Not Quite Perfect (Oakland Hills Book 3) (9 page)

“Her name is Merry,” April said tightly, “and it’s my pleasure to spend as much time with her as I can. We don’t all worship corporate America. Some of us want more balance in our lives.”

“April,” Rita whispered in alarm.

Zack put the notebook and pen in his pocket and regarded April. “I’m sorry to upset you. I have to ask the hard questions. It comes with the job.”

Not trusting herself to speak, April ground her teeth together.

“I unearth problems that a regular employee can’t afford to unearth,” he said. “When the dust settles, this will be a stronger company. And a better place to work.”

“Easy for you to say. You won’t know if it will be or not. You’ll be long gone.” April made a dismissive gesture with her hand and sat at her desk, spinning in her chair to give him her back. “We can’t wait.”

* * *

An hour later, when Zack finally got up and left his desk to bother some other innocent people, Rita tapped April on the shoulder.

“Coffee,” she said. “Back alley. Now.”

Assuming that Rita was worried about her job, April stood up and followed her down the stairs, past the offices, and through the storage area to the back door. She didn’t regret a word she’d said to him. The coffee truck had been there long enough for the line to die down, and they got their own caffeine fix quickly. April tried to pay for Rita’s, but she refused.

“Let’s talk over here,” Rita said, kicking aside a muddy paper cup in the gutter with her red-and-black ballet flat as she strode away. The shoes complemented the designer jeans and fitted red jacket she wore.

“You look nice today,” April said, following her to a deserted, grubby stretch near an illegally parked sleek black BMW, probably belonging to one of the designers. “Job interview?”

Rita shot her a look over the rim of her coffee cup. “Watch it. I’m not happy right now.”

“There’s nothing for you to worry about. He’s gunning for me, not you.” April sniffed the dark, acrid liquid in her cup.

“I happen to like you.”

“Not so much at the moment,” April said.

“Why did you have to say that last thing about wanting him gone?”

“Because it’s true.” But April sighed. “I’m sorry. I hated the way he talked about Merry, like she wasn’t worth any effort or sacrifice, like she was just a thing.”

“Liam’s not going to be happy. He’s going to fire you, and then who’s going to do those screen prints for Women’s that are due tomorrow? I’ve got meetings all afternoon, and my daughter has a gymnastics show tonight I just can’t miss—”

“I’ll do the screen prints,” April said. “Even if he fires me, which he won’t. He’ll just want more paperwork filed with HR to cover his ass. A copy of my diploma showing I actually have an art degree, color samples from my portfolio, notarized references. You’ll see. If you think I’m doing a good job, Liam will find a way to keep me on that doesn’t make him look like Mr. Roche, Bev’s grandfather, the one who used to own this place. He let his daughter Ellen terrorize everyone. Including Liam.”

Rita chewed her lips and fiddled with the rim of the cup. “You think?”

“As long as
you
want me here, he’ll go along with it, even if some anal-retentive dude in a suit tells him it looks bad.” In April’s mind, Rita’s opinion was the big thing to worry about. “
Do
you want me here?”

“Well, yes. The designers will dump a ton of work on us next week when they get back. Until I can find another freelancer or two with a little garment experience, you’re all I’ve got.”

“Then you’ve got me,” April said, wishing Rita’s endorsement had been a little more enthusiastic, a little less desperate, but she was willing to live with it.

She just needed more time to prove herself.

And she would.

* * *

Zack hadn’t been this angry with himself since he’d forgotten to contribute to his retirement account before the tax-filing deadline. He tapped on Liam’s door, which was nicely open, hoping the emotion pumping through him didn’t show on his face.

Liam looked up from his computer with a scowl. His phone was ringing, but he made no move to answer it.

“Morning,” Zack said, not intimidated. He was used to working with executives. “Got a few minutes?”

“Not exactly,” Liam said. “More like two.”

Zack looked at his watch. It was 11:36 a.m. April would be going home—to
Liam’s
home, probably, to babysit—in twenty-four minutes. They should probably clear the air as soon as possible.

