All or Nothing (24 page)

In fact, she felt murderous.

“But where are you going?” Natalie asked when Jen hauled on her coat and boots.

“Out.”

“You just got home!”

“I have to go kill somebody.” Jen grabbed her hat and gloves. “And it has to happen now.”

“That's so bad for your karma!” Natalie cried.

“Oh, no, Mom. This must be love,” Cin said, assuming her ‘wise' expression. “Look at all the energy she has, now that she's going to see him. She won't kill him. She'll kiss him instead.” She waved her fingertips. “See you tomorrow, sis. We won't wait up.”

“I am not going to have sex with Zach Coxwell!” Jen shouted.

“Maybe you should,” Natalie said worriedly. “You're very tense, Jen. That's not good for a bride-to-be.”

“An orgasm might be just the thing,” Cin agreed.

“I'm only energized because I'm ready to get the dirty work behind me.” Jen glared at her mother and sister. “In fact, I should have killed Zach sooner. It would have made things much simpler.”

Cin swallowed a smile. “You could just break up with him instead.”

“I tried that already: it didn't work.”

“Violence is never an answer,” Natalie began, but Jen interrupted her.

“It is this time. Trust me.”

“I think you're being too sensitive, Jen. Let me call Karen. Zach is such a caring individual and once your aura is balanced...”

“If you believe that, then he's got you fooled, Mom.”

“But Jen, you can't lie,” Cin said, laughter underlying her words. “You'll get caught in the act and go to jail forever.”

“It'll be worth it.” She spared her sister one last glance from the doorway. Natalie's back was turned, so Jen pointed at Cin and mouthed the words
‘You're next'
.

The last thing she heard before she closed the door was her sister's laughter.

Z
ach stood at the window of his condo, leaning against the trim as he watched the road below. He didn't think it would take long for Jen to show up and chew him out, and he smiled when he saw that he was right.

She came out of the T station like a whirlwind, then strode through the snow. Her jacket was open and blowing in the wind, she was only wearing one glove and had the other one clenched in her fist. Her every step was filled with fury as she made her way to his apartment. Her mom had said she was working until four: factor in transit time and Jen must have come straight here. It was only five-ten.

Perfect.

It was already getting dark out, the winter light turning that pearly dusk that was just right for romance. He lit the candles, reminded Roxie to behave herself, and turned on the music. He didn't have anything sufficiently saccharine for the wine and roses thing, so he played R.E.M.'s
Losing My Religion
.

It applied to the situation quite well, given that the closest thing Zach had to a religion was a determination to live without any ties. Proposing marriage, even a marriage that wasn't going to actually happen was definitely a breach of faith.

But it would be worth it.

There was a buzz from the lobby and he dispensed with the formalities of chat. He let Jen in immediately. He checked the pair of champagne flutes and the temperature of the bottle in the fridge, ensured that Roxie hadn't scarfed the chocolate truffles, then someone rapped on the door.

It was a decisive knock.

An annoyed knock.

It was precisely the knock he'd been expecting. Zach was ready. He swept open the door, confident of his plan, to find Jen on the threshold, her eyes flashing.

“Ah, you're gorgeous when you're angry,” he said with a grin.

“Another cliché and I reserve the right to blacken your other eye,” she said, then stepped past him. “Mind if I come in? We need to talk. And then I'm going to kill you.”

“You don't appear to have any weapons.”

“My bare hands will do.”

“Sounds kinky.”

She gave him a dark look. “Don't push your luck. I don't punch like a girl.”

“Wouldn't killing me be against the whole non-violence thing?”

“I'm making an exception.”

“You know, I've always thought I was exceptional.”

She gave him a cutting glance. Zach moved out of the way, anticipating that her attitude would change when she saw the roses.

Jen, however, had no chance to see the roses because Roxie launched her considerable self at the new arrival.

“Down, Roxie!” Zach shouted, to no discernible effect.

