The Broken Road
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!
Chapter Ten
Another late morning. It was hard to believe. Everyone who knew him would be shocked to know that he'd managed to sleep in two mornings in a row. This time he could lay the blame on his elongated night of card playing with Max and Shane instead of on the beautiful blonde in the bedroom. Groaning as his feet hit the soft, plush carpeting, Jim slowly and carefully stretched his long body out. The aftereffects of sleep were slow to shrug off until his nose perked up. He sniffed once, twice, and then his stomach started to rumble. Sure enough, something smelled deliciously wonderful and it was coming from the direction of the kitchen. It was easy to pinpoint the smell of freshly percolating coffee but there was something else, too. Something promising, something tantalizing. When his stomach growled for a second time, he didn't waste another minute and rushed towards the kitchen, unmindful of the fact that he was still dressed in his clothes from yesterday.
His trajectory towards what he hoped was breakfast was brought to a sudden halt. The need for caffeine to jumpstart his system took a second seat to the vision in front of him. He stood in the doorway, rubbed his eyes. Sure enough, she stayed right where she was, right by the stove, with her back to him. When he blinked, she didn't fade away, proving that it wasn't one of his many dreams. She really was there. A soft voice he found incredibly sweet sang along to the music coming out of a small radio on the corner of the counter, in a terribly off-key and un-melodious kind of a way. He caught something about a last name in the words of the song. His lips reluctantly tugged up at the corner while amusement tinted his eyes. He doubted if Carrie Underwood would appreciate the performance. She would probably be more than inclined to sue the person responsible for butchering the melody of her song.
Once he got passed her rather pathetic attempt at singing, he looked at her, really looked at her, and felt as if he'd just taken a two-by-four to the gut. Lord help him, she was already dressed up for the day in one of those sexy little numbers her friends had so thoughtfully put together for her. He made a mental note to thank them if he ever got a chance to meet them. This time, it was a bright white cotton dress with orange and red splashed in countless splotches across it. It tied at the neck, left a good bit of her back bare, and fell down to her thighs. A matching red sash wrapped around her waist, accentuating her figure, and was fastened into a bow. A droopy and lopsided bow, more in line with the Trixie he knew, and positive proof that she hadn't put all that much effort into tying it this morning.
Feeling off-balance, he leaned a shoulder against the doorframe and tried to puzzle it out. Slowly, an unusual sense of déjà vu descended over him, making him question when he had last witnessed a scene such as the current one playing out before him. He angled his head to the side, tried to recall it. The memory pulled at him, all fuzzy and distorted, but refused to come into complete focus, not right away. It left him feeling strangely warm, peaceful and, dare he admit it, comfortable. And then that long-ago memory finally came into focus, blowing those feelings to smithereens. He remembered. Holy hell, did he ever remember.
The recent amusement dropped from his face, to be replaced with a stunned look. He had come across her, just like this, in the kitchen of Crabapple Farm, shortly before their series of fights that led to their break-up. The night they stayed together to watch over Bobby and one of the Lynch twins. He couldn't recall which one; didn't particularly care. It was one of the last times they'd spent together as a couple. And it was also the night he'd received the engagement ring from her father, the ring he had planned on surprising her with during their anniversary. The breath he drew in was long, loud and sharp, one she couldn't hear over the hiss and dribble of the coffee as it neared the end of its cycle. Thinking about the sweetness of that night was unbearably, unbelievably difficult. He strived not to. Instead, he reluctantly settled for second best. Concentrating on exhaling his next breath, he mentally catalogued the changes in her, between now and then.
More lithe, more golden, more treacherous and tortuous to his senses than she had been all those years ago when he'd stood on the back porch of her house and watched her hard at work in the kitchen, readying their dinner. Her hair was longer, shot through with natural highlights that told of the time she spent outside at the beach, and much curlier than it used to be. But the hips still swayed in the same magnificent way and in perfect time to the beat of the music, even if her voice couldn't match the tune. Then there was her birthmark behind her left knee. Eagerly, he zeroed in on it, found it just as sexy now as he had back then. Eventually his visual scan made it down to her slim and well-defined calves, to her feet that weren't bare this time but were decorated with strappy white sandals. It wasn't too much of a hardship on his part to travel the entire way back up. He allowed himself another lengthy, leisurely look, drinking in the sight of her before him, and didn't do a blessed thing to alert her to his presence.
Unaware that she had an audience, and an extremely interested one at that, Trixie carefully eyed the omelette. "Perfect," she mumbled to herself after a moment's consideration and brushed back a curl that refused to stay put. Humming lightly, she expertly moved the omelette to the plate. Next on the order was a fresh cup of coffee. She poured it out as the song finished, turned around, prepared to take her breakfast to the counter.
