Chapter Two #2
Avery said something that made What’s Her Name laugh again. Another lame attempt at seduction?
God, the man had a set of balls…and the charm of a snake handler. No, he was the snake. Neither of them had any regard for where they were or who they might hurt. Jo had seen What’s Her Name arrive with a date, heard Avery ask about him. Poor guy.
Disgust drove Jo forward, a scoff escaping her lips.
Avery’s head snapped up, and the satisfied grin on his face slid right off, giving Jo a small semblance of her own satisfaction. At least, he had the decency to blush when he bent to whisper something in the girl’s ear, then turned her toward the ballroom and gave her a slight shove.
“Call me,” What’s Her Name tittered.
Some people never learn.
As What’s Her Name passed Jo, she arranged her long blonde curls to hide the red marks on the swells of her breasts but did nothing to conceal a smug smile, as if they were besties or in some secret society out to screw Avery Preston and she expected a high five.
Hip cocked, Avery stood with one hand braced on the open door, blocking Jo’s path, a grin toying with his lips, all shame extinguished. If it had been there at all. Men like him didn’t feel shame.
“You looking for me?” he asked as if he hadn’t been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“Barn door’s open,” she spat and darted around him when he reached for his open fly.
“Fuck,” he muttered over the rasp of his zipper, but she didn’t stop.
The telltale burn pricking the bridge of her nose quickened her steps. Tears were a sign of weakness, useless in any situation. She’d learned that a long time ago. But when she was angry…
She had to get home before the fiery storm building inside her broke loose because she was either going to burst into tears or punch him in the face. And yeah, while neither would solve anything, giving him a bloody nose would sure make her feel better…and land her in jail for assault.
“Legs, wait,” he called out, jogging to catch up with her.
Legs? What the hell?
“Come on, I wanted you,” he cajoled, matching her stride for stride even when she quickened hers. “You said no.”
“I got fired, asshole.” Saying the words aloud made them real and her patisserie more of a pie in the sky goal she’d never achieve.
Shit. Don’t you dare fucking cry.
His grin widened. “So you’re available now.”
“Seriously?”
“I mean, if you don’t have a job, you’re free to fake date me.”
Jo skidded to a halt just short of the double doors promising escape, and damn, if a big fat angry tear didn’t roll down her cheek. She swiped at her body’s betrayal and glared up at him.
“Let me rephrase it so you’ll understand, dumbass. You got me fired. You and your shenanigans. Giselle saw us get into the van. She thinks we— Argh, why am I bothering to explain this to you?”
She slapped a hand on the door to push it open, but he snagged the crook of her elbow. His hand was hot, his grip strong, making her feel weak—in strength and mind.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his deep brown eyes full of remorse. “I never meant for that to happen. What can I do? Do you want me to talk to your boss? If I explained nothing happened—”
“I’ll tell you what you can do.” She wrenched free of his grip. “You can leave me the fuck alone.”
His head snapped back, and for a moment, she wished she’d kept her temper in check. He was the reason she’d been fired, but that didn’t mean she had to stoop to his level. Or maybe she did. Maybe asshole was the only language he understood.
As he recovered, she half expected another smartass remark or sexual innuendo to come tumbling from his mouth. Instead, he gave her an understanding nod, stepped to one side, and opened the door for her.
Without hesitation or a backward glance, Jo took his gesture with a grain of skepticism, not believing for a second there was a gentleman beneath all that Casanova crude. She flew across the parking lot, another fat tear as eager to escape as she was.
Viv waited for her outside the van. “Oh, honey, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I just want to get my things and go home.”
“Bitch said not to let you in the van.” Viv held out Jo’s blue jean jacket and bag. “Like you’d steal anything that belongs to her scrawny ass. The woman’s pure evil.”
No arguments there.
Jo dug in the tote for her phone. She’d have to call for a ride back to work where she’d left her car, since she’d ridden in the van with Viv.
And she’d have to get the rest of her things from her workstation tomorrow.
It was hard enough facing Viv right now, but having to face everyone else, wondering if they believed Giselle’s lies made her want to vomit.
“I’ll box up what’s left of your stuff tonight,” Viv continued as if reading Jo’s mind. “I’ve seen the look in that bitch’s eyes when she looks at your new cake molds. I don’t trust her not to claim ’em for herself. I’ll bring everything by your place tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” Jo looked up from her search. “What am I going to do without you?”
