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  She goaded him further. “Bailey does a lot of things with you, directly. Doesn’t she?”

  Margaux made to grab his hand again. For a slip of a woman her grip was vise-like and Tyler eased his hand out of her pincer-like hold once more.

  “I don’t know what you think Bailey has told you, but—”

  Margaux smiled at him suddenly and her voice softened. “Let’s not fight, Tyler. I’ve missed you. I just want to spend a few hours with you, somewhere different for a change. Can’t we enjoy being together? You do like being with me, don’t you?”

  Tyler lifted his chin and looked down at her, wanting to make a getaway. He watched Margaux carrying on as though the exchange they’d just had was perfectly normal.

  He’d have to see this through. And then tell Chrissie he wouldn’t see her again.

  They carried on walking along an avenue of fir trees. She wanted to talk. At least if they were eating, she’d have her mouth full, and he could at least pretend to be busy with his food.

  The way it was now, she had him wide open, vulnerable, just to herself. Of course that was just how she wanted it. His mind ran through his options. He’d never been in a situation where he’d wanted to stop seeing a client. Most just fell away after a few appointments. And there were always newer weird and interesting women coming his way.

  In fact, Margaux had been his longest standing client. Right from the start.

  She made to grab his hand again and this time he yanked it away in frustration. “No touching, no nothing, remember?”

  “We’re only holding hands,” she responded petulantly.

  “Chrissie’s rules.” Weary again, he hooked his thumbs into his front pockets, coming to a stop near the avenue of Monterey pine trees that lined the path they were walking on.

  “You threw the rules out of the window for Bailey.” She didn’t smile this time, just eyed him, waiting for him to deny it.

  But he couldn’t. Because he knew she was onto something that wasn’t that far from the truth.

  “I thought you liked me more.” She sounded like an angst-ridden teenager who’d broken up with her boyfriend.

  Tyler swallowed. “I do like you. But you know these…these appointments are only that, right? Appointments. Chrissie won’t allow anything else.”

  “I can make do without anything else. I promise.” She started to flap her hands, getting a little agitated. “Just promise me no other women, okay?”

  Tyler scratched the back of his neck, unsure of how to answer that.

  Margaux advanced towards him, wringing her hands wildly. “Okay?”

  He swallowed again. He’d have to talk to Chrissie about this; he was in unfamiliar waters. For now, he had to get on safer ground.

  “Shall we have some coffee? Maybe you’re hungry? Breakfast? Brunch?” she suggested.

  They had only been out for less than thirty minutes, but he grasped at the opportunity.

  He needed something much stronger.

  Chapter 8

  The sense of exhilaration she’d felt on returning home quickly deflated when she checked her email and saw that there was still no news regarding the Programming course.

  But at least she had a part-time job—just in case she got accepted for a place. And if she didn’t—well, she’d go to plan B, which was to find another way to get onto the programming path. There was always another way.

  Zoe pulled a face as she mashed up an avocado with some oatmeal. She scowled, looking at the sticky green goo, then remembered that Becca had told her to add some honey. So she added a dollop of honey. It was now a sticky, gloopy mess. She disappeared into the bathroom and smeared the gloop over her face. According to Becca this would help her dry skin repair, nourishing it with goodness.

  Moving through her mental to-do list, she looked through the kitchen drawers and found a screwdriver.

  No way was she going to sleep at an angle tonight.

  She fiddled around with the caster wheel and wondered how the hell it had come off; maybe it had just gotten loose over the years. Trying to hold the wheel in place and screw it back on was tricky. She needed another pair of hands.

  Maybe if she wedged a thick enough book under the edge, to lever it up—then she might be able to. She got up, looked around. One of the cookery books in the kitchen would do it. She rushed out to grab it, grabbed it, and almost rushed back, when Tyler walked through the front door and looked like he was about to scream when he saw her standing there with a green face and a lethal screwdriver in her hand.

  “Holy shit, Zoe.” He closed the door behind him, his face ashen.

  “I’m fixing the wheel,” she said by way of an explanation.

  He stared at her as though in a trance. “What happened to your face?”

  But she was already done with that conversation and was trying to wedge the cookbook under the couch.

  “What are you doing?” Tyler walked in, looking at her curiously.

  “I’m fixing my bed.” She knelt carefully again, trying to be careful so as not to smudge her green goo on the carpet. It was trickier with her facemask, she wasn’t going to get close enough down there to hold the wheel in place to be able to screw it back on.

  “Need a hand?” he asked. She glanced at him, not wanting to admit that she did. He was all in black today and he looked striking, with his height and his lean build.

  “I can manage.” She bent down again, and then it sunk in that she needed to lift the end of the couch off the floor if she was going to screw the caster wheel in—it wasn’t going to happen at this angle, book or no book.

  She fiddled around, growing ever more conscious because she could feel the heat of Tyler’s stare. She knew she looked ridiculous but she didn’t care. Right now nothing mattered more than getting a good night’s sleep on a level couch. She started her new job tomorrow. The manager must have been desperate because she got the impression he didn’t like her much, just the way he had acted all cold and curt towards her.

