Taste of Lacey (20 page)

“The community development commission practically paid you to take these three buildings, so your overhead should be minimal. And Monica, please dust off your coochie and put it back to work. You will never be a virgin again,” Lisa stated with her normal bluntness.

Monica’s face turned bright red, and she almost choked with laughter. “Lisa, you talk about me, but I haven’t seen your behind anywhere near a pole in a minute. Is the witch in the glass house throwing stones?”

Lisa shook her head. “For your information, I was on a big-ass pole from last night till this morning. It was so good I didn’t have the time or the energy for food until now. That’s why I’m so hungry.”

Lacey closed her eyes and asked for strength. “Lisa, I don’t want to hear about your…pole…activities, just like you don’t want to hear any details about Rye and me.”

Lisa rolled her eyes. “Of course. Rye. That explains the little pity party. You guys have another tiff?”

Before Lacey could say a few choice words, Monica jumped in. “No, but she’s trying to figure out how to keep the vultures off her man while he’s at a conference in New York. I told her to fly up there and stake her claim, but she’s not hearing me. I guess she wants to ‘take the high road’ or something else extremely lame,” Monica said. Then she took the liberty of repeating the information Lacey had shared about Natalie.

“Why are you worried about a spoiled brat? It’s ridiculous what your man is willing to do for your doubting ass. What more do you need?” Lisa asked as if she was talking to an imbecile.

“I told her the same thing. But because Rye used to pull women faster than a freight train pulls cargo, she thinks he’ll revert to his old ways any minute now. Maybe she’ll listen to you, because Rye’s word means nothing,” Monica said.

“Save your breath, because this is the Lacey way. A situation can be ideal, and she’ll still find fault with it. A great job working with either Mom or Dad? Nope. She had to go the hard route and open a business from scratch. These lamb chops are off the chain, but damn, couldn’t she just cook for us every now and again and be satisfied?” Lisa paused. “Remember Mark? He was a good brother, and she managed to run him off because she forgot he existed when she was trying to open the Thymes. She’ll find a way to mess this up too.”

“Oh, yeah, forgot about him. If it’s not on her list, it’s not happening. Did you pencil Rye in, by chance?” Monica asked.

Determined to be heard, Lacey broke through the chatter. “First of all, Monica, you have the biggest mouth I have ever encountered, foreign or domestic. And you bitches need to recognize your opinions are unsolicited and therefore will be ignored,” she said in a huff before sitting down in her chair.

They just kept right on talking as if she hadn’t spoken.

“No matter what, somebody is always gonna want her man. But if she bends over backward—literally—to keep it hot in the bedroom, he won’t go anywhere,” Monica finished with an impish smile.

Lisa’s look was speculative. “Oh, I’m sure she’s taking care of business. I don’t think Rye would have it any other way.”

Lacey heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Still here, people.”

“Yep, I think he brought the freak out of her,” Monica said before being seized by a fit of giggles.

“Look, I’m sick of you two—”

Robin Thicke’s “Lost Without You” cut through Lacey’s words at an ear-piercing volume. She reached for the phone so quick she almost fell.

“Hello?” Clutching the receiver with a death grip, she turned her back on Lisa and Monica. Her shoulders drooped in relief when she heard Rye’s voice.

“Is everything okay? I had about ten missed calls from you. I hate like hell I couldn’t get to you sooner.”

“No, everything is fine. I was just worried when I didn’t hear from you when your plane landed,” she said as she glanced over her shoulder to see if the intruders would take the hint and leave. They didn’t, so she muted the phone for a second. “Get out!” she shouted to Monica and Lisa. For once they obeyed.

“Damn, it’s good to hear your voice,” he growled.

“You too,” Lacey said with a tremulous smile.

“I’ve been in meetings from the moment I hit the ground till now. I made them take a break so I could call you. Next I’ll be calling Paula to see who authorized a change in my schedule, because I sure as hell didn’t,” he said. There was a distinct edge to his voice.

It was no mystery to Lacey who was behind the change, but she didn’t have proof. Plus she was too happy to talk to him to ruin the mood. “How’s the hotel?”

“Haven’t made it there yet. We’re still at the convention center. The organizers want me to do four workshops instead of two, so we’ve been setting up.”

