Chapter Thirteen
The scent of coffee was in the air, and Roxana almost believed her preset coffeemaker had awakened her from a nightmare.
But when every part of her ached, including her eyes, she knew bad dreams weren’t the reason.
She reached for Jason, but the sheets were cold.
Disappointment almost clouded her thoughts until she made a hazy connection. “Did you make coffee?”
“Better,” Jason called from the other room. “I had it delivered.”
Once they had worked through their more pressing concerns, she would have to remind him that there were two kinds of people in life.
The people who used the in-room coffeemaker for free, and the people who didn’t notice that their quadruple-price room-service coffee required gratuity and an assortment of service fees that actually cost more than a coffeemaker.
“From Denny’s?” she asked. Uber Eats or DoorDash were probably the cheaper option for a cup of Joe.
“Got the crepes again,” Jason answered. “Thought you liked them.”
Given that she’d all but licked the plate clean, he’d guessed correctly. “Thanks.”
“And an omelet in case you wanted something different.”
Roxana stretched, and her limbs ached. “Does Roland Crosby have his own line of credit that I know nothing about?”
“Something like that.” Jason appeared at the bedroom door. His limp was almost gone. “You feeling better?”
“Worse. Every part of my body hurts.” She closed her eyes and attempted to stretch. “Even my fingers and armpits.”
He grimaced on her behalf. “Ibuprofen and water are on the nightstand.”
Roxana reached for the medicine and the glass of water, swallowed the pills, and glanced at Jason, who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. He had a different kind of hurt on his face that put muscle aches to shame.
“What’s the look?” he asked.
She pushed her hair back and studied him. Jason had promised to give her time to work through what had happened, to understand and process, but the truth was, even at her angriest, she’d known that they would fix where they had gone wrong. “We’re going to be okay.”
Jason moved to her side. “You sound certain.”
“I am.” She threw the covers back as she had last night, and just the same, he moved next to her so that they shared a pillow. She nudged her foot between his legs and locked her ankle behind his foot. “I want to be your wife.”
Relief melted in his eyes. “I love you. More than you’ll ever know.”
They stayed tangled together until her stomach growled.
“Crepes, round two,” he suggested.
“In bed,” Roxana added, “and then maybe you can explain if we’re gonna cowboy up and have a shootout or something.”
He laughed and lay her down with a kiss. “Stay put, and I’ll bring over the coffee, too.”
“Are you buttering me up before you tell me there won’t be a gunfight?”
Apparently, that was his plan. Crepes and an omelet in bed while he covered the fine art of diplomacy.
Jason learned something new about Roxana.
When she set her worries aside and had a partner, she was a wee bit of an adrenaline junkie.
That, or she’d had too much coffee with her crepes.
Either way, by the time they’d checked out of the hotel and parked his truck in her driveway, he thought she might even consider camping with him in a tent one day.
“One more question.” Roxana crossed her arms. “Why are they still at my house if you’ve brokered some kind of peace negotiations?”
He chuckled. “If something didn’t go as planned, eventually you would still come home, and, your fridge is stocked.”
Her mouth fell open, reminding Jason of the way she blushed when he’d spoken with Spiker and Vanka after breakfast. The conversation left no doubt about how he felt about Roxana. Jason also spelled out what had happened with Buck Baer and gave Spiker and Vanka time to vet his story.
He nodded to her seatbelt. “Ready?”
She squirmed. “Do I know everything I need to know?”
The question sucked, but he deserved it. Jason nodded, then added, “Spiker might’ve slept in your bed.”
Her mouth fell open again. “No way. Really?” She unbuckled. “It’s not like I don’t have a guest room.” They exited the truck. “I feel like Vanka would’ve pointed that out.”
“It’s like you know them so well.” He took her hand and walked up the porch steps, then rapped on the storm door before opening the front door and calling. With Roxana behind him and his hand on his P365 just in case, he eased the door wider. “We’re home.”
“About bloody time.” Vanka strutted down the narrow hallways looking better suited for a trendy business meeting than a slumber party in Kentucky. She pointed her finger at Roxana. “Bravo. Well done. You got one by me.”
“She had some help,” Jason added.
Vanka brushed his words away. “That tunnel took balls.”