  She didn’t particularly warm to him either, but she needed the money.

  “Here, move out of the way.” Tyler dropped to his knees and then bent down, peering under the couch. “I’ll lift it, and you screw that in, okay?”

  She tsked loudly. “I know, I got it.” She got the wheel ready.

  He lifted the couch easily and tilted it almost a foot off the floor, giving her easy access to do her bit. When she had tightened it enough, he slowly brought it back down.

  The couch was level. “Perfect,” said Zoe, smiling and then her facemask cracked.

  “You’re welcome,” Tyler said, raising himself to standing. “What is that?” He jutted his chin toward her face.

  “Avocado with oatmeal.”

  “Yummy.”

  “Want some?”

  “I’ll pass, thanks.” He hovered around, looking at her things arranged neatly around the room. “Are those yours?”

  She got up, noticed he was referring to the programming brochures that lay on the single seater, and nodded. “I’ve applied for that course.”

  “I didn’t know you and Billy were in the same line of work.” He looked through it carefully, as if he was actually taking the time to read through the information.

  “We’re not.” She picked up the screwdriver. “I want to learn something new.”

  He looked at her in surprise. “Really?”

  She nodded, waiting for him to politely leave now that they had had their small talk for the week. He didn’t seem to be in as foul a mood as he had been when she’d arrived.

  “How does something like this work? Is it all day? Like being at college?”

  He seemed really interested in it, beyond asking basic questions.

  “It’s an intensive, four-month course. Seven hours a day. And it costs just over six thousand dollars—”

  He whistled at the figure. “Six thousand?”

  She felt herself defending her choice. “I’ve applied for a grant, which could give me
a third off if I get approved for it. I don’t know. I’m still waiting.”

  “How will you afford it?”

  “Do you want to do a course like this or something?” she asked, more because he was being so inquisitive. And his answer surprised her.

  “I never really looked into it. Maybe I should.”

  She wondered what kind of course would interest him. “I got a job too.” Might as well inform him, in case he was beginning to think she might not be able to afford rent and a course.

  His eyes widened. “That was quick.” She wasn’t sure if she heard admiration in his voice.

  She dismissed the idea before she’d even opened her mouth—an action that was rendered difficult now that the oatmeal was beginning to harden on her face.

  “It’s just a part-time waitressing job. In the evening, after the course.” She laughed at the absurdity of her planning her life around a course she hadn’t even been accepted on.

  “You move fast.”

  She dismissed his compliment. “Have you heard from Ethan?”

  He shook his head. “You planning on staying here?”

  “It’s my room, remember.” Her voice tightened.

  He let out a sigh. “If it makes it easier, I can sleep on the couch until the whole mess is sorted, and you can sleep in the bed in your old room.”

  “What? And ruin your entertainment chances?” She laughed, but stopped immediately, seeing his stony face. She wished she’d kept her mouth shut. At least he was acknowledging that the room was hers—and she’d gone and shot down his offer.

  “I’m sorry—that was silly of me.”

  He remained indifferent, which made her feel even more foolish. “Thanks, but no. I’m sure we’ll hear from Ethan soon. I’ve left him lots of messages.”

  “We’ll see,” he agreed. “I think you need to wash that off.” He moved towards the door. “Your face is starting to crack.”

  Chapter 9

  “You’re sure there’s nothing to tell me?” Chrissie fixed him with a stern gaze.

  Sitting across from her desk, Tyler stared back at her. She’d summoned him to her office. She only ever conducted business via phone or email, and the fact that he was now sitting face-to-face with her in her office meant it was something serious.

  He acted self-assured and calm, though he felt anything but that.

  “No. There’s nothing to tell you.” But his mind was running through things that had happened recently. He’d only seen Margaux a few days ago—had she said something? She’d been on at him about the Bailey situation lately and he hadn’t given anything away. He suspected she was only probing for more information.

  There really was nothing going on—anymore. Which was precisely the problem that Margaux Scott seemed to be having. She wanted what Bailey had had, he guessed, or maybe she wanted him to stop seeing everyone else too.

  Which was crazy, because for one thing, it was his job—to see the others. And, more importantly, there was no question of exclusivity. What did she think this was? A relationship?

  That whole situation with Bailey was complicated enough. He wasn’t ashamed of anything. He and Bailey were both consenting adults. They’d spent a night together. Two, actually, but only one getting physical. The first time all they had done was talk for hours.

  Chrissie wouldn’t sack him for one indiscretion, would she?

  He shifted in his chair.

  No, this was Chrissie’s way of trying to get information out of him. He doubted she had anything concrete. Margaux might have dropped vague references and this was Chrissie’s way of trying to find out if anything was going on.

  Though he wouldn’t put it past Margaux to fill Chrissie’s head with silly bits of gossip in retaliation for his rude behavior towards her. He wouldn’t be so rude if she’d only stop texting and calling him. Perhaps that was the real reason Margaux was mad at him.

  “Margaux wants to see you again. Next week. Dinner at her house.”

  Christ, it was a week away, and he’d only just seen her. “You called me in to tell me that?” He looked at her suspiciously.

