A few days later, Jenna waltzed into Bree’s tiny apartment with a box full of leftover muffins, a laptop, and a mission. Well, really two missions. One she wanted to accomplish and one she wanted to duck.
Unfortunately for her, Bree was more interested in the one that Jenna would rather avoid.
“So you saw him.” Bree opened the box and frowned at the selection. “Honestly, when will Kyrie start carrying some low-carb stuff in the shop?”
“She does, but it’s kind of hard to bring an egg-white sandwich with me. So suck it up and have a muffin.”
“Blueberry . . . blueberry . . . crap. I was hoping for a green tea and ginger. How did he look?”
Jenna wasn’t sure how to answer that one. She had a feeling her big sister wasn’t interested in a physical description of their father. For that, all she would have to do was hit Google Images.
“Here. You’ll like this one. Pistachio chai.”
Bree frowned but took the muffin from the box, thankfully bypassing the almond poppy that Jenna coveted. She grabbed it fast and took a bite before Bree could change her mind. Jenna might have lived the life of the pampered and indulged for a few years, but nothing could erase the lessons garnered over a lifetime with four sisters.
“So I brought all the materials you wanted,” she began, only to stop when Bree shook her head.
“Uh-uh. You’re avoiding the topic.”
“No, I’m not. We’re here because you, awesome older sister, volunteered to help me with my résumé. I, in return, am feeding you muffins and begging for a glass of milk.”
Excellent sibling that she was, Bree took the hint, reached behind her, yanked open the fridge, and grabbed the milk, all without leaving her chair. Jenna arched an eyebrow.
“I’m impressed.”
“There are benefits to living in a place the size of a Barbie Dreamhouse. And I’m not looking at anything until you tell me about our so-called father.”
Fine. Bree would hound her until she gave in, so it was best to get it out of the way. And to be honest, Jenna wouldn’t mind getting another perspective. It had been very nice having Cole’s support in the immediate aftermath, but Bree could understand better than anyone else.
“He was only there about five minutes. Long enough to tell me how to find him. He tried to bribe me with a pack of Juicy Fruit.”
“Seriously? Did he think you were still five years old?”
“Well, it’s not like he would have any idea of what I like and don’t like these days.” Probably just as well. If he had brought a bottle of vodka into the shop, Kyrie would be pissed.
“Kind of pathetic, isn’t it?”
Jenna forced a laugh. “I don’t think there’s any kind of involved.”
“Yeah. I just don’t understand how he could think, after everything he put us through . . .” Bree stared intently at her muffin, pinching tiny bits off the wrapper and dropping them to the table. “I mean, I guess it’s natural that he would want to reconnect. He’s approaching the end of his life. It makes sense that he would want to apologize or explain, try to make amends while he can.”
Jenna wasn’t sure what bothered her more—Bree’s analysis, or the way her own heart kind of stuttered at the thought of Rob dying. After all, he was dead to her already.
“Don’t know how to tell you, but those prison gyms must be better equipped than I thought, because he actually looked like he was pretty sturdy. I don’t think you need to be talking end-of-life at this point.”
“It’s an ages and stages thing.” Bree broke a piece off her muffin. “Erikson’s theory of psychosocial development says that Rob is in the final stage, integrity versus despair. It’s a time of looking back at your life to right the wrongs and feel you’ve made a difference. If you do a good job, you end up as a font of wisdom. If not,” Bree shrugged and raised her muffin chunk, “you end up as Rob Elias.”
“That’s seriously depressing.”
“Hey, it’s just a theory.” Bree grinned. “Of course, so is gravity.”
“Not helping. Can we talk about my résumé now?”
“In a minute. You left out the most important part.” Bree leaned across the table, one warm hand on Jenna’s arm. “How are you doing with all this?”
“Fine.” It came out reflexively, automatically. She might as well have saved herself the breath. Bree wasn’t going to buy it.
“Like you were fine after the accident, even though you had seven broken bones and needed about twenty gazillion stitches?” Bree peered out from beneath lowered lids. “Or fine like you were after Ken Doll showed his true colors?”
Sisters. God.
“Okay. Seeing him wasn’t fun. It hit me harder than I expected.”
“Go on.”
Jenna squirmed. “Honestly, Bree. You’re not a shrink yet, so stop acting like one.”
