Flirting with Disaster (10 page)

"So you're nosy and controlling?"

He remained silent for a bit and said, "Yeah, I guess that's how I am."

"You mean you don't know?"

It was his turn to laugh. It was a delightful sound. A deep rumble that shook his entire chest. "No, I had no clue I would be so curious." I raised my head to look at him and watched him say, "I don't usually hang around for snuggles or soul searching conversation."

I shook my head and rolled away on my back. This was too much. Propping himself on one elbow, he frowned. "What's the matter?"

I sighed. "Listen, Ryder, you don't have to butter me up." He frowned. "You're drop dead handsome, you're smooth, you're a fabulous lover, yeah, really incredible." The smile which had started to grow at the beginning of my sentence vanished as I said, "But I know your type and honestly, I don't blame you for playing the field, so please, don't treat me like the naive little girl I once was." He opened up his mouth to protest but I held one hand up to indicate I wasn't finished yet and he waited.
 

"What we have--whatever this is--it's fine. There's no need to pretend it is anything more. At best we'll be friends with benefits for the duration of my stay. I have no illusion and enough respect for you to let you know I understand the rules, so please, don't play games with me."

He shook his head and appeared incredulous. Was I the first woman who didn’t fall for his line? "Barbara, you don't get it. I'm trying to tell you I'm not playing."

I put a finger to his lips to silence him and fight the tears coming to my eyes as I said as softly as I could to mask the hurt this conversation was causing me, "We've never been in the same league so, no sense to pretend."

In a second, he jolted out of bed and picked up his clothes scattered on the floor. Sitting on the edge of the bed he dressed muttering something under his breath. Suddenly feeling very self conscious, I wrapped myself in the quilt to sit next to him.

"I don't get it. I'm telling you it's fine, that you don't have to pretend, so why are you upset?"

Ryder turned away from me. By the time he stood, I felt he was miles away. When he stared down at me again I almost recoiled from the look in his eyes. He glared as if I was the most repulsive creature ever and he couldn't remember what had ever possessed him to touch me.

"I'll lock behind me and will be back on Monday," he said with a voice so cold it sent chills to my bones. "I know we're not in the same league at all. I didn't forget you've climbed the ladder and all that jazz while I remained here, but I'm a man of my word so I'll finish what I started. Oh, and since I'm not too proud to take honest work when I can find it, I'll be happy to do anything else you need me to do. Just leave me a note on the kitchen table and I'll take care of it."
 

I remained immobile on the side of the bed trying to understand what had gone wrong. Only after I heard the sound of his bike roaring away in the night did Ryder's words sink in allowing me to realize he'd completely misunderstood what I said. What a fool! He thought I'd meant I was better than him! As if I would ever judge a man by his level of education. No wonder he was furious. But now I was upset he thought me so superficial.

Laying down on the bed I considered texting him but couldn't figure out how to word it. I wanted to spell it out for him, but wasn't about to put in writing that it wasn’t our academic achievements but his athletic body and my plentiful curves. How does a woman say she's sorry for being unclear and thank a man for demonstrating, for her greatest pleasure, he appreciated her full body? I laughed at myself. That's one thing they didn't teach me in college.

So instead of calling him, I convinced myself it was for the best if I left it. I was going to take Ryder's father's job away and that alone was reason enough to let him go.

Wrapping my arms around one pillow, I was surprised to find his smell lingering. The pleasure I found breathing it in as I fell asleep was bittersweet.

I never took her for an arrogant bitch, but apparently I was wrong. My mind was blown. As the words spilled from her mouth, I reeled. Did she really just say that? I guess I was a good fuck, there to fill her needs. She had the last laugh. Go home to Ocean Crest and crush everyone. It stung, but once the bite wore off, I decided I didn't want her anyway. What happened had happened, a one-night stand.
 

Life went on, or so I thought, until a week later I realized it hadn't been enough to shred me to pieces. She was here to destroy the town as well. She was poison. Anyone close enough would be burned. I'm glad it ended like it did. It was for the best.
 

When word got out that the factory would close at the end of the month, the force of the blow would hit hard. Families were going to be crushed. They wouldn't be able to pay their mortgages, to get by, to maintain the humble lifestyle they knew. They'd be forced to start over somewhere else, if they could afford the move. I had slept with the enemy - a viper in disguise.
 

My father's soul was broken. He pleaded with her, offered to cut his work force, whatever it took, but it was too late. She said it wasn't personal, but after what went down a few days before, I wasn't so sure.
 

Of course, she was thorough. It wasn't enough to just shut it down, she made sure to stress that this wasn't a temporary situation and they'd be selling off the equipment along with the building. It was a done deal. How would Ocean Crest bounce back from this, when the factory was the main source of work for so many families?

I hated that I had to go back to her home to finish the work. I'd stand by my word. I said I'd do the job and finish it. I'd be sure to visit when she wasn't around. I had no interest in seeing Barbara any time soon. As far as I was concerned, we were through.
 

Wrapping up at the shop, I jumped in my truck and headed to her house, knowing she'd be working, handling details with my father at the factory. I'd let myself in, do my work, and slip out before she came home.
 

I didn't expect to see an Aston Martin parked in front of her house.
 
A Diavolo Red Vanquish, no less. At well over two hundred thousand dollars, it was the closest I'd get to one. I was pretty sure I'd never see one this clean. A slender man with dark blond hair bent over the machine.
 

I got out of my truck and made my way over. "Gorgeous car you've got. Are you having a problem?"

"Thanks," he said, giving me the once over. "Something is off. I'm not sure what, but it went from gliding like a gazelle to moving like a slug. I've not a clue why."

