Calculated Exposure (21 page)

“Maybe you should plant them deeper.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Seth asked.

Erica left, wondering the same thing.

Chapter 16

“You’re a bit of a pain in the arse, aren’t ya?”

Curt squared his jaw and shifted his weight to his other foot. “You should know. Pretty sure I get that component of my DNA from you.”

His father picked up the remote control and shuffled through the channels, effectively dismissing him.

Curt wasn’t deterred. “When are you leaving?”

He scoffed and didn’t pull his stare from the television screen. “I’m not going nowhere. Perfectly content where I am.”

“This isn’t your house. It’s Jenny’s and Danny’s. You had a flat. Go to it.”

“More comfortable here.” The asshole had the gall to grin. “Besides, I got evicted.”

“Tough shit. Jenny doesn’t want you here.”

“Well, let her tell me that, then.”

“You know she won’t. She’s too nice. She’s like Mum. She’d rather be miserable than tell someone
no
.”

“And so, what? You’ve been elected the town crier? It your job to turn your old da out?” He laughed. “Good luck.”

Curt rubbed his eyes.
Fuck. Why did I even come here? What did they think I’d be able to do? Appeal to his sense of morality? Not sure he has one anymore.

He paced in front of the door and eyed the empty console table in the hall. His mother’s purse had been there before, but Jenny had finally convinced her to stay somewhere else for a while. So, Mum went to lodge with one of the few friends she had left following the scandal. The friend happened to be a former nun turned innkeeper. Curt still wasn’t sure if Mum thought being in such close proximity to her husband was bad for her or if she’d simply been worn down by the collective needling of her children.

He turned toward his father and leaned against the doorframe. “Don’t you think you’ve screwed up enough shit?” he asked. “You’ve got a lot of gall coming in here acting like nothing’s happened. Like you haven’t ruined lives.”

Dad finally turned off the television and cut his gaze toward the door. “You’re one to talk. You’re the one who made it a big deal. Made it so everyone knew.”

“What you’re doing is called shifting the blame, right? You really are a fucking sociopath.”

He shrugged and narrowed rheumy gray eyes at his son. “Pretty sure you got that DNA, too. You’re not too good for it.”

Curt said nothing. Maybe he was right. Maybe his asshole streak was incurable. Maybe he was really no better than his father. Maybe he wasn’t meant to love anyone. It didn’t feel that way, but his father had been charming once, hadn’t he? Had he changed, or did he get tired of faking being pleasant?

“Why don’t you just go? Leave, for Mum’s sake. She’ll probably never have anything of her own ever again because of what you did. At least leave her with some dignity. That’s a cheap thing. Even you can afford it.”

Dad snorted. “She’s nothing without me.”

“She did without you all those years when she was locked up, didn’t she? Didn’t hear a peep from you in all that time because you were so busy trying to disassociate yourself from what you did. How do you think that looks now with you being here? Makes it look like she’s complicit again, don’t it?”

Dad shrugged. “Oh well.”

“Do you even love her? Are you capable of it? Or does your worldview only extend to one person?”

Dad crossed his legs and turned the television back on.

“Right. Bastard.” Curt turned to leave, to give up. In the past, he probably would have thrown a punch. When he was younger, that’d always made him feel better, but age had given him wisdom on certain things. Punching his father, no matter how much he deserved it, wouldn’t make him leave. It’d just make him a martyr, and Curt an assaulter. Being physical would fail. Words had failed. Now what was left?

He was fully prepared to tell Jenny,
Sorry, love, maybe he’ll get bored and leave
when his father said to his back, “Everything would have been just fine if you hadn’t stuck your nose in it, Curt.”

Curt paused. He’d opened his mouth to tell his father to go to hell, but didn’t waste the energy. It would have been redundant, since he was likely on the path there already. He let the door close behind him.

His phone buzzed as he strode up the street toward where he’d left his rental car. He answered without checking the screen. “Yeah.”

“Curt Ryan, you really are an asshole.”

He stopped walking. It wasn’t the first time he’d answered his phone to be told off, but not by
this
particular person. He swallowed. “Am I?”

“You know you are.”

Didn’t he?

