Crazy for the Boss (Crazy in Love Book 1) (14 page)

* * *

J
ames was cold
.

No, cold didn’t even cover it; his body felt like a popsicle dipped into an ice bath and left out to freeze against biting Arctic winds, winds that picked up speed as they swirled across the vast expanse of the lake’s frozen surface.

He was in hell. They’d been here thirty minutes already, and James was certain he was in the early stages of hypothermia.

The only thing more hellish than the temperatures were the smug grins that Bill Taylor and his buddies were giving him as they cracked open ice-cold beers and actually appeared like they were enjoying themselves. At his expense.

If James knew what was good for him, he’d have quit the minute they stepped out onto the ice that he swore he’d heard crack under his feet. But no, he was determined that no one—not the girls or their father—would get the better of him. Plus, he felt like he and Quinn’s dad had gotten off on the wrong foot. For some reason, James found himself wanting the older man to like him. Or at least not think of him like he was a piece of shit smeared on his shoe.

“Why don’t you go check your line, James,” Quinn’s dad asked him. “Looks like you might have something.”

James glanced down at his line that, in fact, was bobbing up and down on the stand as if something was on the other end. A sudden unexpected thrill shot through him.

Was he actually going to catch something?

He leaped forward with renewed energy and grabbed the line.

“Keep pulling. Don’t give it any slack,” Bill shouted as he and two of his friends surrounded him. “That’s it. Now pull that in.”

James could barely feel his fingers, but he somehow managed to hold on to the battling line, and he kept pulling the line, inch by inch, out of the water, waiting for that moment when the prized catch would finally come into view. This had to be worth some points, right? No one else had caught so much as a nibble all morning.

The line was biting into his hand as the blasted fish on the other end refused to come up willingly, and James’s excitement climbed.

This thing had to be huge if the fight it was giving was any indication.

But…damn.

It was almost too strong, and without thinking, he took a step forward. Only to feel the ball of his foot sliding forward, and he felt himself going down. Sharp, bone-sucking pain took his breath as his leg went into the icy waters. His elbow slammed against the frozen surface as he sank almost to his right hip in the water.

Phew. His heart was racing as for a moment he’d thought he was going to sink entirely into the hole. From the stunned faces of the men around him, they’d thought the same thing.

Hands were pulling him up, and as he gained his ground again, he looked down to see that, despite his brush with death, he’d managed not to release his grip on the line that was still tugging away.

“I still got it,” he shouted.

This thing was not getting away.

With even more determination, he began pulling the line up again until, with one final tug that felt like it might have sapped the rest of the energy from his body, he felt his prey give up as he yanked it from the water.

It was massive, at least two feet long and…

Purple?

He held up the line, trying to process what he was seeing.

A purple fish that looked suspiciously like it was made of rubber.

James glanced up in confusion and saw the abashed grins of Bill and his friends.

It only took him another second to realize that they’d totally tricked him, the end of the fish showing another line that someone—probably the men who were laughing uproariously twenty feet away—had been tugging on the entire time.

Bill was eying him with some guilt. “It’s just an old trick, son. We didn’t mean to have you nearly fall into the damn lake.”

James stared at the sad, rubbery purple fish again and felt something other than anger tickle his chest as he thought about how ridiculous he must have appeared just moments ago.

His shoulders shook before he finally erupted into his own laughter.

Because aside from the stinging pain along his right side that even now was feeling almost numb, the whole thing was actually kind of funny.

The other men joined in his laughter, Bill going so far as to have to wipe the tears from his eyes as he patted James on the back.

That had almost made the whole thing worth it.

I
t was
close to noon when James and Quinn’s dad arrived back home. Just ten minutes after the girls had returned from the salon, where Quinn and Sabrina had treated their mom to some much-deserved pampering, nearly killing themselves to not let slip the big surprise they had planned for that night. Quinn only hoped that the other townspeople were just as discreet.

Quinn was sitting at the kitchen table having tea with her mom, her sister already holed up in her room for some writing, when the door from the garage opened.

