“Hello,” he said when she answered. His voice sounded small. “It’s Nick.”
A beat. “Nick,” she said, and stopped.
“I just wanted to…” His voice actually cracked. Just wanted to-what? Turn back the clock? Reverse what happened That Night? Make everything all better? And since that wasn’t possible, then what? He just wanted to talk to her. That was the truth. “I was just calling…”
“I know,” she said quickly.
“You okay?”
“Are you?”
“I’d like to see you,” he said.
“Nick,” she said. “You should stay away from me. I’m trouble. Really.”
Nick almost smiled. Cassie didn’t know what trouble was. You think you’re trouble? You should see me when I’ve got a Smith & Wesson in my hands. Acid splashed the back of his throat.
“I don’t think so,” Nick said.
“Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”
He felt something like an electric jolt. Hadn’t he done enough? That was one way of looking at it. “Excuse me?”
“Not that I didn’t appreciate it. I did. All of it. But we need to leave it there. You’ve got a company to run. A family to hold together. I don’t fit into that.”
“I’m just leaving an appointment,” he said. “I can be there in about five minutes.”
“Hey,” Cassie said, opening the dusty screen door. Carpenter-style jeans, white T-shirt, flecks of paint. Then she smiled, a smile that crinkled her eyes. She looked better, sounded better. “I didn’t think you’d come back.”
“Why?”
“Well, you know, buyer’s remorse. Regret over what you’d done. The usual male stuff.”
“Maybe I’m not your usual male.”
“I’m getting that idea. Bring me anything today?”
Nick shrugged. “Sorry. There’s a bottle of windshield-wiper fluid in the trunk.”
“Forget it,” Cassie said. “That stuff always gives me a hangover.”
“Might have a can of WD-40 around, too.”
“Now that’s more promising. I’m really digging the idea of having the CEO of Stratton as my personal grocery boy.”
“Point of pride with me. Nick Conover buys a mean turkey sandwich.”
“But should I take it personally that you got me nonfat yogurt?” She brought him inside. “Let me make you some of the tea you bought.”
She disappeared into the kitchen for a moment. She had a CD on, a woman singing something about, “I’m brave but I’m chicken shit.”
When she came back, Nick said, “You look good.”
“I’m beginning to feel more like myself again,” she said. “You caught me at a low point the other day. I’m sure you know how it goes.”
“Well, you look a lot better.”
“And you look like shit,” she said, matter of fact.
“Well,” Nick said. “Long day.”
She stretched herself out on the nubby brown sofa, with the gold thread woven through the upholstery like something out of the 1950s.
“Long day, or long story?”
“Trust me, you don’t want to hear a grown man bitch and moan about troubles at the shop.”
“Trust me, I could use the distraction.”
Nick leaned back in the ancient green La-Z-Boy. After a few moments, he began to tell her about the Rumor, leaving out a few details. He didn’t mention Scott by name, didn’t go into Scott’s disloyalty. That was too painful a subject right now.
Cassie hugged her knees, gathering herself into some tight yoga-like ball, and listened intently as he explained.
“And if that weren’t enough, I get a call from Lucas’s school,” he went on. He stopped. He wasn’t accustomed to talking about his life that way. Not since Laura’s death. Somehow he’d gotten out of practice.
“Tell me,” she said.
He did, telling her, too, about how he’d called Lucas at home, confronted him, and how Luke had hung up. When he finally checked his watch, he realized he’d been talking for more than five minutes.
“I never understood that,” Cassie said.
“Understood what?”
“Kid gets suspended for three days, meaning what? They don’t have to go to school for three days? They stay home?”
“Right.”
“And get into more trouble? That’s supposed to be a punishment? I mean, a baseball player gets suspended for five games for fighting with the umpire, that’s a punishment. But telling a kid he can’t go to school, which he hates, for three days?”
“Maybe it’s like social humiliation.”
“For a teenager? Isn’t that more like a badge of honor?”
Nick shrugged. “Wouldn’t have been for me.”
“No, you were probably Mr. Perfect.”
“No way. I got into the usual trouble. I was just careful about it. I didn’t want to get kicked off the hockey team. Hey, where’s that tea?” he asked.
“That stove takes forever. Electric, and underpowered. Dad wouldn’t allow gas in the house. One of his many ‘things.’ But we won’t go there.” She craned her head, listening. “I’m sure it’s ready now.”
“Just that all this talking makes a man thirsty,” Nick said.
Cassie came back with two steaming mugs. “English Breakfast,” she said. “Though I saw that you also bought me a box of Blue Moon Kava Kava and Chamomile mix. I’m guessing that’s not Nick Conover’s usual cup.”
“Maybe not.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’ve got me figured for some sort of New Age nut?” She shrugged. “Possibly because I am one. How can I deny it? You make chairs, I teach asanas. Hey, when it comes down to it, we’re both in the sitting industry, right?”
“So you’re not going to tell me about my aura.”
“You can take the girl out of Carnegie Mellon-and believe me, they did.” A smile hovered around her lips. “But you can’t take the Carnegie Mellon out of the girl. Never really got into chakras and shit. There’s a lot of my dad in me. I’ve got an empirical streak a mile wide.”
“And I took you for a nineteen waist.”
“Thanks.” She took a careful sip of her tea. “So you’ve got problems. You’ll deal, because that’s the kind of person you are. When life gives you lemons, you make lemon Pledge.”
“I was expecting something more Zen, somehow.”
“I see you haven’t touched your English Breakfast. So what kind of tea do you like?”
“Any kind. So long as it’s coffee.”
She found a bottle of Four Roses bourbon on a low table beside the sofa, handed it to him. “Put a slug of this in it. It’ll cut the tannins.”
He sloshed a little into his cup. It definitely improved the taste.
Cassie was looking at him with cat eyes. “So are you here for me or for you?”
“Both.”
She nodded, amused. “You’re my caseworker?”
“Come on,” Nick said. “You’re not exactly a charity case.”
“I’m doing okay.”
“Well, I want you to know that if you’re ever not doing okay, you’ve got me here to help.”
“This is starting to sound like adios.”
“No. Not at all.”
“Good.” She got up, tugged at the cord on the venetian blinds, closing them and darkening the room. “That’s a relief.”
He came up to her from behind, slipped his hands under her knit top, and felt the silky warmth of her belly.
“Why don’t we go upstairs?” Nick said.
“We don’t go upstairs,” she said at once.
“We don’t, huh? Okay.” Slowly he began moving his hands upward until he found her breasts, teased her nipples as he kissed and licked the back of her neck.
“Yeah,” she said throatily.
Still with her back to his, she brought her hands around to his butt and squeezed each cheek, hard.
He entered her from behind this time.
“Jesus,” he said, and she looked up at him, her eyes gleaming.