Believe It or Not (17 page)

So did Drew’s tongue, making a slow descent down her throat, her collarbones, the tops of her breasts. He used his chin to nudge one strap down on her top, freeing her left breast.

“Oh, God,” she cried as his mouth found her nipple. She ground herself harder against him and felt Drew lift his hips in response, pressing against her.

He drew back slightly. “Isn’t this where we were the other night? You on my lap, grinding against me? I believe your exact words were—”

“Fuck me.”

“Yes.”

“Now.”

Drew looked in her eyes and smiled. He opened his mouth to say something.

“Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech!”

Violet blinked and sat back.

Drew winced. “Is that some sort of animal mating call?”

They both craned their necks to see the television.

“Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech!”

“What the—?”

“This is a test of the Emergency Broadcast System. This is only a test. If this had been an actual emergency…”

Violet fumbled for the remote control and flipped the mute button. Then she looked at Drew. He was wild-eyed and disheveled and so damn hot, her body ached.

He was also the last thing in the world she needed right now. What the hell was she thinking?

She sat back a little farther and swallowed. “We should stop.”

He blinked at her. “Are you crazy?”

“No, but you’re drunk.”

“I’m definitely not—”

“And I’m seeing someone.”

“I don’t—”

“So are you, right? You said it yourself, you were just on a date.”

“I hardly think… Where are you going?”

“To bed,” she said as she slid off his lap and stood up. “
Alone.
You’re welcome to sleep on the sofa so you don’t have to drive. There are blankets in that chest over there, and you can use the bathroom around the corner to wash up.”

She was talking too fast, like a crazy person, and that’s certainly how he was looking at her. But she had to get out. She needed to escape, to get herself back on solid ground.
Normal
ground.

He stared at her with an incredulous expression. “You’re not really going to—”

“Good night, Drew.”

She took two steps back, every inch of her body aching with the need to touch him again.

But this was for the best. She knew it was. She turned away.

“Violet, wait.”

But she was already up the stairs, closing her bedroom door behind her, twisting the lock into place. She stared at the knob a moment, struck by the irony.

She wasn’t worried about locking Drew out.

She needed to lock herself in.

***

Drew sat in stunned silence for at least three minutes.

Then he waited another ten to see if Violet would come skipping back down the stairs with her clothes off and her head back in the game.

No sign of Violet. He’d heard the sound of running water for a few minutes, and wondered if she might have taken a cold shower.

He could damn sure use one.

Drew rubbed his hands over his face and tried to regain his balance. What the hell had happened?

You
drank
too
much
at
the
bar
and
showed
up
on
the
doorstep
of
a
woman
who
doesn’t want to date you. Way to go, Einstein.

Drew shook his head, noticing the dizziness had almost completely worn off. He’d only had two drinks at the bar, really not that much. True, it probably hit him a bit harder than most guys, since he didn’t drink a lot, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t fully in control of his words and actions.

He glanced at the television, where one giraffe was gallantly bumping the other’s backside with its head. Then the pair began a mating ritual that couldn’t possibly be romantic, even in the giraffe world. He stared, fascinated, until the amorous twosome finished.

Then he looked down at the coffee table. It was covered with neatly aligned printouts of spreadsheets and three pencils in a tidy row. A glass of water sat perfectly centered on a coaster. A leather briefcase was propped on a nearby shelf, shiny and polished and exactly like the one Catherine used to carry.

Get
out!
screamed a voice in his head.

Dammit. Violet was right.

He stood up, aware of the blood making the slow return trip to his brain after spending some time in more pleasant places. He wasn’t the least bit drunk now, not anymore. He was sober and clearheaded and perfectly aware of his need to get the hell out of this house before there was no turning back.

For either of them.

The next day at three o’clock, Violet was ready to jump out of her skin. She had been pacing the same spot in the psychic studio so fiercely that she had to check to see if she’d worn a groove in the carpet.

When the door opened, Violet wasn’t sure whether to scream or cry at the sight of Drew.

