Chapter Eighteen

The shrill of Starr’s phone jolted Spencer awake. Through slitted eyes, he watched Starr push herself up on her elbows and take in her surroundings, Spencer included. Her forehead crinkled in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

Good question. Was it morning already?

Her phone rang again. She grappled for it from the nightstand. “H…hello? Rose? No, it’s all right.” Her body stilled as she listened and then sprang to sit up, her back ruler straight. “Matt said what?”

Matt’s mom, at this hour? Something must’ve happened. Spencer shifted into a sitting position.

“I don’t think so,” Starr said into the phone. She glanced at Spencer. “Of course, I’ll ask him.” She pursed her lips. “Really. That’s…that’s great.” Her hand squeezed the phone, a tightness matching her jaw—and Spencer’s gut. She brought one hand up to her forehead and rubbed. “Yes, I’ll call you back.” She hung up, her face a crushing mixture of confusion and disappointment.

“What happened?”

“Did you give Matt a watch?”

That was it? “Yeah. It wasn’t a big deal. It’s not even new. Is his mom mad?” He really wasn’t good at this kid thing. “Should I have asked her first?”

“Yeah, probably, considering she’s freaking out thinking Matt stole it and is lying about it.” She threw the covers off and pushed out of bed. “You should’ve told me, too.” She spun toward him and blinked several times, her eyes focusing as if noticing Spencer’s bare chest for the first time. “Last night, did we…?” She looked at the bed and then back to Spencer.

“No.”

“Then why…?” She motioned to him and then, again, the bed.

“You were restless. I wanted to calm you down. I guess I fell asleep.” He hadn’t meant to, but it was so comfortable with her cuddled into his body.

Embarrassment flashed across her face, quickly covered by irritation. She opened her mouth to speak and then shook her head, as if telling herself to change directions. “Rose said you took Matt to the Rescue Mission last night. Why?”

Was this a trick question? He shook the sleep from his brain. “Because he was supposed to go.” He got out of bed and walked around to her. “You would’ve been so proud of how he acted, how he treated everyone. You should’ve seen him.”

“Yeah, I should’ve.” She spat the words out.

Uh-oh. Not the reaction he’d expected. Though why he’d dare assume what her reaction would be was beyond him.

“After what happened yesterday, Destiny and I thought we should let you sleep.”

“All evening? And the entire night?”

“That’s what sleeping pills do. After what you went through, you needed to rest.”

“You gave me a sleeping pill?”

Crap.

“Technically, Destiny did, but only after you requested one.”

“And after she drugged me, what deep, dark secrets did she share about me?”

“Don’t you think drugged is a bit melodra—” He paused. Her eyes looked like they would pop out of their sockets. Where was Ms. I’ll-Take-the-Hit when he needed her? “First, Destiny didn’t tell me anything. And second, it was a sleeping pill,” he said, trying again. “Your sleeping pill, not heroin. You were tired and agitated.”

“So you thought drugging me was the answer?”

“It wasn’t…” Spencer paused and, rethinking his approach, softened his voice. “We thought you could use the rest,” he reasoned.

“You don’t get to think for me.” She stepped toward him and shoved him back, apparently not interested in reason. “Who the hell do you think you are? You don’t get to insert yourself in my life and take it over.” She shoved at him again, and he took it, stepping back. At this rate, he’d be through the wall soon.

“I was just trying to help.” He raised his hands, palms up, in a mea culpa. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know you were reacting to your accident.”

She froze, and he could’ve sworn the room chilled. “How much did Destiny tell you?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head. “She told me I had to talk to you.”

“Then how do you know?”

He didn’t want to tell her. No good could come from it. But he knew there’d be hell to pay if he lied. “You collapsed, Destiny wouldn’t talk, and you were—”

“Drugged.”

“Sleeping. So, I Googled you. Nothing came up under Starr Taylor. Then I tried Margery.”

“You snooped?” The pitch of her voice was an octave higher. “You actively snooped.”

