Closing Costs (9 page)

"What's wrong Rob? Is Blake..."

"He's fine. But you and I need to talk."

"Okay." She reached over to shut her door, curious but not too worried. Rob had been such an anchor for her brother for so long. Whatever it was, she remained confident he could handle it.

"I need Blake to come on vacation with me, Sara, but he won't because he feels too responsible for your child."

She frowned. She'd never heard the tone he used. Anger suffused every word, making its way into her brain and igniting a small fire of defensiveness. "I don't know what you…"

"Yes. You do. You have got to stop relying on him so much, Sara. It's not good for your relationship with your daughter. And it is playing fucking hell with my relationship with your brother."

"But…"

"Listen, you know I love you. I love Katie. But God dammit I love Blake more, okay? He is way too responsible for Katie. He started out that way. I let him do it. But now it has got to stop."

"I'm sorry Rob," the rush of guilt filled her brain again. She knew this moment had to come. She did rely on him too much but he did it. Blake made himself available, insisting she work whatever hours she needed to, that he had Katie under control. And he did. "You're right," she admitted quietly.

"I know I'm right. Now call him and tell him if he does not come on this vacation with me, I may move out. I'm not kidding." She stared at the phone that had gone dead in her hand. Shaking, holding back tears, she hit Blake's speed dial.

"Yeah?" He sounded pissed.

"Honey, you have to listen to me now…"

Chapter Eleven

Jack stared at the computer screen, trying to absorb the chart his new secretary had prepared. He gave up after a few minutes, exhausted with the myriad bullshit details he now had to sweat. Named General Manager of the Stewart Realty Empire over two years ago, he still could not fully wrap his mind around all the added stress. At the time, it had seemed like the perfect solution to take his mind off the daily dilemma: The woman he loved beyond reason, refusing to acknowledge him, and the distinct and alarming lack of sexual activity that followed.

He'd been mistaken.

Also, it probably wasn't the best idea to convince her to take on the sales manager's job at the downtown office; forcing them together on a near daily basis, usually under stressful circumstances, regarding deals gone sour, useless agents or other negative bullshit. He sighed and slammed the laptop shut, head pounding.

"Jack?" Jason poked his head in the new office, "We need to focus on…" Jack held up a hand. He was through for the day. Period. He'd spent an utterly horrific morning dodging bullets from lame-ass attorneys trying to press bogus lawsuits on a couple of his agents for misrepresentation and had presided over a rancorous management meeting in which he'd been assaulted on all sides. The icing on the cake was Sara in her full-throated fury at him for cutting her office's budget for things like the premium coffee and cable on all those frigging electricity-sucking televisions.

"You might as well shut us down and stick me out in a shitty strip mall office, Jack. I gotta have this stuff. People expect it. We look cheap otherwise and my clients don't want to feel like their downtown office agents are too tight to spring for Starbucks or ESPN2, you get me?"

He'd had to grit his teeth, but managed to remind her that now he knew exactly how much that fucking showpiece of an office cost to run every month, there would be changes. She'd have to get creative. It was either that, or prepare for him to increase each of "her agents" desk fees, the monthly amount each agent paid the company to cover stuff like printing and, in her case, premium cable.

It made his teeth ache seeing the costs rising every month. Making the situation worse, it was happening in conjunction with a leveling-off of high-end sales from that branch. He made it perfectly clear he would not continue to fund the toys and premium caffeine unless her numbers came up, fast. The meeting had degenerated from there.

She made him absolutely insane, for so many reasons. She'd been a perfect manager so far. She was tough, but approachable, firm but fair. He knew she'd get her head around it soon and start cranking out revenue, but having to work so closely with her also ripped his guts out daily. He'd tried to reach out, to be available. He'd offered to take her out on dates, only half-kidding about quick jaunts to Paris or Rome. She'd laugh, remind him she couldn't afford a babysitter, and go back to ignoring him. Or biting his fucking head off. He ran a hand down his face, tried to forget the moment they'd shared at her house a couple of years ago. Since then he'd made a point to find a willing woman or two to take his edge off. He'd caved that night on her couch out of physical need, but it had left himself wide open for her rejection. Something he had no interest in experiencing ever again.

