Fatty Patty (A James Bay Novel) (6 page)

“Maybe you’d like to buy it?” I ask hopefully.

“Me?” He gives a big belly laugh and water sloshes round us. “No thanks. I’m happy in my condo.”

Sam lives in a condo? Lucky him. Obviously he doesn’t have a twin brother fighting him about where to live. I try and hold back the flood of resentment threatening to suck me down.

“There are always plenty of people with money looking to find a deal.”

He’s got to be a realtor. He’s good with money, he knows the neighborhood, as well as the ins and outs of the real estate market.

“If you’re serious about selling, you shouldn’t have a problem.”

I’ve got a problem, all right. One delicate beauty with a mind of her own and a stubborn streak that might as well be forged of steel. “It’s Priscilla,” I confess. “We’ve lived in the house since we were born. She refuses to even consider selling.”

“Priscilla.” His brows furrow. “That’s your sister?”

I nod. “You met her once, remember? She was here with me that first day at the pool. We’re twins.”

“Twins?” Surprise spreads across his face. “I wouldn’t have guessed. She’s…”

I push down the flash of annoyance. For once in my life, it would be nice if people didn’t act so shocked when they learned the truth. It gets irritating after awhile. Thirty years worth of irritating.

“Obviously, we’re not identical.” Better to admit it myself, than wait for him to point it out. “Priscilla is thin and gorgeous and I’m… well, I’m stuck with these stupid red curls.”

“What’s wrong with your hair?” he asks with an indulgent smile. “I like it. It suits your personality.”

I grimace. With all the humidity in the air, my curls at this point probably resemble a frizzy wet mop.

“They make you look a little wild,” he adds. “Saucy and sweet. I think it’s cute.” He settles back in the foaming bubbles. “So, you’ve got me intrigued with this talk about your sister and the house. Let’s hear the rest of the story.”

“It’s much too complicated.” We’ve been sitting in this hot tub far too long. If Sam thinks I’m cute, the heat has definitely warped his thinking.

“Sounds like you could use some help. Professional help.”

“And I suppose you’re a realtor, right?” Everybody has an angle.

“No, I’m talking about an accountant.”

“Thanks, but I don’t think so. Accountants cost money… way more money than I have to spend.”

He chuckles. “If you’re so bad at math, what makes you such an expert at what you can or can’t afford?”

I roll my eyes. “I can’t even afford to fix my car. How do you expect me to pay an accountant?”

“There are always ways to work things out.”

“And I suppose you’re going to recommend someone, right? Like the guy who does your taxes?”

“Actually, I do them myself,” he volunteers.

“Some advice guru you turn out to be. You tell me to hire someone but you don’t even follow your own advice. Why should I listen to you?”

“You might say I have a professional interest in the matter.”

I right myself on the slippery bench. Sam’s got an office job with a leather chair. He knows people don’t like talking about money. Suddenly things are beginning to make sense. “You’re an accountant,” I accuse.

“Guilty as charged.” A slow grin spreads across his face. “I’m a CPA and CFP.”

“Okay, I get the CPA part, but what’s a CFP?”

“Certified Financial Planner. Someone who can help put your financial affairs in order and plan for the future. I’d be glad to take a look at your portfolio and offer some suggestions.”

My portfolio? I nearly laugh out loud. I doubt my checking account qualifies for such a fancy term. It rarely carries a balance of more than a few hundred dollars, except on payday. “Thanks, but I don’t think so.”

“I’m serious, Patty,” he urges. “I’d be glad to help. You should think about it.”

“I should think about a lot of things.” While Sam seems like a nice guy, I know his services won’t come cheap. And I can’t afford to waste one penny. Besides, what do I really know about him except that he likes to swim and he thinks I’m cute?

That last fact alone has me questioning his judgment.

“Maybe you could give me your business card.”

He hesitates.

“You do have one, don’t you?” I press. What kind of businessman doesn’t have a card handy to offer potential clients?

“Not on me,” he finally admits. His brown eyes twinkle. “Business cards aren’t something I normally carry when I’m wearing swimming trunks.”

“I guess they would get pretty soggy.” I slump deeper in the swirling foam. Death by hot tub is sounding better by the minute.

