The Space Within (The Book of Phoenix #3) (8 page)

Completely out of money, I’d had to move out of the weekly motel room then and into my car. I’d been putting off the decision forever because I didn’t want to admit that my life had come to this, but it was time to decide whether to give in and go home to the obnoxiously sized estate up north where I had an entire wing to myself … or to sell my car. The decision wasn’t really that hard to make. Following through on it was a different story.

But when my phone rang and I recognized the number, I couldn’t prolong the decision any longer.

“This is the girl I talked to yesterday?” the guy on the other end asked. I wondered if he looked as sexy as he sounded, but quickly shut off that thought. “About the car?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” I said, hearing the dejection in my own voice.

“My friend’s definitely interested if you still have it. Can we meet somewhere so we can take a look?”

I swallowed against the lump in my throat.

I loved my canary yellow Camaro. I’d wanted one since I was twelve, but my parents had given me a boring BMW for my Sweet Sixteen instead. Mom thought it would be safer for me. Exactly why it was boring. I mean, I was grateful to have anything with wheels, of course, but my heart had longed for the sports car. They bought the Camaro for me not too long ago. A make-up gift of sorts. The only one I’d actually accepted. And then I left them in it, not planning to see them ever again. The car still held a lot of value, which meant I could buy myself an old beater and have enough money remaining to survive another several months. Surely by then I’d have found a real job.

“Yeah, sure,” I finally said, and with a sinking heart, I told him where to meet me.

As much as I hated giving her up, this plan was definitely better than going home.

A few hours later, I sat in my car in a busy public parking lot, wondering if it was the last time I’d be doing so. I stroked her black dashboard and leather seats as if she were a puppy I was about to give away and not an inanimate object whose main purpose was to get me from Point A to Point B. She’d been more than that for me, though—the only thing I could depend on for months. An Audi, not unlike the BMW I’d had before but black and a little sportier looking, pulled up next to me. If that was any indication, then the caller likely had the finances to buy my girl. My heart sank further—I’d kind of been hoping he was only window-shopping—but then it did a strange little skip when the two guys climbed out.

The dark-haired, more muscular one who’d emerged from the driver’s side looked at me and smiled with the same familiarity I felt.

“Asia, right?” he asked. Shit. He remembered my name? That was impressive. Especially since I couldn’t remember his. He must have realized this. “Brock Verdor. Hope Verdor’s son?”

Oh, geez, how did I forget that?

“That’s right,” I said, grinning and nodding like an idiot.

“This is Brandon,” Brock said, nodding at his friend with the shaggy, strawberry-blond hair who was already circling my car.

“Hey,” he muttered distractedly. “This car is sick.”

Brock walked around the back of his Audi to stand next to me and shoved his hands into his khaki shorts pockets. “I can’t believe you’re selling it.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have a choice,” I said, but I suddenly couldn’t bring myself to say I needed the money. My brain spun for a reason that wasn’t as embarrassing. Well, not so much embarrassing as an admission of defeat. I guess I didn’t want him thinking that his mom and the job she’d never offered had anything to do with my situation. “I need something that gets better gas mileage.”

“Can I get in?” Brandon asked as he stood at the driver’s side, his hand already on the handle.

“Of course,” I said with a nod. “Go ahead and move the seat back, if you can. I kind of have a lot of stuff back there.”

Brandon chuckled when he inspected the back seat. “Yeah, you do. There aren’t any holes in the leather back there, are there?”

I scowled. “No! She’s practically brand new, and I take excellent care of her! If you want to take everything out to see for yourself, feel free.”

Brock had walked closer to the car, leaned his arms on the roof, and hung his head over the window while his friend made himself comfortable in my seat. I mean, in the driver’s seat.

“Damn,” Brock said, “you lucky son of a bitch. You know this is what I wanted.”

Brandon grinned as he gripped the steering wheel, and he looked over his right shoulder. “There’s plenty of room back there. You could have done it. But you snooze, you lose. This one’s mine.”

“The keys are in the ignition. Feel free to turn her over,” I said, my voice thick through my tight throat. He was already claiming my girl.

Brock’s head ducked down as he seemed to inspect the interior closer. A V formed between his eyebrows as his gaze traveled to the back seat where pretty much everything I owned was piled. The rest was in the trunk, which I popped open when Brandon got out and circled the car again.

“It’s pretty roomy,” I said, motioning my hand toward the trunk.

Brandon nodded appreciatively, but Brock’s dark brows pushed together again. He turned his head toward me, and his chocolate eyes narrowed. Something about his gaze caused a shiver up my spine.

