Not Quite Perfect (Oakland Hills Book 3) Page 8

  His hands stilled over the keyboard for a moment. Then he hit a few keys and turned to her. “I spoke to your brother yesterday.”

  She couldn’t resist. “Which one? I have two.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll assume you meant Liam. And?”

  “He’s made it known he’ll fire you the instant anyone complains about your work.”

  Her stomach flipped over. She stared at him for a second before turning away to mouth a string of foul curses under her breath.

  The instant anyone complained? Anybody? Who could survive under that kind of edict in this place?

  “I’m sorry,” Zack said. He didn’t look sorry, and his voice was emotionless.

  She spun on him. “For what? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  “Actually, no.”

  “Well, you got it,” she said.

  “I’ll talk to him again and explain why letting you go probably isn’t a good idea at this point.”

  “Probably.” She grabbed a T-shirt hanging from an overhead cabinet and flung it on her desk. Hands shaking, she took out her ruler and slapped it over the shirt. The project request clipped to the hanger was to increase the gap between each stripe by fifty percent. She smoothed the slippery fabric flat with her palm and tried to line up the ruler precisely, because fifty percent of a pinstripe was hard to measure. It was probably in the computer from when it was originally designed, but she didn’t have the first idea how to find it.

  Because she was so new. And might never get a chance to be anything else. Her hands were trembling too much to hold the ruler steady.

  “Can I get you a coffee?” His voice by her shoulder made her jump.

  “Buy me whatever the hell you want, I’m not drinking it,” she said.

  He pulled up a chair and sat down, so close to her she could smell his shampoo. How could a little synthetic apple fragrance smell so good?

  “I’ll talk to him,” he repeated. “You don’t have to worry.”

  “I’m not worried. I’ll just have to work twice as hard to prove myself.” She flung the ruler aside. The stripe was microscopic. She’d have to find the original shirt design in the computer somehow. “Just please don’t say anything else to him about me. You’ll just make it worse.”

  “How could I make it worse?” he asked.

  She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. Because he’ll think I used my womanly wiles on you. During the months she’d lived in Liam’s apartment, she’d brought a few too many guys home, and now he had the crazy idea she was some kind of femme fatale. “Just don’t say anything else,” she said. “Please.”

  “All right. Let me know if you change your mind.”

  “I won’t. Now I have to get back to work, all right?”

  With a nod, he stood up and rolled the chair back to his side of the cubicle. April began combing through the digital archives for the striped shirt on her desk, wondering if Liam had ever in his life, just once, felt stupid and useless. And if he had, why couldn’t she have been there to see it and record it on video?

  Half an hour later, Rita arrived, looking tired but beautiful in a Fite jacket over slim black Fite running pants—almost the identical outfit April had worn the day before. Somehow, on her, it was glamorous. Was it the hair? Her natural grace? April decided to ask her for fashion tips. Her own natural quirky style seemed to turn heads, but not in a good way.

  “Morning,” Rita mumbled as she strode past.

  Zack rose to his feet and followed her into her cubicle. “I’ve already asked April, but she can’t spare the time. Lunch today? On me.”

  Oh, sure. Now he was asking Rita to lunch.

  April’s stinging pride overrode her anxieties about designing stripes and looking good in running pants.

  Chewing her bottom lip, April printed out the stripe on her screen. She was such an idiot. He’d obviously intended to ask Rita all along as well. It hadn’t been a come-on.

  “Thank you, that sounds nice,” Rita said. “But you don’t have to do that—”

  “My pleasure. Twelve?”

  “Twelve fifteen is better. I have an eleven o’clock meeting that will probably run over.” Rita peered around the cubicle wall at April. “Are you sure you can’t make it?”

  April could see she wanted her there, and making Rita happy was her middle name. April Making Rita Happy Johnson. “You know, come to think of it, I bet my mom would love an hour with her grandbaby all to herself,” April said.

  Rita smiled. “Great. It’s a date.”