“Just for shits and giggles, why don’t you let me in on why?”

“Do you regularly roll out of bed after a good screw, tell your fuckee you’ll see her later, and board a plane for Ireland two hours later? That’s pretty assholey.”

He blew out a ragged breath and leaned against the driver’s door.
Well, at least she waited a couple of days before chewing me out.
“Do I regularly do that? No. But I wasn’t aware I needed to check in with you.”
Fuck, that sounded nasty.
He didn’t mean it. Wanted to take it back because she didn’t deserve it, but maybe it was for the best.

“Oh, okay. I see.” Erica’s voice was flat, but bitter. She mumbled something in Spanish and brought her mouth back to the receiver. “’Cause I’m just ass to you, right?”

“Whoa!” he exclaimed, nearly dropping the phone. “Where’d that come from?” What had gotten into her? It was like she’d gone from zero to sixty in no time flat. “Who am I talking to? Is this Erica Desoto? My Erica doesn’t do hysterics.”

“
Your
Erica?” She laughed. “Wanna try that again? By the way, my birth name is
Ercilia
.”

Fuck
. He opened the driver’s door and sank into the seat. “Maybe that didn’t come out right.”

“Maybe it didn’t. I want to tell you something, Curt.” Her voice was clipped and veering dangerously close to anger.

“What?”

“I may not seem like the kind of girl who waits around for a man to call, but I guess I am. That seductress who looked you up and called your cell phone weeks ago? That’s not me. The real me would have waited days for you to call and when you didn’t, she would have given up on hearing from you. The real me wouldn’t have let you screw me in every conceivable way with no prospect of attachment in sight. The real me has all the spunk of an Irish potato. The real me wanted to, no,
wants
to pin you down and take care of you since apparently you’re not capable of doing it yourself. The real me was content with pretending to be someone I wasn’t just to spend time with you, because being with you feels so damned good, but you know what? The real me has changed a bit in the past few weeks. The real me wants you to go fuck yourself. I’ve been fucked enough. I’m bored with it now.”

Whoa. Did she just?

When he didn’t respond, she asked, “You still there?”

He cringed. “Yes, I’m still here.”

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Well, what could he say?
I’m aware of my shortcomings as a man and apologize for taking advantage of you even though at the time I thought you wanted the same thing I did, which was nothing
?

No, that didn’t seem right, especially since it wasn’t true anymore. He
did
want something from her. He just didn’t believe it was sustainable, given who he was. He didn’t even care she’d been pretending. It was certainly the most creative way a woman had ever come on to him, and…well, she was a catch. In a lot of ways, she was the ideal woman. That’s why he didn’t deserve her.

“No, I don’t have anything to say, Ercilia.”

“So it’s true. You have no feelings. Hell of a way to live. Goodbye, Curt.”

And she was gone.

He pressed his forehead against the steering wheel and swore loud and long. When he was done, he sat up, stabbed the key into the ignition, and drove to the inn to inform his mother of her lot in life: that she had no home to go to because the only one she had was being occupied by the man who’d taken away her livelihood in the first place.

At least he wasn’t
that
kind of asshole.

Chapter 17

Erica drummed her fingertips against her thighs and chewed the skin inside her cheek. Tate, across the desk, was the recipient of what she hoped was her deadest expression.

He didn’t seem put off by it. He rocked in his fancy desk chair and spun his pen between his fingers while giving her a solicitous grin.

“You got something to say to me, or did you call me into your office to stare at my tits?” she asked.

“You’re so funny. Always have been.”

She rolled her eyes. She wasn’t in the mood. Hadn’t been since she woke up and slapped her alarm clock only to knock a pile of Curt’s paperwork onto the floor. That’d been a week ago.

“Know what’s not funny?” He leaned his elbows onto the desktop and planted his chin atop his fists. When she didn’t respond, he grunted, “Hmm?”

“I can think of a lot of things that aren’t funny. Narrow down the list for me. I don’t want to play guessing games with you today,
culo
.”

He squinted at her. He’d look it up later and get pissed when he found out what it meant. “Check your attitude, lady. That is, unless you
want
me to write you up.”