For the next few minutes, he detailed the rest of his activities and his new itinerary. “Hold on a sec, baby,” he said before she heard him addressing someone in the background. “I’m coming, Natalie. I’ll only be a minute.”

Lacey’s heart almost jumped out of her chest at the mention of the other woman. Evil was hard at work.

“I’m sorry. They need me in the meeting room. I’ll call you tonight,” he said before disconnecting.

Lacey stared at the phone in her hand like it was a snake. Unbelievable. That bitch had changed Rye’s schedule to keep him so busy he wouldn’t have a free moment for Lacey. Now she was monopolizing his time under the guise of meetings. Lacey could only imagine what other underhanded tactics Natalie would use to get Rye’s attention.

By midnight, Lacey had worked herself into a complete frenzy. Her kitchen was spotless, the bathrooms had been sanitized to within an inch of their lives, and she’d baked three pecan pies. She lay in bed watching the second hand tick on her old-fashioned clock. A brief conversation with Rye earlier in the evening had lifted her spirits, until she heard Natalie’s voice in the background…again. Now her ever-active imagination was busy conjuring up all sorts of wicked seduction scenarios that skank might have tried by now. Just as many methods crossed her mind on how to maim a bitch. The comforting thought lured her to sleep.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Mornin’, baby,” Rye drawled through the phone Tuesday at seven a.m. Lacey was already at her office.

She closed her eyes in relief at hearing his voice. “Hi, you. I almost didn’t answer when I didn’t recognize the number.”

“It’s a loaner from the hotel. Natalie sent mine for a dive in a pitcher of water while I was speaking last night. The wireless company is delivering a new one today.” He lowered his voice to an intimate level. “How’s your morning? I wish I was with you.”

A cacophony of thoughts swirled through her head.
What the hell was she doing with your phone? You are a grown-ass man; can’t you keep track of your own stuff?

“It’s going good. Just missing you,” she returned in a raspy tone.

“I miss you too,” he said, but she could almost see his frown. “What’s wrong, Lacey? You’ve been acting strange for the past few days. You’re not sick again, are you? If you are, will your visitor be gone by the time I get home?”

“I’m rolling my eyes through the phone. But I’m fine,” she insisted. “It’s just busy at work. I’ve got several bids this week, and you know how it is in this cutthroat economy. I have to make sure every crouton and cherry tomato is counted so I can give the best price. It’s a nightmare.”

“I’m sure it is. But you’ve got the bidding process down to a science, so don’t worry; you’ll get the jobs. I’m sorry I’ve been so busy.”

“Don’t be. You’re working, and I understand.”
Don’t mind me; I’m just pitiful and whiny and needy
. “Your services are in high demand, Mr. Big-Shot Engineer, and everybody wants a piece of you.”
Especially the psycho bitch who wants in your pants.

He gave a sexy growl. “I know a piece of you I want.”

“Get out of the gutter!”

“Never. I’ll talk to you when I can,” he assured before ending the call.

Energized, she returned to reviewing prices for the job bidding later that day. It was amazing how talking to Rye changed her outlook from gloom and doom to daisies and butterflies in an instant. By midafternoon, she’d finished the bid and moved on to perusing dry goods orders when her computer dinged, announcing a new e-mail. Her attention on the documents in front of her, she clicked on the message, not recognizing it was from a restricted user until it was too late. Then she realized why.

Picture after picture popped onto the screen. Each one featured vivid images of Rye and Natalie. Together. The two sitting close together at a conference table. Her straightening his tie, smoothing a hand down his lapel. In a bar setting with his arm draped over the back of her chair. His arms around her as they danced.

The final one was of Natalie in Marguerite’s signature lingerie in Rye’s hotel room. Lacey’s stomach almost revolted when she recognized his monogrammed toiletry bag in the background. Putting her fist to her mouth to muffle her gasp, Lacey took in the mess of the girl’s hair and makeup along with the poutiness of her lips. There was no mistaking the just-well-fucked look; Lacey had worn it many times. Most unsettling of all was the glimmer of triumph in Natalie’s eyes. She’d accomplished what she set out to do in grand fashion, hence validating the subject of the e-mail:
Game Over.

