Risky Business Read online

  “If you stay, then you have to be Cloud Nine’s receptionist, too. The last one quit.”

  “Cool. I can answer phones. As long as I’m free to go to gigs when I need to.” She propped Katie on her hip. “This is a match made in heaven. You’ll see.”

  “You were born a gypsy, you know that?”

  “You’re the only Lexington who says that with affection.”

  Allison gave a lock of Chelsea’s hair a tug. “I will say one thing. Having you around makes me look like a model citizen.”

  “I’m not that bad. Just bad enough to keep life interesting.”

  “Okay, sis. You’re hired. With one caveat: give me notice before you leave, all right? If you’re going to help me watch Katie, it’d be nice to have time to make other plans.”

  Chelsea faked another look of innocence, this time with an accompanying hand to her hip. “What are you saying? I always give you notice.”

  The last time Chelsea stayed with Allison under the guise of watching Katie so Allison could attend Lowell’s trial, Allison had woken up one Friday morning to find Chelsea gone, a note on the kitchen counter.

  “The last notice you gave me was a sticky note that read: ‘Last minute gig in Atlanta. I’m still good for the money I borrowed.’”

  Chelsea gave a halfhearted cringe. “Yeah, about that. There was this guy.” Then she rolled her eyes back in her head and hummed like she was having a flashback to the orgasms he’d given her. “That weekend was worth every penny of your money, Allie. Trust me.”

  Allison had to chuckle. What else could she do when it came to Chelsea?

  Chelsea tugged on her hair. “This is going to be fun. This place is cool.”

  Just like that, there was the music Chelsea saw, the silver lining of Allison’s grim situation.

  “I agree. Just . . . just don’t sleep with Theo.” She hadn’t known she was going to say that until it came out of her mouth, and now that it was out there, she wished there was some way to get it back.

  Right on cue, Chelsea’s expression turned to wide-eyed intrigued. “Theo. I like the name. Tell me about this Theo of yours?”

  “It’s not like that. He’s Cloud Nine’s manager-slash-mechanic—and my only employee. He’s not happy that I’m his new boss.”

  “Ah. That’s too bad. I was hoping you were staking your claim on some hot local guy who’s welcomed you to town. You deserve a rebound fling.”

  “I like that idea. But Theo isn’t fling material.” Though he was gorgeous to the highest order, and a terrific hockey player, and a former soldier and a great businessman and a motorcycle enthusiast . . . and just about every other quality she had no idea she was attracted to in a man until a week ago.

  “What about Theo’s friends? Am I in the clear to check them out?”

  “Have at ’em. They’re all good-looking. Former soldiers, hockey players. And one of them, I have confirmation from the other women in town, is a total male slut.”

  She regretted that last part as soon as she’d said it. Harper was her friend, and secretly into Brandon, yet she’d offered him to her sister. It was uncanny how loose and irresponsible she became when she was in Chelsea’s orbit.

  Chelsea’s grin lit up her face. “After all Lowell put you through, you might have a little spark left in you after all.”

  By the time Lowell’s trial concluded and his verdict was read, she hadn’t thought she had any spark left in her, either. Moving to Destiny Falls, assuming ownership of Cloud Nine, and sparring with Theo had done the equivalent of zapping her heart with electric shock paddles. “For a while there, I forgot who I really was, deep down.”

  Chelsea slung an arm across her shoulders. “I didn’t think I was going to approve of you running a boat rental company, with the water and because of its Lowell connection, but you being here just might be crazy enough to work.”

  Mark the date and time. Somebody was concerned about her running Cloud Nine for something other than her incompetence. She set her cheek on Chelsea’s arm, loving her sister even more in that moment. “That’s what I’m banking on.”

  The office door banged open. Theo stood in the threshold, gesturing at the storage pod with a pair of pliers. “Was that a moving van?”

  He was clad in a greasy ribbed white tank top with a black shirt stuffed into the waist of his jeans and a red and black bandana covering his hair. His arms, hands, and pants were streaked with as much grease as his shirt. With the waving pliers and the bandana and his irate expression, he looked rather scary. And really, really hot.

