Leasing Love: A #GeekLove Contemporary Ménage Romance (Your Ad Here Book 2) (9 page)

“Call Jordan.” Chloe said the phrase for what felt like the millionth time. Her phone, sitting in its cradle attached to the dashboard, dialed. Like every other time, her call went straight to voice mail. “Hang up,” she said.

When Rae broke the layoff news, Chloe was floored. Dumbfounded. She argued in disbelief. It was like talking to a tablet with a dead battery, for all the good it did her. She’d texted Jordan a short note.
Let’s talk. Lunch?
He didn’t reply and she told herself it wasn’t a big deal. He was brooding, and he deserved to. A few hours passed, as did lunchtime, and still no answer. She had to call.

Concern set in when she couldn’t get a hold of him or find anyone who knew where he was. It rapidly blossomed to almost-suffocating panic—irrational, probably, but that didn’t stop it—and she took the rest of the day off.

She pulled into the parking garage of their condo complex. Jordan’s car sat in its spot. The sight wasn’t as reassuring as she expected. Her heart hammered against her ribs, as she sprinted up the stairs to the second floor. Concern and exertion stole her breath, leaving her panting when she reached their place.

She knew how much the job meant to Jordan, because it meant the same to her. They took it from him today, and she didn’t dare guess what his frame of mind was. Unfortunately, her imagination didn’t believe her resolve, and continued to assault her with horror scenarios of him doing something rash either with the media, or to himself. “Jordan?” she called as she walked inside.

No answer. His keys were on the table by the door. “
Jordan.
” There was a good reason he wasn’t replying. Lost in a game. Headphones on. Something.

She looked in every room as she stalked through the house, concern spiraling out of control as each was empty. She reached the room at the back of the house, that served as their office. When she saw him seated at his computer, relief flooded her. “Jordan?”

His dual monitors displayed multiple browser tabs and windows. The ones she could see displayed various articles about the assault—some with pictures of Stew, face bruised and swollen, others with images of Jordan being escorted from the convention center by police.

She crossed the room in a few short strides and grabbed his shoulder.

He jumped and whirled. “Holy shit. You scared me.”

“You’re one to talk.” Irritation flowed into her retort, though she hadn’t meant it to. “I’m freaking out because I don’t know where you are or if you’re all right, and you’re—what? Making things worse?”

“What am I supposed to do? Roll over and take this?”

“Polish your résumé—or create one—so you’ve got work when your severance runs out. Sorry. That came out wrong.” Money was the furthest thought from her mind right now. Why did she say that?

His laugh was bitter. “Severance? Right. That’s a pretty huge assumption, considering they didn’t offer any.”

“Or you stormed out before they got to that bit.” She set an envelope on the desk next to him, then sank into her own seat. “Two months, including benefits. Plus, they’ll keep their reasons neutral for unemployment benefits.” Which was ridiculous. Jordan received offers weekly to go somewhere else. He’d be in a new office in no time.

He stood and paced to the edge of the room before heading back. “Why bother with my résumé? Who do you think is going to hire me?”

“Someone not so anal about public image. Someone who recognizes what an amazing artist, manager, and/or executive vice president you are?” She hadn’t considered the possibility the blog post would hurt that image. Shock must still be sinking in. She needed to push it aside and be here for him. “What are you working on?”

“I’m going to figure out how Stew pulled off filing assault charges for something that didn’t happen, and undo the damage.” Even when Jordan leaned against the wall, he didn’t stop moving. He tapped his toes, drummed his fingers on his leg, and focused on nothing long enough to keep his head still.

The knots running through Chloe tightened, until she thought something inside might fray or snap. “You have to be careful.” She forced her voice to stay sympathetic. “That could backfire hard and fast.”

“So you’re on Zach’s side? It’s okay to lay me off until things blow over, and then pretend it never happened? This isn’t only about my job. Do you realize that?”

