Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2) Page 2

  “You’ve said that already.”

  “Listen, I know this night is important to you. You don’t have to be nervous.”

  “I’m not nervous.”

  “I understand if you are. I know you don’t have a lot of experience.”

  Liz bit her lip as his fingertips stroked her hair from her face. Okay. So maybe she’d misrepresented that aspect of her personal history a teensy bit when he’d first asked, but who wants to leap into bed with a coworker on the third date? Everyone knows it’s corporate suicide to have a disastrous office affair. She wanted to be sure he was a keeper before getting that, um, involved. But now… “I trust you,” she said, stroking his hair in return.

  “I don’t want to fight,” he said.

  “Neither do I.”

  Yes. Back on track. Liz smiled and closed her eyes as Grant leaned in for a kiss. Could life be more perfect? The merger was nearly complete, she was within spitting distance of her goal weight and she had Grant in her arms. She sighed as his hand slid over her breast and…

  Dum. Dum. De-dum. Dum-de-dum-de-dum-de-DUM…

  Liz’s eyes burst open as her cell phone vibrated atop Grant’s dresser, the funereal tune like a black fog seeping under the door in a B-movie.

  Oh. Dear. God. In. Heaven. Could she have worse timing?

  “I’m so sorry,” Liz said, mentally kicking herself from here to Tuesday for forgetting to mute her cell phone. How could she have been so careless?! “Ignore it. I’ll call her later.” Liz pressed Grant back against the sheets again and kissed him with gusto. She would not let anything distract her from…

  Dum. Dum. De-dum…

  Grant’s hands stilled. “You can take it,” he said against her lips, trying to sit up despite her better efforts to keep him right where he was.

  Liz slid her hands down his chest, reveling in the feel of his rock-hard abs. My God, you could actually see the man’s six-pack. “I’m sure it’s not important,” she said.

  He grabbed her hand before it slid further south. She reluctantly met his eyes. “You know she’ll keep calling unless you answer.”

  “I’ll turn off the ringer,” Liz said a little desperately. Not now! No more interruptions! Grant arched an eyebrow. “We’ll turn off your ringer, too!” she added.

  Grant disentangled himself, no small feat, and stood up. “Answer it, Liz. I’ll wait.”

  Liz let out a long frustrated exhale—four months!—and hurried to the dresser. “I promise I’ll make it quick.”

  Grant stooped to pick up his towel.

  Liz picked up her phone. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Elizabeth!” her mother yelled. Liz winced, having forgotten to hold the phone a safe distance from her ear. Her mother harbored a deep distrust of modern technology and was convinced any phone not connected by a physical wire must have poor reception. “Honey! I’m so glad I caught you!”

  “Mom, now isn’t the time—”

  “I’ll make it quick then! Is there any chance you could take some time off work to help out your dad and I?”

  “Time off? I suppose I have some days accrued. What do—?”

  “Wonderful! We need you to take care of installing our new patio. Well, not actually installing it, more overseeing it!”

  “A patio? Mom, I can’t come to Florida to—”

  “Not in Florida! In Sugar Falls! We want to replace the old deck and put in a nice patio and walkway. Your father wants it done before we come home, so the grass has time to grow back before the heat of the summer. You know how he is about a lush lawn! We’ve got someone in mind, so it shouldn’t be too much trouble. I spoke with your sister last week, and she thinks the job should only take a few days—tops! ”

  Liz’s heart sank with disappointment as Grant pulled on a pair of sweats and T-shirt. He handed her her glass of wine. She took a slug for fortification. He nibbled her ear.

  “If Trish is on top of it, why can’t she supervise?” Liz closed her eyes as Grant’s tongue caused little tingles to run down her spine. She didn’t enjoy sounding petulant, but Trish’s geographical proximity to the deck in question, plus her devotion to HGTV, would seem to make her a much better candidate for supervising a patio install than Liz. Also, Liz was busy.

  Her mother sighed. Loudly. “You know I can’t ask Patricia! With Russ’s travel schedule and her hands full with the new baby, where would she find the time?”

  Liz shrugged away from Grant’s tongue. Talk of babies made her nervous when she was so close to a bed. “New baby? Clara was ‘new’ in December, Mom.” Oh God, what was she doing? She could not get sucked into this conversation!