  Bad Allison. Don’t think about it.

  Chelsea leaned her way, holding her hair in front of her mouth. “Tell me that’s one of Theo’s friends.”

  She shot Chelsea a warning look, then let her annoyance at his acerbic tone and sexiness envelop her. The force of her irritation propelled her toward him. “Did you expect me to sleep in Lowell’s mistress’s bed indefinitely?”

  This time, Chelsea didn’t bother with a pretense of discretion. She grabbed the back of Allison’s sweater. “Okay, what? He had a mistress?”

  “I’ll tell you everything later, but it’s going to require wine,” Allison said out of the corner of her mouth, her gaze locked with Theo’s.

  “No, I don’t expect you to sleep there. I expected you to give up this crazy idea that you’re fit to run Cloud Nine and go back to where you came from.”

  She walked right up to him, planted her feet and crossed her arms over her chest, ready for another staring contest. This close to him, she caught the scent of motor oil, and beneath that, aftershave. Or maybe soap. He didn’t seem to shave all that often, as evinced by the thick layer of stubble covering his cheeks, chin, and neck.

  A crazy vision erupted in her imagination of that stubble grazing over her neck and lower, scratchy and perfect. Beard abrasion.

  “What?” he spat.

  Okay, so maybe she’d said that last part aloud. She shook the vision away and reclaimed her irritation. “Never mind. I’m tired of you telling me what I’m capable and not capable of, so how about we drop this futile argument and you go back to cussing at me in French?”

  He obliged her, spewing what she imaged was a long string of filthy curses and threats, complete with wild gestures. She forced her focus to stay on his angry eyes, though her peripheral vision was all over the outline of his pecs in that tank top, the stubble giving way to a dusting of hair on his chest, the way his arm muscles flexed with every gesture.

  He turned his back on them, returning to the office, and strode toward the garage. Allison stomped after him. “I guess that means you’re not going to help move my stuff in.”

  He didn’t acknowledge her words. Probably because he hadn’t heard them over his French ranting. Opening the door to the garage with his shoulder and hip, he kept up the diatribe as he turned away from her, then let the door swing closed behind him.

  “You’re a terrible employee!” she hollered at the closed door.

  Allison turned to find Duke, Will, Brandon, and Chelsea all gaping at her. Ignoring their stares, she walked to the kitchen and closed her eyes, flexing and releasing her fists, working herself down from her anger. If she’d had feathers, they would be ruffled for sure. She’d never met a man who evoked such anger and lust in her, all swirled together like an emotional tornado.

  She shouldn’t have brought up his employment like that because he seemed to particularly hate it when she did that, and she needed him. They were too close to the start of the season for her to find someone new in time. Worse, even if she did find someone, she still wasn’t precisely clear on all the many facets of Theo’s job, and so would have no way to train a new employee. Merely thinking about the possibility had her anxiety peaking.

  A moment later, she sensed Chelsea’s presence nearby. She opened her eyes at the sound of Katie’s happy gurgl
e to see her bouncing in Chelsea’s arms. She stood next to Allison, staring through the kitchen door at the visible edge of the closed garage door as though in shock.

  “That was Theo?”

  “Yup.”

  “You didn’t mention he was . . . was . . .”

  “A jerk?”

  “That too, but . . .”

  “That he spoke French?”

  “That too, but . . .” Chelsea shifted Katie to one arm, then held her hand out, miming a broad shoulder, then a bulging biceps. “An eleven. No—a twelve.”

  “Yeah, that too.”

  In the garage, an engine revved in a long, loud, brash roar of sound.

  Chelsea startled. “What’s that?”

  “His motorcycle.”

  After a lengthy pause, Chelsea let out a low whistle. “Screw wine. This situation is code level: vodka.”

  Chapter Ten

  “This isn’t a yard sale. Sorry!”

