Turn My World Upside Down: Jo's Story (31 page)

“I’m finished doing what you tell me,” the woman said, and though her voice was a little shaky, she lifted her chin and stood her ground.

Jo wanted to applaud.

Steve wanted to hit her. He’d taken as much of this crap from women as he was going to. Ever since the Marconi bitch had shown up in his office, he’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop. The one thing he hadn’t expected was for his mewling bitch of a wife to suddenly find a spine.

But he could take care of this.

“Linda.” His voice snapped with the cadence of a man used to having his orders followed. “Call Security. Tell them this woman”—he pointed at Jo—“forced my wife to bring her into my office. See that they—”

“No.”

His gaze swiveled to the woman who had
never
, in
six years of working for him, said no to him. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said I won’t be calling Security. And frankly, if I were you, I wouldn’t want them to hear any of this.”

His blood roared in his ears. He couldn’t hear. Couldn’t think. His mouth went dry, then suddenly filled with saliva so fast, he spat on his desk as he shouted, “What the hell is wrong with you? Do what you’re told!”

“I don’t work for you anymore, Mr. Smith,” Linda said, “I quit this morning. My resignation is there. On your desk.”

He looked for it briefly, then dismissed the whole idea. “Ridiculous. You can’t quit.”

“Looks like she can.” The Marconi bitch was
laughing
at him.

“Steve,” Melanie said, drawing his attention back to her. “I want a divorce.”

“Like hell.” He came around the edge of his desk and stalked toward her, hands itching to connect with her soft, pale flesh. He could almost taste the satisfaction. “There’s no divorce and you know it. I’m going to be in the state senate—” He raised one hand.

Jo stepped in front of Melanie and Steve smiled. The only thing better than hitting his wife would be belting this bitch from his past. His eye was still bruised and shadowed from the lucky punch she’d gotten in on her last visit. But this time it would be different, he told himself, feeding the fury within,
this
time . . .

Melanie—meek, pitiful little
Melanie
—pushed Jo out of the way and glared at him. “You’re not going to
hit her. Or me. You’re not in charge here. Not anymore.”

Like a bull bedeviled by flies, he shook his head and snarled.

“Atta girl,” Jo whispered, but the sound barely reached him through the pounding in his head.

Melanie looked straight into his eyes and said, “If you don’t agree to a fast divorce, I’m going to the police. I’ll tell them everything.”

“They won’t believe you.”

“Maybe not,” she acknowledged with a short nod. “But the charges will still be there. On the record. Where any newspaper reporter can find them. What kind of headlines do you think they’d make?”

This couldn’t be happening. Not to
him
. Melanie
never
fought back. It was all that Marconi bitch’s fault. He spared her a quick, vicious look before shifting his gaze back to his wife. “If you think—”

“Listen to me,” she said, interrupting him so neatly that he was stunned into silence. “I’m going to divorce you. You are going to sign a paper relinquishing all rights to our child—”

He staggered. “
What
child?”

“And then you’re going to leave me alone. Forever. Because if you don’t, I will make you sorry.”

“You’re out of your mind.
All
of you are, if you think for one minute that I’m going along with any of this.”

“Oh,” Jo said, stepping up alongside Melanie as if they were soldiers standing for review. “There’s more. You’re going to resign from the senate race.”

“You
are
insane!”

She smiled, but the curve of her mouth had nothing
to do with humor and everything to do with the deadly gleam in her eyes. “You’re going to do just what we say. You’ll quit the race and you’ll give Melanie her divorce
and
you’ll stay away from her child. You’ll go along with all of it, or—” She stepped in closer to him, glaring at him as if he were an especially disgusting bug. “Or . . . I will personally take out a full-page ad in the Sunday paper exposing you as the rapist and professional prick that you are.”

“You can’t do that, you bitch,” he argued, even though he felt the land beneath his feet starting to shift and tremble. “I’ll sue you for every dime you’ve got.”

“Go ahead,” she taunted. “I can always build another business. But you’ll still be a prick. And you
still
won’t get elected.”

