Pretty coughed when I started her, and it took me several tries before I could get her going. Oliver’s Audi was right there, left unused, but I had to keep some of my pride and dignity in this shitty situation. Besides, I could imagine the questions I’d get if I arrived at work in a car that was probably worth half my debts.
I drove Pretty to work, intending to go back to pack my things and clean behind me before leaving the pool house for June’s studio, but Pretty died in the evening before I managed to drive out of Sandy Hills parking.
I sat in front of her wheel, and the tears I had held back finally made their way to my eyes. This was a symbolic ending to my day that I didn’t need.
“A small delay, but I’ll move in tomorrow,” I texted June. It was a doable walking distance from the home to hers, but I couldn’t face June tonight. I went back inside, sat in the armchair next to the sleeping Vi, and fell asleep, exhausted, sometime after.
Chapter 16
Oliver
“Corbin threatens to take this to court as a hostile takeover,” Blanche said over the phone. Corbin was the vocal board member in Rendr.A.I., the company I wanted Blanche to buy.
“He can try,” I scoffed.
“You know what I’m going to say next,” Blanche said.
I sighed inaudibly. She and Paulo needed my help.
“Okay. San Jose. Bruce will let you know the exact time and place.”
“Are you in California? Can we meet regardless?”
“Bye, Blanche.”
“I might surprise you,” she texted my private number a moment later.
“I don’t do surprises.”
Bruce was in New York and didn’t know I was in Silicon Valley already. As far as he knew, I was at the house in Wayford. Given that text, I decided not to tell him I was staying in a hotel. The last thing I wanted were surprises.
I was too busy working. I was too busy trying to survive a woman, a kiss, a lifetime of longing.
Chapter 17
January
After a difficult morning shift, which included a stiff back from sleeping in a chair, two ambulance calls, a new arrival, and a weaker than usual Vi, I managed to start Pretty in the early afternoon and drive back to Wayford to collect my things.
Still in my scrubs, packing what little I didn’t keep inside my suitcase, I heard the doorbell at the main house ring. Strange hour for the cleaning staff if Oliver hadn’t canceled them. Last time they’d been here, I was at work. Oliver’s virtual key and alarm system had different codes for different users, and if it were them, they’d let themselves in.
Whoever was at the front door was insistent and rang the bell repeatedly. Thinking that maybe they had sent someone without a key or code, I ran into the house, across the large hall, my work sneakers squeaking on the floor.
I opened the white, ornamented door.
This was no cleaning staff.
An elegant, tall blonde turned toward me. She was pivoted toward the lane that led to the house, as if she was about to leave.
“Oh, hello.” She smiled. “I thought there was nobody here.” Her French accent was lovely, the R’s and L’s made me feel like the French Riviera had just landed on the doorstep.
“Hello.” I tried to keep my eyes on her face and not let them stray to her curvaceous figure that was wrapped in a dark pencil skirt and a silk, fuchsia pink, buttoned blouse. With her hair tied up in a chic banana bun and her impeccable makeup, she looked like a businesswoman straight out of a “Dress as the Woman You Want to be” European magazine article.
“Is Oliver home?” Even his name sounded more beautiful in this accent. She knew him well enough to not call him Mr. Madden, I noted to myself.
“Um, no. I’m sorry. He left yesterday.”
“Oh.” She seemed genuinely surprised and disappointed, and I felt a stone settling heavily in my internal organs.