“Um … do you want to take her for a test drive?” I asked as I looked back at Brandon. The thought made me nervous, getting into the car with a strange guy, but I didn’t have much choice unless I let him take it on his own, along with my life’s possessions.

“Definitely,” he said eagerly. I almost rolled my eyes. The dude obviously wasn’t used to negotiating—I could already tell I’d get my asking price from him. That probably came from growing up as a spoiled brat. I was surprised he was even looking at a used car in the first place, even if she was souped up with top-of-the-line bells and whistles and had fewer than ten thousand miles on her.

“Hold on a second,” Brock said, lifting his hand toward Brandon while his narrowed gaze remained focused on me.

The same hand moved toward me, and I flinched. When his fingers wrapped around my upper arm in a gentle but firm hold, my own hand fisted, ready to punch him in the stomach if necessary. Except I’d lost all control over my body at his touch. An odd sensation tumbled through me, and my bones felt as though they were melting into liquid within my flesh. My mind blocked out everything except the feeling of his skin against mine. As he pulled me a few feet away from Brandon and the car, something tugged at my subconscious, as if trying to pull it through the surface of a memory. But the sensation fled as soon as he let go of me. It had all been so quick, I was sure I’d imagined everything.

“Are you living out of your car?” Brock demanded. I blinked, and any remnant of the odd feeling disappeared. Sheesh. I’d thought his mother was direct!

I crossed my arms over my chest and lifted my chin. “No.”

His brows shot up, wrinkling his forehead. “So you’re telling me you always keep all that stuff in there?”

“I’m in the process of moving,” I said defiantly.

His hands went to his hips, and he leaned toward me.

“Where?” he challenged.

“None of your business,” I snapped. “Do you really think I’m going to tell two strange guys where I live?”

His dark eyes studied me for a long moment, and then he pulled back. “Touché. So what kind of job did you find?”

He was taking another angle. How had he figured all of this out? I’d met him for two minutes, talked to his mom for maybe twenty, and he acted like he knew everything about me.

Now my eyes narrowed. “Again—none of your business.”

He stared at me for another ridiculously long moment until I had to look away because of the awkwardness. And maybe because of the look in his eyes that had me shivering and melting at the same time.

“You’re not getting the car, Brandon,” he said while his gaze stayed trained on me. I could feel the burn of it, as though he bore holes into the side of my head.

“Bullshit,” Brandon said, leaning against the Camaro as though he already owned it. “You may have seen the sign first, but you gotta be responsible, remember?”

“I’m not buying it either,” Brock said.

My head snapped toward him. “What the hell? Who do you think you are? Brandon, if you’d like to take her for a drive, let’s go.”

I strode for the passenger’s side.

“Brandon, if you get in that car, I’m never helping your ass again,” Brock said.

Brandon stalked over to his friend who towered over his shorter and thinner frame. Still, he bowed up. “Dude, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Brock dropped his voice to the point where I couldn’t hear him, and they argued for a few moments in hushed tones. Brandon peered over his shoulder at me and turned back to Brock with a scowl, but then he nodded. Brock headed over to his Audi.

“Let’s go for that test drive,” Brandon said to me as he walked back over to my car. I supposed he won that argument.

Facing the reality of getting into the car with him in control caused a nervous band of butterflies to flutter in my stomach. Not the good kind either. I was about to change my mind about the whole transaction, but was able to force myself into the passenger seat. I needed the money. And surely Brock wouldn’t be associated with a psychopath, right? Wouldn’t that be really bad for his mother’s celebrity status? Of course, I knew firsthand what guys with their kind of money could get away with and keep silenced from the public. Which was why I kept a handgun in the glove compartment and my hands on my knees for the entire ride, only inches from the latch.

“So?” I asked after we’d been driving for about ten minutes. “She drives nice, right?”

“Yeah,” Brandon muttered. “She’s great.”

His voice was off. Something had changed his mind. When we turned into a familiar neighborhood, my hand slid closer to the glove compartment. Maybe this really had been a ruse. When he pulled into Brock’s driveway and climbed out without a word, the butterflies became eagles, making my stomach clench. Brock pulled up next to us, and Brandon gave him a nod then sauntered down the street. Anger replaced the fear. I jumped out of the car.

“What the hell did you do?” I demanded of Brock, who’d made his way around his car by now. “I needed to make this sale! Who do you think you are, anyway, you arrogant son of a—”

“Asia?” called a female voice from behind me. I spun around to find Hope outside with her baby, who’d grown so much already, on her hip. “I heard you still need a job.”

