Shame the Devil (Portland Devils Book 3) Page 2

  “No. I was a single mom. I always needed the job too much to mess up, and then I worked at the courts, remember? I was a file clerk. It’s hard to mess that up, as long as you can sing the alphabet song. I moved up until I got hired as chief clerk for the deputies, and then you hired me. They don’t fire you when you work for the state unless you really screw up, and when you need the job, you don’t screw up. Job security’s my thing. Was my thing, because the resort’s up and running now and has a good manager, you’re not going to be spending that much time in Wild Horse, and you don’t need an assistant here anymore. A property manager, that’s all, and I can get that set up for you. Just say it, Blake. Rip off the Band-Aid. I’m a big girl.”

  Except that she’d given up her shot. The chief clerk vacancy at the courthouse, when Betty-Anne had finally retired. The job she’d put in for, the one that would have set her up forever, the one everybody had said was hers. It actually had been hers, but she’d passed it up, because Blake Orbison had moved to town, he was building a high-end resort the likes of which Wild Horse had never seen, and he needed a crackerjack assistant to help him do it. She hadn’t known one single thing about the rich and famous, and she’d known less than that about the NFL, but she’d known how to get things organized and get them done, she’d done exactly that, and it had been the most exciting two years of her life.

  She had a great resume now. Too bad she didn’t live in LA. Also too bad she hadn’t thought of all this before she’d passed up that chief clerk job. Elizabeth Kempworth had it now, and she’d be hanging onto it until they pried her computer keyboard from her cold, dead hands.

  She was having some trouble breathing, but she was having no trouble sweating. Now that this was here, it felt bad. Specifically, she felt sick. That would be the final humiliation, vomiting on your boss as he fired you. She wasn’t going there.

  “I’m not firing you,” Blake said. “I’m helping you find alternative employment.”

  “Blake,” she said. “It’s the same thing.”

  He scowled at her. “No, it’s not. OK, listen. I gave this some thought on the jet back from Hawaii.” A sentence that pretty much summed up their respective lives. “First, you take some comp time. Call it a week.”

  “You don’t give comp time.”

  “Sure I do. What do you call it when we finish something and I tell you to take a long weekend? Comp time. Meanwhile, I’ll make some calls and find you somebody else to work for. What do you want to do? This, or more of an office job?”

  “Well, this, if I got to choose. This is the best job I’ve ever had. I told you so.”

  He grinned. “Thought maybe you were just flattering me.”

  “I don’t do that. You need to hear the truth. Who else is going to tell you, other than Dakota? But there aren’t a whole lot of challenging high-level assistant jobs in Wild Horse, have you noticed? Unless you’re calling the lumber mill, you’re going to strike out, period. Never mind, I’ll find something. That office job. Somebody’ll have one. Meanwhile, there’s unemployment. If you feel guilty, shell out some severance pay, because Idaho unemployment pays a max of four hundred a week, and I’m not paying the rent on that.”

  Blake scowled at her. “See, this is what I’m talking about. You could flatter me a little. Or assume I give half a damn. Which is why I know you’re also helping pay your grandpa’s rent, now that your mom’s passed.”

  “And once Dyma goes off to school in the fall,” Jennifer said, moving on from that with some semblance of briskness, “I’ll move in with Grandpa. Or we’ll both do it right now, if I’m making four hundred a week. Come on, Blake. Severance.”

  “See,” he said, “I had a thought about that.”

  She was still going for breezy and confident. He liked breezy and confident. You didn’t suck up to the boss, but you adjusted your manner to suit the job. “Except that you owe me,” she told him. “I was probably the most efficient woman in Wild Horse to begin with, and I’ve made strides, working for you. I’ve grown.”

  Possibly in more ways than one. She knew she was turning red, and she felt the waistline of the Spanx digging into her flesh like the torture device they were. Why had she made those cheesecake brownies over Christmas? You couldn’t make them and not eat them, at least she couldn’t. Everybody knew that the better-looking you were, the faster you got hired, especially for the really good jobs. The kind of job there actually might be, now that Blake had elevated the tone in Wild Horse with the resort and the NFL and all. Possibly.

