Chapter Three

Felicity sat on Edna’s dated but comfy plaid couch, waiting for her hostess to return from the kitchen after she’d insisted on fetching them each a cup of tea. The sounds of a hushed argument drifted from the other room, leaving her feeling anxious and out of place. She’d tossed and turned half the night, questioning her sanity at taking a job she knew nothing about and which would have her spending most of her time with a complete stranger. Time and again, though, she’d come back to the same two arguments: it was only temporary and it’d get the yard for Tyler she so desperately wanted.

She had to make this work.

“Sugar or cream, dear?”

Felicity glanced up from the furry Pomeranian belly she’d been petting. Edna’s puffball of white hair was peeking around the corner, her matching eyebrows raised in question.

“A little of both, please.”

“Smart girl.”

Her hostess ducked away for a brief moment, then re-emerged with a cup and saucer. The delicate china rattled as she moved, age rendering her less fluid in transition. Drink delivered, she angled for the kitchen once more.

“Is there anything I can help you with, Mrs. Gillie?” Felicity asked as the smell of Earl Grey thankfully began to displace the room’s heavy citrus scent.

“No, no. You sit right there, I’ll join you in a moment.”

As if in cahoots with his owner, the ball of fluff on the couch beside her laid a paw on her near leg. Felicity glanced down to find his lips curling into what she would swear was a smile. Or a snarl. Maybe a little of both. Needless to say, she was relieved when Edna returned, her own cup and saucer in hand.

Edna, but no Scott. Interesting.

The woman nestled into a cream-colored armchair to Felicity’s left and took a sip of tea. With a nod of approval, she lowered her cup and smiled. “So, tell us a little about yourself.”

Us? Felicity glanced toward the kitchen.

“Not him. I meant Bruno and me. We’re much better judges of character than that moron is, anyway.”

She bit back a grin. Mrs. Gillie was quite the character.

A screen door smacked shut beyond the kitchen, its sound echoing across the home’s wooden floors. It seemed her new coworker wasn’t nearly as interested in hearing the story. She considered asking Edna where Scott was going, but refrained. Maybe he had to run outside to…collect something?

Or maybe he’s just avoiding you, whispered a voice in the back of her mind.

She pushed it away with a frown. Even if that were true, the man couldn’t avoid her forever. She was his personal assistant, for crying out loud. If she didn’t do her job, J.B. wouldn’t keep her on payroll for long…and Felicity refused to be discarded so soon.

“Well, let’s see. I moved to town with my son two summers ago in search of work. My cousin, Lauren Thompson, lives over on Franklin, off Warfield. She was the one who told me Stinson Automotive was hiring.”

“Just you and your son?”

Felicity nodded. She’d received that question, delivered in the same tone, many times over the years—judgment concealed behind a thin veil of curiosity. Best to address the elephant in the room. “I’m a widow.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that, dear. Car accident? Terminal illness?”

“Complications from a work-related injury.” Felicity took a sip of her tea, working to hold the memory at bay. “That was several years ago. It’s just been Tyler and me ever since.”

Edna smiled. “Tyler—sounds like a scrapper. How old is he?”

“Six. And yes, he’s all boy, but a good kid.”

“Glad to hear. Boys need to listen to their mamas. And their grandmothers.” She cast a dark look toward the kitchen. “Don’t you worry about Scottie, though. He was a good boy once, too.”

“Once?”

“Oh, yes. Back before he got wrapped up in this ridiculous soccer stuff.” She rolled her eyes. “My generation was going off to war and making bombs with their own hands. Does Scottie aspire to defend his country, be a war hero? Oh, no. He decided to kick balls around for a living.”

Felicity blinked. Okay, that wasn’t at all what she’d expected to hear. “Once” made it sound like he’d turned into some crazy, reckless celebrity. Choosing sports as a career was much less worrisome.

The screen door past the kitchen creaked open and smacked shut once more, the sound of distant sirens briefly greeting her ears as it did so. See? He hadn’t left.

She silently scolded herself for assuming the worst. Scott wasn’t avoiding her, he was probably just busy with something. She had arrived early, after all. He’d rejoin them, and then they could get on with planning out the rest of their day.

She watched the kitchen doorway and waited.

Yep, he’d walk in any minute now.

Any…minute…now.

“So what was it you did at Stinson, Ms. Shaw?”

Or not.

“Please, call me Felicity. And I did a lot of things, actually. It was my first job on an assembly line, and I was one of only a few females. I tried to learn as many jobs as possible, thinking if layoffs came, I’d have the best chance of survival…” She frowned at her cup. And look how well that paid off.

“Not a union shop, I take it?”

“No.”

“My Ike, he was in the union for many years.” Edna’s gaze shifted to a photograph standing on the bookshelf across from them. In it was a white-haired couple, nestled together on an aging porch swing. “After retirement, he mentored a lot of managers in the region, helping them see the importance of fair labor standards. Some unions persisted, some didn’t, but Ike always believed everyone deserved a fair shake.”

“He sounds like a wonderful man. Does he still do that?”

“Not unless they’ve found a way to do mediation by séance.” Edna offered her a gentle smile. “A heart attack claimed him in the sand trap on Deer Track’s twelfth hole five years ago this summer.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I can’t think of a better way for him to go.” She shook her head. “He always hated that hole. Probably arrived at the pearly gates relieved he didn’t have to putt. From what I hear, his last chip shot was atrocious.”

“You know Grandpa rolls over in his grave every time you tell that story,” Scott called from the kitchen.

