Good Girls Don't (17 page)
“Did you?” Lettie didn’t buy a word of it, and from the knowing look on Bill’s luscious face, he didn’t either.
“Yep,” Amy said, unaffected by their stares. “Just wanted to let you know so you wouldn’t worry. Guess you’ll have the place to yourself. And I’ll bring those things by your office tomorrow morning.”
“Things?” Lettie asked.
“Yeah,” Amy said, pointing toward her purse, where two slim phones protruded from the side pocket.
Lettie swallowed. How could she have forgotten about her clients? Or about the fact that Amy was, once again, taking her calls? “Are you sure that’s not a problem?”
Amy grinned, turned toward Bill. “Will you take her out and help her have some fun? And try to convince her that her little sister has grown up and actually enjoys helping her out, for a change.”
“Will do,” Bill said, wrapping an arm around Lettie, while Amy grinned triumphantly.
“Good,” Amy said, stepping forward and motioning them to the door. “Then you guys should head out.”
“Yeah, we should,” Lettie agreed.
“Our reservations are for seven,” Bill said, grinning at Amy as though thanking her for her considerate departure plans.
“All right.” Lettie moved toward her sister and hugged her tightly. “You’re too much,” she whispered as Amy giggled.
“By the way, if you need to use any of my things tonight,” Amy said, pulling away from Lettie’s embrace, “feel free. My apartment is your apartment, you know.”
Lettie bit her inner cheek to keep from laughing. She knew exactly which “things” Amy referred to, the bulging bag of sex toys in her little sister’s bedroom. She also caught the apartment jab.
“My apartment is your apartment.”
Amy was
so
gonna pay for this.
“Y’all have fun,” Amy called as they headed out the door.
They entered the elevator, and the old contraption steadily worked its way toward the first floor.
“You do look amazing,” Bill said.
“I’d have to say the same for you.” He looked every inch the
GQ
guy in the suit, like a man who knew what he wanted and went for it. A man in control. She wondered if what he wanted, for longer than a week, was her.
Putting an arm around her waist, he led her from the building to his car, then opened her door.
It felt incredible to be pampered by Bill, and Lettie decided to enjoy the feeling for the short time she had it. In a few days, Erika would be back, and she’d risk ending all of this when he learned the truth. But for now, Lettie would cherish every moment.
She took a deep breath and gathered her composure as he closed her door and walked around the car. If she eventually lost him because of the truth, so be it. But she wouldn’t—couldn’t—live the rest of her life knowing she wasn’t honest to Bill.
“I love the roses,” she said as he climbed inside.
“It isn’t the first time, you know.” He leaned across the seat and fingered a blond tendril dangling in front of her ear. His fingernail grazed her cheek and sent an arrow of eagerness to her core.
She’d worn her hair up to match the formal appearance of the green cocktail dress she’d borrowed from Amy. At the time, she had no idea Bill would don a suit, but it didn’t surprise her they were in sync on appearance. They’d certainly had quite a few in-sync performances last night. Why wouldn’t a couple so together in their sexuality be as in tune to each other in every other way?
“Isn’t the first time?” she questioned, straightening the fabric of her skirt as he started toward the interstate.
“That I’ve given you roses.”
“You mean the rose from the MARTA station?” That rose was currently in a crystal bud vase by her bed, where she could see it easily and think of Bill.
He shook his head. “Not that one. Roses. Plural. This isn’t the first time I’ve given you roses, Lettie.”
Her hands stilled against the soft green fabric as she processed the implication of his words. She’d received roses four times in her life, and all four times had been in the Sheldon High School gym during the Valentine’s Day assembly.
As a fund-raiser, members of the Student Government Association sold roses every February for the traditional program. On Valentine’s Day, the entire student body gathered in the gym as the flowers were distributed. Students could purchase roses in one of three colors, red, white or pink.
Red indicated love. White equaled friendship. And pink meant, “I’d like to get to know you better.”
Each Valentine’s Day, the students waited with bated breath as the names were called to see who received the coveted roses.
The red flowers generally prompted an “ahhh” from the crowd, then whispers about who was going out with whom. The white flowers usually prompted a hug from the classmate or classmates who’d made the purchase for their friend.
