9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Clara

I did not indulge in much, but there were a few luxuries I had long ago deemed necessary for survival. Biweekly pedicures with two of my best friends were on the top of that list and had a special, nonnegotiable place on my calendar.

Today, I was four minutes late. Needless to say, by the time I settled into my massage chair between Bea and Shira and dunked my feet in the warm water, I was a frazzled mess.

"I thought you died," Bea intoned.

"No." I smoothed my hand over the top of my head. "I'm alive, but my assistant might not be for long. He was supposed to interrupt my call with—"

Bea put her hand on my arm, drawing my attention to her. She shook her head, her perfect blue curls bobbing. "I do not care."

"Bea!" Shira whisper-shouted from the other side of me.

Bea leaned forward, her brow raised. "Do you care about her phone call with her client?"

Shira worried her bottom lip with her fingers. "It isn't that I don't care. It's the text you sent earlier…"

"Right, the text." I nodded.

"The one about you sleeping with a random biker in a bar," Bea added helpfully, paying no mind to the three women working on our feet or other women scattered around the salon.

I pressed my hand over my chugging heart. "Let me take a breath before I spill my guts."

"Take as long as you need," Shira said softly.

"Not too long," Bea added sharply, making me laugh under my breath.

Shira had come into my life several years ago when she'd married one of Rossi's board members, Frank Goldman. Half his age, and a resting bitch face that could cut with just a look, most people had steered clear of Frank's child bride. But something about her had compelled me to get to know her. I'd discovered she was painfully shy and one of the sweetest humans on the planet. Since losing Frank last year, she'd been making a valiant effort to keep his company running, but my friend wasn't having an easy go of it.

Sweet wasn't a descriptor that had ever been used for our darling Bea. We'd met through mutual friends over a year ago and clicked for reasons still beyond me. She was a decade younger than me, snarled at strangers, had blue hair and a septum piercing, and worked in catering. On the surface, we had nothing in common, but the three of us had clicked. Our differences jibed, guaranteeing there was never a dull moment when we were together.

Before Bea and Shira, I'd never had girlfriends I could say anything to without worrying I'd be laughed out of the room.

I hadn't told them about Jake, though. I had no fear of judgment. That wasn't why I'd been reticent. It was that I was inexplicably possessive of our encounters. They belonged in that dark hotel room. If I spoke them aloud into the light, it would change how I viewed them.

Then yesterday, when Jake turned out to be Jake Hayes, heir to Motor Zone, everything changed.

"Okay." Opening my eyes, I glanced back and forth between my friends. "I'm going to tell you everything. Let me get it all out before you ask questions, okay? I just need to say it."

They both nodded in agreement, keeping quiet to show me they understood.

"A little over a year ago, I took my bike out on the road and ended up riding with a mixed pack out to Skyridge. I stopped there, got a room, and walked around a bit. There was this biker bar near my hotel, and something compelled me to go in. I guess…I wanted to see if anyone would look at me. It had been so long since I'd been looked at like a living, breathing woman I wanted to remember what it felt like. Then, a couple guys tried to buy me drinks, and I almost ran out of there. I didn't, though. The same urge that had compelled me to enter the bar kept me glued to my seat. It didn't take long for another guy to take the stool next to mine without asking if it was free. He got the bartender's attention, ordered a beer, then looked at me and asked me what I was drinking."

I shivered at the memory of experiencing the slow, sensual slide of Jake's full attention for the first time, of his leg touching mine and not moving away. His eyes on me, never leaving.

"One beer. That's all I drank with him before I stood up, held my hand out, and asked if he was in or out."

Shira gasped.

Bea was grinning like a proud papa.

I covered my face with my hands. "I don't know where I'd gotten that line or how I'd managed to actually say it, but Jake was in. We went to my room and"—I dropped my voice to barely above a whisper—"fucked all night. I have never done anything like what we did. I've never been touched that way or spoken to like that."

"Like what?" Shira murmured.

My exhale came out in a whoosh. "Like he owned me. Like my body was the answer to every single one of his problems. Like he was grateful to be with me and had to make sure I understood that." I shook my head. "I've never had a one-night stand, but I don't think they're supposed to be like that ."

"They're not," Bea assured me.

"He took me over and over. All night long. And in the morning, he was still sleeping, and I just…left."

Shira blinked a few times. "You left?"

"I left. I thought that was it and didn't want to ruin it with morning-after awkwardness. A couple months later, I got restless and took another ride, ending up back in the same bar. I didn't think there was any chance he'd possibly show up, but an hour or so later, there he was."