She stopped dead in her tracks. The mug nearly fell from her fingers when she got a good look at the doorway. She put it on the counter instead. "Jim!" she squeaked, her cheeks turning an instant and bright shade of pink. Judging from the amused smirk on his face, he'd definitely heard her rather sorrowful attempt at a singing performance. Her eyes slid almost accusingly towards the radio. Quickly, she turned it off.
Jim returned her greeting and crossed over into the room, choosing not to comment on the blush staining her face or what he'd overheard. "Smells good in here," he said after an appreciative sniff. "Better than room service."
Needing to keep busy, hoping to keep him from mentioning her poor attempt at singing, Trixie immediately offered him the mug and moved back to the counter. Concentrating on the mundane task helped mask her embarrassment and gave her time to compose herself. She despised being taken by surprise. She grabbed the plate and almost forced it into his hand. "Here," she mumbled, staring at the floor. "You can have the first one. I'll make another for me."
Since he didn't have a choice but to accept the plate, he did and carried it over to the counter. Carefully positioning himself on the stool so he had the double pleasure of eating a delicious breakfast and watching her work at the same time, he took the first bite and sighed in appreciation. "This is wonderful, Trix."
She tossed him a look over her shoulder as she expertly cracked the eggs for the next omelette. "Thanks." Her nerves started to take over and could easily be blamed for the babble that started to tumble out of her mouth, "I got up about an hour ago. I, ah, didn't want to wake you up. You were sleeping like the dead when I walked by the living room so I got ready for the day and decided to make breakfast. I figured I'd wake you up afterwards, if you weren't already awake, that is."
Her rambling made him feel even more comfortable. Inwardly grinning, he shrugged a shoulder. "I guess that's what happens when you stay up too late."
His response stopped her babble better than her own mental capabilities. A befuddled frown settled on her lips. For the first time she looked at him. Her frown deepened. His clothes were the same as yesterday, except now they were disheveled and rumpled. His crisp hair stuck out in different directions, proving that he was in desperate need of a comb. And his face carried an impressive amount of stubble. Obviously, he'd worn his clothes to bed. What had he been doing?
The fact that she didn't know the answer bothered her. She hadn't had any problem with sleep; had turned in right after her bath. Sleep had claimed her the second her head hit the pillow. Another full night of rest; another minor miracle for her. She wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not to get so comfortable on a mission. Worse for her, she could lay her gratitude for her restful night on the person who was sitting five feet away from her. Blonde curls bounced with the slight shake of her head. Who would have thought that the person who she avoided for seven years was suddenly becoming a source of comfort and security to her? Amazing. She shook away her thoughts, looked at him again and the unsolved problem before her. "What time did you go to sleep last night, Jim?"
"Three…I think," Jim tacked on with a rueful grin and another forkful of breakfast.
"In the morning?" Trixie whirled around, shocked. She aimed the spatula in his direction. "What on earth were you doing until three in the morning?"
"After you left for your bath, your friend Max stopped by. He invited me over to his suite," Jim shared, watching her reaction out of the corner of his eyes as he continued to eat. Sure enough, he recognized the amusement that danced across her face before she neatly tucked her head away from him.
"Oh, I see." Laughter was dying to spill out. She bit the inside of her cheek to conceal it. "Umm..what did you two do?" Putting her head down, she tried to behave like the simple act of making her omelette was of vital importance. A small giggle sputtered out past her twitching lips; was quickly disguised as a cough that didn't fool him for a minute.
Wondering what she was finding so hilarious about Max inviting him over, he hesitated before answering, "We played cards. Started off with a little blackjack. When Shane came back, we switched over to poker. The time went by fast, much faster than I expected it to. I didn't realize it was so late until Max decided to call it a night." He hadn't done too badly in the game, either, coming out in the middle of the pack instead of dead last, where he normally stood at the end of any card game. His run of good luck had caught him completely by surprise.
"Did you, ah, do well?" Oh, she could picture it perfectly, recognized exactly what her friends were doing. She knew them well. And Jim would be a prime target. He was a horrible card player, almost appallingly bad. Honey had often said that her brother couldn't bluff his way out of a paper bag. Quite true. Max and Shane wouldn't just catch on to that crucial little fact. Nope, they'd take full advantage of it, too. Her slim shoulders started to shake with the effort to keep the laughter in.
"Fair enough." Jim's pleasure at doing so well compared to his normal efforts started to fade when a sound that could only be termed a giggle sputtered out of her. "Come on, Trix. What do you find so funny?" he demanded, a curious line forming on his forehead.
Breathing in and out didn't help. The laughter finally escaped despite her strongest efforts to keep it in. It poured out, bounced off the walls like the rays of the sun glinting across the placid waters of a lake. When she was relatively certain her humor was contained, Trixie slid her omelette onto a plate and carefully carried her breakfast over as she made it to the counter. "Jim, I hate to burst your bubble but I think you're being fleeced," she said after setting her things down. "Max and Shane are trying to take advantage of a few simple facts here. Let's face it. You're kinda passable at blackjack but poker? Poker? Come on. You're not that good at it."