“And for the umpteenth time, I remind you that a PhD in psychology, while leading me to be Dr. Elias, does not make me a shrink. However, I can still recognize avoidance and defense mechanisms when I see them.”
“You are such a pain in the ass.”
“But you love me anyway.”
Unfortunately, that was also true.
“Look. Like I said, he wasn’t there that long. He walked in, he said his bit, I told him to leave before I called the cops, Cole stepped in and offered backup, and—”
“Whoa whoa whoa. Time-out.” Bree leaned forward, a new and terrifying light gleaming in her eyes. “Who is Cole?”
Oh, hell. “A customer. Comes into the shop every once in a while. Remember, I asked about him the night Mom called the Family Council? He’s the one running for mayor. His campaign headquarters are just a couple of doors down from us, so he and his crew,”—emphasis on crew—“come in pretty regularly.”
“Ah.”
“Hope you’re not waiting for it to get more interesting, because that’s it.”
“How did he offer backup?”
“He offered to call the cops on my behalf. Then after Dad—Rob—left, Cole made sure I was okay. You know. He was being a nice guy.”
“You do realize that you just equated a politician with being a nice guy.”
“So he’ll probably lose. Whatever.” Though she hoped not. It would be a treat to see someone with a heart actually win. “The point is, he appeared, saw there was no need for a knight in shining armor, made sure I was okay, and then he left.”
“That was it?”
“Sorry. Except”—she hesitated, then decided it was too funny not to share—“he asked if I would like to volunteer on his campaign.”
Bree burst into laughter so hard and loud that Jenna feared the muffin was going to go down the wrong pipe.
“Seriously? He asked an Elias to help with his campaign?” Bree snorted and wiped at the crumbs now littering the table. “He’s certainly clueless enough to be in office.”
“Cynical much?”
Bree shrugged.
“In fairness, I never told him my last name. Any of them. And nobody mentioned Dad’s—Rob’s—name, so I’ll give Cole a pass on this one.”
“Dare you to take him up on the offer and see what happens.”
“Hey, he was nice to me. I’m not going to do that to him.”
“Okay. I suppose you’re right. But damn, that would be a Punk’d moment for sure.”
Jenna crumpled her empty wrapper with a sigh. “Listen, I have class in an hour, so could we move on, please? Maybe even talk about the résumé?”
“You are such a killjoy.”
“Which is saying a great deal for someone who used to party like I once did, so admire me and look at the damned résumé.”
“Fine.”
But not ten minutes later, Bree shoved the papers and laptop aside and fixed her gaze on Jenna. “You need more.”
Ah, hell. She’d been afraid of this.
“Can you be more specific?”
Bree frowned. “Let me explain how things would look to someone receiving this résumé. I’m going to be playing devil’s advocate, so don’t get bent out of shape.”
“Okay.”
“The first thing anyone is going to wonder is why you’re just getting your degree now. We can work around that by eliminating the parts about high school—nobody cares about that anyway—and ditch this, where you mention the year you started university.”
“Okay. That’s an easy fix.”
“But you need to pump it up. There’s a whole crop of folks out there looking for PR jobs, and you need to stand out. If you eliminate everything that makes it obvious you’re not the average undergrad, there’s not a lot to set you apart.” Bree tapped the page. “And when you do get an interview, folks will look at this and expect to see Suzy Senior Class walking in. Not that you’re ancient, but no one is going to look at you and think you’re fresh out of school. So the question becomes, why is your résumé so skimpy and what are you hiding?”
“I thought nontraditional students were welcomed with open arms these days.”
“They are, if they’re bringing relevant experience to the position. Now, you and I both know that you did a boatload of charity work while you were with Kenny Dearest, but unless you list that—”
“No.”
Bree sat back. “Jenna, come on. I know you don’t want to feel like you owe him anything, but you did do the work, and it could be relevant, depending on where you apply.”
“I’m not including anything on there that will lead anyone to connect me with him. Not in any way, shape, or form.” Jenna raised her hand as Bree began to protest. “Look, I understand what you’re saying. I really do. But this is more than just me being stubborn, okay? Anyone who has done business with him knows what a repulsive ass he is, and if they find out I was married to him, they’re going to seriously question my judgment. I don’t need that.”
