But he didn’t have a lot of time to think about it. First he attacked his bathroom, which would have frightened a wild hog. It took a razor to remove the scum lining the bathtub, and the toilet had become a fetid swamp. He poured an entire cup of bleach into it and flattened every bristle of the long-handled brush to get it clean. The sink was a minefield of toothpaste globs, but by the time he was done, it sparkled like new.
Every dish that he owned was crusted over with food and stacked on the counter next to the kitchen sink or in the basin itself. The dishwasher was malfunctioning, and he hadn’t gotten around to doing anything about it.
Dev carried every pot, pan, utensil, cup, plate and bowl into the guest bathroom, where he placed them in the freshly sterilized bathtub and drowned them in hot water to soak. He added a quarter cup of dish detergent and stirred it around with a slotted spoon.
While the dishes sat in the hot water, he raked up all the flotsam in the living room, dispensed with most of it, then folded the armchair full of laundry for the first time since he could remember. He usually dumped the contents of the dryer into it and pulled items from the pile as needed.
He dusted then wiped the windows with glass cleaner. He threw out the petrified husk of the plant he’d managed to kill. Finally, he located the vacuum in the guest-room closet and sucked up a couple of month’s worth of grunge and dust bunnies from the carpet and tile.
Dev felt pretty pleased with himself as he took inventory of the room, until he got to the grimy—and empty—fish tank.
Good luck keeping that fish alive—little boy.
Kylie’s words came back to haunt him.
Shit. He had to acquire another fish before tonight. Dev looked at his watch: it was already 4:00 p.m. and he’d told her he’d pick her up at seven.
He launched himself at the small tank and carried the whole thing over to the sink he’d just scrubbed. He pulled out the treasure chest, the fake plants and the reef, making a mess of the formerly pristine countertop. Dev cursed, but it couldn’t be helped. He poured the dirty water down the sink, blocking the colored rocks at the bottom with his hand. The stench was awful.
Dev scooped out the rocks and rinsed them in his colander. For the next twenty minutes, he worked at removing all of the green scum, slime and algae from the walls of the tank. He went through an entire roll of paper towels and all of what was left of the glass cleaner.
Then he reassembled everything and filled the tank with water from the tap. He checked his watch. It was now almost five. He had just enough time to get to the pet store, purchase a new fish, get back with it, shower and change, and then go pick up Kylie.
Dev sprinted to the Corvette and peeled rubber out of the parking lot. The Saturday afternoon traffic was heavy and it took him a good twenty minutes to get to the pet store. He skidded in, made tracks for the fish section and chose a fish within two minutes. But the gangly teenaged salesperson—fish monger?—was absorbed in helping a mom and her tubby kid choose just the right combination of fish for
his
tank.
Dev tapped his toe and looked at his watch repeatedly as fifteen more minutes went by. Finally he asked the teenager if he could self-serve a fish. All three of them swung around and stared at him as if he’d asked to disembowel them.
Well,
excuuuuuse
him. “Sorry,” he mumbled, “but I have a thing.”
“I will be right with you, sir,” the teenager said in disdainful tones. “As soon as I’ve helped these customers.”
Dev cooled his heels for another ten minutes, before the boy deigned to wait on him. But the fish he’d chosen was a slick, smart little bastard, and the teenager couldn’t seem to catch him with the little net he had.
Finally, Dev said, “Grab the first one you can and bag him for me.” He bounced on the balls of his toes in impatience. Teen Boy finally caught one, a plump, ugly, mostly white little bugger with irregular dots of orange and bulging, accusatory eyes.
Dev dashed with him to the cash register, paid with a ten and told the cashier to keep the change. He shot outside and into the ’Vette, tossing the bagged fish onto the passenger seat. A turn of the key and a roar of the engine later, he was back in the heavy traffic.
Stop, go. Stop, go. Stop, go. Dev swerved around a PT Cruiser and cut in front of an Audi. He sped up to catch the tail end of a yellow light, and saw the cop across the intersection at the last minute. He stomped on the brakes, and the fish went flying off the seat and
splat!
Into the windshield.
The bag broke on impact, sending water pouring out.
Shit! Shit! Shit!
Dev grabbed for the remnants of the bag and the fish, but the bag was a lost cause. The poor creature flipped and flopped in his hand while he looked wildly around for something to put it in. He grabbed a paper coffee cup from the console between the seats and dropped the fish into it.
But he needed some water for it immediately. The half bottle of Coke in the console would kill it. He knew there was a convenience store a couple of blocks up where he could get a bottle of water, but he didn’t know if the fish could make it for more than a minute.
The light turned green.
Dev made an executive decision. He spit on the fish, set the coffee cup in the round holder in the console and hit the gas. Approximately three minutes later, he was inside the store, grabbing a bottle, unscrewing the cap and pouring water over his new buddy.
The fish lay motionless on its side for a long moment, then flopped feebly. Dev cheered and the two other customers in the store edged away from him.
Four minutes later he was in the car, headed home. The time: 6:15 p.m. He was at the condo by 6:27 p.m. and the fish was in the tank by 6:28 p.m. Dev shed his clothes and leaped into the shower at 6:29, was out and wrapped in a towel by 6:34 and fully clothed, combed and cologned by 6:41.
By 6:43 p.m. he was back in the Corvette and he pulled into Kylie’s complex on the dot of seven.