"Usually I'm not but last night…er, earlier this morning, I mean, I must have hit a good run of…" Then Jim's frown flourished and grew. He remembered how easy it had seemed last night. Now, in retrospect, it was almost too easy. Her earlier words came back to him, mocked him, and prevented him from saying anything else. He held his hands up, palms out. "Wait a minute. What do you mean that I was being fleeced?"
With a sigh, Trixie shared the cold hard truth with him. "Jim, Max and Shane are really good players. I mean, super good players. They would give our pal Daniel Mangan a run for his money and we both know how good he is when it comes to cards of any kind. Trust me on this. They're setting you up. They want to build up your confidence, let you win a little. Then, the next time you play, they'll hit you with how good they really are. You won't stand a chance."
Unsure whether to be insulted or amused, Jim lifted a resigned shoulder. He should have known better, he thought with an inward chuckle at himself. He did suck at the game. Both games, if he was admitting the truth. "Yeah, well, anyway, it was a fun experience. I'll decline, though, if they ask me again."
"Good idea." Unthinking, Trixie reached out, put a consoling hand on his shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. Not realizing what she had just done, she dropped her hand and started eating her breakfast.
The simple touch shot straight through him, astonished him. His fork clattered to the floor. Mumbling something incoherent when she raised surprised eyebrows in his direction, he retrieved it and got a new one from the drawer, all the while keeping Trixie within his sights. Dear Lord, the whole breakfast scene seemed so unbelievably domestic to him. Just like a normal slice of everyday life, like what life was supposed to be; for him and for her. He'd give anything to make it last, to make it real. Since being together wasn't in the realm of real yet, he shook his head to clear it and, determined to enjoy every last minute of it while he could; he slid back onto his seat and flashed his lopsided grin her way. "Fork slipped," he said after she looked at him questioningly.
"We've got a pretty big day ahead of us today," Trixie reminded him, completely unaware of the myriad thoughts swirling with the force of a windstorm through Jim's mind. Curling a hand around her mug, she suddenly started to feel uneasy about the day. Carefully, she added, "We're meeting Mr. Young today, remember?"
"For lunch and a swim." Recalling the time inscribed on the back of the business card, he glanced at the clock. "In about two hours, right?"
"High noon," Trixie remarked. "A fitting time, when you think about it."
"It's when all the big showdowns happened in those westerns we used to watch at The Cameo," he murmured, very nearly reaching out to twine a tempting curl that spiraled down by the side of her face around his finger. He stopped the motion just a moment before he did it, ended up taking another bite. This time, the delicious taste didn't register, not when he was more interested in touching, and, truth be told, tasting her instead. The thought slithered its way in before he could stop it, made the emerald darken and his mouth go dry. He choked down a large swallow of coffee, welcomed the burn as it trailed down his throat. It helped him concentrate on what she was saying.
"I doubt it will be quite as dramatic as Gary Cooper's showdown," Trixie giggled, completely oblivious to his inner struggle, and unintentionally made matters worse. She gave her head a tiny shake. The rowdy, untamed curls bounced with the movement, teasing and tantalizing him even more than they had before. "We'll just be ourselves being Jim Hart and Trixie Johnson, if you know what I mean." She topped it off with a light, lilting laugh.
"I've got a great memory. I won't mess up our story. Scout's honor." He held up his fingers in the tried and true manner, hoping to get a smile out of her.
It didn't work. Very deliberately, Trixie laid down her fork. All traces of her recent bout with merriment dissipated. It was time. Just like yesterday morning, there were at a place where she had to bring up an embarrassing subject, one that had to be broached, discussed and then conquered, all before they left the suite. Otherwise, they wouldn't fare all that well with Mr. Young. "Chances are that Mr. Young is not going to be interested in our work history or anything like that. He's already read up on it, thanks to our extensive backgrounds. No, the meeting today will be much more informal than that, Jim." She fought against the urge to drop her eyes, barely won, and called on all her training to find the strength to say, "He's going to want to know how we met, how we fell in love, how we got engaged. You know, that sort of thing."
Unintentionally , he copied her and put down his fork. He used the time to search his memory banks for anything remotely close to their supposed relationship in the pile of paperwork he'd memorized on his first night in Vegas. Nothing stood out; absolutely nothing. It worried him. He leaned forward and inquired, "Ahh, Trix? How exactly do we answer those questions? I don't remember reading anything about our…ah, relationship."
