Wound Up (6 page)

“Agreed,” Meg answered for the group.

Grace found it easier to smile than she would have thought. “He kisses like a mad god. Better than anything even you can imagine, Lynn.”

“What do you—”

“Nope.” Grace held up a hand, cutting the woman off. “Meg agreed on your behalf. No questions.”

“Oh, damn. She did, didn’t she?” Lynn leaned over and jokingly tagged Meg. “You’re demoted from group spokesperson.”

Meg rubbed her shoulder. “I resign, you brute.”

Gretchen stood. “Let’s get out of here. We can talk on the way to Grace’s mom’s.”

Grace opened her mouth to protest, as it was, technically, out of the way for Gretchen to drop her off first, but the other woman gave a minute shake of her head. She was giving Grace an emotional pardon. Once she was out of the car, the other two couldn’t needle her, albeit good-naturedly, about her evening with Justin.

Nodding, she rewrapped the jacket around her shoulders. “Thanks, Gretch.”

“No problem,” she answered in a low voice. They headed to the take-out parking slot for the restaurant and Gretchen beeped the little coupe open before flipping the seat forward. “Rocky, you and your punching bag in the back. Grace in front since she’s first out. Not to worry, though. There are still blows to be had. You two can spend the trip to her place fighting over who gets shotgun next.”

Gretchen kept the dialogue moving all the way to Grace’s place, regaling her with tales of other dancers from the night before. Meg blushingly owned up to buying a lap dance from Nick. Lynn started to razz her pretty hard until Meg retorted she’d only been brave enough to pay for the lap dance after watching Lynn on stage with a dancer named Derek. It went on that way between the three of them, the radio thumping out Top 40 tunes, until Grace found herself in the tiny driveway beside her house.

She crawled out of the low-slung coupe and helped Meg unfold from the backseat. “You guys try not to kill each other in Gretchen’s car,” she said in mock chastisement. “Blood’s a bitch to get out of those pale interiors.”

Meg laughed and waved her off before shutting the door and rolling the window down. “You coming with us later to wander the shopping district?”

“I wish I could, but I really have to get ready for this practicum. You guys have fun.” She leaned into the window and looked at Lynn. “When do you leave for Boston?”

Her friend made a sour face. “Tomorrow.”

“If I don’t see you, call me and let me know when you’re settled. We’ll catch up then.”

“I promise.”

“And then you’re leaving for San Francisco Tuesday, Gretchen?” A small part of Grace’s heart broke at the nodded affirmation.

“And I’m off to Baltimore Thursday,” Meg added, closing out the departure schedule for the week. “You’re still following me out in a couple of weeks, right?”

“Yeah. In the meantime, I’m being abandoned.” Though she managed a light and teasing tone, Grace had to admit she really did seem that these women, women who understood her better than anyone else, were leaving her. It wasn’t rational and she accepted it was part of life, but they’d been her surrogate family for over six years. They’d been her support system. They’d encouraged her when she’d needed it and kicked her ass when she’d needed that more. Without them, she wouldn’t have graduated, let alone magna cum laude.

Emotion clogged her throat and she waved them off when they all began to talk at once. “If you don’t quit, I’m going to start singing ‘The Circle of Life’ in my worst Elton John impersonation. We all accepted this would be one of many sucky factors in growing up.” She swallowed hard. “It doesn’t mean we’ll grow apart, though. Now go. The song...it’s coming on.”

Offering a mock salute, Gretchen peeled out of the driveway. The women’s laughter echoed as they drove away, and Grace was glad she’d been left with laughter instead of tears.

Grace started for the front door of the tiny house. Standing on the sidewalk in this neighborhood was as good as begging to be assaulted or shot. Sunshine wasn’t a talisman against violence, particularly not here. It just meant targets were easier to spot.

Letting herself inside, she tried to ignore the smells of stale beer and old cigarettes that permeated the place. No matter how much she cleaned, she couldn’t get rid of the pervasive odors.

“Just a couple more weeks,” she murmured to the empty room. Once the internship was over, she’d be able to get out of here. She’d head to Baltimore, rejoin Meg and begin to figure out where she fit in the world. Thanks to Justin leaving things the way he had, there would be no ties to bind her to this place.

