Chapter Seventeen
Rap rap rap. Rap rap rap. Rap rap rap.
The racket refused to stop. Under protest, Kendall emerged from a deep and unsatisfying sleep, reached for a pillow to jam over her head, and discovered there wasn't one. Nor were there her usual soft as silk cotton sheets and voluminous comforter billowing around her. Instead she was pulling the inadequate woven throw from the sofa up to her chin, leaving her bare feet exposed. Her feet, which should have been supported by memory foam, were resting against the cold hardwood floor. Huh? For some reason, she wasn't lying down. She was sitting up.
Untangling herself from the throw, Kendall groggily opened her eyes. No wonder. Instead of being in her bed in her bedroom; she was in her easy chair in the living room. And at first she had no recollection why.
Rap rap rap. Rap rap rap. Rap rap rap.
The origin of the noise could now be identified, though. Someone was knocking on the door. She grabbed for her robe, realized she already wore it, and lurched from the chair. Directly in her path stood the sofa and as she detoured around it, Kendall realized something was lying on it. A long something. A big something. Not something, someone, someone alive and starting to move. Stretching and groaning. She stared in dumbfounded fascination. What the hell? Did somebody stay here last night? The someone's back was to her. Someone and in his underwear, it looks like?
In one abrupt motion the someone suddenly rolled over and sat straight up, facing her and taking up enough of the space between them to make her step back without thinking. "Zach?" she gasped in shock.
Rap rap rap. Rap rap rap. Rap rap rap.
"Someone's at the door." His voice was raspy from interrupted sleep. "You'd better get it."
"But what are—"
"Get it or I will. It must be important!"
"But what are you doing here?"
"You don't remember? You offered me tea and…I guess we offered each other sympathy. Christ, not that kind," Zach added impatiently when she gasped again. "We had a little cognac. Must have been more than I thought. Doesn't matter now." He combed his fingers through his tousled hair.
It began to come flooding back to Kendall. "We did? Oh my god, Zach, I forgot. What time is it?"
"We'll talk about it later if you want. I don't know the time. Will you just answer the door?"
Glancing at it fearfully, remembering the purpose of the last visitor before Zach—Police Chief Derek Frye—the night before, Kendall shivered and looked at Zach. "What if it's Derek again? It must be—no one called from the guard's office or if they did I slept through it. Will you get the door, Zach? Please?"
His impatient expression softened. "Sure."
When Zach rose to his feet, Kendall saw in relief that even though there wasn't really any appreciable difference between the amounts of their coverage, he was wearing running shorts and a tank top, not boxers and a t-shirt. That was right, he was about to go for a run when she'd interrupted him. Their middle-of-the-night encounter seemed all the more dream-like now in the light of day. Zach's continued presence had caught her completely by surprise and even more surprising, Kendall was glad of it. As the knocking went on, her feet felt rooted to the floor.
Hugging herself in preparation for more bad news, Kendall moved out of his way as Zach went to the door and threw it wide open, to be met by a snarling, "What in the goddamn hell are you doing here, Slater?"
Coming up behind and quickly peering around Zach, Kendall's heart soared that her visitor wasn't Derek, but sank when she saw who it was. "J.R.," she said weakly. "What are you doing here? How did you get through the guard station? I wasn't expecting you. Or—or was I? So much has happened I can't—"
Rudely, J.R. pushed past Zach and her both. Once in the room, he thrust a large, handled sack bearing the Serving Spoon logo at Kendall. "Here you go. The guard used to work at Chandler Enterprises and let me in. I thought I'd be nice and surprise you with some breakfast."
When Kendall fumbled for the heavy sack, her robe, its tie, loosened by her restless night, fell open. J.R. ogled her, took in Zach's lack of clothing, and sneered, "Too bad I didn't know you were already entertaining. I only brought breakfast for two, not three. But the joke was on me, huh?—I'd say you've already eaten anyway."
"J.R., for god's sake, if you're getting at what I think you're getting at, you couldn't be more wrong!" Kendall cried.
"More wrong, or more offensive," Zach growled. "But then, he's never been required to be either smart or courteous."
"Shut your fucking mouth, Slater!" J.R. seethed.
Really, this was too much, Kendall thought wildly—she was barely holding it together herself, now she had two men brimming with testosterone to deal with and, if the way they were sizing each other up was any indication, they weren't averse to coming to blows. "Please! I really don't need this!" she declared. "J.R., what's the matter with you showing up like this? My god, Ethan—Ethan isn't even gone for a day and you're already trying to move in on him?"
