Cheri on Top (11 page)

Cherise set her cup down and wrapped her arms around her knees, hugging herself tight. It was getting chilly, just as Tater predicted. She sure hoped she’d carted off enough of Viv’s blankets. She could always grab an extra armful tomorrow, she supposed, though she’d have to survive another of her aunt’s displays of raised eyebrows and pursed lips.

Cherise closed her eyes, feeling it in her bones as the cold rose from the lake and the soil and slipped from the silent woods all around her.

Food. Gas. Bills—the ones she could pay and the ones she couldn’t. And there was still the bankruptcy decision to make. All it would take was a phone call.

She sighed. Sometimes she couldn’t even remember what it felt like back then, when she could drop a few hundred on a pair of shoes without thinking twice, or spend a fortune on restaurants and clubs. How many hours had she spent shopping, all in the pursuit of adorning herself and her house with baubles? To what end? What in God’s name had she been doing? Who had she been trying to impress? Her business associates? Loan officers? Herself?

Was it possible she’d tried to use the money and stuff to build a wall between herself and Bigler?

Her motivation aside, the lifestyle was addictive. There were plenty of times when she felt the need to spend just to spend, as if the act itself were the reward, the best thing about being alive. Looking back, Cherise knew that she believed nothing was more satisfying than getting exactly what she wanted whenever she wanted it.

The ultimate high had been the day she and Candy closed on their sweet little sixteen-storefront strip mall in a rebounding neighborhood. Sure, they may have paid a little too much for it, and yes, they leveraged everything they had to qualify for financing, but by that time, she and Candy could do that kind of deal in their sleep.

They made it happen on a Tuesday afternoon, and she and Candy went out for mojitos to celebrate. Laughing, they’d clinked their glasses together and toasted to “a whole ’nother level” of success.

By Thursday, a bit of startling news came out—median property values nationwide had suddenly dropped. Some even predicted the end of the housing bubble due to lenient mortgage lending practices. She and Candy decided to keep an eye on things, but refused to believe the naysayers. Real estate was the safest investment there was, and always would be.

It wasn’t long before they’d hit a “whole ’nother level” all right—of disaster. The signs were confusing at first. Subprime lenders were folding while the Dow soared over 14,000 for the first time in history. Things couldn’t be that bad, right? But then the big boys started going under—Merrill Lynch and Lehman Brothers and Washington Mutual—and it was like a landslide. Tampa’s real estate prices imploded. Cherise and Candy suddenly owned property worth a fraction of what they’d paid for it. They started to go under—personally as well as in their business balance sheet—and they weren’t alone.

They had held on longer than some of their social circle, but when the dust had settled, they were millions in debt. Desperate. Jobless. Stunned.

Cherise took another breath of sawdust and let her forehead drop. In her heart she knew she’d fought off the inevitable as long as she could. Tomorrow she’d call her attorney and give the go-ahead for her Chapter 7 personal bankruptcy filing. With that, the party really, truly would be over.

“Chit, chit, chit.”

Cherise nearly fell off the steps as she scrambled to a stand, her heart racing under her sweater. “Oh, shit. Oh, God.” She clutched her chest as her eyes adjusted enough to get a good look at the source of the eerie sound. “No! Not you again! Shoo! Git!”

The squirrel stared at her, his funny little face looking almost quizzical. His black marble eyes reflected what little light managed to spill from the kitchen. His whiskers twitched. He looked possessed, she thought. And most definitely rabid. Rabid, possessed, and probably looking to chew through some wiring.

Slowly, Cherise backed toward the door, her hand reaching behind her for the latch.

“I said go away!”

With disbelief she watched the rodent scurry up the steps, pausing at the teacup. He touched his little squirrel lips to the edge of mug and recoiled.

Great. That was one of only two cups she’d managed to lift from Viv’s kitchen, and now she’d have to throw it in the trash.

“Chit, chit, chit.”
The squirrel’s tail spun around over its back as it glared at Cherise, as if to complain about the evening’s beverage selection.

“Scat!”

It didn’t.

“Git!”

It didn’t.

Cherise was about to slip inside and bolt the door when she heard the unmistakable crunch of car tires on the gravel lane. Who the hell would be coming out here at this hour?