"I'm pretty good with cars. I mean, I'm no Aston Martin expert, but I can give it a once over if you'd like. I have a shop. The Vanquish tends to go through coils faster than some of the other models. I'm guessing it's an electrical resistance to the coil. We can check to see if your sensor light went on. Did you notice anything?"
 

"I'm not good with this stuff. I gas and go, and pay somebody to take care of it. Sounds like you know your stuff. It's my lucky day," he said. "I'm actually in the market for someone to maintain my car collection. If you can fix this, we should talk. The name is Brad." He offered his hand and shook mine with solid confidence.
 

I wasn't sure what was going on, but maintaining some rich guy's car collection? There had to be good money in that. "Where are you heading? Do you need a lift?"
 

"Oh, I'm staying here. Thankfully, I made it," he said.

I was confused. "Here?" I pointed to the house. There had to be some kind of mistake.

"Yes. I got in late last night, but went to run an errand this morning. Coming back, well, here we are." His focus was back on the car. The tall man scowled at the engine.

The Aston Martin was amazing. But my focus was now on the house, and this creature before me. Why was he staying with Barbara? What business did he have here? The same Barbara...no, stop. I'm not in her league. Now I know why. Foolish me, a beat down pick-up truck and motorcycle, and she's used to dating men with exotic cars. I got it now. I shook my head. She was slumming, playing with the trash.
 

I stepped next to him, looked at the vehicle and scanned a few things. I'd need a better look at everything to find his answer, but maybe he didn't want some nobody guy looking at his pricy car either.

"I've got some work to do here, but if you want to bring it over to my shop when I finish, I'll see if I can find your issue," I offered, not wanting to help now that I knew he was staying with Barbara.
 

"Great, I really don't want to have to drive back to Manhattan with the chance of breaking down." He closed the hood of the car and together we went inside.
 

I wanted to ask him how long he knew Barbara. I wanted to know how long he’d be in town, but it wasn't my business. She wasn't my business, so why was there a thread of possessiveness twisting through me?
 

He went for the kitchen, while I headed upstairs. I had a few more details to take care of, some trim work, and I wanted to use a razor blade and clean up paint splattered on a window or two.
 

I'd start in the main bedroom first. Get it over with. I didn't want to be in there longer than I had to be. I was still bitter. That's when I saw it...I didn't mean to notice, but how could I not? My stomach twisted on seeing the bed. She wasn't sleeping alone, and her company had some things tossed beside it. My shoulders grew tense. My jaw stiffened. I swallowed hard and went to work, telling myself it didn't matter anyway. She wasted no time moving on. It took me by surprise. I wasn't expecting that. What shook me more was my reaction. Why was I jealous? Was it my ego? My pride? Or did I want more time with her?
 

The first three days of the week were pure hell. Monday I had a short conversation with Dylan Bishop. He knew already. He'd known for a while the place was doomed. The old man had tears in his eyes and it broke my heart. If I had asked him, he would have been the one to tell his crew but the least I could do was to spare him that.
 

Tuesday night he asked the first shift to stay while the second settled in and I spoke to them.
 

I told them how sorry I was, that there was no other choice. I told them Dylan worked wonders to keep the place running as long as it did which was the honest to God truth.

I said that closing was unavoidable since they were manufacturing an outdated component for obsolete machines with antique tools.

At times I think I even managed to sound sincere but the truth of the matter was, I was lying through my teeth.
 

But what else was I going to do?
 

How do you tell people who felt they were losing everything, they were shit out of luck because some idiots born with a silver spoon in their mouths didn't know better than to let someone else manage their inheritance? One wrong decision after another they had driven their enterprise into the ground.
 

The factory had been part of a package deal. The previous owners sold it, attached to some prime real estate in other parts of Jersey. DCD wanted the land badly enough to agree to getting saddled with this dead horse.
 

The place had literally been bled dry. It was a textbook example of poor management and lack of foresight. Not a penny had been invested in several decades.
 
It was nothing short of a miracle it was still operating.
 

Given how profitable the rest of the deal had been for DCD, my boss agreed to let me redistribute the proceeds from the sale of the equipment as part of a severance package.
 

I may have sort of tricked him into this by saying I would be lucky to sell it as scrap metal. The truth was that reaching out to one of my South American college friends, I was working a deal with a Chilean factory interested in those industrial hand me downs. It was better than nothing but for those people it wouldn't be enough.

The next day the atmosphere in the lines was that of a funeral wake. There wasn't much more for me to do until the last order shipped out so I ran out catching a glimpse of Ryder's father walking around the grief stricken employees offering a few words of comfort here and there. Next week we would be reducing the production to one shift and the first set of heads were going to roll.

In a couple of weeks, Dylan Bishop and a few men would remain on site to package the equipment and prepare it for pick up. Dylan Bishop was the captain of this ship, and I could count on him until the end.

Like father, like son. Both men were strong and proud. Both men hated my guts now and they were not the only ones. On the driver's side, my car had been tagged with red paint. In stylish graffiti style, the letters B I T C H were spelled out and surrounded by dots in a blood splatter pattern. Nice touch! Walking around the vehicle I made sure the tires hadn't been slashed as well before driving home.
 

I wasn't surprised to see Ryder wasn't around. He needed time to nurse his wounded macho pride before coming back. I still couldn't believe our misunderstanding and I couldn't get him out of my mind. Every single time I entered my bedroom I struggled to chase the memory of that night away. In vain.

I laid on my bed, watching the fan and wondering what to do next when my phone blared “We Are The Champion.” The tone brought a smile to my face.
 

"Hey, Brad, what's up?" I said picking up the call.

"You'd better be," he said. "I'm picking you up for dinner."

"Where are you?" I asked. The man who was my bestie spent his life traveling and according to the ambient noise I heard, he was in a car and stuck in traffic.
 

"Parked in front of your building and your doorman is giving me the evil eye."