Blame It on the Blackout (10 page)

“You say that like you believe it. I just wish I could.”

“I don't think Peter does, either. Or he's afraid to. And going out with me would be one sure way of finding out…either he'd let it go and you'd know for certain he had no feelings for you, or he'd go through the roof and you'd know he does.”

He gave her a hopeful look, which Lucy now recognized as simply teasing.

“There is one other option,” he offered. “Come to work for me at The Hot Spot.”

She raised a brow at the unexpected proposal.

“I know I've tried to lure you away from Peter before—only partly in jest, since I'm jealous as hell that he gets such a great assistant and I'm stuck running my business myself. But maybe now is the time to make a change. Get away from him for a while. Give him some time and space to think about what he's lost and how he really feels about you. You can always go back later; you know I won't hold you to anything, and Peter would be stupid not to give you your old job back if you wanted it.”

“Do you really think I should?”

“I do. Peter and I have been friends for a lot of years. I know how his mind works and how hard it's going to be for you to face him while things are still up in the air between you. Consider my club part-time work while you figure things out.”

The minutes ticked by while she considered his offer from every angle. In the end, though, it came down to only a single point: she didn't think she could bear to see Peter bright and early Monday morning with her heart still raw and bleeding, so soon after leaving him alone in that hotel room.

Taking a deep breath, she looked at Ethan—her new boss, if only for a while—and nodded.

W
ell, those had been two of the longest, most excruciating days of his life.

Normally he loved delving into a computer system, finding all its bugs and quirks, and then putting it back together to run even more efficiently. But this time, every moment had felt like an eternity. Every word Will Dawson had uttered, every joke he'd tried to crack to lighten Peter's mood had grated on his nerves.

He'd done the bare minimum to improve Dawson's productivity and then promised to return at a later date to smooth out the edges so he could jump on a plane and head back to Georgetown.

It was two in the afternoon by the time he arrived,
but that was okay because it meant Lucy would be at his house, working, and he would get the chance to talk things through with her instead of waiting another day to hash out their differences.

When he reached his town house, he used his key to unlock the front door and dropped his overnight bag just inside on the foyer floor. Cocking his head, he listened for the telltale sounds of Lucy's fingers at the keyboard of her computer or the soft classical music radio station she sometimes turned on while she worked.

He didn't hear anything, but that didn't mean she wasn't there.

A thread of doubt niggled as he closed the door and noticed the pile of mail spread across the carpet. Strange that Lucy hadn't gathered it up already. She usually did, first thing. But maybe she'd forgotten or gotten busy doing something else.

Yeah,
a tiny voice in his head replied sarcastically,
forgot to pick up the mail when she'd done it automatically every day for the past two years.

But he wasn't giving up yet. Moving through the house, he checked the study that doubled as her office and pretended not to notice that her computer was turned off and the call light on the telephone was blinking uncontrollably.

So she hadn't had a chance to boot up or collect messages yet. That didn't mean anything. There were plenty of days when she went to the kitchen to start a pot of
coffee or up to his office to clean up a bit before getting started.

From there, he peeked his head into the den, the kitchen, then climbed the stairs for a quick sweep of his own office and bedroom. Not that he expected to find her in either place.

His heart sank and his mouth grew dry as he realized she wasn't there. From the mail on the hall floor and the number of calls stored up on the phone, it didn't look like she'd been to work at all since returning from New York.

The knowledge worried Peter more than a little, but he tried not to panic. She was probably still upset by whatever had driven her to run out on him after they'd made love and just needed a day or two more to get herself together enough to face him.

Or maybe she was waiting for him to contact her and say he was sorry. He was as clueless about what he needed to apologize for as he was about why she'd abandoned him in Manhattan in the first place, but if there was one thing he knew for sure about women, it was that the man was always wrong, the woman was always right, and it was the man's place to say he was sorry before things got too far out of hand.

That, he could do. Because a part of him was sorry…for whatever had spurred her to take off on him. For not having the self-control to keep from making love to her the first time
and
the second, when he knew nothing could come of it. And for not being the man she
wanted him to be, one who could provide her with the future she so desperately needed.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he ran back downstairs for his luggage, and decided to put the new mail on her desk along the way.