As soon as the tactless words left her lips, Kendall wished she could recall them. Normally, she considered J.R. Chandler a friend and ally, for his powerful father Adam could be as unreasonable, scheming, and determined to force his will on J.R. as Erica had historically been with her. Yet, unlike her dynamic with Erica, J.R. had been very much spoiled his entire life by Adam. In recent months J.R. and Ethan had become colleagues, as Adam's and J.R.'s company Chandler Enterprises had been absorbed in an unfriendly merger with Cambias Industries prior to Ethan taking the reins at Cambias. A friendship of sorts had developed between the two young scions, but J.R. had never hid his attraction to Kendall. Still, Kendall was sure even J.R. couldn't be so uncouth as to do what she'd practically accused him of doing—initiating a campaign to win her before Ethan was even resting in the grave.
"I'm sorry, J.R.," she hastily apologized. "But I didn't ask you to come and you didn't warn me. Zach just lives across the way so he—he just drops by. I'm already upset enough about everything and you are not helping."
"Yeah, Kendall, I can see for myself just how upset you are about poor Ethan," J.R. sneered again. "Too upset to bother to get dressed when Ethan's doting daddy drops by half-naked himself on a condolence call. And you're pointing the finger at me? The real question, Kendall, is just who Slater is doting on, and I think we all already know the answer to that one."
"Why are you attacking me? I apologized to you, J.R.!" Kendall began, at the same time Zach, who had been standing behind J.R. exuding enough menace to crush, via telekinesis, a less thick-skinned man, said quietly in concert with the second half of her statement, "Kendall apologized to you, Junior."
J.R. whirled around. "Mind your own business, Slater. In fact, go take a hike, loser. Leave Kendall and me the hell alone—you know, the way you left Ethan alone until you felt like screwing him over. Ethan was my friend, and I know exactly how much you cared about him. Whatever reason you're using to harass Kendall is bogus."
"You know nothing about me, Junior. I realize you're spoiling for a fight. Sorry to disappoint you."
J.R.'s already narrowed eyes narrowed to slits. "Yeah? Are you sure about that, Slater?"
"J.R.!" Kendall interjected. "Your breakfast is getting cold. Here! Take it. Take it home with you or throw it away, I don't care, just get it out of here with yourself following right behind it—and please don't bother coming back until you can be civil." She thrust the sack of food back at him, but he lifted his hands and refused to take it. The sack dropped to the floor with a thud and a splash. Muffins, croissants, and servings of butter and honey burst forth, and coffee and orange juice spewed out from dislodged lids of overturned Styrofoam cups.
"Oops," J.R. said, making a show of standing away from the mess on the floor. "Sorry. Enjoy your breakfast, Kendall. Guess it's more of a picnic, now."
The world had been topsy-turvy enough overnight…was it never going to right itself? Kendall couldn't believe she was not just fighting with J.R., but fighting with him in front of Zach, with whom she was not only still not fighting, but whom she was actually hoping wouldn't leave before J.R. did. She was already so angry with J.R.'s ridiculously jealous, childish behavior that her tongue was nearly sawed in half, and now this mess she was staring at on the floor…she was very afraid she was about to start crying, and once she got started she would not be able to stop.
"Go in and take your shower now, Kendall," Zach said suddenly. "Junior and I will clean this up."
"If that's supposed to mean me, the fuck I will!" J.R. laughed unpleasantly. "Besides, three's a crowd, and all that. Gotta run."
The lethal glare of Zach's hazel eyes boring into J.R.'s overweening blue ones was enough to give Kendall pause once removed. She'd seen that look once before, on an afternoon months ago when she and Ethan were in Zach's casino office, and Zach was reaming out Paul Cramer, the MedEvac pilot who'd crashed the helicopter flying Bianca and Babe and their babies to safety—oh, shit! Another plane crash! Why did she have to think of that? She was going to cry. Let the two men either clean up or wreck the place. Kendall flew to the bathroom, locked herself in, and turned on the water full-blast.
"You're responsible for the mess, you clean it up. It's that simple," Zach told J.R. "Because you know what? You don't expect somebody else to clean it up for you. Unless that's what you pay them to do."
