Читать книгу Bad Reputation - Melinda Di Lorenzo - Страница 13

I woke up to find myself sitting up. Admittedly, that was a new one. Asleep in my truck, or fully dressed in my bed, or dozing on some girl’s floor—those were to be expected after my monthly night of freedom. This was a new low. The sense of dread wracking my body was all too familiar. I didn’t have to think too hard to recognize the relationship between the three things—the sixth of every month, feeling sick, and the parade of women—but I chose not to acknowledge it. I shoved aside the automatic connection and assessed my situation instead.

I started by trying to recall the events of the evening before.

Everything was an unpleasant blur that started with the Jell-O shooter girl and ended with me waking up with a stiff back and an aching head.

Where was your brain last night, Joey?

The problem wasn’t even the seven watered-down shots. I could drink twice that and keep standing. It was just that it was the same thing every month. I flirted with a few girls, sorted through them like a deck of cards, and went home with whichever one was most likely to kick me out before the night was through. I had getting tastefully out-of-hand down to a damned science.

I stretched my legs across the hallway as I planned my escape from the dorm. I knew I needed to get out before some girl saw me.

That was when I saw the mismatched shoes approaching at breakneck speed. They flashed—green/gold, green/gold—in contrast with the speckled linoleum.

What the—

My thought cut off as I realized that the girl attached to the shoes hadn’t seen me, and wasn’t going to stop.

Green/gold, green/gold, green/gold.

“Hey!” I yelled.

My warning was about two seconds too late, and suddenly a swirl of vanilla-scented hair cascaded across my face. I inhaled, trying to catch a bit more of the pleasant smell.

As she stumbled and reached out for the wall, I caught sight of her face. It was one of the most beautiful I had ever seen. She had a perfect, upturned nose and a mouth that begged to be kissed. An attractive smattering of freckles peppered her nose, and when she stared down at me, I saw her eyes were a gorgeous, deep brown. I took her hand to steady her and a jolt of electric attraction swept through me.

Her eyes held mine for a second longer. Desire played across her features, made obvious by the flush in her cheeks and the parting of her lips.

Forget it, I grumbled at myself. You’re in enough trouble as it is.

She recovered quickly and snatched her hand away. I made myself smile, polite but reserved, then asked if she was okay. Her response sounded as forced as my politeness, like she was trying to cover that hint of raw passion.

Why was she hiding it? I wondered.

I wanted to know.

Damn.

I felt a nearly unfamiliar pull on my heart, and tried to think of something to say to make her stay.

She shook her head at me, then walked away stiffly. I watched her go, mesmerized by the smooth, curved line of her backside as she moved. She was quick, and in a second she was gone.

She’s going to get away. I jumped to my feet.

I jogged to the end of the corridor and shoved open the door. The hall on the other side split in two and I didn’t know which way she’d gone, or even if she’d taken the stairs or the elevator. Feeling desperate, I pushed aside a potted plant and pressed my face against the window.

I peered outside. My heart lifted when I caught a flash of red moving across the commons, but when I blinked, the flash was gone.

Damn, I thought again, followed by another, far less pleasant mental exclamation.

I made my way back into the hall full of bedroom doors, an unusual sense of loss hanging over me.

Feelings, too closely linked to my past, struggled to find their way to the surface of my mind. Why now? What was it about the seconds-long encounter with the redhead that had brought them out? I ran my fingers through my hair, a dangerous recklessness coursing through my veins.

I tried to shove it down.

She was just a girl. A pretty, sexy, damned-near-perfect-to-look-at girl, but just a girl nonetheless.

I immediately wondered where she was going, and if she was meeting someone. I wondered what kind of guy got a girl like that to pay attention to him. I was envious of him, whoever he might be.

You’re being ridiculous. You’re getting jealous over the fictional boyfriend of some girl you’ve never met.

I felt angry at myself and at the girl. I knew that I had to find her, even if it was just to prove I was wrong about what I was feeling, or maybe about the fact that I was feeling.