She was almost certain that she could smell the men before she turned around to see them.

“Did someone fall in?” she asked.

James didn’t look wet, but the smell was definitely stronger in his direction.

“Just a little mishap with the bait,” was all he said, however, which earned a chuckle from her dad.

Uh-oh.

“Dad. You and your buddies didn’t give James a hard time, did you?”

Damn. She couldn’t explain what had overcome her this morning when she’d seen him standing there in another flannel shirt—blue this time—another day’s growth on his chiseled jaw, and a grin that told her he was probably remembering how silly and immature she’d been the night before.

Which was why she’d needed some distance from him when she’d pushed him out the door with her dad. She’d also thought it might give the two men a chance to get to know each other and maybe let her dad see, as she had, that James wasn’t quite the devil.

She hadn’t given any consideration to the possibility that her dad and his cronies might take the opportunity to play one of their usual pranks—on her boss. That was, if she hadn’t been fired.

But James didn’t seem annoyed or embarrassed by her dad’s laughter. He only smiled at her and shrugged. “Let’s just say it was all very…instructive. In the meantime, I think I might take a long, hot shower. If you’ll excuse me.”

Quinn had to admit, for a man who was probably just hazed by her dad and his friends, he looked entirely too satisfied with himself as he strode down the hall.

“Bill,” her mom said in a warning tone.

“What?” her dad asked, the picture of innocence. “You heard him. It was a mishap.” He laughed again and grabbed a beer from the fridge before facing his wife. He paused, studying her. “Did you do something different with your hair?” he asked.

Whatever further reprimand his wife was going to give him died on her lips, her hand rising to primp her hair. “Why, the girls thought that in addition to treating us to dinner tonight, they’d treat me to some pampering. Do you like it?”

“Like it? It’s giving me all sorts of…ideas,” he said in a way that had Quinn holding her hands to her ears.

“Children present.”

“Oh, which reminds me,” her mom said, taking her gaze from her husband to settle on Quinn. “If James is going to be staying with us again, should we see if he’d like to come with us to dinner?”

“Sure. I’ll let him know.”

“I think I should probably shower off, too,” her dad said, pulling on her mom’s hand. “Did you want to help me find that shirt for later?”

The question might have been innocent but the suggestive tone was anything but.

Good grief. How had she and her sister survive their childhood without dying of mortification?

With the main room to herself, Quinn made a few more calls, confirming a few questions with the caterers and that the hydrangeas had indeed come in for the centerpieces. Leaving the only thing on her to-do list finalizing the playlist for tonight’s dancing since the entire band was now suffering from the flu and a DJ was their only option.

“Has your father ever owned anything that didn’t come in a plaid? Or flannel?” James asked, joining her in the kitchen. Sure enough, he was now sporting a blue-and-gray-plaid shirt and a pair of very worn Levi’s. And even though the clothes might have originally been her dad’s, James certainly managed to make them his own.

She felt the urge to retreat from the room on some flimsy excuse but stopped herself. This was her employer, and it would be best to clear the air now rather than later.

He came to stand next to her, smelling clean and delicious and uniquely James.

“Whatcha doing?” he asked, seemingly unaware of his affect on her.

She glanced up, noticing immediately the thickness of his beard, how much darker the hair was than that on his crown as James ran his fingers through it, almost as if still getting used to the increased length. Her own hand twitched, feeling the same urge to touch it.

She wondered whether it would be bristly or soft beneath her fingertips, maybe even her lips.

What had he asked her again?

Oh, that’s right. “I was finalizing the playlist that the DJ sent over. Which I’m glad I chose to do instead of Sabrina because most of these songs are terrible.”

James leaned down too close as he read the email from over her shoulder. “It’s not bad.”

“Justin Bieber? Ariana Grande? Yeah, sure, if you’re at a prom or a junior high dance. But this is my parent’s thirtieth wedding anniversary. I want the songs to mean something.” She scrolled down to her music app and pulled it up. “I’m just going to have to put together something of my own.”