  Her mother made a sound of disgust. Either that, or she’d accidentally swallowed the phone. “Well! If you’d ever settle down and give me a grandchild, you’d know that new lasts a whole lot longer than a few days where a baby’s concerned!”

  “You’ve had grandchildren since you were forty-eight years old, and you didn’t seem so thrilled at the time.”

  “Nonsense! They are blessings each and every one of them! Anyway, you know we’d ask your brother, but I haven’t heard from him since Thanksgiving. Your father has been up in arms over it. We thought maybe he was planning to surprise us down here for Christmas! Of course it was unseasonably hot this year, enough to keep anyone away. Airfares are all over the place, too!” Her mother tsk tsked. Grant made impatient throat-slicing motions with his finger. Liz mouthed, I’m trying! and shrugged apologetically. “It’s all your father can do to stay comfortable. You know, it’s really not the heat, it’s the humidity. He should be thankful, I tell him! At least you don’t have to shovel the heat…”

  Grant rolled his eyes and left the room. Crap! Liz watched his retreating backside and grimaced, tugging at the leg-band of her underwear. Then, wandering into the living room herself, she sank onto Grant’s dove-gray designer ottoman while her mother prattled on about hurricane warnings and prickly heat.

  She’d been so right about the color. Liz ran an idle hand over the smooth, velvety fabric of the ottoman. It was the perfect complement to Grant’s black leather sofa and chrome and glass end-tables. Plus, the deep ocean blue accent wall she’d painted in alternating stripes of flat and gloss paint gave the room a subtle ‘pop.’ Liz was quite proud of the effect. Clean and sophisticated. Like Grant. It was so sweet of him to let her play with his decor this way.

  “Lawn or not,” Liz cut in as her mother took a breath, “I don’t see why this can’t wait.”

  “Normally it could, but with your father’s surgery—”

  Liz leapt to her feet. “Dad’s having surgery? For what?”

  “He’s getting that hip replacement the doctor recommended last fall!”

  “Mom, it’s April! He’s been needing a hip replacement since last fall?” Liz paced back to the bedroom. How could Mom carry on about airfares and humidity when Dad was about to go under the knife? And, how could a woman who talked so incessantly communicate so little?

  “You know how busy these orthopedists are down here. We’ll be staying a couple extra months and coming home in July. Anyway, you always say you never take all your vacation time, and April in New Hampshire is beautiful.”

  “Right. Mud season followed by black fly season. Maybe I had plans for my vacation time this year.” Liz blew out a candle. The vanilla-scented smoke was beginning to make her eyes water.

  “Did you?” her mother bellowed.

  “Um, no. But I might have.” Fine. She was definitely sounding petulant now, but she didn’t care. This was supposed to be the night. Liz didn’t want to be stuck on the phone discussing grandchildren and hip surgeries and prickly heat. She wanted to be making sweet love to her boyfriend/future fiancé!

  There was another audible sigh on the other end of the line. “Your father said I shouldn’t burden you like this. And don’t get me wrong, we’re happy you’re so successful, and you know we’ve tried not to hold you back or take advantage of you. You’ve earned it! But, I told your f
ather if anyone can get this done right, it’s our Elizabeth!”

  As the guilt-producing silence stretched out, Liz sighed. She uncorked the bottle of Pinot Grigio and poured another glass, wishing it were a lusty Bordeaux instead. “Fine. I’ll talk to Trish. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “There’s a good girl! Your father will be so relieved to have this taken care of.”

  “When is his surgery?”

  “Friday morning.”

  “Fri—?” Liz took a fortifying sip of wine. It would serve no purpose to point out it was already Wednesday. “Let me know how it goes, okay?”

  “I’ll have Patricia call you. I’ve got to run. The real estate agent is expecting my call.”

  “What real estate agent?”

  “The one that’s listing the house! Really, honey, if you can’t pay better attention...”

  Liz felt a little sick, the wine roiling in her gut. “You’re selling the house? That’s what this is about?”