But the pink roses gained the most response from the crowd. Those were the ones typically received from secret admirers. Consequently, those were the ones that generated the most stir in the noise level of the gym.
During her freshman, sophomore and junior years, Lettie had received a dozen red roses from whoever she happened to be dating at the time. She’d known they were coming every year, since secrets were a rarity in Sheldon’s gossip-prone halls.
So the roses from those first three years weren’t the ones that caught her unaware. It was the assembly of her senior year that threw her off-guard.
She’d decided she would leave Sheldon as soon as she graduated, start her new life in a bigger city and hopefully pave the way for Amy to move in with her when she graduated. Because of those plans, Lettie had decided a steady boyfriend was something she didn’t need and had stayed away from serious relationships during her senior year.
So, of course, at that Valentine’s assembly, she’d expected for the first time in her years at Sheldon High that her name would remain uncalled. However, after the last name appeared to have been announced, Mindi Kirkland, the SGA president, stopped the students from gathering their things with the announcement that she’d forgotten to distribute one student’s flowers.
Lettie, like every other student, sat back down and waited to hear the last name called.
“Lettie Campbell. Twelve pink roses,” Mindi proclaimed, her voice throwing an extra punch in the announcement.
A lower classman distributed the flowers, pale pink, wrapped in green tissue paper and tied with a red ribbon. The card wasn’t signed, as most of the SGA-purchased flowers weren’t, but it read,
I really do want to get to know you better.
“Do you know who sent them?” Lettie asked Mindi after the assembly.
“Not a clue. It was a last-minute order, evidently, and no one seems to know who paid for them.”
Then Bill made his way toward her and examined the flowers. “Any idea who sent them?”
“None at all,” she answered.
“Maybe if you think about it, you’ll figure it out,” he said, grinning.
Lettie had seen his statement as coming from her best friend. Now she saw it as more.
“
You
sent those roses on Valentine’s Day.” It wasn’t a question, but she wanted to hear him affirm the truth.
“I wanted to get to know you better,” he said.
“But you knew me better than anyone,” she countered. “I talked to you about everything.”
Bill had sent those flowers?
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.
“I’d planned to on graduation night. But we never made it that far.”
The spot below each ear pinched and burned, and tears spilled free. “I never considered—never dreamed—that it was you.” She hadn’t even tried to find out who sent the roses, hadn’t wanted to know. A relationship at that point would have complicated her plans to leave, and she wouldn’t stand for anything holding her back. But she also hadn’t imagined those flowers were from Bill.
He pulled into a parking spot at an Italian restaurant, one she recognized due to its label as “Atlanta’s Hottest.” Then he shut off the car and turned in the seat. “Come here.” He brought one hand behind her neck and slowly eased her toward him, then softly kissed her tears away. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“If I had known before graduation night, we could have, well, we might have . . .”
He smiled, and the tender gesture slid over her skin like warm butter.
“So we’ll make up for the time we lost.” Then he grinned even brighter.
She wanted to point out how hard it would be to make up twelve years in a span of three days, since he thought she’d return to Tampa then, but she didn’t want to ruin the moment.
Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed her knuckles softly. She splayed her fingers as his thumb teased her palm. Then his tongue slowly probed the sensitive indention between each finger. The thrill of his thorough exploration pulsed through her with every flick, every lick.
By the time he finished, her panties were drenched, the car temperature had risen at least ten degrees, and Lettie’s personal thermostat was off the chart.
“I believe if we continue, we’ll have a repeat performance of last night in the restaurant’s parking lot, which, I believe, would be ample cause for arrest.”
She laughed, kissed him softly. “You’re right. Besides, I’m hungry.”
“I could tell,” he said, winking.
“For food, I mean.”
“Right, that too.”
They exited the car and he held an arm around her as they entered the restaurant. Then he announced their arrival to the maître d’. In minutes, they were seated, and Lettie couldn’t imagine anything better than an elegant dinner with Bill Brannon by her side. She didn’t think anything could dampen her spirits. And nothing did, until their meal had nearly ended, the last glass of wine had been served . . . and Bill reminded her of the charade.
