Monday, December 26
Angelica wasn’t up to much when she returned home from the police station. Although filing an assault charge was stressful, something else weighed on her mind—the start of the day!
When she opened her eyes this morning, she found herself on the couch, in the arms of the detective. How did that happen? She shot up, brushed her hair from her face, and muttered, “Oh!”
As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Garrett winked at her. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” he said.
Well, this might be standard operating procedure for him, but not for her. She didn’t know this man in the dating sense, and she slept the entire night—really slept—in his arms. She wouldn’t view it as a bad thing, like she’d regret it for years, but rather as most unusual.
In his typical friendly and courteous manner, Garrett didn’t act as if he’d been inconvenienced. He even offered to pick up coffee for her before heading home. This went far beyond the call of duty.
“Um ... that’s not necessary,” Angelica said, wanting to slip away to brush her teeth, think about what had happened, and hide. Could she look any worse? She never looked decent first thing in the morning, especially her hair.
Unlike her shabby appearance, Garrett appeared as put-together and fresh as he had last night. Well, except for where her mascara had smeared onto his lavender dress shirt. Angelica didn’t think offering to take it to the dry cleaner was a smart idea. The less said, the better.
Feeling distressed and unprepared to face the world, she sat at her desk, struggling to finish the final illustration before the deadline. The horrors of her night with Nicky didn’t help.
When the phone rang, Angelica glanced at the caller ID. Along with the other skills he had acquired, ESP was added to Nicky’s list of new talents. She decided not to send it to the answering machine, postponing the inevitable.
Unlike the day before, she sounded more pleasant. “Hi, Nicky. How are you?”
“Missing you. darling. How are you feeling? Has your headache gone away yet?”
She might not have had one, but another conversation with him could bring one on. “I had a great night’s sleep, and I’m feeling better this morning.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I’m worried about you, Angel. When did the headaches start again?”
Tension and sleep paralysis were the issues. She never shared her disturbing dreams with Nicky.
To downplay things, Angelica said, “It’s the stress from the robbery and from rushing to get my illustrations to the editor.”
“You shouldn’t have to struggle over paintings to make a living. You don’t need to work at all, darling. I told you I’d take care of you, this time forever.”
Should she spend her days at the spa—getting massages and mani-pedis? Nicholas may have been angry, but she was riled up. “I love being an artist. Besides, I don’t want you to provide me with unlimited financial support. I need to prove I can do this on my own and be self-sufficient.”
“You don’t need to be self-sufficient,” Nicholas scorned. “Finish the book, then come back to where you belong. Home!”
“I am home.”
“You’re not in the right home. You deserve better than a shack in the woods. Remember, I have four bedrooms,” he said, softening his tone. “I’ll turn one into a studio for you if you want to continue as an artist.”
Angelica grew more conflicted about her future living arrangements with each passing minute. After she bled through Nicky’s last “installment,” she’d be unable to stay in her “shack” or anywhere else unless Henry and Fooster renewed her contract.
Returning to her old hot-pink bedroom in her mother’s cramped, drafty attic was out of the question. Her options were narrowing. Would she end up with Nicky by default?
“But what about it, dear? When are you coming home?”
“Nicky, I’m thinking about my options.”
“I think you overthink.”
A flush spread across Angelica’s cheeks. That’s why she shouldn’t have taken his call. “So do you, Nicky,” she rebutted, reaching for her throbbing temple. “We can talk when I see you again.”
“This time, I’m not waiting another seven months for that to happen. Either you come here, or I’ll spend a weekend with you. It will be soon, and I won’t be sleeping in the guest room’s twin bed.”
Oh, crap! Angelica blurted, “Two weeks at the most. I promise. I’ll be finished with my artwork by then.” She slapped her forehead for failing to engage her brain before her mouth. She did that too often during this conversation.
Always looking for the last word, Nicholas said, “I intend to hold you to your promise, dear.”
She understood his remark to carry a broader meaning. “I’ll let you know how my work is going by the end of the week. We can make plans for my coming down then,” she rambled, short on enthusiasm.
“Like I said before, you overthink, Angel. Just react as you did on Christmas Eve. Two weeks can be a long time when two people feel the way we do,” he said smoothly.
