Truth about Cats Page 10

  Chapter Eight

  Two days later, Jennifer stood in front of the converted warehouse and yanked her panty-hose up. She had no idea how she'd let Rick railroad her into interviewing for a job at an Internet company, but she wanted, at least, to look halfway decent.

  "Excuse me, Miss." A woman about her own age stepped by her and opened the door to the tattoo.com offices. The woman was pretty enough, but her spaghetti-strap top exposed a tattooed depiction of a muscleman driving a motorcycle.

  Jennifer almost fled. Except the only place she could run was back to Rick. There was no way in the world she'd tell him that she chickened out. Despite Rick's resistance, she needed to help him. Step eight. Set a good example.

  She gave those annoying hose another yank and felt her fingers go through the nylon. Things were off to a great start.

  Squaring her shoulders, she walked through the door. If they decided not to hire her because she'd run her stockings, tough.

  She expected rows of gray cubicles, sort of like in the Dilbert comics. Instead, three women and a man huddled around a huge monitor, each furiously banging on keyboards; two men played ping pong with a ferocity that would have been more in keeping at a prize fight; and a small group of men and women sipped coffee and argued in front of a whiteboard.

  None of them seemed much interested in Jennifer.

  "Hello." She figured she might as well get this rejection behind her so she could start looking for a real job.

  "Are you Jennifer?"

  The woman with the motorcycle tattoo separated herself from the crowd at the whiteboard.

  "Uh huh."

  "Great. I'm Ginger Newton. We're all excited about meeting you. Come on back and meet Eric."

  Her suspicion that this really was an elaborate joke perpetrated by Rick started to fade. Nobody would go to this much trouble to make Jennifer feel like an idiot. Besides, even Rick had to realize that she felt like a complete idiot already for going to bed with him.

  A muscular man in his early thirties burst from an office, his blue eyes sizing her up.

  "I thought it might be you. It's great to meet you again, Jennifer."

  No wonder Rick thought he had an in. It was the guy from Rick's Tai Wan Duck class. "I thought your name was Jumanji."

  "Jumanji?" His eyebrows drew together. "Oh, Yudangi. That just means black belt holder. I'm Eric." He stuck out a hand. "It's fantastic to see you again. Come on in and let's talk about where you can fit on our team. Do you want coffee?"

  Two hours later, Jennifer had poured out her life story, been introduced to everyone on the day shift, learned the names of the swing and graveyard shifts, and been handed an envelope containing a salary offer that was four times what she'd made at Schilling's, along with a bunch of gobbledygook about benefits, vacation, options, and discounted tattoos.

  "Can you start tomorrow?" Eric asked.

  "This is silly," Jennifer protested. "You just met me. For all you know, I'm out to sabotage you."

  Eric shook his head. "Rick doesn't make that kind of mistake."

  "Just because he's your Tai Wan Chow teacher doesn't make him some sort of saint."

  Eric laughed. "It's Tai Kwon Do. Besides, nobody's ever accused him of being a saint. Unless you count a couple of the female employees ... anyway, one thing he is, is an incredible judge of character. I haven't had problems with a single one of his hires. I only wish I could say the same about the ones I picked myself."

  Things were making less and less sense. "But--"

  "Take a look at that," Eric interrupted. He pointed behind her head.

  She turned and looked. A printed banner read How Would Rick Do It?

  A lightbulb went off. "Rick works here, doesn't he?" She felt like a moron. "He's on vacation now, right?"

  "After three years of twenty-four hour days, Rick decided to step back," Eric explained. "He provides the strategic direction as Chairman. I run the day-to-day business."

  Jennifer slumped in one of the chairs in Eric's office. She couldn't decide whether to find that frozen fish and finish the job on Rick, or use it on herself. "I was trying to improve him," she told Eric. "Are you telling me he's rich?"

  Eric shrugged. "Rick was the strategic genius who came up with the concept of tattoo.com. All the venture capital companies said there was no revenue model and refused to finance him, but he proved them wrong. Now he could sell out for millions. For sure he could get a job at any company in Silicon Valley and earn fifty times what he makes here. Bottom line, I don't know if he's rich or not. He's made a difference for a lot of us here in South Dallas, though."

