Chapter 7
SEVEN
Amelia stretched her lower back and glanced out the window. Her spine crackled and popped as she moved it, and she knew she’d been sitting too long. The angle of the sun’s rays told her it was midafternoon, which meant she’d been working for nearly seven hours straight.
If she was going to be busy with Leo’s work retreat from Wednesday afternoon to Sunday morning, she had to get three of her clients’ projects finished before then. She’d made progress, but Monday was quickly slipping away from her. She only had tomorrow and a few hours Wednesday morning to get all her work done before the madness began.
Last night at The Shed had been…illuminating. She felt less embarrassed by her lack of flirtation skills than she’d expected. Leo had a way of making her feel at ease, even when she’d completely failed her task to go up to Ben and strike up a conversation. He didn’t seem to be worried about her ability to get a date at all, and his confidence was reassuring.
It wasn’t that she was insecure, exactly. Amelia felt good about herself. She was smart, capable, and it wasn’t like she was an ogre. Amelia had no problems with the way her face and body looked. Although?—
She pulled out her tablet and added a section to her curriculum: Clothes and Makeup. Her wardrobe was full of tees and tanks, a nice top or two, jeans, denim shorts, and athleisure wear. She didn’t exactly scream sexy and available, but Leo would be able to tell her how to update her look for maximum enticement.
That done, she hummed to herself as she made a late lunch, her mind occupied with a thorny problem with a certain client’s data set. The small business wanted to figure out how to boost their repeat customer orders, but they hadn’t been able to analyze any of their data because the back end of their online website was a mess. She’d spent four hours manually cleaning the data today, but she still couldn’t figure out the best way of displaying it so that?—
A knock rattled her front door. Padding over to it on sock-clad feet, she glanced through the peephole before pulling it open.
“Hi, Mrs. Gordon.”
“I’m sorry to bother you, dear,” the white-haired woman on her doorstep said. She was stooped over and leaning heavily on her cane, her wide brown eyes remorseful. “I know you’re busy.”
“Not at all! What’s up?”
The old woman lived next door in an apartment that was filled top to bottom with knickknacks. She was spunky yet kind, and Amelia loved having her as a neighbor. Mrs. Gordon sighed. “I forgot to buy Her Majesty’s wet food last time I was at the store, and with the elevator out of order and my old legs struggling to make it up three flights of stairs…”
“I’ll go to the store for you!” Amelia smiled. “No problem. It’s the grain-free stuff in the vacuum packs, right?”
“That’s right. Here. Get as much as that can buy.” She pushed a few bills into Amelia’s hands and curled her fingers over the crinkled money. “And next time my grandson is in town, I’ll have him take you out to dinner as thanks.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” Amelia said as she slid her feet into the nearest shoes, laughing awkwardly. Mrs. Gordon’s grandson was nine years younger than her and more interested in skipping his college classes to go to his fraternity’s keggers than dating a thirty-one-year-old data analyst who preferred Saturday nights spent with spreadsheets over shots.
“Will you stop pestering her?” a gruff voice said from across the hall. Mr. Petrovski stuck his head out of apartment 306. The old man’s ice-blue eyes looked out from a network of wrinkles. His bushy white-and-silver brows quivered as he frowned.
“I’ll stop bothering her when your ratty mongrel stops trying to diddle Her Majesty,” Mrs. Gordon spat, whirling around faster than Amelia thought she was able. The old woman hobbled across the hall and lifted her cane like she wanted to whack it against the old man’s shins.
“Mongrel! A mongrel ! My Winston!” The door slammed just in time for Mrs. Gordon to hit it with her cane, then opened again. “He’d stay away from your beast if she didn’t come to my balcony and start rubbing her rear all over the window. She’s nothing but a two-bit hussy. I wonder where she learned that .”
Mrs. Gordon lifted her cane again, and the door closed. She scowled at it for a moment, then straightened, picking a bit of lint off her shirt. She met Amelia’s wide-eyed stare and lifted her chin. “The grain-free version, dear. Don’t forget. It has the yellow label.”
