Cover Up Page 8

  “It sounds like a lot of fun.”

  “It was. And we didn’t just surf. We did some exploring, too. There were tons of places we went that had waterfalls a short hike from the beach. It became one of our goals, to find a waterfall wherever we went.”

  She raised her hand in her mind. Take me, take me. She laughed at herself.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  “I just…I was just imagining something.”

  “Have you traveled much?” he asked.

  “Not really. Aside from a brief visit to Florida, the furthest I’ve ever gone from my hometown is the chair I’m sitting in.”

  “You’ve never been outside the country?”

  She shook her head. “Not yet. I’ve always wanted to travel, but I’ve never had the chance. It’s always been work and making my mark in the marketing world.”

  “You should go freelance. Then you can work from anywhere. It’s what I did, but then, I did have a few friends who I started with, so I was lucky in that way. People who were willing to invest with me, right from the start.”

  She wondered how many people would invest in her like that. Maybe Stacey and Blake. Their online jewelry company probably needed a marketing consultant. It was something she might think more about at some point.

  A short while later, she pushed her empty plate away. The food was delicious, but eating any more would require her to undo a button on her shorts.

  “I knew you went to too much trouble and made too much,” she said. “There are loads left.”

  “It’ll keep. I can freeze it all.”

  That made her feel a little better, but she still wanted to do something. “I’ll help you do the dishes,” she said, scooping up the empty plates and walking into the kitchen.

  He tried to get her to leave it and relax, but it was the least she could do. He’d bought her roses and cooked, so a few minutes washing dishes wouldn’t hurt.

  “I’ll dry,” he said. “And then I can freeze the leftovers while you’re washing up.”

  At least I know we can work well together. It was a nice thought.

  As she did the dishes by hand, she spotted him watching her now and then—while he stretched into the overhead cupboard to get some containers for the leftovers, or when he stood next to her, waiting for the next plate. She liked the attention, though being so close to him made her feel tingly inside. She could almost picture him wrapping his strong arms around her.

  At last, the dishes were finished. He said he’d put on some music and then drag out an old photo album so she could see his surfing background instead of just hearing about it.

  She loved photographs, and it seemed he did, too. The burgundy binding was well-worn, and she could feel how much so as she picked it up.

  He sat by her side on the couch, and music started to play. She recognized the distinctive voice of an eighties hair band. It had a nice energy to it, and it seemed to fit the mood of the moment.

  He began explaining all the pictures and who his friends were. She laughed as he turned a particular page. Back then, he was certainly more tan, but she’d take the now-version any day.

  “You almost had hair as long as I do,” she said, tapping a picture where he wore a bright, tropical T-shirt and shorts.

  “No way. Yours is way longer. It was just a phase I went through.”

  “Yeah right.” She leaned over and bumped against his shoulder. He bumped her back. Then they turned to face each other. They seemed to realize just how close they were to each other, and they gazed into each other’s eyes. For a moment, she barely breathed. Then they grinned at each other and turned their attention back to the first album.

  “What’s this picture here?” she asked, pointing to one of him dressed in a suit with his hair in a ponytail.

  “Turn to the next page.”

  She stuck a finger in and turned the page over. There wasn’t a picture on that side. Just a check with his name on it. “It’s for thirty grand,” she whispered.

  “It is. That was my first big payday.”

  “Wow. But…you didn’t cash it?”

  For a moment, he hesitated. “That’s my secret. Nobody knows this.”

  She bit her bottom lip and sucked in a shallow breath. “What is it?”

  “I never cashed that check.”

  “Why wouldn’t you?”

  “Well, the check was cashed, but not by me. I signed the original over to a charity instead. I hung onto a copy as a reminder. To be honest, the client I got this from was a pretty shady character, one who does shark loans and whatnot. Working with him felt so greasy, that it didn’t feel right hanging onto the money for it, so I gave it away. It was a good year, so I managed fine.”

  “That was kind of you.”

  She noticed that a strand of her hair had made it onto his shoulder. They were sitting closer to each other than she realized. She reached up and moved it off, dragging her fingertips along his shoulder. She froze, glancing up at his expression. She felt like her hand was caught in the cookie jar.

  He was looking right at her. She swallowed. Time seemed to slow down, almost in slow motion, and he reached toward her until his strong hand was against her cheek, to where she could feel the muscles of his palm, his eyes never shifting as he moved closer. She held her breath, knowing this moment would tell her everything she needed to know. Everything about how he felt about her.

  His lips reached hers. Her head tilted back a little, and she brushed her hand back through his hair until she embraced him, letting the kiss tell him just what she’d been longing to say.

  “I was worried that you were only interested in me as a friend, and that—”

  “Let’s just enjoy the moment,” he said with a chuckle.

  She looked up at him through her eyelashes. “I’ll be quiet if you kiss me.”

  “Deal.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Nicole was just coming out of their second kiss. Branson was gazing at her, lost in his own thoughts. Ones she’d love to know. Then he frowned. His fingers brushed down her throat and against the collar of her sweater. At the last moment, she realized what he must have seen. Her palms felt sweaty.