"Was it just as good?" Bea asked.

I scrunched up my face. "It was somehow better, which I wouldn't have thought possible. We didn't exchange numbers, though, so I thought for sure that was it."

"But you got restless again?" Shira guessed.

"Two more times. We met up twice more, and each time was better. I almost asked for his number the last time, but I didn't. I told myself I could have him if I left it to chance. I'm not dating, so I won't pursue anyone. Jake was my exception."

"Why are you using past tense? This sounds like the perfect setup," Bea said.

I groaned. "It was. Until I ran into him in town. He lives here, and I had Nellie with me."

"Oh no…" Shira sighed.

"Oh yes. But that isn't the worst of it."

Bea chuffed. "Has anyone ever told you you're a terrible storyteller? Stop edging us, or I'll lose interest out of spite."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "No you won't, and Nellie says I'm the best storyteller ever."

"That's because she knows five people." Bea wasn't wrong. "Plus, she's nice and doesn't want to hurt your feelings."

"Bea has no problem doing that, though," Shira said with a little laugh.

I poked my chest. "Don't worry, my invisible safety suit is lined with iron. None of this is penetrating."

"Clearly." Bea rolled her eyes. "Considering you still haven't told us the worst part."

This was why I loved Bea. She never pulled punches, but she wasn't mean. I could take her teasing, no problem. She was more careful with Shira, our tenderhearted friend.

Laughing, I waved my hands in defense. "All right. The worst part? Jake is the VP of a company we're considering partnering with. He showed up in our conference room yesterday in a suit and tie, looking like my own personal devil." I cringed. "I can't ever see him again."

"Oh no …" Shira repeated. "Was he just as surprised to see you?"

"What are the chances he didn't know?" Bea asked, ever the doubtful one.

I turned my head to look at her. "That's what I'd thought, that this was some elaborate set up to soften me toward the deal. If that had been their angle, it was a terrible misstep, considering I'm much more reluctant to even consider their offer now." I shook my head. "But I don't think he knew who I was. I'd told him my name was CeeCee, and unless he followed me to Denver from Skyridge, he couldn't have known where I was from or where I worked."

"CeeCee is cute," Shira said.

"Mmmhmm. I want to meet CeeCee. Is she a ditzy little flirt?" Bea shimmied her shoulders, a sardonic grin curving her lips.

Taking on Bea's usual tone, I deadpanned, "CeeCee is dead."

"And Clara's not interested in VP Jake?" Bea filled in.

"If only. That would make all this so simple." My fingers curled around the padded arms of my pedicure chair. "I told him I'm not dating, and he said he's not after me for a date."

Shira whimpered. "He just wants—"

I nodded. "He wants to continue our arrangement…but do it here."

"Even after the meeting?" Bea asked.

"Well, I don't know." I picked at the stitching in the arm of the chair. "He asked me to dinner to talk about the situation. I obviously turned him down—"

"Obviously?" Bea pressed. "Why wouldn't you want to talk about it? You're a talker. It's how you figure out important decisions. You talk and talk until it makes sense."

"Why does that feel like criticism?"

Her huff of a laugh told me to stop being silly. "It's an observation. Some of us internalize when we're making a big decision. You go external."

"It's true," Shira agreed. "Which is why I'm shocked you didn't tell us about Jake sooner."

"Well, there was never any debate about him," I replied. "What we were doing worked for me. But now it can't possibly continue, which is so damn disappointing."

"It could, you know." Bea poked my hand. "You need an outlet. A grown-up outlet that has nothing to do with being a mom."

She knew me too well. If she hadn't added the last part, I would have brought up the Mommy and Me paint class Nellie and I took and our weekend morning hikes, which were steadily getting longer as she grew.

"Maybe, but it can't be him." This, I was firm on. Seeking out someone nearby for a casual arrangement was one thing, but Jake was off the table. Things were too tangled now with the potential Motor Zone deal. But the thought of any other man touching me like Jake had held no interest. Quite the opposite, it actively repelled me.

" Maybe is a big step for you," Shira observed. "I know you feel guilty any time you leave Nellie, but if you were married, you wouldn't feel that way."

"But I'm not." My nails dug into the cushy arm. "Because of me, Nellie doesn't have a father. I messed up by choosing poorly, and now—"

"Oh, come on. That's such bullshit," Bea declared. "Nellie doesn't have a father because your ex was an undercover psycho. You can't possibly take the blame for his actions."

"I should have known," I protested.