As long as he was there, he might as well check the waiting messages, too. With any luck, Lucy might have called and he would have an idea of what was on her mind. If not, he'd have helped her out a bit and not left quite so much for her to catch up on once she finally returned to work.

He sat down at her desk and grabbed a notepad and pen, then punched the buttons necessary to access voicemail. Business call, business call, phone company calling about Lucy's request to add another line to the house, business call… He wrote everything down, thinking he could probably take care of a few of these on his own, but would leave the important ones for Lucy.

Then her voice drifted out to him through the speakerphone and a hitch of awareness rolled over him, sending his pulse rate stuttering. She sounded stiff and unhappy, but he chalked that up to the mechanics of the electronic technology.

And then her words began to sink in. She hadn't phoned to explain why she'd left New York without him or to ask for a couple days off while she got her thoughts and feelings in order. She was blowing him off.

Peter, this is Lucy. I'm just calling to let you know
that I've accepted another position and won't be back to work. I'll be by within the next couple of weeks to collect my things, unless you'd rather send them to me. I'm sorry I couldn't give you more notice, but my new job begins immediately. I'm sure you'll find someone to take my place in no time.

He sat, stunned, for several long minutes while the rest of the messages played through unheard. Her words echoed over and over again in his ears, making him feel light-headed and more confused than ever.

Why?
Why would she take another job? Nothing that had happened between them was so awful that she needed to
quit
.

And
take her place?

How was he ever supposed to find someone to replace her? Someone competent, reliable, and willing enough to do all the things he needed taken care of on a daily basis. It had been miraculous enough to find Lucy to begin with, he couldn't even begin to be lucky enough to find a second decent assistant.

But was that really the part that was bothering him so much? The fact that he was losing his favorite secretary?

Hell, no. He was on the verge of a breakdown because this was
Lucy
and she'd just left him. Left his employ, left his house, left
him.

He wasn't going to get the chance to find out why she'd sneaked out while he was off buying condoms.
He wouldn't be able to apologize for whatever had upset her and promise to make things right.

It seemed Lucy wasn't interested in repairing their relationship—not even their professional one.

The hollow sensation at the base of his gut began to fill…but not with acceptance, with anger.

She didn't want anything more to do with him? Fine. He didn't want anything more to do with her, either.

His feelings for her had been nothing more than lust, anyway. And maybe a fraction of dependence, for the way she took such good care of everything for him.

But all that was over now. She'd quit, taken another job. From now on, she wouldn't be around for him to fantasize about or desire or rely on.

A part of him wanted to mourn that fact, but then the logical side of his brain kicked in and reminded him that this was probably all for the best. Just because they'd spent a few very memorable moments in each other's company didn't mean they had a future together. He'd known that all along and had never wanted Lucy to be hurt. So maybe having her leave now was better than having to push her away later.

It sounded good, and in a few days, Peter thought he might even start to believe it.

 

“Set 'em up again.”

“Are you sure?” Ethan asked. “You've already had quite a bit.”

Peter scowled at his so-called friend and tapped the
bar in front of him where three empty shot glasses and three empty beer bottles sat. “Don't lecture me on the evils of alcohol, just keep them coming.”

Ethan held his tongue, pouring another finger of whiskey with a beer chaser, just as Peter had ordered when he'd first walked into The Hot Spot.

At this time of day, the club was officially closed, but Ethan and some of the other staff came in early to set up and check supplies for the evening crush. A Top Forty ballad played softly in the background, but by eight o'clock tonight, the speakers would be blaring with rock, disco, rap…whatever the party crowd liked best.

The idea of people drinking, dancing, having fun made Peter scowl even harder. He was miserable and the rest of the world should be, too, dammit!

“So…” Ethan ventured while Peter nursed his beer, “are you going to tell me what's bothering you, or do I have to wait until you drink me out of all my profits?”

He thought about making a smart remark, telling Ethan to mind his own business, but he'd come here with the sole intention of getting a little advice from his best friend. Or at the very least, spilling his guts and hoping the sour taste in his mouth would finally go away.

“Lucy,” he said simply, noticing the way her name caught in his throat. He had to swallow hard before he could even take another sip of his beer.

