McDermott had grown into a fine-looking man. Her heart fluttered a little whenever he was within sniffing distance. Not even under the pain of death would she admit that to anyone. Especially to the man in question, who had an ego the size of Saturn.

She fed her latest order into the computer and decided to use her upcoming break to her advantage. She got Matt, one of the other servers, to cover her tables while she took thirty minutes to herself. After eating a barely satisfying ham and cheese sandwich with stale chips, Lacy went upstairs to do something she’d been dreading all night: speak to Chase.

While she might not hate working for him, she
hated
asking him for favors. Yes, he’d given her a job when most of the other places in town hadn’t been hiring. At an early age, Lacy discovered Chase had an uncanny ability to make her feel like she always owed him something. She couldn’t fault that as a family trait, because Brody had never been like that. It had to be a unique Chase trait.

She knocked on the office door. After hearing a muffled response, she opened it. She had no idea if he said “come in” or not, but what the hell? She went in anyway.

The man who’d made her heart constantly do its own love/hate tug-of-war didn’t acknowledge her when she entered. He sat perched on the edge of his desk, remote control in one large hand pointed at the small television on the credenza.

“I need to talk to you about next week’s schedule.”

His eyes stayed on the black and white image on the television. “You know I don’t deal with scheduling.”

“I know but Anita isn’t here, and this can’t wait.”

He pushed a button on the remote and the image on the screen froze. His blue eyes zeroed in on her. Lacy had never been able to fully prepare herself for his eyes, which were the same color as a cloudless sky. They were one of the first things that had drawn her to him and influenced her stupid teenage crush. Now was no different. Only this time she didn’t have a crush on him. Really, she didn’t. In fact, she did her best to ignore him and the way he made her insides feel like cottage cheese.

His gaze lowered to her button-up white shirt, which was the customary McDermott’s uniform. “What’s so important it can’t wait?”

“I need a few days off next week.”

“Find someone to fill in for you.”

She took a deep breath and caught a hint of his scent. It was a manly soap that reminded Lacy of Irish Spring. Chase wasn’t really a cologne kind of guy. Her eyes almost rolled back into her head. From now on she’d always associate Chase with that distinctive bar soap scent. “I’ve tried that already. No one can do it.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, which looked hard and sculpted beneath his light blue shirt.

“What do you expect me to do about it?” A mischievous glint lit his eyes, making them even bluer. Why did she still have to be affected by him?

“Find someone and make them do it.” Yes, she knew that sounded childish, but he was the boss. He could do it easily.

A slow smile graced his boyish face and developed into a laugh. The kind of laugh that rolled over her and felt like a caress of very talented hands.

His laughter died but the smile lingered. “Why do you need these days off?”

She shifted from foot to foot and tucked a strand of hair that had come lose from her ponytail behind one ear. “That’s not really any of your business, Chase.”

Again his gaze lingered on parts that weren’t her face; this time her hips drew his attention. “If I have to rearrange the schedule, it is.”

She heaved a sigh. He had her on that one. “I have some things of Ray’s I need to work on.” A bit of an understatement but still the truth. After being abandoned by her mother at the age of four and having a father who spent more time in jail than out, she’d relied on Ray as the only person who wouldn’t abandon her.

Chase slowly shook his head. “That doesn’t sound like a good enough of a reason to take time off work.”

They stared at each other a few tense moments. She really didn’t want to go into details. But Chase was going to stare at her in that unnerving way of his until she blurted it all out.

“What’s really going on, Lace?”

He and Brody had been the only ones to ever call her Lace. It was not a nickname she’d been particularly fond of. On the other hand, anything was better than Lanky Lacy.

He remained on the corner of the desk, his massive forearms crossed over his chest. He kept rolling his left shoulder, like he had an itch he couldn’t reach. She’d noticed him doing that earlier, accompanied by a wince of pain.

“Why do you keep doing your shoulder like that?”

His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

She motioned to his left shoulder. “You haven’t stopped moving it all night.”

His disarming smile returned. “Can’t keep your eyes off me, can you?”

