Hunk for the Holidays (19 page)

“So why didn’t you answer your phone?” she demanded.

“I was busy.” Thinking about what he had been busy with had him blushing like a schoolboy, and he turned around and poured a cup of coffee to hide his reaction. “It happens.”

“Not to workaholics who shiver with delight when their cell phones go off.”

“I don’t shiver with delight,” he said, even though she was right. Since starting Sutton Construction, he’d always made a point of answering his phone. His phone was a direct line to his business. And business was his life. It was what made him get out of bed in the morning and what put him to sleep at night. It gave him a feeling of accomplishment and self-worth with only a few minor migraines.

His placed the carafe back in the coffee machine. But it wasn’t as big of a deal as Sierra was making it out to be. Even workaholics needed a vacation. And it was Christmas. Or close enough to use it as an excuse. By the time he turned back around, Sierra had leaned back on the opposite counter with her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed.

“So where were you?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Are we going to start asking personal questions? Because if we are, I’d love to know where you go on your hour and a half lunch breaks.”

She blinked. “Well, I—I…” A smile tickled the corners of her wide mouth. “Fine. No personal questions. But that doesn’t mean you don’t need to check in every now and again. Especially when you deviate from your normal routine.”

“You’re right.” He cradled his cup and blew a little before he took a sip. “I should’ve checked in. I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven.” Sierra grinned the adorable grin that made him want to reach out and ruffle her hair. He didn’t. Mostly because the one time he’d given in to the urge, she’d lectured him for a good hour on how degrading it was to work for people who treated you like a
ten-year-old. She was right, but it still didn’t stop him from wanting to do it. Probably because he’d always wanted a cute baby sister—minus the fish tattoo and magenta hair. Instead, he had a belligerent stepbrother who grunted one-word replies whenever James phoned home.

Sierra took a slurp from the straw that stuck out of the Starbucks cup. “I bet the reason you forgot your cell phone had to do with a woman.”

“I thought we decided no questions.”

“That wasn’t a question. It was a statement.”

“A statement I’m not going to acknowledge,” he said.

“Whatever.” She studied him over the straw. “But a woman would explain that confused lost-puppy-dog look you have. The one that men get right before they fall hard.”

James choked and jerked the cup away from his mouth, splashing coffee on his boots. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he glared at her.

She shrugged. “It’s nothing to get all choked up about. So you finally found someone you like well enough to act stupid over. I’d say, it’s about time.”

“Stupid?” His eyes narrowed as he watched her grab a paper towel from the roll on the counter and bend down to wipe off his boots. “Being too busy to answer my phone is not stupid.”

“No.” She tossed the towel at the garbage can in the corner. It bounced off the wall and landed inside for a good three-pointer. “But your shirt’s buttoned wrong and you missed a patch of whiskers on your chin.” She pointed at him. “And is that toothpaste under your nose or something more disgusting?”

“Damn it.” Setting his mug down, he grabbed a paper towel and wiped at his nose before turning his attention to the three buttons at the top of his sweater. Annoyed with himself as much as with her, he lashed out. “Aren’t you late for the tattoo parlor?”

“I thought you said you’d fire me if I got even one more scale.”

“As if that threat ever worked.” He tossed the crumpled towel at the trash can, but it ricocheted off the edge of the counter and landed a good three feet away.

She walked over, picked up the paper wad and scored a two-pointer. “Don’t get defensive. The stupidity will leave. Eventually. For now, I’d suggest staying away from sharp objects and moving vehicles.” When he continued to glare at her, she held up a hand. “Fine. I’m going. But at a time like this, you probably shouldn’t be alone.”

James didn’t know what he was angry at. He was talking with a twenty-year-old who still wrote her boyfriend’s name in hearts all over his phone messages. But she was right. He did have a bad case of stupidity. Except it had nothing to do with falling and everything to do with getting back to a warm, delectable body.

“I thought you said you were going,” he said.

She tipped her head. “Ya know, I think I like the new you. Usually when I stop by I’m forced to make phone calls, do copying and filing, and answer a hundred and one questions like ‘Did you e-mail so-and-so,’ ‘Did you get the expense reports finished,’ and ‘Were there any important messages after I left on Friday?’ ”

“Were there any important messages after I left on Friday?”

“Hey, don’t turn all businesslike now.” When he just looked at her, she added, “No. There were no important messages. I already told you the
Denver Post
wants to do a story on you. Which is pretty exciting. Do you think they’ll want a picture of me? After all, I’m your right-hand woman.” She struck a pose, all wide eyes and pouting lips. “My mom would implode if I got my picture in the paper.”

He placed a hand on the back of her neck and guided her toward the door. “I’ll make you a deal. If they do an article on me, I’ll be sure to get you in the picture.”

“If? That Amy Walker sounded like it was a done deal. You should’ve heard all the questions she asked. Even personal things like where you lived and who was your girlfriend. Of course, I told her you didn’t have one.” When they got to the door, she turned to him with a knowing smirk on her pixie face. “I guess I was wrong.”

James pulled open the door. “No. You weren’t wrong.” He stepped out on the porch with her, relieved to see that his neighbors were gone. “Don’t party too much on Christmas. I expect to see you bright and early on Tuesday morning.”

She shot him a pout. “Scrooge.”

“That’s not fair.” He grabbed an end of the scarf, then proceeded to wind the stretchy wool around her neck and up over her mouth. “I always give you extra lumps of coal for your fire.” He grinned down at the picture she presented with the striped knit wrapped around her lower face and her brown eyes snapping.

“Bahhh-hhhmmbug,” she mumbled through the scarf.