  She backed away from him so fast, she ran into the armrest of the sofa behind her. Great. Just what she needed—more bruises.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She got up and walked toward the dining room…and then realized she was making this worse. She should’ve acted casual, but it was too late for that.

  He stood in the living room, a confused expression on his face. “If someone’s hurt you…”

  “It’s not like that. I’m fine. It’s…nothing.”

  “But this is why you always wear long sleeves? And fuss with your sweatshirts. Nicole, that bruise is—”

  “Fine. Getting better.”

  He looked at her for a long moment, and she desperately hoped he’d leave it alone. Then he said, “You’d tell me if you’re in danger, right?”

  “No. I mean, of course yes, I would. But I’m not.” The last thing she needed was for him to start digging around. If he talked to the right person and found out…

  “It’s not anyone, okay? I just…” She tried to come up with a likely story to explain it, but there were only two—the truth and his awful assumptions.

  “Look, Branson. It’s been a great evening, and I’ve had a lovely time. But I think we’d better call it a night.”

  They weren’t in a committed relationship. She couldn’t trust him with a secret that could destroy her career.

  “If you’re sure you’re okay…”

  He looked like an adorable mixture of confusion and worry, but she could see frustration around the edges. Frustration that she wouldn’t admit what was really going on—that there were some things she’d share, and others she wouldn’t. He’d clearly thought they were closer than that, and she’d wanted it to be true, but wishing wouldn’t make a relationship happen.

  And hon
estly, there was too much about him she still didn’t know. In a perfect world, she’d have been happy to get to know him slowly, one night at a time, but they didn’t live in a perfect world…and she had colleagues who would stop at nothing if it meant they had a chance at her job.

  It was sweet he was concerned for her safety, but he’d be even less concerned if he knew that she’d wrecked her friend’s car, and maybe even suspect that Nicole had been the one drinking. She imagined seeing his interest in her shrinking in real time, and that wasn’t something she wanted to see.

  * * *

  She woke in the morning before her alarm. She didn’t feel like getting up, but she knew she might as well—she wouldn’t get back to sleep.

  Her shoulder hurt from sleeping against it, the bruise only starting to turn a dull yellow around the edges. She almost wished she hadn’t gotten promoted in the first place. It had catapulted her into a new arena of pressure and stress.

  She broke herself out of her gloomy thoughts. She’d finally landed her dream job, and here she was, wishing it away just because of an accident. If she and Branson were meant to be together, it would happen, even if she never explained the bruises. And it’s a good thing I have my job. Guys came and went, but her career would still be there for her.

  Determined not to let Branson’s questions and worries from last night get to her, she pushed open the double set of doors on the ground floor of her work. “Good morning. Morning. Hi there.” She must have greeted a half-dozen people she walked past, forcing herself to make eye contact even though part of her didn’t even see them. Everyone deserved to have a good morning, even if she wasn’t having one.

  “Everything okay?”

  Nicole looked up and blinked. She stood in front of the receptionist desk, still on the ground floor.

  “Perfectly fine. Thanks. I was just thinking about something. Have a good day.”

  Get a grip on yourself, Nicole. If she acted strangely here, her coworkers might guess that something was wrong, and the Barrett Parsons of the world would start looking into it.

  Even both elevator doors had closed right before she walked up. Figures. She didn’t feel like standing there, waiting for another one to arrive. The last thing she was in the mood for was small talk and cheery moods, so she took the long way by shoving open the side door that led to the stairs. She leaned on the railing and craned her neck, looking up at the journey she’d chosen for herself.

  Let’s just think of this as a cardio workout. She had plenty of time for it. She was half an hour early.

  She slipped off her shoes and jacket and hung it over her arm, holding her heels firmly in one hand. Then, hitching up her skirt slightly, she began climbing. By the time she reached the top of the first flight, her palms were clammy again, although this time for a very different reason.

  By the last flight, she was out of breath. She’d slowed to a snail’s pace, and she used the railing as a crutch, leaning more weight on it than her own feet. She braced herself against the door, and Nancy did a double-take when Nicole emerged from the stairwell.

  “Stairs?” Nancy asked. “You?”

  Nicole leaned on the front of the desk and grabbed a tissue, then used it to dab the thin beads of perspiration which had formed along her brow from her spontaneous workout.

  “The elevator was full,” Nicole said, squeezing out the words.

  Nancy just stared. “It would’ve come back for you.”

  “It’s okay. It’s done now.” Nicole slipped back into her shoes and headed to her office, not wanting to make a big deal about her strange behavior. She didn’t think Nancy would gossip with anyone—at least, not anyone who was angry about Nicole’s promotion—but she couldn’t be too safe.

  “Will you grab me a coffee, please?” Nicole asked. She walked to her office and hung up her coat before slumping in her chair and spinning around to look out the huge windows.

