Wicked Game (3 page)

“You didn’t tell me to expect two for lunch, Jaime.” She pronounced his name with an h sound; her hand rested on his upper arm, clearly marking him as hers.

“Didn’t I?” Jaime patted her hand and swirled her back into the house. “Oh well, we’ll just have to scare Miss Pendleton something up, won’t we.”

“Yes, Jaime, as you wish.” However, her body language said differently as she flounced away into the house.

“Don’t mind Alicia; she’s very protective of me.”

“Oh, is that what you call it? Looked more like proprietary to me,” Cass said as the driver set her bags on the landing. Jaime tipped him, grabbed her larger bag, and guided her inside.

“She’s just seen too many women try to take advantage of me, that’s all.”

“Like I have any urge to do anything with you.”

He smiled, his lips stretching into a predatory-type grin; she’d seen that grin before, and if memory served, whatever prompted that grin would not be nice.

“You have nothing to fear on that count, Miss Pendleton. I’d rather play with one of the gators in the canal.” He left her standing in the large, open marble foyer, her mouth hanging open.

* * * *

“But Jaime, you hired me to cook only for you. I won’t cook for one of your tramps. And what do you see in her anyway? She is frumpy and bland.” Alicia waited until Cass left the kitchen before she lit into him, her accent, usually very light, seeping into her rant. “And she didn’t like my
vaca frita
. I don’t like people who don’t like my food.”

“For what it’s worth, Cass isn’t one of my tramps. Since when have I brought a woman here anyway? I hired her to help me keep my suddenly overflowing life in some sort of order. In her defense, she threw up three times on the plane. Give her time to get over the trip before you have her drawn and quartered.”

“She is still frumpy, and her hair is frizzy. I don’t like her.”

“Jeez, Alicia, don’t pull this jealous crap with me, okay? I’m not going down that road with you … again. You are a talented cook, but my life is
my
life. Don’t butt in where you aren’t needed.”

“Do you feel that way, Jaime? I mean, you are choosing that … that … that thing over me.” Alicia whipped off her apron and flung it at him.

“Wait a minute, Alicia. What the hell? I’m not choosing anyone, not you or her. I hired you both to work for me, not the other way around.” Somehow, he didn’t think that would diffuse the situation. Not that he understood how there was a situation. “You need to be professional and put aside your—”

“I need to be professional? I saw how you looked at her. Like she was ice cream and you were just dying to lick her up. I will not work under these conditions. If you won’t get rid of her, then I quit.” Alicia thrust her hip toward the cabinet, her arms set firmly in a defensive stance, her chin rigid, and fire in her eyes.

What in the hell was going on here? He hadn’t even been in the door thirty minutes, and it was full-scale mutiny. Who was next? The gardener?

“Listen, I have a day full of meetings tomorrow. I’ve been out of the country for the last month, and I’m tired. You came in on short notice and got the house ready and fixed a great spread. I’m sure you’re tired too. Let’s just think this thing through.”

“No, Jaime, it’s the frumpy floozy or me. I won’t work for a man who flaunts his whores under my nose. I mean, we’ve been together three years. I just won’t stand for it. That
puta
is not welcome in my kitchen.”

“So that’s it, then?” Now he understood; somehow he’d missed the signs. Alicia, always so eager to please him and only him; he should have figured it out sooner. “I’ll have Miss Pendleton send your severance check tomorrow. Please leave your keys, and for what it’s worth, Alicia, I’m sorry it came to this. I’ll give you a reference, of course.”

“You prick. You
are
choosing that
puta
over me.” He narrowly dodged the sugar bowl as it sailed past his head to shatter against the wall.

“I’m choosing Miss Pendleton over you, yes. And I’m taking that out of your check. Throw something else and I’ll have you arrested.” He clenched his hands, his voice rumbling in his chest as he growled in frustration. Her eyes turned round, fear replaced fury. Often he wondered what he looked like at times like this; the stance had served him well most of his life, on and off the football field. This was the first time he remembered ever using it on a woman, though.

“I’m sorry, Jaime. I misspoke. I don’t want to lose my job. I like it here.” Her voice turned pleading, but he saw through her to the petty woman beneath the pretty face and charming accent.