“Got it.” Amelia made a mental note to call maintenance again. She lived in an apartment building constructed in the 1970s that was only a five-minute walk away from Main Street. It was a fantastic location and the rent was cheap, but the building itself was falling apart. That was probably why she’d gotten such a good deal on a two-bed apartment. The elevator had been out of order for three days, and she didn’t want to know what would happen to her feuding neighbors if it went on much longer. They were clearly going stir-crazy, and Mrs. Gordon’s cane packed a wallop, judging by the dent it’d left in Mr. Petrovski’s door.
Grateful for the break—and wanting to get away from the walking stick before Mrs. Gordon decided to do more target practice—Amelia grabbed her purse, locked her door, and headed out into the sunshine. Spring was beautiful in Stirling, but the town welcomed most of its tourists in autumn, when the leaves turned a thousand different jewel shades and painted the landscape with their vibrance. For now, the town was bustling with locals but still relatively quiet.
Amelia stepped onto the sidewalk and nodded to a couple pushing a stroller, then turned left and headed toward town. Smiling to herself, she decided to stretch her legs and enjoy the weather. She did a loop behind the gothic church where Maggie and Emory had been married on Saturday and followed the riverbank to the main bridge that joined both sides of the town. From there, she crossed over and wandered toward Camilla’s bakery. Camilla would be closing up soon, and she’d have almost-stale pastries Amelia could devour.
The houses here were a bit smaller than the further outskirts of town, mostly colonial-style residences with well-kept yards and white-painted window sashes. She paused to admire a flowering tree and waved at the woman pulling weeds in her garden bed, happy that she now worked for herself and had the flexibility to enjoy these moments. It had taken a lot of effort to strike out on her own, but she finally felt like things were coming together with her business and career.
Amelia was good at accomplishing goals. When she put her mind to something, it got done. As the sun warmed her shoulders and the multitude of flowers around her filled her nose with their lovely perfume, she felt a rush of confidence.
How hard could it be to find a partner? Leo had shown her just how easily he turned on the charm. That proved it was a skill, and it was learnable. She wasn’t unlovable, she just hadn’t built the skills to attract a mate. But now, she’d found the perfect teacher. She smiled to herself, tilting her head to listen to a bird twitter.
“Amelia?” Turning toward the voice, Amelia was startled to see Ben approaching at a jog. He must have finished his shift at the bakery, because he was coming from that direction. He grinned at her, pushing a strand of blond hair off his forehead. “Hey.”
“Hi,” she said, and her voice mostly came out normal. That was a relief.
In the sunlight, Ben’s hair glinted, but he didn’t have the kind of otherworldly beauty she’d admired in Leo. His smile widened, and Amelia was surprised to feel only the slightest thump in her chest. She looked down, confused with herself. Where was the rush of emotion? Why wasn’t her tongue suddenly three sizes too big for her mouth?
She felt entirely normal in his presence, which was decidedly not normal for her. She’d had a crush on Ben for two and a half years. Why did he suddenly seem so…human?
“Um,” she said, scraping her mind for something to say. Her eyes alighted on his footwear, and she remembered last night’s lesson. “Nice shoes.”
“Oh, these? Thanks! My mom picked them out.” He stuck out his leg and tilted his foot so she could admire his footwear from another angle.
“Your mom still buys your shoes?” Amelia blurted, frowning, then tried to recover by smiling extra wide. “Lucky you! She has great style.”
He nodded, then took a deep breath. “I saw you at The Shed yesterday.”
Her eyes widened. Had he seen her marching toward him and then veering off at the last minute? Oh, no. Oh, no ! How mortifying!
But Ben just smiled at her and said, “You were with someone, so I didn’t want to bother you.” He cleared his throat while Amelia tried to process his words, then continued, “Was he… Are you… Was that your boyfriend? He was at the bakery with you the other day too.”
She blinked. “Who, Leo?” She laughed. As if Leo would deign to be anyone’s boyfriend—least of all hers. “No, not my boyfriend.”
“Oh, good.” Ben smiled wide again.
“Good?” she repeated, increasingly baffled.