“You’re not Frank,” she said.

Drew looked down at himself, considering. “Nope,” he said, looking back up at her. “’Fraid not.”

“Frank’s coming in to talk to me, and he’s already five minutes late and I’m completely freaking out because—”

“Frank’s always late, unless he’s coming to pick up the rent check. Then he’s early. Sit down a minute. I want to talk to you.”

Violet folded her arms over her chest and tried not to notice her hands were shaking. “If this is about last night, I don’t want to argue.”

“I don’t want to argue, either. You were right. We shouldn’t be sleeping together. It’s a bad idea.”

“Oh,” Violet said, annoyed to feel the sting of disappointment. “Of course I’m right.”

“I mean, hell, we’ve known each other a week?”

“Right.”

“And we’ve been at each other’s throats for most of that time.”

“True,” she said, hating how much she wanted to disagree, despite the fact that he was making the exact point she’d tried to make the night before.

“I’m the opposite of what you want, you’re the opposite of what I want, and the whole thing is a really bad idea.”

“Is this supposed to be making me feel better?”

Drew grinned. “Hey, if you want to feel better—”

“Stop,” she said, not really wanting him to. “By the way, I’m sorry about Jamie quitting. That really wasn’t my intent.”

Drew nodded once and cleared his throat. “Jamie needs to do what makes Jamie happy.”

“So you’re okay with him leaving?”

“Of course not. Hey, I’m still pissed that what you told Jamie might potentially put him in danger. And I’m also pissed that I’m losing my top entertainer, plus he’s sort of family—”

“But if this is what he wants to do with his life—”

Drew held up his hand. “I know. Look, I don’t agree with the whole fake psychic hocus-pocus, but Jamie is a grown-up who can make his own decisions. And this seems like something he wants to do.”

Violet nodded. “Thank you. I’m glad you see it that way.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I still think you’re full of crap and I don’t like you messing with people’s lives. That’s a lousy way to make a buck, if you want my honest opinion. But I do think that in this particular situation, Jamie probably needed a nudge to do something new.”

Violet sighed “You couldn’t have just stopped with the apology?”

“Nope. Sorry. We can agree to disagree on this.” He grinned at her, giving Violet the urge to agree to just about anything he might suggest. Bending her over the desk, for instance, or sliding his hands up her torso to unhook her bra and—

“Fine. Fine, whatever.” Violet glanced at her watch, distracted again. “Where is Frank? Why is he late? Do you think he’s bringing a lawyer?”

“Driving. Because he’s an inconsiderate prick. No.”

“What?”

“Just answering your questions. In the order you asked them.”

Violet frowned, trying to remember what she’d asked. “So no lawyer?”

“I doubt it. But just in case, I’m retreating back to my cave now.”

“Afraid of lawyers?”

“Hell, yes. Terrified. I was married to one, remember?”

“Right. Good to see you’re moving past that.”

“Maybe with some quality counseling from a fake psychic healer—”

“Go!” Violet ordered without venom as she pointed at the door. “I don’t mock you in your place of business.”

“No, but your mother does. And then she sends her crazy friends in to hit on me.”

She frowned at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Your mom. She gave free passes to Butterfly and a whole bunch of her new-agey friends last night. They all came by last night and spent the evening in there, drinking entirely too many greyhounds. I take it you weren’t privy to that plan?”

Violet frowned, trying to figure out what the hell Moonbeam was up to now. “That’s weird.”

“So is your mother, but I choose not to judge. Look, I’ve gotta get back to the… to my… Hell, I don’t have anything going on. I’m just hoping to avoid Frank. Good luck with that, okay?”

“Okay,” Violet said, puzzling over his words as she watched him retreat.

She was still staring at the door after he’d vanished. Why would Moonbeam send her friends to Drew’s bar, especially when she was so opposed to it? That made no sense at all.

