Not Quite Perfect (Oakland Hills Book 3) (16 page)

She kicked the door as she walked past.

Being alone was overrated.

* * *

Zack had heard every word.

He’d done as Liam instructed and had moved himself that afternoon to the empty cubicle between the assistants for Women’s and Men’s. When April had come up and had her illuminating conversation with Teegan, he’d been on the other side of the flimsy wall, trying to concentrate on the data he was juggling into colorful graphs and failing.

He believed that the consulting work he did was good for everyone, especially the folks at the bottom of the corporate ladder. But right then he felt sleazy. He preferred to do his observing openly, obviously, not hidden like a weasel.

Not that furtive surveillance couldn’t produce results. With him, Teegan had been agreeable and pleasant, even funny. In their short interview, she’d told him that her boss, Jennifer, wasn’t always easy to work for, but that the designer was talented and creative, and Teegan was grateful to learn from her.

To his credit, he hadn’t completely believed her. But he hadn’t expected the enthusiasm for petty cruelty she’d just showed with April. Because he could hardly jump up and take April’s side, he’d banged the phone handset into the receiver, typed as loudly as he could on his sleek laptop, and rustled papers—just to remind Teegan she wasn’t alone. It had made no difference.

April departed, and mere seconds later, Teegan grabbed her jacket and bag and walked past him, chatting on her phone with a friend about which bar to meet at.

Zack gathered his things and walked to the elevator, caught up in his thoughts. He wouldn’t tell Liam about the incident. If he did, April would hate his guts, and he wouldn’t blame her. She wanted to handle this on her own, and he thought she should. Having her big brother come in and fix it personally wouldn’t do April any favors in the long term. Teegan was probably testing her to see if she was going to appeal to her family, or if she was one of her own tribe. Needing to see if April could be trusted.

Besides, Zack had his own reputation to consider, and running to the boss about overheard conversations wouldn’t help him any. Big-picture issues, yes. Individual incidents, no. It would ruin his rapport with the staff, at all levels, going forward.

He reached the lobby, wishing he felt more at peace with his decision.

Then he saw April walking toward him, and all possibility of peaceful thought went out the window.

“Hey,” he said. His usual charming self.

Had her cheeks already been that bright shade of pink, or was it his doing? “Oh,” she said. “Hi.”

He didn’t want her to think he’d been lying in wait for her, so he turned and opened the door to the street. “Have any plans for the weekend?”

“Definitely,” she said, striding past him. The false spring of the month before had succumbed to a winter storm blasting the California coast from the northwest. Rain pelted both of them in the face as they headed out into the night.

Zack opened his umbrella and offered it to April, who had lifted her bag over her head as a makeshift shelter.

“Something fun, I hope,” he said.

“What?”

“This weekend. Your plans. Fun.” The sight of her lips glistening with rainwater had obliterated all the verbs from his mind.

Well, not all.
Lick
,
taste
, and
suck
remained.

He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t be that guy. That creepy guy. He had to be professional. He slowed his pace so she would walk ahead, get away from him.

But April put the bag down at her side and looked up, letting the rain strike her in the face. After a few long seconds, she lowered her head and fell back to walk beside him. “I’ve just figured it out.”

“Figured what out?”

“Everything. Life.” She tilted her head back again and grimaced—it might’ve started as a smile, but a large droplet smacked her in the eye.

He fought the impulse to move the umbrella over her. “This just happened?”

“Just now. Want to know what it is? The secret of happiness?”

He was worried she was going to be cold on the train ride home. Her wet hair formed ringlets around her face. “I’d love to know,” he said.

“The trick,” she said, “is not minding.”

“Ah,” he said.

“I mean that in the Zen way, not the masochistic sociopath way.”

“Thanks for clarifying,” he said. “Are you sure you don’t want to borrow my umbrella? I only live a few blocks away.”

“That’s right. You do. The best commute I ever had was when I lived in Liam’s condo and worked downtown.”

He moved it over a few inches. At least her shoulder wouldn’t get wet. “Here. Take it.”