  In high school, Rick had always been a planner. Obviously he hadn't just been dreaming. He'd created a business. He'd also lied to her and let her believe he was some underemployed auto mechanic.

  She turned to leave.

  "You didn't say whether you could start tomorrow," Eric reminded her. "I need help with the P.R. plan and I like your suggestions."

  Jennifer wanted to throw the job back in his teeth to spite Rick, but she needed work. Besides, Eric seemed like a nice guy. Whether she ended up sticking with the job or not, she'd noticed he didn't have a ring. Carla would never forgive her if she walked away from this job before she introduced them.

  "I'll try."

  "Great."

  Eric's enthusiasm surprised her. She'd been afraid he was hiring her because Rick had told him to, not because he really wanted or needed her. Evidently Eric thought she could contribute. Frankly, she didn't have a clue why, but she'd already told him that.

  ***

  Rick let his chest drop below the level of the two chairs he balanced his weight on. He'd only done sixty pushups and sweat already ran down his back and stung his eyes. Forty more to go.

  "Oh."

  At the unexpected sound, he dropped, then spun around. His hands and feet automatically slipped into a Tae Kwon Do blocking position.

  "It's only me, Bruce," Jennifer told him. "So lose the Fingers of Death and tell me the truth for once. What lies did you tell about me to make them so enthusiastic at tattoo.com?

  Rick picked up his towel and wiped the sweat off his chest and back. Talk about turning things around. She was the one who dealt in false pretenses. "I never lie."

  "That's why you told me all about your work, right?" Jennifer looked beautiful when she was angry. Rick had plenty of recent experience seeing exactly how beautiful she could get. His memories that she could be beautiful when she wasn't mad were receding rapidly.

  "I told you--" he started.

  "You told me you were unemployed and supporting yourself by renting out your car repair spots."

  He shook his head. "I told you I had plenty of money and liked working on cars."

  "You could have told me you're rich."

  "I'm not rich." He let tattoo.com pay him a few thousand a month for consulting services. He had everything he needed, but he was no Bill Gates.

  "Well you let me go into tattoo.com and make an idiot out of myself."

  "That's funny. Eric called me ten minutes ago and said how excited he was about hiring you."

  "Because you told him to."

  Rick shook his head. She thought they'd hired her out of pity or something. He could identify with that feeling and it wasn't especially pleasant. "I don't tell Eric how to manage day-to-day operations. If he didn't think you'd work out, he would have told me to take a flying leap."

  "But--"

  "Obviously you impressed him."

  Jennifer put a fist on each of her shapely hips, stuck out her chest at him, and glared.

  He barely suppressed the urge to reach out, tug her in, and kiss the daylights out of her. The appeal this woman held for him made no sense at all.

  He took a deep breath. "Did you want to say something?"

  "Would you put on a shirt?"

  This time he couldn't hold back his bad judgment. "I thought you liked me with no shirt on."

  He halfway thought she might go for t
he frozen fish again. Instead, Jennifer actually laughed. "Aesthetically it's fine. I do find it somewhat distracting when I'm trying to have a sensible conversation."

  To Rick, this conversation was about the farthest thing from sensible that he'd ever been involved in. He'd helped her find a great job. For that, she got mad?

  The last time he'd taken off his shirt for Jennifer things had gotten really interesting. He definitely preferred interesting to sensible. Still, he pulled on a T-shirt.

  "I should have guessed you were involved with tattoo.com from all of their stuff you have."

  "Yeah. Maybe." It wasn't any great secret.

  Jennifer giggled. "Did you know that one of my job benefits is that I get half-priced tattoos?"

  Rick half-smiled. "When we got started, the only people who would work for what I could afford to pay were gang members. Discounted tattoos and original designs were big deals." He paused a moment. "You could make some extra money modeling if you decided to take advantage of the discount."

