Scarred Wolf by Charlene Hartnady
7
Everleigh
My phone is ringingas I pull into the lot outside Rosies. I look down at the unknown caller ID and frown. I hate taking calls from numbers I don’t know, especially when it feels like half the financial institutes in town are trying to track me down. Gritting my teeth against the inevitable barrage of demands for money I don’t have, I pick up my mobile and hit the green ‘answer’ button.
“Hi, this is Evie,” I say, trying to sound firm and confident. Like someone who has no issues with cash flow. If only!
“Everleigh Miller?” a male voice on the other end asks. The sound is rich, and slightly husky.
“Yes, this is she,” I respond crisply. Because I’m not going to be swayed by a debt collector who sounds like he might moonlight as a phone sex operator.
“Ms. Miller, my name is Jaxon Skau,” the voice continues, almost making my toes curl. “I’m replying to your ad.”
I have to think for a moment. My ad? Oh…my ad! How the heck could he be replying so quickly? I barely put it up half an hour ago! “Ah, for the apartment share. Yes, of course,” I say, as if I’m completely prepared for this call. “What would you like to know?”
“Well, how big it is, for a start, and…uh…does the price include utilities?” he seems to be fumbling too, which eases my mind a little.
“You’d have your own master suite with bathroom attached,” I tell him. He’d see me glowing with pride a little if he was around because I really love my place. “There’s also a study if you need to work from home. Utilities are included, and there’s WiFi in the building.” I tack on the extras because I’m suddenly remembering how much we advertised the place for.
“Sounds perfect. I’d like to see it, if I may?” he asks. Which I guess is totally reasonable, except I haven’t actually planned this far in advance. “As soon as possible,” he goes on. “Are you free this afternoon?”
Flip!I need Di’s advice on this. What if he really is a psycho? And why is he so eager to see it before I’ve even told him where it is?
“Tomorrow morning would be better,” I answer. “I’ll need to, umm… check your references? I’ve had a lot of interest, so I’m sure you’ll understand I have other tenants to interview.” Where the heck am I getting this?
“Of course,” he says smoothly. “I’ve just got into town, so I don’t have a recent local address, but you can call my office. And you could also speak to the gym I go to. It’s where I saw your ad.”
“Great,” I say, then fumble around in my purse for a pen and paper. “Let me get your details and I’ll give you a call this afternoon to confirm a time.”
“No problem,” he replies in that voice that sounds like warm velvet, and proceeds to answer all my questions before we end the call.
Minutes later, I’m jogging across the parking lot, trying to decipher the note I’ve written on the back of a pantyliner package in lip pencil.
“Di!” I shriek as she answers the phone while I try desperately not to drop the purse I’m clutching under my arm. “I got a call! From the ad!” I drop the purse and roll my eyes. I’ve always been a tad clumsy, but this is ridiculous.
“Sheesh, that was quick,” she replies. “Is it someone you know?”
“I wish,” I sigh, picking up my purse and slinging it over my shoulder. “I’ve never heard of him. I got references, though, and he’s someone from the gym. Says he’s new in town and looking for a place to stay. He wants to arrange a viewing as soon as possible. What should I do?” I feel like a dolt. I know what to do. I’m just looking for some moral support from my bestie.
“Call and check him out, then phone back to set up a meeting,” she says calmly. I’m making my way through the reception of the care center, waving a distracted greeting at Julie, the receptionist behind the front desk. Of course, I drop my purse again, and end up scrabbling on the floor to retrieve everything that’s fallen out of it. What the hell is wrong with me? “Evie?” says Diana. “Are you still there? What on earth are you doing?”
“Nothing, nothing!” I answer breathlessly, the cellphone wedged under my chin as I crawl on the floor. There’s no sense in trying to explain. Di’s seen me like this a thousand times. Whenever I get flustered, it’s like I’m all thumbs. Some days I practically trip over nothing at all. “I need your help on this, Di. I’m not comfortable having this guy in my house all alone.” I smile gratefully at Jules, who has come to help, and is passing me a handful of hairclips, spare change, and lip balm tubes. And my pen. Where were you when I needed you, darn it?
“Damn,” Di mutters, almost as if to herself. “I’m out of town doing that cycling race tomorrow. I’m not going to be around to help.” Her voice strengthens. “I tell you what. Make an appointment someplace neutral so you can see what he’s like. If he seems okay, arrange the viewing for Monday evening. I’ll be there as backup. I agree, you shouldn’t meet with him alone. I don’t care how good his references are.”