"That's because there wasn't anything in those papers. You see, we need to come up with the story ourselves. I'd suggest that we keep it simple." Because her hunger was abating, and quickly, Trixie pushed her half-eaten omelette away. She didn't relinquish her coffee though. Her knuckles turned white on the mug, showing her tension clearly.
So now they had to fabricate their romance. How...remarkably odd, he thought, and extremely uncomfortable. For both of them. He barely resisted the urge to squirm in his seat. Since Trixie wasn't backing down and stared intently at him through eyes that were uncharacteristically blank, he managed to choke out, "Simple. Sounds, umm, good, I guess."
"And we should also make certain it matches our background." Under the counter where he couldn't see it, her other hand started to beat out a rapid tattoo on her thigh, clearing showing her agitation with the subject. She infused her voice with a strength she didn't quite feel. Luckily, he didn't call her bluff. "Since we're supposedly from L.A., I say that we met in a nightclub. I was out with the girls, having some fun. You were out with the boys, looking for some fun. And we managed to find each other on that very fateful night. Love at first dance or something like that. He'll appreciate it, especially since he sent us to that nightclub last night."
"Yeah, a nightclub sounds simple enough." Simple, maybe, but he preferred the truth of how they met. In an ancient, run-down mansion on a steamy July day, with a shotgun in his hands and a pair of brilliantly blue eyes blasting him with a mixture of both suspicious curiosity and righteous indignation. Unforgettable, incredible, and unbelievable. How the hell he could have overlooked the potency and the promise of that first meeting for seven freaking years was beyond him.
"We can add that we danced a few dances that night, hooked up and haven't looked back since," Trixie continued, her gaze finally skirting away from him. Because she wasn't looking at him, she missed the moment the simple epiphany flashed in his eyes. "We've been together exclusively for a year. During the course of our relationship, we've moved in together, in your house in L.A., shortly after our first date, and…" Here she gave an ugly sneer at the gaudy ring resting proudly on her finger, "Have recently decided to tie the knot."
"It sounds simple enough." He couldn't imagine a more awkward conversation for the two of them to be having. Discussing an imaginary love life was exceedingly difficult. It was made even more difficult because he would give anything in the entire world to have a real one with her now, Jim admitted on a shocked breath as his burgeoning epiphany flourished and grew. He sat up straighter on his stool, glanced warily at her. He almost expected her to have read the thoughts on his face. When she didn't look at him any differently, he breathed a silent breath of purely relieved air and pointed to her engagement ring. "And the engagement? He'll want to know how that happened, right?"
"Yeah. We'll have to make it good." Underneath, her fingers started tapping double-time on her thigh. Above the counter, she looked serene and amazingly composed, a testament to her training. "We're not playing simple people here who settle for the boring or the mundane," she said with a trace of a smile on her face. "It has to be something extremely memorable, brilliant and unforgettable. Something…big."
Since it felt like the conversation was sucking the air right out of his lungs and leaving nothing else in its wake, Jim bravely attempted some levity, hoping to lighten the mood, "I suppose I didn't put the message out on the big screen at a Laker game this past basketball season, huh?"
A startled laugh slipped out. She hadn't known how much she needed to laugh until this moment. Feeling almost comfortable, her fingers finally stopped moving. She swiveled on the stool and agreed with a tilt of her head, "No, that wouldn't fit our image, Jim. It's got to be something bigger than that."
"Let me think." He ran a hand through his already mussed-up hair, mused aloud. "We could say we spent a romantic weekend in wine country. Napa Valley, right?" At her short nod, he continued, "Maybe we checked in at a beautiful bed-and-breakfast, had a romantic picnic dinner for two with lots of moonlight and roses. It's a beautiful area from what I've heard. After dinner, we went for a stroll, and then, well..." He couldn't quite bring himself to say the rest of it. Instead, he tapped the massive diamond. "This happened."
Because the picture he painted sounded awfully nice, much nicer than it should have been to her, Trixie went a little soft, a little touched, and a whole lot misty. She glanced away and resolutely blinked back the moisture. She would be damned before she let any of them fall. Not in front of him and not later, not when she was alone. "Hmm," she murmured, staring intently down into the black liquid in her mug as if it offered her a way to escape the sudden disconcerting atmosphere in the room. Quietly, she agreed, "That would definitely do it."
Softly uttered words. Jim studied her closely, her lowered head, her averted eyes, her rigid shoulders. The posture clearly stated that she should be left alone and yet…he couldn't do it. He reached out, tipped a finger under her chin, and lifted her head up. "Anything else I need to know?" It wasn't what he intended to say. But, the second he stared into the overly luminous eyes, he couldn't dredge up the courage to bring up what he really wanted to. The timing couldn't have been any worse.
"Just…just," She hastily cleared her throat and tried again. "Just don't be surprised if Mr. Young leaves us alone today. There's a good chance that he's using our meeting to see how we act on his home turf. I wouldn't put it past him to have invited us over to study us and how we act together."
