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“My name is Chloe by the way,” the girl chirped, peeking over Simon’s shoulder. “I really don’t like being called ‘Cookie’ just because I sell cookies. I sell donuts, too. And lemon squares. And I’m studying to be a social worker.”
Mary Paige felt a flash of guilt. Hadn’t been fair of her to lump Chloe into the same pile as Simon—the girl had ambition. “Sorry, Chloe, but I really do wish you and your new boyfriend would vacate my apartment. I’m tired and want a bath.”
“No prob,” Chloe said, sliding by them all and trotting down the steps, backpack swinging behind her. “Later, Simon, who isnotmy boyfriend.”
“Later,” Simon said, failing to move from the threshold.
“Now it’s your turn,” Brennan said in a growly voice, eyeballing Simon.
Simon gave Brennan his own version of a withering look. “Who are you to tell me anything? Don’t remember your name on the lease of this apartment.”
“Come on, Simon, it really is time to move on. After the whole deal with the money and then this episode today in the kitchen, I think we’re really done here,” Mary Paige said, in the same voice she used when she had to milk Betty Ann, her mother’s Jersey cow. Betty Ann was a cow version of bitch supreme and kicked hard.
“Are you doing this guy, M.P.? Is that what this is? ’Cause now it makes sense why you wouldn’t let me connect the dots.” Simon drew a line from one of his nipples to the other.
Brennan moved as quick as a cat—a pissed-off jungle cat—and twisted a fist in Simon’s tank top. “She saidget out.”
His words were low and lethal. Mary Paige could almost imagine her grumpy Scrooge as a supersecret spy…or simply a guy who had a personal trainer. Fear flashed in Simon’s eyes before he threw up his hands. “’Kay, dude. Maybe you should lay off the juice.”
Brennan released Simon, who immediately slunk inside her apartment, tossing Brennan his own fierce look. She clasped her hands behind her back, unsure whether she should thank Brennan or fuss at him for manhandling Simon. “You didn’t have to do that, but I appreciate the intention.”
Brennan tilted his head toward her. “Are you going to ask me in?”
She thought about that. “Do you want to come in?”
“Don’t mind if I do,” he said stepping into her world like a man who owned every room he entered—as a Henry, that probably happened often. The Henry family owned plenty of yard all over the Crescent City.
She followed him and shut the door only because it was still abnormally cold, and the sun had gone to bed early. Otherwise, she might have left it open so as not to shut herself inside with two men who made her nervous. Simon shoved clothes into an old duffel while muttering under his breath. Brennan monitored him like a prison warden. As if he expected Simon to pull something funny. Which was weird considering Brennan had no idea what belonged to her or what belonged to Simon. It was moot, but she figured Simon didn’t know that.
“I’ll grab your stuff from the bathroom,” Mary Paige said, trying to escape the drama by giving her hands something to do.
“Already got it,” Simon said, tossing deodorant and body spray into the bag with the velocity of a major-league pitcher. He zipped the bag with angry flourish. Mary Paige handed him the bag that held his camera and various photography supplies, and he jerked it from her hand.
“Well, guess I’ll see you later, Simon,” Mary Paige said, feeling a little ping of regret at the circumstances of his leaving. No. She shouldn’t feel that way. That’s what got her in this mess in the first place. She had to stop picking up strays and getting walked on by everyone in her world…especially guys like Simon.
“Yeah, whatever,” he grumbled as he dashed a go-to-hell look at Brennan and headed for the door. The slam literally shook the house and a picture Caleb had painted for her fell off the wall.
“Well, that was fun,” Brennan said, picking the bright attempt at postmodernism from the old, mismatched chair into which it had thankfully fallen.
He studied the childish rendering that she was proud of, given how difficult art was for Caleb with his cerebral palsy, before setting it against the end table.
“So why are you really here?” Mary Paige said.
* * *
WHYWASHEHERE?
Brennan really didn’t have a good answer. He’d used the contract as an excuse to see where she lived, telling himself it was to protect his grandfather and their family business. But also, a small part of him wanted to see her again, and he had no clue why. Hell, Creighton was probably at his place now reclining against his headboard wearing a racy thong and sipping a martini…which wasn’t comforting in the least since he really wanted to be done with Creighton.
So why the fascination with Miss Merry Sunshine?
He hadn’t the foggiest.
Maybe it was the idea of Creighton that had him detouring toward the shabby neighborhood harboring colorful people like the two who’d just left, along with several stray dogs. He’d nearly hit one out front, and he hadn’t missed the food bowls hidden under the scraggly azaleas. He’d be willing to bet Mary Paige fed the strays. Very irresponsible.
Creighton and her dog-eared copy ofBridemagazine fled to the back of his mind as he contemplated the woman in front of him. Mary Paige looked at him expectantly before picking up a small fob and pressing it.
The Christmas tree in the corner came to life in brilliant color.
