When You Were Mine [Second Chances 2] (Siren Publishing Classic) (7 page)

Wednesday afternoon, with lucky bamboo plant in hand, Cora knocked cautiously on the partially open office door. She was nervous. Unbelievably so. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that this was just lunch with a friend.

When she heard him shout, “C’mon in,” she took another deep breath and walked through the door. She was immediately assailed by the smell of fresh paint.

She poked her head into the office, then into the conference room. Part of the conference room had a coat of paint on it already. He had been right about the color. It was perfect.

As she walked back further down the hallway, she saw a paint gun lying in a puddle of paint. She stepped over it and called out, “Where are you?”

“Kitchen,” he called out. “Trying to get some of this paint off me. The paint gun got clogged and now I’m covered. I’m taking that piece of shit back.”

She rounded the corner and found him shirtless at the sink, scrubbing the paint off of his hands and forearms. As she stood there, she couldn’t help but take in the sculpted muscles of his arms and chest. He had always been in great shape, but this was ridiculous.

She eyed the wet shirt lying on the counter and asked, “Wardrobe malfunction?”

He smirked as he shut off the sink and moved past her to the small table, rooting through a gym bag. She watched as he grabbed a clean shirt and slipped it over his head.

With his raised arms she saw he had gotten a tattoo. It was an intricate design of gears. It was made to look as though his flesh had been torn and those were the inner workings. It was beautifully done.

“That’s new,” she blurted before she could stop herself.

He blinked at her, confused for a minute until he caught her line of sight. “Oh. Yeah. Something about it appealed to me. I went with a friend so he could get a cover-up done, and it kinda jumped out at me. It hurt like hell, though.”

She gestured at his side and said, “Freud would have a field day with your choice. Got any other tattoos?”

He quickly refocused his eyes on a spot vaguely above her head and said, “Uh-uh.”

“Jamie! You’re embarrassingly bad at lying,” Cora said, laughter in her voice. “Tell me.”

Jamie shifted uncomfortably, a pinched look on his face, then asked, “Do I have to?”

“I have to know, now. Especially since you don’t wanna tell me.”

“A pink hummingbird,” he said, letting out a pained sigh. “Sitting on a flower. On my ass. I lost a bet. It’s not my finest moment. Let’s drop it.”

Cora stared at him incredulously for a moment, let out a small giggle and then said, “Oh my god.”

Jamie held up a hand cautiously and then said, “If my brothers found out, I would literally never hear the end of it. Could you...”

Cora waved him off and said, “That would be mean, Jamie. I won’t tell anyone...”

“Thank god,” he said.

“...for a price.”

“A price?” Jamie asked incredulously. Wincing, he put a hand up against his heart as he teased, “What happened to the nice, sweet Cora that I used to know? In her place, nothing but a vicious blackmailer.”

“It’s a tough world out there,” she replied, a grin tugging at her lips.

His lips quirked as he studied her. Finally, he said, “Fine. Name your price.”

“I need help replacing my bathroom vanity. The bathroom flooded a couple weeks ago and it’s got water damage. I was going to beg Evan to help me this weekend but then there was all this opportunity...” she trailed off, a hopeful look on her face.

“I’m glad you see my possible systematic torture by every relative I have for the rest of my life as an opportunity, Cora,” he complained.

“One day of helping me and I’ll take it to the grave,” she cajoled. “If you don’t want to, I guess that’s fine. While you think about it, I think I’ll go call Taryn.”

“Sweet, lovable Cora. She’s forever lost to the world,” Jamie lamented. After a lengthy pause, he added, “Fine. I can help you Saturday.”

“Yay! Thanks,” she said.

An incredulous look on his face, he asked “Did you just thank me for something you blackmailed out of me?”

Cora grinned and said, “Yeah. I guess I did. Seems silly when you put it that way. Oh. And I got you this for your office.”

She held the bamboo out toward him.

When he took it from her, he said, “Thank you. That was very sweet of you. Now, I’ll have to try not to kill it. I kind of have a black thumb.”

“I’m two doors down the hall. If I see it taking a turn for the worse, I’ll take custody of it,” she assured.

He walked toward the nearest window and placed the plant on the sill. When he turned to face her again, he said, “You know. I would have helped you with your sink if you had just asked.”

“I know,” she agreed, unable to keep the smile off her face. “This way you feel like you’re getting something out of the deal, too, though.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but a knock on the door interrupted.

“Yesss. Tell me you got pot stickers,” she demanded, poking him in the ribs as they walked toward the lobby.

“Only enough for me,” Jamie said, as he greeted the delivery man. After signing the slip, they headed back into the kitchen area with a brown paper bag filled with food. Once he had moved the gym bag, he unpacked the food and slid the pot stickers toward himself.

Cora raised an eyebrow and asked, “Really?” as she grabbed a set of chopsticks.

He grinned and moved the container toward the middle of the table.

She watched as he opened his food, inhaled almost reverently and then popped a piece of chicken into his mouth.

“Thank you for lunch,” she said, lifting the lid and nabbing a pot sticker.

“No problem. I’ve been dreaming about Golden Palace for weeks now. They don’t deliver to my place,” he said, frowning.

Cora swallowed and said, “They deliver to mine. I have to bargain with myself to cook though. I could eat this all the time.”

Jamie sighed and said, “I’ve gotten somewhat passable in the kitchen but...you. Do you still make that awesome meatloaf?”

“I can throw one together before you come over Sunday. It’s only fair since you’re helping out.”

“Cora,” Jamie said, shaking his head and laughing. “You’re terrible at blackmail. You’re thanking me and offering me meatloaf.”

“I don’t handle guilt well,” she said, flushing. “What can I say?”

“Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

She reached over and snagged a piece of his sweet and sour chicken, then said, “Or maybe I was just lulling you into a false sense of complacency.”

In answer he put the lid back on the pot stickers and slid them back toward himself with a grin.

The banter continued for the next twenty minutes until she had to get back to her office for an appointment. After a quick hug, she walked back down to her office.

Her plans to distance herself from him had worked out really poorly. There was something about him. The combination of his good looks, humor, and genuinely kind personality had only become more lethal.

With him down the hall, she needed to find a way to deal with it, or just accept that something was eventually going to happen between them. Avoiding him wasn’t really an option at this point. Between the family gatherings and him working next door, she needed to figure something out soon.

When she slipped back into her own office suite, her receptionist, Celia, looked up from her chair and asked, “Good lunch?”

Conflicted, Cora gave a nod and said, “I think so.”

Celia studied her face and then said, “That’s the face of a woman who has a story.”

“I had lunch with Jamie,” Cora said, by way of explanation.

“Okay. Who’s—wait.
Jamie
Jamie? Ex Jamie?”

Celia had been one of the few people she’d stayed in contact with since college. She’d been there for the beginning, the middle and the inevitable end of it all. Between her and Taryn, they hadn’t allowed her to feel sorry for herself for very long. Celia had certainly seen her at her worst though.

Cora nodded and said, “He moved back into town. I saw him the other night at Sophie’s birthday party. His sister in law actually rented him an office two doors down from us.”

“Whoa. And why am I just now hearing about this, Cora?”

“I wasn’t sure what to do with it,” she answered. “I thought I could avoid him...”

“So sparks are flying again, I take it?” Celia asked.

“I told myself I was trying to avoid them, but yeah. Somehow we ended up having lunch today and he’s helping me with my bathroom vanity on Saturday. I don’t know what I’m doing, Celia. With all of the Bryce stuff just settling down, I feel like it’s too soon but I can’t seem to help myself.”

“You don’t always get to decide the timing, honey. The heart wants what it wants.”

Sighing deeply, Cora agreed, “Don’t I know it.”

Celia studied her face for a moment and then switched gears. “Your one o’clock should be here any minute.”

“Send her in when she gets here,” Cora said, a bit relieved that the inquisition was over. It gave her a lot to think about, though.

* * * *

Saturday afternoon, she leaned back against her bathroom wall and admired the new vanity. It had been a total pain in the ass to put in, but it looked good. Completely wiped out, she slumped down and said, “Looks good. Thank you so much. But seriously, next time something floods, remind me to hire the work out.”

“No way. You probably saved yourself a grand, easy. Besides. This looks fantastic. Now can I go lie on your couch and admit defeat? That old sink was heavy,” he groaned as he slumped down next to her.

“Shit. I didn’t even think about that. Between all the painting and stuff, you’ve gotta be hurting. Go sit. I’ll go put the meatloaf in. Did you want a drink?”

“What have you got,” he asked.

Her voice stilted, she said, “I picked up that beer you used to drink,”

“Score,” he said as he followed her into the kitchen.

She reached into the refrigerator and snagged two from the six-pack and popped the lids off. After she had passed him a bottle, he said, “You’re awful at blackmail.”

Cora took a swig and said, “Seriously. Blackmail aside. Thank you for helping. There’s no way I could have moved that sink on my own.”

Jamie hovered in the kitchen, leaning up against the counter while she preheated the oven. When she took the meatloaf out of the refrigerator and took the plastic wrap off, he said, “So much bacon.”

She grinned and said, “This has an hour. Go sit. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Kay,” he said. “Not gonna argue that.”

Ten minutes later, she found him stretched out on the couch.

She said, “Jamie, Jamie, Jamie. You’re doing it wrong. These are recliners.”

His eyes opened slightly and he said, “I’m not sure I want to move. This is really comfortable.”

“Adjustable. Electric.”

On a deep sigh, he shifted to a sitting position and asked, “How do I control this thing?”

Gesturing to the arm of the couch, she said, “The buttons are right there. It even has a cupholder for the beer.”

Jamie adjusted, then groaned out, “Oh. That’s nice.”

She watched his eyes slip closed with a smirk on her lips and then said, “Make yourself comfortable”

When she was finally able to head back into the living room, he had turned the television on, shifted to his side, and was sleeping peacefully. It gave her the opportunity to take in the faded jeans, and the White Stripes tee that had seen better days. Time had been very kind to Jamie.

His face was relaxed so they weren’t visible, but he was getting just the barest hint of laugh lines. They only added character to his face. She allowed herself another moment to appreciate the way that his arm muscles strained against the sleeves of his shirt before she settled onto the loveseat adjacent to him.

Fifteen minutes later she was startled out of the crime novel that she’d been reading by the oven timer. She looked over toward Jamie, who still lay sleeping peacefully in the recliner. She’d always been amazed at his ability to sleep through any amount of noise. Setting the book down, she moved into the kitchen to take the meatloaf out of the oven.

When dinner was ready, she finally moved to wake him. Gently nudging his shoulder, she softly said, “Dinner’s ready.”

He jumped slightly, then he said, “Oh wow. Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” as he blinked himself back into wakefulness.

Cora snickered and said, “That sink was heavy. You’re getting up there in years. I totally get it. You need your rest.”

As he leaned forward, he flipped her the bird, then stretched his shoulders and said, “I’m only three years older than you are, Cora.”

“An important three,” she said as she turned around to head back into the kitchen.

“Smart ass.” A moment later, he followed and said, “That looks amazing. Smells even better.”

After they had settled down at her kitchen table with dinner, Cora finally asked, “So, tell me about this bet you lost?”