Sterling Read online

  “Will you be getting diapers?”

  “I will definitely be getting diapers. Ellen was not amused by the roadkill pack.”

  He laughed as he stopped by his car and gently set her down. That beautiful gaze connected with hers again. His lean was slight, and yet she felt the heat of it. The electricity between their bodies singed her skin.

  “Do I have something in my teeth?” she asked, careful to keep an even voice. It was a struggle.

  His lashes fluttered, as if he was coming out of a daydream. A small crease wormed between his brows. He shook his head, the movement barely perceptible…and straightened up again.

  A sigh of relief escaped her. She needed to get away from him. And probably apologize to Ellen for having taunted her about Noah in the past. Of course Ellen had fallen under his thrall—how could any woman help it?

  “No. But your hair looks like it hasn’t seen a brush in about a year.” A grin worked at his shapely lips. He opened his trunk and took out two bags.

  “Two days, actually. It’s just so…” She fingered one of her boring brown locks, falling in a messy wave to her middle. “Thick. It takes forever to brush. Or style. Or…really do anything with it. My sisters are constantly telling me to get a more stylish haircut. And if nothing else, dye it. Mousy brown isn’t in, apparently. So they say, anyway.”

  “You don’t seem like the kind of person who’d want to deal with the upkeep.”

  “Why, whatever do you mean?” she asked in an old-timey accent, fluttering her eyelashes.

  He shrugged. “If you don’t bother to brush it, I can’t imagine you’d bother to get your roots colored every six weeks.” He glanced down at her knees. A pained expression crossed his visage.

  She followed his gaze, seeing lines of blood oozing down her leg. “You’re squeamish with wounds?”

  “Not usually. It looks like it hurts, is all. I’d rather you not be in pain. Can you walk?”

  She ignored the butterflies that had swarmed her stomach. “I’m fine, believe me. Can I help you carry something?”

  “Don’t be silly.” He started forward slowly, waiting until she got the hint and matched his pace. “None of your exes insisted that ladies should go first?” he asked as they walked.

  “I mean…sometimes, sure. But no one I’ve dated has ever made a big deal about it. If they were closer to the door or whatever, sure, but if I got there first and held it open for them, then they’d go.”

  “Do you date cavemen?”

  She laughed. “I think they just knew me well enough to get out of the way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She stopped at his front door, not about to open it and lead the way. She hadn’t seen his parents up close for years. They wouldn’t recognize her, so they’d probably assume she was a stranger, possibly an intruder. Barging into a rich person’s house was a good way to get oneself shot.

  “I mean,” she said, “that they realized I have the ability to trip and skin my knees in a yard I’ve known all my life. They were probably concerned I’d take them down with me if they veered too close. How many grown women do you know who still skin their knees?”

  “Depends on where she falls to them…” His voice took on a deep, syrupy quality that rolled over her in a delicious way. She knew he was talking about sex, blow jobs, figures writhing in each other’s arms—

  “Open the door,” she said, desperate to cut that line of thought short. Her body was wound painfully tight again.

  He did as she asked, then repeated that weird body jerk.

  She laughed and led him through the door before quickly peeling off to the side. “It’s a lot of work, being this hardcore of a gentleman, isn’t it?” she joked, keeping her voice to a hush and glancing around for a deranged rich-guy gunman. It was far-fetched, she knew, but her luck was as bad as her clumsiness. It was best not to tempt fate.

  “I’d ask why you’re so jumpy, but I’ve spoken to your uncle.” Noah pushed the door with his foot to close it. “Do you not like it when a man puts you first?”

  She opened her mouth for a witty reply…then hesitated. It was a lot of work, what he did. Since she’d reconnected with him, he’d helped pick up her spilled items, patiently waited for her, carried her groceries, carried her—he’d gone out of his way to look after her. She got the impression he wasn’t worried if this behavior was expected of him—he expected it of himself.

  Warmth filled her middle. To his honest question, she gave an honest response. “It’s nice. I do like it.”

  “See? If you show respect, you’ll get respect. Sometimes in the form of blood and grass stains on your favorite shirt. How lucky am I?” He gave her that winning smile before starting forward, sparing a glance for her knees. “Come on. I’ll drop these in the kitchen and find Greg.”