  Probably not, though.

  There had to be three hundred calories in each of those brownies. They weren’t just brownies with cream cheese swirled through it. Oh, no. They were fudgy brownies with a layer of cheesecake on top.

  And she’d eaten so many of them. She’d put in a whole lot of extra time on the elliptical machine at the gym, working off her nerves, but still. That would take a lot of … ellipses.

  Right. That was no more cheesecake brownies, then. Rigorous discipline.

  “You have,” Blake said, and she thought, I have what? “You’ve outgrown Wild Horse, that’s for sure,” he went on. “Ever thought about Portland? And, yes, I’m paying you severance. Do me a favor.”

  “Uh …” It took her a second. Maybe that was the relief. Or the panic. “Portland?”

  “Yes,” he said patiently. “Portland. You know. Where I’m based. Where I used to work. Where I know people. I’d be offering you a job right now, but I’ve got an assistant there already.”

  “Meredith,” she said.

  “Want to work in development?” he asked. “We’re expanding. Maybe you’ve noticed. I could fit you in.”

  “My grandpa …”

  “You know what?” Blake said. “Dakota and I stopped by your house on the way here and had a talk with your grandpa. He says you should go for it. So let’s take that off the table. And Dyma’s going to the University of Washington in the fall, right? Early decision, so she’s all set.” He was talking right over her now. “Which is, let’s see, counting on my fingers … Oh, yeah. Two and a half hours from Portland.”

  “Dyma doesn’t want me that close,” Jennifer said. “If she had her way, she’d be going to MIT, or the University of … somewhere ten thousand miles from here. Which is, of course, why I should be close, but never mind. I get it. Anyway, it’s Aeronautics and Astronautics. There’s a limited amount of trouble she can get into and still get that degree, and she wants that degree. Of course, she’ll probably get into every bit of that trouble, but like I said, never mind. My grandpa, though—of course he’s going to say I should go. His daughter died six months ago, though, and his only great-grandchild is leaving town the second she can. How’m I supposed to leave him, too?”

  More panic. About all of it. Her life was changing too much, and now, she was going to have to absorb one more thing. She’d absorbed so much already, she felt like a sponge. At a certain point, you had to wring the sponge out.

  “Generally,” Blake said, “you leave by walking out the door and closing it behind you. He sounded pretty insistent to me. Today is the first day of the rest of your life and all that. And again, it’s Portland, not Beijing. Six and a half hours in the car.”

  “Besides,” she said, not deigning to answer that, “I don’t know Portland. A lot of getting things done, assistant-wise, is your contacts. And I don’t have any there.”

  He sighed. “I might believe you more if you didn’t sound so triumphant about being so unqualified. It’s going to be some football player, not Jeff Bezos.”

  “Jeff Bezos lives in Seattle.”

  He waved a hand. “Who cares. It’s not him. The guy I find isn’t going to be that picky. He doesn’t know what to be picky about. Or if you want that office job, I’ll find it. Either in my company, or somebody else’s. Something with a future. Nothing easier, because in case I haven’t mentioned it, I’m a successful guy with successful-guy friends, and you’re good enough to work for any of the
m. So come on. Tell me. What is it really?”

  She stared down at her skirt. It was a navy-blue check. She wore a lot of navy blue. Redhead. Slimming colors. Et cetera. The outfit was new, though, which meant she probably shouldn’t have spent money on it, because she’d known this was coming. Realistically, of course she’d known, and she was nothing if not realistic. The skirt was fitted at the top, then flared, and it hit above the knees for once, because her legs were her best body part. Other than her breasts, but you didn’t emphasize your breasts at work. Or ever, actually. She was wearing black tights with the skirt, though, because she was serious. An assistant. In the background. She rubbed the fabric between finger and thumb for comfort, told herself it could be an interview outfit, and said, “I’ve never been a city person. Heck, I’ve hardly ever even been there.”

  Shoot. She hadn’t meant to say “heck.” Nobody sophisticated said “heck.” Also not “shoot.”