She couldn’t wait.

6

H
ANDS
TREMBLING
SLIGHTLY
, Justin retied his tie for the fourth time. The knot still wasn’t right, but if he didn’t leave now, he was going to miss his bus downtown. Being late on the first day of his new job would be a miserably epic fail—right up there with sleeping with the intern. Muttering a vile curse, he reached for the doorknob at the same moment his sister Evelyn pounded on the door.

“I’ve had to pee for twenty minutes, Justin. Face it. You’re as pretty as you can make yourself without surgical intervention so come out already.”

Why had he agreed to stay the night with his family? A cushy sofa and a good meal weren’t worth this. He yanked the door open and scowled. “You’re not the one running late.”

“You wouldn’t be late if you’d gotten up when your alarm went off.”

“I
did
get up, but
someone
was already in the shower using up all the hot water.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” She slid past him and into the bathroom. “Leave already. No one can stand you when you’re in a mood.”

“I’m not in a—”

Evelyn slammed the door in his face, clicking the lock in place with force. “Yeah, you are.”

Irritated, Justin stalked to the sofa, dug out the only pair of oxfords he owned from his overnight bag, slipped them on and scanned the room. “Briefcase. Where the hell is my briefcase?” A quick search found it tucked behind the television stand. He jogged to the front door, surprised when his mother beat him there.

She smiled. “How could I send you off to your first day of work without wishing you well?” Looking him over, she nodded. “Don’t you cut a fine image?”

“No pictures, Mom.”

“You’re no fun.” On tiptoe, she gripped his shoulders and pulled him down for a quick kiss. “Knock ’em dead.”

“I’ll settle for grievous wounding on my first day.”

“Glad to hear your nerves haven’t killed your sense of humor.”

“I really do have to go.”

“You wouldn’t be late if you’d given up preening twenty minutes ago,” Evelyn shouted from the bathroom.

“Your day’s only a couple of years off, child,” Darcy called out.

“I’m leaving, Mom. I’m going home tonight, so don’t wait dinner on me.” He bussed his mom’s cheek and was quickly out the door. He jogged down the sidewalk and caught the metro seconds before the driver closed the door. Inside, it was standing room only. Naturally. After two transfers and then three blocks on foot, he stood outside Second Chances with three minutes to spare. On a deep breath, he walked in.

The lobby smelled the same as it had fourteen years ago when he’d first walked through the doors to complete his community-service sentence. He’d been convicted of vandalism of public property, but only because the cops hadn’t caught him earlier that night. Had they nicked him then, they’d have charged him with a hell of a lot more.

Relegating dark memories into the small mental compartment he kept just for that purpose, he squared his shoulders and forced himself to breathe slower. He wasn’t that kid anymore and hadn’t been for a long, long while. He’d proven it by taking the counselors’ help in breaking free of his involvement in Deuce-8 as a messed up teen. He’d reinforced it by going to school. And starting now, he’d spend every day doing his best to make a difference in the lives of the kids who passed through the front doors. Second Chances. It was this place, and the people inside these walls, that had made the difference in his life. The biggest reason he was alive instead of a violent crime statistic lay in these halls, under this roof and on these grounds.

“May I help you?”

The feminine voice startled Justin, kicking him out of his Memory Lane waltz and landing him in the now. Years on stage at Beaux Hommes helped him put on his best smile as he faced the voice. “Justin Maxwell here to see Mark Sanders.”

The woman—Mallory according to her name tag—stared for a full ten seconds before catching herself. “Mr. Sanders is expecting you, Dr. Maxwell. His office is down this first hallway, fifth door on the left. I’ll buzz his assistant and let her know you’re on your way.”

Unease skittered along his spine. She’d stared so long he couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ever been to the club, maybe recognized him as a dancer. He couldn’t indulge his discomfort and worry about it now, though, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to ask. That part of his life was, for all intents and purposes, nearly over. Trying to control his heart rate, he held out a hand. “Thanks, Mallory. I appreciate it.”