  Seven

  “Hey, hon. What took you so— Oh.” Noah’s mom, Alice, caught sight of Cynthia as she half hobbled into the kitchen. Alice wiped her hands on her flowered apron and pushed her straight gray hair, cut short at her chin, back from her face. “Oh no. Is she hurt?”

  Noah set the bags of groceries on the counter, knowing his mom would want to put them away. “Mom, this is Cynthia from down the street.”

  “Oh, Cynthia! Yes, of course. Hello, Cynthia!” His mom gave her a warm smile before moving to the table set up in the corner, not unlike the one in Cynthia’s parents’ house. The houses in this neighborhood were large and stately, with decent-sized yards, but they were still tract homes, designed with only a few varying layouts, which meant the furniture often ended up in similar places. His mom pulled out a chair. “Have a seat. Your knees!”

  “Hi, Mrs. Arnold,” Cynthia said, waving the offer away. “They’re fine, really. I’m okay.”

  “Please, call me Alice.” Noah’s mom tapped the chair again. “Have a seat. I’ll get you something to drink.”

  “Sit,” Noah said, gently taking Cynthia’s arm and steering her toward the table. He inwardly cringed at how she was walking. Clearly, she was in some sort of pain, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

  His mom, a born caretaker with a heavy dose of sympathy, tsked before reaching forward to help guide Cynthia into the seat. “Noah, go.” His mom waved him away. “Go get Tia. She’s out in the backyard in the cold. At least this will bring her in.”

  “Is Greg not home?” Noah asked, trying to remember if he’d seen his brother’s car out front.

  “He’s up in the playroom with the kids.”

  Noah nodded, gave Cynthia a last glance to make sure she was okay to be left, and smiled when he saw her pleading look. She probably knew Noah’s mom would give her the first degree on her current life situation.

  Noah knew exactly how she felt. So far he’d been able to dodge all the where’s-your-life-going questions, but that was before his dad, a true master at interrogations, had returned. If not for the whole Art situation, Noah might’ve spared Cynthia. As it was…

  “Be back in a jiff,” Noah said, matching her wicked grin from earlier. Her eyes narrowed.

  Yes, the fight had just gotten dirty. Suck on that.

  Laughing to himself, he hurried out of the room and through the house, avoiding his dad’s study. As he opened the sliding glass door that would take him outside, he froze.

  His dad hadn’t been lingering in the study at all. He was hanging out with Noah’s sister-in-law in the gazebo. Great.

  “Tia,” Noah called from the doorway, getting her attention without having to go any closer. His father and Tia looked around, their eyebrows raised. Noah waved at his dad. “Hey, Dad. Tia, Cynthia from down the street had a fall. Would you mind taking a look?”

  “Noah…” His dad waved him forward. “Come closer when you’re talking to someone.”

  Thankfully, Tia was already rising. “I heard him,” she said. “What happened?” Tia asked as she drew near. Her eyes widened. “Is that blood on your shirt?”

  Noah backed into the house to let her thro
ugh. “Cynthia from down the street tripped and skidded on her knees. She needs first aid.”

  It belatedly occurred to Noah that calling in a doctor for a scraped knee was a bit much. All he had to do was get the first-aid kit his mother always had around, put a little cream on the problem areas, then apply some Band-Aids. Which was likely all Tia would do. But he’d seen blood on Cynthia and panicked.

  Which was not something he planned to admit to anyone.

  “How long did you say you were staying with your parents?” his mother was asking as they walked in the room.

  Dang it. All that time, and his mother was just now getting into the embarrassing life stuff.

  “Hi,” Tia said with a smile as she made eye contact with a relieved-looking Cynthia. “Are you Cynthia?”

  “Hi, yes,” Cynthia said. “Sorry for bothering you. It’s really no big deal.”

  “No problem at all.” Tia smiled and knelt to inspect her knees. “It’s nice not to have the subject crying.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Tia, Noah’s sister-in-law. I’m a pediatrician.”

  Cynthia showed her scraped palm instead of shaking. “I doubt you also want blood all over you.”

