You Dropped a Blonde on Me (28 page)
God, all this open and honest communication was work. Maxine’s glance up at him was sheepish. “I did it to push you away—because it . . . what happened made me feel exposed . . .”
His smile was one of satisfaction. “I’m glad you’re able to admit it. You’d be lying to yourself and insulting my intelligence if you didn’t. You also did it because I’m a handsome devil with skills of the carnal variety—ones the likes of which you’ve never seen.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
Her eyes strayed to the shag carpet on her mother’s floor. There was that. “And I—I—it—left me sort of raw, and sensitive . . .”
“Sort of?”
Maxine’s fingers toyed with a lock of her hair. “Okay. I was a lot sensitive. But I guess that’s where I am right now. The fallout my pending divorce has brought keeps surprising even me. So maybe we should just have a standing apology between us, because I can’t promise I won’t behave ridiculously again. I get a little carried away sometimes. I hate to drag my baggage with me, but my marriage to Fin shaped how I deal with situations. I know you’ll be shocked by this, but typically, when I’m stressed or feel cornered, I run for cover. Reasonable doesn’t always factor into my behavior.”
“No truer words,” he agreed, letting his finger run over the landscape of her cheek, leaving her fighting a purr. “But knowing that’s where you are, having that knowledge means you’re willingly allowing it to own you, versus using it to learn and move on.”
Maxine’s gulp was audible. Did he have to be so reasonable? So right? So fine-looking when he was? “You know what sucks the most about you, Mr. Barker?”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “What’s that, Max?”
Maxine let her fingers flit over his shirt with a smile. “Not only are you cute, but you’re healthy emotionally. It’s damned annoying.”
He laughed, capturing her fingers. “I can see how that would be a huge deficit on my relationship resume.”
Mona stuck her head between the two of them on her way into the kitchen to answer the ringing phone. “I’m not watching that nancy Dr. Phil anymore, buster,” she cackled up at Campbell, never ashamed to interfere. “You just come here every day at three and spout off your words of wisdom to my daughter here, who needs someone—anyone—to knock some Godforsaken sense into her. And you,” she snapped the strap on Maxine’s bathing suit, “quit behaving like some abandoned puppy. The bad part of your life’s over. Let’s get on with some good. Lord knows, we could use some.” Mona strolled into the kitchen to answer the phone without looking back.
“So, in the interest of getting on with the good, you think you might wanna try the dreaded date again? Maybe a little slower this time out of the gate with the woo-hoo?” Campbell inquired with a grin she was sure held a certain amount of satisfaction that her mother, once more, was agreeing with him.
Her stomach gurgled with that unfamiliar battalion of butterflies. She was about to answer when Mona stuck her hand under Maxine’s nose. “The phone. It’s for you.”
Maxine attempted to clear her head. “Who is it?”
“The village president.”
Taking the phone from her mother, she covered it to glare at Campbell, butterflies gone, instant blame at the ready. “If I get booted from subbing for people who’re sick, I’m going to own your ass, Barker,” she threatened, though her threat was followed by a grin. She jammed the phone against her ear. “Hello?”
Words filtered in and out of her eardrums. All positive—complimentary, in fact. Yet she was struggling to put them all together in a cohesive thought. The most she managed was, “You’re kidding?” and “It was an unfortunate incident. Yes, I agree one hundred percent. I’d definitely look into making some kind of policy about trolls. My nose wouldn’t be opposed either,” and finally, “Yes! I’ll take it!”
Damp bathing suit and her mother’s scorn be damned, she sat on the couch and clicked off the phone, dumbstruck.
“What?” Mona bellowed with a question when she threw her arms up in the air. “What’s the matter?”
Campbell placed his strong hand on her shoulder. “Maxine? Everything okay?”
Her nod was slow in answer. It was more than okay. It was awesome with awesome sauce. Relief, slow and steady, thrummed through her veins.
Mona plunked down beside her, concern in her hawk-like eyes. “What’s the matter, Maxie?”
And then she couldn’t get the words out fast enough. “After almost nine months . . . I—I . . . The village wants to hire me to be social director and continue to sub for the seniors who are sick. That was Leonard Hammond—the village’s board president. He said they were flooded with calls about bingo. The seniors said I was more fun than a car full of clowns. It just took them some time to find out if they had funds to pay me a
salary
. Did you hear that, Mom?