"So, we get to be the main stars in his play while he gets to be the director," he inferred correctly, earning a small smile from her.
"That's one way of looking at it. Accurate, too." She swallowed the last of her coffee. A quick look at the clock on the stove told her that they had an hour and half to get ready for their infamous meeting. "Ten-thirty already," she mumbled under her breath.
He followed her gaze, saw the time and jumped up from his spot. "I'll go get cleaned up." Since he was trained correctly by his mother at a young age, he cleared his spot at the counter and carefully put his plate and utensils in the sink. "Give me about fifteen minutes."
"We've got plenty of time. There's no need for you to hurry." After waving him off, Trixie pushed herself off her stool and started cleaning the rest of the kitchen. While her thoughts should have been centered on the upcoming meeting, they were not. Instead, they revolved solely on her daydreams from years earlier. The words of each fantasy were usually different, ranging anywhere from the short and sweet to the long and flowery, but the setting was always the same. Ten Acres, Jim, and a familiar diamond solitaire ring. Her heart skipped a few painful beats. The dishwasher closed with a loud thump. "Instead I get to wear you," she grumbled and glared down at her finger. "And I get to make up a stupid and fake engagement to Jim Hart." She barely resisted the urge to kick the poor abused appliance.
When the kitchen was sparkling clean, much cleaner than any guest had a right to make it in the hotel, she stood back to admire her handiwork. Footsteps on the tiled floor brought her out of her reverie. "I thought you were getting a shower," she wondered aloud, not checking to see who was in the room.
"Already got one," was the cheerful answer.
Trixie whipped around. "Max!" she exclaimed, hurrying over to his side. "What are you doing here?"
"A little visit, a little business." He shrugged his shoulder, sniffed the air. "Maybe a little breakfast. You made omelettes this morning, didn't you?"
"Do you want one?" Trixie offered, more than willing to bring out the freshly cleaned utensils and start over again. She'd do practically anything to help keep from thinking about the upcoming meeting and the many lies she'd need to tell to make Mr. Young believe their relationship.
"Nah. No need to go to all that trouble when you've got the kitchen all cleaned up." Without waiting to be asked, Max started rummaging through the cabinets, pulled out a loaf of bread and popped two slices into the toaster. "I'll settle for toast instead." Making himself comfy and at home, he slipped a hip on a stool and sat down.
"Help yourself." The sarcasm practically dripped from her lips. Knowing it was useless to demand why he was here because he would only tell her when he was good and ready, Trixie rolled her eyes and decided to give it a whirl anyway. "All right. To what do I owe a visit from you this morning?"
"Can't I stop in for a little chat with you?" Eyes that weren't completely innocent blinked back at her. "After all, we're not really working together on this mission. Maybe I just miss working with you."
"Yeah, right," she replied with a snort that bordered on rude. She put a hand on her hip and leveled a glare his way. "There's no need to beat around the bush here, Max. We've worked together long enough for me to recognize the signs. Tell me. Something's up. What is it?"
"Nothing's up…exactly," he tacked on before merrily snagging the toast when it popped up. He accepted the butter from her and generously slathered it on. After taking a big bite, he said, "But we'll get to that in a few minutes. There's no need to hurry this, you know. First, I want to check on the status for today."
"Noon in Mr. Young's penthouse," she replied immediately, although she already knew that he was aware of the details. Men, she huffed insolently to herself before adding, "We're supposed to head up there for lunch and a swim." She took a deep breath before explaining, correctly guessing part of the reason why he stopped by for a surprise visit, "Jim and I spent our morning working on pinning down our 'relationship' so that we can answer any questions that pop up today. We agreed to keep it simple."
"Hmm," he murmured and crossed off one item on his list. Silently congratulating her, he mentally patted her on the back and speculated, "I came to a conclusion this morning. Young's not going to want to do any business with you two today, you know. He'll be more interested in getting to know Johnson and Hart and how well you two deal together. Good choice there by going with the simple, by the way. Did you 'pin' enough down for today?"
She blew out a tiny breath. "We've got a good head start. If there are any surprise questions, I'll tell him to keep it as close to normal as possible. We don't want to blow it, now that we've come this far."
"You've got me firmly in your corner, Belden. You'll get it settled. I'd lay down money on it." He finished the first slice of toast, started on the second, and craned his head. "Any coffee left over this morning?"
One eyebrow lifted high. She attempted the impossible and tried to stare him down. "I hear you had a late night last night," she stated, saying nothing else, and poured him the last of the coffee.
He accepted the cup with a disarming grin that was wasted on her. When she didn't soften, he threw up his hands. "All right, all right, you've got me," he chuckled. "Frayne told you about our little game last night, huh?"