  He took a step toward Jennifer. He couldn't help it. He'd forgiven her for her attempt to change him. She'd meant well, after all. "I was thinking maybe a little one right at the crease between your neck and shoulder would be pretty." He stroked the exact spot.

  "Right here." He bent slightly and kissed it.

  "Try that again and you'll be singing soprano," Jennifer warned him.

  "Sorry." Where the devil had that come from? He couldn't go around pawing at Jennifer. Not when she already thought he was a champion jerk as well as a liar. Anyway, technically, she was his employee now.

  She backed up toward the door. "I want to know one thing."

  "What's that?"

  "I'm supposed to do public relations. Eric says you told him I was a great writer. How the heck did you decide that?"

  "Right." Rick tried to think of a way of getting around this hurdle but couldn't. "It was partly what your father said day before, but mostly because I read that proposal of yours."

  "What proposal?"

  "You know. The let's change Rick Engle into a completely different person so he can be like my father was when he was miserable and had a lot of money, proposal."

  ***

  Jennifer's mouth dropped open. "That wasn't what I said at all."

  Rick nodded firmly. "Read it over, Jennifer. Because that's exactly what it says. I'm not very happy about the message. But that doesn't mean it wasn't well written. A couple of times it really made me think I was a low-life scum."

  "Rich, lying low-life pond-scum," Jennifer told him although her heart wasn't completely in it. He could split whatever hairs he wanted to, but as far as she was concerned, he had definitely lied to her. Still, she wondered if he might have a point about the transformation she'd planned for him. Had she decided to change Rick for his own good, or because she wanted a man who lived up to the standards she'd been raised with?

  What made the question truly ironic was that she couldn't stand any of the bank vice presidents she knew. Surely she wouldn't want to change Rick into that. Still, she had wanted to change him. Did she now?

  Rick scowled at her, but she was used to that by now. She scowled back.

  "How 'bout I buy you dinner to celebrate your new job?" he finally offered.

  "You're always taking me out to eat. Why don't you let me cook?"

  "You know how to cook? His eyes shined with an avarice she hadn't seen since they'd turned out the lights the previous evening.

  "I am my mother's daughter. Although she spent more time teaching me cakes and pies rather than meat and potatoes." She'd also spent more time trying to get her into the right social clubs and dating a boy most likely to earn big dollars. But that didn't bear mentioning.

  "Hum? Cakes and pies sound good." Rick stepped closer to her.

  "Why don't you take a shower and I'll run to the grocery store."

  "Right." Rick fished into his jeans pockets and tossed her a key ring.

  Jennifer managed to juggle the keychain for a good three seconds before dropping the entire mass on the floor.

  She bent to retrieve them and caught Rick speculatively checking out her legs.

  "What are you looking at?" she demanded.

  "You might want to buy a new pair of stockings. Looks like you did a number on those."

  So much for flattering herself that Rick couldn't keep his eyes off her. "Whatever. Do you want to lend me fifty bucks, or do we eat off of what I find under your seats?"

  "My wallet is on my bureau," Rick told her. "Charge whatever we need." He started to yank that T-shirt off.

  Jennifer knew she should turn and walk for the door, but would it really hurt to watch him for a minute or two? Then his previous comment sank in. "You've got to be careful with credit cards. The finance charges are quite high and it's easy to spend more than you realize."

  Rick yanked his T-shirt back down and glared at her for a minute.

  "I'm trying to fix you again, aren't I?" she admitted.

  "Tell you what, let me worry about the finance charges and I'll follow your advice and take a shower."

  It wasn't much of a compromise but it was better than Rick jumping down her throat.

  He started to unbutton his jeans, obviously dismissing her from his mind.

  "Rick?"

  He stopped and looked at her. "Yeah, sweetheart?"

  "How come you don't have a tattoo?"

  He raised one eyebrow. "Just how carefully did you look the other night?"

  "But--"

  He unbuttoned the next button on his jeans. "You missed your chance. Show's over. The nearest grocery store is on Jefferson."