Her eyes lifted heavenward. Lord help her with egotistical men. “What’d you do to it?”

“Nothing,” he answered a little too quickly.

“Nothing?” she answered back with a mocking tone of her own. “Let me take a look at it.”

“That’s not necessary,” he said with a shake of his head.

She offered him one of her sweet smiles, which probably came off more condescending than genuine. “I’ll make a deal with you. You let me look at whatever’s bothering your shoulder and I’ll tell you what’s really going on.”

“Boy, you really want to get my clothes off, don’t you?”

“Forget it.” She turned toward the door. It was impossible to have a serious conversation with a man who thought every woman wanted to get in his pants.

“Lacy,” he started with the chuckle of his she always found way too sexy. “I’m kidding. Come on, don’t walk away mad.”

When she turned back around, he’d stood from the desk. He towered over her at six-foot….well she didn’t know exactly how tall he was. But he was
really
tall. Lacy stood at an average five-seven and Chase had to be a good six or seven inches taller than her.

“You never did take a joke very well.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “I don’t appreciate being teased when I’m trying to help someone.”

He held his hands up in defense. “All right, calm down. If you’re that worried, you can look at it. But don’t forget your end of the deal.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

That remark earned another teasing smile. When she stopped in front of him, he flicked the end of her nose with his index finger. “You’re so cute when you get riled.”

“Oh, is that why you do it? Turn around,” she said before he had a chance to reply. “On second thought, you need to sit down.”

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Why?”

“You’re too tall. It’ll be easier for me to check your shoulder if you’re sitting.”

A pregnant pause filled the air before he answered. “I don’t think it’s my shoulder. The burning feels like it’s in the middle of my back.”

“Burning? What kind of burning?”

His wide shoulders moved in a shrug. “I don’t know, just burning.”

“When did this burning start?”

Another pause. “This morning.”

“Okay,” she said, unsure of what to say next. “You have to take off your shirt.”

In one fluid motion, he pulled the shirt out of his pants and drew it over his head. The whole time, Lacy watched, fascinated with the way each muscle moved beneath the tanned skin. She’d seen him without his shirt before, years ago at the local lake. He’d been a boy then, somewhere around seventeen or eighteen. Years had made him bigger, taller and wider. She could count each defined muscle in his back just from watching him move. But she wouldn’t. That would be too…well, she just wouldn’t.

Without his shirt, Lacy became painfully aware of how low his jeans hung on his hips. His skin looked like satin over muscle, and she wanted to run her hands all over so her fingers could feel each and every ridge.

When she focused her attention on her task and not how delicious he was, she noticed four thin, long, bloody scratches. Right in the middle of his back.

They looked painful. Lacy also knew exactly what they were the second she looked at them. Fingernail scratches.

“Um…” she cleared her throat and touched her index finger to one of them. “How’d you get these?” Her finger came away clean as the blood had long since dried. But they had bled.

“I’m not sure.” This time he cleared his throat. “Exactly.”

Okay, liar
.

“Do you have any rubbing alcohol in here?”

He threw an alarmed glance over one thick shoulder. “Why?”

“Chase, these have to be cleaned. Do you know how much bacteria is underneath a human fingernail?”

When he turned, she had to back up so he wouldn’t consume her personal space. “What makes you think these were done by fingernails?”

She held up one hand. “Look at my nails. They’re almost the exact size of those scratches.”

“So?”

A rude noise popped out of her mouth. She placed her hands on his hard shoulders and turned him back around. “I know what fingernail scratches look like. So do you have any alcohol or not?”

“I think there’s a first aid kit underneath the sink in the bathroom.”

The bathroom adjoining his office was no bigger than a coat closet. Done in bland white tile and industrial, blinding light, she felt as though she’d entered a sardine can. There was a little black pouch with a red cross on top, right where he’d said it would be. Lacy opened it, found the rubbing alcohol and some cotton swabs. She walked back to Chase’s fine backside and tried not to laugh.

“What’d you do?” she asked as she poured some of the alcohol on a cotton ball. “Piss off some poor woman’s husband?”