  Allison waved at the slowing car, the fourth one since they’d popped the storage pod open and excavated the largest pieces of furniture from beneath innumerable smaller boxes and trash bags full of linens and clothes. Though it would have been ideal to get the smaller items moved into the house first instead of redecorating the parking lot as a yard sale, Allison didn’t want to trample on Duke, Will, and Brandon’s good graces.

  Already, it was past lunch time, and Duke’s crew had done all they could on the office walls and ceiling for the day. As soon as they’d moved Allison’s bed into the spare bedroom for Chelsea, along with the crib, bedroom furniture, and kitchen table, she’d released them, eager to let them get on with their weekend plans.

  Allison hefted a trash bag full of bathroom towels over her shoulder. Katie, strapped into a baby carrier on her chest, kicked happily. She was having a great time going along for the ride while her mama made trip after trip between the parking lot and the house.

  “We’ve got to get this stuff inside,” she said, “because selling it all off to passersby is starting to sound like a great plan.”

  Chelsea stuffed another full bag onto Katie’s high chair and rolled it after Allison into the house. “What are you going to do with all this stuff, anyway? The landing house is huge, but it isn’t that huge.”

  “I was planning to give most of it to charity or sell it online, but I took a look inside the rental houseboats this week and they could use some sprucing up. Using Lowell’s and my things would be a great way to repurpose them.”

  “Wait a sec—you got on a boat? That’s unprecedented. Go, Allie.”

  They dropped the load at the base of the stairs, then trudged back outside for more.

  “It’s not as brave as you think.”

  She’d first noticed the drabness of the boats’ interiors when Theo had carried her onto a dock that first day. But she wasn’t crazy about the idea of sharing that experience with Chelsea. It had been far too intimate and complicated, and she still didn’t understand Theo enough to draw conclusions about why he’d done what he had—not the ticking-her-off part or the pushing-her-boundaries part, but the part in which they’d stood, embracing, for too long. The part in which she’d almost kissed him.

  Even now, it sped her pulse to remember the way it’d felt in his arms, their faces close. She cleared her throat and shook the image away, then grabbed another bag in each hand and headed back to the house. Chelsea followed, balancing banker’s boxes.

  “A few days ago, I was ticked off at Theo because he was acting like a jerk, as usual, so I followed him onboard one of the boats and threw a plate of food at him.”

  Chelsea set down the boxes and laughed. “That’s what I mean about a spark in you. Old Allison would never have done that.”

  “Old Allison didn’t comprehend how truly despicable the male gender could be. This year has been illuminating, to say the least.”

  “Some of them. Not all of them.”

  She was right. Duke’s crew were good guys. Their brother, Grant, was a good man, as was their father.

  Chelsea sat on the boxes, looking deep in thought. The bottom one was labeled fragile vases, but Allison couldn’t muster up any give-a-damn. It wasn’t like she had the funds for fresh flowers, and even if she did, she’d probably spend them on something else. Like a business class at the community college.

  “What’s on your mind, Chel?”

  “I saw the bag of sheets and it got me thinking. I don’t want you to sleep on the whore bed anymore. I think we should chop it into firewood and burn it. A symbolic cleansing, if you will.”

  Allison grinned. She’d joked about doing just that on her first morning at Cloud Nine, but hadn’t seriously considered it. People didn’t just go around burning beds when they were wronged. It wasn’t done. But in Chelsea’s world, taking such actions was perfectly legitimate.

  “I love that idea, but I think I’ve set enough fires here already. Plus, since you’re going to stay here, we need both the whore bed and my marriage bed.”

  Chelsea shoved off the boxes and started up the stairs. “That’s depressing.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Allison followed her until they stood in the threshold of the master bedroom, staring at the bed in question. Allison didn’t want to sleep on Lowell and Shawna’s bed anymore, either, but with Chelsea staying with her, they had no more beds to spare. She’d given the guest bed from her and Lowell’s house to Janie because her oldest son had outgrown his twin bed.

  Chelsea tapped her chin, then pivoted and started back down the stairs. “Fuck it. I got paid for my gig last night in Lockport. I’ll buy you a new bed. Let’s do this thing.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. What about Katie?”