  Zack returned to his desk and picked up his phone. “I’ll meet you both in the lobby at twelve fifteen.”

  He left the office without another word.

  “Thanks,” Rita said, walking around the wall. “I’m not quite up for a solo flight today. Not after the shit hit the fan yesterday.”

  Me neither, April thought. “I’ll call my mom. She won’t mind.” Far from it. Given Trixie’s psychic powers, she’d probably guess she was having lunch with the mysterious Zack at work and would expect him to dinner any day now. For their engagement party.

  “I, uh, heard from Liam last night,” Rita said. “He called me at home.”

  April dragged the ruler between her fingers. “Zack told me what he said. You should know he probably means it. Liam. He never wanted me here to begin with.”

  Rita squatted down and looked her in the eye. “Don’t take this wrong,” she said in a low voice, “but this is one of those times your brother is being a complete asshole.”

  “He’s trying to protect you and the company. I understand—”

  “No, he’s being an asshole,” Rita said. “You’re the only freelancer I’ve got right now. I’m not going to let some”—she lowered her voice even more—“some spoiled, shallow bitch get you banned just because you didn’t color her stripes fast enough. I don’t care what he says. I won’t let him do it.”

  To her surprise, April felt her eyes get hot. Rita had kids, and as far as April could tell, no husband to help out. “Don’t be stupid. You barely know me. Don’t put your neck—”

  “If I like working with you, I’m going to work with you. All right?”

  “Why would you do that for me?” April knew her family would always be there for her, even if Fite didn’t work out. Did Rita have that kind of safety net? “You shouldn’t—”

  “It’s not about you.” Nostrils flaring, Rita stood up. “It’s about my authority here. I have to be able to choose my own people.”

  April didn’t know what to say. She’d worked with a lot of people over the years, but none had fought for her in any way other than demanding another week or two of her services. “Thanks.” Words caught in her throat. “I’ll… get back to work then.”

  “Good.” Rita tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’ve got sixteen more stripe layouts and a color-blocked jacket I need before ten.”

  * * *

  Zack met them in the lobby at 12:14 p.m., almost inviting Virginia the receptionist along to make it very, very clear he wasn’t singling out April for romance, conversation, or long, deep, hot kisses in the conference room—where he’d spent the rest of the morning thinking about doing just that.

  With only thirty minutes available for their lunch, he took them to the popular gourmet sandwich place on the corner, waited in line for fifteen minutes until he could buy their sandwiches, which they ate in a crowded corner. They gave up on conversation within the first five minutes. It was noisy, their mouths were full, and they had nothing to say to each other, not really. He was just an outside consultant who made them uncomfortable.

  And April was his client’s little sister, who made him even more uncomfortable.

  But he was getting a grip. She’d been horrified at the idea of him coming on to her, and that had been the slap in the face he’d needed. He ate his turkey and Havarti on one-inch-thick, fresh-baked whole-grain bread and kept his eyes on Rita as much as possible. Pr
etty woman, Rita. Blonde, fit, tall, composed—except when her job was at stake—but her good looks had no effect on the awakening monster that was Zack’s libido.

  He’d been ready to chuck his job here overboard for one date with the other one, though, the funny girl in a disco dress eating a chunk of avocado with her fingers. Her nails were painted black with white polka dots. Her bracelet was the kind a child would wear, pastel candy rings on a thin elastic band, and half were eaten.

  What was it about her that drove him so crazy?

  “These are good sandwiches,” he said. “Thanks for telling me about the place.”

  “What?” Rita asked, hand to her ear. The line along the deli counter was snaking around them, forcing them to huddle together over the small table.

  “Good sandwiches,” he said, more loudly.

  “Glad you like them,” Rita shouted back.

  April picked up another thick, green chunk of avocado and popped it into her mouth. Zack’s food stuck in his throat, and he grabbed his bottle of iced tea to help him swallow.

  Did she know how sexy she was? He glanced around. Did other men respond to her like this, or was it just him?