“Great idea, I’ll get right on it,” I say, glad to feel like I’m not alone in this. It’s not that I’m incompetent. I’m perfectly capable when it comes to doing things I know well. But inviting strangers into my house? Nuh-uh. It’s been my private den for the past couple of years. Sharing it is going to be a big adjustment.
* * *
The next morning,Sunday, is my one day off a week, and by nine, I’ve already fit in my regular workout. After making a few calls during my lunch hour the previous day, I received nothing but high praise for Mr. Jaxon “Sexy Voice” Skau. He’s agreed to meet me at the juice bar at nine-thirty, so I have time for a quick shower and then find a table.
Despite having put in an hour of cardio, I’m still a bundle of nervous energy. I don’t know what’s got me so rattled. The guy I’m about to meet works at some sort of security firm, which would explain why I had no trouble reaching their offices on a Saturday. “Director of Operations” they said, so I’m pretty sure that “voice” is going to be attached to some balding, pot-bellied corporate type. Though it’s not like I’m even letting my mind wander in that direction. Who cares what he looks like, as long as he pays on time and doesn’t leave the toilet seat up?
Ugh!I hadn’t even thought of that! He’ll have his own bathroom. It’s okay! I can breathe.
Now I’m more nervous than ever, and when a metallic crash thunders from the nearby weights section, I almost leap two feet out of my chair. I swivel to take a look and frown slightly as I glimpse a couple of muscle-heads standing around a guy pumping iron. Just as noticeable is the group of young women peering over the balustrade of the upstairs spinning section.
“What can I get you?” a bright voice says from beside me. I look up to see a server from the juice bar, whose nametag bears the unlikely name “Buffy”. There’s another loud crash, and she ends up staring at the source of the commotion too. “Oh, my word!” she breathes out.
“I know, right? So much noise for a Sunday!” I say, shaking my head. I love my workouts, but I’ve never really got into that whole bodybuilding thing some guys do. All the grunting and lifting and sweating…it’s just plain “icky”. “I’ll have a Peanut Butter Blaster,” I say. It’s my favorite. I have it every time I come here.
“Mmm-hmm,” Buffy replies, eyes growing dreamy, and I’m tempted to click my fingers in front of her face to get her attention. I turn again to get a better look. Now the girls upstairs are really getting flustered. There’s giggling and pointing and lots of elbow-nudging. But as I catch a better view of the guy they’re staring at, I guess I can’t really blame them.
He’s just stood up and dropped the weights with another clatter. I see a muscle-head attempt to pick up the same weight. He grunts, his face turning red. He looks like he might pop a coronary before dropping it with a loud clang. The guy grunts, looking embarrassed.
Not enough steroids for breakfast, dude?I want to call out. But I don’t, because I don’t do stuff like that. And besides, my mouth is hanging open.
The guy must be over six foot five and built like a proverbial Greek god. I can only see his back, but it’s hard not to notice all the brawny detail under his black tank. Every muscle is rippling and gleaming beneath a light sheen of perspiration. Impossibly broad shoulders taper down to lean hips and legs that go on and on and… Well, they just go on forever. I force myself to close my mouth, which is still hanging open. I might just drool at any second if I’m not careful.
He reaches for a sweat towel and starts to turn, so I snap my head back around, because although I was staring, there’s no way I want to be caught doing it. Buffy seems to have the same idea as me, because she’s hotfooting it back to put my order through.
I glance down at my phone to check the time and wonder where dear old “Mr. Skau” might be. It’s 9.30 a.m. on the dot, and if he keeps me waiting just one minute, I’m going to put a big black mark next to his name in my long list of potential roomies, that’s for sure. I know that there will be more. It’s just a matter of time.
“Ms. Miller?” a voice says next to me as I’m dropping my phone back into my bag. It’s that voice. And with it comes a wave of pheromones that makes me want to add a few pelvic tilts to my daily workout.
I look up and almost choke on my own spit... Holy freaking hotness!
It’s the Greek god guy, and I’m staring straight at his crotch because it’s pretty much at eye level. I let my eyes travel up and up over all those miles of chest and shoulders and throat, past his chin and mouth to meet his eyes. Eyes the color of molten mercury… Eyes that—
Shit!
I shoot up without thinking and my shoulder connects with the top of the tray that Buffy’s just arrived with. My Peanut Butter Blaster shoots into space and I watch in horror as it hurtles towards Jaxon Skau’s face. Without missing a beat, he raises a hand and snatches it out of the air in one smooth sweep. How on earth—? All the while, he hasn’t broken eye contact with me yet, which is only making me more aware of the growing recognition.