With a sigh, I strode to the door that belonged to the girl who had booted me out the night before. I knocked, then waited. After a few seconds with no answer, I knocked again, more loudly.

“What time is it?” muttered a feminine voice from behind the door.

“Early,” replied another.

I tapped a third time, attempting to make it sound worth answering. I heard some shuffling, and the door squeaked open a few inches. A tired blue eye peeked out at me.

“Hi,” I greeted with a smile.

The girl opened the door a little further and eyed me curiously from behind a mess of blonde hair. I didn’t recognize her, but I continued to smile anyway.

“Hi,” she said back hesitantly.

The door swung open all the way, and a tall brunette stepped into view. She glared at me. Her angry expression was familiar enough, but aside from that, I didn’t recognize her any more than I did the blonde. Of course, it wasn’t the first time I’d forgotten a face, either.

“This is a girls’-only dorm,” the brunette snapped. “What do you want?”

“Probably to talk to me,” said a voice from across the hall.

I spun around, relieved to finally see a girl who I did recognize.

“Morning, Patty,” I said.

“It’s Peggy,” she corrected.

“Easy mistake?” I offered.

She tossed my keys at me, and I grabbed them out of the air before they could hit my already aching head. Peggy slammed the door.

I turned back to the other girls. “I don’t suppose you want to help me?”

The brunette rolled her eyes, but the blonde hesitated. I turned on my best smile, and the girl’s mouth went up tentatively at the corners, too.

“With what?” she wanted to know.

“Just some information. Do you know a redhead who lives in this dorm?”

“There are three of them,” called the brunette.

The blonde shrugged apologetically. “She’s grumpy, but she’s right. You’ll have to be a little more specific.”

“She’s…” I paused.

I’d been going to say she was the prettiest woman I’d ever seen, but that probably wasn’t the best way of getting another girl to help me find out who she was. Even if it was true.

“She’s what?” the blonde prodded.

“Short,” I replied lamely. “She was wearing mismatched shoes. She had an army-green backpack.”

“He means the hippie!” the roommate yelled.

The blonde frowned. “Seriously? That’s who you’re looking for? Why?”

The brunette was back at the door, scrutinizing my appearance. I looked down at my white T-shirt and sports shorts. Judging from the brunette’s face, my clothes definitely fell short of whatever her expectations were. It wasn’t my finest look, but I didn’t think it was that bad.

“I doubt you’re her type,” she told me. “She’s probably into guys who hug trees and wear hemp pants.”

“So you know her well?” I asked.

“No,” both the girls said at once.

“I don’t think she even talks to anyone else in the dorm,” the blonde informed me.

“Unless she’s crusading for a cause,” the brunette added.

My shoulders dropped. The blonde put her hand on my arm sympathetically, and her roommate quickly swatted it away with a warning glare before she slammed the door shut.

This is a hint. I turned to walk away. It’s the universe’s way of reminding you that you’re not right for a girl like that.

* * *

As I made my way out of the dorm, my spirits dipped even lower. For the first time in ages, I had actually felt motivated to do something for myself rather than for my dad’s prearranged schedule.

Something besides throwing a Joey pity party, you mean.

For once, I hadn’t been focused on the past and all the pain that I associated with my memories. Not being able to accomplish the goal—not finding out who the redhead was—brought the sick feeling back with a vengeance.

On most of my days off, I spent the morning thinking of how everything had started on the sixth. I woke up with the familiar guilt and dread in my chest. It hung on for the day, and I saw her face in my mind. Then my own voice, hurling angry accusations at her. I pictured her, not ever denying what I said, grabbing her scarf and hat and storming out of the house. Even if I could brush those things off, I would remember the sound of the sirens, and the smell of lilies, and the sight of the pale faces.

Sometimes the day would go better than others. I might reach the point of emotional hangover by noon, if I could get through the rest of the day unscathed.

I had a feeling today was going to a bad one, though. I thought it might even carry over to Saturday. I doubted I could force my way through, drinks or no drinks, girls or no girls.