  Chrissie narrowed her eyes and fixed her gaze on him. “You said there was nothing to tell me.”

  “There isn’t.”

  “Be very careful, Tyler, and play by the rules. I run a very respectable agency here.”

  “I always play by the rules. Can I go now?” He got up.

  “Go. I’ve got work to do.”

  He got up and headed toward the door.

  “How was golf?” she asked, as an afterthought. He turned and glanced over his shoulder. Her eyes were fixed on her computer screen.

  “Crap,” he replied and walked out.

  As soon as he walked into the apartment, the smell of freshly made cupcakes calmed his testy nerves. It was the most comforting of smells and the very thing he needed.

  The aroma of just baked home cooking was something he hadn’t experienced for a long time. Possibly not since his teens when his mother used to bake—back in the good days, before his father had made all that money acquiring car dealerships as fast as he could.

  Having survived his interrogation by Chrissie, Tyler welcomed having another person to talk to. Even if it was only Zoe. He found himself liking having her around. She was a bit of normal in his world where he usually dealt with all kinds of crazy.

  Even a few days ago when he’d run into her wearing a snot-colored green paste on her face, with her hair scraped back into a ponytail. She’d scared the living daylights out of him.

  She turned around, having closed the oven door and said, ‘Hi.”

  “Hey.” He walked over, peered through the oven window. “You’re baking? Another one of your many talents?”

  His comment stopped her momentarily, before she carried on clearing things up from the worktops.

  “I got sick of the smell of pancakes,” she answered, “I’d better get use to it because I need the job.”

  He remembered: her new part-time work. “How was it?” He moved towards the fridge, grabbed a can of Coke. He noted she had flour in her hair.

  She looked over her shoulder and sighed. “Hard work. I never thought about it, but being a waitress sucks.”

  “Not a good day, then?” he asked. He craved some normal conversation for a change. After all, if they were to be housemates, they’d have to learn to get along.

  She wiped down the surfaces furiously, in her yellow marigold gloves. “Customers can be really rude. Real assholes. You wouldn’t think it.”

  He took a big gulp of Coke and resisted the urge to burp in her presence. “I can believe it. People seem to think they have one over you just because they’ve paid for a service.”

  She stood up straight, a wet sponge in her hand, and her other hand on her hip. “Your women are rude to you?” she asked, disbelief in her voice.

  Tyler shifted from one foot to the other; this was the last thing he wanted to talk about. “Correction, they’re not my women but, yeah, you’d be surprised,” he replied, and left it at that.

  “How?” she waited expectantly.

  His face hardened. “Some of them are pleasant, really sweet. But some of them can turn nasty, demanding, talk down to you—it’s kind of hard to explain.”

  “That woman you were talking to on the phone that day when I got here—was that something to do with it?”

  He nodded his head slowly.

  “You don’t want to talk about it?”

  He shook his head.

  She moved towards the sink in her cleaning crusade and turned her back to him.

  “Where is it that you’re working?” He remembered she hadn’t told him.

  “At the Pancake House.”

  “The one down by the center of town?” He and the boys, back when he hung out with Billy and his crew, used to go there quite often. It was reasonably cheap and the pancakes were awesome.

  “Yup.”

  Seemed that she didn’t want to talk about it much ei
ther. He wasn’t going to get much out of her. But her ability to get a job, any job, in such a quick space of time, made him look at her with new eyes. It was like he was peeling back the layers to this shell of a person he’d only known by sight before, someone who seemed so inconsequential that he hadn’t even known she was Billy’s girlfriend until a few weeks in.

  But now he was getting to know her—and he found himself looking forward to catching conversation with her, when he could.

  “If it really sucks, couldn’t you to back to where you worked before you and Billy took off?” He wondered what it was that made her come back and why she’d split with Billy. The two of them had looked pretty solid during the few times he’d seen them together.

  “God, no. That sucked even more. Besides I wanted to try something new.” He waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t. The smell of cupcakes was mouthwatering and he was having a hard time moving his butt out of the kitchen.

  “Working at the Pancake House is something new,” he told her, and moved out of the way, seeing that she was coming at him with a damp cloth. The thought that she might be OCD about cleaning suddenly occurred to him. Moving toward the table, he eased back on one of the chairs, sitting at an angle so that he could watch her as she flitted around.

  He flung a lazy arm over the top of the chair and tried not to make it so obvious that he was observing her. She was small, way too cute. Maybe Billy had been into cute. But she was still stick thin, and not exactly well endowed.

  “It beats working as an escort, I’d say.” She rinsed her hands and dried them, glancing over at him. The frown on her face warning him to say something in retaliation. He hadn’t meant it in the manner in which she’d taken it.

  She shot him a look of pure loathing—and it amused him. He had women, rich women, desperate women all wanting to get their claws on his body when he’d been a dancer, half naked in bars and clubs, all after him for drink, and for something more.

  And this scrawny little upstart couldn’t wait for him to get out of her way.

  He looked for a suitable retort, and, unable to find one, was reminded that he’d finally managed to get a hold of Ethan.