  ***

  Rick emerged from the shower to the smell of something wonderful. It was a new experience in his home, at least since the firemen had moved out and he'd moved in. Real cooking. He didn't think he'd turned on the oven since he'd repaired it the year before. Now his nose picked up meat and potatoes and vegetables, with maybe a hint of something sweet.

  "That had to be the longest shower on record," Jennifer said as he stepped out of the bathroom still toweling his hair. "I've been back for hours."

  "Eric called right when I was getting in. Some New York company supposedly wants to do a deal with us. I got stuck on a conference call with them."

  "If I'm going to be public relations director, shouldn't I be involved?"

  When Rick had recommended Jennifer to Eric, he'd been thinking more of content creation than P.R. Now that he thought about it a little more, though, she seemed to have the right kind of mind to manage how the company presented itself to the world. Certainly she'd done a lot for the Dallas Cat Rescue League. Even he'd heard of it, and he didn't even like cats. At least he hadn't until recently. Psyche, the smallest of Jennifer's permanent cats, had sort of become a buddy lately. The tiny animal seemed to have a thing for his socks, carting them through the house like they were prized possessions. He hated to admit it, but he'd miss the furry thing when she was gone.

  Not as much as you'll miss Jennifer, some weirded-out part of his mind announced. He crunched that thought away. He was a loner. Jennifer would end up with the type of aristocrat she'd tried to turn him into. Now what had they been talking about?

  "We get about ten of these supposed partnership calls a week," he told her. "Never amounts to anything."

  Jennifer nodded. She sniffed the air, then opened the oven pulled out a huge roast of beef and poked at it with a fork. "It'll still be a while," she announced.

  She followed his eyes as he inspected the monster and blushed, then pushed it back into the oven. "Roast was on special today at that grocery store you told me about. I figured you could make sandwiches with what was left over. It's a lot more affordable than going out to restaurants all the time."

  "I'm not arguing," Rick assured her. Even if it had been more expensive, it would have been worth it. "How about a glass of wine. We'll have a toast to your new career as a P.R. manager." He’d bought wine after she’d asked
for it a few days before.

  Jennifer smiled shyly. "I'd like that."

  Rick poured the wine. His anger with Jennifer's meddling had vanished over the past couple of days. She couldn't help who she was. Simply put, she wanted to help others. That wasn't all bad. In fact, it was downright admirable in an impossible sort of way. Like so much about Jennifer.

  Not that he was willing to put up with that kind of interference on an ongoing basis. He rather liked the man her father had become, but he didn't want to become that man himself, let alone the man he'd been when he still had money.

  He handed Jennifer one of the wine glasses and raised the other. "Here's to your success."

  "Better yet," Jennifer countered, "here's to our success."

  "Our?" That should have been sending warning signals all over the neighborhood, yet Rick couldn't even work up a good pique. His relationship alarm seemed to be set on snooze.

  "Us," Jennifer reminded him. "You know, the company. Tattoo.com. The world's largest site for body art."

  He should be relieved she was talking about the company rather than about 'us' as in Rick and Jennifer. He wasn't. "All this time I thought that was a clever marketing tag."

  Jennifer said nothing, waiting.

  Rick sighed. "Right. Here's to our success."

  She took a sip, grabbed for a paper towel, then started coughing. Her face turned a shade of purple.

  "Hold on," he told her. He didn't think the Heimlich Maneuver was called for but he removed her glass from her hand before she spilled it and patted her on the back.

  When he'd been on the phone or taking his shower, Jennifer had changed out of her interview suit and into one of those little pairs of shorts and crop tops that drove him to distraction. The heat from her body burned his hand as he patted her bringing to his mind thoughts of touching her in other places. What was wrong with him? He was supposed to be helping her, not planning to ravage her.

  Jennifer finally caught her breath. "The wine surprised me. It's pretty, uh, unusual."

  He sniffed the bottle, then took a sip of his own wine. He'd liked the brand when he'd been a marine and had never really thought about changing. He squinted at the label. Bottled in New Jersey? "I'll get you something else."