She shook it, her grip limp, palm slightly sweaty. “You’re welcome, Dr. Maxwell.”

“Please, call me Justin.”

She blushed and tucked her long, dark hair behind one ear. “Okay...Justin.”

Nodding toward the director’s office, he gave a small wave to Mallory and started down the hall.

Where was Grace?

The door to the office opened as he got there, and a short, balding man boldly took his measure. “Good to see you again, Dr. Maxwell.”

“Just Justin, sir.” For the second time in as many minutes, he offered his hand.

Sanders’s grip was firm and dry. “A few things have changed since we first talked. Before we get into specifics, I’m going to send you to Human Resources to complete your new-employee paperwork and get your fingerprinting done. Should take about an hour. We don’t have the luxury of putting you through a formal orientation process, so this’ll have to suffice. Any questions, direct them to me.” He gestured down the hall. “HR is the third door down. It’s marked. Ask for Sharon. Have her paged if she’s not in there. She’ll set you to rights and then send you back here.”

At the mention of changes, unease settled heavily in his gut. Surely his boss hadn’t already found out about Justin’s involvement with Grace?

One way to find out.
“I’ll admit I’m curious, sir.”

“Nothing to worry about. Just a few personnel changes since you interviewed. See you back here as soon as you’re done, son.”

Surprise wasn’t enough to temper the response that nearly choked Justin with unexpected emotion. He wasn’t Sanders’s son. He’d been that to one man and one man only, and that hadn’t ended well. At all. To hide his reaction, he shoved his free hand in his pocket and clenched his briefcase tighter. “Yes, sir.”

“Problem?” The question was posed civilly, but that didn’t diminish the cool undertone.

“No, sir.”

“We’ll reconnect in about an hour, then. Don’t let Sharon keep you longer than that. We’re on a rather tight timeline today.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sanders opened his mouth to say something else, apparently reconsidered and instead sent Justin off with a nod.

Justin took slow, measured steps as he fought to regain control of himself. “Losing it on the first day over something so trivial is pointless,” he said under his breath.

The HR department turned out to be one harried-looking woman behind a desk so covered in paperwork, Justin had to wonder how she kept from having regularly scheduled nervous breakdowns at ten, two and four each day. His face must have relayed his thoughts because she glanced up at him and smiled.

“You’re Justin Maxwell.”

“Yeah. You must be Sharon.”

“I am, and from the expression on your face, I’d be willing to bet you wanted to add ‘crazy’ to my given name. Granted, crazy
should
be my name to work in HR.”

“I’m just a little, uh, overwhelmed at the amount of paperwork you’ve got going on there.”

“I’m purging old files so it’s not as bad as it seems.” She looked around. “That’s a blatant lie. It’s hell. It’s every bit as bad as it looks. There are regulations for how long I have to keep every piece of paper, and no regulation is the same. Five years for one form, seven for another, infinity for yet others.”

“How do you manage?”

“Don’t make me try to rationalize it, Dr. Maxwell. If I do, I’ll fail. Then I’ll get up and walk out and probably be terrified to ever stop walking lest the forms catch up with me and murder me in my sleep.”

“Fair enough.” He stepped into the room just far enough to let the door fall shut behind him and, again, held out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Same to you.” She shook with one hand and with the other she dug through the nearest paper mountain, retrieving a thin file folder. “I’ve got a crap-ton of forms for you to fill out. Orientation will have to wait, so I haven’t printed your employee handbook or the code of ethics for you yet. I’ll try to get that done and bound today and leave it in your mailbox in the receptionist’s office. No promises, though. It could be tomorrow.” She looked around and sighed. “Or Wednesday.”

“No worries. I have no intention of doing anything to get myself fired.”

She smiled. “Great.” Gesturing to a small table in the corner, she said, “Have a seat and fill out all the forms. I’ve highlighted the blanks you have to either fill in or sign. If you have questions, send a Sherpa to carry me away from this mountain of doom known as my desk and I’ll happily help you out.”

He laughed and some of the tension in his shoulders bled away. Paperwork he could handle.

