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“Why, sir, at Tintz House and Auto Insurance, we hold our customers to the highest standard of respect and ourselves with integrity.” Belle rolled her eyes as she spouted a typical bullshit response to the customer’s call-in complaint. After six years with the insurance company, she’d memorized her various speeches and ignored the cues on her computer. “I assure you the claims adjuster will handle your case with the utmost care and—” A dial tone echoed through the receiver of her thin black headset. “Hello? Are you there, sir?”
Belle jabbed the big, red End Call button on the touch-screen computer and ended the recording. “Idiot. Tintz will handle the claim as any corporation would—with its own interest at heart, and yours as a far second.” She couldn’t give a rat’s ass if a snowstorm felled a whole tree on the asshole’s roof, let alone one measly branch that didn’t even do much damage.
“Easy. Dragon Lady’s on the prowl.” Maury ducked his dark head around the partition separating their cubicles and smiled at her. Even though their manager observed their coworkers across the large room, he still whispered. “Hormones acting up again?”
“Yeah. Sometimes I’d rather go postal than drag myself out of bed. This baby will be the death of me.” Belle patted her small bump and rolled toward him in her swivel chair. Her blouse hid the telltale sign, but her slacks, a size larger than normal, fit snug around her waist. “Thank God it’s Friday. I need a break.”
He chuckled. “Promise me one thing—if you go postal, do it two weeks from now. That’s when I’m on vacation.”
“Deal.” They shook hands. A blinking green button on Maury’s computer snagged Belle’s attention, so she nodded at the Call Waiting symbol.
Sighing, Maury rolled back to his desk.
She returned her chair to its rightful place as well, and just in time as Cheryl Calder—also known as the Dragon Lady—neared Belle’s station. After Cheryl headed toward her office, Belle guzzled enough delicious raspberry tea from her thermos to settle her queasy stomach. Eager to stretch her legs, she tossed her headset on the desk with a soft clack and tapped the blue Sign Off button to exit the computer program.
A ten-minute timer flashed on the screen, ticking backward second by second.
She set the timer on her phone to match and then headed to the break room.
“Belle’s over there.” Freda’s voice carried across the workspace.
Damn, now what? Belle paused at the doorway as her coworker pointed in her direction.
A uniformed courier with a long, rectangular-shaped box circled the mass of cubicles. “Belle Hamlin?”
“Yes?”
He handed her the white box tied with a red ribbon and pulled a scanner from his belt. “If you’ll sign, I’ll be on my way.” After she jotted her name on the screen, he left.
She hurried into the empty, sterile-white break room and plopped the box on a table. Freda and a few other women followed her in like a swarm of buzzing bees. Of course they’d have to take their break at the same time she did.
“Open it, Belle.” Freda grinned like a child on Christmas morning. “Hurry before the Dragon Lady roars for us to get back to work.”
Belle winced. Cheryl’s no dragon; she’s just super stressed.
As a three-time mother, Cheryl had firsthand experience with raging hormones and bursting bladders, so she hadn’t fired Belle for snapping at a few customers or putting a call on hold to go pee. In fact, she’d arranged for Belle to have more bathroom breaks than the standard two.
Belle untied the ribbon and opened the lid. Her heart skipped. A dozen long-stemmed red roses. The sweet aroma wafted to her nose.
Her coworkers giggled.
“Look. A card.” Freda pointed at the bottom of the box. “Read it aloud.”
Belle slid the card from the crisp white envelope. A sob clogged her throat. Her knees weakened like jelly, and she plopped into a creaky metal chair.
Freda snatched the card. “Ooh, it’s handwritten. It says—Happy belated birthday. Just thinking about you. Enjoyed Tuesday night. Signed B. Who’s B, Belle? What happened on Tuesday?”
Tears stung her eyes. She wrapped her arms around her middle. Damn you, Benji. Why did you do this?
“Ah, Belle has a boyfriend.” One of the other women clapped. “Spill the details. Is he the baby daddy?”
“Okay, ladies. Back to work,” Cheryl said from behind them. “I’ve checked your timers.”
Belle’s coworkers zoomed out the door like ants fleeing a crumbling anthill.
The manager glanced at her phone that monitored her employees’ breaks. “Take some time to compose yourself. You still have four minutes.”