“I’m sorry too, Alicia. I’ll walk you out.” He took her arm and waited for her to pull his keys off her ring before he helped her into her car. Tears streamed prettily down her face before she drove away. There was nothing he could do about it now.

“Was it something I said?” Cass said from behind the counter, her voice so soft she startled him. He heard the sound of china clinking together, as she cleaned up the broken dish.

“I guess it was a long time coming. I just didn’t notice.” He turned to the dishes left sitting in the sink and absently started water running. “I don’t suppose you can cook? No? Then I guess I have one more job for you, and we should probably have someone out to change the security code at the gate, maybe the locks. I don’t know if she has a second set of keys lying around.”

“I’m sorry if I caused this.” She stood then, carrying the dustpan filled with debris and depositing it in the trash bin near the back door.

“Don’t worry about it. Alicia is … well I seem to attract women like her. Beautiful, vain, possessive.” He scrubbed the dishes and left them drying on the rack. “Anyway, that’s over and we have an appointment downtown in an hour if you want to change or do something with your hair.”

“Why do I need to change? What’s wrong with my hair?”

Dear Lord, did the woman not have a single clue? “Nothing, Miss Pendleton, nothing at all.”

Chapter Four

By “appointment,” Jaime meant they would be reenacting that scene from
Pretty Woman
in which Julia Roberts is made to feel inferior by tiny, trendy saleswomen in upscale boutiques. The only difference being that she wasn’t turned away because Jaime was famous, and his credit card had no limit. However, that didn’t mean the ladies—and she used that term very loosely—didn’t look at her as if she were something they’d stepped in.

“Everything from the bottom up, shoes, underthings, business attire for Miami and for up north, casual, at least three cocktail dresses, and swimsuits,” he ticked off to the small band of women who were completely ignoring her.

“No swimsuits.” She shouted over the din of chatter as the women sized her up and started off in different directions.

“This is Miami, Miss Pendleton, water is everywhere. What do you plan to swim in if you have no suit? Of course, there is only one acceptable answer to that question.” He wiggled his eyebrows, a knowing smirk on his lips.

“Nothing,” she said and immediately wished she hadn’t walked headfirst into that trap. “I mean, swimsuits aren’t necessary. I don’t swim.”

“I’ve seen you swim, Cass.” Confusion looked nice on him.

“I didn’t say I can’t swim, I said I don’t swim. I’m allergic to chlorine, severely allergic to chlorine to the point of hospitalization.”

“Oh.
Ooh
. Okay, that explains that,” he said cryptically. “Cass, the pool at the house is a saltwater pool. I had it converted when I bought the house. It’s perfectly safe and much cheaper to maintain too.”

“I wouldn’t have taken you for someone who cared about low maintenance costs. Especially after this little trip.” The shoes the ladies were dragging in were sure to run in the thousands-of-dollars range. “And why do I need all of these clothes, when I’m going to be your little office helper? Where am I going to wear sequins and rhinestones to anyway?”

“Well, after this afternoon, I’ve decided that I’m promoting you to more than just a personal assistant. I’m promoting you to bodyguard and constant companion as well as my secretary.”

“So let me get this straight. I’m to be Pepper Potts to your Tony Stark, then? Are you out of your mind? No, don’t answer that.”

“Did I mention I was adding another twenty grand a year to your salary?”

“Jaime…” She heard the whine escape her mouth. He was infuriating, argumentative, nauseating, and now somehow he’d added controlling to his lists of faults. And she let him do it.

“Then it’s agreed.” His massive chest heaved as if he’d been holding his breath. “Miss Pendleton gets the best. I want her to look like the class act she is, and sexy. I can’t have my new personal assistant looking anything but ravishing.” He snapped his fingers and two of the women swooned on the spot.

“Damn it, Jaime, why are you acting like this?” Frustrated beyond belief, Cass finally snapped. She dug in the heel of her serviceable black pumps and refused to look at any of the clothes that were being shoved in front of her.

“Acting like what? And that’s Mr. Dalton to you.” He narrowed his eyes to almost a squint, the golden orbs seeming to glow with some inner fire as he fried her to the spot. His face turned hard, intimidating—almost cruel. But she’d seen it before. He’d worn that very same expression the first time they’d met. He’d just pulled her hair and tried to blame it on her.

