Glitter on the Web (13 page)

“Probably for the best,” she agreed. “Those PING assholes shadowed every single one of us home.”

“Great,” I sighed. But it had been what I wanted. If PING caught wind of FFF, then that was some free publicity we’d need in time for our brand new opening at the new location. That had been the whole purpose of entertaining those leeches in the first place. If I couldn’t shake ‘em, at least I’d get something out of the deal.

I got a lot more than I bargained for.

“Do you need anything right now?”

“Some clothes,” I said. “And my laptop. I can work from anywhere, so that will keep me busy for the next six weeks.”

I gave her my new (temporary) address and hung up the phone just as Eli brought me a plate of cheese, crackers and fruit, along with a large glass of water. “The doctor gave you a note so you wouldn’t have to work for the next couple of weeks, you know,” he reminded as he placed the plate next to me and handed me my pill.

“I’ll lose my ever-loving mind if I have to sit in your house for the next six weeks and do nothing. Trust me. It’s for the best.”

“I’m sure Frank would understand,” he persisted.

I leveled my gaze on him. “Frank is not the only job I have.” In fact, by my count, I was now up to three. If I didn’t keep myself busy, I was afraid of what other jobs might spring up in the meantime.

As it turned out, though, work was impossible as the hydrocodone took full effect. My eyelids got heavier and heavier until I felt like I was being dragged underwater. A couple of times it even startled me, like I had been grabbed by some mental undertow, about to drag me to the depths. I was powerless to fight it, and asleep by the time Eli prepared my ice compress.

“Let’s get you into bed,” he said as he placed everything aside. “It’s a lot more comfortable than this small sofa.”

“I don’t care,” I mumbled as my head lolled on my shoulders. I could have slept on a bed of nails at that point.

Little did I know that was exactly where Eli planned to take me. He whisked me up into his arms, not even bothering with the crutches. This was bad enough. Folded in half, stuffed in his arms, I knew he could feel every inch and bulge he despised.

Worse, he pointed us right towards his master bedroom.

It scared me straight. I practically clawed at the wall to stop his progress. “I’m not sleeping in your bedroom,” I told him.

“It’s the only bedroom on the ground floor,” he countered without even looking at my face.

“How convenient,” I snapped. He just clutched me tighter. “Let me go, Eli, or I swear to God…”

He didn’t even let me finish. His blue eyes flashed at mine. “You’ll do what, Gimpy?”

Suddenly it made perfect sense why Rhonda had turned Frank’s office into a carny ring-toss. This egomaniac didn’t give a shit. About anything. Or anyone. “I hate you.”

“Maybe. But you need me. So pull up your big-girl panties and deal with it.”

He kicked open the door to his bedroom and stalked purposefully towards the bed. I couldn’t help but note the irony of our situation. Out of all the girls he had brought into this very room, likely carrying them to bed just like he was carrying me, I was the only one he would never dream of seducing, despite all the songs he sang.

So I didn’t argue as he placed me on the bed, grabbing some of the extra pillows to prop up my leg per doctor’s orders. Instead I laid flat, as bone-weary as I had ever been since coming to California. The exhausting events of the day finally took their toll. With the help of heavy narcotic medication, I was asleep before he finished fussing over me.

It was dark when I awoke some time later. The window blinds were open, as well as the patio door, so I could hear the waves crash against the shore just outside on Eli’s private stretch of beach.

My leg was propped up on the extra pillows, and a thin blanket covered me to give me a little warmth against the cool ocean breeze that filtered through his room. There was a glass of water on the nightstand beside the bed, along with my phone. My crutches were in reach just beyond that, in case I needed to get up for any reason, like going to the bathroom.

It was practically thoughtful. And very puzzling.

I grabbed my phone to check the time. It was just after seven o’clock in the evening. I had been unconscious for hours, which had been the only thing to help the pain. My ankle reminded me quickly that it was injured. It throbbed and ached, and was so swollen I thought my skin might split in two, just like an overcooked sausage. With a sigh, I swung my legs out of bed and reached for the crutches.

I was so glad no one could see me attempt to navigate to the bathroom by myself. I barely made it, dropping the crutches with a clatter so I could shove my leggings down before I had a humiliating accident.