The dog ignored him—as usual—barked with joy and planted two large paws on Jen's shoulders. Surprised, Jen fell back against the wall, then put one arm protectively over her chest. Roxie landed a big slobbering lick on Jen's cheek.

“I'm the one who's supposed to get to do that,” Zach joked, embarrassed by his dog's enthusiasm. He snagged the dog's collar and pulled her down.

Jen seemed to be busy with something under her coat. When Zach glanced up, she blushed furiously, then gave Roxie her undivided attention. “Don't you get out much?” she asked and Roxie wagged her tail so hard that Zach thought it might fall off.

“Oh yeah, she's completely neglected.”

“The glossy coat and cold nose are big clues,” Jen said.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“She's healthy. That means you take care of her.” Jen straightened and gave him a look that seemed a bit less angry. “I guess it's all those kisses.” Roxie nudged Jen's hand, demanding more attention, her tail thumping on the floor.

“Roxie, go and lie down.” Zach's command made a big impression, as usual.

The dog began to lick Jen's fingers.

“She also seems to think that you're a pushover,” Jen said with the barest smile. “Who's alpha in this place anyway?” She looked around then, her expression turning incredulous. “I thought this was where you lived.”

“It is.” Zach followed her gaze, unable to find anything wrong. How could she miss the red roses on the sill? They'd make a great backdrop to the shot, with the darkening sky behind them...

Jen gave him a hard look that stopped his planning cold. “How would I be able to tell?”

Zach resisted the urge to squirm. “Oh, you mean furniture.”

“Most people have at least one item. A chair. Or a table.”

“I have a very minimalist vision...” Zach began, suddenly aware that the yawning vacancy of his apartment might not be seen as an asset.

“You can't be minimalist with a dog like this. You just don't really live here.”

Zach was insulted that she even implied that he was lying. “Of course I do. My name's on the door buzzer in the foyer.”

“So you have another place.”

“No, just this one.”

“I don't believe you.”

“Well, you should. It's true.”

“It doesn't make sense. You're supposed have big bucks. I thought your place would have been decorated by professionals and filled with fancy gadgets. Antiques. Persian carpets. Something like that.”

Zach shook his head. “I don't need stuff to be happy.”

“Just money?”

“It does take the edge off.”

She looked again. “You must have a mingy trust fund.”

This was not the direction Zach had anticipated the conversation would take. The change affected his sparkling good temper and his next words sounded irritable.

Maybe that was because he was irritated. “I don't have a trust fund. What I had was an allowance, one which my father didn't think was sufficient for anyone to actually live on.”

Jen glanced at Zach and he knew he'd have to cough up more.

“That was his plan, you see. It was supposed to be motivational. Or keep us begging before his check book, or something.”

Jen folded her arms across her chest. “Let me guess: it didn't work.”

“Why do you guess that?”

“Because nothing works with you the way anyone would expect it to work.”

Zach could have returned the dubious compliment, but he was pretty sure it wouldn't improve the tone of their conversation. He shrugged instead. “I enjoyed proving to him that someone could, in fact, live on that much money.”

Jen's eyes were bright, her gaze too knowing. “I'll bet it ticked him off.”

Zach smiled. “You'd win that one.”

“But didn't you say he was dead?”

Zach nodded as he sobered. He would not think about his father's death, or his own culpability. He tried to be offhand and change the subject a bit. “But, you know, old habits die hard. I'm kind of used to this lifestyle now.”

“And you can touch your mother for access to the fortune now?

“Roxie and I don't need much.”

“Or you have less to prove now that your father's gone.” Her words were uttered softly but they cut right to Zach's heart. “Is that why you don't seem to do anything? Because he isn't around anymore to give you something to defy?”

Zach stared at her, startled speechless by the truth in her guess.

She held his gaze for a long moment, then abruptly shook her head and looked away. “Sorry. It's not my business.”

Zach tried for his usual sunny manner. “Well, why not? We're getting married, after all.”