He’s the class-A dick from the park the other day.
No!
No!
Noooooo!
No wonder his voice seemed familiar over the phone – the last time I’d heard it, he’d been tearing a strip off me, the jerk. I’m still staring at his face as he passes me my smoothie, then turns to the server. “I’ll take a chai latte, thank you, Buffy,” he says in that damned sexy voice of his. The fact that I still find it sexy irritates me to no end.
Poor Buffy makes a sound like someone ran over her foot, then spins around at speed and bolts for the serving counter.
A chai latte? Are you kidding me? The guy looks like he gets his meals from a pharmaceutical van…that specializes in keeping racehorses in condition. I’m surprised he didn’t order two roast chickens and an egg-white omelet.
“Thank you for meeting me,” he says. If he’s aware of my discomfort, he’s not saying anything. He’s not doing anything to ease it, either. His face could be carved from stone – would a smile really hurt? I’m trying to find one of my own, and I’m pretty sure the result is something that would alarm my friends. He’s leaning back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, and he’s staring at me like some sort of lab specimen. Does he even remember who I am?
I want to fix my hair or check that I don’t have anything stuck in my teeth, but instead, I try to be polite.
“Of course, Mr. Skau,” I say sweetly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” At this point, he could respond in kind, but he doesn’t. He’s still a jerk; it’s clearly wired into him. But then Buffy arrives carrying his latte, and he fixes her with a megawatt smile. I can almost hear her knees knocking. When he turns back to me, he’s all ice again. What the hell? He must remember exactly who I am. The jerkface still blames me for our fall.
“So, I’m assuming my references checked out?” he says, raising his cup to his mouth and taking a sip. I try to convince myself that it’s a lame-ass drink for a man, but there’s a slight coating of froth on his upper lip and the sight of it makes me swallow hard. “Ms. Miller?” he presses, licking the foam off. “The references?”
I think I might hate him…just a little.
I need the money. I need it! I haven’t had anyone else respond to my ad. “Yes!” I answer almost too quickly. “All looking good. Great. Absolutely.” Oh geez, I’m babbling. But who can blame me? Even Buffy is still standing at the table, swaying slightly. I think she’s waiting for him to lick more foam off his lips.
“I’d like to say from the outset that I’m a…highly private man, Ms. Miller,” he says, putting his cup down. “I’m in town to work, not to waste my time with idle…dalliances.”
Dalliances?
Dalliance as in…?
Does he think I’ll try to jump him? Then again, he’s probably used to women throwing themselves at him. Not me! Not ever. I like my gorgeous with a side of thoughtful and caring.
Beside him, Buffy squeaks like a sad little Pikachu. She’s going to cry herself to sleep tonight, I’m sure of it. She turns to leave.
“Well, of course,” I eventually say, not sure how I keep my voice so steady. “Privacy is guaranteed, I assure you. You wouldn’t be bothered in the slightest.” Where the heck is he going with this? “My apartment block is secure and private, and the apartment itself is maintained to the highest standards. It may be my home, but it’s well equipped to give us both all the space we need.” Certainly, since I’m finding myself less and less inclined to even want him in my house, let alone get into his space – if we ever get to that point. He’s so freaking arrogant.
“Good,” he says smugly. “Because I have no inclination to be fending off advances from unwanted sources. If you get my drift.”
What?He just sat down. We haven’t even discussed terms yet, and he’s already assuming that I plan to hit on him? His arms are crossed over his chest and he’s tipping back in his seat slightly. I have an overwhelming urge to shove him over backward. Instead, I reach for my smoothie and take a long sip. I need all the peanut butter power I can find right now.
“Mr. Skau,” I say coldly. “I’d like to thank you for your time. However, I think I have another tenant who might be a…better fit.” I fix him with my own icy stare, then rise and step away from the table. Please let someone else call. Anyone else. I’ll even take a serial killer at this point. “Good day to you,” I say as I give a curt nod, and am rewarded by a widening of those alarming silver eyes.
As I stalk away, I’m warmed by a sense of satisfaction that is only marginally cooled by the realization that I have a dollop of peanut butter running down my chin. Crap! I wipe it away with the back of my arm, deciding that it doesn’t bother me. The look on his face was worth it. And I’ll find someone else to share my place with. I don’t want Jaxon Skau, Grade-A asshole, in my home.
It’s only when I get to my car and reach for my keys that it dawns on me that I’ve left my gym bag back at the table.
Oh, lord!There’s no way I’m going back in there now.
I kick the back tire of my car and silently pray he’ll get up and leave soon.
What am I going to do now?
