Best Friends With the Billionaire (The Rochesters) (17 page)

“Poked fun?” Kirk scowled. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“She rocked that dress, and you said she looked like a fucking mummy.”

Kirk rubbed the back of his neck. “She took me by surprise. I was confused.” Yeah, he was confused, all right. On the one hand, he wanted to do the right thing by Cassie and not touch her while she was still considering her ex-boyfriend; on the other hand, he wanted to throw her over his shoulder and carry her off.

“D’you ever think something could develop between you and Cassie?” Lex asked.

Kirk stared at him. “What makes you say that?”

“You know each other well. You’ve been friends for years. Plus, Cassie’s pretty hot, and I say that as a happily married man.”

Another wave of discomfort swamped Kirk. “We’re friends,” he insisted, hoping his cousin would drop the subject.

Lex pushed his hands into his pockets. “She’s very different from Alison.”

Kirk jerked upright and narrowed his eyes at his cousin. This past year he and Lex had grown closer, but neither of them had ever talked about Alison. Did Lex know the truth about her? Did he know that Cassie was everything Alison wasn’t? That Cassie was warm, generous, big-hearted. That Cassie deserved more than he was able to give.

“There’s no comparison,” Kirk said loudly and firmly. “Cassie is nothing like Alison.”

…

Cassie stumbled to a halt as Kirk’s unequivocal voice reached her ears.

There’s no comparison. Cassie is nothing like Alison.

The words circled her like sharks and she was the blood in the ocean. Tears rushed to her eyes and spilled over. She had no control, no power. She was nothing but a mass of hurt.

She’d almost stepped out of the wine bar when she’d overheard Kirk. Now she blundered back, her legs quaking, a cold sweat breaking out over her body. A group of people entered the bar, and she was swept farther inside, limp and helpless.

A hand touched her elbow.

“Cassie?”

Jacinta’s concerned expression swam into view. Her voice seemed to come from a long way off, muffled by the jagged pounding of Cassie’s heart.

“Are you okay?” Jacinta leaned closer, supporting her.

Cassie pressed a hand to her cheek. Her flesh felt numb and cold.
Get it together, for God’s sake.
It wasn’t like Kirk had said something she didn’t know. She could
never
compare with Alison. She knew that. She’d always known that.

“Uh, someone stepped on my toe,” she ad-libbed, lifting her foot gingerly. “I just need to rest it for a few moments and I’ll be fine.”

“Oh, no, that’s too bad! Should I call the guys back in?”

“No, no.” The last thing she needed was to draw attention to herself. “Look, I’m better already. Let’s go, huh?”

She could do this. All those years of walking past the mean girls at school, pretending not to hear their snide comments, had not gone to waste. It was simple, really. You put all your dark feelings—the hurt, the fear, the sorrow—into a chest, one of those pirate treasure chests, and you shut the lid and soldiered on until the danger was past. That was what she would do. She would lock her pain away, and only when she was alone and out of earshot would she unlock the chest and let everything out.

Chapter Ten

“Honestly, Cassie. Can’t you ever get anything right?”

Cassie shrank back from her mom’s rhetorical question. She’d thought she’d got past the stage of being intimidated by Audrey, but today she didn’t have her usual defenses. They’d been demolished last night by two overheard sentences.

“You’ve completely muddled the welcome baskets,” Audrey continued, arms crossed, one foot tapping like an irritated woodpecker. “Everyone’s received the wrong baskets.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize they were for specific guests.”

“That’s what the name tags are for,” Audrey hissed.

“I’ll go back to the hotel and sort them out.”

“There’s no time for that. I need you to go to the bank and get some cash for all the tips we need. Here’s the list. Think you can handle that?”

Usually a snappy retort would spring to Cassie’s mind, but today even that defense mechanism had failed. She was utterly vulnerable to her mom’s slings and arrows.

“Sure, Mom.” She sighed, picking up her purse once more. She moved toward the front door of her mom’s apartment, but then swung round. Her mother was busy flicking through her address book.

“Mom?”

“Mm?” Audrey didn’t look up.

“I was thinking of moving back into the guest bedroom.”

“Today?” Her mom’s head sprang up. “But you can’t. It’s full of things I can’t move anywhere else.”

“But I only need a bed—”

“The bed is
piled
with everything.” Her mom heaved a grumbling sigh. “Did you have an argument with Kirk? Is that why you want to move back?”

“No, we didn’t argue, it’s just that—”

“I’ll never understand you, Cassie.” Her mom slapped shut her address book. “For years you keep it a secret that you’re friends with one of the Rochesters, and then you fall out with him. Why don’t you know how to get along with people? Why do you alienate the one important contact you’ve managed to find?”

Cassie gripped the strap of her purse harder as the pain she’d buried deep inside frothed out like poison. “I don’t expect you to understand me. I don’t expect much of anything from you. All I’m asking for is a bed.”

“Why don’t you go running off to Betsy and Mario? I’m sure they’ll be only too happy to give you a bed. They’re always singing your praises to me. Oh, yes. It’s ‘Cassie this’ and ‘Cassie that’ every time I see them. They’re driving me crazy.”