“I do. I also don’t think even for a minute you should let this go. You’ve got every reason and right to fix it. You have to remember, though, you’re already the bad guy. If you don’t tread as though your life depended on caution—if we don’t plot every single step to death—this
will
backfire and make things worse.” She approached him and settled her hand over his, to stop his fingers from flailing. “Even if that happens—which we’ll make sure it doesn’t—I’m with you on this. Whatever you need.”

Some of the tension drained from him, as his posture slumped. “I almost asked you to quit too. Show of solidarity.”

Acid rose in her throat at the thought. She couldn’t summon an answer.

“I wouldn’t ask that.” He rested a hand at the back of her neck. “And thank you.”

Asking the question hedging to escape could ruin this near-calm, but since they were on the subject— “Wednesday night, when we were with Liz and you left to talk to Stew, what happened?”

“Do you think I did it?” His jaw barely moved when he spoke.

She didn’t flinch. “Not for a second. But I’m the one person willing to listen to the truth, and we need to be on the same page to make this work.”

“That’s fair. And it was really nothing. I told him to back off and find someone else to gossip about.”

“And boxed him in a corner, made sure to remind him of the height difference?”

“Maybe.” Jordan kissed her on the nose, the chin, and then the lips. “Thank you for standing by me.”

She forced a smile. If only the rest of it was going to be as simple as this conversation. It wasn’t a matter of proving what he did or didn’t do, it was pushing it into the public eye and now that they’d already formed opinions. It was going to be a long weekend.

* * * *

Liz hesitated on the porch of the house she grew up in, knuckles raised. For half her teenage years, the Park City property was home, and now it felt odd walking through the front door without being invited. She also wasn’t in the mood for Mercy to remind her she didn’t need to knock or ring the bell—that this was still Liz’s place too.

She stowed the desire to knock and pushed into the foyer. “Hello?”

“Kitchen.”

Liz followed Mercy’s voice and found her seated at the desk built into a nook by the fridge, scribbling something in a notebook. Mercy looked up a few seconds later. “Had an idea. Didn’t want to forget it. How was L.A.?” She stood and gave Liz a quick hug.

The question triggered an avalanche of pleasant memories, and Liz realized how badly she wanted to share the adventure. “Amazing. Where’s Ian?”

“In the study. Client call. Speaking of—whatever you did with K.M., Jonathan won’t stop singing your praises.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

Mercy grabbed two bottles of sparkling water from the fridge and set one in front of Liz. “I doubt that, but keep doing it. So, amazing? Tell me more. What happened to
L.A. is all smog and traffic
?”

“It still is”—Liz fiddled with the cap on her drink, unable to keep the smile from her face while thoughts of Jordan and Chloe teased her—“but the company made up for it.”

“You’re not talking about Jonathan. Spill it.”

Where to start? “There was a woman in the bar, and something about her… I can’t explain it. I sucked up my courage and approached her. Turned out she and her boyfriend were in the market to explore too.”

“Liking it so far. Plus, there’s a distinct advantage to a couple.”

“Oh?” Liz could think of at least a few things she enjoyed about this case, but they probably weren’t generic enough to be what Mercy was talking about.

“Easy to walk away from. Everyone recognizes it’s not going to last, so there’s no trying to figure out if it means more.”

“Yeah, totally. Took a lot of the question out of it for me.” The agreement spilled out without thought, but something nagged in the back of Liz’s mind.

Ian rested a hand on her back, startling her, and took a swig of her drink. “Took the question out of what?”

“Client management.” Liz didn’t have a problem getting explicit when talking to Mercy, but she didn’t need her brother hearing the details of her sex life. That conversation was over for now. “Where are we going?” The three set aside Friday nights, to hang out. Every week one of them picked someplace to eat, and it was Ian’s turn.

He raised his brows, possibly at her less-than-subtle change of subject, and walked up behind Mercy. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and she leaned back into him to steal a kiss. They were so right together. Two halves of a whole.  That must be nice. “There’s a new Indian place on Main,” he said. “Supposed to be authentic.”