He walked across the office and stood in front of Liam’s desk. “I’ll be quick. I just discovered the woman I’ve been working with for over a week is your sister.”

Liam’s expression didn’t change. “April.”

“Yes,” Zack said.

“Well?”

“Nobody told me.”

“You didn’t have anything bad to say about her last week,” Liam said. “I read your email. You said Rita likes her.”

“She seems to.”

Liam stared at him across the desk. Unease flickered in his eyes. “Seems?”

“Rita would naturally feel pressured to like her, or say so, given the family relationship.”

With a loud sigh, Liam buried his face in his hands. “Yeah,” he said, his voice muffled. He looked up. “Do you think Rita’s lying? My sister… well. She’s… April.”

Guilt made Zack pause. He didn’t want to condemn anyone without a fair trial. “She seems to be doing her job. She’s new, of course.”

“And doesn’t have enough experience.” Liam stood up, glancing at his watch. “I can’t resolve this right now. But if she’s a problem, she’s out of here. Tell people that. I’ll tell Rita myself, but just so you know, too. I mean it.”

“All right.” Zack turned and walked to the doorway. His guilt snapped at him again. Had he really needed to talk to Liam about this now? In quite this way, as if it were urgent? He hadn’t expected Liam to throw his sister under the bus so readily.

“Thanks for your time,” Zack said.

Liam was right behind him with a tablet in one hand and large presentation board under the other arm. “Sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“It was a last-minute thing,” Liam said. “But mostly, I wanted to know what you thought of her. Not knowing who she was.”

“Any other family members here I should know about?”

“Not anymore, thank God.” With a snort, Liam whacked him on the shoulder and strode off in the direction of the lobby.

Zack let out his breath.

Her brother.

That powerful, confident, mature leader of men—the client whose reputation would help him expand his business when he got back home to New York—was her
brother
.

She was totally, completely off limits.

Well, that was a relief. Now he could focus on his work, on what was important. He’d surely stop fantasizing about her now.

Chapter 8

N
O
SUCH
LUCK
.

T
HE
SHEETS
twisted around his legs, damp and clinging. The tiny travel clock on the nightstand read 3:43 a.m.

The dreams about April had gone on and on and on, and he resented the moonlight that had ended them.

He kicked off the covers, squinting at the moon shining through the window like an angry face. In his drowsy delirium, the man in the moon looked like Liam Johnson.

What the hell did you just do to my sister?
the brother-in-the-moon demanded.

She started it
was Zack’s lame reply. And she had. The dream version of April had licked, kissed, teased, and violated his body in every corner of the Fite building. He was just about to turn the tables and show her he wasn’t the submissive type when the full moon woke him up.

He liked the condo he was renting, but the lack of window coverings was a problem. That moon would’ve woken him even if he hadn’t been having futile sex dreams. He stumbled over to the window and frowned out at the night. Maybe the moon was so bright because it hung low over the San Francisco Bay, doubling its reflective power.

He’d get curtains tomorrow after work.

Work. The life he loved. Work, work, work.

He rested his cheek against the glass, watched it fog between him and the angry moon. In spite of himself, he smiled. His cheek pulled along the window.

“Damn,” he whispered.

In his dream, she’d been just what he wanted, just what he needed. Sweet, enthusiastic, fun. That lithe body under his, above his, touching him, accepting him…

He closed his eyes.

Damn
.

Twelve times over the past four years—well, two, since his friends had waited a couple of years after Meg’s death to start interfering—he’d met and dated women who should’ve made him feel this way. Hell, he would’ve been happy with fifty percent of what he was feeling right now. Or ten. Two.

But for those smart, attractive, compatible, likable women: nothing. A glimmer of interest that lasted just long enough to get through the motions—he didn’t like to think about how unpleasant that must’ve been for those poor women—and then the passion died, a weakly burning match in a gale of guilt and memories.

Of course Meg would want him to move on. He knew that. It was
him
, something about
him
. It was
his
fault.

