That Kind of Girl (Fillmore & Greenwich Book 2) (14 page)

She rolled her eyes. "Excellent. Then you wouldn't mind telling me why he wants me."

"Why wouldn't he, Georgina? You're lovely, when you aren't covered in grease, and you dance divinely."

"I haven't danced in over fifteen years," she pointed out, a little shocked herself by the number. Her heart panged with longing for it, too.

"It's like riding a bike. You get back on and ride," her mother said. "It's like sex, too."

She winced. "Not a visual I wanted, Siobhan."

"Really, Georgina, sometimes I wonder whose child you are. You're a changeling, with your prudish ways. Did you get the dress?"

"What dress?" she asked with a sinking feeling.

"Wear the dress for Remy; he'll
love
it. I have to go, Georgina. Your father sends his love.
Chau-chau
!"

"Sio—"

The line went dead.

"Damn it," she muttered, striding into her office.

"Hey." Alex came out from where he was working. "You had a package delivered. I set it on your desk."

"Thanks," she murmured, knowing what the package was.

She didn't want to open it, but she had to. She drew it out like it was a deadly animal waiting to strike at her.

It was the most vivid red. It slithered through her hands, decadent and clinging.

She knew that it'd be a perfect dress to dance in. It was a dress made for passion.

She knew that if she put it on, Remy would want to take it off her.

It was the last thing she wanted. She shoved it back in the box and stuck it under her desk, ignoring the echo of Esme's words.

Remy parked his bike directly under the glowing neon PSYCHIC sign. He was eyeing the open window when Esme's turbaned head popped out of it. She beamed at him as she called down. "There you are. I have something for you."

A feeling of trepidation filled his chest. "Should I be scared?"

She laughed and disappeared into the building.

"That wasn't reassuring," he muttered, hanging his helmet on the handles.

She was downstairs a couple minutes later. "I found these and knew you needed them."

He looked at the box she held out. "Crayola crayons and a coloring book?"

"Not just a coloring book, but a faery coloring book." She pushed it into his chest so he had no choice but to take it.

He glanced down at the cover. On the cover it had faeries hanging on the rim of a champagne flute, with a few swimming in the glass. He glanced at Esme.

She shrugged. "They really like bubbles. I don't understand it myself, but to each his own."

"What am I supposed to do with this?" He waved the coloring book in the air.

"Do I have to tell you people everything? I even gave you the crayons." She threw her hands in the air and headed back toward her door. "Figure it out."

He looked down at the pack of Crayolas. It wasn't the big box of sixty-four colors he'd had when he was a kid; this was the less impressive twenty-four color box. It felt insubstantial and unthreatening in his hand.

A noise at the garage caught his attention. Not knowing what to do with the stuff in his hands, he just took it inside with him.

There were a lot of grating mechanical sounds coming from one of the bays but no signs of life. Not that he minded. He went into Georgina's office and sat at her desk, placing the crayons and coloring book in front of him.

The music playing caught his attention: some sort of hair band from the '80s. It didn't fit the mood of the place at all. Frowning, he looked around for the source. When there wasn't a visible source, he jiggled the mouse attached to her computer.

The screen lit up, revealing the music player. He scrolled through the saved playlists until he found one titled "It Takes Two."

Smiling, he picked it. The moment the tango music began to play, he felt like things were set right. He leaned back, feet propped on her desk, and waited for her to storm in.

Only he waited several minutes and nothing happened. No stomping. No cursing. No wrenches thrown at his head.

He shifted his feet, not knowing what to do with himself, and kicked a box under her desk. He glanced down and saw something crimson inside it.

What was it?

Why don't you look?

He shook his head. No way was he listening to Giselle. He knew better than to go through a woman's things.

She won't mind.

He snorted. "Want to bet?"

The color grabbed his attention again, and before he realized it, he reached down to touch it. It was silky under his fingers, the sort of fabric that clung jealously to curves. He pulled it out enough to see there wasn't much of it. If it was a dress, it was barely one.

He could see it on her, too. With her red hair, Georgina would look stunning in red.

"Make yourself right at home," Georgina's voice said with extra snark.

Knowing he was caught, he figured he may as well be blatant about it, so he held up the dress. "I did."

"Put that back."

"I like it," he said as he carefully folded it back into the box.

"It won't fit you." She frowned. "Are you coloring?"

He frowned at the crayons; he'd forgotten about them. "You don't care about the crayons," he said standing up.

Her eyebrows arched. "Maybe I do. Maybe I need more aquamarine in my life."

He walked toward her, crowding her near the doorway. "The thing you need more of is dance."

She stiffened. "You don't know me. You don't know what I need."

Oddly, he did. He took her hand and pulled her to him, knowing better than to trap her. "You crave the music like you crave the movement. I can see the rhythm speaks to you."

Georgina closed her eyes. Her body relaxed under his hand, and she swayed in time to the beat.

"Dance with me," he urged, knowing he had her, wanting it worse than he could say but not sure why.

"Hell no." Her eyes popped open as though she were shooting darts at his head. She shoved him back and stepped away. "I told you I don't tango."

"Your parents do."

"My parents are insane."

Her parents were the key here. He studied her, trying to figure out what was driving her to push away the dance when he knew she yearned for it.

But he knew without a doubt she wouldn't tell him if he asked, so he tried a different tack. "I think you're scared to dance with me."

She snorted.

"You are," he goaded. "You're scared, and you don't want to tell me why."

"I don't have to explain anything to you."

"No, but I'd like to know," he murmured, shocked that he meant it.

She studied her nails, seemingly unimpressed by him.

"You know what I think?" Without waiting for a response, he took her by her waist and pressed himself to her. "I think you're attracted to me."

"In your dreams, lover boy," she said with a sneer.

But he saw the way she glanced at his lips, like she wondered what he'd taste like.

He couldn't help looking at her mouth either. He knew what she'd taste like: salvation. Sweet and hopeful and clean. All the things he didn't deserve.

You deserve them, love.

He shook his head. Not from his perspective, he didn't.

But, like touching the dress, he couldn't help himself. He lowered his head—

Someone cleared his throat from the doorway. "Sorry to interrupt."

Georgina jumped away from Remy, her cheeks flushed.

Remy glared at the guy in the doorway. It was the mechanic who worked with her, and he didn't look sorry in the least.

The guy flashed him a sardonic smile before facing Georgina. "There's a woman here wondering if we can fit an oil change in this afternoon."

Georgina's brow furrowed. "That's it?"

The guy raised his hands as though he was innocent. "Just checking with you, boss."

"I've got time. Is she here?"

"Yeah."

She glanced at Remy, flushed again, and then walked out to deal with her customer.

The mechanic waited until she was gone before he faced him. Crossing his arms, he took a wide stance. "So."

Remy shook his head. "This is none of your business."

"Yeah, actually, it is, so you better watch your step." The guy nodded politely and left him.

That went well
, Giselle said with ethereal irony.

"No kidding." He started to leave, but then he remembered the crayons and coloring book and went back to pick them up—he had no idea why.

Beth had been right: Dana needed a lawyer. She was in way over her head and needed someone who had expertise in this area. She needed help.

She needed Yelp.

Lying in bed, Dana looked up well-reviewed lawyers within a five-mile radius of her apartment. Ignoring Kevin's picture—she deserved a gold star for not leaving him a scathing review—she found one in North Beach who handled employer/employee disputes.

She waited until morning to call him. Fortunately he agreed to see her right away.

His office was in Chinatown, above a butcher shop that had pig carcasses hanging in the window. Dana stopped and stared at the uncooked pig. Did people really buy half carcasses to cook?