“I am one with the rain.” She pushed it away. “I am the willow. I bend, I do not break.”

“You can bend and stay dry at the same time.”

“Nope,” she said. “I’m tired of cowering. I’m going to walk with my head high, damn it.”

He wanted to point out that holding the umbrella with the handle allowed placing one’s head at any altitude one wished, but he understood she was making a philosophical point. “Heading home?” The BART station was two blocks ahead of them to the left. His condo was straight ahead. He should say goodbye.

“I had a really shitty day,” she said. “But look at me—I’m totally fine.” She held out her arms and embraced the sky.

“Want to go get a drink?”

Well, now he’d done it. It was probably a very bad idea, as bad as ideas come.

 
She looked at him and sighed. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Chapter 14

F
EELING
RECKLESS
, A
PRIL
LED
HIM
to her favorite bar south of Market Street, not too far from his condo. It was a yuppie bar, of course, couldn’t be helped, but not too trendy, and they had excellent pita chips.

She would’ve preferred to relax with Virginia, who finally had forgiven her for almost getting her into trouble with Zack months earlier, but even a man who looked queasy after kissing her was better than going home to her mother on a Friday night, especially after a day like today.

“What would you like?” he asked, gesturing at the bar. It was blissfully free of any theme other than
drink
.

“Promise not to laugh?”

“I may do so eventually,” he said, “but I’m usually pretty good at stopping myself.”

She smiled. He really was kind of cute. “I’ll have an appletini.”

“Seriously?” he asked. She scowled and he held up his hands. “Just kidding. I’ll get two.”

Because the rain hadn’t scared enough people away, she had to fight a damp, thirsty Friday-night crowd to find two empty chairs for them at a cramped table near the bathroom. Very romantic.

Which was perfect, of course. She didn’t think she was going to jump him again—she’d never before wasted her time on a guy who wasn’t interested—but it was good to avoid temptation when she was feeling so vulnerable.

She watched him through a gap in the crowd. He had a Clark Kent thing going on, no doubt about it—that dark hair, the glasses—she really, really liked the days he wore glasses—the square jaw, the sensual lips… Her belly tingled at the memory of his kiss.
 

She looked away, chewing a fingernail. Not that she was going to sleep with him, but did he have to swear so adamantly that he wouldn’t touch her, either?

The trick is not minding
, she told herself. When he arrived with two colorful martini glasses, she was able to greet him with a smile. They could be pals. Both outsiders, neither of them fashionistas, new to Fite, oddballs in life—they’d be pals.

She reached into her bag for cash to give him. “I thought you were kidding about getting one for yourself.”

“What’s that?” He frowned at the bill in her hand.

“I’m paying for my drink.”

“My treat,” he said.

She paused, but she’d never been one to turn down a free cocktail, so returned her cash to her wallet. “I’ll get the next round.” She sipped the enormous basin of sweet, alcoholic liquid in her hands, wishing she’d ordered an Irish coffee, because she’d started to shiver. Like so many of her good ideas, dancing in the rain hadn’t withstood the test of time. And she’d always put on a show for an audience. If Zack hadn’t been there, she probably would’ve run like hell for the train and been halfway home—and dry—by now.

And alone with Mom and her poop-eating dog.

Zack was looking around the joint with that studious, owlish expression of his. “Is this a gay bar?”

She laughed. “God, no. I’ve gone home with—” She stopped herself before she shared her fun-loving, sexually liberated past with him. “With… the knowledge that this is definitely
not
a gay bar. There are women here, see?”

“Mostly men, though. And lots of women like going to gay bars because they don’t get hassled.”

“You know this how?” she asked.

He ran his thumb along the rim of his glass. “My late wife. Meg. And her best friend. They used to go to a place in Brooklyn just for that reason.”

“Are you
sure
it was for
that
reason?” she asked, then realized she’d just joked about his dead wife being a lesbian. “Oh my God, I’m sorry—”

His hand touched hers. “It’s all right.” He smiled. “It’s much better to make jokes than tiptoe around like I’m going to burst into tears.”