“What about her?” his friend asked, filling a seg
mented tray with bits of fruit and olives for mixed drinks.

“She left me.”

“For another job, you mean?”

A beat passed before he answered. “Yeah.” Among other things. “She quit and went to work for somebody else.”

“Lucky bastard. She's a real treasure, that one. So what did you do to run her off?”

At that, Peter's brows lifted, then turned down in annoyance. “What makes you think I ran her off?”

“For one thing, you slept with her. And I know you, buddy. You're not big on commitment. The women you date and take to bed may all look different—tall, short; stacked, petite; blonde, brunette, redhead—but they have one thing in common: they're easy to pry yourself away from. You don't promise them anything more than a couple of good rolls in the hay and maybe a photo op or two when you take them along to social events, and they don't expect it.”

“What's your point?” Peter asked, wondering why he stayed friends with this guy when he was turning into such a colossal pain in the ass.

“My point, Mr. Grumpy Pants, is that Lucy isn't like those other women, and you damn well know it. You knew it before the two of you ever got stuck in that elevator together. She's not the kind of girl you can just have sex with and then not call in the morning. The kind who's good for a thrill, but who won't expect more.
Lucy isn't clingy or demanding, but she's also not looking for a fling.”

With a huff of frustration, Ethan slammed down a jar of maraschino cherries, then braced his hands on the edge of the bar. “Holy heck, Peter, when did you get so damn dense? She's in love with you, for God's sake. Probably has been since the day she started working for you.”

Peter felt as though his friend had just dropped a ton of bricks on his head. He couldn't have been more stunned if Lucy had materialized at that very moment in a G-string and pasties and started dancing on the countertop for dollar bills.

“What are you talking about? Lucy doesn't have those sorts of feelings for me. She's a great gal, don't get me wrong, but her problem with our sleeping together wasn't that she was in love with me, it's that I was also her boss. The conflict of interest made her uncomfortable.”

Ethan rolled his eyes and muttered some truly creative curses beneath his breath. “‘Great gal,'” he repeated. “‘Conflict of interest.' Man, I'm surprised you can dress yourself in the morning. Did all that booze I served you kill off your last functioning brain cells?”

He leaned across the bar, so close Peter's eyes nearly crossed trying to keep him in focus.

“Haven't you ever noticed the way she looks at you? Or the way she cleans your house and takes care of you?”

His head ached and his memory was becoming suddenly fuzzy. “She doesn't look at me any differently than she does anyone else. And as for cleaning up…that's part of her job.”

“Blind as well as dumb,” Ethan mumbled with a toss of his head. “She looks at you like the stars in the night sky were your idea, Peter. She's certainly never looked at me that way. She also thinks you're the smartest, most talented man ever to design a computer game. Now, granted, you're good at what you do, but to hear Lucy tell it, you might as well be Bill Gates, Mahatma Gandhi, and the president of the United States all rolled into one.

Ethan pulled the towel from his shoulder and wiped cherry juice off the bar. “And she cleans up after you and makes sure you have everything you need or want because she
cares
about you, not because she thinks she's being a good little assistant. She's
in love
with you, you big blockhead.”

Peter's chest tightened. His heart was pounding a thousand beats per second and his lungs refused to draw in oxygen. Ethan was wrong. He had to be.

Peter had met women like that before, diamond rings dancing in their eyes. He identified the look immediately and always managed to keep them at bay.

If Lucy had harbored feelings for him all this time, he would have noticed. His force fields would have gone up, and he damn sure wouldn't have let himself get involved with her, no matter how badly he might have wanted to sample her luscious body.

“No,” he said, shaking his head in acute denial. “No, I think you're wrong.”

He knew Lucy wanted the big picture from whatever man she eventually ended up with, but he hadn't gone so far as to assume
love
was involved.

“Oh, yeah?” Ethan seemed amused now. He pushed away from the bar and leaned back against the low shelf of colorful liquor bottles. “Maybe this will get through to you, then. I'm Lucy's new boss. She came home from New York alone and upset, and I offered her a job here because she said she couldn't stand the thought of working with you every day for the rest of her life. She's upstairs right now, in the office.”

“What?”
Peter leapt to his feet, the bar stool teetering at the speed with which he left it.