“Well, no, I mean…” He huffed, and Amelia was amazed to see someone else fumbling with their words. Was this what she looked like when she spoke to guys? How awkward! How fascinating . She felt like an anthropologist getting a rare glimpse of heretofore unobserved human behavior: her own, reflected right back at her. Ben recovered by pulling out his phone. “Do you use Signal? I don’t think we’re connected yet.”
Signal was a social media platform that had taken the world by storm. Everyone was on Signal…and Ben was wanting to connect with her there?
“Oh. Sure!” A rush of pleasure swelled in Amelia’s chest as she pulled her own phone out. They exchanged information, and Ben gave her another sweet smile. He waved and walked away, wishing her a nice day.
She clutched her phone to her breast. A million butterflies fluttered in her chest, tugging her lips into a smile. Ben had asked her for her social media! He wanted to connect with her!
That…had never happened before. As soon as Ben was out of sight, she let out a little squeal and did a dance on the spot. This had to be a good sign. And Leo was right—all she had to do was tell him he had nice shoes!
This flirting stuff was easy. After a few days under Leo’s tutelage, she’d be a pro.
Phone still in hand, she let her thumb hover over Camilla’s name…then kept scrolling. Before she could think too hard about it, she found Leo’s number and called him.
He answered on the second ring. “Hey, Amelia.” His voice was deep and smooth, and hearing it felt like sex. Amelia’s thighs spasmed, and she leaned on the brick wall next to her for support. Whoa. He sounded like he was breathing hard, which was also extremely hot. Another spasm took Amelia’s lower body.
How did he do that?
She shook her head. “I have news,” she announced. “You were right!”
A deep chuckle reverberated through the phone, and a shiver traveled the length of Amelia’s body. She closed her eyes.
“Where are you? I just finished a workout, and I was going to grab a smoothie. How about you tell me in person?”
“ Another workout? Didn’t you just do one yesterday?” It was kind of hypocritical, seeing as Amelia usually worked out on Mondays too. She’d skipped it today in order to get her work done.
Leo laughed again, like she’d been joking. “Meet you at the smoothie place on Maple Street in ten?”
“Sure,” she said, and turned in that direction, ignoring the little thrill in the center of her ribcage at the thought of seeing Leo again. She was just happy about the Ben thing, that was all. Her excitement had nothing to do with Leo.
Leo sucked his mango-flavored protein shake and frowned at Amelia. He swallowed and forced himself to take a moment so his voice would come out halfway normal. It still sounded like a rough growl when he said, “He asked you for your Signal profile?”
“Yeah.” Amelia beamed. “Isn’t that great? And you were right! All I had to do was tell him he had nice shoes.” She tilted her head from side to side. “I mean, what wasn’t so great was that his shoes were kind of ugly, and he said his mom picked them. I’m all for a good mother-son relationship, but a man in his thirties should feel confident enough to pick his own shoes. But maybe I’m just being a judgmental jerk? I don’t know! I’m too excited.”
They sat outside the smoothie shop, a little hole-in-the-wall place not far from the gym Leo had joined for his stay in Stirling. Their table and chairs were wrought iron, and the afternoon spilled over them in golden puddles. It was a beautiful day, but Leo felt only dark clouds gathering above his head. “He only wanted your Signal profile, not your phone number?”
Amelia paused, her smile slipping slightly. “Um. Yes? Is that a problem?”
Leo shrugged. “It sends a certain message.”
Sunlight gleamed over her hair and skin. She wore cutoff jean shorts, white sneakers, and a white tee. Her hair was in a bun on top of her head, and her tortoise-shell sunglasses were nestled in her blond locks in front of the bun where she’d pushed them after flopping onto her chair. She looked hot as hell.
“What message?”
“That he isn’t serious enough to get your number.”
“Huh?”
“Getting a phone number means he wants to date you. Looking at your Signal profile just means he wants to check out what kind of pictures you put online, and maybe send you a message late at night to see if you bite.”
“Oh.” Pursed lips bunched to the side as she shifted her gaze to the middle distance. Then, Amelia shook her head. “Whatever. I haven’t had a guy ask me for my phone number since my ex-boyfriend did in college, and your advice worked. I’m going to take it as a win, which means we need to figure out your side of the deal. This fiancée business.”