“Tasteless jokes.”

“Even better.” He moved his hand away from hers.

Well, one thing was working out—she wasn’t cold anymore. In fact, she was feeling rather warm.

Awkwardness settled between them like a racist uncle at a wedding. They both shifted in their seats, their gazes darting around, settling on anyone but each other.

“So,” she said, finally. “How was your day? Other than Liam moving you up into—”

Into the design assistant cube farm. How had she forgotten?

“It was fine,” he said. “Other than that.”

She’d just realized why he’d asked her out for a drink. “You heard me, didn’t you? When I had my conversation with Teegan.”

He lifted his glass for a long swallow. “I heard.”

Her body tensed. “Well. I suppose I know what Liam will want to talk about this weekend. He’ll probably make a special visit tonight, with Merry in tow.” She drained her martini and felt the booze tingle under her skin.

She’d have to convince Liam to do nothing. That would be a challenge. Her brother was a corporate workaholic with an Olympic medal—doing nothing was as foreign to him as wearing pink lace panties.

Well, she
assumed
. Months of living in his condo hadn’t unearthed any secret kinks of her big brother’s other than how he liked to alphabetize his bookshelf by title and got twitchy if she returned one to the wrong place on the shelf.

“I didn’t tell Liam,” Zack said.

“Monday, then.”

“I won’t tell him.”

“Why the hell not?”

He put his drink down. “Do you want me to?”
 

“No.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because it’s none of his business.”

“Well, technically, that’s exactly what it is.”

“I’ll handle it myself. Teegan is just playing alpha to see if she can get away with it. She’ll get bored eventually.”

He nodded. “I agree.”

“You do?”

“Don’t feed the trolls,” he said.

“Exactly!” She picked up their empty glasses. “Another round?”

“No… yes. Sure.”

She stood up. “You’re really not going to tell Liam about the pretty mean girl shitting on his baby sister?”

“If Jennifer, Teegan’s boss, encourages her to treat all of the support staff, freelancers, and coworkers with petulant inconsideration, and she’s not the only one who does, then I’ll include that observation in my general report on the team, which I provide at the end of the month.”

“And you’ll leave me out of it?”

“I might change my mind if you keep asking.” He pointed at the glasses in her hands. “How about a beer this time? I’m not colorful enough for the stuff you drink.”

Another urge to kiss him struck her, but this time she had the willpower to hold herself back. She’d taken home enough men from this bar—too many hookups that went nowhere. “You got it,” she said as a shiver racked her.

It was just her wet clothes. Nothing to do with the way she wanted to swim in his dark blue eyes.

She got two pints of lager and scanned the crowed for familiar faces. It had been over a year since she’d met the last guy from here she’d gone home with. Well, to Liam’s home. And he’d interrupted them just when things were getting fun.

She sipped her beer as she walked back to the table, feeling older and wiser. She didn’t miss dating. Her more tender parts missed the physical contact, the rush of pleasure, the naked embrace, but the rest of her was glad to be out of that game. None of the guys had ever been as great as she’d hoped. Not as funny, not as kind, not as smart. Although she’d had quite a few one-night stands, and relationships that lasted a week or so, she’d always hoped it would turn out to be forever. That the cute guy with the dimple in his cheek and the twinkle in his eye would be the one to understand her, to love her…

She was smarter now. Her last boyfriend had been such a loser, yet she’d hung on to him for months, squeezing him like a withered slice of lemon over iced tea, unable to give up on the hope there could be
more
. How couldn’t there be? How could she be so wrong about people, about men, again and again? That guy at the bar wasn’t a secret, misunderstood genius—he was just another self-absorbed dork with an obsidian earring and a Japanese tattoo.

She placed both pints on the table and flopped into her chair. Her underwear had crept up her ass, glued in place by the damp pants—the Fite hiking trousers she’d worn in an attempt to fit in and impress.

“You know what I need?” she said, toasting him with her beer before chugging the first quarter of it. “I need a makeover. I obviously don’t have the knack for this corporate uniform thing.”