5. Problem Solver

FIVE

PROBLEM SOLVER

KRIS

T he night isn’t over yet. I catch up to Bailey as we approach the garage elevator.

“Let me get that for you.” I push the up arrow button since her arms are full of the bag from the liquor store, and the elevator door opens for us immediately. “Floor?”

“Nine,” she answers with a clipped tone once we’re inside.

“I’m a ten.” My sly grin earns an eye roll from her, and I push our respective buttons. Then a rip splits the brown bag from the store and everything falls completely out, and bottles crash to the floor. Surprisingly, they don’t break.

“Oh, my God. My life right now. I just…I just can’t anymore.” Her voice trembles and she falls back against the wall, pinching the bridge of her nose. I crouch, stuffing my arms full with everything.

“Light drinker, I presume?” I ask.

“Rare drinker. One drink only, kind of drinker. Why?”

“How many have you had tonight?” I ask.

“More than usual.”

“Then I’ll help you to your door.” The elevator opens on nine, but she stays put, reaching for the armful.

“Give me the bottles. I don’t need your help,” she insists.

“I’ve got them. It’s no trouble.” I step halfway into the hall.

“Just being a gentleman again?” She cocks her head.

“Always. But then you’d know that if you would have taken the time to interview me back in L.A.”

She huffs past me, grabbing her keys out of her purse. Turns out her apartment is directly below mine. I get some satisfaction knowing that I’m hovering over her in bed nightly.

She unlocks her door. One by one, she empties my arms of the bottles and sets them inside on an entryway table. “Thanks,” she mumbles, attempting to close the door, but my foot is in the way.

“You don’t want company? Come on. I’m here, you’re here. Could be a sign or something telling us to talk it out and let go of the past? Especially if we’re going to be neighbors.”

She chews her cheek, hesitant while removing her boots.

“Please? One drink. You tell me your side of things. I’ll tell you mine. We’ll agree to let it go, and that’ll be the end of it. Promise.”

“Fine.” She gives in easier than I thought she would. Now to get some closure. She hiccups. “Shoes off at the door, please. Have a seat. I’ll be back in a minute.”

As I slip my shoes off, I watch her pad away to the kitchen with the bottles. Then she disappears down the hall. I shift over to the living room, taking in the surroundings.

A lingering scent like cinnamon, sugar, and vanilla fills the space, probably from a candle. The furniture is all gray and light, with gold accents and shabby-painted wood accent pieces here and there. Dried floral arrangements adorn several knickknacks.

“Rum and cola or Bailey’s Irish coffee?” She calls from the kitchen. Hopefully, she’s not intending to poison me.

“Rum,” I answer. I’ll take my chances. “You know, I live right above you, same apartment layout.”

“Really? That’s not creepy at all.”

I grin at her ongoing sarcasm. Various photos in frames line the walls, and I scrutinize each one. Most show her with family, I presume. Based on what I see, she must have a gang of siblings.

“Four brothers?” I ask.

“Five. All older. I’m the baby.”

“Large family.”

“That’s the Irish for you.”

“I imagine they’re protective of their little sister.” I move to her bookshelf next, glancing at the titles in her collection.

“A couple of them would come running if I really needed help. The rest are busy at the law office and married with kids.”

“I’m protective of my sister, although she’s a strong woman and been on her own now for a while. She lives about an hour outside of L.A. But travels a lot as a flight attendant.”

I’m not one to usually notice or care about decor, but I do tonight, only as a way to get to know this woman and what I’m up against. One word describes it all. Cozy. But that’s in contrast to the icy glare I get from her when she returns.

She’s removed the oversized sweatshirt, giving me a great view of her body in a tank top and leggings. I like what I see. When she shoves a glass of rum and coke into my hands, brushing fingers, I’m hit with a jolt of electric and I try not to ogle her cleavage.

I steel myself with the first sip, only to find she went a little sparse on the cola. Despite it, I sink into Bailey’s gray chenille couch at one end, as she curls up opposite me with her legs underneath of her, almost hugging the arm of the couch like she’s afraid of me. She shouldn’t be. Knowing she got fired from her last job is enough retribution for how she made me the heartbreaking villain in all of her articles.

I glance at her sideways. I haven’t been able to take my eyes off of her since the auction, stealing looks every chance I get. Oddly, I feel close to her; we share a bond over twenty or so articles she wrote about my relationship with Tia. At times, it seemed like there were three of us in a relationship, me, Tia, and Bailey, as my ex became obsessed with reading the articles about us, too. Crazy.

“Mm. So good,” Bailey moans. Fuck, that goes right to my groin. Yep. Something about her I’m finding irresistible. What if…we could move beyond our past? If I play my cards right, and if she’s willing, there are some very satisfying things I’d like to do to her body.

But I can’t. According to Kerry, I’m supposed to become Portland’s most celibate bachelor. I’m supposed to ignore my male intrinsic need for satisfaction, and forget I hear the tiny moans Bailey makes every time she sips something from her mug, presumably a strong Irish coffee.