Redhead or no redhead, I added before I could stop myself.

As I arrived at the parking lot and scanned it for my truck, my cell phone chimed. I glanced at the number on the call display and sighed. I let it go to voice mail. I reached my truck and my phone went off again. I ignored it a second time, choosing to climb into my vehicle instead. I sat down with a crunch. A large, yellow envelope was sitting on the driver’s side seat. I yanked it out from underneath me and glared at the logo on the corner. My phone rang a third time. I pounded the answer button irritably.

“Hi, Dad,” I greeted cheerfully through my gritted teeth. “I got the package you left in my truck.”

“Cut the act, son,” he said. “I need you to be somewhere today.”

“It’s the sixth.”

“So?”

“So we have a deal. And this weekend is—”

“Open that envelope.”

“Dad—”

“Now.”

I tore the yellow paper open, feeling a petty bit of satisfaction when the whole envelope split. I scanned the contents.

“This looks like a City ordinance request,” I said.

“It is.”

“What do you want me to do with it?”

“I want you to go to that meeting.”

I glanced at the paperwork again. “It’s today. It’s ten minutes from now.”

“So you’d better hurry.”

“This says the meeting is a private one between the City and the applicant.”

“It is.” My dad paused, then sighed loudly before he continued. “But this request threatens a potentially important project for our company. I want to know what we’re up against. I want to know who we’re up against.”

“Is it even legal for me to be there?” I wanted to know.

“You’re signed on as an observer from the school paper,” he replied.

“Seriously? You think they’re going buy that?”

He ignored me. “This is as important for you as it is for me.”

“I somehow doubt that,” I muttered.

“Joey…one day my company will belong to you.”

I don’t want it. I’ve never wanted it. Even before—I cut myself off midthought. I knew what he was expecting from me, and I made an effort to live up to that. It helped me stay focused, to keep from perpetually laying the blame at my own feet.

But why did it have to be today?

“I haven’t let you down once since I signed that contract. I close more deals than anyone else on your team,” I replied. “But you know why I need this day off, Dad.”

He tried a more sympathetic tactic. “At some point, you have to get past this.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“This has been hard on all of us,” he said.

“It didn’t happen because of you,” I growled. “It happened because of me.”

“It happened because of that woman,” he corrected. “And today, they don’t need you. But I need do. There’s a suit in your backseat. Get dressed and get there. Please.”

He hung up, and I gritted my teeth again, turned the key in the ignition and drove at full speed to City Hall.

* * *

There’s nothing quite as humiliating and infuriating as trying to get dressed in the men’s room at an office building where no one knows you. Except maybe being caught doing it. Which I was. First by an unsuspecting mail delivery boy, then a thick-necked businessman, and finally a cop, all of whom had eyed me suspiciously. As I tucked my dress shirt into my pants and finished a double Windsor knot on my tie, I happened to glance in the mirror, and I saw that my face was red with exertion and embarrassment. I had no time to spare.

I paused very outside the boardroom, doing a quick inventory of the men seated at the table inside. Five stuffed shirts and a stuffed-shirt wannabe. I wondered which one was my dad’s informant.

Not informant, I corrected myself mentally. Informant would imply that Dad is the good guy in this situation.

I knew he wasn’t. Which didn’t bother me as much as one might think. My father wasn’t without scruples. He just did what he had to do to be successful. To stay successful. He ran a hard line in his business pursuits, and it worked.

I should be asking which one is the leak. That’s probably a more accurate descriptor.

One of the stuffed shirts checked his watch, then glanced up and saw me. I hurried to join them at the table, feeling like an imposter. I was sure I might as well have had a sign on my head.

“I’m the…” I trailed off and faked as cough as I almost said the word spy out loud.

“You’re the student observer from the paper at the college?” the wannabe filled in.

“Right. That’s me,” I agreed.

The door swung open and the representatives who were delivering the request to stay my father’s building plans came walking in. I took in the lawyer first. Keith Bomner was a man I recognized. He was big into causes, big into pro bono work and good at taking on both. My dad would be very interested in discovering that Bomner had been at the meeting, and I started to make my first note.