James slid onto the barstool next to her. “I’ve got some time on my hands. Maybe we can come up with some together.”

A door opened upstairs and Quinn knew her parents would be down shortly. This wasn’t going to work. She needed somewhere they wouldn’t know what she was doing.

Ordinarily, she’d just head to her own bedroom. But with James in tow and the only seating available being her bed…it wasn’t an option.

“Follow me,” she whispered. Shutting the laptop, she grabbed two throws off the back of the couch and tossed them in James’s direction before heading to the sliding doors that opened to the back.

They walked along the stone-paved path that led to the small guesthouse in the back. The door was locked, and she grabbed the key from the fake rock by the door and let them inside.

Sabrina was right. With the furnace out, the place was colder than an icebox. But at least it was private and spacious and the bed wasn’t the primary focus of the room.

“So this is Sabrina’s digs?” he asked, looking around.

She nodded. “It was originally built as a boathouse, but my parents refurbished it a few years ago, something that came in handy when Sabrina returned from college and was trying to initially make a go of the writing thing. And although she could probably afford to buy her own place by now, I think she prefers the isolation out here.”

The place was set up like a studio apartment with the general sitting area most prominent. Along the back wall was a small kitchenette, with a half wall that separated it from the sleeping area in the corner.

But it was the fireplace that Quinn was aiming for. “How’s your fire-starting capabilities?”

“Is there a gas line?” he asked.

She was about to roll her eyes at his ignorance when she saw the teasing grin and familiar glint in his blue eyes.

“Here, allow me.” He tossed the blankets to the couch and knelt down and sorted through the small pile of firewood. He stacked them and stuffed in a couple sheets of newspaper underneath before grabbing the torch lighter from the mantel and lighting it.

Not bad.

In another minute, the fire had grown nicely. Quinn grabbed the soft dark gray blanket and wrapped it around her before taking a seat on the couch. She opened her laptop again and punched in her password.

“Hey, do you think your sister will mind if I brew us some coffee?”

That caught her attention. “You actually know how to brew a pot of coffee?”

Now he just looked exasperated. “You know, I’m not ten years old. I do actually know how to drive a car, start a fire, make a pot of coffee, even brush my own teeth.” He walked over to the small coffeepot and rinsed the carafe out before filling it with water and continuing. “What would you think if I went about making stereotypical assumptions about you because you’re a woman or a lawyer? You’d jump down my throat in a minute.”

She blinked. It was hard to admit, but he might have a point. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m going to need to work on that.”

He nodded and finished measuring the coffee and flipped on the brew button before coming back to join her. “So what kind of music do your parents like? Let’s see, thirty-year anniversary…so they were married in the late eighties. That should make for an interesting compilation.”

She clicked play on one song she knew was one of her parents’ favorites. The opening tune of Peter Cetera’s “Glory of Love” flooded the cold room. She grinned at him. “Dad took Mom to see
Karate Kid II
on their first date, and I guess this was on the soundtrack. It’s kind of their song.”

The song was beyond cheesy. All this talk about a man who would fight for her honor, who’d be the hero she’d been dreaming of. But…something about it still kind of hit her in the heart when she heard it.

Every time.

“I think it’s kind of innate in all love songs. A certain level of cheesiness,” James said. “Okay. Add it to the list. What’s next? Actually, let me try one.” He took the laptop and typed something in. “If we’re choosing eighties love songs, this is sure to be a hit.”

The artist’s distinctive voice soared from the speakers. Whitney Houston singing about always loving someone.

She pulled a face. “I don’t know. I always thought that one was kind of sad. She’s just going to pine away always remembering this great big love as they go on, living their separate lives? What was so insurmountable that they couldn’t work out to be together?”

“Look at you.” He was smiling and his eyes were soft as he stared at her. “The big romantic. Okay, how about this one?”