Bree looked like she wanted to push the point, but after a moment she shook her head. “Okay. Whatever. I think you’re making a mistake, but you have your reasons, and I won’t force you.”
“Thank you.”
“But that still leaves us with the issue of an underwhelming résumé.” Bree tapped her pen against the papers. “I mean, I can massage this thing until it gets a woody, but I can’t make it jump up and sing. In this market, you need the song. And the dance.”
Great. Nothing like telling a woman who was happy that she could still walk that she was supposed to be dancing.
“Any suggestions?”
“Are you doing an internship in the fall?”
“Nope. Mine are done.”
Bree looked back at the résumé. “You mean to tell me you couldn’t get placements anywhere other than Joe’s Used Cars and the honey wagon place?”
“You mean to tell me that you’re surprised that not everyone in this town is falling all over themselves to take on an intern with the last name of Stirling? Or Elias?
“Sorry.”
Not as much as Jenna was.
“Well then, you need to either bust your butt getting some amazing grades and awards—not that those will do you any good until graduation—or you need to pick up some relevant and juicy experience. A combination of the two would be even better.”
Jenna drained her milk. “I’m giving the classes everything I’ve got,” she said quietly. “I’m doing better than I ever did before, probably because I’m not sitting through them with a hangover.”
“Or drunk.”
Sisters. Did they have to remember everything?
“The point is, I’m happy to be getting the grades I am. Would I like to knock every assignment out of the ballpark and be the top in every class? Of course I would. But I don’t think I can reasonably expect to get much higher.”
“Okay, so that means experience. Would you consider volunteering at any of the places you did stuff for when you were with—”
“No.” Jenna placed a hand over the résumé, as if to protect it from the Curse of Kendall. “If it happened when I was with him, I’m not using it.”
“Jenna, you organized amazing fundraisers. You threw events that left people feeling involved and generous and ready to hand you blank checks. Those organizations would fall all over themselves to have you work with them now.”
“Except I don’t have big bucks anymore. Nor do I hang with the big bucks crowd. My useful days are over. And,” she added when Bree seemed ready to protest, “I don’t want to work anyplace that’s only taking me on because they owe me. That only leads to stuffing envelopes and helping with the filing.”
“Again, I disagree, but—”
“No buts. It is what it is.”
“Fine.” Bree sat back in her chair, a look of mild triumph on her face. “In that case, I suggest you trot your cute little heinie down a couple of doors from the shop and see if Mr. Dekker was serious about having you volunteer.”
“Cute, Bree. I know what you’re doing, and it won’t work.”
“And what, exactly, am I doing?”
“Trying to make me go to the old places. Trying to make me realize how desperate I am. Trying to scare me off.”
“Really? I thought I was simply offering up a reasonable alternative.”
“Oh, please.” Jenna allowed herself an eye roll. “You might be able to convince your students when you try these tactics, but I’ve known you all my life. I remember when you tricked me into going out with that weird exchange student just because you felt sorry for him. And I remember when you got me to have Kendall shell out for everyone to go to the Bahamas that Christmas because you said that Annie was depressed and needed sunshine or she would develop Seasonal Affective Disorder.”
“Hey, that one was legit. I was worried about her.”
“We all were. But that didn’t mean she needed a full week of family togetherness during peak season.”
Bree twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “Kenny Dearest gave you a hard time over that, didn’t he?”
Jenna clamped her lips together. She hadn’t meant to say as much as she had. It wasn’t Bree’s fault that Jenna had been a fool who married a man who saw her primarily as an investment. Nothing would be served by repeating that argument at this point. “It came up.”
“In the divorce? Is that why he gave you such a lousy settlement?”
“He gave me precisely what he owed me under the prenup that I willingly signed to prove to him that I was marrying for love, not money.” Idiocy had also played a part, as it turned out, but that was neither here nor there.
“You’re sure?” Bree’s usual cynical sarcastic mode had been turned off, leaving behind the vulnerable, caring sister that Jenna knew would always be there for her.
“Yeah. I’m positive.” Jenna pulled the scribbled-upon résumé back to her. “Just like I’m positive that as soon as my class is over, I’m going to march into the headquarters of Dekker for Mayor to see if they can use some help with letters or press releases or anything else that would be pertinent.”