“Thanks.” Belle stuffed the discarded card in the box as Cheryl left. Trembles coursed through her. She dashed away tears and drew in deep breaths. Better not explode. After she returned to her cubicle, misery shifted to red-hot anger. She hung up on a bitchy customer—better that than cuss the woman out—and gripped the desk as dizziness swamped her.
“Belle, my office.” Cheryl waved her into the corner room.
Ten minutes later, Belle turned off her workstation computer and grabbed her stuff. At least Cheryl didn’t fire her, but going home early when every paycheck counted sucked ass.
Freda and the other gossipmongers looked away as she passed.
Now they gave her breathing room. Figures. Alone in the elevator, she blinked back tears and ignored her surely haggard reflection in the mirrored walls. The spacious lobby threatened to undulate around her as she hurried to the exit. Five feet. Four. One. Finally! Cold air engulfed her. Countless vehicles cluttered the vast lot, several of them nicer than her little bug. A chain-link fence encased the property like a prison.
Belle dropped her gaze as people headed to and from the three-story office building. The wind sweeping through the trees buffeted her as though she needed another beating. Hadn’t Benji’s gift hurt her enough? The keys nearly slipped free as she unlocked the car with shaky hands. Once she settled inside, the colorful smiley-face flowers on the steering wheel cover mocked her. Damn it! She hit the wheel and inadvertently blasted the horn.
A few passersby jumped and frowned at her through the windshield. The don’t-fuck-with-me scowl she leveled on them hurried the strangers along.
She better relax. No way could she drive like this. What had she been thinking, snapping over the flowers? How could she pay rent and support her baby if she lost her job? Go home to Mom and Dad? Hell, no.
She cranked the car and glared at the flower box on the passenger seat. She had to find Benji and set him straight. The heat blowing from the vents warmed her stiff hands, but the block of ice around her heart hardened. How dare he do this? And at her job? Jesus. Once the engine warmed up, she drove across the lot, and the security guard waved her through the open gate.
After Benji had fled the scene from their explosive night together, she checked online for the business he’d told her about and drove by the garage. In his note, he’d promised to call, so she pined for days like a stupid female. Too bad she didn’t have his cell number. Had she contacted him through his work phone—goodbye pride. No way would she admit to tracking him down. Then morning sickness struck, and everything changed—her life, body, hopes, and dreams. She couldn’t afford to waste any more time on Benji and all the what ifs.
What if he cared about me? What if he wanted to be a father to our child?
Tears welled in her eyes again. She slowed the car as the traffic light flashed yellow.
The garage loomed ahead, sandwiched between a gas station and a pizzeria.
“You’re in control.” Belle cleared her throat to steady her voice. “Just tell him you don’t appreciate the flowers. Be nice, keep your chin up, and don’t curse him to the lowest levels of hell like the rotten dog he is. Don’t you dare cry like a wuss.” She drove down the busy road and pulled into the lot.
Four attached garages bordered one side of the lobby, the doors of each slot closed. Smudges and grime marred the flaking blue-and-cream paint. Freshly shoveled snow packed atop blackened snow obstructed a parking spot on each side of the cracked asphalt lot.
She parked next to Benji’s truck with its shiny, black paint gleaming from the sunlight and nearly blinding her. What was it with men and big trucks? Benji sure as hell wasn’t compensating for something since he had a freaking cucumber between his legs. She oughta know. She’d licked and bounced on it. He was definitely all man.
Belle pulled a powder compact from her purse and smoothed out her raccoon eyes. After she fluffed her hair and dabbed gloss on her dry lips, she slung her purse strap onto her shoulder and grabbed the box. One end of the cardboard bent in her viselike grip.
“Stay calm.” She stepped from the car and tightened her coat. Rock salt crunched beneath her ankle boots as she hurried across the lot. The cut-out paper snowflakes and colorful blue streamers taped on the inside of the lobby windows were weird. Not that the designs were weird—the snowflakes were quite pretty—but why in the world would Benji decorate his garage like it was an elementary school classroom?
Heat rushed around her as she entered the lobby. Customers watched some obnoxious TV game show in the waiting area on the right, and the industrial-sized shelves on the left offered a slim selection of tires, hubcaps, and snow chains.
