Ceasefire (6 page)

CHAPTER NINE

At
nine the next morning, two hours until my deadline with Roman, I called my best
friend, Michelle, and asked if she could come by.

“I
hate to ask, but I have an errand to run,” I said.  “Any chance you could come
sit with Joey for a little bit?”

“Sure,
Kimmikins.  I’ll be over in a few.  Got a hot date?  You know we’re hoping
you’ll give Pete another chance, right?”

“A
date?  Seriously?  It’s nine o’clock.”

“Could
be a coffee date.  I’ve heard Pete likes coffee.”

“The
guy smells like dirty cat litter.  No way.”

Michelle
and her husband Aaron had been trying to set me up with Pete for months, after
Finn had disappeared and left me depressed and covered in ice cream.  I don’t
know what it said about their opinions of my taste in men, or if they really
thought I was hopeless enough to go out with someone like him.  I didn’t mean
to be rude, or petty, but Pete was one of
those
guys.  Horrible cologne
that smelled like cat pee.  Thought he was God’s gift to women.  Tried too
hard.  Not a chance, Michelle, sorry.

When
she knocked on my door, I already had Joey down for his morning nap.  I let her
in and put my finger up to my lips.  “
Ssshh
.  If you stay quiet enough,
you can just sit here and read or something.  I’ll probably be back before he
wakes up.”

Normally,
Joey slept like the dead, but lately he’d gotten into the habit of waking up at
the strangest, and quietest, noises.  I could have the hair dryer going, the
refrigerator preparing for takeoff, the television at full volume and he
wouldn’t even move.  But the moment I put a spoon in the sink, the subtle clink
of metal on metal would wake him and send the little guy into a volley of
screams and wails.

Michelle
was constantly chewing gum—loudly and with purpose—like she was mad at it or
trying to teach it a lesson.  I was certain it would be the kind of noise that
would launch my son into the stratosphere, straight from his bed, screaming all
the way into orbit, and ensure that she’d never babysit again.  Not a good
thing, since I’d decided to accept Roman’s proposal.

Actually,
Michelle would’ve been a perfect candidate for Roman, too.  At least when it
came to the looks.  She didn’t have the professional pedigree he required, but
her job, at least the way she saw it, was to keep her body in mind-blowing
shape.  Aaron encouraged it; he was doing so well in real estate that they
could afford to live on a single income, so Michelle spent most of her waking
hours toning this body part and that body part.

Plus,
she was also amazingly put together, no matter where she went or why.

Grocery
store in six-inch stilettos?  Sure, why not?

A
fresh application of makeup before the gym?  Made sense to her.

I
loved her like a sister and we’d known each other since we were babies, but on
some level, you couldn’t have found two peas in the same pod that were so
completely different.  It was almost like opening the pod and finding a pea and
a piece of corn.

Michelle
wore yoga pants, a tight-fitting top that put her newly done boobs on display
(a first anniversary gift from Aaron last year—her choice, not his), and
flip-flops.  Tame by her standards, but even when she dressed down, she looked
dressed up.  “So where are you going?” she whispered.

“It’s
none of your business.”  I grinned and gave her a quick peck-on-the-cheek
hello.

“Since
when is anything in your life none of my business?  Tell me.”

“Not
right now, okay?  I need to hurry.  We’ll talk about it later.”

And
what I meant by that was,
never
.  She wouldn’t understand.  Or maybe she
would, but she wouldn’t approve and I wouldn’t hear the end of it.  And I could
just see her going to Dreama.  The two of them had better compatibility than I
did with my own mother, and I often thought that Michelle was the youngest
daughter that Dreama never had.  Maybe it should’ve put a bad taste in my
mouth, but I made up my mind a long time ago that it wouldn’t drive a wedge
between me and the only person I could truly confide in.

Yet
there I was, getting ready to lie my ass off if she pressed for more.

She
stared at me, trying to decide whether or not it was worth the effort, and then
sighed.  “All right.  But don’t take too long, because these thighs won’t tone
themselves.”

As
beautiful and ridiculously flawless as she was, Michelle was borderline
obsessed—no, not borderline…
completely
obsessed—with trying to make her
body perfect.  I had never figured out where the obsession came from.  Aaron
drooled at the sight of her, and so did everyone else—men and women included.  Perhaps
she’d been the one to fall victim to Dreama’s idea of image, rather than me. 
Michelle had been around her enough growing up, so it was entirely possible.