Snooped sounded so sneaky. “No, I…yes.” He dropped his head, wishing the wooden floor would open up and swallow him whole. Of all the lousy, asshole-ish things he’d done to women over the years, he never thought an internet search would bring him to his knees.

“I just wanted—”

“I don’t care what Mr. Fix-It wanted. Stop meddling. Stop inserting yourself in my life. I don’t need you to fix me!” Her words rang through the room. She stood in front of him, chest heaving, hands clenched in fists, eyes boiling with rage and resentment.

This conversation had officially spiraled out of control, like they were both riding a Tilt-a-Whirl that had hopped its track. Break time.

“I’ll go check on JJ,” he said quietly, trying to de-escalate the emotion in the room.

It was the best he could come up with. Mr. Fix-It was out of fixes.

…

As soon as Spencer left and closed the bedroom door behind him, Starr began to pace. Who did he think he was? Starr knew who—no, what: a jerk. He’d used the personal information he’d gleaned from JJ in his sneaky city-slicker style to research her like some Peeping Tom. Then he’d conspired with her best friend to drug her. And then he slept with her, snuggled her, because he was worried—like an overbearing…caring…sweet man. No, not sweet. Sick. Yes, sick. He’s the one who needed the drugs, and maybe Destiny, too. Not Starr: she was far from helpless.

Except that she had been.

Images and scents and sounds from yesterday flooded her mind. The snow crunching under her skis. The wind, sweet and fresh against her cheeks. Until it was gone, and there was nothing. Nothing but cold, hard ice packed around her, confining her. Smothering her.

Starr plopped on the bed and rocked forward and backward, hugging herself. Breathe, she commanded. In-out, in-out.

She’d been so intent on proving she could handle Spencer, she’d made a critical judgment error. She never should’ve taken him with her yesterday. Heck, she never should’ve gone at all. She wasn’t ready—maybe she never would be. Maybe this was the new her: weak and broken. The worse thing? She’d been weak and broken in front of Spencer.

She couldn’t let that happen again. Which was why he needed to leave.

She took a few more deep breaths, then forced herself out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. She was just in time to wave goodbye to JJ as he ran to catch the bus.

“I should’ve waited and asked you instead of snooping,” Spencer said, before she finished waving.

She plunked down into a kitchen chair, wishing she could rewind the past twenty-four hours. “And I’m sorry I freaked out about it.” She turned toward him. “I think it’s time you left.”

“What?” His face showed genuine surprise and a trace of hurt.

She pushed through, keeping her voice and tone steady. “It’s for the best. I appreciate everything you’ve done, really. But you have your life, your real life, back in New York. I promise I won’t go down to the Triad again.” She held up two fingers like a pledging Boy Scout. “Besides, you said yourself that Matt did great last night. We’re on the right track. Your work here is done.”

Spencer stared at her like he was trying to translate her words. “Is this because of yesterday, because I was there?” He slid into the seat next to her.

“This has nothing to do with yesterday.” She felt her heart rate increase, though whether from his proximity or her lie, she wasn’t sure.

“I’m glad I was there to help you, to bring you home.”

She pushed through a brittle smile. “Well, I won’t need that kind of help again, because I don’t plan on going back up there.” Not for a very long time. Maybe never.

“I know you’re upset now.” He reached out and covered one of her hands with his. “Don’t lose faith in yourself.”

Starr stared at their hands but didn’t pull away, the warmth of his touch radiating through her skin, up her arms, down her back. Don’t lose faith. Who was this stranger sitting here supporting her—last night snuggling her?

At that moment, her phone rang. She blinked, almost relieved for the interruption, and pulled her hand away from Spencer. She answered without looking at the screen. “Hello?”

“Starr, this is Jim Brown.”

“Hey, Jim. I didn’t expect to hear from you again this week. I hope this means your investor meetings went well.” Starr pushed up from the table, smiling into the phone. She could use some good news.

“They’re nailing us on valuation and a couple other items, but we’ve got some interest.”