“You’re gonna do just fine. ’Sides, it won’t be for long ’til you have your shop open. It’s gonna happen. You’ll see.”
“I wish I could be as confident as you are. I can’t even find my damn phone.” As Jo spat the words, her fingers wrapped around the elusive device. Thank god. It had all her contacts, including prospective clients.
“If you’re calling a ride share, I already did.” Viv laid a hand over Jo’s inside the bag. “It’ll be here any second. The least I can do after leavin’ you by yourself with that guy.”
“She would have found an excuse sooner or later, but thank you.” Jo steeled herself for the embrace coming her way, afraid it would break her. She was going to miss Viv and Theo. “How much do I owe you?”
“Don’t even think about it.” As expected, Viv opened her arms and wrapped Jo in a tight hug. When Jo pulled back, Viv’s eyes were watery. She sniffed. “You know, this is probably a blessin’ in disguise. Nothin’ to distract you from goin’ hard core after your dream.”
Jo just nodded because no amount of Viv’s positivity could stall the sudden cyclone of panic whirling in her brain. Without a job, she’d go through her savings in no time. There’d be no dream, no patisserie, no creative freedom.
The car pulled up, and after another hug from Viv, Jo climbed in, ditched her mercenary heels for warm socks and the worn but comfy pair of cowboy boots in her bag, and ripped off her tie. As she unbuttoned the top button of her blouse, she sank low into the seat and closed her eyes.
God, she hated Valentine’s Day, but this one would go down as the worst one ever. She couldn’t wait to wash it away.
Maybe Viv was right. She’d been miserable working for Giselle.
And there were other jobs. Tonight, she’d allow herself to wallow in self-pity with a hot bath, a glass of wine, and a pep talk from Brooke.
Tomorrow, she’d make a list of bakeries and caterers, whip up a few dozen sample boxes of her grandma’s best recipes, and pound the pavement until she found a job.
The rideshare dropped Jo off beside her twelve-year-old, bucket of rust that only started if she held her tongue just right. The air had grown cooler during the drive, so Jo slipped into her jacket before she slid behind the wheel. The heater only kicked in during the summer.
The engine sputtered to life, and as she hit the ramp onto I45, she went on autopilot. A list of to-dos for damage control whirled in her brain like cotton candy. She could taste them, but then they were gone.
As she pulled into the apartment complex, a police cruiser rolled out.
It wasn’t the greatest neighborhood, a little rundown and an occasional drug bust down the street, but they’d never had any trouble unless she counted the creepy tweaker who lurked in the stairwell begging for money and the couple next door.
Their arguments got loud, but no one ever called the cops.
Probably because their makeups were just as loud… and twice as entertaining.
Jo got out of her car, mace in hand, just in case. She entered the dimly lit foyer and exhaled a breath of relief. No tweaker tonight. She checked the mailbox and stuffed the bundle of junk mail into her bag. The stairs to the second floor seemed extra-long, the hallway to her door longer.
Forget the shower, food, and conversation. She was going straight to bed.
Before she could get the key in the deadbolt, the door swung open, and Brooke greeted her with red-rimmed blue eyes. Her face was ghostly white except where she chewed her bottom lip.
Jo’s first thought was that Brooke and her boyfriend Aaron had an argument or he’d broken up with her. A little out of the blue, but then he’d been “out of town” a lot over the last few weeks. In guy speak, that translated to a side piece. At least, that was Jo’s experience.
“Oh, thank god, you’re here.” Shoulders hunched, Brooke wrapped the tattered cardigan she only dragged out of the closet when she was upset around her middle. Not a good sign. “I didn’t think you’d be home until later. I can’t believe Giselle let you go early.”
“You have no idea,” Jo muttered, unable to hide her sarcasm and grateful that Brooke seemed too distracted to notice.
Aaron stepped into view, hands on his hips, disapproval wrinkling his forehead, and a legal eagle vibe rolling off dark gray trousers and a burnt orange pullover. “I told you to let me check first.”
Still here and being overprotective, so not a breakup.
“It’s Jo,” Brooke shot back at him a little too loudly.
“But it could have been anyone,” he pointed out with a hint of frustration that grated on Jo’s already frayed nerves. He drove fingers through dirty blond waves. “This is what I’m talking about. This is why—”
“We’ll talk about it later.” Brooke shook her head at him, a warning in her pinched brows.
Sighing, Jo stepped inside, forcing her roommate backward. If there was trouble in paradise…
I just can’t.