The next hour flew by as they added songs from The Cars, Depeche Mode, Madonna, as every time one of them thought of a song, it would be a springboard to another.

“Okay, so this one is a real oldie,” James said, “but one of the few memories I have as a kid is my parents playing this song late at night when I was in my room trying to sleep.”

This immediately sobered Quinn up. James had never talked about his parents before. Ever.

She knew the song. “I Only Have Eyes For You.” It was a classic from the fifties. It was sweet and romantic, and she found herself content to just sit and listen to the words, noticing James sitting just as still.

“What a sweet memory for you to have,” she said when it finished, imagining a couple, maybe a man with eyes like James and a woman with his same easy grin, dancing late at night when they thought they were alone.

James didn’t say anything, instead getting up to top off his coffee. He stood there, taking a sip. “I don’t have a lot of memories of them, mostly just feelings when I think of them. One thing I’m certain of, they were very happy. Very in love.”

“They’d be proud of you, you know. At what you’ve accomplished.” She had no idea where that had come from or whether it would be welcome. But something told her he didn’t hear a lot of compliments and he was definitely due one.

“I’d like to think so.” He shrugged. “How about your parents? I mean, we all know that our culture doesn’t really look too kindly on lawyers anymore. Was your decision to go to law school a dream or nightmare to them?”

He was right about that. The jokes just never got old. “My mom would have been happy with whatever I decided to do. Being a former high school English teacher, anything that encouraged the further development of knowledge was a plus for her. As to my dad…” She smiled. “He was even more excited than I was when I got my acceptance letter. I think if things had been different, if he’d had the means and opportunity of going to college back then, he would have loved nothing more than becoming a litigator. And he would have been a good one. The best.”

“I’ve no doubt,” James said quickly. “Actually, I’ve always been a little curious. You attended Berkeley Law—not a shabby institution by any means—and you were on the
Law Review
, which would mean you must have been at the top of your class to earn such an honor. There must have been any number of high-paying jobs available to you. Top jobs at some of the biggest law firms in the country, I’d venture. So, how is it that when I met you, you were working at that small semi-mediocre two-partner law firm?”

“Now who’s being a snob?” she said, trying to deflect the question. “Just because a firm doesn’t have hundreds of associates and paralegals and bill millions of hours doesn’t mean they’re not first-rate.”

“Of course it doesn’t. But I find it hard to believe that, fresh out of law school, you hadn’t set your sights on something a little more…prestigious. Like working for a judge or some governmental agency.”

She picked up her mug and finished off the last drink, buying a moment’s time. “Well, I did actually. I had a job at this big, fancy law firm. Spencer Hautner. You might have heard of them.” He nodded. Of course he had. “I clerked there after my second year of law school and was one of the few selected in their new associates program upon graduation.”

“Now that makes sense,” he said, nodding. “So…what happened?”

Quinn took in a breath and slowly exhaled, trying to slow her rapidly beating heart. There was no shame, to her or her family, in what had happened. She knew that. But she did have a moment’s qualm about sharing her mom’s personal story like this.

But…it was James. And she realized how much she wanted him to know. To understand.

“About three months after I started, my mom got into a pretty severe car accident. She fractured a couple of vertebrae, broke her left leg, had lacerations all over her face. It was bad. Her recovery took every single hour of her FMLA, not to mention, she was forced to exhaust her paid sick and vacation leave to cover her time off. But her back and her leg healed, the stitches and bruises disappeared, and for a time, we thought everything was going to be okay. She returned to work at the school, hopefully to get back into her regular routine. Only…she started having these panic attacks. At first it was just about getting behind the wheel, something we could understand, and my dad was able to drop her off in the morning, and Sabrina usually picked her up. But then they occurred more frequently, for no reason, at night eating dinner, in the middle of the day grading papers sitting in her classroom…until one day she found herself sitting in a bathroom stall, shaking, trying to tell herself there was nothing to worry about. It got pretty bad up until she…she was admitted to the hospital. It was there she was finally diagnosed with PTSD.”