“Some interest is good. I’m sure you’ll get commitments soon.”

“Yes.” Jim cleared his throat. “Starr, the reason I’m calling—”

“If it’s about the designs, I have some feedback for you,” she said, pacing to focus her brain. “I was holding back, based on our last conversation. Things seemed a bit busy over there.”

“Things are always busy over here. But no.” He cleared his voice again. “I’m…I’m not… I’m not calling about the designs.”

Starr stopped pacing. A chilly feeling slid down her back, like a slow-sliding ice cube, and two thoughts chased through her mind. One, if this call was about the dang promos, she was screwed; yesterday saw to that. Two, Jim was the most polished, confident speaker she knew, able to captivate an audience of a hundred or one. Jim didn’t stutter.

“Then what’s up?” Her voice wavered, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Spencer sit up in his chair.

“I won’t be needing your design comments. The company has decided to go in a different direction.”

“What do you mean? Different than winter sports?” she asked, trying to sound positive despite the impending sense of doom hoovering over her. “I’m all for branching out. You’re the one who convinced me a start-up’s focus should be narrow.”

“No, Starr.” Again, he cleared his voice and this time coughed several times. “I mean, the company has decided to go in a different direction…from you.”

Starr’s stomach hollowed wider than the Kit Carson Bowl at Mount Rose, and she leaned against the kitchen counter for support. “You’re firing me?” Her voice came out whispered, almost scratchy. She tried to swallow, a futile act with her mouth as dry as the Mojave Desert.

“It’s not you, Starr.”

The it’s not you, it’s me BS. Even his brother had enough guts not to use that.

“MogulMania needs a face,” Jim continued, his voice falling into the rhythmic clarity she’d come to recognize as he repeated the practiced rationale. “One that accepts the role enthusiastically, like a second skin. We’ve heard the same line from practically every potential investor.”

“You’re doing this because I won’t do promos right now? Because I won’t stand in front of a camera and smile or spill my guts in an interview? What about everything else I offer? What about everything else I’ve done?” As the words left her mouth, they gained momentum—and volume. “I’ve given great input, great insight, into the designs. I’ve made your products better.”

“I know, Starr. Please understand, my hands are tied. I’ve gotten so close on this funding. It’s our lifeline. In exchange, certain concessions have to be made. It’s not personal; it’s just business.” Jim emphasized those last words as if he was trying to convince himself as much as her.

She glanced at Spencer. His eyes were narrowed, his chin locked, his neck muscles bulging. Seeing the fury on his face helped control hers.

“We’d like to compensate you, Starr, for everything you’ve done for us thus far.” Jim paused before finishing. “We think that’s only fair.”

Fair? Starr let out a single laugh. Since when did fair have a place in her life?

She sniffed, willing away the tears that, again, threatened to fall. “I don’t want compensation, Jim.” She wouldn’t let him assuage his guilt by paying her some token amount.

Another pause. “I’m going to need that in writing,” he said quietly. “In case, down the road, you change your mind.”

It wasn’t enough to question her competence? “Are you questioning my integrity?”

“It’s just business, Starr.”

A fact that might have been remotely believable had he not been connected genetically to her ex-boyfriend. Robert, the impatient fool, had gotten tired of waiting for her. Robert had lost faith in her and now had convinced his brother to do the same.

She brought her free hand up to the bridge of her nose and squeezed. “Fine. Send me whatever I need to sign.” She had no fight left in her. Not today.

Jim let out a breath. “Thanks, Starr, for being so, uh, understanding. You take care of yourself, you hear?”

She disconnected without responding and stared at the yellowing linoleum floor.

“They can’t take your ideas, Starr.” Spencer’s voice was low and calm and deadly serious. “Let me—”

She raised a hand, palm up. “Please. Not now.” Without another word, she pushed open the porch door and beelined for the cottage. She needed to throw something. Several somethings. Maybe scream. Definitely cry. She’d already broken down once in front of Spencer.

She wouldn’t do it again.