Chapter 8

The semi-famous author stood on the front walk in jeans and a red t-shirt, her hair again swept up and clipped to the back of her head, and her face void of makeup. And yet, she was still stunning. She held one arm under the baby’s butt and her other hand against his back and head as he leaned against her shoulder. I supposed enough time had finally passed that I didn’t have quite the same reaction to him as I did last time, but I still had an overwhelming desire to hold him … and to run away, too.

Hope stared at me expectantly. I stared back for a long moment as everything computed, and then I turned toward Brock. He wore a proud grin.

“You both have a problem, and you’re each other’s solution,” he said.

I turned back toward Hope. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Verdor. This was not at all … I didn’t plan … I had no idea …”

I stopped, unable to form coherent sentences as a bazillion thoughts ran through my mind.

Hope tilted her head, then moved her gaze to her son. “Brock, what did you do? You said—”

“Mom,” Brock interrupted, and he paused briefly as he rubbed the back of his neck. “You seriously need help. You’re trying to do it all, and making yourself insane, along with the rest of us. If family is really your first priority, do us all a favor and hire the assistant you know you need.”

His mother stared at him with her mouth partly open. Before she could say anything Brock turned to me.

“Asia, you obviously need a job. You’re selling the car, which you called your
baby
, for the money, aren’t you?”

Heat rose to my cheeks. Hope’s open-mouthed stare turned on me now. I flushed even harder.

“Do you remember what I said about this being none of your damn business?” I hissed through clenched teeth.

“Just listen for a moment,” he pleaded. “Mom loved you. Told me everything about the interview, and she really wanted to hire you, but shit was weird here for a while. It’s settled down now, and she needs you so damn bad that if she doesn’t hire you herself, I’ll do it for her.”

“Brock, if she doesn’t want to work for me,” Hope began.

I couldn’t help the little noise that escaped my throat.

“Do you?” Hope asked me.

I swallowed. “I … I would love to. But please don’t feel obligated.”

Hope sighed and shifted the baby to her other arm. “I
do
need help. And Brock’s right. I thought you were perfect for the job. If you still want it—”

“Oh, yes,” I gushed.

She smiled. “When can you start?”

“Immediately.”

“Tomorrow then. I’m afraid I can’t offer you the living quarters anymore, though.”

“Why not?” Brock asked.

Hope arched a brow. “Because you’re living there.”

He rolled his eyes. “Hardly. My stuff is in there, but I’m always over here anyway. Let Asia have the apartment over the garage.”

“You really want to move back in with your parents?” Hope asked skeptically.

“I pretty much already have anyway,” Brock said. “And it’s only for a little while, Mom. You and Dad will get your space soon enough. Not like you don’t have enough as it is …”

“You
will
finish college, and you
will
go to med school—”

I cleared my throat, interrupting. “Please, I don’t want to cause problems. I’m very grateful for the job, and I’ll be here tomorrow. I can find a place to live.”

Brock cocked his head at me and smirked. “I thought you said—”

“I’m in the process of moving,” I finished sharply, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of being right about living in my car. “I am. I didn’t like the place I was staying at, so I left. I … uh … just haven’t found another place yet.”

“So you like to go to the beach in the middle of the night?”

My mouth popped open.

“Yeah, I’ve seen your car there on my way home, except I wasn’t positive it was yours, and, well … .” He made a fake-cough sound and hurried on. “Anyway, how do you think I knew it was for sale? When I passed again the next morning, it was still parked in the same space, and I saw the sign in the window. And everything you own is in that car, isn’t it?”

Hope gasped. “Asia, have you been living in your car?”

As if my skin couldn’t grow any hotter in the sun. I’d never been so embarrassed in my life, and it choked me up, flustering me so no words could come out. My eyes stung, causing me to blink rapidly and look away.

“Oh, no, dear,” she said softly. “That’s not acceptable. Decision’s made. I said before that the job includes private living quarters, and that’s what you’ll get, utilities included, plus a salary of two thousand a month. Will you please accept my offer?”

I blinked for the hundredth time and looked back at her. My eyes filled again, but now with tears of gratitude, and a heavy weight suddenly lifted from my shoulders.

Two hours later, Brock had moved all of his belongings—not many—and a few baby items out of the apartment over the detached garage and into the main house.

“I think baby things make their own babies,” he muttered with the last haul. “For such a little dude, he fills every space.”