  Men in suits, jeans, and uniforms crowded and talked around them, eyes on the menu on the back wall, on their buds and other women, apparently oblivious.

  “I’m so sorry,” Rita said, looking at her phone, “but I have to get back for a meeting. We were in line so long…”

  He couldn’t be alone with April. He pulled out his own phone. “Is it that late already?” He scowled in a show of alarm.

  April shoved half a sandwich into her mouth and stood up. Around the mouthful of food, she said, “That’s that. Shall we?”

  Only ten minutes after they’d sat down, they maneuvered through the crush to the street, where he held out his hand to Rita.

  “Thanks for putting up with me for a while. I’ll be moving on this afternoon,” he said, shaking her hand.

  Her smile was genuine. “So soon?”

  He understood the relief, but it did bother him a little how glad people usually were to see his back. “Yes.” Next he held out his hand to April. “Good luck.”

  April pumped his hand with the relish of an elderly farmer milking his least favorite cow at dawn. “Because I’m going to need it?”

  He shrugged. “I say that to everyone.” Because Rita was already walking up the sidewalk toward Fite, he turned to join her, asking April over his shoulder, “Walking this way?”

  But she waved and bolted across the street, her mesmerizing figure in the bright pink dress disappearing behind a bus.

  He’d be working in a distant corner building before she came back to work the next day. They might not see each other for weeks.

  His foot caught the edge of the curb, and he stumbled.

  Rita caught his elbow. “Careful.”

  Right, he thought. Aren’t I always?

  Chapter 9

  THE SECOND SATURDAY IN JANUARY, April watched her brother’s fiancée twirl in front of the three-way dressing room mirror in a shimmering white dress.

  Although she’d watched six of her friends get married over the past year and a half, and therefore thought she’d seen enough wedding gowns to satisfy her already meager liking of them for a lifetime, the getup that Rose was wearing made April gasp.

  “Holy moly,” she whispered. “You look like an angel.”

  Rose shook out her long blonde hair and adjusted the plunging neckline, revealing significant cleavage. She was big all over, but the chest—well. April had made a point of finding pride in her own natural B cup self, but Rose bursting out of that silk made April a little envious. No wonder Mark was in love with her. She was feeling kind of woozy herself.

  Her brother, the lucky man, sat cross-legged on the floor holding a takeout coffee cup, looking like he’d been smacked in the head with a board.

  April walked over and nudged him with her boot. “Say something. Doesn’t she look incredible?”

  He lowered his head and sipped his coffee.

  April kicked him. “Hey, tell her she’s beautiful.”

  Rose swished over, laughing. “He already did,” she said, tousling his floppy brown hair.

  “I don’t know why she puts up with you,” April muttered in his ear. “Better learn some charm before she catches on and leaves you for a guy who knows how to talk.”

  Elbowing April away, Mark set down his coffee and got to his feet. Suddenly, like the alpha male at the climax of a romantic film, he took Rose in his arms and kissed her. April could almost hear the symphony.

  After ten long seconds, he broke the kiss, and gazing into Rose’s eyes, said softly, “Talking is overrated.”

  Rose’s skin flamed hot pink against the white silk. “Oh, baby, let’s get married yesterday.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  April put her hand over her heart and looked away, blinking hard.

  Wow. She’d thought she was way too jaded to care about two people getting it on, but…

  She hurried to the door, waving over her shoulder. “Three’s a crowd, kids. I’ll meet you out front in a few minutes, how’s that?”

  “I think we embarrassed her,” she heard Rose say.

  And then her brother’s response: “Impossible.”

  He was right. She wasn’t embarrassed. She didn’t know what she was. Jealous? No, she was smiling. Happy?

  No. She was crying. She paused and wiped her face before turning the corner.

  Mark surprised her by joining her outside the dressing room. “It’s never a good idea to start something you can’t—hey, what’s the matter?”

  “I just needed a little air,” April said.