As the car’s high beams lit up the front yard and bounced off the water, a strange thought occurred to Cherise—she was alone out here in the middle of nowhere. It never even dawned on her to be concerned about her personal safety, squirrels notwithstanding. And now, it was too late for caution. Whoever was hell-bent on disturbing her privacy was about to pull up in front of the house.

A midsized pickup slid to an abrupt stop. It was a truck she’d seen out here earlier in the day. Maybe one of the workers had come back for something he’d left behind.

She nearly choked when she saw J.J. round the back of the truck, tuck his head down, and break into a jog up the porch steps.

Chapter 13

Cherise pressed her back against the door, flattened her palms to the wood, and braced herself.

His boots made a lot of noise as they crashed against the floorboards, but he froze the instant he saw her plastered against the door.

J.J. said nothing. Cherise watched his chest rise and fall like he’d just sprinted halfway across town. Suddenly, she realized she was breathing just as desperately. They stared at each other in the dim light. J.J.’s eyes looked hard. His face looked almost angry. For an instant, fear spiked through Cherise.

What did this man want from her?

“Chit, chit, chit.”

J.J. paid no attention to the squirrel’s protests.

“Chit! Chit! Keet-keet-keet-keet!”

Slowly, he turned his head toward the noise, then looked back at Cherise. His smile was faint, but it was there. Then he let his eyes trail down the front of her body and back up again, from her socks to the exposed expanse of skin above her cardigan. She wondered if he could see her heart pounding just below the surface.

“Why are you out here in your jammies? In the cold?”

Cherise raised her chin. “Because it’s my house. I can sit out here in the cold, in my jammies, if I want.”

J.J. nodded soberly, as if they were having a deeply philosophical exchange. “So,” he said, jerking a thumb toward the little noisemaker. “Do all Florida businesswomen get themselves a personal security squirrel these days?”

“Of course not,” she said, slowly ungluing herself from the door and unclenching her spine a bit. “The stupid thing is stalking me. I hate it. I think it has rabies.”

J.J. shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. “I think she sounds mad at you. What’d you do to the poor thing?”

“I haven’t done anything to it!”

J.J. shook his head in surrender. “You used to have a sense of humor, Cheri.”

“You used to be a decent human being.”

“Lord-a-mighty, Cheri!”

“
Cherise.
My damn name is
Cherise
. What’s y’all’s mental block with that? And why’d y’all come out here? You weren’t invited. Nobody was invited! And I am so sorry to inform you that I’m not about to start hosting wild bikini pot parties out here, if that’s what you were expecting!”

He raised an eyebrow. “Not as sorry as I am,” he said, dryly.

“Just leave me alone.”

J.J. opened his mouth to speak, then stopped himself. He winced. Obviously, it caused the man actual pain to be nice to her. God only knew what snarky comment was fixin’ to fly off his tongue.

“All right. No wild parties—I can live with that. Your name’s not Cheri—I’m all over it. Now that we got all that out of the way, do you think you could take off the boxing gloves for once? Just temporarily?”

J.J.’s voice had become softer and scratchier than usual, and his dark hair slipped down over his forehead, reminding Cherise of the seventeen-year-old he’d once been. “I came out here to talk to you. Do you think we could do that? Just talk? Like two grown-ups?”

Cherise laughed. She hadn’t meant for the laugh to sound cold, but seriously—what a ridiculous question! There was only one immature jerk on this porch, and it sure as hell wasn’t her. “That’s up to you, J.J.”

He shut his eyes and shook his head. “Nope. It’s up to both of us.” When his gaze connected with hers again, Cherise felt her cheeks flush. For just an instant, he looked almost innocent. Almost like he did back in middle school, when he’d pledged his undying love to her via permanent marker.

“We’ve got to work together, Cherise. We need to reach an understanding. What we’ve been doing the last few days is just pure crazy. I’ll most certainly claim my part of it, but we can do better.”

She held her breath, the tightness in her belly coiling tighter as she stepped away from the safety of the door. Of course they had to have this conversation. She’d even tried to start it before. But now that J.J. was here, standing in front of her, in the dark, taking the initiative and acting halfway decent, she felt scared to death.

Then … she exhaled and smiled. It occurred to her that her fear was ridiculous. How many iffy business situations had she breezed through in her life? How many deals had she made on a wing and a prayer, and how many times had she stared down her own cowardice? “You’re absolutely right,” Cherise said, summoning the savvy professional she’d been before she’d come back to Bigler. “Come on in, J.J. Would you like a cup of tea or something?”

