Read All She Wanted (2) Online

Authors: Nicole Deese

Tags: #Romance, #Contemporary

All She Wanted (2) (3 page)

BOOK: All She Wanted (2)
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Briggs

It was nearly two in the morning when I
awoke from my dead slumber.

At first, I wasn’t sure why, but then I
noticed the beacon of light streaming in through the bedroom window. I shielded
my eyes against it, which was like trying to block the sun with a leaf. Stumbling
out of bed, I made my way over to the glass and peered out into the darkness,
beyond the spotlight. It had obviously been triggered by movement.

I felt a cold chill cut through me as I
rubbed at my eyes—taking in the sight with new interest.

There, tip-toeing through the driveway
in bare feet, heels in hand, was little Miss Strawberry Shortcake herself. I
could practically see her cursing at herself as she tried to avoid the motion
detector, but there was simply no place for her to hide. When she glanced my
way, I ducked back into the shadows.

“So daddy was right about you after
all…well, two can play at this game, Shortcake,” I said to the empty room.

Okay,
now I’m talking to myself. That’s not crazy at all, Briggs.

I went back to bed with my mind fully
engaged. I should’ve known better than to trust a woman—especially one as
strikingly beautiful as Charlie Lexington. She would most likely hate me by the
end of this four-week stint, but that didn’t matter. Chief Max was counting on
me. That was all that mattered.

He’d given me a chance when he had
hired me—taken a risk on me—one that frankly I hadn’t deserved. I was not about
to let him down now.

I was a lot of things, but a failure
wasn’t one of them.

 

Charlie

The manny offered me a ride to the station
in the morning, but I had politely refused. Gathering up the supplies I would need,
I shoved each of them into my satchel before slipping my heels on. My black
capris would make for comfortable work attire for the day, but I wasn’t about
to dress-down my feet. Heels were about the only thing that made me feel older
than a fourteen year-old. At barely five-foot, a girl had to do what she could.

 
I
layered a cardigan over my light-blue tank and made my way to the front door a
second later. I smiled as I walked to my Chevy convertible. Though it wasn’t
quite warm enough yet to have the top down, that day would be here soon. I
loved to drive. It was one of my favorite things to do. Driving to my parent’s
lake house with the top down, wind in my hair, was the very best way to spend a
sunny afternoon.

I sighed as the cool wind nipped at my
exposed ankles. I cut my daydream short and hurried to my car, gearing myself
up for one long, boring day.

The station was just as I remembered
it.

I realized on the way over that I
hadn’t been back since I was in high school. Even still, it hadn’t changed at
all. The smell of rubber and disinfectant filled the air—a strangely comforting
scent. I strolled in, ignoring the gawks and head-turns that followed me.
Firemen weren’t my thing.

I knew all about the life of a fireman:
their priorities, their schedule, their sacrifice.

No thanks.

I made my way to my daddy’s office and
unlocked the door. He had left a key for me next to one of the many “rule
lists” back at the house. After putting the key in my pocket, I had trashed
each copy of said list.

I flicked on the light and looked in
horror at the stack of files and paperwork he had taken out for me to organize
and log into the computer.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I
grumbled.

There seemed to be random stacks of
paper covering every square inch of desk space—although with daddy, nothing was
ever random. Next to each pile was a sticky-note detailing what he expected me
to do with each type of
file.
I couldn’t help but
wonder why, if he had taken the time to write each of these bright and annoying
notes, couldn’t he have just logged the files himself?
 

I put my satchel down and shut the door
behind me. I would deal with the piles in time, but first, I would do a proper
cleanup—my way.

This, after all, would be
my
work environment for the next month.
I might as well make it cozy.

For the next two hours I cleaned—and by
cleaned, I do not mean I broke out the Windex and dust rag. I simply mean I picked
up trash, which he had obviously left for me—as per a bright pink post-it-note.
I also moved several filing boxes, stacking them so as to open up the floor
space even more.

When I went to search his desk for a
pen, I accidently pulled the top drawer out with too much force. Everything
fell out—including a pile of his personal receipts, which I’m sure were in some
kind of order prior to their current demise. When I stepped back to assess the
new mess I’d just created for myself, I had to laugh.

It looked like the aftermath of someone
who had just come in and “made it rain”—that was one of Sasha’s favorite
phrases.

Too bad it’s
receipts and not cash.

I scrunched my nose up as I looked
around.
Something smells rank in here.
Tomorrow
I would bring candles—the air could really use some fresh and fruity.

Toward the end of the day, I finally
found the fowl-smelling contributor. As I looked behind one of the large metal
file-cabinets, an old coffee mug lay on its side—a science project growing inside
it.

 
I trashed it—there was no way I was going to
wash that nasty thing.
 

Heaving a large, black hefty bag over
my shoulder like Santa Claus in one of those freaky Tim Burton movies, I made
my way through the station, heading for the dumpster.

 

 
 

Briggs

“I’m telling ya Kai…this girl’s a con
artist,” I lowered my voice as I told him my latest conspiracy theory—only this
one was completely factual.

Kai smiled wide, “What? Are you
afraid
you may have lost your edge—nervous
you can’t stay one step ahead of her?”

I punched him in the chest. He laughed.

“Of course I haven’t lost my edge! I
am
edge! She’s just-”

I stopped mid-sentence, as every head
around the lunch table seemed to turn at once, focused on something in the
parking lot. My eyes followed suit.

There she was, carrying a garbage bag
that was wider than she was tall. Before Kai could comment, I was on my feet, trailing
after her.

“Can I help you out with that?” I called
as I jogged over to her. I took the bag from her before she could protest and
threw it into the dumpster—the dumpster which towered over her by at least two
feet. Mathematically speaking, there was no plausible way she could have made
that shot—unless of course, she possessed some secret Olympic high-jumping
skill I wasn’t aware of.