  Blake was leaning back against the desk, his hands gripping the edges. His voice was gentle when he said, “Then don’t you think you should try?”

  “Uh …” She gathered the tattered remnants of her professionalism around her, stood up, and said, “Thanks for your concern. I’ll think it over.”

  “Wait,” he said. “Something else. The Yellowstone Snow Lodge—that’s Old Faithful, winter version—wants me to come check them out and, I don’t know, post an Instagram picture or something. I told them I’d send my assistant first to see.”

  He had not. “I don’t need charity,” she said. “You’ve been my employer. Now you’re laying me off. Happens every day. I’m fine.” Now her face was really burning. A woman ought to be able to reach the age of thirty-four without blushing anymore. It was just that she hated, seriously hated, showing anybody that she wanted to run and cry, and she hated it more when somebody pointed out that she obviously needed help. She was competent. She was capable. She managed her life. She always had.

  She just had to hold herself together for another two minutes, and she’d keep her dignity. Her positive, can-do attitude. Her professionalism.

  It might not be much, but it was what she had.

  Blake sighed. “You’re still working for me, and right now, I want you to check out the Yellowstone Snow Lodge. It’s probably about fifteen degrees in Wyoming at the moment, which is another reason this Southern boy doesn’t much want to drag his butt down there. Oh, and that it’s Super Bowl weekend, and they only have TV in the bar. They told me that like it was a feature. I spent half the playoffs on the boat, which means I missed half the playoffs, and I had to pretend I didn’t care, because I was on my honeymoon. And then, when I did watch, the Devils lost the AFC Championship. In the final seconds. I’m telling you that, even though I’m sure you already know, being such a good assistant and all. I don’t much feel like watching the Super Bowl in public, not to mention having a whole lodge full of strangers watching me watch it and asking me how I feel about it. Which is why you’re nominated. This weekend. Starting Friday night. Which is the day after tomorrow.”

  “I don’t know how to ski.” She was not going to Yellowstone. This was ridiculous. Why couldn’t he just lay her off like a normal person?

  “Weak,” he said. “They have snowshoes. You’re going. Friday to Monday. I need you to, because it’ll make me feel less guilty. It’ll give you peace and quiet to think about my offer, and your future. Maybe you could even examine your dreams. It’s possible. Then you can come back, take the rest of next week to set me up so I can live without you, and start on that comp time. Your last day is two weeks from Friday, whatever that is. Oh, and take somebody to Yellowstone with you. You’ve got a boyfriend, right? Take him. Meanwhile, I’m going to assume you said yes and start your employer search. Time to push the baby bird out of the nest. And before you say it—I’m not going to let you work for an asshole. Just some guy who got richer than he was expecting to, so you can have the satisfaction of setting his disastrously disorganized life to rights. I’m negotiating the salary, too. I’m your agent, and you don’t even have to give me a cut. Now go away and start packing. I’ve been on a plane all day, and this is a boring conversation.”

  “Blake—” she began.

  “Go away,” he said. “I told you. Boring. I’m a star. I don’t do boring. Besides, you’ve got plane tickets to buy, plus whatever other arrangements there are to get to Wherever, Wyoming, population two thousand. You think I took care of those? You’re wrong. That’s what I have an assistant for, so go away and assist me. We’re done.”

  Once Jennifer left, absolutely not crying, Blake went downstairs and found Dakota.

  She was standing beside the wall of windows, her hands against the glass, looking out at something that probably existed only in her mind, but when she heard his step, she turned and asked, “How’d it go?”

  He grimaced. “About like you’d guess. Like I kicked a dog. And don’t say it. Wrong word. I’ve fired about a hundred people, so why do I feel like an asshole?”

  “You said you’d help her get something else, though, right?” Dakota said. “And you’ve made her life better, just like you did with me. Well, when you weren’t making my life worse. I’m pretty sure you paid her a whole lot more than she was making before, anyway. I’m also sure she’s saved some of it. Except that there’s Dyma’s college, and she had to bury her mom, which costs more than you’d imagine.”