“I’m sure that face scares the hell out of your opponents—but, Jaime Dalton, I am immune. Now stop acting like a controlling dick. I’m not taking on any responsibilities until I see a contract, and I’m not trying on anything that I don’t pick out myself. If you want me to work for you, stop treating me like a child or put me on a plane home.” She placed her hands on her hips and stared down the one sales girl who gasped and looked at her as if she were committing some sort of criminal offense. “Oh get over it. He’s just an ass, not a god.”

“Are you quite done with your little hissy fit?”

“That tears it. I’m going home.” She took her bag off the sofa in the private fitting area and started for the door, but before she made it two steps, he stopped her with the grin she remembered so well from school. His take-no-prisoners grin that said he held all the cards. Which he did. This time.

“How are you getting there? I thought you were broke.” That’s what made him a great quarterback. He always found his opponent’s weakness and used it against him.

“I’ll file kidnapping charges.”

“Go ahead—no one will believe you.”

“And why is that, do you think?

“For one you’re short, pear-shaped with no breasts to speak of, frumpy, and old.”

“I’m the exact same age as you.” She couldn’t dispute the short and pear-shaped part. “And my breasts are real, unlike the silicone bimbos you usually date.”

“Cass, be reasonable.” He sighed almost as if defeated, but she knew better. He was just changing tactics. Now came the cajoling, wheedling portion of the program, where he pretended to be her best friend and have her best interests at heart.

“And that tactic won’t work either. I took debate with you, in case you’ve forgotten. I know all of your tricks, Jaime. Just play straight with me; that’s all you have to do. I don’t like being lied to and I don’t like being played. You play nice and I’ll play nice. Deal?” She waited while he seemed to think it over. Of course, he could just be plotting a different line of offense; she really couldn’t be sure.

“Okay, fine. Cass, you win. If you pick a few things, nice things, I’ll butt out. My lawyer is going to meet us this evening to go over the contract I asked him to draw up last night, and if you don’t like it, we’ll rewrite it or I’ll send you home.”

“And that bullshit about being your bodyguard against loose women?”

“Well, you are a ball-buster. You’d be great at it.” He grinned again, one of his sweet little-boy grins that melted hearts and butter. “Anyway, I’m going to leave my card. Get what you need for a summer in Miami, and I’ll pick you up later. All right?”

“All right.” Cass waited for the other shoe to be thrown at her. He left the boutique without another word. Too bad the sales help at the boutique didn’t follow his lead.

* * * *

From the little coffee shop across the street from the boutique, Jaime was able to watch Cass’s progress without anyone thinking he was a pervert. The small table by the front window faced the only unobstructed window of the boutique, and the hustle inside was reassuring. The guilt he felt for bullying her was fleeting, as was deserting her to a bunch of she-cats.

Though an obvious fish out of water, Cass could handle herself, and the ladies in the shop would respect his money even if they didn’t respect the woman spending it. She would emerge a butterfly from a drab gray pencil-skirt cocoon.

Two hours and three coffees later, Cass did emerge, but not as a butterfly. She was the same drab caterpillar he’d left behind. If the bulging bags she balanced were any indication, though, there was bound to be at least one butterfly packed in there somewhere.

Jaime pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and hit the button for her number, already programmed in the number three spot. He watched as she struggled to find her own, hidden deep in her purse, a smile playing at his lips. She mouthed the word
Fuck
when she saw his name, but she answered anyway.

“I saw that,” he smirked into his phone, meaning her lack of grace. “Coffee shop across the street.” He hung up, but not before he caught her one-finger salute.

“Your girlfriend?” A passing barista joined him as he watched her cross the street and head his direction.

“Personal assistant, actually, and bound to be a pissed-off one too. Got anything sweet and strong to make up for leaving her to the piranha?”

“Sure, she looks like a caramel-macchiato type to me. And a cranberry scone.”

“Sounds good; make it a grande.” He handed off a different card just as Cass stumbled into the shop, looking highly agitated and more frazzled than usual.

“If you ever do that to me again, I will kill you. I know many and varied types of poison, and I will be out of the country before the cops even know enough to suspect me,” she said, panting from a combination of exertion and frustration. Her lips were pinched, her eyes glowing. Oh yeah, he remembered that look well. He’d seen it directed at himself many, many times.