"Oh, yeah." She slugged him on the arm and ignored his surprised cry of pain. "You won't be able to fool him again, Donovan. I've already put him back on the right track. He knows what you and Shane were trying to do to him."
"And what, pray tell, were we trying to do?" He tried to blink innocently again but it didn't work this time either.
"Fattening him up," she shot back with a small sneer of disgust. She waved a finger at him and made a tsking sound. "He's not good at poker. Believe me, I know. We played the game often enough together as teenagers with our friends. It's because he can't bluff. He's too honorable."
Somehow, she gave him the opening he needed to move on the next agenda on his list. Nice of her, he thought with a small chuckle. "You're right. He can't bluff well at all at the card table but…" Max fished his cell out of his pocket, called up a recent picture, and placed the phone on the pristine counter. "He's making up for it now. I must say that he's bluffing very well for the right audience. Or maybe it's because he's found the right partner," he couldn't resist adding, an unholy twinkle glinting in his eyes.
Trixie leaned forward, stared at the picture taken of the two of them down in the lobby, during their kiss. Her cheeks heated, her mind shut down, and her next breath came out as an audible gasp of almost painful shock and awe. "Gleeps," she muttered lowly, unable to stop looking at the picture.
"Sorry about taking it. Joss asked me to show her how Frayne was doing so I took a few shots yesterday," he apologized contritely, meaning it. "She said that he's doing better than she ever expected him to do, by the way."
"I'm glad he has her approval." While she meant for the statement to be sarcastic, she couldn't pull it off. She respected both Jocelyn's and Max's opinions too much. But she couldn't handle looking at the picture another minute. Fingers that wanted to shake pushed the cell towards him. The damage had been done, though. When she blinked her eyes, the image felt like it was etched onto her inner eyelids.
"That's not all I wanted to talk to you about this morning." Max inhaled deeply, imagining she was going to despise him for what he was about to do to her next. She had every right. He sent up a tiny prayer that he'd be able to do it without hurting her too much...and without her wanting to inflict too much bodily harm on him when he was all finished.
Her body immediately went rigid. Instantly wary, completely on high alert, Trixie turned around slowly, her eyes narrowed into thin blue slits. "What is it?" she inquired, her voice carefully devoid of any emotion.
"Just this." Max called up the next picture. This time he didn't lay it on the counter. He held it out to her instead. Not surprising, she didn't take it. "While Joss was interested in Frayne's work, she was more concerned about you and how you were handling working with him. She asked me to show her how you were holding up. As you know, she's aware of your personal history with Frayne, too," he continued on before forcefully taking her hand and placing the phone in it.
She bit her lip hard. She didn't want to look at the next picture; she knew she didn't and yet…she didn't have a choice, not with Max practically pushing it under her nose. An incoherent 'humph' passed her lips before she threw all caution to the wind, stared down at it, and immediately wished she hadn't. It would have been better for her if she had never seen it. The photo was ten times worse than the one of the two of them kissing. Hell, it made the one Honey emailed her seem pale and inconsequential by comparison. She automatically took a step back, shook her head in denial, and dropped the phone on the counter.
Max's eyebrows snapped together. "Humph, she says," he grumbled under his breath and frowned. Witnessing the aftermath had been even stronger than the kiss itself. The way she'd looked up at Jim, all wide-eyed, totally awestruck, and besotted. How Frayne hadn't been able to see it was beyond him. Max figured the mess they'd made of their relationship continued to help block out the truth of the feelings they felt for each other. It was crazy for both of them to ignore it when the truth was as blatantly obvious as the upturned, freckled nose on Belden's face. Those two belonged together. He was only starting his second day of witnessing them in action and even he knew it. "Nothing else, then, Belden?"
"Ah, you missed your calling. You should have been a photographer," she quipped lowly, hoping her reply would cut down on the lecture she felt was coming her way. Despite her best efforts, she couldn't help it. Her eyes darted back for a second look. Yeah, the shot didn't get any better the second time around.
He closed out the picture, hit a few more buttons to call up a recent text. "Don't try to sidestep the issue, Belden," he warned her, glancing up while he found the right text.
Curls did a limp dance with the negative shake of her head. "Fine. I won't," she bit out and covered her chest with her arms. Because she didn't have any defense at all, she gathered her pride around her anyway and went for haughty. "Lay it out for me, Max. What is this imaginary issue of yours?"
He had more than one to discuss with her. He couldn't accurately predict how she was going to take either one of them. "It's nothing that'll hinder our mission…and it's not an imaginary issue, either. Far from it," Max replied, quietly and with a great deal of feeling. "Right now I want to talk about you and Frayne."
The 'and Frayne' made her wince. "Oh?"