“May I help you?” The tall, lanky man at the checkout counter set aside a stack of papers.
Belle glanced over his head toward the bathrooms and the open office doorway on the far wall. The air in her lungs stilled.
Benji hunched over a large desk and clutched a cordless phone. His thick auburn hair cascaded over his head in disarray, as though he’d tunneled his hand through it too many times. He scribbled on a piece of paper and stared at his computer.
“Ma’am? You okay?”
The clerk’s voice seeped through the pounding in her ears. Red clouded her vision. She stomped around the counter and barreled toward the mechanic.
He jumped back and knocked a clipboard to the floor with a clatter.
She barged into the cramped office. “Who the fuck do you think you are? Why did you send me these?”
Benji’s jaw slacked. His bushy eyebrows shot up like mini red-tree mountains.
“Yeah, I gotta go,” he said to the person on the phone. “Make sure you send the shipment today. I need it by Wednesday morning, or I’ll have an upset customer.” He pushed a button to end the call and tossed the device on his messy desk.
“Hi, Belle.” He leaned back in his swivel chair and linked his fingers together on his stomach. “You’re gorgeous when you’re mad.”
That did it. She flung the box top across the room, snatched the long stems, and thrashed the flowers on top of his head.
Lifting his arms, he leapt to his feet. The chair slammed into the paneled wall behind him and rattled some certificates. As she hauled back to smack him again, he swiped the roses from her grasp. The bent stems and bruised petals fell across his desk and on the floor.
“Damn it, woman. What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“After the crappy way you treated me, you have no right to mosey your way back into my life. Flowers won’t fix what you dragged through the mud.”
“Close the door, Belle. We’ll talk.” Benji fisted his hands. “Now.”
“Why did you—”
“The. Door.” He bit out the words.
Tension lanced through her. She turned, scowled at the bug-eyed clerk, and slammed the door shut so hard the frame vibrated. She whipped back around.
“I never meant to hurt you, Belle.”
“Of course not. You’re just a man. Why should you think about your actions?”
“Like you’re one to talk.” He picked up a rose, sniffed it, and tossed it aside. “I’m lucky I bought the thornless kind.”
“What did you think I’d do—kiss you and spread my legs?” She braced her hands on her hips. “We both wanted sex that night, but you chose not to pursue anything more. That’s fine. Whatever. But you can’t change your mind so long after the fact. I’ve moved on. I’m a different person. I have responsibilities you can’t even dream of.”
“I run my own business. Responsibility and me? We’re tight.”
“Maybe so, but you don’t understand mine.”
“Tell me. What’s going on in your stubborn head for you to attack me with flowers?”
“Attack you?” Tears spilled from her eyes as the furious red haze in her vision faded. Her cheeks heated. “Oh my God. I’ve lost it. I’m a freakin’ psycho.” She rushed to the door.
He chased after her and flipped her around. Scant inches separated them as he gripped her wrist in a light but firm hold and pinned her against the wooden barrier.
Air sliced up her throat. The heat emanating from his tall, muscular frame caressed her like silk ribbons. How could she still desire him? Her throat tightened, choking off her apology. The last of her strength evaporated. She clutched him close and cried.
Fool! She shouldn’t do this, but he felt so good. A rich coalescence of musk, oil, and evergreen-scented cologne—or was that deodorant?—teased her senses. She fisted his T-shirt and grasped the hard, flexing muscles in his back. She needed his support, his concern, his time, but it wasn’t real.
“It’s all right,” he cooed, stroking her hair.
Belle sniffled and drew back. Fine creases bracketed his deep ocean-blue eyes. She could drown in those eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a wreck lately. The flowers are lovely. No one has ever sent me roses.” She dabbed her coat collar at her cheeks. Who gave a damn about makeup smears? That’s what dry cleaning was for.
“Not all the stems are broken. You can take them back.” He wiped away a tear. “I made a mistake when I didn’t call you. Have dinner with me tonight? I’d like to start over.”
“I can’t.”
“At least tell me why you’re so emotional. I’ll help if I can. Are you free tomorrow? We could see a movie.”
“I’m pregnant. It’s yours.”
He stepped back, blanching white.
Oh, God. Why did she say that? Bile raked her throat. She ran from the room, leaving her pride behind.