Chapter 10

I froze, even as the word echoed out between us.

Damn it. I'd been planning to start with the letter "a", and now, the whole thing was ruined, just like my catering job.

From inside the house, the dogs sounded happier than ever. Oh sure, they could afford to be happy. They didn't need jobs.

But I did.

Ignoring the yipping behind me, I ditched my list of names and went straight to the point. I glared at Zane and demanded, "How could you?"

He looked entirely unruffled, well, except for his hair, which looked annoyingly sexy in spite of its damp disarray.

He eyed me with apparent disinterest. "How could I what?"

"Oh come on. You know what." Even after a dozen phone calls to the catering company – using Charlotte's cell phone no less, since both of my phones were still missing – I'd learned very little about my abrupt termination.

All they'd been willing to tell me was that there'd been a serious customer-complaint. They wouldn't even say from who, but it was laughably easy to guess. After all, there'd been only one person who'd known I was about to get fired.

It was the jerk standing right here in front of me, barefoot no less. I felt my eyebrows furrow. "And where are your shoes?"

"Does it matter?"

"No."

"Then why'd you ask?"

"Oh, forget it. You can guess why I'm here." My voice rose. "I was fired today. There, are you happy?"

He studied me for a long, silent moment. Funny, he didn't look happy. But then again, I'd never seen him smile. For all I knew, this was his version of jumping for joy.

But damn it, I wanted an answer. "Well?" I crossed my arms. "Are you?"

His gaze shifted to my car, parked a few paces away in the turnaround. "No."

My arms dropped to my sides. So he wasn't happy? Really? Could a prick like him actually feel regret? Cautiously, I said, "And why not?"

He was still looking at my car. "Because I've gotta fire the guard."

Huh? "What guard?"

"The guy at the gate."

Oh, no. He couldn’t mean the guy who'd let me into the neighborhood. I swallowed. Could he?

Zane looked back to me, and his expression darkened. "There's a gate out there for a reason."

His words felt like a slap. "Oh, yeah?" I said. "And why's that? To keep the riff-raff out? Is that what you're saying?"

Ignoring my tirade, he looked back to my car and muttered, "Shit."

I forced a bitter laugh. "Look, I'm ever so sorry that my car offends you, but if you hadn't gotten me fired, I wouldn't even be here, and neither would my car." I glowered in his general direction. "And just so you know, it has a nice, long history of not starting, so if you're really lucky, it'll be here all week."

To my infinite frustration, he was still looking at my car. The jerk.

Under his lack of attention, my rant was losing momentum fast. Lamely, I finished by mumbling, "And it would serve you right."

Finally, he returned his attention to me. "And where will you be?"

I didn't get it. "What do you mean?"

A note of sarcasm crept into his voice. "Are you staying too?"

I gave him my snottiest smile. "That depends. Are you leaving?"

"No."

I lifted my chin. "Then I’m not staying." Of course, it was a stupid thing to say. I mean, it's not like I'd been invited or anything. But that wasn't the point. He needed to know that I hated him, just as much as he hated me.

In fact, I hated him more, because he hated everyone, while all of my hatred was reserved just for him.

Wasn't he special?

He looked past me, toward the dogs, who, if anything, sounded happier than ever. "Good to know," Zane said. "Are we done?"

Were we? This hadn't gone anything like I'd expected. On the drive over, I'd spent a lot of time fantasizing about this particular moment. By now, I was supposed to be basking in the warm afterglow of telling him off.

I searched my heart and mind. No afterglow.

Talk about disappointing.

But I wasn't ready to give up. Not yet.

I kept my feet rooted to his doorstep and tried to think.

What now?

In my fantasies, this encounter had always ended in one of two ways – either with him begging for my forgiveness or getting so angry that he made an ass of himself.

But there he was, not on his knees and somehow managing to look sinfully delicious when anyone else in his shoes – or rather lack of shoes – would look like a drowned rat.