I
said, “You know you’re insane, right?”

“Hush,
you.”  She hugged me and patted my back.

“Thanks
for doing this.”

“Don’t
be silly.  I’m happy to help.  Now go do whatever naughtiness you’re up to so I
can go pinch some baby fat.”  She looked over at Joey with a mixture of glee
and fake-evil intent, pinching at the air with her fingers.

Naughtiness
.  She didn’t know how appropriate the
word was. 

She
tiptoed across the room and hovered over Joey’s bed, admiring him.  Michelle
and Aaron didn’t have children of their own.  They’d been high school
sweethearts, married during college, and had spent the past year, since right
after graduation, trying to get pregnant.  Trying so much that Aaron had
jokingly complained about friction burn.  For the time being, any chance she
had to get her hands on Joey was a worthy consolation prize.

She
was twenty-one going on thirty-five, so maturity wasn’t a problem, but I don’t
think she understood just how much work was involved with a baby.  Maybe it
would be different for them, with an extra parent for backup, but I’d never
known the luxury.

Besides,
the things a pregnancy would do to that sculpted physique would horrify her.

Anyway,
enough about Michelle.  I had bigger things to worry about.

I
gave her some instructions in case he woke up, said goodbye, and then walked
out to my car.  Thinking ahead, I’d left a dressier change of clothes in it
before she arrived, because I knew I’d never make it out of the apartment
without being bombarded by so many questions I didn’t want to answer.

I
drove down a couple of blocks to the nearest gas station and did a quick change
in the restroom, careful not to let my clothes or bare feet touch the floor as
I slipped into a pair of heels.  I wasn’t as spectacular as the day before, but
no way was I going to commit the
faux pas
of wearing the same dress
twice.

Roman
wouldn’t approve.

I
had on a white, button-down top and a charcoal gray pencil skirt, and my hair
up in a tight bun, along with my glasses that I rarely ever wore.  I looked
like a lawyer, or a librarian, all uptight and conventional, but I wanted to
give an impression of, “Can you guess what’s underneath?”  You know, like in
one of those shampoo commercials where the pretty, conservative looking girl
lets her hair down and she’s instantly a goddess.

Lipstick,
a dash of eye shadow, and off I went. 

But
not without a serious case of butterflies.  My stomach did back flips on the
way—every stoplight was another chance to reconsider.

Eventually,
the tide of doubt gave up, and I drove to the Midnight Fantasy office without turning
around and speeding home, hell bent on getting as far away as possible.

Alice
smiled warmly at me when I walked through the door.  Without saying a word, she
practically skipped around the front desk, looking like she was proud of me in
that grandmotherly way.  She hugged me like we were longtime friends. 

“Hi,
Alice.”

“You
came back.”

“Yeah. 
I mean, yes.”

“Of
course you did.”

I
had trouble grasping the idea that this sweet old woman would be proud of me. 
I mean, I had a contract in my hand, which said I would potentially be selling
my body for ridiculous sums of money.  But I hadn’t signed it yet.  I still had
some questions.  “Is he waiting for me?”

She
nodded.  “He asked me to keep his calendar open all morning, honey.  All for
you, just in case.”

“Really?”

“I’ve
never seen him do it before.  You must’ve really impressed him yesterday.”

“Huh. 
Maybe so.”  I’d left with the notion that I’d made a fool of myself.  I guess
we never really do understand what people think of us.  We spend so much time
worrying about the impression we made, when in reality, they’re probably
thinking about what to cook for dinner instead.  And in Roman’s case, if I
actually
had
made a fool of myself, he might’ve been too blinded by
dollar signs to care.  I was a commodity to him.

“There’s
no maybe about it.  You should’ve seen his face when you left yesterday.”

I
didn’t know what to say, so I bit my lip instead.

Alice
flicked her chin toward Roman’s office, grinning.  “Go on.  He’s expecting
you.”

I
thanked her and took yet another walk down the hallway.  The day before it had
seemed like it was miles away and took me forever, but this time I felt like it
took three steps and I was there, swallowing hard, allowing my last-second
reservations another chance to say no.

It
didn’t happen.

There
were no other options, at least none that I could accept.