After Hope’s housekeeper had come in and cleaned the apartment, Brock emptied my car into the one-bedroom space. My few belongings barely covered the dark green sofa in the small living room that was adjacent to the open kitchen. He told me the code to the gate, where to find the nearest grocery store, and the names of the best places to have pizza or Chinese delivered.

“So I guess I’ll let you get settled in,” he said as he stood in the doorway, hesitating as though he didn’t want to leave. I wondered if he was regretting his decision to give up the apartment for me.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked.

His lips pulled into a slow smile, and I fleetingly wondered what they tasted like. “I’ve never been surer about anything in my life.”

My throat went dry. “But why?”

His grin widened. “I didn’t want to see you give up your baby.”

I logically knew what he meant, but my breath caught and my stomach tilted at his words anyway. The room suddenly felt way too small for the two of us as I tried to breathe the heavy air.

“I mean your car?” Brock said, the tone of his voice indicating that he’d sensed my distress.

“Um … yeah,” I choked out. I forced an inhale, my body shaking with it. As I exhaled, I imagined expelling the gray cloud that had just threatened to shut me down, along with the air.

“I hated to see you have to sell it, especially to Brandon who would have totaled it in a month or less,” he clarified further. “His dad refused to buy him anything new any more because he’s such a dumbass.”

“Well … thank you,” I said, my senses returning and my head clearing. “For everything. It really was sweet of you.”

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Like I said, you both needed help. I couldn’t
not
do it and live with myself. Or with my mother.”

I smiled. “It was still sweet of you. I don’t know how I can ever pay you back.”

He gave me that warm, teasing smile that made me suddenly stupid.

“Oh, I’ll find a way.” He backed out of my apartment as he kept his gaze on me, sending chills down my spine, before finally turning for the steps. But then he appeared back in the doorway. “Asia?”

“Yeah?”

“My mom was right that I only tease the pretty ones.”

I blinked. Huh? He disappeared down the steps, leaving me gaping. What the hell did that mean? Why had he even said it? He hadn’t teased me at all today, had he? Or was that what he meant? Since he hadn’t teased me, he must have been saying he didn’t find me pretty.
Well, eff you, Brock Verdor. I don’t really care what you think
.

I tried to convince myself of that, but it wasn’t entirely true. Although he was exactly the type I’d vowed to stay away from—wealthy, hot, and a little too sure of himself—I couldn’t help but feel attracted to him … and wish he was attracted to me. So it was probably a good thing he wasn’t.

With an internal groan at myself, I switched gears and inspected my new place. The door, which had a window next to it, opened directly into the living room that consisted of an end table under the window, a coffee table, a chair, and a couch facing a flat-screen TV hanging on the opposite wall. On the far end of the room was the kitchen with an L-shaped granite-top counter, blond wood cabinets, a small refrigerator, an oven range with two burners, and a dishwasher I’d probably never use. Beyond the kitchen was the door to the bedroom that consisted of a queen-sized bed, a nightstand, and a dresser, and the bathroom with a standard sink, toilet, and shower-tub combo. The entire apartment had a Mediterranean-style décor, making me wonder if Brock had stripped down posters of half-naked girls and beer signs. As it was now, it wasn’t exactly a typical bachelor-pad for a college guy, although I thought I could smell a hint of something that might have been his cologne lingering over the fumes of cleaning products. I sniffed harder, enjoying it, and then chastised myself for being so girly.

Within an hour I’d found a place for everything I owned in the bedroom and bathroom. I didn’t possess anything to put away in the kitchen, but I discovered the cabinets to be stocked with all of the pots and pans, dishes, and silverware I’d ever need living by myself. For now, I only really needed a knife and a glass.

Since I’d run out of peanut butter the day before and was almost out of bread, I tied my Doc Martens on to head to the store. As I threw open the door, I collided with a sexy, muscled,
shirtless
body, but his raised fist had me flinching and jumping backwards.

“Oh, shit, sorry!” Brock said when I gasped audibly. His hand gently wrapped around my upper arm, just above the elbow, to catch me before I tripped over my own feet. “I was just about to knock.”

I pressed my hand to my chest as though I could still my pounding heart. The shock of running into him and the ridiculous fear of his fist had been enough, but the touch of his palm on my skin was pushing me over the edge. A pulsing heat through my arm sent a wave of goose bumps over my flesh. I’d never reacted to a guy’s touch like this, and although it was pleasurable, it was also unnerving. I tried to jerk my arm from his grip, but he tightened it. I would have gone into immediate defense mode, but my body betrayed my brain. I narrowed my eyes and slid them up his bare torso to glare at his face, but I found his own gaze meandering over my body. At the same time, the gentle squeeze he’d given my elbow turned into a light brush down my arm as he released me, and the goose bumps spread further … until the heated look in his eyes turned cold and his lips pressed into a scowl as his eyes came back to mine.