“Sure it is.” Mercy shook her head and pulled his arms tighter. “I’m in.”

They both looked at Liz, who said, “Sounds good to me, too.”

“Are you all right?” Mercy tilted her head to the side, studying her.

“I’m fine.” Liz wondered what prompted the question. A shift in her tone? Did her expression change? She didn’t feel off in any way. The faint gnawing in her gut was because she skipped lunch to catch up on work. The nagging ache in her chest must be due to the same thing. “Who’s driving?” Dumb question. It would be Ian.

Mercy’s phone rang, and she had it to her ear before the first chime finished. “This is Mercy. May I help you?” Professionalism replaced all hints of teasing in her tone, and she stood straighter.

“How’d the meeting with Rinslet go?” Ian asked.

Liz might have rolled her eyes, if the question didn’t happily whisk her back to thoughts of stunning blue eyes and matching hair. “You both know how this works. I’ll confiscate your phones if I have to.” When they started getting together like this, it took Liz about two weeks to realize if she let the two of them talk business, they could go all night. So the rule was, once the evening started, no one took calls or asked about anything work related. Normally, the
rule
was more of a teasing point, but tonight she appreciated the amnesty it gave her from sifting through jumbled thoughts to give Ian a reasonable answer.

“All right, grump. Did Kyle give you an update on when you you’ll have control of your accounts again?”

Liz would rather talk about work. Almost. “Getting there. I’ve closed all the old accounts—they can stay frozen as long as the SEC wants—and shifted funds from investments George never touched.” What she lost access to was small, compared to what she still had. George being locked up for several years when all was said and done, and Liz not losing more, made the price worth it.

“All set.” Mercy’s announcement interrupted the stilted conversation. Was it always this rocky talking to Ian? Liz didn’t think so.

The three of them climbed into the SUV and took off. Liz settled into her seat, as Ian and Mercy chatted up front. Apparently, there was a
Mystery Science Theater 3000
marathon running, and they were one-upping each other with their favorite one-liners. Liz didn’t have anything to add, so she listened to them chat and stared at the scenery outside, rather than watch the constant smiles, soft touches, and frequent innuendo.

Mercy shifted in her seat until she faced Liz. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I might be a little jetlagged. Catching up with the time-zone difference. Something.” The flight was only two hours, and the time difference just one, but Liz couldn’t find a better explanation for the ennui settling inside. The rest of the evening was a lot of the same—Ian or Mercy trying to draw her into the conversation and eventually giving up.

What was wrong with Liz? She looked forward to Friday night every week, because the three of them hung out, not only because it signaled the start of the weekend. She wasn’t feeling it tonight, though. When they got back to the house, she made her apologies, hopped into her car, and made her way back to the valley.

The green of the canyon, so vibrant it almost glowed in the night, mirroring the stars, was a pleasant distraction. Soon enough, she was back at her condo. Loneliness sank in when she unlocked the front door and stepped into the dark room. A pit she hadn’t felt in months.

She didn’t turn on any lights. The city shone through the balcony windows, casting everything in long, sad shadows. She opened the door of the fridge and blinked at the harsh light. Reaching for the half-open bottle of red wine, she hesitated and changed her mind. Fogging her mind might be a pleasant distraction or could as likely trigger memories of a kiss she didn’t want to sink into.

She padded into her bedroom and grabbed the remote off her nightstand. Something caught her eye. A single business card, glaring bright and taunting, Jordan’s scrawl on the back, with two names and phone numbers.

There’s a distinct advantage to a couple.
Mercy’s words mocked Liz.
Everyone recognizes it’s not going to last.
Liz flicked the card toward the trashcan and turned her attention to the TV. She flipped through channels, not really
feeling
anything. Another click up, and she recognized the music before she put a name to the film. It was a classic movie version of
Phantom of the Opera.
That’d do. She’d let the twisted love story distract her, and by morning, her funk would pass.