When
I lifted my hand to knock, it weighed a thousand pounds and each rap on the
door sounded like thunder inside my head.

This
time, there was no pause.  I heard a muffled, “Enter,” and then walked inside.

My
heartbeat raced.  I couldn’t breathe.  I was close to fainting.

That
is, until I saw Roman again. 

I
don’t know why, but the sight of him was enough to calm my nerves.

Had
I been able to predict the future, it should’ve done exactly the opposite.

The
suit was gone, and instead, he greeted me wearing a faded red t-shirt,
stretched tight against the muscles of his chest and biceps, and a pair of
jeans that were ripped at the knees.  He was barefoot, too, and even his damn
toes were sexy.  His smile was just as disarming as it had been twenty-four
hours ago.

He
stuck out a hand to shake.  I took it, squeezed lightly, and said, “I wasn’t
aware that it was Casual Wednesday.”  It might’ve been a risky joke—I had no
idea what his sense of humor was really like at the time—but I had to walk in
with control.  I had to let him know that it was
my
room.

“Funny,”
he said.  “I’m painting my master bedroom this afternoon and didn’t feel like
getting dressed up.”

Master
bedroom, huh?  Need some help?

I
shrugged, pretending to be disinterested.

“You
look fantastic, Kim.  Stunning, really.”

I
lied and said, “It doesn’t take much.”  Yet in his eyes, maybe it was true. 
I’d dressed quickly and put on a dash of makeup in a gas station restroom.  If
he thought I looked stunning after
that
, then who was I to disagree?

Even
if it was total bullshit and he said the same thing to every woman who walked
through his door, I didn’t care.  Some would say I should’ve been smart enough
to know better.

In
hindsight, some would be right.

He
crossed his arms.  I wanted them wrapped around me so badly that I could
actually feel what the embrace would be like. 

Strong. 
Soothing.  Electrifying.

My
legs quivered. 

When
he reached for the contract, I briefly snapped back to reality.  And what in
the hell was I doing, allowing the moment to sweep me away like that again?

Damn
it, Kim.  Control yourself.

Hadn’t
I just decided the day before that nothing would ever happen between us?

After
all, Roman didn’t get involved with
the help
.

He
said, “So, you’ve decided?”

I
nodded, holding out the contract, and when he reached for it, I let go.

I
let go of the control.

I
took two quick steps and pressed my lips against his.

CHAPTER TEN

He
wrapped an arm around my waist, put a hand on the back of my head, and pulled
me deeper into the kiss.

Thank
God, I thought.  I flung the contract across the room and somehow heard the
pages rustling in the air over our heavy breathing, over the sounds of our
desire.  Roman tugged at my shirt and lifted it off my body and I melted at the
feeling of his hands on my skin as they slid down to my waist, pulling at my
skirt until it dropped to the floor along with my panties.

With
my bra gone now too, tossed onto his desk, once again I stood in front of him,
nude, wearing nothing but high heels and a look of lust.  I reached up to let
my hair down, but Roman said, “Leave it,” and then stepped back.  He devoured
me with his eyes, allowing his hungry gaze to slip over every inch of my body. 
“Even better than yesterday.”

I
won’t lie, I felt like a porn star, standing there in nothing but my heels,
running my hands over my breasts and down between my legs, wanting to suck on
his bottom lip, wanting his mouth on my chest, my nipples.  Kissing me where
another’s lips hadn’t been in almost two years.  Instead, he backed away and
slipped his t-shirt off, putting on a show for me, allowing me to take it all
in, just as he’d done to me the day before.

His
chest, abs, and arms were so defined that there were valleys between the
muscles.  Hardened and sculpted.  Strong.  A protector.

Hairless
too, perfect for my tongue.

He
unbuttoned his jeans and motioned for me to come closer.

I
strutted confidently across the room and leaned into him, inhaling his masculine
scent.

Roman
took my hand and slid it inside his jeans.

I
squeezed.

He
whispered into my ear, “That’s what you do to me.”

***

Later,
when we were lying on the floor staring at the ceiling, exhausted and enjoying
the afterglow, I rolled over and put my head on his chest. 

“Do
you think Alice heard us?”

“Probably,
but she won’t say anything.  You might get a wink on the way out.”

