Hired Wife

Jack had hauled himself up in a semierect position and buried his head in his hands.

“Put on your boots,” she ordered, pushing the offensive things closer to him with her foot.

He mumbled something inaudible and reached over to retrieve them. Jason came out of his room, dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt. She hadn’t realized he’d left the scene. He moved past her toward Jack.

“Let me get his gear.” Jason bent down, stuffed Jack’s filthy belongings back into the backpack and hauled it out the door.

She glanced around for Sam. He had opened the beeping microwave oven and had extracted a mug, which he was delivering to the mumbling Jack. Warmed-up leftover coffee, Kim guessed.

“Drink this and make it fast.” Sam’s tone was impressive, full of cold authority.

Jack took the cup and drank it obediently while Sam towered over him.

Ten minutes later peace of a sort had returned to the loft. Sam and Jason had dragged the stumbling Jack and his gear into the elevator and into a taxi. Back in the loft, Jason had retreated to his room and Sam was sitting in a chair, observing her calmly. She was overwhelmed with a mixture of embarrassment and despair, but fought not to show it.

“How about a drink?” she asked, seeking refuge in social graces, wishing he would just magically disappear from her loft.

“Thank you, yes.” Was there humor in his eyes? Surely she was mistaken.

“I have Chardonnay,” she offered. She’d bought it to have with dinner. She didn’t have anything else; she never drank the strong stuff.

“That will be fine.”

Happy to have something to do she rushed into the kitchen, got the bottle out of the refrigerator and managed to open it without breaking off the cork or crashing the whole thing to the floor.

She took out a wineglass and filled it. Knowing she was in a gulping state of mind, she poured herself a glass of mineral water. She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders and tried to look calm and in control as she handed Sam his glass.

“I’m sorry for the distraction,” she said lightly, as if she had merely dispensed with a minor annoyance.

He gave a crooked little smile. “There was always a lot of distraction when you were around. I seem to remember you were often surrounded by a retinue of odd-ball friends.”

“These guys are not my friends!” she said defensively.

“What about that Viking in there?” Sam gestured in the direction of Jason’s room. “He seems decent enough.”

“Oh, I never introduced you, did I?”

“It was a bit confusing, with your husband drunk on the sofa and him wearing a towel,” he said forgivingly.

Under other circumstances she might have laughed, but not now. She glared at him. She was trying to rescue the embarrassing situation, but he wasn’t going to let her. “Jack is not my husband and never was,” she stated, feeling defeated already. And we were never together on any tropical island, either, she wanted to add, but didn’t. They’d only looked at travel brochures and fantasized a lot.

Sam stretched out his long legs and made himself more comfortable in his chair. “He seemed to think you two had eloped.”

“We did.” Oh, God she didn’t even want to think about her stupidity. She gulped down some water.

“You did?”

“We started out eloping, we just didn’t finish.”

“Ah,” he said meaningfully. “What happened?”

She’d seen the error of her ways in the nick of time. Jack’s car had expired from old age in the middle of a small town in New Jersey. Stranded by the road without money, listening to Jack suggesting they steal the car parked nearby, she’d finally seen the light.

Kim decided to give Sam the short version.

“His car broke down, and I got a headache.”

He nodded understandingly. “That’ll do it.”

He was laughing at her. She’d had enough. Enough of him, enough of men in general. She came to her feet.

“You might as well go, too, Sam. There is no point in wasting your time here.”

“You promised me dinner.”

“I’ll give you money for a hamburger.” Her knees were trembling. She wanted him out. She wanted to be alone to lick her wounds in a dark corner.

One dark eyebrow lifted fractionally. “Why are you angry with me?”

“You’re laughing at me! I hate men,” she added to her own surprise. She had never said that before; it was a rather sweeping statement. “I’m going to ensconce myself in an ashram somewhere and learn to meditate and get in touch with my higher self and forget about men. No more men.”

“I thought you were coming to Java with me.” He took a leisurely drink of wine. He seemed so calm, so relaxed, she couldn’t stand it.

“I imagine you’re seriously regretting your decision, so I’ll let you off the hook.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. She wished he’d get up and leave. She was feeling dangerously fragile, as if she might break down any minute. It was not a good feeling.

He rose and stood in front of her. “I thought you wanted to go to Java,” he said quietly. “What’s going on here, Kim?”

It was the tone of his voice, the quietness that suddenly made her throat close. Tears pressed behind her eyes. She could not believe it; she wasn’t the weepy type. She hardly ever cried.

And she wasn’t going to do it now, not even standing in the rubble of her hopes. She swallowed the constriction in her throat, blinked her eyes, composed herself. Well, she tried.

“You don’t want somebody like me working for you. Somebody flighty and incompetent who holds company with clowns and derelicts.” To her horror, her voice shook. Then, to her surprise, she heard him laugh.

“Ah, the drama, Kim,” he said. “You didn’t come across as flighty and incompetent at all when you booted those two jokers out the door. That was quite an impressive performance.”

Well, it had been, actually, come to think of it. Her spirits lifted marginally.

Sam took her hand and smiled. “Fix me that dinner you promised me,” he said. “And afterward I’d like to talk about my house.”

For a moment her breath would not come. All she was aware of was his face and the warmth of his big hand holding hers, and his dark eyes as they gazed into hers.

I’m a fool, she thought. I’m such a fool.

“So, who shall we say I am?” she asked. “Your personal assistant? Your interior decorator? Your housekeeper?”

They were sitting on the sofa, drinking coffee. Kim was feeling better, much better. She’d cooked him her delicious little dinner, executed to perfection. He’d studied her portfolio, admired the decor of the loft and they’d discussed his requirements, likes and dislikes concerning dwelling places and their interiors. Her confidence had returned and she was beginning to feel like her normal happy self again.

“Somehow I don’t think anyone will believe that,” he said, giving her an amused look.