She didn’t have long to ponder it, as the front door chimed to announce a visitor. Violet snapped to attention and watched as a middle-aged bald man came marching through the front door. He was tanned, muscular, and so obviously full of himself that Violet half expected him to throw his shoe up on the counter and ask her to shine it.

Instead, he reached up and scratched his neck. Hard. And with all the tact of a highland gorilla. She tried to look away, but couldn’t help but notice the weird growth just below his ear. What the hell?

When he finally stopped scratching, he looked at her without a smile. “You must be Violet,” he grunted.

Violet breathed a sigh of relief that he didn’t seem to want to greet her with a handshake. She took several steps forward to meet him at the center of the room, her hands clasped firmly behind her back.

“I am,” Violet said, hoping her voice wasn’t quivering. “And you must be—”

“Cut the crap, and let’s get down to business. I’m Frank. You know why I’m here.”

“Oh,” Violet said, and resisted the urge to hit him over the head with Moonbeam’s lucky bamboo plant. Instead, she smiled warmly. “In that case, would it be considered
crap
to ask if you’d like tea?”

He laughed, a completely humorless sound that reminded Violet of the time she got a fork stuck in her garbage disposal.

“A smart-ass,” Frank said, stepping into the seating area and looking around as if he owned the place. Come to think of it, he did. “I like that. Feisty and bitchy, just what I need. Sit down and let’s talk.”

Violet gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to say something snarky. This was the landlord.
The
very
angry
landlord.
Even if he wasn’t going to be polite,
she
should at least try to be.

She mustered as much dignity as she could and led the way to Moonbeam’s seating area. Arranging herself regally on the edge of the red velvet chair, she waited for Frank to seat himself opposite her.

Instead, he devoted another two minutes to scratching his neck. This time, Violet had to look away. She developed a sudden, intense interest in the cactus garden arranged in a little clay pot on the edge of the coffee table.

Finally, Frank lowered himself into the chair and sat with his knees wide apart. He stared at her.

“Look,” she began, “Can I just say something first, sir?”

“No.”

“But—”

“I’m a very busy man so—”

“Tough,” Violet said, a little surprised to hear her “corporate bitch” voice emerging in this setting. “I’m busy, too, and I just want to say that while I’m sorry if I caused you any distress with what I told your squash partner, I don’t believe in cheating, and I do think—”

“Oh, cut the bullshit. You’re a liar, and I’m a cheater. The Professional Squash Association canned me two days ago after my so-called partner ratted me out and they caught me on video. Whatever, I was planning to retire next month anyway, and I have better things to do with my time now. That’s where you come in.”

Violet sat back in her chair and tried to mask her shock. This was not how she expected the conversation to go.

“So you… you… You admit you were cheating?”

Frank laughed and Violet thought of the fork in the garbage disposal again. “Of course I was cheating. And the fact that you seem surprised pretty much proves my theory that you know as well as I do that this psychic thing is total bullshit. That’s actually perfect. Just what I need.”

Violet stared at him, trying to follow the conversation. “I don’t understand. And I’m not a liar, so—”

“Can it, babe. Here’s the deal. I own a shit pile of properties around Portland, and this is just one of many. I’ve got an investor lined up to buy one of my places to open some sort of vegan café.”

Violet started to reply, but lost her words as Frank reached up and gave his neck another violent scratch. This one only lasted less than a minute, but seemed to require a bit more digging than the last one had. She tried not to look, but there definitely was some sort of growth there…

“Do you need some ointment or something?”

“Not whatever you’ve got around here. Some new-agey bullshit? No thank you. It’s a fucking allergic reaction or something. Probably the goddamn escargot I ate for lunch.”

“You ate snails?” She remembered the TV special about snail genitals on their necks, and suddenly her brain was veering toward Drew, to the feeling of his mouth on her throat and his hands…

“I’m not here to talk about what I had for lunch, okay?”

Violet frowned and decided to ignore the scratching. “So this investor is looking for property somewhere in the city—”

“Not just any property.
My
property. He’s narrowed his choices down to two places, both of which I happen to own, and one of which is worth a fuckwad of money.”