Then I caught sight of the redhead and all logical thought left my brain.

She was dressed the same as she had been earlier this morning, in a hip-hugging skirt and a conservative blouse. As I eyed her from head to toe, I noted with a smile that the only real difference was the lack of mismatched shoes.

My eyes traveled the length of her body a second time, enjoying the subtle muscles in her calves and each curve that led up to the tightly wound bun, fastened at the nape of her neck. I had a perfect view of her creamy throat, and my gaze couldn’t help but rest there. I pictured myself tracing the line of it, working my fingers into that vanilla-scented hair, pulling it free and surrounding myself with it. I imagined it was rich and soft—the kind of hair that would look stunning splayed out across a crisp, white pillow.

What would she do when she spotted me? Would a pretty blush creep up those cheeks?

I hoped to God it would.

My appreciative stare worked to her lips, and I wondered what it would be like to taste them. Would they have the same rich texture of her hair, the same airiness of her scent?

Her mouth. Her neck. Her—my runaway imagination came to a halt as I saw her soft expression change from guarded determination to complete devastation.

My heart sunk, flowing downward with the tilt of her lips, and I watched all the color drain from her face. For one second I thought that the sorrow there was directed at me, but she was staring right at the wannabe stuffed shirt.

Mark, I heard someone say.

Her intent gaze was so focused, it seemed like the object of her interest was the only thing in the room. I didn’t like that she was looking at him like that. I didn’t like that he made those deep brown eyes darken with pain. And as selfish as it was, I really didn’t like that it meant she hadn’t noticed me.

A dangerous rush of emotions coursed through me, and I realized my hands were balled so tightly that white had formed along the ridges of my fingers.

Focus.

A pretty face had never stopped me from doing my job before. I made myself concentrate on Keith Bomner’s words.

“I’d like to point out that the media tends to look favorably on the underdog,” he stated. “And rarely seeks to laud those who seek to crush him. Or her, as the case may be.”

I mentally rolled my eyes. If scare tactics were all he was working with, he didn’t stand much of a chance against my dad. But he quickly switched topics, and after a few minutes, I found myself paying attention. The proposal they were making—she was making—involved saving a run-down community center. I wondered why it was so important to her.

Bomner talked about the youth center and its various programs, and appealed to the councilmen’s sense of community. He gave all the credit to the girl standing silently beside him, and I had to admit, it really sounded like the redhead had done a lot of work. She was running the project from behind some kind of nonprofit organization. I was impressed. Which meant that my dad wouldn’t be.

I needed to concentrate on making a list of what I would have to do to put a stop to her plans. I glanced down at my notepad. All I’d done was scribble a question mark beside the word name. Somehow, I’d missed it.

I looked back in her direction, wondering what it was about the other man that was making her stare down at her hands in such a defeated manner. I couldn’t decide what I wanted more—to comfort her or to punish him.

“So,” the lawyer said as he closed up. “We’ll have half the funds ready within the designated time. There will be no need to consider other options.”

The city officials looked convinced, and one of them went so far as to nod his head enthusiastically. My father wasn’t going to be happy with the way things were looking.

And you can forget about having anything to do with the redhead on a personal level.

“Thank you, gentlemen.” Bomner snapped his briefcase shut, nodded his head at us, and ushered the girl out.

I jumped up, automatically inclined to follow the redhead out. One of the older men coughed emphatically. I paused in my pursuit, released a breath I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding, and turned to face the table. The man named Mark was staring at me curiously.

“Did you get the information you needed?” he asked.

I nodded dumbly, because I didn’t trust myself to answer him in a calm manner. I hated him, even though I didn’t know him.

“Do you have any questions?” This came from one of the grey-haired, suit-wearing men.

I glanced at the door, then shook my head. The only real question I wanted an answer to was what the girl’s name was, and it would look as if I hadn’t been paying attention if I asked.