He half-chuckled at the way she used another one-syllable sound. Obviously, she wasn't feeling all that articulate this morning. He chose not to call her on it. "Joss has always been much better at stating things than I am. You'll get the point much quicker than if I were to try and explain it. I'm clumsy when it comes to issues like this." Hating to do it yet knowing it might possibly help her out, he showed her the message. "She sent me the text after seeing the second picture. Read it for yourself, Belden."
Tell her, Max. Tell her. She's wearing her heart on her sleeve. Trixie's eyes popped open at the response from Jocelyn. Blunt, to the point and, oh, did she know it was real. Too real. Painfully real. It was hard not to let her defenses down, not when Jim was constantly by her side, especially after the unexpected flash of passion. "Right," she mumbled again and felt said heart start to flip over painfully.
"At least I got a full word this time instead of an inarticulate syllable." He scrubbed a hand over his face and grabbed a hold of her elbow when it seemed like she wanted to turn away. "Listen. Joss doesn't want to hurt you. Neither do I. I'm sorry if showing you all of this does just that."
"It doesn't," she denied. Too vehemently, too strongly, too forcefully. Since jerking away from him would be seen as a weakness, she quelled the urge and made herself stare at him. It just plain sucked having the truth thrown in her face, especially when her denial could be considered paltry at best.
Because he'd always adored her and thought the world of her, he didn't push the issue. He let her have the illusion that he accepted her answer at face value and gifted her with an understanding smile. "You're one of our favorite people here, Trixie. Neither Joss nor I want you to get hurt when all this is over and you both go back to your separate lives. If everything goes as planned, this whole misadventure should only last a few days, maybe a week at the most. Just don't get hurt. Okay?"
"I won't," she assured him quickly. There was a tiny grain of truth to her answer. She wouldn't hurt any more than she had over the past seven years. She'd already suffered through the worst pain possible…she hoped. "I understand my job, my role, in all this. Believe me, I do. As you said the other day, my personal feelings can't be taken into account. I'm CDA and that takes all precedence."
He looked deeply into her eyes, hardly reassured by her answer. But he reluctantly let it go, unable to continue poking at her, no matter how gently he'd tried to do it. He was still left with the thought that he'd handled the matter with the unspeakable grace of the infamous bull in that poor, unlucky china shop. "All right," he said gruffly and patted her shoulder awkwardly, feeling brotherly towards her.
She mustered a grin, a travesty of one. "Is that all?" Expecting an affirmative, she crossed over to the door and hopefully salvation. His negative brought her up short.
"Not quite," he said, biting back an inward grimace. If the last part of their conversation had been awkward, he couldn't begin to imagine how the next part was going to make him, or her, feel. "Now that we've covered the personal side of all this, it's time to mention something about the professional. You'll have to forgive me because they seem to contradict each other. Oh, and you're probably going to hate me when we're done with it." He almost cringed as the words came out.
Her hand fell back from the doorframe. Curiosity mixed with trepidation as she faced him. Professional. What else could he bring up? "What is it now?" She hid her sudden worry behind a crisp and cool façade that was as transparent as a thin pane of glass.
Hell, it was harder than he'd imagined it would be, even harder than showing her the pictures and Joss's text had been. "It's about the performance you're giving."
Pride, of which she had more than her fair share of, stiffened her body. Frost glinted the sapphire blue. Her chin jutted out. She drew herself up to her full height, which wasn't all that impressive since she was still nearly a foot shorter than he was. "And what, exactly, is wrong with my performance?"
He couldn't mistake the haughtiness of her response. She'd never taken criticism all that well in the span of her career with their agency. Luckily, there'd never been a huge call for it either. She was too good. "I'll make it short and sweet," he assured her and held up a hand before she could fire a dart of a furious response back at him. "You're following too much, Belden."
"Following?" she sputtered out, her eyes slitted with annoyance. "What the hell do you mean by that?"
"Just…following." He lifted his shoulders, prayed for the right words to come so that he wouldn't totally tick her off. "You need to be a little more forceful with the…ah, relationship aspect of the mission, if you know what I mean. Sometimes, like in the pictures I showed you, it looks more like you're relying on Frayne and that you aren't, ah…instigating." Oh, God, how he wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole. An abnormal dark red filled his cheeks. He never gave in to a flush. Never.
Instigating? INSTIGATING? For one who always liked to be on the move, she went totally, completely and eerily still. She tapped first one ear, then the other, checking to see if she was hearing him wrong. "You're confusing me here, Max. Didn't you just finish telling me I should be more careful with my feelings? That, as Jocelyn wrote, I'm wearing my heart on my sleeve? What the hell do you expect of me? I can't hide my feelings and successfully…lead at the same time." A frustrated hand ran through her untamed curls.