“Bah, he’s probably sitting on a cloud somewhere finding it far more amusing than you, Mr. Sourpuss. Now, are you going to join us in here or hide in the kitchen all day?”

Crutches softly clicked beneath his weight across the kitchen floor. He rounded the corner, looking quite the part. “I’m not hiding; I’m doing my morning routine.”

So he had been busy. Nothing to worry about, nothing at all.

Except something about the devilish glint in his green eyes said he was lying—a glint that triggered an odd surge of attraction. Felicity tamped down the unwanted sentiment and forced a welcoming smile. She needed that rent money, and she was going to get it.

“Great. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Not unless you’re an expert at reviewing film. Otherwise, you can help me most by staying out of the way.”

She lowered her cup and saucer. “Excuse me?”

…

What was that old quote from Shakespeare about a woman scorned? Scott had thought he understood the phrase, but it wasn’t until Felicity’s right brow climbed a few inches that he ever truly feared such a thing. He’d hoped she would be some sweet little pushover, but that look on her face said he was wrong.

Dead wrong.

He swallowed hard and worked to feign indifference. This really was best for the both of them. “Nothing personal, of course, but I have stringent morning routines: exercise, breakfast, then reviewing videos from our recent matches and those of upcoming opponents. Hard to do if I’m sucked into a midmorning gossip session.”

“Gossip session?”

His PA went from girl-next-door cute to mama bear about to take a serious swipe at him. She crossed the room in sure, steady strides, eyes narrowed and shoulders back. Scott didn’t know if he should be afraid or turned on. Sadly, he was a little of both.

All the more reason she had to go. Too much temptation. Too damn much.

“My apologies for disrupting your film time, Scott. Tomorrow morning I’ll be sure to fetch your pipe and slippers before you settle into your preferred recliner.”

Okay, that dig hurt. He wasn’t a male chauvinistic pig, he just valued routine and order, neither of which her presence was helping. “I don’t want your help.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “Good.”

“Good.” He nodded.

Only it wasn’t good, not at all. Because with her standing this close and that fire burning in her eyes, the desire to send her packing was threatened by the desire to pull her closer. Aside from Edna, he hadn’t met a woman like her before, someone willing to stand up for herself without hesitation. The women he’d dated the last few years, he’d found out too late how shallow they’d been. The last one had raked him over the coals when he’d broken things off and threatened to go to the press with some fabricated story of abuse if he didn’t buy her the car she wanted.

Foolishly, she’d done all that by way of text messages…which his attorney had jumped all over. After that, J.B. had advised Scott to stay away from the opposite sex altogether, to keep his reputation pristine. Standing here toe-to-toe with Felicity, he found his resolve wavering.

Not that it would matter. Another verbal joust or two, he sensed, and she’d be on her way. As much as he hated the idea of upsetting her, her staying bothered him far more.

Across the room, a perky mambo-style song began to play. Felicity’s features quickly shifted from irate to worried. She spun from him to retrieve a phone from her purse.

“Hey, Laur, what’s up? Wait, slow down. My duplex is what?”

Felicity turned and hurried toward the foyer, her voice a quiet rush. As she did, Edna rose from her chair and came over to smack him upside the head.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she said in a hiss.

“What? You always said honesty should come above all else.”

That earned him a second wallop. “You can be honest and still use tact, you nincompoop. I expect you to apologize when she comes back.”

“But—”

“No buts. If she’s been hired to be your personal assistant, then you let her. Heaven knows the poor girl and her son need all the help they can get right now.”

Scott hung his head. Saying it like that, Edna made him sound like some evil villain out to swindle a fair maiden. Not used to playing the bad guy, he tried to come up with a new plan.

Maybe they could work together to trick J.B. into thinking she was doing the PA thing. Because, aside from giving him a ride to his weekly doctor visits, there really wasn’t any other reason for her to be around. All he had to do was convince her to fib to his agent, and they’d both be better off. For the first time since this crazy arrangement had been sprung on him, Scott actually looked forward to his next conversation with her.

“Besides, that one’s a keeper.”

Oh no. He needed to put a stop to that kind of thinking, ASAP.

Scott threw his grandmother a warning look. “She’s not a date, Grandma. She’s my assistant.”

“Mm-hmm.” Her cotton-ball brows waggled. “Wanna put a wager on it?”

“Do we need to have another talk about your gambling problem?”

“Bah, Ohio’s taken the fun out of you.”

Felicity rushed back into the room, worry etched across her beautiful face.

Wait, beautiful?

“As much fun as it was arguing with you, Scott, I’m afraid I need to go. My penny-pinching landlord finally cut one too many corners, and the apartment connected to mine caught fire earlier. Our half is in the process of being condemned.”

Scott could hardly believe his ears. She was leaving? And not because of him?

He felt badly for her, truly he did. But silently? He did a mental fist pump.

“Condemned?” Edna cursed, and not under her breath. “I always knew that Harvey Gregory was a no-good miser. But honey, where will you go?”

“To my cousin’s, to see if she knows anyone who can spare us a room for the next few days. Or maybe she’ll just shoehorn us into her basement. I don’t know.”

Guilt ate at Scott as Felicity’s voice wavered. As much as he wanted her gone, his heart went out to the woman and her smiley, shaggy-haired son. How much of their world had just been destroyed by the fire? “Is there anything we can do to help?”

“No.” Felicity raised her chin, trying for bravado, but the sound was more of a hurt whisper. “My home, my routine. I’ll figure something out. I always do.”

“Nonsense,” said Edna.

She wouldn’t.

His grandmother’s gaze cut to his.

She couldn’t.

“You can stay here with us.”

She did.