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“No, I don’t believe so,” she said calmly.
“You’ve made me a laughingstock here at the plant—”
“If anyone is laughing, it’s because you let him,” she interrupted. “I’m not going to talk to you about it on the phone. If you want to talk to me in a civil tone when you get home, I’ll wait up for you. If you intend to rant and rave, I have better things to do than listen to you.”
He hung up on her.
Her hand was shaking a little now as she replaced the receiver. Tears blurred her eyes. If he thought she would beg him for forgiveness, he was sadly mistaken. She had lived the last two years on Galan’s terms and been miserable. Maybe it was time she lived her life on her terms. If she lost Galan, at least she could hold on to her self-respect.
The phone rang again half an hour later.
T.J. frowned as she went to answer it. She didn’t think Galan was likely to call back, but maybe he’d thought about what she said and realized she wasn’t going to roll over and play dead this time when he raised his voice.
“Hello,” she said.
“Which one are you?”
She frowned at the ghostly whisper. “What? Who is this?”
“Are you Ms. A? B? Which one are you?”
“Get a life,” snapped the new T.J., and she slammed down the phone.
eleven
Jaine jumped out of bed early the next morning, determined to leave for work before Sam was stirring. While her heartbeat accelerated with excitement at the thought of sparring with him again, her head told her he had likely pulled up the list on the Web last night after they returned home from pigging out on small Chinese doughnuts. He was worse than a pit bull in not letting go of anything, and he had bugged her about the rest of the list the entire time they were eating. She did not want to know his thoughts on anything after number seven on the list.
She was on her way out the door at the ungodly time of seven A.M. when she saw that her answering machi
ne was full of messages again. She started to hit the delete button, but hesitated. With her parents traveling, anything could happen: one of them could become ill, or there might be some other sort of emergency. Who knows? Shelley or David might even have called to apologize.
“Fat chance,” she muttered as she hit the play button.
There were messages from three reporters, one print and two television, requesting interviews. Two hang-ups, back-to-back. The sixth call was from Pamela Morris, who introduced herself as Gina Landretti’s sister. Her voice had the mellow, modulated tones of a television announcer as she informed Jaine she would love to book her on Good Morning America to talk about the List, which was absolutely sweeping the country. The seventh message was from People magazine, requesting the same.
Jaine fought down rising hysteria as she listened to three more hang-ups. Whoever it was waited for a long time, silently, before hanging up. Idiot.
She cleared the calls; she had no intention of returning any of them. This whole situation had moved beyond silly into downright ridiculous.
She made it out of the driveway without sight of Sam, which meant her morning was off to an even-tempered start. She felt so good that she tuned the radio to a country station and listened to the Dixie Chicks singing that Earl had to die. She even sang along, and wondered if Sam the cop would think Earl’s death was justifiable homicide. Maybe they could even argue about it.
She knew she had it bad when the thought of arguing with Sam was more exciting than, say, winning the lottery. She had never before met anyone who not only didn’t blink an eye at anything she said but could go toe-to-toe with her—verbally, that is—and not break a sweat. It was a very freeing notion, that she could say anything and he wouldn’t be shocked. Sometimes she had the feeling he enjoyed rousing her temper. He was cocky—in more ways than one—and irritating, macho, smart, and sexy as hell. And he had the proper reverence for her dad’s car, plus he had done a pretty good job washing and waxing the Viper.
She had to get those birth control pills, fast.
There were more reporters at the Hammerstead gates. Someone must have tipped this bunch off about what she drove, because flashbulbs began exploding as she slowed for the guard to lift the barrier arm. He grinned down at her. “Wanna take me for a test drive and see if I meet the requirements?” he asked.
“Let me get back to you,” she said. “I’m already booked for the next two and a half years.”
“Figures,” he said, and winked.
She was so early that the puke-green hallway was empty. She was not so early, however, that some of the nerds weren’t ahead of her. She paused to read the new elevator sign: REMEMBER: FIRST YOU PILLAGE, THEN YOU BURN. THOSE WHO DO NOT COMPLY WILL BE SUSPENDED FROM THE RAIDING TEAM.
There, she felt better; a day without an elevator sign was a terrible thing to endure.
She was in her office before she realized the reporters and guard hadn’t upset her. They weren’t important. Her battle with Sam was far more interesting, especially since they both knew where it was heading. She had never had an affair before, but she figured the one she would have with Sam would singe the sheets. Not that she intended to be too easy for him; he was going to have to fight to get her, even after she was on birth control pills. It was the principle of the thing.
Besides, frustrating him would be fun.