“How convenient for you,” she said, looking up at him with a scowl.

“Convenient,” he scoffed. “I’m nailing the guy’s wife on the side. She made sure he only checked out properties I owned.”

“I don’t understand—”

“Of course you don’t,” he interrupted as he rubbed his neck some more. “And you don’t need to know all the details. Here’s what you
do
need to know. This investor is a total nut job, which explains why he went gaga over this crappy little psychic studio when I showed it to him the other day. Wants to knock out the wall and combine it with that shitty bar next door and turn it into the biggest vegan restaurant in the city.”

Violet felt her temper flare. “You showed him our space without giving us the legally required notice twenty-four hours in advance?”

Frank just snorted. “I gave proper notice. I called your mom at the hospital. What, she doesn’t remember? Must’ve been all those painkillers.” He snorted again. “Sue me.”

“Maybe I will,” Violet snapped.

“You don’t have a leg to stand on and you know it. Shut up and listen a minute. I don’t want to kick you out of this shit hole.”

Violet stared at him. “You don’t?”

“Hell no. I want you to stay here as long as possible.”

“Wow. Thank you. I mean—”

“I’m not being benevolent. I just want this asshole investor to buy another space I’ve got for sale. One right on the waterfront, three times the price.”

Violet frowned. “What does this have to do with me?”

“It’s real simple. You’re going to give him a psychic reading.”

“What?” Violet squeaked.

“He’s going to call you sometime tomorrow to schedule an appointment. The name’s Jed Buckles, and you’re going to book him an appointment within the next week, and you will tell him that bad things will happen if he doesn’t buy that other property. Or good things will happen if he does buy it. Whatever, I’ll leave the details up to you. The important thing is that he buys the other fucking property.”

Violet stared at him. “I’m not going to make up some ridiculous story to tell this guy, just so you can take advantage of him.”

Frank snorted again. “Why? Because you’re so goddamn ethical? Spare me. Look, lady, you do this or else.”

“Or else what?”

“Or you and your mom and all those crazy-ass strippers next door will find yourselves out on the street.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Hell yes.”

Violet took a breath, then a second one for good measure. “You can’t evict us without cause.”

“I don’t have to have cause. Hell, I don’t even have to evict you. It wouldn’t take much to ruin your reputation, maybe send one of those professional myth-buster guys in here to prove you guys are full of shit. You want that to happen? Huh?”

Violet just glared at him, too angry to speak.

Or maybe it was fear, not anger. He was right, after all. She was a fake.

“Do you fucking want that to happen?” he asked again, this time with obvious fury. “You really want someone in here sniffing around, trying to prove this is a crackpot excuse for a business? That you just make this shit up and take the money of unsuspecting community members?”

“Why would anyone believe you, huh? You just lost your professional athletic career for cheating.”

“It wouldn’t have to be
me
going public with your misdeeds,” Frank snapped. “It would be the newspaper I own, the friends I have with television connections, the word of mouth I could kick off. You wouldn’t believe how many connections I have in this town.”

Violet pressed her lips together, trying to hold in the curse that threatened to emerge. Next door, she heard the music start up. She tried to distract herself with the thrum of the rhythm, the faint urge to name the tune. She could just barely pick out a smattering of lyrics. It seemed like a smarter thing to do than reaching across the coffee table and grabbing that horrible excuse for a human by his scrawny little throat and—

Frank laughed. Then he scratched his neck.

Suddenly, Violet had had enough. She jumped to her feet and pointed a finger at him.

A trembling finger, but still.

“Get out!” she shrieked. She stepped to the other side of her chair, desperate to get away from him. “Now, out.
And
stop
scratching
yourself
like
that!
It’s disgusting. Didn’t your mother ever teach you it’s rude to do that in public?”

Frank shrugged and kept scratching. “I got this weird growth that just showed up the other day. It’s sort of long and skinny and—”

“It’s a goddamn snail penis!”