A tremble started in Cassie’s lower lip, and only a concerted effort stilled it. Oh God, could the rejections get any crueler? She’d come to San Francisco with hopes of forging a better relationship with her family, but her mom seemed determined to push her further away.

“You’re my mom.” Cassie’s voice shook. Years of needing her mother’s support and never getting it hadn’t lessened the yearning. This wasn’t about a bed anymore. This was about everything she’d missed in the past, everything she’d need in the future. “I—I’m asking
you
.”

Audrey gazed sharply at her, head tilted. Despite the pressures of the imminent wedding, she was still immaculately presented, not a hair out of place, her makeup flawless. She looked like the First Lady, or the president of a Fortune 500 company.

She picked at the address book in her hands. “I suppose you could sleep on the pull-out in Lillian’s room,” she said with obvious reluctance. “But only if you have to. You really should try to get along with the Rochesters.”

Mom, you don’t know what you’re asking.

She nodded, too choked to speak, and made her escape.

…

Several hours later, she was walking by the sea with Russell. The sunny weather was perfect for the beach, the views of the Golden Gate Bridge were stunning, and it was good to be with a straightforward, uncomplicated friend, but she couldn’t suppress a sigh as they strolled across the sand.

“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?” Russell asked. “Or are you going to sigh all day like a drama queen?”

“Let’s just say I have good reason to sigh.”

“Troubles of the heart. The age-old mystery. Why do we fall in love with people who don’t reciprocate our feelings?”

“When you figure that out, let me know.” She looped her arm through his. “So what have you been doing to get over Jason?”

“Sightseeing, shopping, eating, talking. Nothing works.”

“You know, this is a nudist beach.”

He shook his head. “You’re sweet, but staring at some schlongs is only a distraction.” He poked his elbow in her side. “How about you? Think some naked arses will stop you sighing?”

“No,” she said, sighing once more. “Let’s not talk about our problems, huh? Let’s just enjoy the sunshine and the scenery.”

It was only much later, after they’d watched the sun go down, dropped in at a pizza joint, and finally caught a cab, that her problems welled up, and the thought of seeing Kirk again made her insides churn with anxiety.

“I might be moving out of Kirk’s place,” she said as the cab rounded the corner into Kirk’s street. “It’s getting to be too much…”

She couldn’t go on, but Russell seemed to understand. “You’re welcome to crash at my hotel room anytime.”

“Thanks,” she sputtered, tears welling up.

The cab pulled to a halt outside Kirk’s house, but she was in no condition to face him. As she fumbled in her purse for a tissue, Russell put his arm around her and patted her, not speaking, simply offering her comfort. She rested her head on his shoulder and allowed herself to sniffle a bit.

“Do you mind waiting until my friend feels better?” Russell asked the cab driver, who raised a thumb in reply.

“I know I’ll never measure up to his late wife,” she said to Russell. “But does that mean there’s nothing between us? Absolutely nothing? I wish I could confront him, ask him straight out, but I’m too chicken. I’m afraid of what he might say.”

“What’s the worst that can happen?”

“The worst is that he’ll reject me,” she said slowly, mulling over her fears. “And we’ll never be friends again because it’ll be too awkward.”

“So you’d rather be friends and worry forever, than know once and for all and have some closure.”

She chewed her lip. “When you put it like that…”

Her choices were even starker, but she knew which one she’d choose. She couldn’t live with this indecision gnawing at her for the rest of her life. She knew she could never compare with Alison, but maybe she had something else to offer Kirk. If she never asked, she’d never find out.

“Thanks, Russ. You’ve been a great help.”

She leaned across and planted a grateful kiss on his cheek before she quickly scrambled out of the cab and hurried toward Kirk’s house.

…

Kirk flinched back from the drapes in front of his bedroom window. He was spying on Cassie and Russell down below in their taxi, and he’d been punished by witnessing Cassie kiss Russell. The interior of the taxi was shadowy, but he’d clearly seen her lean in, their heads meeting, Russell’s arm around her shoulders.

He rubbed his sternum where he’d felt that instant, visceral punch. His breathing rasped in the stillness of his bedroom. Why did watching Cassie kiss her ex make him want to drive his fist through a wall?

No time to speculate as he heard Cassie enter the house downstairs. He wheeled around and marched out of his bedroom. Something was about to happen. He could feel it in the tightening of his muscles, the ache in his bones, the throb at the base of his neck. Something
had
to happen or he was going to smash the first thing he could find.

Last night the sight of Cassie wrapped up like a gift in her bandage dress had floored him. She’d dressed up for
him
, he was sure, and although he’d tried to ignore it, he’d known he wouldn’t turn down that gift. He’d been raring to get her alone and unwrap her slowly, kissing every inch of her body as he revealed it. But mysteriously and without warning, she’d come out of the wine bar looking like he’d drowned her puppy. She’d sat hunched and silent in the cab, answering him in monosyllables, and as soon as they’d reached home, she’d run upstairs to her room and shut the door.

All day he’d stewed over her strange, capricious behavior. It wasn’t like Cassie to blow hot and cold. Now he was all tied up in knots and determined to have it out with her.

