You Dropped a Blonde on Me (42 page)

Authors: Dakota Cassidy

Tags: #Romance, #Fiction

BOOK: You Dropped a Blonde on Me

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Campbell’s smile was warm and doting. “Fries can do that to a person.”

She chuckled, stretching her legs by pointing her toes and entwining her foot with Campbell’s. “I think we should talk about other stuff that isn’t about me and the veritable idiot I turned into since high school.”

The tip of his finger slid along her cheek in a tender gesture. “You’re not an idiot. You married young, way before you were mature enough to grow into who you were supposed to be. So you became what someone told you you should be.”

“I think I can be considered an overachiever. So you know almost everything about me. I want to know about you.”

The guarded gaze he gave her made her pause. She was coming to know the nuances just one glance from Campbell could create, and this one was, without a doubt, guarded. “What do you want to know?”

“What do you want to tell
?
” she countered.

It’s now or never, Barker.

He forced himself to keep his chuckle light. “Okay, okay. I’m always pounding you for information. It’s only fair. I left high school, went to college, and graduated with a degree in economics. Probably the most boring degree to obtain ever. I worked as an HR manager for fifteen years then went back to school to get a degree in computer software. Left my HR position and nabbed a job with a starter company. Loved the change of pace after dealing with employee relations. Not fun, employee relations. Unfortunately, the economy led to layoffs and here I am.”

Her finger trailed along his chest in delicious circles. He was enjoying her uninhibited touch. A far cry from the uptight, always-on-guard Max of a month and a half ago. “So you’re not just a plumber.”

“I’m not just a plumber.”
And you’re not just an ex-HR/computer software engineer either.

“I’m going to lay bets you didn’t just work all this time since I last saw you in high school.”

Pony up, pal.
“This is where you want to know about all the women who’ve experienced the Campbell Barker charm, isn’t it?”

“Were there a lot?”

“No. Just some.”

“Describe some.”

You’re stalling
. . . “I didn’t count.”

“You don’t want to tell me.”

“I was married.” There.

Max sat up and swung around to face him, crossing her legs. “I don’t want to appear shocked, but I am.”

“Shocked that anyone would marry me?”

Max flashed him a smile, one that said she was comfortable, forcing him to tamp down his sigh of relief. “No, I’m shocked anyone would divorce you.” Her expression went from teasing to a dark frown. “Hold on. You
are
divorced, right?”

“Yes. I’m divorced. I was married for eight years. Divorced two years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not anymore.”

“But you were . . .”

“I definitely was. It’s not a time I’d like to repeat.” Not even in the next life.

“Tell. Me. About. It. Was yours awful?”

“No. It was pretty amicable.”

“There’s such a thing?”

“There is when you know there’s no going back.”

Leaning forward, she gave him a playful poke. “Hey. I spilled. You have to, too. Enough with the cryptic.”

“Linda and I were married for eight years. We had a pretty good thing going. At least that’s what I thought. We had trouble conceiving, but due to the magic of in vitro fertilization, we got pregnant in our sixth year of marriage.”
Only a little more to go, Barker, and you’re home free.
But Jesus, it hurt. Like a sharp knife, cutting deeper and deeper, reopening wounds he thought had healed.

“You have children?”

He saw her surprise, registered her drawing back from him. “Had. Our little girl, Gina Marie, died of SIDS at four months old.” Gina’s small, cherubic face flashed across his mind’s eye, toothless grins, baby-powder-scented cuddles, chubby fists lodged against his chest while she slept.

Fuck.

The paling of Max’s face, her eyes so full of sympathy, made him physically fight a cringe. “I can’t even imagine.” Scooting toward him, taking the sheets with her, climbing over the box of pizza, she cradled his head against her shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry. They’re just words, pointless, empty to you, I’m sure, but I mean them. You don’t have to say anything more.”

Campbell lifted his head, setting her from him with just enough distance to keep them touching, but enough to not distract him from just saying it. “I was a wreck. Linda was a wreck. Everything was a shitwreck. After Gina was gone, we functioned, nothing more. I worked, Linda went back to work—we ate, we slept, but we didn’t talk. We never talked. I tried over and over until I forgot how to. A few months after Gina died, I caught Linda cheating on me with some guy from her office. Pretty typical as cheating goes, but it was the end for me. Though it didn’t really matter. She told me she’d planned to leave me for him anyway. And the kicker to all of this—she said she could talk to him about Gina.
My
little girl. Linda married the office guy and they have a daughter now.” How was that for fucking irony? He was done pounding his fist of outrage against his chest, but there was a residual ache always lingering.