“Write me the fuck up then. Stop threatening and do it.”

“You must think I won’t.”

She crossed her legs and tipped her head so her neck rested on the back of the chair. “Actually, I don’t care if you do,” she said to the ceiling.

If he heard her statement, he ignored it as he pressed on. “You think this is some kind of little bubble, Erica? This newspaper office? You think I don’t hear things?”

She sat up. “This is getting tedious.”

“Know what’s even more tedious? Unemployment.” He walked around to the front of the desk and leaned his butt against the edge, drumming his fingers on the sides of his arms impatiently.

She scooted her chair back a few inches and gave him a long blink.

“Word gets around, Erica. Heard you were looking for a new gig. Folks wanted to know why. They all know how good I am to you.”

She scoffed. “Really? Is that what they know?”

He sniffed and rubbed the scruff of his beard. “I’m good to all my staff. But let’s face it. Your value has always been quantity and no so much quality. We could do better.”

“Okay then.” She stood. “Do better.”

He skirted around her and blocked her egress, likely not caring how his position would look to the folks in the outer office. “I’m not kidding, Erica.”

“Move. Me neither.”

He didn’t move.

She tapped her foot and narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m not playing. Get out of the fucking way. If you need me to be more clear on what I’m saying here, I’m saying
I quit
. You can’t manipulate me anymore. I don’t give a shit about this newspaper.” She started to laugh but it quickly devolved into cackling. “I don’t even care that much about photojournalism at this point, truth be told. Until recently, I didn’t realize how little I cared, so thank you very much for reminding me.” She bobbed her head to the side indicating he should move. She was
done
.

“I’m not giving you a reference.”

“Go suck your reference, Tate. Get out of the way or I’m going to yell. I don’t give a shit about my job, but I bet you care about yours a little bit, don’t you?” She tweaked his nose. “Gotta finance your extracurricular activities, right,
cabron
?”

His bottom jaw grated left, then right. He knew he had nothing left to throw at her. Slowly, he eased away from the door.

She opened it and managed to walk into the newsroom with some dignity. It was amazing: unemployed, love life in shambles, and absolutely no prospects, but she felt so free she could skip. So, she did. Just a little bit down the aisle until she reached her deserted cubicle area, where she stood on her chair and announced in a sing-song voice, “I quit! You hear that, everyone? I quit! Yay!”

“Wish I could,” someone across the room grumbled.

Erica hopped down, lifted her bag’s strap over her head, and turned off her computer one last time. She didn’t skip, but walked with unbridled jauntiness to human resources and gave them the skinny before Tate could. If left up to him, he’d be telling them he’d had security escort her out of the building and her final paycheck should be withheld. She gladly handed over her building badge, signed what needed signing, refused the exit interview, and thanked them all for their time.

“Guess what?” she said into her phone as she pulled her Jeep out of the employee lot.

“Either you or Curt has grown a pair?” Sharon quipped.

“Funny, but no. I quit my job. I feel fan-fucking-tastic.”

“Great! So, I guess that means you’ll be on time for that party tonight.”

“Huh?”

Sharon sighed. “I don’t know why I talk to you people. I’d have better luck talking to a hole in the wall. The boring party? It’s for an accounting organization. They didn’t even want me to order good booze. It’s all cabernet and Heineken.”

“You’re not convincing me.”

“Please? I could ask my friend Meg, but she’s too surly.”

“Don’t you have an assistant who helps you plan these things?”

“We’re double-booked tonight. I owed him a favor so he got the theater opening night party.”

Erica sighed. “What do you want me to wear?”

“I love you so much. Wear what you want. Nothing too scandalizing, though. Accountants don’t like breasts.”

“No wonder Curt didn’t become one, then,” Erica mumbled.

“I heard that. Just call him. Seeds, honey. Plant those seeds.”

“Nope.”

* * * *

Curt didn’t see the ball coming, so when it pounded against the side of his head, he barely reacted except to put his hand up to his mud-caked hair and rub his scalp.

Seth ran across the field and placed his hands on Curt’s shoulders, stooping down to give him a little shake. “Hello! Anyone in there? That should have been a clean catch! You were wide open.”