She lived in a white stucco building with large semicircular balconies on the upper floors. Dev made his way inside and stood in front of the door for a moment, feeling like a thirteen-year-old asking his first girl to a PG movie. Why? He’d never had trouble picking up women. He usually delivered some outrageous line that had them either laughing or slapping his face and walking away—but usually the former. And once they were laughing, he had them in the palm of his hand.
Yeah. He, Dev, was a sex god.
So he knocked on the door.
“Hello, Dev,” Kylie said as she opened it, and pulled the rubber doughnut he’d sent over his head so that it hung around his neck.
He blinked and gazed down at it. Then up at her.
Black. She wore black from head to toe, instead of white and navy. A black halter dress with black strappy heels, and vast expanses of tanned, sexy skin in between. Her blond hair tumbled over her nude shoulders, her mouth was pale and shiny and her eyes hugely dark and mysterious, thanks to more eye makeup than she usually wore. She looked like some Hollywood star in a film still.
Dev stood there with the ring around his neck and drank her in. He gawked like a tourist at the zoo.
Kylie raised her eyebrows. “Is something wrong?”
He slowly shook his head.
“Alligator got your tongue?”
He nodded.
She smiled. “Well, that’s a refreshing change.”
“Uh. Out of curiosity, why am I wearing this doughnut? Please tell me you don’t expect me to wear it to the Rusty Pelican?”
“Is that any more embarrassing than sending it to me at work?”
Damn.
His cute little gesture had backfired. “Oh. Uh. Sorry. I’m a guy. We’re practical jokers, you know? We don’t think a whole lot about dignity.”
“I figured that out the hard way.”
Uh-oh.
“I thought it would make you laugh, but I also thought it might come in handy, especially that particular afternoon.”
“It was a very thoughtful gift, Dev. Thank you. It just would have been better if I hadn’t opened it in front of the CEO of Sol Trust and a bunch of investment bankers.”
“Yikes.” It was all he could think of to say.
She shrugged, then seemed to forgive him. She lifted the ring off, then tossed it onto a chair. “Yes, I did use it—but not until I got home.” She rubbed at her tailbone ruefully.
“So, you feeling better?”
She nodded. “I’m fine, now, but I was pretty sore for a few days.”
Dev wondered why she was still blocking her doorway and hadn’t asked him inside. “Glad to hear it. Uh, that you’re fine now.”
She nodded. Then she began to fidget, which seemed unlike her.
“What?” Dev asked. “Is there something wrong?”
Kylie took a deep breath. “Before I go anywhere with you, Dev, I have to ask you a question. Did you sleep with my boss to get your loan?”
16
“WHAT?” DEVON CROAKED. “No!”
Kylie seemed to sag with relief. “Oh, thank God.”
“What kind of question is that?” He was outraged.
“First, let me say I’m sorry for asking it—”
“Well, you should be!” Dev almost turned around and left.
“I apologize. I really do. It’s just that I was reviewing your file again, and you don’t even have restaurant experience, and… Well, you’re very flirtatious and, uh, you were very hard to…resist…in the refrigerator, I mean, and—”
He stared at her and shook his head. “So you thought I’d seduced your boss to get a business loan. Wow. What a compliment. I think I’m leaving, now.”
“Devon, don’t go.” Her face was drawn in remorse, her eyes sincere, her hand outstretched.
“I may have very few morals,” he said with dignity, “but I do have a
couple
left.”
“Look, I’m sorry. I just had to know.”
“Well, now you do.”
“Can you understand that I wouldn’t want to set myself up for more bad experiences after my last relationship?”
“Yeah, Kylie. I get that. But at a certain point, your suspicions turn into flat-out paranoia. I am who I appear to be, plain and simple. I’ve never seen your boss, your mother, your grandmother or your cat naked. Christ!”
She laughed. “How did you know I have a cat?”
“Lucky guess.” He narrowed his eyes on her, feeling his mouth quirk upward and not sure how he felt about it. He was still offended.
“Well, speaking of the cat…” She tugged him inside. “Come in while I feed him and get my purse. I doubt he’ll take off his fur coat for you, though.” She winked.
Even though she was trying way too hard to make everything okay again, he followed her in. “I guarantee you he’s not my type, anyway.”
Her condo was large and airy, decorated in mostly beige and white, with touches of soft green here and there. The colors seemed to echo Kylie herself, with her blond hair and tanned skin. A rattan sofa, love seat and chair with cream cushions sat grouped around an area rug with a pattern of palm trees. A large painting on the wall over the sofa depicted a beach scene. Shells and candles were grouped on the glass coffee table. The whole effect was restful and serene.
The cat, on the other hand, eyed him suspiciously. It was a fat, cross-eyed Siamese and it hissed at him as he followed Kylie into the kitchen.
“Sorry,” she said. “Potsy is very protective of his food.”
“Ah.”
Potsy?
“It’s okay, little guy,” Dev crooned. “I’ve never been a fan of—” he eyed the tiny can on the counter-top, “—Fancy Feast. Especially not the seafood flavor.”
Potsy twitched his tail, cocked his head and emitted the classic demented Siamese yowl while Kylie popped open the can and noxious fumes wafted through the air.
Dev gagged, but Potsy twitched his tail and wove maniacally around Kylie’s legs while she scooped his foul-smelling dinner into a kitty dish.
Dev took full advantage and checked out her ass as she bent down. His ire died a little in favor of lust. He was suddenly back to wanting to weave around her legs, too, but it was for entirely different reasons than the cat’s.