"Hey," she called as she walked through the open bathroom door. He stepped out of the shower stall with a towel wrapped around his waist. "Oh, hi!" she said again, startled and unaccountably embarrassed, given all that had transpired the last couple of nights. It was just that he looked like some kind of Nordic sea god, all chiseled angles and wet blond hair slicked down his head. She could still hardly believe she was sleeping with someone like him.
"Hey," he said, stepping around her to get to the sink. He didn't look at her as he said, "Sorry to wake you. Last day of work today-the office always closes after the Christmas party until after New Year's, so I've got tons to do."
"Right, of course." She spun around and headed back out to the bedroom in search of clothes, swallowing the little lump of worry that had lodged in her throat.
"Shower, though, hang out as long as you like," he called after her, his voice flat, like he was reciting lines in a play.
"That's okay," she said, locating and pulling on her jeans. What had she expected? To wake up in his arms to the swell of violins? To find him looking at her with stars in his eyes? No, she wasn't that stupid. But maybe she'd expected the generous lover who'd plied her with snacks and insisted she stay the night to be a little … warmer the morning after.
"Seriously," he said, emerging from the bathroom, attention on his phone as he texted furiously. "Take your time." He disappeared into the walk-in closet. "I've got a shitload of work to do today."
Right. Okay. She might not have tons of dating experience, but she knew a blow off when she saw one. And she wasn't about to cool her heels after he bolted. She was starting to feel dirty-and not in a good way. "I've got stuff to do, too," she said, hoping her voice sounded normal. "So thanks, but I've got to go back to my place."
He emerged from the closet dressed for the office. The slim-fitting gray wool suit fit him like a glove, and the hot pink plaid tie made her smile in spite of herself. Again, it seemed like he was avoiding her eyes as he adjusted his cuff links. "Okay, tell you what. I'll leave a key on the counter downstairs. Lock up when you leave and then shove it back through the mail slot."
He wasn't even going to wait for her to get dressed? What the hell? "Okay," she managed, shooting him a fake smile-but he'd already turned away and was rifling through his briefcase. Apparently he wasn't even going to look at her once this morning. How could everything have changed like this? Last night they had mind-blowing sex and slept in each other's arms, and now they were strangers? Or maybe this was just normal for him. Maybe she was the one overreacting. It's not like he owed her anything. She headed for the bathroom, calling, "Have a great day!" over her shoulder. No need for him to know that he'd upset her. After all, it wasn't like they were having a relationship.
…
It wasn't until three o'clock, when she was rummaging through her purse looking for her work ID, that Cassie realized she still had Jack's key.
Crap. She'd hidden in his bathroom until she heard him leave. He'd been talking on the phone-to someone he was less angry at than last time she'd overheard his end of a business call. But she had heard him say, "That is not acceptable," in a voice that would have made her wilt like a daisy in the desert. His voice had grown quieter as he moved farther away from her in the house, and then she'd heard the front door close behind him.
Once he was gone, she'd waited five minutes to be safe, then hightailed it out of his house, wanting nothing more than to get to her own little apartment and try to shower away what had clearly been a huge mistake. She'd thought she could do this fuck-buddy-number-cruncher thing, but obviously she'd been wrong. It wasn't like she expected they'd ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after, but she had learned one thing about herself. She needed a fuck buddy to actually be a buddy. To be friendly. The confusing thing was that he had been that-to her if not to the rest of the world. Up until this morning, they'd enjoyed fun, flirtatious banter-in addition to the scorching sex.
But obviously she'd misunderstood. Done something wrong. Including inadvertently keeping his key.
Which he couldn't know about. She couldn't risk him thinking she'd held on to it in some kind of desperate, clinging move. If he thought she was trying to manipulate her way into a relationship, well, she'd have no dignity left. So she'd just have to swing by his house on the way to Edward's-he would still be at work. His precious key would be there when he got home, and he would be none the wiser.
An hour later she hopped off the King streetcar at the top of his street. What a ridiculous day. Thanks to her own stupidity, she was right back where she started. And what had she done in between? More homework in service of Winter Enterprises. She was pretty sure she'd gone back far enough that she could say with confidence there were no dummy suppliers other than A-plus Construction. And she'd flagged all the fishy cash withdrawals against the company's credit card. She'd been able to reconcile only a small number of them against expense claims, and from what she could tell there was about a hundred grand in cash unaccounted for-in addition to just under four hundred grand that A-plus had invoiced. She was going to recommend that Jack call in a forensic accounting firm to check her work. It's possible there were other things going on that she hadn't even thought of. She was good with numbers, yes, but she didn't have a criminal mind.
She sighed in frustration as she approached his house. Not only had she spent the whole day thinking about Jack and his problems, she was still at it. She'd done what he was paying her to do, and she was ready for the Wexler trip, so she needed to just turn her brain off until they left. Turning up the path to his house, she resolved to drop the key and be done. She'd wasted enough mental energy on Jack Winter and his …
Barely legal jailbait?
"Hi! Are you a friend of Jack's?"
A tall blonde was draping pine garlands along Jack's porch railing and looking, with her rosy cheeks and her pink fur-lined parka, like the spawn of L.L. Bean and Victoria's Secret. The girl didn't even look like she was twenty. Even as tears-stupid, juvenile tears-prickled in Cassie's eyes, her brain kicked into high gear. This was none of her business. She had no claim on him, so what-or who-he did in his spare time was none of her concern. He didn't do relationships. He'd told her that explicitly from the beginning. What he hadn't said was what he really meant. He didn't do relationships with girls like her.
Pink Parka Girl laughed as she tried to disentangle herself from a garland.
Cassie struggled for words. She could hardly explain that she was here to return Jack's house key. "Ah, actually, I think I have the wrong house."
"This stupid thing looks awful!" said the girl, finally extricating her glove from the pine bough and trotting down the steps to stand beside Cassie. "Jack is going to hate this! He has his house professionally decorated, and then I come and add this crap."
She had to get out of here. Cassie took a step, backing away like she was trying to ease her way out of the path of an animal poised to attack. Her heart was pounding accordingly, too. The key would have to wait until she could-
"Cassie?"
Jack. Stepping onto the porch. Holding a mug of coffee, as if it was totally normal for his stunning blonde hopefully eighteen-plus girlfriend to meet his plump, nearly thirty math nerd temporary-friend-with-benefits accounting helper in his front yard.
"Cassie?" the girl squealed. "As in Cassidy? The Cassidy my dad told me about?" She didn't wait for an answer. "OMG! Cassie, I'm Britney. My dad works with Jack. He's my godfather. Jack, I mean, not my dad. Because that would be stupid."
Another peal of laughter, laughter that suddenly seemed obviously of the teenage variety. The girl with the hockey game Jack had asked Carl about. Jack's goddaughter. Relief flooded Cassie. But only because it was good that Jack wasn't secretly the poster boy for statutory rape. Not because it mattered to Cassie whether Jack was seeing someone else.
"Cassie," said Jack, from his perch above them. "This is Britney Larsen, my CFO Carl's daughter. You remember Carl?"
She could only nod mutely.
"Britney and I have a little tradition where we make a gingerbread house for the company party."