Page 8 of If the Suit Fits
“Tough audience.” He wanders to the table and scribbles his signature on each of my nine-page document. Scrawling letters and unhurried swirls. He initials and dates. Marks each page and checks the back to ensure he’s missed nothing. Finally, when he can’t drag the moment out for a single second longer, he sets the pen down and reaches into his back pocket to pull his crumpled hat free. “So I guess that’s me, then. I’ll find a meal elsewhere tonight, and I’ll be by tomorrow morning. Nine a.m. sharp?”He sets his hat on his head and uses both hands to position it the way he likes. “That work for you?”
“Three p.m. is fine.” Nerves make me anxious, and Anna’s smug grin is like holding my hand over a flame. It hurts, and the longer it goes on, the more it stings. “That’s enough time to show you to your room and allow you to settle in. Then we can cook dinner and get started.”
“Get started onwhat?” Anna taunts. “Precisely. Because surely, any such business discussions could be held during daylight hours and without the need for sleeping quarters.”
“Sorry, Anna.” He clicks his tongue and strides past her. “I already signed the contract, and luckily for me, it promises seven days of lodging. I’m kinda really counting on the shelter, so…”
Wait. What?
But before I can ask, he stalks my way, his long legs eating up the minimal space. Then he ducks in faster than my brain can process and lays a kiss on my cheek that sends my pulse skittering. “Catch you tomorrow, Princess.” He pulls back and flashes a fast wink before spinning on his heels and tugging keys from his pocket. “Nice to meet you, best friend Anna. I suppose you’ll be the maid of honor at our future wedding, huh?”
“Looks that way.” She watches him all the way through the door and across my living room. And when the layout of my house makes it impossible for her to maintain a view, she skitters to the doorway as he strides through my front door and down the porch steps, his heavy boots clomp-clomp-clomping against old wood. “Um…” Stunned, but amused and horrified all at once, she twists back when Nick’s beat-up truck roars to life and backfires with an unhealthyboomthat makes me jump. But it’sAnna’s wide eyes that hold my focus most of all. “Is that man homeless, or… What the hell, Melanie?”
“I don’t know!”
“He wascounting onshelter? Does he have nowhere else to go?”
“I don’t know! He just…” I swap my wineglass for the bottle.Fuck it. “I caught that, too.”
“And his truck is one strong breeze away from turning to dust.”
“Anna! I know.”
“He’s sinfully sexy andhoooolyshit, his eyes are like… they’re like…” She shakes her head. “You ever thought about the devil inviting you for a cookout in hell? Youknowit’s dangerous, you know you really shouldn’t accept. Good girls don’t go there. But looooooord, it’s tempting. That’s what his eyes are like. He’s broad and strong and smells good. His handshake is firm, and his eyes…” She fans her face. “Did I mention his eyes?”
“Yeah.” I tip the bottle back and chug. “Something about the devil. I got it.”
“So the facts, as we have them,” she strides to my table and snatches up the contract to leaf through the pages, “are that you have now purchased an escort. For a week. You’re Richard Gere, and he’s Julia Stiles.”
“Roberts.”
“What?”
“Julia Roberts. Richard Gere and Julia Roberts.”
“Eh.” She shrugs. “He’s hot, and he fills out his jeans like Satan himself has a tailor on staff. But it’s possible he’s also homeless, broke, and his ‘self-employed’ status is a little lie. He’s accepting jobs through the classifieds and hinting atan extra dinner outside of the contract, which kind of makes me feel bad now because what if he doesn’t have anywhere else to eat?”
With a heavy heart, I glance toward the door and sigh. “I didn’t consider that.”
“And then he was offering a nine o’clock start, which could cover breakfast and would definitely cover lunch. But you stole those from him, too. Now he’s gotta wait till tomorrow evening to eat again.”
“No. Stop it.” A deep line digs between my brows as his truck’s old engine rumbles along my street and echoes back on the breeze.I feel like a jerk. “He’s not skinny. Which means he eats well enough, right?”
“Maybe he’s just finished another job with another desperate damsel,” she counters, “andalmostscheduled you perfectly so he wouldn’t have downtime between each. But you weren’t biting on the extra dinner thing, so now he has to go somewhere else.”
“He has an abuela.” I cling to that small fact and pray it means what I hope it does. “He has somewhere else to go. And he said cooking for people is how they show love. So she’ll cook for him. He’ll eat tonight. Right?”
“I don’t know,Princess! But now that I’m not worried about his meal, I’m back to worrying aboutyou. What if he kills you and wears you like a skin suit?”
“Enough already.” I leave my wineglass behind and take the bottle, snatching the contract from her hands as I pass, and head into my living room. “He won’t murder me.”
“He smells too good to be homeless, don’t you think?” She follows me all the way to the couch and climbs on to perch on the arm, her feet on my cushions, and rests her elbows on her knees soshe can watch me. “He might beregularbroke like the rest of us. That wouldn’t be so bad.”
“You’re annoying me.”
“You were awfully close when I came in.” She sets her chin on her arms and smirks. “Really close. Did I miss the‘we’ve just met’portion of this insanity, or are you rushing toward the‘I’m gonna bang him and run’part? Because that’s on your bingo card for this year.”
“I’m not banging him.”