Hot, salty tears ran down Lacey’s cheeks as she reeled from the hurt assailing her. So quickly she almost toppled her chair, she moved near the window overlooking the park. Once again, the immediate peace found there so many times before did not appear. The day was turbulent and rainy. It wasn’t a straight shower serving as a gift to cool off the steamy summer day. It was a temperamental, unforgiving, “not only am I wet and nasty, but I’m making it gray and dark outside too” kind of rain.

It was a perfect reflection of the way Lacey felt inside.

As unwise and undesirable as a ride in the heavy sheets of water was, she had to get out; the office with its soothing decor suddenly seemed a tenth of its size.

She shed her clothes and crawled into her comforting bed at her house. Precipitation pelted against the brownstone’s roof, but Lacey didn’t really hear it. Her mother’s voice was in her ear, cautioning her about going against the grain. And then there was Kyle, mocking her for being with Rye, a known womanizer. Misery stole through her. She curled into a tight ball and gazed at the monarch butterfly oil painting hanging on her wall, though it was a blur. For once she wasn’t invigorated by the rich swirls of reds, yellows, and black on the huge canvas Monica had painted.

God, she hurt, not just from the seemingly damning photos, but from her lack of preparation. Love had taken her by surprise, and she hadn’t armed herself well enough to fight the resulting battles. Because a real relationship hadn’t been on her radar, each threat was monumental; each obstacle was capable of shaking her foundation.

Situations like this were precisely why she made lists. They let her be in control, left nothing to chance. While she didn’t believe Rye had fucked Natalie, she hated that even the possibility of it made her weak when she knew damn well she was strong. But just like countless other strong women before her, she’d been knocked to her knees.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Lacey put the final prices for her last bid into the laptop and then saved the file. This crappy week was coming to an end, and she was happy to wish it good riddance. She hadn’t spoken to Rye since the day before. Not because he hadn’t called, but because she hadn’t answered. The sniveling mess she’d become after seeing the pictures from Natalie forced her take a step back and reevaluate a few things. The new lists she made revealed what she’d been afraid of all along: she was becoming the kind of woman she pitied—the type whose happiness depended solely on a man.

If it were physically possible, she’d kick her own ass for slinking off to her bed when confronted with suspect proof of Rye’s unfaithfulness. And unfaithful to what, exactly? To their “we used to be a booty call; now our thirty-something-year-old behinds are girlfriend and boyfriend” arrangement? Monica was right. Again. Lacey had settled for what he was willing to offer, and she was miserable as a result. Rye held the key to her heart, but to what end? Was he going to turn in his get-the-milk-free card for happily ever after? Change something as natural to him as his long, spiky lashes? She didn’t think so.

No, she might not expect Rye to change, but she sure had to. It was imperative for her to get some semblance of a life back. Right now her world revolved around him and the Thymes, which might not be the best thing.

“Are you there, Lacey? Rye’s on line three,” Amanda called through the intercom.

Lacey’s heart almost thudded out of her chest. Last night when he called, she’d cupped the phone in her hands like it was a precious baby, her body tensing with every ring. She knew if she heard his voice, she’d break down. But she couldn’t avoid him any longer.

“Hello?” she said, half out of breath, like she had been doing anything other than sitting on her ass and staring into space as she thought about him.

“Where the hell you been?” Rye roared through the phone.

“Um, here?”

“That can’t be right. If you’d been there or at home, you would have answered the phone one of the fifteen fucking times I called. What’s going on, Lacey?”

She closed her eyes and clutched the handset close to her ear. “I’ve just been very busy, Rye. I told you I had those bids going on this week. I got sidetracked.”

“Sidetracked,” he repeated. “Meet me at the brownstone in twenty minutes.”

“But it’s only three o’clock. I can’t just—”

“You heard me. And Lacey?”

“Wh-what?”

“Have your legs open and my pussy ready.”

Dial tone.

Fifteen minutes later, she dropped her purse in the hallway closet and hung her keys on the keyboard. As soon as she made it through the kitchen and into the bedroom, she saw him. Goodness. Gracious.
Alive
. He looked so damn good. Even with his lips pursed in an unyielding line. His chambray shirt was unbuttoned to reveal gorgeous washboard abs. When he opened his jeans, giving her a glimpse of the silky path of dark blond hair leading to his jutting cock, she started salivating like one of Pavlov’s dogs.