Pay me
a full-time salary to organize events for the villagers, and the first event on my agenda is the end-of-summer dance!” It was almost the end of June. That only left her a little less than a month and a half to prepare.
salary
. Did you hear that, Mom?
Pay me
a full-time salary to organize events for the villagers, and the first event on my agenda is the end-of-summer dance!” It was almost the end of June. That only left her a little less than a month and a half to prepare.
Oh, my God. She had a job.
A j-o-b.
Mona threw her arms around her daughter, planting a sloppy kiss on her cheek. “Whoopee, kiddo!”
Big whoopee. Big and honkin’.
Her good fortune flooded her, overwhelmed her as tears of gratitude stung her eyes. With a shaky hand, she pushed her hair from her face, and had a thought she shared out loud. “So the Cluck-Cluck Palace can stick their triple chicken-ator up their stupid curly fried asses! It’s not a lot of money. It won’t get me out of your hair just yet, Ma, but it’s something to start. Maybe I can tuck some away to take some business courses at Community.” Maxine’s mind went at warp speed with the endless possibilities a job reaped.
Hopping up off the couch, she clapped her hands and spun around, falling into Campbell. “I did tell you you were good with the seniors, didn’t I?”
“You did,” she agreed with a coy, nay, a flirtatious smile. “So I propose we celebrate by trying coffee one more time, minus the baggage.”
Be it her adrenaline rush of good fortune, or finally admitting she didn’t want to miss the chance to know Campbell, she didn’t bother to analyze. Yes. She, Maxine Cambridge, had just asked a man out on a date. “My treat, of course.” Because she could actually cough up the shekels—
her shekels—
to pay for it.
her shekels—
to pay for it.
There was nothing, absolutely nothing in the world like the kind of independence of earning your own living did to your psyche. The eternal fist in her chest unclenched, relaxing just a little.
Her smile beamed, her head whirled. She might not make the Fortune 500 list with the salary they’d offered, but she would at least be able to help her mother out—ending the cycle of the ozone suck she’d become.
She could buy essentials at Walmart for her and Connor. Food, and oh, euphoria! A box of those Sno Balls in bulk. Maybe she’d eventually be able to buy another pair of jeans—a shirt—
underwear
. Sneakers for Connor. If things went well, and the village kept her on, maybe she could take some online courses.
underwear
. Sneakers for Connor. If things went well, and the village kept her on, maybe she could take some online courses.
The slam of the screen door snapped her out of the list she was making in her mind. Connor strode in with his best friend, Jordon, both with their heads down. “Connor!” she shouted. “You’ll never guess what just happen . . .” Her words slowed when her son raised his head. Maxine gasped.
His left eye sported a razor-thin cut, the edges of it an angry red, his eyelid swelling at an alarming rate. Maxine rushed to him, lifting his chin so she could have a better look with the sunlight streaming in from the picture window overlooking the front of her mother’s house. “Honey, what happened?” Looking to Jordon, her eyes questioned his. “Was there a fight with someone at school?”
When Connor jerked his chin from her clutching fingers, Jordon spoke up. “No, Mrs. Cambridge. He didn’t have a fight with someone at school.”
Connor shook his head with a fierce look at Jordon, but his friend made a disgusted face, his lips curling inward. “Naw, man. If you won’t tell her, I will. Just wasn’t right. She deserves to know.”
A million scenarios raced through her mind as she examined Connor’s eye. “One of you better pony up.
Now,
” she demanded.
Now,
” she demanded.
“I’ll get ice,” her mother said, running a soothing hand over Connor’s back when she passed through to the kitchen.
Campbell clamped a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “You okay?”
Connor sighed, shooting Jordon a resentful glare. “Yes, sir.”
“Took a pretty good shot there, eh? Lemme have a look to be sure there’s no real damage,” Campbell said, his words calm and collected.
Jordon hopped from foot to foot, his jaw twitching. “It was his dad,” he blurted. “Mr. Cambridge hit him. They had a fight because he came to take Connor’s car. They said some stuff to each other, and Mr. Cambridge got mad. Really mad.”