It was the changes Sanders had hinted at that made Justin’s heart race. He had no doubt one of those personnel changes would be Grace Cooper.

This program had pulled him off the streets when the choice was go straight or go home in a body bag. He couldn’t lose this job because of one dumbass move. But there’d been so much potential between him and Grace. Could he stand to lose that?

For the first time since he’d blown up yesterday, he wasn’t sure which loss would hurt him more—the job that meant everything to him or the woman who just might mean more.

* * *

G
RACE
SAT
IN
the lobby of Second Chances picking at a hangnail as she waited. She’d been a few minutes early, but that was better than being late for her first day. But her boss was behaving strangely, making her wait in the lobby for the past half hour. Whatever was keeping him busy seemed to take priority over her. Leaving her out here so long struck her as a bit unprofessional, though, even if she was just an intern. The man had been much more organized when she’d interviewed for the internship a month ago. Oh, well. No crime in being harried, she supposed.

Her gaze roamed the lobby and hallways again, dully noting nothing had changed since her last perusal.

Where was Justin?

A petite, dark-haired woman approached her and extended a hand. “Grace Cooper?”

Grace stood and shook the proffered hand. “I am.”

“I’m Sharon Johnson, human resources director. I apologize for making you wait. You’re not the only new employee we’ve got today.”

Justin.

“I’m just a student, Ms. Johnson. An intern.”

“You’re being paid, right?”

“I didn’t realize I would be, no.”

“You will...for reasons I’ll explain in a minute.”

“Any pay is much appreciated,” Grace said in a rush, and it was the absolute truth. She would stash every extra penny to fund the independence that hovered only twelve days away. This almost made having to live at home again, no matter how miserably short the time, worth it. Almost. She wasn’t sure anything could make it entirely worth it. But the idea of a house that smelled of lemon oil and dryer sheets versus the stale stench of her mother’s place fueled her motivation.

“Ms. Cooper?”

Grace jumped. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

The other woman smiled gently. “If you’ll come with me, we can get the majority of your paperwork done. As I mentioned, circumstances have changed, so the board felt it would be appropriate to pay you since you’ll actually be sitting in on counseling sessions and writing up parallel case notes to the managing psychologist.”

“I’ll be seeing patients?” she squeaked.

“In tandem with our licensed psychologist, yes. It’s my understanding you’ll write up case notes for every session you participate in. At the end of your eighty hours, the managing counselor will write a letter recommending whether you pass or fail the practicum. The university determines the final passing or failing grade based on a sample of the case notes.”

Grace’s hand automatically pressed against her stomach. “Don’t say fail. I can’t afford to fail.”

“I imagine you’ll do just fine. Let’s get that paperwork done so we can get you started, okay? You’ll be paid at the end of your last day, so I have to get your information in the system as soon as possible.”

“I’m your minion, Ms. Johnson. Where you go, I follow.”

The woman laughed. “Nice. I just mentioned to someone I could use a minion. I think I referenced a Sherpa, though. Too bad you’re not an HR intern. I could definitely use one right now.”

“I couldn’t do your job.”

“And I couldn’t do yours, Grace.” She gestured down the hall. “I’m down here. Ignore the mess in my office. It’s temporary.”

They spent forty-five minutes going over the necessary forms. The entire process intimidated Grace. It wasn’t that she’d never filled out the forms—she’d worked through high school and part of college. It was that this made her graduation very real. No longer was she a student working toward a diploma or degree. This job was the last thing that stood between her and autonomy, her and the real world, her and
life
. She could truly taste freedom for the first time, and she wanted it more than she’d ever wanted anything before.

As much as I want Justin?
The unbidden question crashed into her hard enough she faltered in filling out her citizenship form, the pen skidding across the page. Acknowledging she wanted him but only now realizing how
much
she really wanted him shocked her. That she would compare him to her craving for independence blew a few mental fuses.

“Problem?”

Grace’s head snapped up and a blush burned across her cheeks. “Yes. No. I mean, yes. I screwed up this form. Do you have another?” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Sorry.”

“No problem. I’ll admit I’m curious what changed your signature into a random ink slash across the paper. You’re sure you’re okay?”