Leo didn’t want to talk about the fiancée business. He wanted to find Ben and ask him what the hell he thought he was doing. He wanted to shove Ben off the Main Street Bridge and watch him belly flop against the water. He wanted to build a time machine so he could go back and punch the guy when he had the chance. Instead, he said, “I asked you for your phone number.”
She blinked, looking up from the tablet she’d pulled out to make notes. “What?”
“You said no one’s asked you for your phone number since your ex-boyfriend in college. But I did.”
“Leo,” Amelia said with a teasing smile. “Camilla told you to take my number, remember? You didn’t ask for anything. It was thrust upon you.”
His brow wrinkled. “Oh. Right. Well, I was going to ask you for it.”
A snort. “Yeah, okay. Never mind that. Let’s get our story straight. What have you told your boss about me?”
Leo winced. “Ah…”
The look Amelia gave him was sharp as steel. “Ah, what? Does this have something to do with that stage name thing?”
“I might have told them you’re a singer. I had to think of a reason they’d never met you, and that was the first thing that came to mind. You’re always touring with the band.”
She just stared at him.
“Your band is called the Nymphomaniacs.”
She stared harder.
“You’re really good at whistle tones, like Mariah Carey.”
The metal chair tumbled to the ground as Amelia pushed to her feet. She glared at him, breathing heavily. “Are. You. Kidding me ? What happens when someone asks me to sing?” She turned her back on him, then whirled right around to glare again. “The Nymphomaniacs? Are you for real? Is this a joke?”
He frowned. Why was she being so unreasonable? “I had to come up with something on the fly. There had to be a reason you were never around, so it had to be a job that required a lot of travel.”
“Flight attendant!” Amelia threw her arms out to the sides. “There. Was that so hard?”
“Flight attendant,” he scoffed. “Who’d believe that?”
She blinked at him, shaking her head. “This is insane. You’re insane. I must be insane for agreeing to this.”
“Look. It’s not a big deal. Just tell them you need to save your voice and you can’t sing for them. Oh, and your stage name is Kitty Catelli.”
Anger blazed from her eyes. “Absolutely not. Kitty Catelli? How’d you come up with that? Let me guess: Someone asked you for my name and you panicked, and then a cat walked by?”
Leo pinched his lips, turning his palms up. “Well…”
“Oh my God.” Amelia took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Leo,” she said, then pinched the bridge of her nose. “What if someone googles me? What if they look up The Nymphomaniacs and see that a) the band doesn’t exist, and b) I’m not in it?”
“Well, you’re a private person,” he answered reasonably. “You don’t like having your photo all over the place. I’ve told them that already. It’s totally fine.” He didn’t get what the big deal was. The cover story was fine.
She leaned her hands on the table and stared at him. “I’m a singer in a band —a band that presumably is trying to make money by promoting their music—and I don’t like having my photo taken? How is that believable at all ? Why would I have a stage name if I don’t have an online presence anywhere?”
Hmm . He saw her point. Still. “Look, Amelia, it’s not a big deal. Everyone bought it. You won’t have to sing anything. I’ll cover for you.”
Her chest heaved as she inhaled, eyes blazing. “No. I’m not doing this.”
She made to leave, but Leo jumped out of his chair and caught her around the waist. He tugged her close, trying to ignore the way she felt warm and sweet beneath his palm. “Wait. Wait , Amelia.”
“No.” She scowled at him. “I’m not doing it.”
“Hey, I’ve already helped you with Ben. You owe me.” It felt slightly dirty to say the words, but he couldn’t let her slip away.
“I don’t owe you shit.”
God, she was hot when she was like this, all stubborn and angry. Leo’s arm was still around her waist, and he spread his hand so it spanned her lower back. She felt like heaven to touch.
But he couldn’t have her. Amelia was a business owner. She was intelligent. She was beautiful and stubborn and driven, and she deserved a whole lot better than a guy who’d answered to the name Pestilence for the last three years of his college degree and hadn’t quite shaken the reputation ever since. What could Leo possibly provide that Amelia would want, other than a night of hot sex?
