She nearly threw her phone back in the drawer, but thought better of it—because, hey, people who were worried about covering their rent really shouldn’t put themselves in the position of needing to replace their cell—
As the office phone obligingly rang, she grabbed for it and was glad for the distraction.
And while she closed the loop with a buyer about the status of some fire-alarm replacements in a duplex across town, she parallel-processed the whole thing in her head. It was crazy for her to be wasting any more time or effort trying to get to the bottom of those videoes, for one thing. And secondly, she had a very strong suspicion that the reason her brain had gravitated toward this stretch of stupidity was because she was otherwise very bored in her life.
Which that was a problem to be solved not by distraction, but by pulling her socks up and figuring out what the hell she wanted to do with herself.
Yes, she had already decided the socialite existence of the people who had adopted her was a big ol’ no. So wha-hey, she’d already narrowed her future down by one option—
When the inside of her desk began to rattle again, she pulled open the door and got her phone back out from the loose paper clips and the pencils she didn’t use.
It was Bill. And she thought about letting the call go to voice mail, but knew that was childish. Hitting accept, she said, “I can only assume you’re going to apologize right now. Or did you audit my credit score? It’s actually not that bad, although remember, that doesn’t have to do with net worth, just whether you’re as anal as I am about paying bills on time.”
The guy had the grace to clear his throat. “I’m sorry. It appears as if I may have jumped to some conclusions that were unwarranted.”
Jo rolled her chair around so she was facing the office’s logo on the felt wall. Taking a deep breath, she muttered, “You know, it does help, if you’re trying to establish yourself as an investigative reporter par excellence, that you go a little deeper than mere surface information on someone.”
“I just thought . . . well, never mind what I thought.” There was a pause. “Do you still want to meet in an hour?”
Jo glanced at her watch. Just to give herself a little time. Har-har.
In or out, she told herself. Fish or cut bait.
If she went with the plan? She was liable to keep getting sucked further into a rat hole that wasn’t going to get her any closer to getting off her ass and into a real job—
“Jo?”
As a deep voice said her name, she jumped and swiveled back around. Bryant was leaning on the front counter of her desk.
“Jo?” Bill asked over the phone.
As she looked up into her boss’s handsome face, she got an idea of exactly why she might be searching for excuses to stay in a go-nowhere job. And really, eye candy didn’t get you far, did it.
“Yes, I’ll be there,” she said to Bill, and then hung up. “Hey, you’re back early.”
“Who was that? Your boyfriend?” Bryant smiled as he narrowed his eyes. “You never told me you had one.”
“That’s because I don’t. Did you get that listing signed? I can start on the M.L.S.—ah, why are you looking at me like that?”
Bryant’s phone rang in his hand, and her office line rang on her desk, and before he could respond, she went for her receiver, popping the thing off its cradle and going into her scripted greeting.
It was two rings before he answered . . . Bryant actually waited for two rings before he accepted his call—but whatever distraction Jo offered was passed up on as he drawled a “hello,” started laughing and then walked away.
Yup, it was so time to fire up the old resume.
* * *
“‘Keep the change, you filthy animal. . . .’”
As Rhage said the line, he shifted his chin, kissed Mary’s forehead, and reveled in their blissful state of total relaxation. In return, she snuggled in closer to his bare chest and yawned so hard her jaw cracked.
“Annnnnnnnnnnnd there goes the pizza guy.” Rhage laughed as he put his grape Tootsie Pop in for another suck. “You know, I love the dumb statue that everyone knocks over in the front of the house.”
Home Alone. In bed. With his shellan, a full belly, and the secure knowledge that his Mary had agreed to let him pick two more movies out for them.
Can you say Die Hard and Christmas Vacation?
After all, it was coming into her human holiday season, right?
And man, if this wasn’t heaven all rolled up on a fluffy white cloud, he didn’t know what was. His body was so chilled out he was doing some serious floating on air himself, and none of these cinematic greats he had lined up came with twelve-hanky, foreign-language-proficiency requirements.
Movie night for them could be a thing.
Mary liked valid stuff. He liked pop culture.
Ne’er the twain shall meet. But hey, you had to compromise in a mating. That was the way shit worked.
“What are we watching next?” she murmured.
“Bruce Willis and then Chevy Chase. I’ll let you guess what they’re starring in.”
She propped her head up on his pec. “Are you picking a Christmas theme just for me?”
“Yup. You wanna give me a smooch for being so thoughtful?”
When she leaned up, he took her face between his palms and kissed her deeply. As they parted, he focused on her lips, feeling that old familiar burn roll out where it counted most for a male. “Can I just tell you how much I’m looking forward to our shower before First Meal?”
