Chapter 65

I sat up. The phone sounded like a landline. Funny, I didn't even realize the house had one – not hooked up, anyway.

I stood and looked around. The ringing was coming from somewhere near the rear of the house.

Suddenly curious, I began walking in that direction, listening as I went. I found the phone in the far corner of a small sitting room, jam-packed with boxes.

The phone was cherry red in a classic, retro design. It was still ringing.

I stared down at the thing. Should I answer it? Or let it ring? After all, the call couldn't be for me – unless, maybe it was Zane?

Reluctantly, I scooped up the phone and answered with a tentative, "Hello?"

But it wasn't Zane's voice that greeted me on the other end. It was the voice of an unfamiliar female, demanding, "Who's this?"

"Uh, Jane. Who's this?"

"Jane who?"

I really didn't want to say, especially considering she still hadn't answered my question. "Sorry," I said, "but I think you might have the wrong number."

"I do not," she said. "You're in my house."

I cringed. Oh, crap. She sounded close to my own age, which meant that I was probably talking to Bob's daughter, the one who'd been crying out on the front lawn.

I still hadn't responded when she spoke again. "And you're talking on my phone. Aren't you?"

Heat flooded my face. "Actually, I'm not sure."

"Is it red?"

"Maybe," I admitted.

"What, you don't know?"

I did know. I just didn't want to say.

She said, "So, what's the deal? Are you living there now?"

I glanced around. Was I living here? Zane might say yes, but I'd say no. Splitting the difference, I settled on, "Not really."

"What kind of answer is that?"

Her open hostility was hard to stomach. And yet, I couldn’t exactly blame her. After all, I was in her space, using her things.

Still, I couldn’t help but sigh. Why on Earth had I answered?

She said, "I can hear you breathing, you know."

I winced. "Sorry, it was just a sigh."

"It didn't sound like a sigh to me."

"Well, it was," I insisted.

"So, what are you?" she asked. "His new squeeze?"

And just like that, the house felt several degrees warmer. If she was talking about Zane, I'd been his so-called squeeze for one unforgettable night.

But what was I now?

I had no idea – well, other than some sort of mouth-breather, apparently.

I told the caller, "I'm not his anything. But if this is about the house, I have no idea what's going on. So if you have any concerns, you should probably talk to Zane."

"That prick?" She gave a bark of laughter. "You're kidding, right? Have you ever tried reasoning with him?"

The question hit a little too close to home. "Maybe."

"Oh yeah? And how'd that go?"

I so didn't want to say. In too many ways to count, Zane was the most unreasonable person I'd ever met. Unfortunately, he was also the most fascinating. And sexy. And yes, sometimes, so protective and generous that he took my breath away.

The caller said, "You don't have to answer. I know how it went. Terrible, right?"

I bit my lip. "Maybe."

"You keep saying maybe, but I know what that really means. You do know he only cares about himself, right?"

I shoved a hand through my hair. "Honestly, I'm just a former employee, so–"

"So, what'd he do? Fire you?"

I mumbled, "Maybe."

"I knew it! He does that all the time, you know." She made a scoffing sound. "I hope you got a good severance."

My gaze shifted toward the front of the house. Oh yeah. I got a car and triple a year's salary. Actually, it was pretty amazing, and yet, the whole arrangement still made me uncomfortable. After all, what exactly had I been paid for?

The caller gave a sudden gasp. "Oh, no. If you're there, what happened to my stuff?"

"What stuff?" I asked.

"Well, the boxes for one thing."

"Nothing happened," I assured her. "They're still here, probably right where you left them."

She made a sound of derision. "And why should I believe you? For all I know, you're using my stuff right now."

"Trust me, I'm not using your stuff."

"Oh sure..." Her tone grew sarcastic. "…says the person using my phone."

Oh, for God's sake. "Well, I wouldn’t be using your phone if you hadn't called."

"Hah! You didn't know it was me. I could've been anyone."

"Maybe," I said through gritted teeth, "but you weren't."

"But I could've been."

We went back and forth a few more times, and I had to remind myself that her paranoia might be at least a little justified. After all, she'd been dealing with Zane for who-knows-how-long.

He was enough to make anyone crazy.

Finally I said, "Look, if you want the boxes, just come and get them." I hesitated. "I mean, of course, when Zane's around."

"Oh suuuuure," she said. "And put them where, exactly? It's not like I've got room here."

I didn't know where "here" was, but I saw what she meant. I tried to put myself in her shoes. How would I feel if some stranger was living in my house, using my things?

I'd hate it. And I might even hate the person who was living there.

In spite of my own troubles, my heart went out to her. "I'm really sorry. If there's anything I can do…"

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.

Because she pounced on my offer faster than I could say, "What the hell was I thinking?"