  Nancy soon arrived with her coffee. The first sip helped to take the edge off a little. Once she left, Nicole decided to call Tiffany. Her calm, practical advice was just what she needed. But Tiffany didn’t answer. It was so hard to catch her on a break at her nursing job, the few times she actually took one.

  She glanced at the clock—still too early for her first meeting—so she picked up the phone and called Amy. She might be at work. Judging from how she’d worked late right after her date, things might not have gone well. We can both commiserate about the men in our lives.

  Amy didn’t answer on the first few rings, but she finally came through.

  “Great, you’re there,” Nicole said in a rush.

  “Everything okay?”

  She wanted to say it was, that life was great. She badly wanted to tell Amy about the roses and Branson’s dinner invitation, about his cooking and the check he’d never cashed, about how perfect he was, but all that she could think of was the bruises on her shoulder and arms and how she was stuck wearing long sleeves all the time, how it was ruining her life and turning her into a habitual liar.

  “You want me to come up there and talk about it?”

  She hesitated. She didn’t want to make Amy come all the way to the sixth floor, but she could really use the company, the face-to-face interaction, and her friend seemed to guess as much.

  “I’ll be right up. Let me grab my sketches so we can blame my visit on work.”

  Nicole was only a quarter of the way through her coffee when there was a knock and Amy came in. She shut the heavy door behind her and approached Nicole’s desk. “You look awful. Did you get any sleep?”

  “Some.”

  “So what happened?”

  “The worst thing possible. Branson saw the bruise on my shoulder and seems to think he needs to sweep in like a knight in shining armor. He’s just looking for a dragon to slay.” She buried her head in her hands, not up to seeing the pity she knew was in Amy’s eyes. “I told him it was nothing. That I was fine, but he didn’t believe me.”

  “I mean, his instincts were right on that part. How bad are yours?”

  Nicole tried to arrange her blouse to show Amy, but she’d purposefully picked one with a high neckline. There was nothing to be seen, save the green-yellow edge. “This one’s about the size of my fist, and enough of it is purple to look awful.”

  Amy took a seat in front of the desk. “Looks like some of mine. They’re still so tender. Okay, why don’t you start at the beginning and explain how it happened.”

  “Well, I got home, and there was a massive bunch of roses sitting outside my door. I took them inside and guessed they were from Branson. I thought they were his way of finally warming up to saying ‘I like you more than a friend.’ I was so excited. I laid them on the counter and mentally prepared myself for a microwave dinner. I was going to arrange them while I cooked something to eat. You know how it goes…”

  “But I’m guessing that’s not how it went.”

  “No. But that was my plan. As I trimmed the roses, a card fell onto the floor. Here, I brought it with me. I tucked it into my work bag this morning without thinking about it.”

  “He cooked you dinner? It sounds like he’s trying to impress you.”

  “I know. I don’t know why he thinks he needs to. He’s such a nice guy by himself. In any case, I couldn’t refuse. Though I wish he hadn’t bought me flowers. They’re nice—actually, they’re beautiful, but I don’t trust gifts. It can feel like too much. Trying too hard, you know?”

  After what had happened with her first crush, long ago, she felt like gifts were the easy-to-reach-for tool to lure someone in, to say you cared when you didn’t really. Or to imply you cared more than you really did.

  “Okay, so what happened afterward? How did he see the bruise on your shoulder?”

  “He cooked Italian. He even made meatballs to go with them. My weakness.” Nicole then mentioned his surfing exploits, his stock trading skills, and how, together, they’d taken him around the globe.

  “From the sounds of it, he’
s a rich kid spending his inheritance.”

  Nicole coughed, nearly spitting out her coffee. “No, not really. He said he was working as a freelance trader back then, and he showed me his first paycheck in his photo album.”

  “He still has it? Wait, was it one of those inspirational ones they write to themselves in the hopes of making it big?” Amy asked. “With lots of zeros at the end?”

  Nicole shook her head. “No, it looked like the real deal. For thirty grand.”

  Amy’s eyes widened. “That was his first paycheck?”

  “I guess I don’t know if it was truly his first, but it was an early one he had. And here’s the best part: he gave it away.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Honest. He gave it away to charity.”

  Amy frowned. “He sounds too good to be true. Think about it. You of all people know how to create a mood and set audience expectations. This is Marketing 101, and I have to admit, he seems pretty good at what he does.”

  “You think he’s lying?”

  “Not necessarily. I mean, he probably does work on Wall Street. He probably did travel the world. He’s just not mentioning a few things like where his money comes from. If he had that kind of money to spend, don’t you think he’d live in a nicer apartment complex?” She held up her hand before Nicole could object. “No offense to where we both live, but you know what it’s like. Always something to fix, no elevator, and mailboxes that don’t open easily. I figured you’d get a better place any day now.”

  Nicole sat back, weighing what Amy had said. After all, the only difference between his apartment and hers was how neat he kept his.

  “I will say this,” Amy continued. “He’s a rare find if he’s legit, and I’d be very happy for you. I’m just skeptical. But finish your story. What happened after dinner? How did he figure out about the car accident?”