More annoyed than ever, I demanded, "And why are you wet?"

"Does it matter?"

Oh, great. This again? I made a sound of frustration. "Fine. Don't tell me."

"All right."

Perversely, now I really wanted to know. "It just seems to me," I persisted, "that after you made me so miserable, the least you could do is answer a simple question."

He gave me a quick once-over. "You don't look miserable to me."

"Well, I am."

"And why's that?"

Oh, for crying out loud. "Weren't you listening? You got me fired."

"And you liked that job?"

Not particularly. But I was fond of eating and paying the rent. "That's not the point."

"That's no answer."

I made a scoffing sound. "So? You won't give me any answers." As I spoke, I tried not to notice that the water droplets were easing down his abs in a way that was stupidly distracting.

And why wasn't he freezing? He should be freezing. Unless…?

My gaze narrowed. "You were in the hot tub, weren't you?"

I should've known. It was the only thing that made sense. Probably, the tub's temperature was set so high that this whole standing-around-in-the-cold thing was some sort of cool-down. Probably to him, the air felt brisk and refreshing.

That had to be it. And stubbornly, I wanted him to admit it. "I'm right, aren't I?"

"No."

Damn it. "Are you sure?"

He gave me a look. "I was swimming."

"Oh." I paused. "So the pool's heated?"

"No."

I couldn’t help but stare. "Seriously? Aren't you cold?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you're crazy."

"Trust me." His voice grew deadpan. "You have no idea."

He was right. I didn't. And I never would, because if I had my way, I'd never be seeing him again. With that in mind, I said, "Good. Because I don't want to."

Huh?

Even I wasn't sure what that meant. Regardless, it was definitely an exit line. So with my head held high, I marched past him, heading toward my car, only to feel my steps falter halfway as a terrible realization hit home.

I whirled around and said, "Wait!"

To my surprise, he'd barely moved. But it was easy to guess why. He wanted to make sure I was long gone before ducking into the warmth of his mansion.

I gave him a hard look. Not yet, buddy.

I stalked forward until we were standing within arm's reach. I said, "You're not really going to fire that guy, are you?"

"The guard? Hell yeah."

My stomach sank. "But you can't."

"I can," he said. "And I will."

Damn it. This was all because of me and my stupid car. I couldn't let that happen. "But…" Desperately, I looked around. "It can't be just your decision. I mean, the neighbors get a say-so too, right?"

"Wrong."

"But—"

"The guy's gone. Forget it."

Crap. I tried again. "But he was really nice."

Zane's jaw tightened. "Was he?"

"Definitely. So you should keep him." I shoved aside my loathing, and summoned up a hopeful smile. "I mean, nice is good, right?"

"For a guard?" Zane eyed me with cool contempt. "No."

"But he's not really a guard-guard," I said. "He's more of a welcome wagon, or like a greeter in a grocery store."

Zane gave me a look. "He's supposed to be a guard, not a welcome wagon."

"Well, yeah, but he wasn't that welcoming. I mean, I had to really talk him into letting me through."

This wasn't a lie. On the dashboard of my car, I still had a parking pass from last night. Unfortunately, the pass was for one night only, and tonight wasn't the night.

Still, when I'd explained to the guy that I had some important unfinished business, he'd been surprisingly cooperative. Damn it. The guy had done me a favor. And now, he was going to lose his job. With growing desperation, I said, "You can't fire him. It's not right."

Zane's expression hardened. "Uh-huh. Tell me something."

"What?"

"The guard, did he ask for anything?"

Oh, crap. "Uh…" I so didn't want to say. Stalling, I asked, "Like what?"

Zane gave me another hard look but said nothing.

"All right, fine," I muttered. "He might've asked for my phone number."

"And did you give it to him?"

I stiffened. "That's not really any of your business. And besides, why would you care?"

"Think. You'll figure it out."