  “Why did you think we were sprucing it up like this? We’ve decided we just can’t keep up with it like we used to. Patricia suggested we get it listed as soon as possible—to take advantage of the summer buying season. Your father doesn’t want to talk about it, but ever since the markets crashed, well, our retirement savings aren’t what they used to be…”

  For once her mother’s voice had grown soft, and Liz felt an odd ache of unease in her chest.

  “Anyway, Patricia will fill you in. Call her! I’ve got to run!”

  Liz held the phone to her ear for a full five seconds before she realized her mom was no longer there. She set her glass on the edge of the dresser with a shaking hand. Sell the house? They were selling the house?

  “Is everything all right?”

  Liz sucked in a steadying breath and let Grant’s sympathetic words wash over her. It wasn’t a big deal. Really. Chicago was her home now. It was just the suddenness of it all that was throwing her off. Who wouldn’t feel blind-sided? Wasn’t it only natural to picture your childhood home—however imperfect it may have been—to still be there to go back to someday? That is, if you wanted.

  Not that she had. Or did. It was silly to get worked up over it.

  She thought about her own hefty savings and 401(k) contributions a little guiltily. It never occurred to her that the house in New Hampshire was all the ‘investment’ her parents had left. She’d always felt she’d made college happen through her own hard work, and yet… when she’d needed a security deposit for an apartment near campus her junior year her dad had mailed her a check, no questions asked.

  Liz closed her eyes and licked her lips and tried to pull herself together. Good grief. She hadn’t put all this effort into choosing special wine, scented candles and frilly underwear to stand here worrying about her father’s hip or Florida’s weather or an old farmhouse in rural New Hampshire she hadn’t seen in years!

  She was here, in Grant’s bedroom, preparing to make love with the first man she’d dated in the past DECADE she could actually see herself—dare she say it?—maybe not yet, okay, at least engaged to, and it wasn’t going to happen if she stood here and didn’t even pucker her lips and make an effort to—

  Crack! Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

  Liz’s lips froze mid-pucker. “What is that?” she asked.

  “A carrot. I got hungry. You want some?”

  Liz stared at the orange stub Grant had thrust toward her. “No. I’m… no.”

  “You okay?”

  She blinked, trying to focus. “No. I mean, yes. Yes. Everything’s fine.”

  Crack! Crunch. Crunch. Grant stepped closer and reached out to smooth the hair behind her shoulder. He popped the remaining carrot into his mouth and stroked his hand down her arm, his fingertips cool on her skin.

  “The music stopped,” she said inanely, hating that she was near tears and not even knowing why.

  “Don’t worry about the music,” he said. “I don’t need music.”

  Liz closed her eyes, defeated. “I’m sorry, Grant. I know it’s bad timing, but… I need to go home.”

  “Now? Did you forget something?”

  She stepped back. “No, not that home... I mean… to New Hampshire. My parents need my help with something. I have to take a couple weeks. Time off. I’m sorry. I know we’re wrapping up the merger and starting the new project next week, but…. I’ll bring Janice up to speed, and I promise to e-mail and call every day. No, twice a day. You’ll hardly know I’m gone…” She began to gather her things.

  Grant stared at her for one long moment as he chewed. Swallowed.

  “We’re not having sex tonight, are we?” he finally said.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ____________________

  TRISH WAS LATE.

  Liz sat on a bench outside the Manchester-Boston Regional Airport and forced down another spoonful of beef barley soup as she waited for her sister to pick her up.

  The flight to New Hampshire had been hell. Sandwiched in a middle seat between an overweight man with no concept of personal space and a homesick grad student who offered way too many details of his dermatologic history, she’d been forced to feign interest in the Sky Mall magazine for a solid hour and a half. Outside of Don Quixote from AP Lit Class in high school, it was probably the most boring publication known to man.

  Maybe she should have taken Grant’s advice and rented a car. Liz set the soup down on the pet crate at her feet. Eddie didn’t take well to being boarded, and driving fourteen hours with a cranky, motion-sick cat as her only companion held less appeal than sitting outside the airport, slurping congealing, overpriced soup. Liz watched the sun sink toward the horizon and breathed a sigh of relief as her sister’s minivan swerved to a stop in front of her.