“Sure,” he said, holding the door for her and smiling down like an actual gentleman. “Mighty kind of you to ask.”

*   *   *

Don’t look at her ass. Don’t look at her ass.

“I’m sorry I don’t have a couch or chairs—had to throw them all out because of the mildew.”

J.J. ran a hand through his hair and tried to avert his eyes as Cheri walked ahead. Those drawstring pants were as thin as tissue paper. As she moved, he could see the slight jiggle of her flesh, the loose way her body swayed unobstructed, and, with the kind assistance of the harsh kitchen lightbulb, he could actually see the blush of her bare skin beneath. Bare thighs. Bare calves disappearing into thick socks. The bare, round, luscious globes of her ass.

She wasn’t wearing any fuckin’ panties.

Shee-it.

“No problem,” he croaked out, looking around the room for something else—anything else—to focus on. He noticed a stack of wood next to the huge creek stone fireplace. “How about I make a fire? Hate for you to be chilly.”

Seeing that you’re not wearing any fuckin’ underwear.

“That would be great,” Cheri said.

As he set about arranging the newspaper, kindling, and logs, J.J. had to admit to himself that he was glad most of the furniture was gone and the house seemed hollowed out. He’d spent the six longest months of his life living in this place with Tanyalee, and anything that didn’t summon those memories was thoroughly welcome.

J.J. found a box of matches on the mantel and lit the paper, standing to watch last Wednesday’s
Bugle
go up in flames. “So, you getting settled in?” he hollered to her. “Has Gladys got you everything you need?” J.J. kept himself busy by fetching two kitchen chairs and pulling them up to the fire. He refused to gawk at the lower half of her body like some kind of lecher.

“Pretty much.”

“She tells me you’re sorting through years of accounting reports. Finding anything interesting?”

Cheri walked back into the room with one of Viv’s distinctive coffee mugs in her hand. She handed it to him and sat in the chair opposite.

“It’s a mess, J.J. I told Granddaddy that Purnell doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing, but he wouldn’t even listen to me. In fact…” She pulled the bulky sweater tight around her midsection and crossed her legs. “I think the guy might even be criminally negligent.” Cheri turned away from the fire and made eye contact with J.J. She looked almost apologetic. “I used to do some forensic accounting down in Florida. I’ve seen this before.”

J.J. nodded politely and bit his tongue. He knew that about her, of course. He’d kept track of most everything related to Cheri over the years. He knew she’d worked her ass off at that big, fancy corporation, and got herself promoted several times. He knew that she walked away from a vice president offer to go into real estate. He also knew that she had a habit of hooking up with dudes who looked like models and acted like morons. Maybe someday, when everything was sorted out between the two of them, she’d open up about all those years they’d been apart. J.J. had often wondered what she regretted, what she would have done differently, if given the chance.

Cheri frowned at him. “What?”

He must have been staring too intently. He needed to chill out. “Just thinking about Purnell, is all. I’ve been on Garland for years about him, but he always says he can’t force him out because the guy’s got nothing else. He says losing his job would kill the old codger.”

Cheri shrugged. “If the gin doesn’t do it first.”

J.J. smiled sadly. “So are you going to fire him?”

“No. She shook her head. “I have no interest in firing people before my office is even painted.”

He laughed.

“Besides,” she said, “the records are such a disaster that I can’t even get a clear picture of what’s going on. I think I need to keep digging. When I do know, I plan to put together a report for Granddaddy. I’ll give you a copy, too.”

“I’d be much obliged.”

They sat quietly for a moment, the wood popping and crackling as it began releasing heat. Since the exchange was going so smoothly—the kind of talk any two professional associates might have—J.J. tried his best not to sneak a prurient peek at Cheri. But it was impossible. He watched her tug her sweater tighter. He saw how her brow furrowed and her mouth was pulled tight in seriousness. None of that could hide the fact that Cheri was so beautiful she seemed lit up from the inside. Her warm skin and rich auburn hair burned brighter and hotter than anything J.J. had ever laid eyes on. He’d always seen her that way.

Cheri’s gaze shot his way and she narrowed an eye in suspicion.

J.J. smiled at her. “Do you remember that day we all scared the livin’ shit out of Viv, hanging around on her front porch after doing belly flops all day in the mud pit over behind Cee-Dee Creswell’s smokehouse?”