“I started my own firm about five years ago. I’ve got four people working for me now. We’re small and I intend to keep it that way.”

It sounds legit. He seems nice. How can I go wrong? Still, it’s a lot of money. But what if hiring him ends up saving me money? It might all work out, just like he’s said.

“If—and this is a big if—I did decide to go with your firm, who would I work with? One of your associates?”

“I would handle your account personally. Being the boss has its advantages. I get first pick of clients.” He eyes me with a confident smile. “I’ve always had a thing for redheads.”

Good God, he’s flirting with me! What am I supposed to do now? Flirt back? Other women would know what to do, but not me. This is not what I bargained for.

“Look, Sam, you’re sweet to offer, but I think I’ll pass. I don’t have the money.”

Or the courage. I close my eyes so I won’t have to look at him. I’m not sure what’s going on, but he scares me in a way I don’t understand. But why should I be scared? Sam is just a guy. Still, there’s something about him…

“We could barter for it. I help you out and you give me lessons.”

I open an eye and squint at him. “What kind of lessons?”

One corner of his mouth lifts. “I suppose swimming lessons are out, since we both know you’re clueless about that.”

“Don’t be so sure. Give me a few months and I might surprise you.”

“You’re on.” He matches my grin with a steady one of his own. “Meanwhile, how about dinner?”

“Did you just ask me out?” I blurt.

“No, you’re asking me out,” he counters. “I do your financial work-up and you buy me dinner. Sound fair?”

How can I refuse? “I guess you’ve got yourself a client,” I stammer.

His eyes light up. “I’ll get you one of my business cards before we leave. Give me a call and we’ll set up an appointment.”

Much as I hate to admit it, just talking with him makes me feel better. Being with Sam is like sinking into an overstuffed couch with plump cushy pillows. He’s like a neighbor who’s lived next door all his life but doesn’t know the details. Someone who can help. Someone guaranteed not to poke fun when he learns all the financial horrors I’ve hidden from everyone, including myself.

Maybe, with Sam’s help, there’s hope after all.

Never lose faith
, Mama always said. Sooner or later, an answer will be provided.

But who would have thought I’d find it sitting in a hot tub?

CHAPTER FOUR

“Mind some company?”

I glance up from the catalogues scattered across my desk. I haven’t seen Nick since the day of the staff meeting. Tousled blond hair, burnished summer tan, muscles rippling under his shirt. Every inch of him looks sculpted by a master, like some classic Greek god who’s been suddenly transformed into a living, breathing male in a crisp white polo shirt and creased khaki pants. All the schools in this district and he walks into mine. How did I get so lucky?

Nick glances around the room, gives a low whistle. “You’ve been busy. The place looks great.”

“Thanks.” I shrink behind my desk, try to hide the wrinkled shirt and pair of too-tight shorts I’m wearing. I’ve dressed nice all week in hope of seeing him but it’s just my luck that he finally shows up today, the one morning I oversleep and end up running late. I give a discreet yank at my shirt, pulling it lower to hide the waistband cutting around my belly bulge. This is ridiculous. I am definitely shopping for new clothes… just as soon as I find some extra cash and lose a few pounds.

“I like what you’ve done with the bulletin boards.” He strolls between the desks and does a slow circle around the room. “Where’d you get the idea?”

“Instructional magazines.” I stand, point out the stacks piled around my desk. One compliment from him and my heart is soaring. At this rate I’ll be halfway to the moon before the semester ends. I concentrate on slowing my breathing. “You can borrow them if you like.”

“Thanks.” He ambles back to the front and perches atop the desk directly across from me. “I’ve been over at the high school all week getting up to speed with the coaching staff. Looks like I should have been here instead. I’ve got some serious work ahead of me if I intend to catch up with you.” He flashes me a quick grin that makes my insides melt like hot butter sizzling on the stove.

“I feel better when I’ve got a head start on things,” I say. “
Be prepared
. That’s my motto. Just like the Girl Scouts.” Not that I ever joined a troop. It’s hard making meetings when one of you is always sick and I wasn’t about to go without Priscilla. Being a twin means you’re part of a team. Going it alone isn’t an option.

“Seen your class list yet?” Nick swings one leg casually against the desk. “I’ve got twenty-four kids. Mostly boys.”