  Tia laughed and glanced back at Noah. “So what do we have here?”

  “I’ll grab the first-aid kit,” Noah said as his father appeared in the entranceway to the kitchen.

  “Cynthia, right?” his father asked as Noah skirted by. He ran up the stairs two at a time, grabbed the kit from the upstairs bathroom, then hurried back down.

  “You’re living with your parents now, I heard,” his dad was saying.

  Noah was begrudgingly impressed by how quickly his dad had gotten to the heart of the matter. Impressed, but not surprised.

  “Here you go,” Noah said, handing off the kit.

  “Oh, thanks.” Tia took it from him before straightening Cynthia’s leg.

  “I am, yes,” Cynthia said, adjusting in her seat to make it easier for Tia.

  “I was just asking her how long she planned to stay,” Noah’s mom said, fussing with a head of lettuce.

  “I’m…not sure yet,” Cynthia said, pausing to suck in a breath as an alcohol pad was swiped across her scrape. “I want to find a job that is both challenging and offers plenty of room to grow.”

  “You often move from job to job, right?” Noah’s dad crossed his arms, studying Cynthia. It was his default pose when interrogating someone about the future. Noah knew it well.

  Noah’s brother had rarely seen it. There’d been no occasion for him to. His path was perfectly aligned with the one traveled by the rest of the Arnold family.

  “Dan,” his mother said in a low tone, “stop badgering the poor girl.”

  “I’m not badgering her.” Dan held out his hand. “I’m just asking about her past work experience to better understand what she’s looking for.”

  Amazingly, a small smile lit up Cynthia’s face. Noah had no idea why. He was sweating on her behalf—the grilling was just getting going, and he had no idea how to derail it. Possibly this had been a terrible idea.

  “It’s simple, Dan,” Cynthia said as though speaking to an old friend. “I’m looking for the dream job. A marketing job with a boss that gives me a goal, or a broad task, and then gets out of my way. A job that has either a lot of varied challenges, constantly coming at me, or a long ladder for me to climb. A job that also pays well, has good medical, and doesn’t skimp on the perks. Dream job.”

  “I thought you said you wanted a lot of challenges and a long ladder,” Noah’s dad said.

  “We’re splitting hairs here, Dan,” she retorted. Tia smiled, and she bent a little more, clearly trying to hide it from the others. “But you’re right. I do tend to move from job to job. I’m there a year, and I get bored. I ask for more work, and I get busywork. I ask for harder work, and I get blank stares. I ask for a promotion, and I get told I haven’t been there long enough, even though, by that point, I can usually do the job better than my boss. Strangely enough, it never goes well when I share that information with the boss. Usually a him.”

  Noah’s dad frowned as he shifted. “You just need to stick it out until you are there long enough to get a promotion. Or push harder.”

  “That’s why I want a place with a giant ladder. Maybe, like, a collection of ladders in a vast marketing department, so I don’t have to displace my boss in order to step up.” Cynthia sucked in another breath as Tia started working the other knee.

  “Or just more challenges,” Noah said, relaxing a little because Cynthia didn’t seem to feel the pressure of his dad. Then again, she had her own battles to fight in her house. Why would she care about a neighbor’s opinion?

  She glanced at him and smiled. “Or never-ending challenges, yes.”

  Noah’s dad shifted again, his frown making deep creases in his face. “No one wants to reward an employee that won’t put in the time. You need longevity.”

  “If this were thirty years ago, Dan, I’d say you were right.” She sagged against the table as a Band-Aid went on. “But things are different now. Companies care more about the bottom line than they do loyalty. If I could find the right position, I know I could dazzle them with my abilities. When I’m faced with a problem, or a series of problems, I always knock it out of the park.” She held out her palm for Tia’s inspection. “It’s when I get bored that everything falls apart.”

  “And this only takes one year?” his dad asked.

  “Usually. And yes, I should try to get a management position right off. That’s what you were going to say next, right?” Cynthia eyed Dan, whose frown turned more pronounced, if that were possible. Cynthia nodded. “Yeah, my dad said the same thing. So did Ellen’s husband. And Tera’s husband. But without a management position in my past, and with my flighty work history, no one wants to take a chance. So here I am.”