  “Katie still takes an afternoon nap, right?”

  “Yes.”

  She stopped in front of the garage door. “That gives us plenty of time to destroy the whore bed.”

  Every time Chelsea called it that, or talked about destroying it for real, not just the fantasy that Allison had originally imagined, Allison felt lighter, freer. She’d been so busy worrying over the business and money, and repairing her image as the crazy lady who tried to burn down Cloud Nine and herself, that she’d never considered the catharsis involved in actually destroying the bed. At the moment, though, she could think of no better way to spend her Saturday afternoon.

  Allison checked the clock. Sure enough, it was about time for Katie’s bottle and nap. The trick would be convincing Chelsea to hold off until she set up the portable crib in another part of the house and gave Katie a bottle.

  Too bad Chelsea showed no signs of slowing down. She flung the garage door open. “There has to be an axe in this man cave.”

  Allison hadn’t ventured into the garage yet. Theo disconcerted her enough on neutral ground, without her venturing into his territory. Even now, knowing he’d taken off on his Harley, she got a hand-in-the-cookie jar anxiety about being there. The garage space was set up with thoughtful precision, with a long workbench on the far side and the rest of the walls lined with pegboard, cabinets, and shelves housing spare parts, shop vacs, saws, and other small machines. Small oil spots demarcated where he most likely parked his motorcycle, and in one corner, on the floor, sat a dismantled machine that looked suspiciously like a catapult.

  There were no axes visible hanging from the peg board, so Chelsea started flinging cabinets open. Allison followed, closing the cabinets again, hoping they could leave the garage looking untouched so Theo didn’t badger her about snooping. Chelsea came across two pickaxes first, so they decided to go with that.

  Somehow, Allison convinced her to pause long enough for the two of them to set up the portable crib behind the reception desk and put Katie down for her nap. Feeling as sneaky as thieves, they wordlessly took up their pickaxes and tiptoed back upstairs.

  They stood at the foot of the bed
, staring at their soon-to-be victim.

  “It’s a lumpy bed,” Allison said.

  “So what you’re saying is that it didn’t satisfy you?”

  Allison grinned, catching her drift. “I didn’t find him—I mean, it—at all satisfying, now that you mention it. It never gave me what I needed. It’s like it didn’t know its way around a woman’s body at all.”

  Chelsea grabbed the pillows and piled them on the floor “This bed was a prick.”

  Allison jerked the window open. “It didn’t keep me warm at night or make me feel loved or safe.”

  “It was a stupid, small-minded bed. Not worthy of you or your time.”

  Allison popped the screen out, then she took the pillows and chucked them out the window. They plopped onto the concrete platform between the office and the canal.

  “Are these your sheets?”

  “No. They’re the whore sheets. Let’s toss ’em. They’re uncomfortable and they smell bad.”

  As they stripped the bed, Chelsea wrinkled her nose. “It’s a good thing you’re getting rid of them and starting over. Nasty old, unsatisfying sheets deserve to get kicked to the curb.”

  “Or rot in jail.”

  When the mattress was bare, they stood over it, taking stock of the stains and lumps. It was neither new nor high quality.

  “This mattress was a cheap bastard,” Allison said. She swung her pickaxe into the middle of it, ripping through the fabric and lodging in the springs. It was a satisfying, destructive move. She felt stronger for it, as though she wasn’t closing the door on her past, but turning a whole building of her past into toothpicks.

  “The only time this mattress every paid attention to me was when I was late getting dinner to the table.”

  Okay, so the metaphor was crumbling, but Allison felt too liberated to care.

  Together, they ripped and tore the mattress to shreds, dumping the fabric out the window, until all that was left was a twisted grid of springs and metal rods. After propping it against a wall, they lit into the wooden frame, each starting on a corner. It came apart easily. Every sound of nails and wood glue ripping, of cheap wood cracking, dug deeper and deeper into her spirit until she couldn’t decide if she was sweating or crying.