Roxana hesitated. “You’re complimenting me?”
“We’re all on the same team now.” Vanka shrugged. “I wouldn’t have done it.”
“Yeah, you would have,” Spiker called from upstairs.
Vanka rolled her eyes and muttered, “Thinks he knows me so well.”
Roxana pivoted toward the stairs. “Did Spiker sleep in my bed?”
“I told him not to, the bastard.” Vanka trained her attention on Jason. “And you?” She tsked. “I can only hope that you’ve promised her the world, ice cream sundaes every night after world-class sex, and a much bigger ring.” Then she returned to Roxana. “I read through your client files.”
“What—why?”
Vanka lifted her hands. “Sorry and everything, but I was really impressed with your work.”
Roxana glanced at him. He had nothing to offer. As far as Jason knew, Vanka was a cold machine. He didn’t know what to make of her attempts at female banter.
“That advertisement piece for the orthodontists in Maryland?” Vanka continued, “If I had a kid, I’d get them braces.”
The corners of Roxana’s eyes narrowed. “Thanks.”
That was more than Jason could say. He didn’t know Vanka could hold a conversation about anything other than work.
Spiker rumbled down the stairs, drinking coffee out of Roxana’s favorite mug. “About time.”
“You might need to burn the sheets,” Vanka suggested.
Roxana plucked the mug out of Spiker’s hand—“This is mine”—and brushed by him on the way up the stairs. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to take my anxiety medicine before I flip out on everyone in my house.”
They waited until Roxana stomped up the stairs before looking at each other.
“She gets a little feisty when you’re around, huh?” Spiker ventured.
“Brother,” Jason grimaced. “The acoustics in this house—”
Roxana returned from upstairs, holding her empty mug by her side. “Spiker loses his balls when you’re around, huh, Jason?”
Vanka snorted. “Lots of balls talk this morning. I approve.”
“Look,” Spiker retorted. “That was the job. We were working with bad information.” He glanced from Roxana to Jason to Vanka and back to Roxana. “All right. Maybe I was a little heavy-handed with the threats.”
Roxana set her mug on a side table and crossed her arms. “I thought you were going to kill me.”
Spiker lifted his hands. “The thought crossed my mind a time or two.”
She glanced at Jason. “These are your friends.”
“I’m joking,” Spiker added. “Just an act, playing bad cop. Nothing but hot air and bullshit. More or less.”
“Come on, let’s do this.” Jason nodded them toward the kitchen and added, “Coffee, babe?”
“Yup,” Roxana answered.
“Don’t know if you need any caffeine,” Spiker muttered.
Jason shook his head and let his woman take care of herself.
Roxana shared her cutting opinion of Spiker as Vanka offered polite golf claps.
He laughed and listened until Vanka called an end to Spiker’s roast. Then they spent the next thirty minutes rehashing what had happened between Jason and Buck.
Jason’s take matched the information Vanka had received from Charles, the analyst in Harlan.
“Everyone agrees what happened,” Roxana cut in. “What are you going to do about it?”
Vanka pursed her lips. “Conference call?”
“Nah,” Spiker disagreed. “Something like this has to be done over Zoom.”
“I’m sorry,” Roxana interrupted again. “But are you three fucking with me?” Her eyes narrowed on Jason. “Because we’re not that level of okay yet.”
“Normally”—Vanka smacked the table for attention—“I’m the first to suggest a little one-shot, one-kill action.” She pantomimed sighting her kill and pulled an imaginary trigger. “But Buck signs my paycheck.”
“Ditto,” Spiker agreed. “Can’t kill the boss.”
“Not that we go around killing people,” Jason muttered for Roxana’s benefit.
“Speak for yourself,” Vanka snipped and eyed him. “But the paycheck thing is important unless you’re like our penny-pinching friend who stashed everything in stocks and savings or whatever.”
Roxana’s brow furrowed. “What’s that mean?”
Maybe there was something he’d forgotten to bring up. That conversation would go better if he discussed finances with Roxana. Alone. “Let’s stay focused,” he suggested.
Roxana crossed her arms. Vanka sensed an opportunity to fan a fire and simply smiled like a kid on Christmas morning.