“And,”
Linda spoke up, and Steve’s gaze shifted to her. “Just in case you’re trying to think of a way to ooze out of this, you should know. I’ve contacted three or four of your former . . . ‘dates.’ They’re all willing to testify about the bruises you gave
them
.”

This could not be happening.

He’d worked his whole life for this chance at greatness. He’d worked, plotted, schemed, and now at last, he was finally poised to take the place he’d been born to have. State senator. And after that . . . who knew? Maybe even the
presidency
.

“In fact,” Jo said, taking a manila envelope from Linda and pulling out a sheaf of typed papers. “We’ve already got a couple of the notarized statements.” Her gaze drilled into his. “They make fascinating reading.”

That shift in the earth became a gaping chasm that swallowed Steve Smith’s career in one noisy gulp. He glared at them, each in turn, and knew, even as he thought about fighting them just a little longer, that they’d already
won
.

He was finished.

Everything was gone.

“You can all go to hell,” he croaked, throat tight with futile rage.

Melanie looked him up and down. “Been there,” she said. “Done that. Expect to hear from my lawyer tomorrow.”

Then she left, followed quickly by Linda, the “loyal” assistant who’d turned on him like a rabid dog. And he was alone with the woman who had started this mess. The woman who’d come back out of the past just in time to squash his future. She stared at him now with a disinterested sort of pity.

“What do you want? What’s left?” he demanded, reaching into his jacket pocket for his wallet. “Money? Credit cards? What’s the going rate for ruining a man’s life?”

She shook her head at him. “I seem to remember that ten years ago, you had something quite illuminating to say to me when you left me lying on that stinking floor.” She tapped one finger against her chin. “Let’s see, what was it again?” Then, glaring at him, she said, “Oh right. I remember.
‘Life is hard. Get over it.’
”

“Get out,” he said, fists at his sides, fury spitting through his blood.

“You know,” Jo mused, turning slowly for the door,
“when I imagined this little meeting, I was so
sure
that I would enjoy seeing you get yours . . .”

“Yeah?” he goaded.

She stopped in the doorway, and looking back, she smiled, a wide, happy smile filled with the sweet taste of victory. “And I was right.”

“I am proud of you, Josefina. What you did was very good.”

She took the morning paper from her father’s hand and smiled down at the headline: smith withdraws from race. A swell of something a lot like pride filled her. Quickly, she scanned the article, picking out the highlights to quietly crow over . . .
‘retires from politics for personal reasons . . . Mrs. Smith unavailable for comment, having left the city for a long rest . . .’
Jo chuckled. The weasel. Long rest is right. Without him in her life, Melanie would probably sleep better at night than she ever had.

“Very good.” Papa took back the paper and laid one big, work-worn hand on her shoulder.

Looking into those pale blue eyes so much like her own, Jo said, “Thanks, Papa. And you know what, I’m pretty proud of me, too.”

“Issa good day,” Nana said, stirring chopped fresh oregano into the eggs she had scrambling in the castiron skillet.

“And Melanie? She’s all right?”

“Took her to the airport myself last night,” Jo said,
snitching a piece of bacon and taking a bite. “And with all we’ve got on him, that slime ball will leave her alone.”

“Good.” Papa poured himself a cup of coffee and walked to the kitchen table. Sitting down, he gave Bear a scratch behind the ears, then asked Jo, “So, now you’ve finished with the other business, you’re ready to start the Stevenson job this morning?”

No. Now that Steve Smith had been handled, she had another piece of business to take care of. “I’ve got something to do first, but I’ll meet you there. In an hour or so, okay?”

“Sure, sure. This something,” Papa asked. “It’s important?”

Nana slanted her a sidelong glance and Jo wondered if the old woman was somehow trying to read her mind. Wouldn’t surprise her. “Yeah, it is. But I’ll be there later.”

“Sure, sure.” Papa opened the paper while Nana shouted up the stairs, “Jack! Mangia!” Then she turned to Jo. “You shoulda eat before the important thing, Josefina. Cash can wait.”

Jo gaped at her, but Nana was already turning toward the table. Heading for the front door, Jo wondered if the mind-reading thing came with the ability to give the evil eye, or was it the other way around?