“Ten boys and fifteen girls.” I try not to grimace. The final class rosters were posted this morning and I’m not too happy with some of the names on mine. The Home and School Association would throw a fit if they learned how much teachers talk among themselves about their students. For years I’ve heard horror stories about the little group of girls heading up my class list: Becky, Katie, Amanda, Jamie, the
In-Group
, with their leader Lauren, a horrid little girl with a pretty face and a mean tongue. Their reputation has preceded them since kindergarten and teachers give them a wide berth each successive year. This year it’s my turn to deal with them.

“Hey, check it out.” Nick scoots off the desk and heads for the bulletin board behind my desk. Construction paper cutouts and students’ names float in neon clouds of reds, blues, and greens. He studies it intently, hands clasped behind his back. “What’s this?”

“Our class picture board.” I resist the urge to yank at my shorts. Why does he have to stand so close? Why does he have to smell so good?

“What’s with all the empty spaces?”

Beads of moisture trickle down my back as I join him at the picture board. Great timing. Nick finally shows up and so does my sweat. I back up a step or two, just in case I smell.

“I take the kids’ photos on the first day of school and post them on the board. The pictures get updated every month. At the end of the year, we put together a class book for everyone to take home.”

His eyes shine. “You’re full of great ideas, aren’t you?”

“Sorry, but I can’t the credit.” I tug at the collar of my shirt and gently fan the clinging fabric. Maybe if I get the air circulating down there, he won’t notice my damp armpits. “I got the idea from one of my own teachers when I was in grade school. I remember it was lots of fun watching the pictures change during the year. When I started teaching, I decided to do the same.”

“And I’ll bet you’ve still got yours,” he says.

“What?” I feel the frown pinch above my eyes.

“Your picture book. You’ve got it tucked away somewhere safe. Probably under the bed, or maybe in your closet. Am I right?”

I haven’t thought about that little picture book in years. It’s buried deep in a box somewhere high on one of my closet shelves.

“But how did you —”

“I’ve got five sisters,” he informs me with a slow grin. “I know a lot about women, trust me.”

Is that an invitation? I shiver, despite damp armpits. I’d like to do a lot more than trust him.

“Mind if I borrow it?” Nick points at the board. “Your idea, I mean. That way both fifth grades will look alike.”

My heart is racing. He likes my idea. He thinks it’s great. But what does he think about me?

“I’ve got a camera, too. You can borrow it.” I scoot around the side of my desk, yank open the bottom drawer, show him my camera. “I keep it here if you need it.”

“Thanks, Patty.”

“No problem.” I force deep breaths. It’s hard to think straight with him standing so close. The smell of his aftershave (or is it cologne?) drifts between us. Something expensive, exotic, delicious. I lean in closer and close my eyes, imagining Nick fresh from the shower, shaving in front of the mirror. Bare chest, a thick white towel draped around his waist…

“Oops. Am I interrupting something?”

The sound of an all-too-familiar voice from the doorway catches me off guard. I whirl and bang my thigh against the corner of my desk.

“Ouch.” The petite blonde waltzes across the room. Delicate gold bracelets jingle from her wrist. “That looks like it hurt.”

I wince at the sight of her. Amy has always had a rotten sense of timing.

She scans Nick with interest. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Amy Lynn.”

“Amy teaches kindergarten.” I rub the raised bruise already forming on my thigh. It hurts like hell but not as much as my heart and self-esteem. In her flouncy yellow skirt and matching silk blouse, Amy looks like she waltzed right off the pages of a fashion magazine. Leave it to her to show me up again. She’s been doing it since we were in grade school and not much has changed. Next to her, I still feel like a big old cow.

And from the scuttlebutt I’m hearing in the teacher’s lounge, Amy’s made it clear that she’s interested in being nominated for Teacher of the Year. Thank God she’s in Lower Elementary and I’m in Upper. At least we won’t be competing in the same category. I’d never make it through the preliminary round of contest nominations if I had to go up against Amy.

Nick sticks out his hand. “Nick Lamont. Nice to meet you.”

His voice caresses the words—a bit too tenderly if you ask me. But then, no one has. It suddenly feels like the world has shrunk to just the two of them, with me the lonely outsider. Maybe I should leave the room.