"No one knew," Shira said. "My point is, you have a village of people who love Nellie almost as much as you do. There's no reason for you to feel guilty about letting her hang out with us, or her grandparents, or her aunt and uncle, or her nan—"

"Okay, okay." I smoothed a hand over my hair, offering her a smile. "I'm Italian. Feeling guilty is in my DNA."

Bea crossed her arms. "Screw that. Go to dinner with Jake. Talk it out."

Shira nodded. "At least then you'll be able to get on the same page, you know?" Leaning into me, she dropped her voice to whisper soft. "What's the bright side of this?"

"Of Jake?"

She nodded. "Yes."

This had been Frank and Shira's thing when he was alive. No matter how shitty their day or the situation they were in, they'd ask each other what the bright side was. When he died, Bea and I had continued it with her. Through her darkest, most miserable days, we'd ask her to tell us the bright side, and she always managed to find it. A couple months after she lost Frank, she took the reins again, and I had never been happier to let them go. Even Bea, our little angsty, grumpy friend, didn't mind finding the bright side for Shira.

"The bright side is…" I rubbed my lips together, flashing back to him kissing me, taking care of my new body, making me feel like something more than a mother like I was sexy and worth noticing. "Being with him brought part of me back to life."

Shira sighed. Shockingly, Bea did too.

"And you're going to give that up?" Bea asked incredulously. "Tell the truth, is Jake secretly ugly and you're too ashamed to take the chance of being seen with him in town?"

I sputtered a laugh. "God no. If anything, he should be ashamed to be seen with me. He's so far out of my league and definitely younger."

Shira gasped. "You didn't mention he was younger. How much?"

"I don't know. We never talked about things like that; it's just a sense I have." Bea flicked her long nails. "Younger, older—who cares? What I care about is you claiming he's out of your league. Unless you're talking pro sports, no one is out of your league, Clara. You're rich, incredibly successful, and, last but not least, astoundingly hot."

While she was singing my praises, I Googled Jake Hayes and clicked on a picture, promptly shoving it in her face.

"Care to eat your words?" I quipped.

Bea studied him carefully, a little line forming between her perfectly arched brows. "He's handsome in a flashy, obvious way, I'll give you that. But not hotter than you. Have you seen your ass lately? And your angel face? You have fewer wrinkles than I do."

"Blood of virgins," I said as I showed the picture to Shira. "And my ass has dimples in it."

Shira whistled softly. "He's hot, yes, but he's obviously seen your ass dimples and liked them."

"Who doesn't like dimples?" Bea added. "We're allowed to have them on our face cheeks but not our ass cheeks? I do not agree. Ass dimples are just as cute."

Laughing, I covered my face with my hands. "I can't stand you, Beatrice."

"Yes, you can. You'd be insufferably boring without me in your life," she replied smugly.

"True." I peeked from between my fingers. "Let's be done talking about me for today. I'd rather find out what's going on with you."

"Bea caused a car to run into a light pole yesterday," Shira reported.

Bea shrugged. "I can't help if someone chooses to watch me walk down the sidewalk instead of paying attention to the road."

This was one of the many, many reasons my pedicures with my girls were nonnegotiable. Bea made me laugh, and Shira focused on the bright side. I never failed to leave my appointments with pretty toes and a refreshed outlook.

That must have been why, as soon as I was back in my car, I opened my text thread with Jake and typed out what I did. If this blew up in my face, Bea and Shira were definitely getting the blame.

Me: If the offer still stands, I'll have dinner with you.

It took less than a minute for him to reply.

Jake: The offer stands. Didn't think I'd hear from you. I'm free the rest of the week. You?

Me: I can make arrangements. Friday? Somewhere relatively private.

Jake: Come to my place. I'll grill. Private as it gets.

Me: I don't know if your place is a great idea. We're only talking.

Jake: I'll keep you on the deck, away from any soft surfaces so you're not tempted.

Me: Trust me, I'll be fine.

Jake: Yes you will.

Me: Please don't make me regret saying yes to this.

Jake: Have I ever not treated you right, Clara?

Me: Okay, text me the address and time. Thank you for volunteering to cook. I look forward to it.

Jake: There's my buttoned-up little businesswoman. Sexy.

Me: Jake…

Jake: Bet you're blushing.

I was. He was supremely capable of controlling the blood flow to my cheeks. One flirty word, and it came rushing to the surface.

Jake: That's okay, you don't have to tell me. I'll see for myself on Friday. Until then, be good.

I tossed my phone onto the passenger seat. Yeah, this was almost certainly going to blow up in my face. Hopefully Jake was a decent cook, so my meal would be worth it.