“I think it’s true what they say,” Max responded to his confession with quiet tones.

“What do they say?”

“Someone always has it worse. Count your blessings, et cetera. My divorce has been hell on Earth, but if I lost Connor . . . Shit . . . I want to say the right thing here, but I just don’t know what it is, Campbell. I just don’t.”

He used a thumb to wipe the tears in the corners of her eyes. “I get what it is to be lost and unable to find your way out of the dark. That’s why I came here. My father didn’t just need my help. I needed help, too. I wallowed a whole lot longer than was good for me. I was angry, and I wanted out. I drank. A lot. I blamed. I bullied. My father finally dragged me to a SIDS bereavement program, and though it took a long time, I finally was able to talk about it.”

Max took hold of his hand, pulling it to her cheek, displaying her seemingly endless capacity to console. Much like her behavior with the seniors, she was always quick to make someone else feel better. He found it ironic she didn’t do the same for herself.

“So when I tell you I have a fairly good understanding of where you’re coming from, give or take a couple of million dollars, I really do.”

Max’s face held light and dark emotions, fleeing, returning before she appeared to come to terms with something in her head.

She said nothing, but her arms pulled him down to her breast, curling into him with that way she had about her that made him feel all man.

And contentment, deep, abiding, settled in his chest.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Note from Maxine Cambridge to all ex-trophy wives: If your husband has an unfair advantage in your divorce, like say buttloads of money and a gangsta-like attorney, you’ll need to be of strong constitution if you choose to face off. So ask yourself this—what kind of precedent do you want to set for not only your children, but your future growth? Are you a worthy opponent? Or are you a chicken-shit?

“You want to tell me what that was about? Or is it too personal?”

Len crawled across the hotel room bed, flopping down with a groan. “Bad tuna for lunch.”

“Three days in a row this week?” Adam asked.

She left her head down in her folded arms to avoid meeting his invasive eyes. “Must be some kind of bug.”

She felt Adam’s weight lift from the bed as his voice became distant. “Is that what they call pregnant nowadays? Lots of things change over time. Especially catchphrases. For instance, my niece would roll her eyes at me if I called someone a doofus because nowadays a doofus is called gay. But kids these days don’t mean homosexual gay, they mean gay as in you’re stupid. Yet, I don’t think they’ve changed so much that knocked up isn’t still just called ‘knocked up.’ ”

Lifting her head was an effort, but she did it in order to take a peek into his eyes. Gazing into them, she wished she’d left her throbbing head buried in her arms. “That’s ridiculous,” she offered a weak protest before pressing her closed fists into her eyes to stop the stabbing pain in them, and avoid Adam’s.

His weight sank onto the edge of the bed fully clothed, and he lifted her chin, his eyes like chips of ice. “Let me be really clear about something here, Lenore. You’re pregnant. I don’t need a test to tell me so. This has been a real adventure for someone like you, I’ll bet. Married young, widowed, and still fairly young. Rich then poor.”

Len fought to keep her gaze steady. So he’d looked her up on the Internet? She wasn’t doing anything wrong.

“And I’m sure I’m making up for the college flings you never had because you dropped out. But here’s the thing, I’m not some fling, lady. And I’m done unless you want to tell me otherwise.”

Adam’s silence was deafening, his eyes angry.

Yet, she said nothing.

Nothing to stop him from doing what she’d come to dread would happen all along if she didn’t stop it. That dread was an emotion in the mix should be a sure sign she didn’t want what he was about to lay out.

Still, she kept silent.

Bending toward her, Adam let his face come to sit but inches in front of hers. His lips thinned, and his eyes narrowed. “I guess I have my answer then. Now let me make one thing clear. You have no idea who you’re playing with. If I were you, I’d be very careful the next move I make, Len.
Very careful.
Because if it involves not including me in something I have every right to know about, no matter what your decision is, don’t think for one second I’ll allow it.
I deserve to know
.” Thrusting her chin away, he rose and strode to the door. “And one last thing. Gerald’s dead. I’m not. I’m here. I’m alive. I wanted you for more than just sex. I don’t get why you just couldn’t see that.”

The door to the hotel room shut with a hushed whisper against carpet, grating her nerves to a worn frazzle.

Len reached for her cell phone with cold, lifeless hands and dialed her gynecologist before she was unable to make the call for the crying she knew she’d do.