I
traced a finger down the line between his abs.  “I didn’t sign the contract
yet, but I will if—”

He
interrupted me, saying, “I know you will.  That being said…” 

He
gently pushed me away, rolled over, tossed the used condom in the trash, and
then reached for his clothes.  He stood and began to get dressed, adding, “Now
that I’ll officially be your employer—”

The
room went cold.  It smelled like sweat, sex, and disappointment.

I
knew what came next.

“—this
can’t happen again.  It’s not good for business.”

It
hurt, deeply, way down inside me where desire and hope held hands, but I
couldn’t let him see that.  I
wanted
him to see, but if I were to
survive, mentally and emotionally, in my new line of work, I would need to
learn how to bury things.

I
got up from the floor and dressed, saying, “That
was
business, Roman.” 
I have no idea where that came from.  It just seemed like the most coy,
calculating thing I could come up with.

“It
didn’t feel like it.”

“Maybe
to you.”  More snark.  More manufactured venom.

“How
so?”  He picked the contract up from the floor, rearranged the pages, and then
laid it on his desk.

“You
have to pay for the Ferrari, remember?  You want
this
,” I said, pointing
at my chest, “to come work for
you
?  Double my cut and I’ll sign it
right now, no questions asked.  You said it yourself, we’re going to make a lot
of money together.”

I
had no idea where that came from either.  I was risking my possible salvation
by allowing some unfamiliar internal strength to take over.  Double?  Was I
nuts?  I thought about that flicker of power I’d noticed during my little
display with Ronnie.  That had to be it.  That moment, that genesis, was a
lightning bug.  This was a light bulb burning brighter.

He
blinked, snickered, and angled his head back with one eyebrow raised. 
“Double?  You’re joking, right?”

“Do
I
look
like I’m joking?”  Where was it coming from—such potency, such
strength, in the face of potential ruin?  If he pointed at the door and shooed
me away for being such a silly little girl, then Dreama’s spare bedroom would
become our new home.  It was either that, or get evicted from the apartment
within a month.  I may have been bitter, stubborn, and completely fed up with
her bullshit, but I wasn’t stupid.  I talked a big game, sure.  However, no
matter what happened, there was Joey to consider first and foremost.  My son,
my little boy, would never sleep in a cardboard box, somewhere down a dark
alley.

Roman
grabbed the nearest chair, sat down, and put his hands behind his head, looking
up at me with a disbelieving grin.

I
stood there, defiant, with my hip cocked and my hands on my waist.  I glared,
challenging him, silently daring Roman to tell me no.  I waited.  The antique
clock, mounted on the wall near the bookcase, went
tick-tock
,
tick-tock
,
counting down the seconds.  Holding my ground like that, it was maddening, but
I’d come too far to give in now, to say, “Sorry, kidding, just wanted to see if
you’d say yes!”

Roman
huffed, shook his head and leaned forward with his knees on his elbows,
clasping his hands together so tightly his knuckles were white.  “You’re
something else,” he said.

“Get
used to it,
boss
.”

He
chuckled and got up from the chair, putting his hands in his back pockets as he
stared out the window.  I could tell that it was hard for him to look me in the
eyes.  He was beaten and he knew it.

I
let thirty seconds pass before I said, “Well?”

“I’m
not
giving you half.  Twenty-eight percent.”

I
laughed in his face.  Literally.  I walked over to him and went, “Ha!  Hahaha!”
with as much condescension as I could muster.  “Honestly, Roman, low-balling me
is beneath you.  Don’t be so pathetic.  You’ve already screwed me…now
negotiate
like you have a pair.” 

On
the outside, I was a stone-faced businesswoman, powerful and in control of the
situation.  Now that I’d found whatever this was—vigor, confidence—I realized
that I would’ve done well at any of those Silicon Valley startups, standing up
in front of a boardroom full of filthy rich old men in expensive suits as they
tried to haggle with a woman young enough to be their granddaughter.

On
the inside, I giggled with excitement, like a child riding her bike for the
first time without training wheels.  The discovery of a new skill—
I can do
this, I really can
—filled me with complete and total joy.  Watching a man,
who assumed he was in command, squirm underneath my thumb…it was
fun
. 
Unbelievably fun.

And
he still wouldn’t face me.

Coward
.

Roman
said, “Thirty percent.”