  Blake said, “I know. I asked her if I could chip in, but she didn’t take me up on it. Took exactly one day off, too. Day of the funeral, and that was it. Hardest woman in the world to help. Other than you, of course. Irritating as hell.”

  “Yeah,” Dakota said, “but that was because you didn’t want to help me.”

  “I did too. I was extremely helpful. Constantly helpful.”

  She snorted. “Anyway. How did she react to the Portland idea?”

  “Like you said. Like there was no way. You sure she isn’t holding out for the boyfriend? Except that I said, take your boyfriend to Yellowstone, and her eyes didn’t exactly light up.”

  “I don’t think Jennifer’s ever thought she could hold out for anything in her life,” Dakota said. “She’s sure never expected anybody to do anything for her.”

  “What do you think about me setting her up, then?”

  Dakota eyed him narrowly. “Like how? If you mean something besides the job, I think it sounds like Blake Orbison getting delusions of grandeur.”

  Blake sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and perched on a stool. An extremely comfortable stool, which he was sure Jennifer had carefully hand-selected from among all the possible stools in the world, with the ideal rung to hook your boot onto. “I guess not,” he said. “I was thinking, set her up to work for some guy who’s perfect for her.”

  “Called it,” Dakota said.

  “Yeah.” He grinned sheepishly. “Stupid. Sexual harassment. Plus, she should have one of those good guys. Settled guys. You know. A little boring. And those kinds of guys somehow all got married back when the rest of us were— Well. Yeah. Not getting married. How about a widower? A widower would be good. Do I know any widowers, though? Why aren’t there more widowers?”

  “Because they’re all over seventy? Or maybe you have no idea what kind of guy she should have. It’s possible. She probably doesn’t even know.”

  “Maybe you could set her up, then,” Blake said. “All right, not with the guy, but how about one of those makeover deals? She dresses like she has no clue she’s that good-looking. You could ask her to go for a girl’s weekend, your treat, and make helpful suggestions. And pull out the credit card. That way it’s you, not me.”

  “Except,” Dakota said, “that I don’t really have girlfriends like that. I practically have to watch a video just to put on makeup, and I have no idea how to make myself over, much less anybody else. Hello? This is me you’re talking to. Anyway, you just married me. You’re not supposed to want to send me away for the weekend already.”

  She was
scowling, but not really, so he pulled her into him, kissed her like he meant it, felt her up a little—the stool really was a good height—and said, during a break in the action, or possibly while he was unbuttoning her sweater, “I guess I’ll have to let her find the guy who likes her the way she is.”

  “In overalls,” Dakota said, gasping a little, because his mouth had found her favorite spot on her neck. “And … painter’s goggles. And, uh … knee pads.”

  “Yeah,” Blake said, getting rid of her bra. “Somebody sexy like that. How do you feel about doing it on the floor, darlin’?”

  “I’m all … good with that,” she said. “As long as I’m not on the bottom.”

  He sighed. “Well, a man’s got to sacrifice. Get those jeans off. If I’m going to be on the bottom, you’d better be all the way naked, because I’m going to need a view.”

  After that, he got a little distracted from the Jennifer topic. He figured he’d give it a shot, though, the setup thing. He didn’t have to tell Dakota. Not unless it worked out. Then, he’d tell her for sure, because he’d have won.

  And he did like winning.

  3

  Fancy Free

  Jennifer stopped at the gym on the way home. She wasn’t always the best about that, but better late than never. Because—job hunting. And never mind that her heart sank into her stomach and she got those panic flutters at the thought. You were proactive, that was all there was to it, and if you were going on interviews, you made sure your best skirt wasn’t tight around the waist. People noticed that sort of thing, and besides, she hated Spanx.

  Was it too late to get in no-Spanx shape before her layoff?

  Yes. But still.

  That was why, though, she did the stair climber, not the elliptical machine, on which you went more slowly when you got to a good part of your book and which was, let’s face it, the closest thing there was to dawdling along the sidewalk as you read said book. She’d been way too out of breath on those stairs today. She wasn’t any older than Blake Orbison, and if he could spring up them two at a time, she could at least not gasp like a dying guppy as she dragged herself to the top.