“I talked to Erika today. Everything’s going great. She says she’s learning plenty from Integrated Solutions. Your company must do an awesome job with the training program.”
Sucker punched. And she hadn’t even seen it coming.
“You know, you still haven’t told me what you’re doing for them in Atlanta,” he continued. “Seems like if they were going to offer a training session here, she could’ve taken that one, instead of going to Tampa. The company that hired her is here. You’d think they’d have trained her locally and saved the expense.”
Lettie focused on what she’d learned about Erika’s employment over the past week. Bill’s niece actually had been hired as a computer operator at a reputable company in Atlanta, so My Alibi concocted a faux training organization to get her ready for the job. In fact, her new position wouldn’t begin for another week. It had been a perfect setup for cheating, Lettie recalled.
She swallowed, gained her bearings. “I believe they wanted to provide a beach locale to make it more appealing to their new employees.”
It would’ve been so easy to tell him the truth now, but she’d promised Amy she’d let Erika tell him personally.
He scanned the menu. “Makes sense, I guess, but I was still surprised they were willing to do it, since she’s only there for the summer.”
Erika hadn’t covered that when she booked her alibi for the week. Why would any company splurge for training in Florida if she was only employed for the summer? And why wouldn’t Bill question it more?
Simple. Because he trusted Lettie to tell the truth.
Her stomach pitched in a slow roll.
“Are you okay?” he asked, probably noticing how her face now resembled the hue of her dress.
“Rest room?” she mumbled.
He pointed toward a hallway in the rear of the restaurant, and Lettie made a beeline for the door.
An attendant waited inside with bottles of perfume, makeup fresheners, fragrant soaps and hand towels. Lettie waved her away and moved to a pedestal sink, splashed water on her face and groaned at the mascara making a jagged path down her cheeks.
“Man troubles?” the attendant asked, handing her a towel.
Lettie breathed in deeply, looked in the mirror and hiccuped. Loudly. Not very ladylike at all, particularly for a place like this, but the woman merely shook her head and reached for the palettes of makeup.
“Let me help you.” She gently guided Lettie to a red velvet settee and patted at her damp face with a tissue.
“Men,” the woman mumbled, taking a makeup wedge and applying a dab of foundation to the trails created by Lettie’s tears. “Can’t live with them—”
“Can’t shoot ’em,” Lettie completed, remembering Wanda Campbell’s favorite saying.
The elderly woman grinned, pushing rosy cheeks toward her eyes. “I was going to say you can’t live without them, but shooting works too, I suppose.”
“Problem is, I don’t want to shoot this one. I want to love him.”
“Need to talk?” The woman moved to Lettie’s eyes and started reapplying mascara.
“I lied to him. I’m still lying to him,” Lettie said, and the completeness of her honesty stung.
The woman nodded knowingly and handed Lettie a small mirror to review the final product, which, in fact, looked really well-done.
“Does he love you?” the sweet lady questioned.
“I don’t know.” Lettie shook her head and shrugged, then tipped the woman generously.
She cupped Lettie’s chin and brought her crinkled face close. “Sweetheart, if you wanna know, ask. Indeed, you’d be a fool not to. And tell him the truth.”
“Tell him—”
“The truth. And don’t hold back. Tell him the rest too.”
“The rest?” Lettie asked.
“Don’t you think if you’re wondering about love, then he may be wondering too?”
Was he?
And if he was, then what?
H
aving influential friends had its advantages, as Bill learned tonight, when he located their seats at the Fox. His campaign advertising the theater’s ongoing restoration project, promoting the Fox as the only theater in the nation with a full-time restoration department, purportedly boosted season ticket sales by 25 percent. As a thank-you, the project coordinator offered the best seats in the house, along with a private reception room, whenever Bill had the need for a special occasion.
Yesterday, he’d called Zack Power, the coordinator, and reserved both the tickets and the room for his first date with Lettie. Then he’d promptly called this morning to apologize for not showing, explaining he’d been with the woman of his dreams and they’d inadvertently lost track of time while becoming reacquainted.