Of course, I doubt she’s interested in me. She’d probably slap me if I tried to put the moves on her.

“Good stuff? Sounds like I should have opted for some of that.” I lean forward and deposit my glass on the table.

“Your loss,” she replies. “Bailey’s Liqueur is my favorite. Some of my Scott family ancestors were the original investors in the company back in Ireland when it started up. I’m named after it. If you weren’t here right now, I’d curl up with my drink and a good book and try to forget about the wedding tomorrow night.”

“What wedding?”

“Um. Never mind.” Her eyes go wide like I caught her in the act of something secret, appearing so vulnerable while sipping her drink. I cross my ankle on the other knee and force myself to look away.

Back in L.A., every time I read articles written by Bailey Scott, I imagined her being older and quite the hustler working with the paparazzi in the cutthroat world of hounding celebrities.

How could a woman this young and pretty be so cunning with the written word? My entire relationship with Tia played out in her column of some L.A. rag magazine, from the early days when we were the media darlings, to every argument we had in public, to displays of affection, and private vacations. Somehow, cameras followed us everywhere, and Bailey was prolific at reporting every moment.

I was serious about Tia, though, and had planned to propose. Then shit hit the fan when a photo of me with another woman walking into a hotel surfaced and ruined it all. Bailey was the first to break the photo online. She dubbed me the Hockey Heartbreaker, and that was the beginning of the end of my relationship. Tia blew a gasket claiming I cheated on her—I didn’t do it, and don’t even recall that night or who the strange woman was—and won public sympathy. The media's attention swarming around us reached a feverish frenzy.

It all played out in the columns of Bailey’s articles. Does she have any idea how humiliating it was? I could go off on her, jumping and yelling, but I won’t. It’s better to ease my way in. I bring my glass to my lips and nurse it once more, the spicy mixture working into my system.

“When did you leave L.A.?” I ask.

“Not long after my last article about you, when my editor fired me. I had a hard time finding another job and moved back home here. The Daily Post was only willing to hire me because the editor knows my dad.” She shakes her head and takes a long draw of her steamy mixture. I feel bad now knowing she had it rough, another casualty of Tia’s world.

“Dou like what you’re doing?”

“Sure. But there aren’t as many celebrities. Mostly society events to cover, like tonight.”

“And how many lives have you ruined here?” The question flies from my mouth before I stop it.

She scoffs. “Seriously? That was a low blow, Kris.” She stabs me with angry green eyes.

“You’re right. So I’m the only one who got such special treatment from you in your entire career?”

“You know what? This was a bad idea. We should never talk about the past again, just leave it all behind us and hope we don’t run into each other. You should go. Besides, I don’t have time for this. I have to try to get a good night’s sleep to drive up the mountain tomorrow afternoon for a wedding I don’t even want to attend.” She lifts off the couch, but stumbles back onto it, hiccuping again when she lands hard, almost spilling her drink.

“That’s the second mention of a wedding, Irish.”

“Irish?”

“Yeah. Irish. You gave me a nickname, I give you one back.”

She avoids me, turning away, and goddammit if I don’t hear a sniffle a minute later. I can tell she’s swiping away a tear or two. I didn’t intend for her to cry. There’s nothing worse than a woman crying in front of me because I want to grab her and make the pain go away.

“Sounds like someone hurt you. I know we have a strange past, but you can talk to me. I’m a pretty good guy if you get to know me.”

“Fine. If you really want to know that badly, it’s my cousin’s wedding. Or my ex’s. Take your pick. The bitch is marrying the asshole. They deserve each other. He cheated on me with her instead of staying to fight for us and make our relationship work. He’s a coward.” This time, she launches successfully off the couch, full of piss and vinegar, and makes it all the way to the kitchen.

“So we’ve both felt the sting of heartbreak.” Only I don’t think she hears me. I’m the one she publicly gave the Heartbreaker name to, but I’d like to know what cruel names she calls her ex. I hear her refilling her mug, then trudging back. “That would be enough to drive anyone to drink. Why attend the wedding at all?”

“It’s family and freaking m-messed up.” Her words slur as she repositions on the sofa. The way she downs the next drink faster, I know she’s headed for a hangover in the morning.

“Wait. Don’t tell me you’re in the wedding? A bridesmaid in a hideous dress?”

“No. I got passed over for that, thankfully. And yes, the dresses Vanessa chose are hideous pink ones with ruffles. No-one wears frilly ruffles these days.” She pouts.

“Absolutely. No hideous ruffles.” I mock her and chuckle.

“Not only is my family expecting me to be there, but also my editor assigned me to report all the details in an article next week. My ex is running for attorney general, so it’s a huge wedding, you see.” She overly gestures, both hands flying up. “But I doubt half of Portland gives two shits about his wedding day.”

“I can tell you for a fact, as a new resident of Portland, I couldn’t care less if he marries a monkey.”

She blinks a few times at me, my joke falling flat. “N-no, Vanessa is a beautiful woman, not a monkey.”