Rather, it
had
been his fault. This was no flickering match he was holding—it was a flamethrower, and he couldn’t find the power switch.

He got out of bed and staggered into an icy shower.

Four hours later, he sat at his borrowed desk next to April’s, sipping his second coffee and rubbing his jaw. He’d forgotten to shave. Hours of nothing to do but wait for the dawn, and he’d managed to forget one of his basic morning tasks. At least he’d remembered to put on his glasses. Looking scruffy wouldn’t stop him from working, but an inability to see would.

Scratching his nails along the stubble, he stared at the floppy white daisy attached to April’s computer monitor, weighing his options.

Work was important to him and would always be important to him. Central to his life. The reason for being.

But…

Just at that moment he balanced on the precipice overlooking his life, April strode into the room with a red sequined tote bag slung over her shoulder.
 

“Morning, Mr. Fain,” she said, saluting him. Her cloud of hair was pulled back under a thick silver band, her lips were painted a glossy fuchsia, and she wore a long, tight knit dress in the same shade of pink as her lips. His mouth went dry.

But this isn’t the only job in the sea
, he finished silently, rising to his feet. “Hi,” he said, heart racing. “I was wondering if you’d have lunch with me today.”

* * *

What did he just say?

April had never been a morning person, and last night she’d slept poorly. She hugged her tote bag to her side, suddenly wide awake.

“Excuse me?” Her voice came out more challenging than she’d intended, in part because she resented the way her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. Was that unshaven jaw just for her? Because… damn. It worked.

“I owe you an apology,” he said. “I know you don’t have much time at lunch, so we could make it short—say, thirty minutes?”

“Uh…”

“My dime.” He glanced down at the floor between them.

Suddenly self-conscious about the girly outfit she’d chosen that morning, April turned and put her bag on her desk, flicked on her computer, and tried to think of a diplomatic way to say no. She wasn’t the most gorgeous babe on the planet, but she knew when a guy was imagining her naked. Even if he’d been a harmless barista at the coffee shop on the corner, she couldn’t let herself involved. Not even for lunch.

But—damn, he looked good with a little shadow on that jaw. A little less corporate, a lot more corporeal.

She sat down and met his gaze. “I can’t.”

“Because of your other job?”

“Because I can’t have lunch with you.” She gave him a steady look that she hoped said
Or anything else, got it?

He looked over the cubicle wall between them and Rita’s empty desk, and then at the door, running his hand through his dark hair. “All right.” He nodded and turned away. “Of course.” The chair creaked as he sat down.

Within seconds, his laptop was open and he was typing something as if his request had meant nothing and her rejection even less.

Maybe it was her attraction she was feeling, not his. It had been an unusually long time since she’d gone to bed with anyone. Maybe she was hallucinating like a crazed traveler with an empty canteen in the Sahara.

She stifled a sigh. “What did you want to apologize about?”

His hands stilled over the keyboard for a moment. Then he hit a few keys and turned to her. “I spoke to your brother yesterday.”

She couldn’t resist. “Which one? I have two.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll assume you meant Liam. And?”

“He’s made it known he’ll fire you the instant anyone complains about your work.”

Her stomach flipped over. She stared at him for a second before turning away to mouth a string of foul curses under her breath.

The
instant
anyone
complained? Anybody? Who could survive under that kind of edict in this place?
 

“I’m sorry,” Zack said. He didn’t look sorry, and his voice was emotionless.

She spun on him. “For what? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Actually, no.”

“Well, you got it,” she said.

“I’ll talk to him again and explain why letting you go probably isn’t a good idea at this point.”

“Probably.” She grabbed a T-shirt hanging from an overhead cabinet and flung it on her desk. Hands shaking, she took out her ruler and slapped it over the shirt. The project request clipped to the hanger was to increase the gap between each stripe by fifty percent. She smoothed the slippery fabric flat with her palm and tried to line up the ruler precisely, because fifty percent of a pinstripe was hard to measure. It was probably in the computer from when it was originally designed, but she didn’t have the first idea how to find it.