Angelica’s eyebrows twitched. Was this how Nicky interpreted their sexual encounter? Why wouldn’t he? Somehow, she found herself cornered, and the room had no windows or doors. She had to resolve her internal conflict sooner rather than later, and she didn’t know who would be the winner.
She mumbled, “Let’s discuss that when I arrive.”
“Okay, sweetheart. Sadly, I have to sell some cars, or we won’t have a condo to live in.”
Her phone came to rest quietly on the base. Angelica didn’t know what she’d say to Nicky or where she might live in the future, but she knew nothing in her soul rested quietly.
* * *
The car dealer slammed the phone down. Nicholas wouldn’t have ended the call if not for the knock on his door. He didn’t even get to tell Angelica how much he loved her. He couldn’t say it enough these days.
He sneered at the closed door and at whoever had interrupted his call. “Come in!” he yelled.
A man with a shared history of growing up in the slums—who also managed to get out alive—walked in. “You wanted to see me, Nick?” asked the well-dressed, rotund man.
“Oh, Dominick. Have a seat.” Nicholas opened the center desk drawer and pulled out a yellow legal pad.
His CPA, business manager, and friend dropped into the armchair in front of the desk. “What’s up? Are you still dealing with the vehicle damaged during transit?”
Nicholas scowled. He forgot about the debacle for a few minutes. “Don’t remind me. The manufacturer is still working on it. On a different note, I want you to find a house for me.”
Dominick moved closer, crossed his arms on the polished desk, and gawked. “You planning to move? I thought you loved your home. It’s a beautiful place with a superb view.”
“I like it, but I will be moving soon. I want a house with a dozen fireplaces,” Ponte cackled.
Dominick raised a brow. “You lost me here, Nick. You want me to find you a house with twelve fireplaces?”
Nicholas grinned smugly, swaying in his desk chair as if it were a rocking horse. “Nah, just a joke about the fireplaces. How much do you think I can get for my penthouse?”
“That’s not my specialty, but real estate has skyrocketed in that area. One thing is certain: you’ve doubled your money. It might be over two million.”
Nicholas’s eyebrows met over the bridge of his nose as he tapped a pencil on the pad. “Find out what it’s worth. Do you think I can get something spectacular for two and a half million, Dom?”
“Not with a fireplace for every month of the year, you can’t,” the accountant said with a chuckle. The chuckle popped open a button on the shirt stretched across his ample belly. “I’ll try to find something overlooking the river. Is 5,000-plus square feet spectacular enough for you?”
“That would be plenty spectacular.” Nicholas tore off a sheet of blank paper and handed it to his friend. “You’re going to need this.”
He resumed his earlier motion and rattled off the items on his lengthy wish list. “And get me lots of acreage. I don’t want nosy neighbors. Throw in a pool, too.”
As his friend jotted down the info, Nicholas tapped his pencil like a drum against his hand. “Better yet, maybe I’ll spend three million on my house. You’re my accountant. How much can I afford?” he asked.
The other man scratched the bald spot on the back of his head. “It depends on whether you want to buy it outright or take out a mortgage. You’ve been dropping endless amounts of cash into the new dealership. You’ve gone over budget,” Dominick reminded him.
Nicholas sat up straight, threw his notepad onto his desk, and sent invoices skimming toward the edge. The other man caught them just in time.
“I have the liberty of being able to go over budget,” he snapped. “So, we’ll have to sell more cars, won’t we? I’ve never let money, or the lack of it, stand in my way.”
“I don’t know about the we’ll part.” Dominick elbowed up and rested his chin on his hand. “That’s your department, Nick, and you handle it skillfully. Perhaps you should hire more salespeople and extend the showroom hours.”
The two of them were a well-oiled team. They went back a long way. Nicholas trusted his friend with his bank account and for having his back in all things.
“That’s what I like about you, Dom. You’re always focused on the black ink. You do for me, and I do for you.” His brow arched as he winked. “Increase our advertising budget for more TV and radio airtime.”
“How soon would you like to start looking for your new house?”
“Yesterday … I should have done it yesterday,” Nicholas muttered, staring out the one-way window at the sea of multicolored cars in his lot. “You find the property, and I’ll tour it. I hope to be out of my place by Valentine’s Day. Easter, the latest.”
Dominick rose, dropped the pen into the pencil holder, and straightened the armchair. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you a deal,” he said, giving a thumbs-up as he left the office.