Through The Leaded Glass (37 page)

He kicked open the bedroom door and grimaced.
Bare, tan walls, minimal furniture, and the fucking king-sized bed
mocked him.

He knew exactly why he’d chosen the
couch.

And he wasn’t about to dwell on it. He’d done
enough dwelling last night. More than enough,
apparently.

He barreled through to the bathroom, his
refusal to dwell on the reason just one more part of the person
he’d become in the past two years.

And the poor woman downstairs who’d had to
witness the person he’d become last night… God, wasn’t it just
perfect
she’d shown up this morning?

Todd grabbed the shower handle and turned the
water full force to hot. He’d burn the alcohol out of his system if
he had to. No one deserved that greeting her first day on the job.
Even if it was his house.

Todd sucked in a breath as he stepped beneath
the pelting liquid fire and realized he wasn’t as tough as he
pretended. He turned the spigot back to warm and leaned his
forehead against the cool ivory tile, and listened to the phone
ring in his bedroom. Let the machine get the fucking thing. He
couldn’t deal with the calls and the goddamned hounding.

Not today.

The water ran into his eyes and he wiped it
away with the heels of his hands. Why
today
? Why’d she have
to start
today
?

Why’d she have to start at all?

Why wouldn’t they all just leave him
alone?

***

“
You see what you’re up against,
Jonathan?” The archangel, Raphael, waved his hand in front of the
computer monitor in the executive office of Domestic Gods &
Goddesses and the split-screen images of Todd and Jolie faded to a
serene, heavenly blue screen saver. “Todd doesn’t think he’s ready
to let go of his wife’s memory and Jolie is still a work in
progress. Getting these two together could be
difficult.”

Jonathan Griff took a seat on one of the
burgundy chairs opposite the mahogany desk and sipped the lemonade
Raphael had given him. Well, perhaps he gulped it. This was a big
assignment. Todd was front-page news. Still. After two years out of
the public eye, the man could have media coverage in an instant. He
was high profile. He was hot.

What if Jonathan failed? Not only would Todd
and Jolie, his Charges, suffer, but it’d be public. Then he’d never
earn his wings.

Of course, personal aggrandizement was not
what a Guardian should worry about. His Charges’ happiness should
be his sole focus.

He’d had some success in the past, but there
always seemed to be
something
he never got quite right.
Could he take that risk with such a prominent case?

“
You can do this,
Jonathan.”

The archangel’s words reverberated inside his
mind—another talent Jonathan hadn’t yet mastered. Why was Raphael
offering him this assignment? The archangel had no malice in him so
he couldn’t want to see him fail. Perhaps he had an overabundance
of Hope?

Jonathan, left eye twitching, touched the
keypad and the close-up of Todd’s face reappeared. The poor man was
in so much pain and, while The Boss had a Plan for Todd, Jonathan
couldn’t bear to see someone hurting.

And then there was Jolie. No one should have
to endure what she had as a child. She was trying so hard to be all
right that she’d almost convinced herself she was.

But she wasn’t. Not really. She played a good
game, but she craved acceptance so much that she’d do anything to
get it.

Well, almost anything.

Jonathan smiled, the twitch subsiding. He’d
read her dossier. The girl had a fine moral character, as did
Todd.

Character and a run of bad luck; that’s what
the two of them shared. Not to mention the wellspring of love in
their souls. That’s why the request for their happiness had been
selected for fulfillment.

Now it was up to him to help them
along.

Jonathan set the lemonade on an antique
walnut-inlay table beside him and hopped off the chair to stand
before the archangel. If Raphael thought he was capable of this
job, then he owed it to his Charges to be the best Guardian
possible.

“
Yes, sir. I believe I can help
them.”

Chapter Two

As Jolie pulled the omelet ranchero together,
complete with nice little lemon- and orange-rind garnishes courtesy
of the Julienne peeler—a must-have in every kitchen—Mr. Best
descended the hardwood stairs to the accompaniment of yet another
phone call. That made five since he’d headed up. Amazing he had
time for a shower.

She glanced through the arched doorway. More
amazing was that he ended up looking like
that
. Even in a
boring brown golf shirt and khaki shorts, you had to love summer
and lots of skin. His was quite worth looking at.

Calm down. You need this job,
remember?

Oh, yes, she remembered. She had enough
memories from her unstable childhood with Mom flitting from man to
man to know not to get involved with anyone to whom she owed her
financial stability.

Heck, this job was for getting out from being
under anyone’s financial strings. She’d had enough of others
dictating when, where, or how she could live or what she was going
to do with her life, and she was determined to stand on her own two
feet. She’d made that vow when she’d left the foster care system
ten years ago, and though the road had been bumpy, it’d been her
road. And once she had enough money to finish her education and
open her own pastry shop, she would be finished being beholden to
anyone. The only person responsible for her life, her happiness,
and her bank account would be Hers Truly.

“
Hey,” her new employer said, his
golden hair curling damply at his collar. “I’m sorry about the
nudity. I obviously wasn’t expecting anyone today.”

She set a glass of orange juice at his place
at the table. “I should hope not. That is, I should hope nudity
isn’t on the daily agenda. However, I am kind of confused as to why
you weren’t expecting me.”

He ran a hand through that longish hair. A few
strands fell forward onto his forehead. “I guess I got the dates
mixed up. I thought I’d have the week to myself before the new girl
started,” he answered.

“
To dance naked through the house?”
She folded a napkin next to his plate. “Not that there’s anything
wrong with that, but honestly, it is kind of
distracting.”

Finally, a smile.

Whooooa
.

“
Promise.” He raised his hand. “No
more nudity. Back to wearing a robe and sleeping in
pajamas.”