I hold back a laugh. Bailey gets cute the more she drinks, although she blatantly lets an occasional tear fall down her cheeks and must not care about wiping them away at this point. I’d do it for her, but she’d probably kick me out for touching.

“It’ll be so embarrassing to have to face William and Vanessa now. Then I have to endure my family who all think my job is beneath me. They’ll treat me like I’m the outsider, as always.” Her shoulders shake, eyes shut, and her lips tremble.

Oh no. I feel like she’s about to explode into a big, ugly cry. My eyes dart around. What is my exit plan here, because I probably have gotten in way over my head with her? She doesn’t need a playboy like me yearning to take her to bed; she needs a true friend. I haven’t played that role for a woman in a long time, except for my sister.

She continues to sob and sets her mug on the side table. “My life has been a shit show since I left L.A. And then, just when I was trying to turn things around, you show up here. Why? To torture me? It’s bad enough I’ve had to live with the knowledge I ruined your life.”

“That’s not true. You didn’t. Not entirely.” I shift closer to her, my arm behind her back on the edge of the couch.

“But you don’t know th-the things I know. I’m a bad jour-na-list.” She can barely say the word, and isn’t making any sense. She’s definitely a lightweight drinker.

“Listen, Tia ruined my life. I ruined hers. You did your job reporting. It is what it is,” I say.

“No, seriously. I have to tell you something. You don’t know the whole truth about Tia.”

My jaw sets and I warn through gritted teeth. “Stop, Irish. Whatever you know, I probably already know, and I don’t care. And that’s the difference between you and me. I got over it. Tia means nothing to me. I moved on and have no desire to revisit that situation.”

“But you should know?—”

“Nope. I don’t want to know. So don’t tell me. Ever. I mean it.”

She leans back into the cushion, staring like she doesn’t believe me. “Wow. I wish I were more like you, able to move on easily. Are you sure you don’t want to know?”

“The fact is, it wasn’t meant to be with me and Tia. That’s all. Yes, I was upset at the time when everything went down, but I’ve accepted what happened. Nothing you could tell me is going to change that or have any use in my life now. Trust me, Bailey, I’ve moved on. I’m glad to hear you’re trying to as well.”

“No. I-I thought I was, but I’m an even hotter mess since you showed up.” Her arms suddenly wrap around my neck, trapping me on the couch, while she endlessly douses my shirt. There’s the explosion of tears I knew would be coming. My mind races, and I feel bad for her. Where else can my hands go but land on her back, caressing, to console her? Only the tips of my fingers tingle on her soft skin, sending a shock of electricity throughout my system.

I need more time with her to explore her curves, but not tonight while she’s tipsy. And not when she’s crying her eyes out.

“Sh. It’s going to be okay.” I’m not qualified to give life advice to a woman having a breakdown. Especially when I’m partly the cause of it.

“If only I didn’t have to go to that damn wedding alone. My friend Maggie was supposed to go with me as my plus one, but then some guy she’s been seeing asked her to take off with him for a romantic weekend away. I was counting on having her with me to help me be strong for the night. Instead of a plus one, I’m a minus.” She ends on such a sad note. It tugs at something inside of me.

“Okay. I’ll do it.” What I am good at is problem solving.

“Wh-what?” She parts from me, swiping away her tears with her sleeve.

“You won a date with me at the auction. So I’ll be your date for the wedding. I’ll be there for you to help you be strong and face all those people there.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope. I know it’s strange given our past, but it makes sense to me. I feel bad you struggled in your career, and a little guilt, too, because I was pissed about all the articles you wrote. When I heard you got fired, I was pleased and figured you deserved it. But you are a good writer and definitely didn’t deserve to struggle all these years after like you have.”

Her mouth opens and closes a few times, like she can’t decide what to do. I could carry her off to bed and think of a dozen things we could do. Instead, I stand and try to not let that thought go to my cock. I turn my back on her and resume my tour of her bookcases.

“Breakups are hard, Irish. And life is twisted. Everyone needs help sometimes. So take this support from me; let me help you at the wedding. When I was going through it with Tia, my mom was there for me. She used to tell me all I needed to do to get over it was wake up each day and try again. So that’s what I did. I woke each day and tried to move on, and eventually I did. That’s all you gotta do, Bailey. Just keep waking up and try.”

Her snore hits my ears, and I turn back toward her. In my effort to give good advice, she’s fallen asleep or passed out.

“Definitely a lightweight.” I cross the room and carefully bring her legs up to rest on the couch. There’s a knitted blanket over the back and I lay that over her. Despite her mouth open and a little dribble collecting at the corner, she’s an adorable hot mess when she sleeps.

I’m a mess, too, with this entire evening opening old wounds, ones I haven’t had to deal with in some time. But I wouldn’t admit that to her. I think I can help her; we can help each other.

Look at her sleeping so peacefully, no trace of worry over the issues she’s grappling with. I wish I could make the past go away, but then we would never have met. I think I’m glad we did.