No, the humiliation came later, when Eli burst into the bathroom, a door I hadn’t bothered to lock because I was trying not to fall on my ass using the crutches. He caught me in one of the most vulnerable situations possible, forcing me to scream, “Get out!” at him like a banshee.

He was still in the bedroom when I managed to exit. “You okay?” he asked.

“No,” I answered shortly and honestly.

I tried to hobble back around the bed, but he shadowed me instantly, easily sweeping me once again into his arms.

“What are you doing?” I shrieked. “Let me go!”

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” he said with a smile.

“I don’t want any more of your surprises,” I muttered, but that didn’t stop him from carrying me, as easy as you please, from the bedroom and back towards the living room. Music blared from the speakers as Clementine toiled in the kitchen, preparing the evening meal.

“Hey, girl,” she greeted with a smile. “Glad you’re up. We’re cooking your favorite.”

“We?” I repeated as my gaze swung around to Eli.

“She’s doing most of the work,” he assured as he placed me back on one of the sofas and situated my leg.

“Stop trying to be humble,” Clem told him at once. “It doesn’t suit you.”

His infernal smirk returned as he joined her in the kitchen, where he donned an apron. “At last. A woman who gets me.” He glanced over the bubbling pots. “Is there anything you’re not frying?” he wanted to know.

“Dessert,” she chirped happily. “It should be done. Why don’t you check?”

“How do I do that?”

“Got a toothpick?” He opened a drawer and pulled out a box. “Use one to test the cake. If it comes out gooey, it’s not ready.”

He chuckled. “Funny. Any time I stick something anywhere, being gooey means it’s really ready.”

Though she laughed at his lame joke, I rolled my eyes from where I sat. Clearly it was time for more medication, which I mentioned to him when he brought me my ice pack.

He referred to his fancy watch. “I got you covered, baby. Don’t worry. We’ll get an alert when you’re due for a dose, which, if we’ve timed it right, will be right around dinner.”

As it turned out, they timed it perfectly. He brought me my plate the very second his watch alerted him to my dosing schedule. We probably would have eaten in the fancy formal dining room with a crystal clear view of the ocean, but I was pretty well set where I was at, with my leg elevated and no real stamina to move on my own, much less have Eli carry me anywhere. So we ate in the living room instead. He pulled up a TV tray to place my food, before retrieving the meds.

Clem had made good ol’ southern chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes with cream gravy, and fried okra. For dessert? My absolute fave: pineapple upside down cake.

It was food to warm the soul, and of course my sister of choice would know that. She joined me on the sofa, as did Eli, who complimented the chef the minute he took his first bite.

“Normally I make chicken fried chicken,” Clem told him. “I eat red meat sparingly, and only eat fried foods once or twice a month. But I figured if any occasion called for breaking the rules and splurging, this was it.”

“You watch what you eat?” he asked before he could stop himself. Both Clem and I dropped our forks to look up at him. He at least had a small modicum of decency to try to walk back his rude statement. Probably because unlike the girls he normally dated, Clem and I could do some serious damage to him if he pissed us off. (Rhonda, obviously, not included.) “I mean… I just thought… you know…”

“Because we’re fat we’re indiscriminate about our diet?” I filled in.

“Well… yeah,” he finally admitted. Clem and I shared a chuckle. “So what do you eat?”

“I’m what you might call a ‘flexitarian,’” Clem told him. “I eat mostly vegetarian. I live with my Gramps, who went with an all plant-based diet to help him combat diabetes. Two years later and he’s off all the meds and his sugar completely stabilized. We tend to use food as a medicine at our house.”

Eli had a hard time computing this. “But you’re obese,” he said. I glared at him for using such a word for her. Obesity was a medical term, and he was no doctor. His layman diagnosis only pissed me off.

Clem, however, took it in stride. It was her world; we were all just living in it. “I really don’t do well with limiting myself in anything in life, much less food. If I want a cheeseburger, I usually get one.”

“And she’s not obese, by the way,” I told him. “According to that bullshit BMI calculator, for her weight and size she’s still in the ‘overweight’ category. So you might want to leave any of those medical diagnoses to actual doctors.”