She wasn’t going to picture that—and with what
she’d already seen, that was taking some major mental fortitude.
But because of her mother’s
wonderful
example of male-female
relationships, she was sticking him in the look-but-don’t-touch
category. Heck, she shouldn’t even look, but she
was
human.

“
So—” He grabbed a chair as the
phone rang for Phone Call Number Six.

“
Do you want me to answer that?”
She reached for the receiver.

“
Let the machine get it.” He
scooted closer to the table. “So, do you really have a name, or am
I just going to keep calling you ‘new girl’?”

Jolie whipped a folded letter from the pocket
of the apron her friend, Giuseppe, had made for her when she’d
graduated culinary school that now accompanied her to every job.
“Here’s my letter of introduction from the agency, complete with
references.”

Mr. Best, no longer Naked Guy (pity), scanned
the letter from the DeLeos. He’d probably be counting his lucky
stars she’d deigned to work for him after reading that missive.
Mrs. DeLeo had gone a bit overboard, but Jolie couldn’t complain.
She couldn’t have asked for a better reference than one from
someone who owned a food service company yet had still hired a
personal chef for her at-home dining experience.

She also wasn’t going to complain about Mrs.
DeLeo’s verbosity because it was the perfect opportunity to check
out Mr. Dressed Guy—
vis-à-vis
the whole
being-human-and-allowed-to-look thing.
Sans
the nudity
awkwardness, thank goodness.

She’d already noticed the taut muscles and
broad shoulders, and his freshly-shaven jaw reminded her of the
male models in those cigarette ads with their cowboy hats and
boots, open collared shirts, and sexy-as-all-get-out jeans. Yep,
she could see ol’ Todd here in the pages of a magazine. Those
weren’t shoulder pads under his shirt and he had a nice start on a
summer tan.

She glanced out the French doors. Yep, a pool.
Probably like every other home in the Mirror Lake development. A
necessity, she guessed, like the housekeeper, nanny, and circular
driveway. Their own veritable Stepford.

“
The name fits,” he said, tucking
the letter in his back pocket.

Pretty nice place to be
tucked.

“
Uh… what?” She paused at the
silverware drawer.

“
Your name. Jolie.”

“
Okay?”

“
It means ‘pretty’ in French,” he
explained with a smile.

Well if she didn’t get all tingly at that.
Which, again, was not a good thing.

She opened the drawer and found a sudden
interest in selecting just the right fork and knife. “Oh. Thanks.
But my name was supposed to be Julie.”

He cocked his head and it was kinda
cute.

She walked back to the table and set the
utensils on the correct sides of his plate. “My mother knew
absolutely no French.” The language, anyhow. “She was just a bit
too groggy, I guess, when she filled out my birth certificate and
wrote J-O-L-I-E instead of J-U-L-I-E. It wasn’t ‘til grade school
that a teacher called me ‘Jolie’ and I learned about the mix-up.
So, I went with Jolie from then on.”

Nothing said “I love you” like misspelling
your own kid’s name.

But she was over it.

Really.

“
Well,” said Todd, “it worked out,
because, as I said, the name fits.”

To which Jolie had no witty comeback without
sounding like a teenager meeting her high school crush. Instead,
she flourished the fluffiest three-egg white omelet ever under his
nose, complete with perfectly done toast, a sprig of parsley and
those little lemon and orange curlicues. Garnishes always made such
a nice touch. Good for impressing the boss.

“
Are you going to join me? Meals
are included in your contract.” He emptied a forkful of egg into
his mouth and used the tines to point to the chair across from
him.

Jolie sat. “I’ll have to remember that.”
Especially since sitting there staring at him while he ate was more
than a bit uncomfortable. Okay, maybe not quite as uncomfortable as
the naked thing, but still…

Besides, she was a bit of a talker and silence
kinda made her edgy. “So? Is that the best omelet you’ve ever had
or what?”

His mouth had a little twisty move going like
he’d just sucked on a lemon.

She checked his plate. Both garnishes
accounted for.

Then he covered his mouth and coughed. Then
coughed some more.

Oh no, he was choking.

She hopped up and started pounding him on the
back. “Boy, oh, boy. First day on the job and I’m killing you. Not
the best way to stay employed.”

He waved his hands once his airway cleared,
then coughed again. “Thanks.” He cleared his throat. “Actually, it
is the best I’ve ever had,” he said around another cough. “So,
awesome omelet aside, what else do you make, Jolie?”

His eyes got all crinkly around the edges when
he smiled, sparkling like light colored emeralds.

She knew dozens of girls who’d kill for eyes
like that. Herself included…well, maybe not. People had always told
her that her violet eyes were unusual and she’d enjoyed the
attention when she was younger. Nowadays, she’d love for
anyone
to be looking close enough to see she even
had
eyes.

But that was a thought for another lifetime.
The one where she’d be able to make decisions based on what she
wanted rather than what she needed. The lifetime where she’d be her
own boss—and, someday after that, where there’d be someone who’d
look close enough to see
her
.

That lifetime
had
to be waiting for
her. Other people had it; she should be able to, too. And she was
trying. No doubt about that. Why, she was even writing a novel in
the hopes that it’d supplement her cooking income. Anything for
financial independence.

And while novel-writing might not seem like an
avenue to financial security and eternal happiness, in her
hand-to-mouth childhood the one thing she could never seem to beg,
borrow, or steal was love, so she’d looked for it in books. Money
being scarce—or non-existent—she’d chosen the happy endings in
romance novels whenever she could afford a book.

And, now, she figured that if she could
fashion a
fictional
happy ending in a book, she could
fashion one in reality as well. And if she earned some extra money
doing so, all the better.