He headed for the stairs when Cassie appeared from below. She seemed out of breath, and when she saw him, her cheeks flushed.

“Kirk,” she said, her voice tight. “I was hoping you’d be home.”

Her lips were pink, the same lips she’d kissed her ex with down below in the taxi. He grimaced at her. “Where’ve you been?”

“Uh, at my mom’s place.”

A lie. She didn’t want him knowing she’d been with Russell. “Oh yeah? Had dinner there, too?”

Her cheeks grew redder. “Mm-hmm.”

The urge to grab her by the shoulders and demand the truth overwhelmed him. But it wasn’t entirely her fault. He was to blame, too. He shouldn’t have given in to temptation. He should have ignored his libido and maintained their strictly “friends only” status quo. This friends-with-benefits arrangement definitely didn’t work. Sex had ruined everything. Sex had made her lie to him about Russell.

“So what did you want to see me about?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

She bit her lip and tweaked her cotton hoodie, fingers nervously playing with the zipper. “I wanted to talk about us.”

“What about us?”

She shifted from foot to foot, looking even more uncomfortable. “You and I, we’ve done some crazy stuff these past two weeks, huh?” An anxious smile flitted across her face, but he schooled himself not respond. “I never thought it would happen because it seemed I was always just one of the guys to you. No one special.”

Her self-deprecating moue found a chink in his armor. How could she think that? “Cassie, you know that’s not true. You
are
special.”

She ran the zipper up and down, her teeth worrying at her lower lip. “Maybe,” she muttered, reddening, “but how much?”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

The blush spread to every inch of her face. “I want to know—” She gulped, voice wavering. “I want to know exactly how special I am to
you
.”

He froze at her question. They were friends, the best of friends. Friends who looked after each other. Friends who liked hanging out together. Friends who were there in good times and bad.

But if they were just friends, why had he been in such a bad mood ever since her ex-boyfriend had turned up and stopped them sleeping together? Why did she haunt his thoughts all the time? Why had the sight of her kissing her ex make his heart shatter?

Could it be that Cassie had become more than a friend to him? Could he be in love with her?

No. Something clanged in his brain, a panic bell ringing out, a trapdoor crashing shut. He couldn’t be in love with Cassie. Love was fickle, sly, unpredictable. Love had deluded him, betrayed him, deserted him. Love was the unscrupulous cousin to friendship, and he’d long ago decided that if ever there was a contest, friendship would always win. Friendship was solid, enduring, open. Friendship lasted through marriages, illnesses, years of separation.

No, he couldn’t be in love with Cassie.

“You’ll always be my special best friend,” he said, his conviction firming. Whatever that growing, burning tangle was in his chest, it wasn’t love, he was sure of it.

Cassie flinched as if he’d slapped her. “Is that all? Just a friend? Nothing more?”

Did she want him to say out loud that he had—Christ, this tumor beneath his ribs was really starting to bite—feelings for her? But he’d seen her kissing Russell minutes ago. Maybe this was some ploy of hers, to play him off against Russell. Maybe she wanted him to confess she meant something to him to use that against Russell.

“What more do you want?” He glared at her, ice encasing his hammering heart.

Her face paled, her freckles highlighted like sand speckling snow. “A relationship,” she said. “A connection. A bond.” She drew in a shaking breath. “I realize no one can replace Alison, but—”

“Leave Alison out of this.” The words flew from him, an automatic reaction. Alison meant failure and loneliness. Damn, he didn’t want to be reminded.

Cassie stepped back, a hand pressing against her throat as if she had trouble breathing. Dismay gathered in her wide, brown eyes.

“Look, I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I’m sorry for reminding you about Alison, but I can’t help it. I don’t want to replace her, Kirk, but—but I think you and I, we could be happy together if you gave us a chance.”

A chance to ruin a good friendship? Hell, the friendship was already ruined. The realization sent another burst of anger through him. He wasn’t going to get embroiled in her games with Russell.

“No,” he said, low and emphatic.

Cassie squeezed her eyes shut as if she was in pain. Then she looked at him, shoulders drooping, and nodded.

“I thought you’d say that,” she whispered. “I should’ve known better, after what happened two years ago. My mistake. I won’t bother you anymore.”

She edged past him and hurried down the hallway to her room.

He must have been tired because it took several seconds for her words to sink in. Then he strode after her, pushing open the door without knocking. Cassie was flinging her clothes into her suitcase, not bothering to fold them.

“What happened two years ago?” he asked, the tightness in his chest spreading to his entire body.

She paused, sweeping back a strand of flyaway hair, her face taut and white. “You don’t remember? Not one single iota?”

“Not one.” He stepped right up to her, his uneasiness mounting. “Two years ago. You came back for the funeral.”

“That’s right.” She stood stiff as a soldier on parade, eyes fixed on him.

He scowled as he furiously rifled through his memories of those fraught days and nights. This was important, instinct warned him. Vitally important, yet he couldn’t drag anything significant from those dark, dreary memories.

“You visited me a few days later.” He scratched his jaw. “I think we watched a movie or something, right?”

She was very still now, giving him a barely perceptible nod.