The "dates" had proved to be just that–physical release. But he was sick of them, and himself, already.

Yet, even with all of that, the sight of her name on an incoming text still made him smile.

"Hey, I forgot Blake and Rob are on vacation. Can you pick up Katie from daycare?"

He frowned. The baby years had flown by in a blur of diapers, breast milk and avoidance on his part. Babies made him nervous, period. He recognized his own lameness, but it seemed she had plenty of help from family, and Craig. Although since being accepted to medical school down in Nashville, he'd obviously been of less use. Jack had always felt like a fifth wheel around the kid, frankly, with so many people involved her day-to-day care. Ashamed to acknowledge he didn't even know where "daycare" was, he agreed, got the details and headed out.

The place was a zoo by the time he pulled up. He parked, hopped out, following Sara's instructions about going to the main office and presenting his identification since he'd never picked her up before. Little kids swarmed through the huge hallway, screeching, and flinging themselves into their parents' arms. The place reeked of pee and old lunch boxes.

By the time the annoying paperwork was completed, it had more or less cleared out. He stood, like a chastened schoolboy, in front of the director's desk as she called Sara to confirm that
he
, one Mr. Jack Gordon, said with a long appraising look at him and his drivers' license, had been authorized to retrieve one Miss Katherine Elizabeth Thornton.

He adjusted his tie, suddenly nervous about having her in his car, about installing the car seat he'd retrieved from Sara's new Mercedes SUV, and about a whole host of shit he couldn't even begin to name, but mainly coming face-to-face with Katie again. He hadn't seen her in months. Would she recognize him at all? He looked around, still waiting for them to copy his ID and, if the time commitment was any indication, apparently to do a full, police-style, background check on him. Anger started to replace anxiety as his patience waned. He tapped his foot.

"Look, I'm good, okay. I'm her…" he stopped dead. The woman at the desk looked up expectantly, "uncle." His voice faded.

"Katie certainly has a lot of those," the annoying person chirped before handing his ID back and pointing to a side door. She gave him a different sort of look. This one he recognized. He smiled at her. She was sort of good looking, actually. "You gay like her other uncles?" Jack laughed.

"Nope."

"Well then," her eyes flicked up and down his suit-clad form. He made a point to take his hands out of his pockets to display his ring-less state, ignoring the anxiety that had reasserted itself. He fell into flirt mode as self-defense mechanism.

"So, this is your place?" He gestured around.

"Yes, I own it." She leaned back, crossed long legs. He took a step closer.

"You have kids then?"

"Older ones." Her eyes swept up and down him. He chuckled.

"You realize you are checking me out, right?"

"Yeah, I do." She slid a business card across her desk at him. "Go ahead through there. She's waiting."

The place practically echoed, all of the commotion having died down. Now there was only an eerie silence. He didn't see a soul. About to start back through the door to the office and rip somebody a new one for sending him on a wild goose chase, a small voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Who are you?"

He gulped and stepped closer, letting the light hit his face. "I'm your Uncle Jack. Where are you anyway?" He still couldn't see her.

"Oh. Where's Uncle Blake?" He peered around a bookshelf, and saw her, sitting at a small table, lunchbox and small backpack clutched to her chest. Her bright white, high-top tennis-shoe-clad feet swung back and forth. Jack took in the hot pink tutu, purple tights and orange t-shirt adorned with what looked like a sponge, with a face.

"He's on vacation. Nice outfit." He held back, hands in pockets. Her huge green eyes appraised him with a worldliness that startled him. Her dark blonde hair was gathered in braids, more or less but tufts of it had escaped, haloing her face. He sucked in a breath at the resemblance to her mother, all the way down to the attitude she wore like a glove.

"Thanks. It's my favorite. Are you a stranger? You have on a nice suit for a
kidlapper
." She didn't move from her perch, just kept staring at him, her gaze open and innocent. A weird feeling settled in Jack's chest. She kept swinging her feet. Jack took a seat next to her.