“Are we?” Jen shed her wet boots, then took a couple of steps into the apartment. Her gaze lingered on the four dozen blood red roses arranged in vases on the windowsill. She flicked a glance at him that he couldn't read and shook her head a bit, then moved on.

So much for the impact of that investment.

Jen spent more time looking at the framed print of Zach's that was now hanging on the wall. That made him nervous, especially as he couldn't read her expression. He held his breath, but she didn't say anything about it, something that disappointed him more than he thought it should have done.

She glanced into the bedroom, where the futon had been left in splendid disarray by Roxie, and peeked into the kitchen. There was an empty six pack of beer on the floor and two empty boxes of Kraft Dinner peeking out of the trash. It did seem kind of barren, now that Zach thought about it, but it was clean.

Jen glanced back at Zach and her expression wasn't encouraging. “How old are you? Seventeen?”

He bristled, not liking the sense that he wasn't measuring up. He figured he should have been used to that by now, but with Jen, it was different. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“You live like a teenager. Or an under grad. This place even echoes.”

“It's easier to clean.”

“Is that what the maid service tells you?”

Zach folded his arms across his chest. He was quite certain that romantic proposals didn't usually follow a script like this one. “No. I know it myself. I don't have a maid service. I don't want anyone poking through my things.”

“And what things would those be?” Jen asked, with another survey of the empty living room.

“I like my privacy. I do it myself.”

“I doubt that.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

She squinted at him, then shook her head. “It means that I can't see you with rubber gloves and a toilet brush.”

Zach marched into the kitchen, annoyed beyond belief that his perfect scheme had been hijacked and left to die on a tarmac in deepest darkest Africa.

He hauled open the doors of the cupboard below the sink, Roxie looking over his shoulder just in case the dog biscuits had been moved. He hauled out his heavy duty yellow rubber gloves and wagged them at Jen. Roxie gave them a sniff of disdain and returned to Jen, as if she was the dog's only ally. “Extra large. Mine, thank you very much. I may be a lot of things, but I'm not a slob.”

Jen glanced to the dog. “Is he putting me on, Roxie?” The dog leaned on her leg, obviously smitten with her, and drooled on her black pants. The spit shone on the cotton and Zach knew it would harden like shellac.

Which maybe was Roxie's point—to embellish everyone she liked with her body fluids—but didn't strike Zach as particularly elegant or appropriate.

Zach snagged the roll of paper towels, ripped off a few and handed them to Jen. “Here, you've got to get that before it dries. Otherwise, it could be used to mortar bricks.”

Jen took the paper towels, their fingertips brushing in the transaction. Her fingers were cold and Zach had an urge to grab her hand and warm them up.

Nothing doing in that department, though. She pulled back quickly. She bent to wipe up the mess, then glanced up at him through her bangs.

Suddenly she looked mischievous and playful and completely kissable. “Okay, you've convinced me,” she said with a smile that made his heart twist. “A slob wouldn't know anything about the consistency of dried dog spit.”

“Thank you for that. I think.” The atmosphere in the kitchen warmed slightly and Zach felt that he was back on track. “Can I take your coat?”

“No, thanks, I'm not staying.”

“Just stopped by to kill me,” he felt compelled to remind her.

“Right.” She snapped her fingers but looked a lot less angry than she had.

Zach made the most of his moment, such as it was. It probably wouldn't last. On the other hand, it kept him on his toes, matching wits with Jen.

He reached into the fridge and pulled out the bottle of champagne. “Care for a drink first?”

“No, thanks...that's real champagne!” Jen eyed him with suspicion. “I'm thinking I should wait and have it to celebrate your untimely demise.”

Zach grinned as he peeled the foil from the cork. “You know what they say about going out with a bang.” He popped the cork, right on cue. He eased it from the bottle the way he'd been taught, and though it made a pop rather than a bang, it didn't leave his hand.

Jen shook her head at his joke, then nodded to the cork as he put it on the counter. “Maybe you missed your calling as a sommelier. That was smooth.”