Spiker didn’t offer any help.
Seeing that the conversation would not move along, Jason tacked on, “I have some savings.”
“You sure aren’t driving this year’s Audi,” Vanka volleyed.
“Thank you, Vanka,” Jason warned. “I vote for Zoom.”
Spiker nodded. “Zoom.”
“That’s all you’re going to say?” Vanka leaned toward Roxana, and in her best stage whisper, added, “Jason’s loaded.”
Roxana’s eyes darted his way. Thankfully, Vanka did him a solid, standing with dramatic flair. “If we’re doing Zoom, I need to get my makeup bag out of the rental.” She beckoned for Roxana. “Let’s go. I’ll meet you upstairs, and we can fix your hair.”
“We’re not friends,” Roxana pointed out. “You pushed your way into my house.”
“Spiker’s the pushy one, dear.”
Roxana pressed her hands to her temples.
“Get it set up.” Jason nodded to Spiker. “She needs to rest.”
Spiker pulled out his cell phone, made arrangements, and then had to ask for a small delay, as Vanka hadn’t finished getting ready.
Finally, Jason and Roxana went into her bedroom with a laptop, Vanka set up an iPad in the office nook, and Spiker kicked back on the couch with his phone. Everyone connected to the virtual meeting room, including Buck.
Jason positioned the laptop on a pile of magazines and leaned against her dresser.
Roxana reached over and muted their speaker. “This isn’t very formal.”
“We’ve never been business-suit-wearing, conference-table people.”
“Of course not.” She caught sight of Buck. “He looks smarmy.”
The corner of his lips quirked. “Because he is.”
Jason unmuted their speaker and turned on their video.
“You’re alive,” Buck grumbled when he saw Jason. “I guess I should be glad there’s not a body on my property.”
He smirked. “Good to see you too, boss.”
Buck’s eyebrows inched up. “You reconsidered my offer?”
“No.” Jason shook his head. “Appreciate it though.”
Buck cleared his throat. “Spiker and Vanka checked into things, and I should’ve trusted you.”
Roxana shoved her face in front of Jason’s. “Looked into things? I have a concussion.”
“This is the reason why you’re out?” Buck grumbled.
“She is,” Jason confirmed.
“Jesus,” Buck groused. “Can’t believe I lost you to a woman.”
There wasn’t a point in explaining to Buck how Jason had grown uncomfortable with recent changes at GSI, and there was no way he’d bring up Buck’s questionable greed and sanity. He just wanted to wrap up that part of his life without bloodshed. Jason squeezed Roxana’s hand. “The woman.”
“Gag me with a spoon,” Vanka added.
“Not everyone can be as cold-hearted as you,” Spiker said.
“There’s no such thing as the woman,” Buck warned.
Roxana scowled. “Does he know I can still hear everyone?”
Some people were better to ignore than explained. “Buck, I might’ve believed you if she hadn’t walked into my line of sight.”
“I like her,” Vanka volunteered. “Even if she’s the reason Jason lost his fuckin’ marbles.”
“I always knew Vanka was a romantic at heart,” Spiker said. “If this is done—”
“Zoom doesn’t replace your report,” Buck snapped.
“That’s a job for this project’s number two. Vanka, make sure to run spell check before you submit it.” Spiker waved, and he signed off.
Vanka signed off of Zoom and yelled at Spiker loud enough that the nosy neighbor might swing by with questions or call the cops.
“If you change your mind,” Buck offered, “I promise not to blow out your tires again.”
Jason snickered. “I’ll remember that.”
“Until next time.”
Roxana reached across the keyboard and signed them off. “There won’t be a next time.”
Jason shut the laptop and pulled her into his arms. “What’s a guy gotta do to get you in bed?”
Her nose wrinkled. “Wash my sheets.”
“Maybe we stay on the carpet?”
Roxana pressed her lips to his and let them linger. “Not until you kick those love birds out of our house.”
“Our house?”
“Get rid of your apartment.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and let him pull her into his lap. “We’ll stay here, or we’ll move. But we’ll do it together.”
Jason could’ve done without the past twenty-four hours, but if life had to hand him a stress test, he didn’t want to prove himself to anyone but his bride. “Always.”