His gaze met mine, and that annoying warmth came creeping back. I was obscenely aware that his lips were full, and his eyes would've been so amazing, if only he smiled once in a while. I mean, those faint laugh lines had to come from something, right?

I heard myself say, "I honestly don't know."

His gaze shifted to my car, and he frowned. Again.

Well, so much for that whole smiling fantasy.

He looked back to me and said, "Now, tell me something else."

"What?"

"Did you give it to him?"

"My phone number? Well, like I said, that's not really any of your business."

"So you did give it to him."

He hadn't phrased it as a question, which was fine by me. It was time to give him a taste of his own medicine. "Does it matter?"

"Yeah. It does."

"But why?"

"Because," Zane said, "I want to know how cheap he was bought off."

My mouth fell open. God, what a jerk. I wasn't sure what exactly he was implying, but it sounded vaguely obscene, like I'd blown the guy for a parking pass.

Already, I was glowering again. "Hey, it's not like I had sex with him, if that's what you're getting at."

In truth, the guard wasn't even my type. And even if he were, I wasn't a "do-it-in-the-guard-shack" kind of girl. I was more of a "take-it-slow" kind of girl. And even then, I had to be in love.

Zane said, "Good to know."

I didn't know what that meant, but I was beyond insulted. I felt a sudden urge to slap him. In truth, I'd never slapped anyone in my whole life. But if I were to get slappy, I decided, I knew exactly who I'd be slapping first.

For once, that person wasn't Paisley.

Unfortunately, it was the same person whose cooperation I now desperately needed, so I swallowed my rage and gave him a pleading look. "Seriously, don't fire him." Somehow, I managed to choke out a single world that stuck like a chicken bone, lodged in my throat. "Please?"

His gaze hardened. "No."

I made a sound of frustration. "Oh come on. There's gotta be something I can say to change your mind."

"No," he said. "There's not."

"Oh, come on." I eyed him with growing desperation. "What? You want me to beg or something?"

He made a forwarding motion with his hand. "If you want to, go ahead."

I blinked. "Go ahead and what?"

"Beg."

I stared in utter disbelief. Was he serious? He couldn’t be. And yet, he didn't look like he was joking. A nervous laugh escaped my lips. "Beg who? You?"

"I don't see anyone else around."

I drew back. "Forget it."

He gave a tight shrug. "Done."

Forget slapping. I wanted to kill him. "So, what are you saying? That if I beg, you'll let him keep his job?"

"No," Zane replied. "I'm saying that if you decide to beg, I'm not gonna stop you."

I felt my gaze narrow. "God, you are such as jerk."

He didn't even flinch. "If that's your version of begging, it needs work."

"Oh, for God's sake," I said, "I'm not gonna beg you."

"Well, there you go." And with that, he turned away, heading up his front steps. When he took the final step, the back of his hoodie hiked up just a fraction, and I stifled a gasp. Tucked in the back of his shorts, I swear I saw what looked like the handle of a gun.

No. It couldn't be. I mean, if nothing else, wouldn't he be in danger of getting the gun all wet? Or worse, shooting his own ass off?

I almost scoffed out loud. Like I'd get so lucky. Summoning up my last remaining shred of dignity, I extended both hands and flipped him the double bird – not that he saw it or anything, since I was technically flipping off his backside.

Still, it did make me feel a fraction better as I turned and marched, once again, to my car, where I got inside and slammed the door shut behind me.

Cursing the whole time, I fired up the engine and hit the gas. In a perfect world, I would've squealed out of the driveway, leaving a nice patch of rubber in my wake.

Unfortunately, my car wasn't the squealing type, unless you counted the brakes. So I settled for rattling out of his driveway in my rusty heap, praying like hell for a nice oil leak – anything to make him pay.

As I drove off, I considered the folly of everything I'd done. The only person paying for this little excursion was the security guard – some total stranger who'd given me a break. And now, I needed to warn him, because if I didn't, I'd have yet another thing to feel crappy about.

And, like everything else, this was all Zane Bennington's fault.