Cheri’s eyes opened as wide as her smile. “Oh, God, yes. Viv scrubbed me to within an inch of my life that night. Candy got her butt whopped.”

“Turner did, too.”

“But it was so worth it,” Cheri said, giggling. “The look on Viv’s face when she opened the door and saw us all on the porch swing, hair all stiff—”

“Nothing but the whites of our eyeballs showing.”

Cheri shook her head and chuckled. “How old were we? About ten or so? Remember how she made us hose down her porch and sidewalk?”

J.J. nodded. “I’m still scarred by it.”

Cheri turned her body to face J.J., tipping her head and grinning even bigger. “You remember our armpit serenade cruises?”

J.J. laughed. “Hell, yes. It was as close to culture as Bigler ever got.” He looked at Cheri’s happy face, and the memory flooded through him like it was yesterday. They were sixteen that summer, and Turner would pick him up and they’d drive out here in the middle of the night, and Cheri and Candy would already have the rowboat ready. The four of them would pile in and head out to the middle of the lake, where he and Turner would take off their shirts, stick their hands under their armpits, and begin their duet. The racket carried across the lake. Some people’s porch lights would go on.

“My favorite was always ‘Islands in the Stream,’” Cheri said.

“Yep, that got the loons worked up somethin’ awful.”

“I laughed so hard once, I fell out of the boat.”

“I think the twelve-pack of Bud Light probably had something to do with that, Cheri.”

She looked at him sideways. “We had a lot of fun.”

“That we did.”

Their eyes locked for just an instant, and J.J. felt a knot form in his throat. He wanted to tell her everything, just like Turner recommended. But he couldn’t. It was not his place to destroy the sisters’ relationship. But he couldn’t remain silent, either. Turner had been dead-on right about that.

“I owe you an apology,” J.J. said, his voice nearly a whisper.

Cheri pulled away and blinked at him.

“Don’t look so shocked,” he said, chuckling. “I was an ass when you first got here, and I’m sorry.”

Her lips parted. She cocked her head. She couldn’t manage to say anything.

“It’s a long story.”

She nodded. “I just bet.”

“Look, Cheri—”

“
Cherise
. And if you can’t manage that small request, then I’m going to go around calling you Jefferson Jackson on a daily basis, like I did from seventh to ninth grades. How would you like that?”

He nodded, remembering that he’d liked it just fine back then and wouldn’t mind it now, either. “You could come up with something a lot worse these days, I suppose.”

“No shit.”

They laughed together, but after a raucous few seconds, the sound died away, leaving the nearly empty cottage ringing with silence. J.J. felt an awkwardness creeping between them, which was the last thing he wanted. He couldn’t let this moment pass.

“Listen, Cherise—”

She held up her palm. “I know you expected to be publisher, J.J. I know that Granddaddy goin’ off and deciding to bring me up here must have surprised the hell out of you and really pissed you off. It was
your
job, and rightly so. I get it. But relax—I don’t plan to stay more than a month, just enough to sort out the financial picture for Granddaddy, and then you can have your job back.”

J.J. took a sip of his tea so he could carefully plan his response. Garland had told him about their little negotiation, of course, but he’d seemed confident that Cheri would decide to stay on after the one-month mark. J.J. knew it was up to him to set the stage for that. It was now or never.

“You didn’t think I’d amount to much,” he said softly. “That night before you left town for college, you told me that I was a small-town boy with small plans.” He looked up at her and grinned. “So I set out to prove you wrong.”

“Seriously?” Cheri leaned her elbows on her knees and grinned.

“At first, oh, yeah. Then in my second year at Chapel Hill, it was like my brain caught fire, and I discovered I was into ideas for their own sake. Did you know I spent my junior year in Italy on a history fellowship?”

Cheri’s lips parted. “No. I didn’t.”

J.J. figured as much—Tanyalee would conveniently forget to share any of the good stuff about him. “After I graduated, I backpacked for a year all over Central and South America, then went to work for a news service in New York.”

“City?”
Cheri’s eyes were huge now. She propped her jaw in her palm.

“Yeah. But after a year or so of the subway and the noise and the rotten air and living in an apartment the size of an outhouse, I came on home and started working for Garland. I’ve been here ever since.”

Cheri nodded thoughtfully and let her gaze wander toward the fire. “J.J.?”