“I was heading out for a run and saw this on the ground. It must have fallen from a box I carried up. Sorry.” He shoved something into my hands, turned on his heel, and pounded down the stairs and across the driveway before I could even take a breath.

Not that I could breathe if I wanted to. The boy was
built
. Of course, I’d seen him shirtless the first time I met him and knew he was big, but seeing him now as he jogged down the driveway in basketball shorts, running shoes, and nothing else gave me a whole new appreciation.

Pull it together, idiot,
I silently snapped as I shook myself out of it. As if I didn’t already know that someone like Brock was the last thing I needed right now, Brock’s sporadic behavior gave proof that I didn’t need
him
specifically in my life. One moment he was nice, the next teasing, and the one after that downright rude. He’d saved me from having to sell my car, helped me get a job, and moved me in, and then treated me like I had the plague. Not that I was surprised. Guys like him were all douchebags.

I deserved better.

As I walked back inside to put away whatever he’d dropped, I finally looked down at the object he’d shoved into my hands. A brown leather-bound book, quite old looking, that I’d never seen before in my life. Brock had been mistaken—this had not come from any of my boxes. He’d already ran out of sight, though, so I placed the book on the end table close to the door and headed out.

Once I found the grocery store, I used my last few dollars to buy bread, peanut butter, and milk that would last the rest of the week, when I hoped I’d receive my first paycheck. Merry Christmas to me. By sunset, I was sitting on the couch of my own little apartment and able to connect my laptop to the Internet without worrying about a barista shooing me away because I wasn’t a paying customer. Tomorrow I started a real job that I just knew I would love, even if it meant I might have had to deal with my boss’s sons—both of them. Surely it’d be worth it.

Life was good.

When I opened a private message on Facebook, my good mood faltered for a moment. The message came from someone named Kami and read:

“Asia, I didn’t have your phone number or email, and I had to scroll a bit through the search results here to find you. I’m so glad I did! I’ve been thinking very hard on what you said that day we ran into each other a month or so ago, and I think I’m going to follow your advice. I have some things I have to get straightened out first, but hopefully, everything will work out. So I really wanted to say thank you. Ever since making this decision, I’ve felt in my heart it’s the right thing to do. I hope one day you’ll find what you’re looking for, too.”

I read the cryptic message twice, and neither time did it make sense to me. The avatar for this Kami girl was a cat, so that didn’t help. I clicked through to her profile. We weren’t friends, and the girl smartly kept most of her profile private, so I couldn’t see much on her page. The only clue was that she attended the same university I had in Boston, until I’d dropped out at the beginning of the semester—over two months ago. So there was no way I could have run into her “a month or so ago.”

I tapped out a quick reply to say I was sorry but she must have had the wrong Asia. Not that there were a lot of Asia’s running around, but she had to have meant someone else. I kind of wished she’d meant me. Her message had been so full of gratitude, and the other Asia had done something right by her. If anything, that would have at least explained the good karma I was receiving now.

For the first time in months, I took a shower in a decidedly clean bathroom and settled into a real bed that I didn’t feel compelled to check for bedbugs every hour. I opened Hope’s book that I’d put aside after our interview and read until my eyes couldn’t stay open any longer. I might have fallen asleep with a smile on my face.

* * *

My apartment consisted of the second floor of a detached four-car garage, which sat in the corner of the fenced-in backyard. My commute to work entailed crossing the lusciously landscaped backyard, skirting the custom pool, and entering the main house through the rear wing, then turning left and circling the courtyard until I was halfway to the front wing. Those were the directions I’d been given to find Hope’s office, which I presumed to be the same one where she’d interviewed me. I got a little distracted on my way, though, as I passed the pool and glanced through the tall windows of the room nearest the back door—a home gym, complete with a treadmill, elliptical, stationary bike, weight machines, and the standard hot guy that should come with all home gyms.

He wasn’t on any of the machines or the weight bench, though. He was in an empty part of the room, going through what looked like karate moves to my ignorant eye, punching and kicking the air. When his dark eyes glanced up and caught me halted in mid-stride and staring, I instantly looked away and hurried for the door. I entered and made my left turn, and then became distracted all over again. The door to the gym was open, providing another view of the beauty within. I simply couldn’t help but gawk.

When he moved to a punching bag, a thought occurred to me.