I wondered if Mark knew it.

He must.

I resisted a desire to demand that he tell me what it was.

“Excuse me,” I choked out, and exited the room, knowing they were all staring after me, and not really caring.

* * *

I caught up to her in the stairwell.

“Hey!”

She spun my way and stopped, like she was startled to see another human being, then looked guiltily at her hands, which clasped her shoes tightly. I suppressed a grin. Her gaze came up again, and for a breathless moment, they held me fixed to the spot.

Then her eyes narrowed in recognition.

“Are you going to trip me again?” she asked.

“I didn’t trip you. You came running at me.”

“You were sleeping in the hallway. At my house.”

She started to turn on her bare heel.

“Wait!”

“Dammit,” she muttered. “What?”

“I’m with the school paper,” I lied.

She stared at me blankly, and I shoved down irritation that she hadn’t noticed me in the meeting.

“I sat in on your meeting with the city just now,” I clarified. “I was hoping we could do an interview? An exclusive, maybe?”

Her pretty mouth tightened up. “Press inquiries go through my lawyer.”

“I’m not real press.”

“Please?” I turned on my sexiest grin. “It’s mean a lot to me, Miss—”

Crap. What was her name?

She rolled her eyes. “You’re kidding, right? You work for the paper and you sat in on the meeting and you didn’t even catch my name? That doesn’t bode well for your career in journalism.”

“I just started. And it’s more of a hobby than a career.”

“Find a new hobby,” she suggested.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and in the brief second I glanced down, the redhead disappeared down the stairs.

Dammit.

My phone buzzed again, and I fought an urge to toss it out the window. Instead, I answered it without bothering to check the display.

“What?” I growled.

“Is that any way to greet a nice girl like me?” asked a teasing voice.

My heart did the weird twist and release thing it did every time Amber called. I knew what I owed her, but she was still a constant reminder of my past.

I took a breath and put a smile into my reply. “Hey, sweetheart. Bad timing on my part. I thought you were my dad.”

She laughed. “You’ve got to start remembering who I am.”

“How could I forget?” I joked.

I meant it in a light-hearted way, but the second I said it, my mind went to Beth, and I wished I hadn’t spoken. They were cousins. I’d known Amber first, in fact. She was the daughter of one of my dad’s golfing buddies. Our mothers attended the same social functions. At a party one night, Amber had introduced Beth and me, all those years ago.

“Too late,” I murmured out loud.

“Pardon?” Amber said.

“Nothing. It’s just always a relief to hear your voice.”

She snorted, but I knew she liked the flattery. “You promised me you’d show up tomorrow.”

“I promise a lot of girls a lot of things,” I teased.

“I’m sure that’s truer than I want to think about,” Amber said. “But you made this one to me.”

“Babe…” I searched for the kind of excuse that usually came so easily, and failed. “I’m not going to be great company tomorrow.”

My honesty was a testament to how on edge I was feeling.

“I know. You really aren’t all that much fun in general. But you did promise,” she told me in a sweet voice.

I wanted to laugh at her obvious manipulation. I’m generally impervious to any and all attempts to reel me in, and I was sure Amber knew it. Maybe my emotions were just raw enough, or maybe I just wasn’t in the mood for letting anyone down. Whatever the reason, I found myself agreeing.

“A promise is a promise,” I said.

“Yes it is.”

For one second, I thought I heard a hint of smugness in her voice, and I was immediately regretful of agreeing to meet her. I held my temper in check and refused to back down. I clenched my teeth together and made myself bury the irritation under a chuckle.

“You’ll have to remind me where I said I’d be,” I told her cockily. “Lots of promises mean lots of forgetfulness.”

She drew in an irritated breath, and this time I chuckled for real.

“It’s the market in the commons,” she reminded me, just shy of completely impatient.

I should apologize.

I couldn’t make myself do it.

“All right, sweetheart,” I said. “I’ll be there. I’ll even dress nicely so you don’t regret inviting me along.”

“Oh, I won’t,” she assured me, and hung up.