Maxine’s head snapped up. “
Your father
did this to you?” she rasped between teeth clenched so hard they hurt. Surprise raced through her veins, turning them cold as ice. Finley was many things, shitty things, but he’d never hit either of them.
Your father
did this to you?” she rasped between teeth clenched so hard they hurt. Surprise raced through her veins, turning them cold as ice. Finley was many things, shitty things, but he’d never hit either of them.
Never.
She rounded on Connor, pushing Campbell out of the way with a palm to his chest. “Your father did this to you, Connor? Answer—me!”
His sullen expression was all the answer she needed. “Yes. But I—”
The pendulum swung.
From joyous relief to enraged, seething, hot, oozing anger.
“I’ll damn well kill him!” Maxine screeched, pushing her way to the kitchen and taking the keys to her mother’s Rio without even asking. Out the door in a flash, she didn’t hear anything but the vibration of adrenaline pulsing in her head. The itch in her fingers to claw the bastard’s eyes out.
She definitely didn’t hear her mother bark an order at Campbell: “Warm that truck up before she lands herself in the hoosegow!”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Note from Maxine Cambridge to all ex-trophy wives: If you’ll recall, earlier advice was given with regard to never letting your pending ex see you sweat. Keeping in mind violence is never advocated, there are extreme circumstances when sweating will be absolutely unavoidable. They involve protecting your child at all costs and a rockin’ right hook. Be sure to put your weight into it. Oh, and change into something appropriate first—something that at least dates back to the 1990s. Just trust me.
“I can’t believe you talked me into this—
again
,” Len purred into Adam’s ear, stretching her long limbs beneath the crisp hotel sheets. He’d seduced her into coming back to his hotel room for some early-afternoon frolicking, and she found she had to fight a groan of reluctance at leaving all this luscious man for temperamental brides who couldn’t decide what color their guest book pen should be.
again
,” Len purred into Adam’s ear, stretching her long limbs beneath the crisp hotel sheets. He’d seduced her into coming back to his hotel room for some early-afternoon frolicking, and she found she had to fight a groan of reluctance at leaving all this luscious man for temperamental brides who couldn’t decide what color their guest book pen should be.
Adam chuckled, deep and rumbling against her ear pressed to his chest. “I can be very persuasive.”
And totally addictive. But there’d be none of that, Len reassured herself. She was doing that more and more lately—reassuring herself she could keep this about nothing more than sex. “I have a million things to do.” She began to slide away from his warm arms, arms she couldn’t stop thinking about when she wasn’t surrounded by them.
“I can think of a million better things to do than deal with neurotic brides. They all involve this bed.” Adam patted the place she’d just left and grinned.
She laughed, hoping to keep the mood light when she felt anything but. “But those
things
won’t pay the bills.”
things
won’t pay the bills.”
Adam rose up on his elbow, eyeing her as she shimmied back into her slim pencil skirt. “Don’t you want to know how I pay my bills, Len?”
Yes. No. Yes. Curiosity had eaten at her since the night they’d had their first encounter, and it continued to do so every encounter since then. Yet, there was something that kept her from asking questions about his life, his job, or why, at the drop of a hat, he could show up at her office any time of the day and convince her to come back to his hotel room and make love.
There were moments when she still couldn’t believe she was involved in an intimate relationship with a man she knew almost nothing about other than that he was here for business. What kind of business she couldn’t guess. Every once in a while, Len heard bits and pieces of Adam’s conversations on the phone with someone she’d concluded was his secretary by the way he told her to reschedule client lunches and make sure to conference him on staff meetings.
But what his dealings here in Riverbend were remained unclear.
And she liked it that way.
Mostly.
Clearly he had money, and the proof wasn’t just in his clothing or his cultured vocabulary; it was in the respect the hotel staff paid him. Len knew money—Adam didn’t blatantly reek of it. He wasn’t flashy or gaudy, but judging from the leftover bottles of wine she caught glimpses of during their trysts, and the labels on his clothes, strewn across the floor, he had a decent bank account.
Somewhere.
Somewhere she was better off not knowing about.
There was definitely something to be said for forbidden and mysterious sex with no strings attached. Even if each sexual encounter they shared made it harder and harder for her to leave him.
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