She flashed a quick smile, but before I
could fully register it, it was gone.

She took several strides in the
direction of the station before throwing me a “thanks”, over her shoulder.

“I was thinking we could order Chinese
tonight? What do you say?” I called after her.

Her quick, easy stride halted abruptly.
I felt a tug of nerves pull at me as she turned.

She shook her head. “I don’t think so,
Manny. That could be considered a conflict of interest, and I wouldn’t want to
break any of my daddy’s rules,” she cooed.

Okay
little Miss Shortcake, if that’s how you
wanna
play
it, then that’s how it will be played.

I crossed my arms in front of my chest,
smiling like a Cheshire cat, “Suit yourself.”

She drew her eyebrows in, as if
questioning my response, but her puzzlement didn’t deter her long. She disappeared
inside the station a second later.

I chuckled softly to myself.

It’s
gonna be a fun night…

 
 

Charlie

I texted Jackie to let her know I had solved
my car issue from the night before. This time, I had parked on the street, far
from the garage and the annoying motion-detector. Avoiding any and all
attention was my only goal for the evening.

I won’t
make the same mistake twice—that stupid prison-break-light can be seen from the
moon.

Jackie
:
I
can be there in 20!

Me:
PERF!

Jackie
: :-)

I walked carefully along the far side
of the fence, making my way toward the street, smiling as I approached my car.
I glanced into my purse, digging around for my keys. But just as my fingers
made contact with the cool metal, I nearly had a heart attack.

A man jumped out from behind my car.

“Going somewhere?”

I screamed.
           

The
manny!

As I fought to remain standing while
clutching my heart and panting like an old lady who had just lost at
hide-and-seek, he laughed at me.
 

“I tried to play nice,” he said, “I even
gave you the benefit of the doubt…but this is how you repaid my generosity.” He
shook his head dramatically while pointing at my car. “Unfortunately, what you
failed to realize was that I wrote the book on defying rules, Shortcake. In my
day I ruled-the-roost.”

I put my hand on my hip. “Oh, in
your
day, huh? What are you, eighty-five?”

He laughed again—heartily.

I wanted to deny that his laugh held
within it the most contagious quality I’d ever heard, and how it transformed
his entire countenance into a snapshot of joy. But most of all, I wanted to
deny the fluttering.

My insides felt like the release at The
Butterfly Kingdom exhibit.

I bit my cheeks to keep from
encouraging whatever twisted campaign he was about to reveal.

“You’re funny, Shortcake,” he said, grinning
from his mouth to his eyes.

I stood there—void of all emotion,
thinking hard about my next move.

“Okay, so you caught me, but I’m
totally fine with pretending you didn’t. Let’s just go back to our own little
worlds of make-believe and my daddy will never have to know any of his precious
rules were broken.” I pushed him aside, making my way to the driver’s side
door.

“That only solves half the issue,” he
said pointing to himself, as if indicating that he was the other half.

“Tell yourself whatever you want
to—you’re conscience isn’t my problem.”

As I pulled up on the door handle, two
things happened at once: One, his arm had magically snaked itself under my
elbow, turning me around fully in less than half a second. Two, my keys were no
longer in my hand, they were in his.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna work for me,
nice try though.” He looked past me then, staring at my car with lustful eyes. “I’ve
always wanted a convertible.”

I was seriously contemplating punching
him—hard—in the throat.

When I pulled out my phone to check the
time, my frustration peaked. “Look, I don’t care about whatever stupid arrangement
you made with my father. I have to go. You’ve made me late.”

A wave of panic washed over me as I saw
his hand tighten around my car keys.

“And just what are you
late
for?”

Is he
speaking that slowly on purpose? Unbelievable.
 

 
I
couldn’t leave Jackie at the club alone—that would be like throwing a package
of raw steak to a group of hungry pit bulls.

She needed me; we needed each other.
That was the first rule of clubbing: Never go alone.

“I have to go meet a friend, she
needs
me. You could be jeopardizing her
safety if you don’t let me go,” I pleaded, hoping he would take the bait.

He crossed his arms over his chest,
considering me, “Where?”

“None of your business,” I challenged.

“Suit yourself, see ya.” His long
strides had him halfway up the driveway before I could react.

Seriously?

“Urgh! Manny—wait!” I stomped my foot
like a tantruming toddler. He stopped immediately, turning around to face me
again. “I’ll tell you, but I still have to go regardless of what you think
about it, ok?”

“I’m listening.” He raised one perfectly
arched eyebrow.

“The Dive—on Jefferson Street, it’s a-”

His face darkened. “Oh I know exactly what
it is, Shortcake, and if you think for one second that I am going to let the
Chief’s daughter go off to some booty-call club, then you’ve pegged me for the
wrong kind of manny.”

Though he had practically spit each
word out in disgust, I felt my earlier resolve start to buckle at the mention
of his now self-proclaimed title. No amount of cheek biting could hold it in this
time. I laughed, the tension between us broken, at least for the moment.
 

He joined in almost immediately.
 

After I finally pulled myself together,
he stared at me. “Do you
really
have
a girlfriend that’s supposed to meet you, or is that just another ploy?”

I sighed. “Yes, I
really
do have a girlfriend meeting me there, in fact, she’s
probably there already.”

“Text her. If she doesn’t respond in
two minutes, I’ll drive you.”

I looked up at him, a fresh argument ready
to launch off my tongue. But maybe it was time to switch gears. If he was willing
to
try
—even though the reality of my
current situation was completely asinine—then I could
try
as well.

Five minutes later we were driving
toward Jefferson Street, in his old, restored ’67 Chevy truck.

BOOK: All She Wanted (2)
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