  The store was a small, cramped boutique in Oakland that specialized in plus-sized formal wear—proms and weddings, mostly. The only store clerk was busy helping another future bride and her seven best friends in the world pick out bridesmaid dresses. It looked like it was down to frothy pink or slinky black.

  “I know how you feel,” Mark said with a sigh. “She’s something, isn’t she?”

  Rose had insisted on bringing Mark, not caring if he was surprised on their wedding day—they were inseparable. Rose’s family was back East, and her best friend, Blair, had moved back there last summer with her fiancé, Bev’s cousin. Aside from her future in-laws and coworkers, Rose was alone in California.

  April couldn’t imagine what that would be like. She still lived at home with her mother, for God’s sake. She saw her brothers at least once a week, and embarrassing as it was, had to admit she’d miss them if she didn’t.

  Even Liam. Four weeks had gone by since he’d threatened to fire her if anyone complained about her. If anyone had, Rita had kept it to herself. April’s devotion to Rita grew by the day.

  “I hope she doesn’t change her mind,” Mark said, gazing toward the dressing room.

  April snorted. Love sure could turn a smart guy stupid. “Of course she won’t. I was just kidding.”

  “Every day she still wants me is a surprise,” he said.

  “You’ve got the self-esteem of a baked potato.” April poked him in the shoulder. “Which is crazy, given your accomplishments.”

  “That has nothing to do with anything,” he said.

  “Please. You founded companies before you graduated from high school. You’ve got millions in the bank. Geeks around the world worship you like a god.”

  He flushed and looked away, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter, April. The only thing that matters is that I met Rose.” He cleared his throat. “And that she’s willing to have me.”

  April felt another wave of unidentified emotion wash over her. Tears pricked at her eyes. What was the matter with her? “You’re a catch. Even if you weren’t kind of good-looking, women would want you. You’ve done big things and still are true to yourself. You’re not just some jerk taking advantage of people to get ahead, you’re a real success.”

  He smiled down at her. “Gee, t
hanks, April.” He put an awkward arm around her. “I think you’re pretty great, too.”

  The unidentified emotion turned sour. She pulled away. “No, I’m the opposite of you. I’ve always had loads of self-esteem for absolutely no reason whatsoever.”

  He frowned, looking concerned.

  She went on, as much to herself as to him. “I used to be able to comfort myself that you and Liam were accomplished but socially stunted. I, on the other hand, lived a life of emotional and spiritual meaning. I had friends, boyfriends, my art.”

  “I kind of thought the same thing.”

  She shook her head and looked at a yellow taffeta gown with a neckline so low the wearer would need a bikini wax.

  She swallowed over her tight throat. It was their love that was making her cry. Liam had found the same elusive treasure with Bev.

  Both Mark and Liam had been emotionally starved workaholics—yet they’d each gotten something she was no closer to having than when she was a rebellious, immature teenager.

  It was her own fault. She’d done everything wrong. She’d hung out in bars, partied with friends, never committed to a career. She hadn’t cared about winning gold medals or being admired or making millions—she’d just wanted to be happy.

  But being a flaky chick without a job hadn’t made her happy. She needed a purpose in life. More hours with her paint and pastels, more hours with a computer stylus and tablet. If she developed herself as a person, maybe someday—and she could be ninety-seven, God knew she was a late bloomer—she would find a companion of some sort who could keep her company in her later years.

  In the meantime, she was going to keep her head out of the clouds. Chasing worthless men was one reason she lived with her mother and couldn’t afford high-end art supplies.

  “I’m getting this one,” Rose said, coming out in jeans and a sweater, holding the dress. “It shows a totally inappropriate amount of cleavage, but it makes me feel beautiful. And it’s on sale.”

  “Don’t worry about money,” April said. “Tell her not to worry about money, Mark.”

  “Don’t worry about money,” he said, leaning over to kiss Rose. Now that his woman was back in sight, his conversation with April was forgotten.