J.R. blinked insolently. "Well, what do you know, Slater? I don't see any of the maids around. Unless you're moonlighting?"
"No maids. No butlers. Just you. Get moving." Zach continued to glare. The menace Kendall had noted became even more pronounced. "The cleaning supplies are probably in the kitchen. Go find them."
"You're kidding, right? Come on, you can cut the act, Slater. It didn't work with Ethan, you think it's going to work with me? Besides, Kendall's gone. She's not watching now, y'know?"
Zach stepped forward. His voice dipped several notes lower, and his height seemed to be increasing proportionately. "I said, get moving. Now, Junior."
Unwillingly, J.R. stepped back. They continued the dance until they were in the kitchen. Zach was actually enjoying himself. He had met many J.R.'s in his day, privileged, pampered men who'd either grown up having it easy or who'd ended up that way through some dishonest means or through a lucky, unearned roll-of-the dice, men who never expected to, and were never expected to, clean up their own messes, no matter how big or how small…Zach despised such irresponsible men. There was no limit to the havoc they carelessly wreaked and then thoughtlessly walked away from; never bothering to look back…the consequences were always someone else's problem. He'd learned that his brother Michael had been that way, and it was one of the fates he'd foreseen and feared most for Ethan.
"You're nuts, Slater…I don't know where Kendall keeps anything…I've never seen her lift a finger to clean…," J.R. was starting to babble.
"Most likely you won't find cleaning supplies in the refrigerator or the pantry. If you set your mind to it, you can figure it out it by more process of elimination. Hurry up. I haven't got all day." Zach crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at the younger man.
There was no way out for J.R. now. If he broke away and made a run for it, he ended up looking like a more pitiful coward than if he stayed and worked. Zach knew it, and he knew J.R. knew he knew it. Zach also knew J.R. didn't care what Zach thought of him, but J.R.—or rather, his pride—did care about what Kendall thought. Running out would ultimately not work to his advantage.
Under Zach's baleful gaze, J.R. located the broom closet. As he removed a mop and bucket, and filled the bucket at the kitchen sink, his overt hatred of Zach came close to making the water sizzle. Zach also knew that J.R. was fantasizing heaving the bucketful of water straight at him, but that J.R. lacked the necessary balls to provoke a physical fight with an opponent of greater size and stealth. No, J.R. would only pick on someone weaker than himself…someone who wouldn't or couldn't fight back.
J.R. carried the mop and bucket back to the living room. Deciding to lend a hand, not so much as to make things easier for J.R. but to speed up the process, Zach carried the kitchen trash bin out to him. "You'll need this first," he commented blandly, placing it on the floor beside the dumped food.
J.R. was no longer exchanging barbed glances with Zach. He wasn't looking at Zach at all. Grunting, he stooped and gathered up the solid trash. When the floor was cleared of all except the spilled liquids, J.R. jammed the mop in the bucket, struggled over squeezing out the excess water, and sloppily applied the wet mop to the floor, swiping it back and forth a few times until the coffee and orange juice were mostly wiped up. The floor was still not exactly clean, but Zach knew that he had made his point.
Continuing to observe J.R.'s extraordinarily unenthusiastic efforts, Zach mulled over in his mind what he knew about the kid. It was no secret that J.R. had actually worked on a merchant ship after leaving high school; therefore he couldn't be a stranger to such lowly labor, not when he'd been outnumbered by a crew of toughened, unimpressed-by-the-Chandler-name sailors during the one uncharacteristic phase of his life J.R. hadn't been able to trade on his name. J.R.'s current performance was simply to indicate to Zach how above such work he was now he was back in the Chandler fold.
Finally, J.R. returned the cleaning tools to the kitchen, dumped out the bucket in the sink, and replaced it and the mop in the broom closet. When he came back to the living room, Zach cocked his head at the full trash bin beside his foot. Again, Zach sensed that J.R. would have sold his soul to have been able to lob the trash bin at his chest or someplace where it might do more damage. But he didn't dare. Instead, the younger, smaller, steaming man took the bin back into the kitchen.
"You goddamn arrogant bastard," J.R. spat upon his return. "Think you're such a big man, huh, Slater? But you're not. You don't know who you're fucking with. You'll see. I won't forget this."
Zach was hard-pressed to keep from smiling—but if he had it would not have been an agreeable smile. More lightly than he felt, he replied, "Neither will I, Junior. Oh, neither will I."