I
walked around his desk, pulled a pen from the black ceramic cup, and then sat
down in
his
chair, sliding the contract in front of me.  “Try again.”

“You’re
not getting fifty.”

“Try…
again
.” 
I clicked the top of the pen.  Down and up, down and up.

“Thirty-five.”

I
shook my head.

“Kim,
that’s already more than some of the women make that have been with me for ten
years.  Ten years!  I’d have an—an exodus on my hands if any of them found
out.”

“I’m
good at keeping secrets.”

“No. 
No, I—”

“Forty,”
I interrupted.  “Forty percent and I’m all yours.”

Roman
hung his head.  “Okay.  You win.  Forty percent.  Give me the contract, damn
it.”

I
handed it to him and watched as he flipped through to the proper spot,
scribbled some adjustments on the paper, and then initialed it.  He shoved it
across the desk.  “There.  Forty.  Now sign it, and get out of my chair.”

Once
my signature was scrawled across the line, I got up, neatly arranged the papers
and then strolled over to him, victorious.  But I didn’t rub it in.  Not too
much, anyway.  “Good decision,” I said, then slapped his ass.

His
voice was heavy, positively loaded with sarcasm.  “Right.  Pleasure doing
business with you.” 

And
in another bold move, I traced my fingers down his chest, then gently cupped
his crotch in my hand, lifting and holding.  “The
pleasure
was all
mine.”

“That’s
obvious.  Forty percent.  Jesus.”  He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed
his eyes.  “Congratulations are in order, I guess.”

I
couldn’t believe I’d gotten away with it.  Who was that girl, the one that
showed up out of nowhere and negotiated like a ball-busting professional?  I’d
never acted like that before in my life.  I’d never had the confidence to do
such a thing.  Not with Dreama, not with anyone.  Hell, I usually kept my mouth
shut when someone cut me off on the highway.  Whoever she was, I hoped she
stayed.

Desperation
is a double-edged sword, but sometimes it brings out the best in people.

“So
what’s next?” I asked.

“Alice
has some paperwork for you to complete so we can get you into the system, and
then you wait.  I’ll call you.”  Brusque, formal, annoyed, and then he
softened.  “I guess I shouldn’t be pissed.  You’re worth it, and I can see you
getting a lot of work.  It’s just that…”

“Just
what?”

“I’m
not used to being—I don’t know—manhandled like that.  Railroaded, beaten down,
whatever you want to call it.”

I
wasn’t sorry, and I wasn’t going to thank him, because I’d
earned
what
I’d gotten from him.  But I felt a twinge of pity, enough to take his hand and
say, “I’ll take it easy on you next time.”

He
squeezed twice and let go.  “I doubt that.  Oh, I almost forgot something.” 
Roman reached into his back pocket and removed a small slip of paper, then
unfolded it in front of me.  There it was, the promised check for ten thousand
dollars. 

My
heart fluttered.  I’d completely forgotten about it, too.

“Your
advance,” he said.  “No negotiating—it’s all you’re getting, and I’m dead
serious, understand?  I’ve already set up an appointment with Lana for you, for
this afternoon, if you can make it.  Use some for her, go shopping, get a nicer
apartment, whatever you want to do.  Rules are rules, though, and I’m not
budging on this…you have to earn out before you start making anything else. 
Got it?”

The
new me, the one that had shown up unannounced and thoroughly handed Roman’s ass
to him, she briefly thought about asserting her dominance.  But I chose not to,
and instead, I allowed him the small victory.  Keeping him happy, as long as it
was on my terms, that was fine.  What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

I
took the check and slipped it into my purse, then said, “I’ll use it wisely, I
promise.”

“I’m
sure you will.”  Roman put his hand on the back of my neck, pulled me closer,
and gave me a soft peck on the forehead.  It was friendly, kind, like we hadn’t
just had sex on the floor and then fought over the money he would be paying me
to open my legs for someone else.  If…
if
I ever decided to go that far. 
I didn’t know how to interpret it, and didn’t know if it was worth wasting the
energy to try.  We were in an awkward situation.  I was attracted to him,
immensely, and he to me—I was sure of it at the time—but we were involved in a
tawdry profession.  Would it ever work?  Would
he
ever want something
between us?  Would I?

And
again, was that simply my naïveté?

We
were good together once. 

Or,
well, maybe twice.