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“Stuck-schmuck. Get a paycheck under your belt so you can afford your own place and then go ahead and have your fake breakup. The only difference is, instead of moving to a different state, you move to a different apartment. Happens all the time.”
“Not to me. It’s too messy, and it means extending the amount of time I stay with Michael, because it would take a while to save up first, last, and a security deposit. I can’t do it. I need a clean break.”
“I’ve got your clean break coming the first week of June. That’s the best I can do.”
So much for improving her luck through the magic and science of feng shui. “All right. Keep me—”
“I know, I know. I’ll call you if any jobs come up before then. In the meantime, remember what I said. Keep your mind and your options open.”
“I get the feeling you want to keep your options open.” Veronica put Chloe’s résumé aside and smiled at her from across the clean, white desk in her clean, white office.
Chloe returned the smile and hoped hers didn’t look as strained as she felt. “I sort of do. You have a great operation here, and I’m very tempted by your offer, but—”
Veronica waved a hand. “Hey, you don’t have to explain. You’ve just moved in with your fiancé, you’ve got a wedding to plan, and a honeymoon, and the weight of all that is forcing the rest of your life up in the air right now.”
“Yeah.” And the weight of all the dishonesty was forcing her eyes to the floor. Veronica turned out to be nothing she’d expected. Going strictly by looks, the dark-eyed, raven-haired spa-owner was only a ha
ndful of years older than she. Maybe twenty-nine, at the outside. She’d opened her business four years earlier as a massage-therapy practice, and then branched out into a full-service day spa. Now she employed a staff of twenty, including massage therapists, estheticians, nail techs, and support personnel. The whitewashed, cottage-y space offered state-of-the-art treatments in a comfortable atmosphere. A casual, relaxed vibe prevailed, despite the steady stream of clients. Just the kind of place Chloe would have pictured if someone had asked her to describe the perfect spa.
Veronica tapped Chloe’s résumé. “You have great experience, and, based on our conversation, I think you’d be a really good fit here. Your philosophy on health, wellness, and client service matches ours. God knows we could use the extra hands.” She rested her forearms on her desk and leaned in, giving Chloe a contemplative look. “It also sounds like you’re happy with Helping Hands, so maybe we shouldn’t mess with a good thing. I have a proposal. How about I contract for your services through Helping Hands? We can start on a part-time basis, booking you for days when we’re doing bachelorette parties, bridal parties, and other occasions where we get hit with lots of clients at once. What do you say?”
Well damn. How could she say no? More troubling, she didn’t want to. “I say sounds like a plan.”
…
“I made the ‘discrete inquiry’ you requested.”
Michael pulled into his parking spot at Casa Clemente and took his phone off speaker so Dane’s voice no longer flooded the interior. “What did you find out?”
“I spoke to the owner of the Camp Pendleton Massage Therapy Clinic under the guise of seeking a reference for Chloe. He told me they were pleased with her skills, but Sempler terminated her assignment because their current patient load didn’t require an additional pair of hands. I also made a discrete inquiry to a certain lady friend of mine who is part of Harding’s support staff, and she assured me Harding has received no complaints about anyone under his command.”
Michael breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Dane. I owe you one.”
“You owe me many. I’ll add this to the list, which, by the way, now includes an all-expense-paid dinner at Gino’s for me and my very informative lady friend. Want to tell me what this is all about?”
“Nope.”
“Okay, then, tack two appetizers, two desserts, and a top shelf bottle of wine onto the all-expense-paid dinner.”
“Done,” Michael said and hung up before Dane could squeeze him for anything else.
He walked up the stairs to his apartment relieved and ready to celebrate having the threat of a court-martial off his head. His stomach rumbled as he neared the landing. Somebody in the complex was cooking tonight and whatever they had on the menu smelled amazing. His good mood soared when he approached his door and realized his kitchen was the source of the mouthwatering aroma, but the soaring mood dipped when he found the door unlocked. He really needed to speak to her about locking the apartment when she was there by herself. Anyone could wander in.
He locked the door behind him, looked into the kitchen, and found the oven on and the timer counting down the last few minutes of cook time. A glance into the dining area revealed the table, set for two, complete with a centerpiece of the red candles she was so fond of, but no Chloe.
He made his way into the living room, and then proceeded to the hall. An off-key version of “Call Me Maybe,” coming from the bathroom offered a big clue to her whereabouts. Holy shit, she’d left the door unlocked while she showered. Had she never seen Psycho? Where was her common sense?
He started to walk past the closed door, mentally preparing the lecture one of her parents should have delivered a long time ago, but the thought of her alone in the shower, all wet and soapy, chased Personal Safety 101 right out of his head. A surprisingly vivid image rushed in to fill the void—Chloe, with her back braced against the tile, her thighs clamped around his hips and her toes digging into his calves as she rose to meet his thrusts. Water pounding down on them, him pounding into her, the slide of her smooth, slick body against his. Hell, he could use a shower. He shrugged out of his shirt, pulled the dog tags over his head, yanked his boots off, and then tested the knob. It turned under his hand, and the door swung inward with a force he couldn’t account for.
A wall of steam hot enough to wilt metal hit him first, followed immediately by Chloe. He grunted, more from surprise than from the impact of a hundred and ten pounds of towel-draped female striding into him. She squeaked and bounced off his chest. He wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her upright. Either she recognized his touch or used her X-ray vision to see him through the dense cloud created by her thousand-degree shower, but she relaxed into him.
“Why hello, Major. Were you waiting for the shower?”
“I was hoping to join you, but apparently I’m too late.”
She ran her hand over his pec, giving him a sexy, off-center grin when he bunched the muscle for her. “I had no idea you were such a water conservationist.”
He nodded and stopped fighting what he suspected was a more-sappy-than-sexy grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Conservation is a core value. Careful,” he added when her hand drifted down the center line of his chest toward his abdomen. “I’ve also been trained to respond swiftly and aggressively to any crisis.”