“You—I—Jenna, you know I wasn’t serious.”
“I know.”
“And as soon as they find out who you are . . .”
“I have no doubt that if Cole didn’t know who I was before Rob made his appearance, his staffers have let him know.”
“Yet you think they’ll want you anyway?”
“Of course they won’t. But nothing could be more terrifyingly ridiculous than going to them. I’ll prepare my pitch, try it out on them, they’ll laugh in my face, and then I’ll refine my schpiel to work better when I go where I really want. Which, nope, no idea yet. But I’ll figure that part out as I go.”
“You’re insane. You do know that, right?”
“I’m told it’s one of my finer qualities. That, and my ability to hold my booze, but I don’t do that anymore so I guess I have to stick with the crazy.” She slid the collected papers and laptop into her book bag. “Gotta run. Places to go, people to see, politicians to terrify. Adios!”
***
Cole didn’t usually stop in at headquarters during the workday, but he’d driven to the courthouse only to find that the DA had developed car trouble on her way and the case had to be adjourned. Cole wasn’t happy, but once he talked his client down, he headed back to his car and decided to swing by the office. There had been a problem with the printer the night before. He wasn’t Mr. Handy, but he had a feeling he could get this up and running if he had some uninterrupted time.
Time, of course, being the operative word.
He unlocked the office, flipped on the lights, and took in his surroundings. Usually when he was here, things were busy, bustling, fully charged. It normally got him pumped up, but there were times when he longed for a moment of peace, a chance to stop and think before he had to speak. If he won—when he won, he heard in a mental voice that sounded a lot like Allison’s—he knew he would be denied that luxury even less. He supposed he needed to get used to it.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy a few stolen moments with no one around, no phones, and no expectations.
He tossed his phone on his desk, squared his jacket away on the back of the chair, and opened the printer.
Ten minutes later, he was pretty sure he had identified the problem.
“Okay, printer, let’s download this and see if that fixes your wagon,” he muttered. “But be warned, if that doesn’t work, I’m hauling you out back and shooting you.”
“Oooh, cruelty to machines. That won’t endear you to the all-important cyber-voter demographic.”
“What the—” He jerked upright, momentarily dazed by the unexpected voice.
“Hi.” Jenna the cute barista waved to him from the door. He was so accustomed to seeing her in her apron and Brews and Blues shirt that it took him a second to truly process the fact that it was her standing there in the floaty skirt and simple black top.
“Hope I didn’t scare you,” she continued. “I saw you in here alone and decided to drop in.” She raised a bag and a take-out cup he hadn’t noticed. “I come bearing bribes.”
“Bribes, huh?”
“You bet. Turkey and Swiss with horseradish mayo on cranberry bread.” She flashed a smile that got him where he lived. “Yes, I totally brought you my favorite item on the menu. Call me shameless.”
Now he was intrigued. And hungry.
“I will have to pay for this,” he said. “But I’m not turning it down.”
“Glad to hear it. Okay if I come in?”
“What? Oh, sure. Sorry. Forgot my manners for a minute there.”
Who was he kidding? He had a tendency to forget a lot of things around her. Including the fact that every single member of his staff would be hyperventilating if they knew he was hanging out with her.
But he wasn’t so image-minded that he was going to turn away a pretty woman who made him laugh and who had brought him lunch. He hoped to God he never reached that point.
He pulled out a chair for her. “Come on in. Let me give my hands a quick rinse and I’ll be right back.”
Two minutes later he was seated across the desk from her, pulling the solo sandwich from the bag. “Not joining me?”
“I told you. It’s a bribe.” She tipped her head toward the bag. “Besides, I already ate. So chow down.”
He did as instructed—damn, he really had been hungry—until his curiosity couldn’t be held off any longer.
“So, Just Jenna. To what do I owe the honor?”
Her grin was the slightest bit embarrassed. “I guess that by now you know who I am.”
“Nope.”
She blinked. “You don’t?”
“I know who your father is. I know who you used to be married to. But you . . . you are still an unknown quantity.”
He knew he’d said the right thing by the way her smile switched from guarded to warm.
“Thanks,” she said.
“For what?”
“For . . . I don’t know. For saying exactly what I needed to hear before I even knew it.”
“My pleasure.” Especially because it was true.