"Thanks. It's my favorite." He grinned. Something about her made him immediately comfortable. The proverbial four-going-on-forty he supposed. The maturity seemed natural, but tinged with her mother's neediness. He winced at himself. "I'm not a stranger. Or a kidnapper. I've been to your house. For, um, birthdays. Stuff like that. I'm taking you home."

"Oh, okay. Hang on." He watched incredulous as she pulled a sparkling pink phone from her bag and put it to her ear. He cocked an eyebrow at her, listening as she called Sara, getting confirmation that Uncle Jack did not represent "Stranger Danger."

"Your mother gave you a phone?" He smiled when she jumped down and stuck her hand out. He took it. "Pretty advanced for a four-year-old wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, but I can only call, not text or use internets or anything. No games either." She pouted a second. "Mommy says it makes me
inpedendant
," Jack suppressed a grin. "Pleased to meet you Uncle Jack. Can we get Washtenaw Dairy on the way home?" He kept her small, warm hand in his and led her out.

"Won't that ruin your dinner?"

"If Mommy's late then you have to feed me dinner anyway. Uncle Blake makes me homemade mac and cheese. Can you make that?" Jack shook his head. The girl's face brightened. "I know! Let's have ice cream for dinner."

"You are more like your mommy than you realize," he fastened her into the complex seat with her help and then really looked at her a minute.

"I get that a lot." Jack laughed, loving the sound when she joined him.

"How old are you anyway? Twenty? Thirty?"

"No silly. I'm four and three quarters. How old are you? A hundred?"

"Ha! Only at night."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. I haven't had ice cream for dinner in a while. Let's make it happen." He put the car in gear and drove towards the venerable Ann Arbor ice cream spot nestled in the residential Old West Side. He snuck glances at her in the rearview mirror as she kept up a stream of consciousness monologue about the relative merits of Sponge Bob Square Pants versus Finneas and Ferb. He smiled, realizing his life would never be the same again.

Chapter Twelve

 "Goddammit." Sara re opened her car door, yanked her coattail out, and noted Jack's car parked in front of her house. She took a breath. The amazingly stressful day crashed in on her, making her long for a huge glass of wine, and quiet. But, coaxing Katie into the tub, the endless rounds of book reading and excuses for not going to bed, then yet more hours of work still lay ahead of her; the prospect of all of which nearly blinded her with frustration.

She leaned on the car a minute, chastising herself for being such a whiny bitch, wished Blake were there, then shoved that away remembering her promise to herself about not relying on him so much.

"Be the mom," Rob had said as she dropped them off at the airport. "You can do it. You
have
to do it."

Squaring her shoulders, she headed through the side door. Damn thing still needed a coat of paint. The kitchen was dark, and spotless. She frowned, putting her briefcase and purse on the counter. Ambient sounds of music wafted through her house. The simple, clean lines and the white, blue and brown décor soothed her. She had her own place, finally, and she loved it. The sound of Jack's growly laughter from upstairs made her scalp tingle She'd missed him so much and had yearned to come home and end each day with him; although, she would never in a million years admit that to anyone, much less to him.

Her daughter's loud giggle echoed down the steps. Sara smiled, poured herself a large portion of cabernet, and sipped while discarding her shoes and coat on the way to the living room.

Thank God for the cleaning service
. She sank into the cream-colored leather couch.
Worth every fucking penny
. She sipped and listened to the sounds of Katie babbling away, and to Jack's rumbling, regular replies. After about thirty minutes, the noises ceased. She closed her eyes, relishing the concept of not being in charge.

A hand on her knee woke her. "Oh, shit." She stood, starting to the steps on autopilot. Jack sat on the ottoman, an amused look in his eyes.

"She's asleep, although the ice cream and donut dinner might lead to a tummy ache later. Sorry."

A fire danced in the grate. He'd poured himself a glass of wine and sat, looking as edible as always, in his suit pants and dress shirt, loosened at the neck and rolled up sleeves. She slumped against the wall, using every ounce of willpower she had not to launch herself into his arms. He raised his glass.