He knew his value, what little of it there was. He knew Amelia deserved a lot better.
But Leo was also selfish, and he couldn’t stand the thought of not having her beside him at his company retreat. So, he used the only tool at his disposal. “What are you going to say to Ben when he messages you?”
Her hands had curled into his shirt and her knuckles pressed against his stomach. He wondered if she’d even realized she did it. “ If he messages me,” she corrected.
“He’ll message you.”
Blond brows tugged together, and a line appeared between them. She bit her lip and looked up at him. “I don’t know.”
“I’ll help you through it. You’ll have a date with this guy by the end of the week.”
She dropped her gaze to his shoulder and pinched her lips. “You’re the worst.”
Leo couldn’t help the smile that curled his lips. She’d come to the retreat with him. He had more time to spend with her. “Yeah. I am.”
She pointed a finger at him. “I’d better be able to attract the love of my life by the end of the week. That’s the only way this is going to be worth it.”
“I’ll teach you everything I know.”
Amelia snorted. “Fine. I have to go buy cat food for my neighbor.” She pushed against his stomach and stepped back, then lowered her sunglasses to her eyes, shading them from view. But her lips were expressive enough that he knew her eyes were shooting daggers at him. Then she whirled around and walked away, and Leo watched her until she disappeared around the corner.
The door to apartment 303 opened to a very suspicious-looking Mrs. Gordon. Amelia lifted her reusable bag full of vacuum-packed, grain-free cat food and gave the elderly woman a closed-lipped smile. “Hi, Mrs. Gordon. I have Her Majesty’s food and your change.”
Mrs. Gordon glanced over her shoulder before opening the door a smidge wider. “Thank you, Amelia,” she said, reaching for the bag with one hand and holding her palm out for the change with the other. “I’ll put these in the fridge and give this bag right back.”
Amelia kept her foot on the door to prop it open and leaned against the jamb. She watched the older lady hobble away, her cane safely tucked against the console table by the front door. The table held a variety of items, including porcelain figurines, carved coasters, a blown glass bowl, and two hefty silver candlesticks.
“These are nice,” Amelia said, picking one of the candlesticks up as Mrs. Gordon came back into the room with Amelia’s empty cloth bag. “Are they new? I don’t remember seeing them before.”
“Hmph.” Mrs. Gordon thrust the bag into Amelia’s chest and grabbed the candlestick. She placed it back down exactly where it belonged. “They’re not new. I just took them out of storage.”
“They’re lovely,” Amelia said, just as a door opened somewhere deeper in the apartment.
Brows rising, she glanced behind the older woman’s shoulder. In the four years she’d been Mrs. Gordon’s neighbor, she’d never heard any guests come in and out of the old lady’s apartment, other than her grandson. She knew the old lady had a sister, but she was pretty sure the rest of Mrs. Gordon’s relatives lived across the country and never visited. She’d never see anyone come in or out of here, in any case. The rowdiest resident of the apartment was Her Majesty the cat.
“Okay,” Mrs. Gordon said. “Bye-bye now.” She shoved Amelia out and slammed the door.
Standing on her neighbor’s welcome mat, Amelia’s lips curled into a smile. She glanced across the hall at number 306, wondering if Mrs. Gordon’s guest was a certain grouchy cat owner. Tiptoeing across the hall, she listened at Mr. Petrovski’s door. No sounds reached her ears.
“Two-bit hussy, indeed,” she mumbled, grinning, then headed back to her apartment. She sat down at her desk, wiggled her fingers, and got back to work. It was only hours later, when the clock told her it was nearly midnight, that Amelia leaned back and checked her phone.
Leo had sent her a message with an attachment detailing the schedule for the company retreat. There were cocktail-attire dinners, a scavenger hunt, and a thousand other activities she’d have to attend while pretending to be the lead singer of The Nymphomaniacs.
Was all that hassle worth probing Leo’s brain for a few days? Was she making a huge mistake?
…or was it worth the short-term pain to finally get over her insecurities and find a life partner? Leo had succeeded in getting Ben to ask for her contact information with a single sentence. Surely that kind of knowledge was worth the risk?