  “I know. I’m late!” Trish leapt from the van and flung open the rear door. “Be back in a minute. I need to change Clara’s diaper. I think we have a major blow-out.” Trish’s hair appeared a little wilder than usual, and it looked suspiciously like she had her T-shirt on inside out.

  “Oh. Sure.” Liz wasn’t precisely sure what ‘blow-out’ meant, but it didn’t sound good from the looks of Trish’s expression.

  Trish tossed Liz her keys, waving vaguely with her free hand. “Just drive around a few times if they complain, but I’m gonna need running water for this.” With that, she disappeared inside the terminal, blithely parading by the security guy who was trying to get her attention.

  Liz opened the rear slider and came face to face with Max, Trish’s black Lab.

  She body-blocked Max, dumping soup down her sleeve, and reassured the security guy she was not taking the dog out of the car. Max lapped her wrist helpfully, slobbering all over her dry-clean-only Anne Klein jacket as she tried to close the door again. “In! Get in, Max! I know. I sympathize. But you can’t get out here. That security guy is not happy with us.” Max’s dark eyes pleaded with Liz through the window, and he gave a plaintive woof. Relenting, she cracked the door open a little. His nose wriggled giddily at the opening.

  “Good doggie,” she said, patting his snout. His nose was wet and clammy, but the fur on his head was soft and silky, and Liz decided even though he was a tad pushy, Max wasn’t so bad. He’d actually mellowed with age.

  They’d never had pets growing up. Mom didn’t like animals in general—too much work—so she and Trish had always talked about how when they were grown-ups they’d have a menagerie: dogs, cats, birds, ferrets. They’d said ‘menagerie’ after Liz had read the word in Doctor Doolittle and decided it sounded both wonderful and exotic all at the same time.

  Then Trish had gotten pregnant at eighteen, married Russ, adopted Max before Ben was even born and pronounced herself an idiot for getting a dog and having a baby in the same year. Liz looked down at Eddie’s crate, his golden fur jutting out the air vents of his crate as he snoozed. A big, dumb dog and a one-eyed tomcat between them. So much for menageries.

  Liz loaded her suitcase and the pet carrier in the back of the van and found
a box of wet-wipes to blot at her sleeve.

  Trish returned, the baby carrier knocking the terminal’s doors even as they tried to whoosh themselves out of the way. “It’s good you’ve eaten,” Trish said, lurching forward. “Just so you know, I went by the house and left some cereal and turned on the fridge. Take-out menus are on the counter.” Trish slammed the rear hatch closed and clicked baby Clara’s bucket seat into its base before Liz could blink. “I’ll swing by and take you grocery shopping Wednesday morning, but I’ve got back-to-back crazy until then.”

  “Wednesday?”

  “Yeah, I know. But, after I drop the twins at preschool, I’ve got to swing back down here tomorrow to drop Russ off for an early flight. Ben has an eye appointment in the afternoon, then track practice. Tuesday is preschool for the twins again, then I’ve got a meeting with Ben’s teachers, then karate, and if I drive after sunset, Clara screams the whole time. It’s enough to drive you insane.”

  The way Trish’s eyes looked slightly manic over the hood of the car convinced Liz this was not an overstatement. Of course, keeping track of four children, three of which were under five could do that to a person.“Wednesday is fine. It’ll give me time to work up a list of things I’ll need for the house.”

  Liz opened the passenger door, surreptitiously swept a few crumbs to the floor with her palm, and sank into her seat. It didn’t matter if she had food. She’d be happy to be in her own space. After that awful flight, it felt good to breathe fresh air and stretch her legs again.

  Trish flumped into the driver’s seat and threw her oversized tote on Liz’s feet. “Oh, and I got some food and cat litter for Eddie back there for when he comes round again.”

  “Thanks.”

  Trish pulled away from the curb. “Before I forget, I brought over a few potted plants to dress up the front porch, and I left a can of mis-tint paint I picked up cheap on the kitchen counter. I thought it’d be good to recoat the front door. It’s flaking like my elbows in winter.”

  “I’m painting the front door, too?”

  “God, yes. And trim the bushes. Seriously, they look like Audrey from Little Shop of Horrors. Though Dad’s tulips are starting to bloom, so there’s some nice color, at least.”