“Technically I am obese now,” she clarified. “Class One. Apparently a couple of pounds make all the difference, tipped me over from 29.8 to 30.1.”

“Two pounds,” Eli shrugged. “Literally a walk in the park.”

She laughed again. “I could eat nothing but lettuce for a week and it’d take care of that point-whatever difference. But extreme diets and yo-yo diets are no bueno, especially over a couple of pounds I routinely gain and lose anyway every month simply due to hormonal fluctuations.”

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t have to stop at two pounds. You’re gorgeous, Clem. You could really be a knock-out if you could lose more weight.”

I wanted to stab him with my steak knife. How
dare
he shame her with such a backhanded compliment? Especially
that
one, which made me stabby coming from anyone. Who did he think he was?

Oh, right. He was Eli Fucking Blake; an arrogant, egotistical, chauvinistic pig who thought he was God’s frickin’ gift to women, and to music, and to the whole entire world itself.

Move over, God. Eli needs a place to sit
.

Fortunately he was talking to the one person on the whole planet who knew how to handle the likes of him.

“I’m a knock-out anyway,” Clem grinned. He was taken aback by her confident admission. “Look, I’ve done the diet thing. We all have, most of us since we were kids. For some of us, that ended up being way more dangerous than a couple of measly pounds.”

My eyes shot to hers. I silently begged her to steer the conversation away from this topic entirely, which she seemed to understand.

“Don’t you worry about a thing, handsome,” she said instead. “It’s not that I don’t care about my size, I just care about it differently than I’m told to. The picture is a lot bigger than some number on a scale or some BMI calculator that doesn’t factor anything more than weight and height. I go to the gym. I have a trainer. I participate in marathons and walk-a-thons. I stay active. I eat a diverse diet that doesn’t consist of a whole lot of junk. I just have other things to focus on than making myself more palatable to people who wouldn’t give a shit about me regardless. I get to be me, even if others don’t agree.”

“But don’t you want to be healthy?” he persisted.

“Who says I’m not?” she challenged. “Lots of things factor into health, like diet, activity and genetics. No one thing paints the whole picture. I go to my doctor every year. They test my sugars and my cholesterol regularly, to keep me ahead of any problems. I’m well within normal levels. And,” she added as she held up the fitness monitor she wore on her wrist, “I get at least 20,000 steps a day, which makes me healthier than your cigar-smoking, bourbon-swizzling, slightly overweight agent.” She popped a bite in her mouth in defiance.

His gaze drifted from her to me, where he could read my outrage easily. He looked back at Clem. “I stand corrected.”

Again my jaw dropped open. I had never heard admit to getting anything wrong.

“You certainly do,” she grinned. “And now that you know better, you can do better.”

He nodded again. “You’ve definitely given me a lot to think about,” he said. “I’m glad our paths finally crossed.”

“Me too,” she said, and I could tell she meant it. “Although next time, try not to hobble my bestie in the process.”

His gaze fell. “Yeah. I hope you know I never meant for that to happen.”

“I know,” she said. “And Carly knows that, too.” Again I shot her a glance, but her look was pointed. “I know neither of you want to make this next year harder than it has to be.”

His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

My heart sank. According to the NDA I had accepted the minute I cashed my check, no one could know the terms of our agreement—even my best friend. It was the first time in the whole conversation that both Clem and I stammered. Finally Clem said, “You know… the first year of the relationship. It’s always the toughest, right? Especially when you decide to move in together.”

It was clear, though, that she knew more than she let on. Eli opted not to bust her on it in the moment. “I guess you’re right. I don’t think I’ve had one relationship that lasted a whole year since I started dating.”

She chuckled. “Me neither. Life is much too short to settle.”

He toasted her with his glass. “Hear, hear.”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere for the next six weeks,” I commented, referring to my ankle. “I don’t know how the hell I’m going to move out of Ling’s before they demolish the building.”

“We’ve got you covered,” Clem promised. “I’ve already talked to Antoine, and we have plenty of volunteers from the club. We can have you moved out by next weekend.”

“Great,” I muttered. I wasn’t used to people taking care of my life for me, especially when they were virtually hand-delivering me to my new captor.