“Bah humbug yourself, brat.” He pulled her into his arms and gave her a tight hug followed by a quick kiss
right on the top of her head. “I guess Wednesday morning will be soon enough to see your homely face. With pay, of course. I realize ugly tattoos are expensive.”

Before he could pull back, she flung her arms around his neck and bumped her wool-covered mouth against his. “Thhanks, Bosh.”

“Get going.” He turned her around, then watched as her Tweety slippers thumped down the steps, walked between his menorah luminarias, and disappeared around the bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle. As he turned to go back inside, he noticed a half-ton truck parked down the street. Just the sight of it reminded him of Cassandra, and he smiled.

Okay, so maybe he did have a girlfriend. It wasn’t like it was the end of the world. At least, it wouldn’t be if he could slow things down a little and not let her control his mind so much that he forgot everything else.

Like business.

James ran a hand over his chin. Or grooming. God, he had lost a few brain cells over the last two days. But starting now, he intended to keep things in perspective. Which meant he didn’t need to race over to Cassandra’s condo and wait there like a little lost puppy.

After days of ignoring his business, there were a million things he could do. He glanced back at the truck.

Unfortunately, there was only one thing he was going to do.

Chapter Sixteen

Tweety slippers?

What kind of a woman wears Tweety slippers?

Cassie glared through the windshield at the woman who had just stepped off the curb on her way to her car. Suddenly, Cassie had the strong desire to pop her truck into drive and run right over those cutesy-wootsy slippers. Of course, it wasn’t the young woman’s fault. She probably had no idea what kind of lowdown, two-timing, lying bastard her boyfriend was.

Boyfriend.

The word sent a shaft of pain through Cassie’s heart, and her gaze snapped back over to the porch where James still stood. He had changed and now wore a rust-colored sweater that brought out the highlights in his brown hair. His hands were stuffed in the front pockets of his jeans, one shoulder hitched higher than the other. He watched
the woman get into her car and smiled a smile that not less than two hours ago had melted Cassie like a plastic bread bag on a hot toaster.

Her hands tightened on the steering wheel.

On second thought, why waste her time on Tweety when it was a peacock who deserved to be turned into roadkill? Unfortunately, before she could do more than gun the engine and calculate what path she wanted to take through his front lawn, someone tapped on the passenger-side window. She jumped and turned to find a woman in a down jacket and earmuffs standing on the sidewalk, motioning for her to roll down the window.

Cassie’s first thought was to make a run for it. She had come here looking for answers, and she had gotten them in spades. But before she could even move her hand to the gearshift, a herd of cats slowly meandered across the street in front of her truck.

She wouldn’t mind killing a Tweety bird, but cats were a different story.

The woman tapped again, and Cassie pushed the automatic button to lower the window. It wasn’t even halfway down when the woman started her interrogation.

“Do you have business in this neighborhood?”

Cassie wondered if murder would be considered business. She glanced back at the porch, but it was empty. And the Volkswagen was already at the corner.

“The neighborhood watch doesn’t put up with loitering,” the woman continued. “And you’ve been sitting here for more than thirty minutes. I clocked you.”

Funny, but it seemed like much longer to Cassie. She released the tight grip she still had on the steering
wheel and tried to smile. It wasn’t easy, especially when anger encased her body like the scarf James had lovingly wrapped around Tweety Bird’s neck.

She scrambled through her mind for a good excuse for sitting there with the engine running. She had almost given up when she glanced down at her cell phone. “I was making a phone call. I’ve taken that oath—the one Oprah started—no talking or texting while driving.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t see you talking on any phone.”

Cassie cleared her throat. “Speaker.”

The woman looked like she was about to challenge that answer when a noise had them both glancing over at James’s house. The garage door rolled up, and the Land Rover slowly backed out. An hour ago Cassie wanted nothing more than to confront James. A few moments ago she’d wanted to kill him. Now all she wanted to do was hide from him.

She couldn’t explain her wacked-out emotions. All she could do was humor them. Without a second thought, she ducked down in the seat and pressed her cheek against the console. She didn’t even consider the nosy neighbor until she glanced up and saw the woman peering in at her like she had a few screws loose.

Cassie’s screws only got looser.

“Amy!” she yelled at the phone that sat on the console inches from her mouth. “Are you still there?” Her ploy might’ve worked if her phone hadn’t started to ring. She smiled weakly at the woman, but still waited until the roof of the black Land Rover had passed before she sat up and answered the phone.

“Cassie?” Rory’s voice came through the receiver. “Where are you? I just stopped by your apartment.”

She tipped the phone at the neighbor. “Better get this.” The woman sent her another one of those you-are-crazy-as-a-loon looks but stepped away from the truck. She didn’t go far. Even after Cassie rolled up the window, she stood in the closest driveway with the herd of cats circling her snow boots.

Cassie tried to ignore her. “I had a few errands to run,” she said to Rory. “What’s up?”

“Dad told me about Slumber Suites, and I wanted to get your take on it.”

Slumber Suites? She’d forgotten all about Slumber Suites. The realization made her twice as angry at James Sutton. The man had screwed her up so badly, she couldn’t even function properly. She had no business sitting there worrying about her personal life when M & M had lost Slumber Suites to Sutton—

She straightened so quickly, she accidentally honked the horn, scattering cats like a hyper Doberman.

M & M had lost Slumber Suites to James Sutton.

The truth hit her right between the eyes like a fast-pitched softball. All this time she’d been worried about James lying to her, and she hadn’t even thought about why. Even when the answer was right in front of her face. All the lies. Manipulation. And sex. Had been for one reason and one reason only.

To get Slumber Suites.

“That no-good, dirty bastard,” she breathed.

Rory laughed. “I assume you’re talking about James Sutton. I got to hear the same thing from Dad.”