“In that case, let’s do this right.” She stood and extended her hand. “Jenna Carpenter. Pleased to meet you.”
Remembering the efficiency of her shake the last time, he opted for a two-handed clasp, encasing her palm with both of his. Her eyes widened the slightest bit but she didn’t pull back. Not her. She tipped her head and scanned him, like she was searching for hidden motives, but there was no worry or hostility in the gesture. Just curiosity.
At least, that was all he saw on her part. For himself, he was having a hard time remembering how to swallow.
“Cole Dekker.” He felt kind of like a tool, but it gave him a chance to hold on to her for an extra second or two, so it was all good. “Good to meet you, Ms. . . . did you say Carpenter?”
“Yep. Legal name change. Come to think of it, you’re the first person to hear it.”
He’d always wanted to be someone’s first time.
Just in time, he hauled his brain back from the danger zone. “So tell me about the bribe,” he said as he let go of her hand and dropped back into his seat.
Some of the guardedness returned to her eyes. “Here’s the elevator version. I’m finishing up a long-interrupted degree in communications with an emphasis on public relations. My résumé is woefully inadequate. I’d like to take you up on that offer to do some volunteer work, assuming I could do something more relevant than fetching coffee or cold-calling undecided votes. Not that I wouldn’t do my share of those. I’m not a diva. But I have to be kind of selfish about this.”
Sweet baby Jesus, what was he supposed to say? “I . . . yeah. That’s perfectly understandable.”
She sat back in her chair. “The other thing that’s perfectly understandable is that now that you know precisely who I am—that is, who I am connected to,” she added with that wondering smile, “you’d probably prefer that I don’t come any closer than is required to hand you your coffee. I know all about baggage. If mine is too unsavory, you have every right to ask me to keep it away from your campaign.”
“People have suggested that to me.”
“People whose advice you usually take?”
“Yeah.”
She studied him, her gaze seeming to take his measure without once leaving his face. “Are you going to listen to them this time?”
“I already told them that I wasn’t.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Already?”
“Yeah.” He helped himself to a swig of coffee. She’d guessed with the sandwich, but she’d got the coffee just the way he liked it. If she was as good at handling other details as she’d managed these, they’d be damned lucky to have her, no matter what her name might be.
“I’m dying to hear this story,” she said.
He shrugged. “I asked you to come on board because of the way you see things. Plus you can obviously handle yourself in unpleasant situations. None of that changed when I learned about your baggage.”
“I’m impressed.”
“So am I. That’s why I invited you.”
Her grin gave her a childlike glow, as if she was the kid who usually got picked last when choosing teams and he had turned around and called her name first.
It faded fast, though.
“What about your people? The ones who said you should stay away from me?”
“I’ll talk to them. Though I have the feeling you could manage just fine on your own.”
This time her grin was pure sass.
“I think you called that one right.”
The conversation turned to logistics, hours, and who was who in the office. She listened attentively and asked questions that had him pausing, wondering why he hadn’t posed that same query. It wasn’t until his phone sounded a calendar reminder that he realized how deeply he’d been sucked in by her interest.
“Damn!” He grabbed his phone, shoved it into his briefcase, and stood up. “Sorry. I’m due in court.”
“Do you need a note?”
Something about the way she said it made him cease his racing to stop and look, truly taking her in. The swirl of her skirt . . . the length of her legs . . . the fullness in places where Cole was trying desperately not to look, but damn, at some point the scarf around her neck had slipped sideways so it ran like Rambo’s bandolier across her chest, nestling between her breasts in a way that made him ache.
He swallowed. He had just agreed to let her work with him and had promised to make sure that no one bothered her. He had no business aching when he looked at her.
Except he did.
“Cole?” she prompted. “Is court like school? Do you need a note for being late?”
He would have been okay if not for the tilt to her head. Or was it the saucy note in her question? Like she was . . . teasing him?
He hadn’t felt this buzzed since the last night of law school final exams.
“I . . . Sorry. I was thinking about the case. I really need to get moving.”
“Of course. I’ll get out of your way.” She swung her bag over her shoulder, looked down with a frown, and tugged on the scarf so it hung straight once more.
Thank God. He could breathe again.
But he had the terrible feeling that unless he got his act together—fast—breath was going to be in short supply when Jenna was around.