As the office phone obligingly rang, she grabbed for it and was glad for the distraction.
And while she closed the loop with a buyer about the status of some fire-alarm replacements in a duplex across town, she parallel-processed the whole thing in her head. It was crazy for her to be wasting any more time or effort trying to get to the bottom of those videoes, for one thing. And secondly, she had a very strong suspicion that the reason her brain had gravitated toward this stretch of stupidity was because she was otherwise very bored in her life.
Which that was a problem to be solved not by distraction, but by pulling her socks up and figuring out what the hell she wanted to do with herself.
Yes, she had already decided the socialite existence of the people who had adopted her was a big ol’ no. So wha-hey, she’d already narrowed her future down by one option—
When the inside of her desk began to rattle again, she pulled open the door and got her phone back out from the loose paper clips and the pencils she didn’t use.
It was Bill. And she thought about letting the call go to voice mail, but knew that was childish. Hitting accept, she said, “I can only assume you’re going to apologize right now. Or did you audit my credit score? It’s actually not that bad, although remember, that doesn’t have to do with net worth, just whether you’re as anal as I am about paying bills on time.”
The guy had the grace to clear his throat. “I’m sorry. It appears as if I may have jumped to some conclusions that were unwarranted.”
Jo rolled her chair around so she was facing the office’s logo on the felt wall. Taking a deep breath, she muttered, “You know, it does help, if you’re trying to establish yourself as an investigative reporter par excellence, that you go a little deeper than mere surface information on someone.”
“I just thought . . . well, never mind what I thought.” There was a pause. “Do you still want to meet in an hour?”
Jo glanced at her watch. Just to give herself a little time. Har-har.
In or out, she told herself. Fish or cut bait.
If she went with the plan? She was liable to keep getting sucked further into a rat hole that wasn’t going to get her any closer to getting off her ass and into a real job—
“Jo?”
As a deep voice said her name, she jumped and swiveled back around. Bryant was leaning on the front counter of her desk.
“Jo?” Bill asked over the phone.
As she looked up into her boss’s handsome face, she got an idea of exactly why she might be searching for excuses to stay in a go-nowhere job. And really, eye candy didn’t get you far, did it.
“Yes, I’ll be there,” she said to Bill, and then hung up. “Hey, you’re back early.”
“Who was that? Your boyfriend?” Bryant smiled as he narrowed his eyes. “You never told me you had one.”
“That’s because I don’t. Did you get that listing signed? I can start on the M.L.S.—ah, why are you looking at me like that?”
Bryant’s phone rang in his hand, and her office line rang on her desk, and before he could respond, she went for her receiver, popping the thing off its cradle and going into her scripted greeting.
It was two rings before he answered . . . Bryant actually waited for two rings before he accepted his call—but whatever distraction Jo offered was passed up on as he drawled a “hello,” started laughing and then walked away.
Yup, it was so time to fire up the old resume.
* * *
“‘Keep the change, you filthy animal. . . .’”
As Rhage said the line, he shifted his chin, kissed Mary’s forehead, and reveled in their blissful state of total relaxation. In return, she snuggled in closer to his bare chest and yawned so hard her jaw cracked.
“Annnnnnnnnnnnd there goes the pizza guy.” Rhage laughed as he put his grape Tootsie Pop in for another suck. “You know, I love the dumb statue that everyone knocks over in the front of the house.”
Home Alone. In bed. With his shellan, a full belly, and the secure knowledge that his Mary had agreed to let him pick two more movies out for them.
Can you say Die Hard and Christmas Vacation?
After all, it was coming into her human holiday season, right?
And man, if this wasn’t heaven all rolled up on a fluffy white cloud, he didn’t know what was. His body was so chilled out he was doing some serious floating on air himself, and none of these cinematic greats he had lined up came with twelve-hanky, foreign-language-proficiency requirements.
Movie night for them could be a thing.
Mary liked valid stuff. He liked pop culture.
Ne’er the twain shall meet. But hey, you had to compromise in a mating. That was the way shit worked.
“What are we watching next?” she murmured.
“Bruce Willis and then Chevy Chase. I’ll let you guess what they’re starring in.”
She propped her head up on his pec. “Are you picking a Christmas theme just for me?”
“Yup. You wanna give me a smooch for being so thoughtful?”
When she leaned up, he took her face between his palms and kissed her deeply. As they parted, he focused on her lips, feeling that old familiar burn roll out where it counted most for a male. “Can I just tell you how much I’m looking forward to our shower before First Meal?”