"That part about your feelings….that was the personal side," he clarified quickly and moved a stool between them. It seemed safer all around to have a barrier from the seething mound of barely contained fury in front of him. "Professionally, well, you're doing a fine job with Frayne. He is, too. But, well, there's a lot of room for improvement. You know it. You feel it. I know you do. Just…don't hold back with him. And, well, keep yourself protected at the same time."
She threw up her hands, a portrait of frustrated astonishment. "Unbelievable," she muttered and stalked her way back into the kitchen until her sandals touched the base of the stool. "You can't have it both ways here, Max. First you're telling me to play it safe. Now I need to go for the gold." Her hands slashed through the air to punctuate each point. "I can't do both. What do you want me to do?"
How he wished Joss was here. She would have it handled it much better. His masculine touch wasn't working. That was blatantly obvious. He stumbled through his response. "I want you to do what you need to succeed but also to do everything possible that you need to hold your feelings in check. It's more of a dangerous game here than I realized it would be when the Chief suggested the fiancé switch. You've got to find the right balance, for yourself and for the sake of the mission."
"Fine," snapped out of her. Deep down, she knew he had a very valid point. It didn't show on her face or in her demeanor. "I'll take everything into consideration. You won't be disappointed."
He grabbed her elbow as she whirled away, halting her before she could angrily stomp out of the room. "Wait a second," he murmured, cursing the need for the whole conversation in the first place. The glower she aimed his way should have pulverized him on the spot. "Wait a second and calm down. Nothing good's going to come out of this if you don't get calm."
She congratulated herself on not tugging her arm out of his grip. "And?"
He popped her balloon of irritation by going with an impulsive and uncommon act; a quick, comforting hug. "We love you, Belden," he said gruffly before pulling back. "Take care of yourself and do the best that you can. That's all we want."
"Max." His name came out as a complaint while her need for a battle drained away. She dropped her face in her hands and uttered, "Thanks for that. Now I can't stay mad at you anymore."
"Yeah, well, that's what I expected." He gave her a cocky smile, the one Jocelyn fell in love with, and topped it off with a matching wink. "We'll forget most of this conversation ever took place, right?"
"Deal." She didn't hesitate before agreeing. "There isn't anything else you need to tell me, is there?"
"No." His attached thank goodness was softly whispered but her alert ears still caught it.
"Okay. I still have something to say, though." She took a deep breath, poked a finger into his chest, and reminded him. "You promised me something. Remember it. Keep him safe. Whatever it takes. Take care of him at all times. I can handle myself."
The talk he'd shared with Jim in the wee hours of the morning was fresh in his mind. He's going to stick to you like a burr, he thought with an inward chuckle. She wouldn't be able to shake him. "I won't let you down, just like you won't let the agency down. He'll be watched and he'll be kept safe at all times, just like you want." Then he groaned inwardly. Somehow in the embarrassment of having to point out a few simple truths to her, he'd forgotten another major point, something she most definitely needed to be made aware of. "Ah, wait. I almost forgot. Before you head out, there's something else I have to tell you."
"Great," she grumbled and looked to the ceiling for instant salvation. When nothing was forthcoming, Trixie glanced back warily, unsure if she could take any more probes of his into her professional or personal life. It almost killed her to get out the required question. "What is it now?"
"Ritch." Max's sneer said it all. What he wouldn't give for a few minutes of quality alone-time with him. He'd make sure Ritch would never forget it. "You need to be careful around him, Trixie. Extra careful. He's more dangerous than we originally thought he was."
"Don't worry. I've already figured that one out for myself." Just the memory of the dance she'd shared with him the night before made her want to tremble with revulsion. She could almost feel his hateful touch on her and vowed to never find herself in that type of situation with him again. If she did…well, she had her extensive training to fall back on, she decided with a smile as thin and sharp as a silvery blade. "I rather hope I'll have the chance to show him how to treat a lady before all this is over."
"Good." Max followed her as she slipped out of the room. In reflective silence, they walked towards the living room and the door that connected their suites. He waited until he'd opened the connecting door before saying, "You won't see me much today but I'll be listening. I'll be there for you, should you need me."
"No. You'll be there for Jim if he needs you," she corrected, showing a trace of the obstinance that ran deep within her. His wry look made her chuckle and she waved farewell to Max as he made it through the door. She waited a full minute after his departure before gradually sinking down onto the nearest piece of furniture. Deliberately, she placed her hands on the smooth wooden finish of the decorative table, fanned them out, and nearly knocked over a small brass lamp in the process. She caught it before it fell, righted it again without thinking. Everything Max shared with her ran through her mind, incessantly and relentlessly, and left her with a damning conclusion. Instigating more in their ruse was more enticing than it should be. The thought was darkly dangerous and exceedingly exciting except for one tiny, miniscule problem. There was that pesky little organ of hers standing in the way, the one that both he and Jocelyn warned her about. Her heart.