  Dan grunted and put his hands on his hips. “What do you plan to do, then? You can’t stay in your parents’ house forever.”

  “Not if I want to keep my sanity, no,” Cynthia agreed. “I’ll probably have to stick it out for the holidays, since no one is hiring right now, then start looking more seriously. This time I won’t take the first thing that’s offered. I’ll be choosier.”

  “That’s the problem with kids these days.” Noah’s dad hitched up his pants. “They think jobs grow on trees. That if they just hang around long enough, something will fall in their laps.”

  “Dan,” Noah’s mom said. She gave him a look that said back down.

  Cynthia shrugged. “Getting a job is actually pretty easy for me. I’m a terrific interviewer. The trick is, just tell them what they want to hear with absolute confidence. Name dropping doesn’t hurt. Flashing labels doesn’t hurt, either. Anything to say that you’re the right sort of person. Like I said, it’s keeping a job that’s hard for me. Or, rather, staying in one.”

  Tia stood, that small smile still tugging at her lips. She tucked a lock of black, shiny hair behind her ear and glanced at Noah’s dad, who was staring at Cynthia with an incredulous expression. Clearly he had no idea how to read her. Noah suspected Cynthia was used to that reaction.

  “You left your last job, then?” Tia asked, zipping up the first-aid kit.

  Cynthia’s face went red. She flicked a clump of messy hair over her shoulder. “That one…I didn’t actually quit, no…”

  Silence filled the kitchen as everyone waited for her to go on.

  Cynthia’s face turned a darker shade of crimson. “My boss was also my boyfriend. And his dad was the owner.”

  “A manager dating his subordinate is just not appropriate,” Noah’s dad said firmly.

  Cynthia made a show of grimacing. “Probably not, no. And unfortunately, before I got tired of the job, I got tired of the boyfriend. He didn’t take the breakup well. He pinned Post-it theft on me and fired me.”

  “Well…” Dan shifted again, and it was entirely clear he was not keeping up as well as he wanted to be. Noah needed to employ
these tactics when it was his turn to get grilled. It was awe-worthy, really. “That isn’t reason enough to be terminated. Clearly there is a conflict of interest there. You could probably sue for false termination. I mean, you’d have to talk to a lawyer…”

  And that was when it happened. The mood, tone—everything—shifted. Dan jolted as though he’d been punched, and glanced Noah’s way. Disappointment clouded his eyes. Noah’s mom dropped her face before turning away. Even Tia bit her lip and stared at the ground.

  It always came back to this, one way or another.

  Eight

  Cynthia looked around in confusion when the rapid-fire questions stopped and Noah’s expression shifted from one of nervous delight to one of embarrassment and anxiety.

  No, not just Noah’s expression. Everyone’s.

  The last thing that had been talked about was getting a lawyer.

  Cynthia looked at Noah, whose eyes had found an extremely interesting spot on the floor to study. His reaction had been similar when she’d brought up his excellent score on the bar exam earlier, at the grocery store.

  Mr. Perfect had a couple skeletons jigging around in his closet. How very interesting.

  Cynthia bit her lip as the silence stretched on, quickly turning oppressive. She could easily make an excuse and get out of there, leaving Noah at the mercy of his father, but she’d already thrust Noah at the rudest, biggest blowhard in the world—her uncle. Plus, she’d been the recipient of gentlemanly behavior that gave her butterflies. Leaving him now felt like abandonment.

  “That job didn’t pay enough for a wrongful termination suit,” she said into the suddenly pressurized room. “Besides, I was stealing Post-its. And paperclips. Occasionally a pen or two. They didn’t have very good pens, or I would’ve taken more. I prefer to sneak into hotels and steal those. If only hotels had Post-its.”

  Tia let out a loud breath, followed by a shaky laugh.

  “Anyway. Thanks, Tia. I owe you one,” Cynthia said, throwing her a thumbs-up. “Noah, would you mind walking me home? Or lending me some shoes so I don’t have to attempt another jaunt in heels? I don’t want to bother Tia for a second round of repairs.”