Something classical was playing on the radio. Filled with violins and cellos and harps, the music soared out the double doors of the workshop and lifted into the clear morning sky like a prayer.

Jo jumped out of the truck and slammed the door.
Before she could take another step, though, Cash was there. As if he’d been waiting for her.

“Saw the morning paper.”

“Pretty good, huh?”

“Retiring for personal reasons?”

“Not as good as having the lying slug arrested,” Jo admitted, “but I’ll take what I can get on this one.”

“Melanie?”

“In Michigan by now and happy, I think.”

“Good.” He stared at her and she wished that she could read the emotions churning in those dark eyes of his. But today, they were closed to her. Physically, he was right in front of her, but she knew that emotionally, he was sliding further away from her with every passing second.

She ached, just knowing that. And a part of her wondered if she was already fighting a losing battle. But another, more stubborn part of her dug in her heels and resolved to settle whatever was between them once and for all.

“Cash, I’ve got something to say to you and I want you to stay quiet until I’m finished.”

He pulled a white shop towel out of the back pocket of his jeans and wiped both hands on it. “All right.”

“Good, good.” She swallowed hard and rubbed her suddenly damp palms on her jeans. Her stomach jumped and her heartbeat felt like a jackhammer.
Oh God
. This was the most important moment of her life, and she was about to faint.

He took a step toward her, concern flashing across his face. “You okay?”

“Probably not,” she admitted, with a weak smile.
“But I will be. Once I get this said.” But where to start? Anxious now, she started pacing. She always thought better when she was moving and, right now, she needed all the help she could get. “I wanted to thank you—for all the moral support when I needed it.”

“You’re welcome.”

She stopped. “No talking, remember?”

“Right.”

“Okay.” She sucked in air as if she were going down for the third time. Why was it easier to face down a scumbag than it was to tell the most important man in your life that you loved him? Why was she so afraid of what she’d always dreamed of feeling?

She lifted her gaze to his. A soft wind ruffled the dark hair lying across his forehead. There were shadows under his dark eyes and she wondered if it was thoughts of
her
that were keeping him up at night. God, she hoped so.

“There’s no easy way to say this so I’m just going to say it.” She walked up close to him, reached out and took both of his hands in hers. She held on tight while she looked directly into his eyes and blurted out the words before they could get strangled up inside her. “I love you.”

He opened his mouth, but she tightened her grip on his hands and spoke up quickly. “Not finished. Let me say it all, okay?”

He nodded and she kept going. Funny, it was easier to talk to him when she was touching him. When she could hold on to him and draw on his strength as she had before.

“It surprised me, too,” she said. “How I feel. I didn’t expect it. Wasn’t looking for it. But maybe that’s when
you find the important stuff, you know?” She shrugged, released his hands and reached up to take his face between her palms. “I
do
love you, Cash. And I think you love me.”

“Jo—” He covered her hands with his and looked at her through eyes that shone with a soul-deep regret that Jo simply didn’t want to see.

So she kept talking. Faster now, almost desperate to say it all. “I want us to be together, Cash. A family. I want the life we could build together.”

He sighed, turned his face and kissed her palm before pulling her hands away and letting her go. Though she still felt the near electrical hum of his touch on her skin, he was backing up. Backing away.

And she could feel her heart breaking.

“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head sadly.

“Don’t be sorry, Cash,” Jo whispered, and wondered how she was drawing breath into lungs that felt frozen solid with a cold that went down to her bones. “Be in love with me.”

“I wish I could be the man you want,” he said, and scrubbed one hand across his mouth, as if even he were trying to keep the words from escaping. “But I’m not.”

“Yes you are.” Jo heard the tremor in her voice and swallowed back the disappointment crowding her. She’d somehow thought that this would go better.

She’d thought that once he heard that she loved him, he’d be able to see what they could have together. To see that this was where he belonged. That
she
was the one woman meant for him.

And now . . .

His features were grim, his body as stiff as if he
himself had been carved out of the wood he created such beauty from.

“I told you before, Jo,” he said, and she suddenly wished he would call her “Josefina” again. But he hadn’t. Not since she’d told him not to. “I’m not looking for permanent. Permanent doesn’t exist. Not for me.”