Driving Her Crazy (16 page)

Even before she’d met…
him
…the whole set-up situation with whoever her mother thought would be perfect for her had been unpleasant. But now? Since she was never going to see you-know-who again, it was safe to admit, at least to herself, that no one was ever going to measure up to him. And it wasn’t his handsome face or the rock-hard muscles she wanted to chew on like candy. Or even the way his eyes twinkled when he was trying to rile her up. Or the tender way he’d touched her after they’d made love.

He’d believed in her. He had barely known her, but he’d seen something in her that she hadn’t seen in herself. He made her feel strong, powerful, like she could actually take control of her own life and do a good job running it. Even more than that, he’d encouraged her to go after what she really wanted. Hell. That was an understatement. He’d downright dared her to do it.

She flopped on her bed and glanced at the clock on her nightstand. 4:15. He’d be at his interview. Going after what he wanted. Trying to make his dream come true. Doing what he’d said she was too chicken to do.

He was right. She
was
chicken. An ultra-petrified, twice-frozen nugget of pure and unadulterated fear. No preservatives added.

She sat up and went to her desk, opening the laptop that sat there. The bookmark she’d looked at more times than she could count was right at the top of the list. The website for the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. She clicked on it and it opened to an application for the master’s program for the school of business.

Her information was there. All filled out. Just like it had been for the last year.

The cursor hovered over the Submit button.

She had the money to go. She had the grades to get in. She just needed the courage to do it.

Cherice took out her phone. Opened the picture gallery. Clicked on the picture of him…Oz… she’d taken when he’d lain asleep next to her. His face relaxed, heartbreakingly handsome, charming, and goofy even in sleep. She smiled, a strange mixture of hope, excitement, and abject terror filling her.

She looked at the picture one more time. Then, with Oz’s voice ringing in her head, she clicked the button that would finally put her on the road
she
wanted to be on.

Chapter Fourteen

Oz sat in the lobby, waiting for the secretary to call him in. He looked around the room, knowing he didn’t have a chance in hell of getting hired. The two guys to his right chatted about their current freelance gigs, casually dropping names of awards they’d won, clutching file folders or thumb drives full of the proof of their labors. Two more guys and four young ladies sat spread around the office. All waiting for their interview. All looking comfortable in their suits—surrounded by all the steel and glass and chaos going on down on the street thirty stories below them.

He’d known it would be stiff competition, but this was ridiculous. He’d also been fully aware of how different New York City would be from his small town. But he hadn’t realized how much he’d miss the quiet streets and laid-back atmosphere of the South. His grandmother had been right. The Yankees were all a bunch of loons. And she’d been one, before marrying his southern-bred grandpa, so she’d know.

Oz smoothed down his new purple tie, making sure it was straight and neat. As if that would help.

The door to the office opened and a young woman in a smart black pantsuit came out, a confident smile on her face. She smiled, shook the hand of the interviewer, and left with her head held high. The fluorescent lights shone on her chestnut hair in its tight, stick straight pony tail, and his heart slammed against his ribs. It wasn’t Cher, of course. But for just a second…

Oz sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He didn’t know what it was about that woman. He’d known her a day. Yet there was just something about her that had grabbed hold and wouldn’t let go.

The secretary glanced down at her clipboard.

“Nathaniel Ozeranski?”

He stood up. “Oserkowski.”

The woman frowned at him. “This way.”

She led him into the office and closed the door behind him. An older gentleman sat at the desk. He didn’t even look at Oz when he came in; just flipped open a folder that looked like it contained Oz’s resume.

“Mr. Oser…um…”

“Oserkowski,” Oz said, taking a seat.

He didn’t even get to break out the handshake that Cher had gone to such depths to teach him. Or use anything she’d taught him. It was clear from the moment he’d taken a seat he wasn’t what they were looking for. The man barely asked him about his admittedly inadequate experience. Never made eye contact. Barely glanced at him. Asked him a few rote questions and ended with a, “Thank you for coming in today, Mr. Um…Nathaniel. You’ll be hearing from us.”

And then he bypassed a smaller stack with only three files and placed Oz’s file on a larger stack. The reject stack.

Oz stood, swallowed his disappointment, and left before he could do something really ridiculous like try and get the obviously uninterested man to at least pretend he had a shot. He walked out of the office and went straight to the men’s room, ripping off his tie as he went. He leaned against the counter, looking at himself in the mirror.

He’d known his chances were slim. He hadn’t been completely delusional. But he had hoped his work would stand out for itself. Yeah, so okay, there wasn’t much of it. But what was there was good. He thought he’d at least get a fair shake. But it was incredibly clear he was not what they were looking for.

Despite the crushing disappointment flooding through him, the thought most prevalent in his mind wasn’t the jackass he’d just left in the office. It was the fiery brunette who irritated the crap out of him and insisted on calling him Nathaniel. He wrapped his tie into a ball with a small smile. How in the world had that woman gotten him to wear purple? He was crazy for still thinking about her. She’d made it abundantly clear there was no future for them. Although…her explanation of what he’d seen had made sense. Honestly, if he’d been walking into his mom’s house he’d have done the same thing. But there were other issues. He’d have to be insanely masochistic to want to go back for more.

He shoved the tie in his pocket. Apparently, he was a total and complete idiot. She was right. He didn’t want to leave things the way they had. He was a raving lunatic. Liked being kicked when he was down. Right in the nuts. Because not only had he just lost his dream job, he was about to go back and lose his non-dream girl. Again. But he couldn’t leave without at least seeing her one more time. He needed something good to hold on to from this nightmare trip. And for better or worse, he hoped she was it. If not, well, at least he wouldn’t spend the rest of his life wondering.

First, he’d stop off at his hotel and ditch the duds. He felt like a trained monkey in the suit that apparently hadn’t fooled anyone, anyway. Then he’d go see if he could get rejected for the third time that day.

…

Cherice’s mother blinked at her, drawing in slow, even breaths, outwardly calm. Cherice wasn’t fooled. The only thing saving her was the courtyard full of people they barely knew but were desperate to impress. It was also possible that she’d finally done something so unforgivable her mother was stunned into speechlessness. Not probable. But possible.

Her father glowered at her and then waved a hand at her mother. “You deal with this, Jacqueline. I need to speak with Judge Carlisle.”

Her mom didn’t even watch him go. All her furious attention was focused on her youngest daughter. Cherice was surprised she didn’t melt on the spot.

“Listen up,” her mother said, stepping closer and vaguely smiling at some acquaintance passing by. “I do not have time for any of this nonsense right now. You are not going back to school like you are some high-school brat who has a shot at doing something with her life. You had your chance. You blew it. I left you to your own devices, as you wished, and you chose to be a personal lapdog who spends her days helping other people get jobs but can’t seem to get one of her own.”

Cherice wanted to defend herself. But her mom wasn’t wrong. She had blown it. Repeatedly. Maybe she had used up her second chances.

“Time and again I’ve tried to give you the freedom you wanted, and you’ve made one poor choice after another. Look at your siblings. Look at what they’ve done with their lives. Lilah is a successful surgeon who just married an even more successful doctor and Elliot has made the Debusshere Charity for Children one of the most successful in the city. And what can you say? You’ve changed your mind
again
and want to start all over? Go back to school for some degree you’ll never be able to use, certainly not to amount to anything. Waste more time and money? No. This conversation is over.”

Arguments bubbled up in her mind. Reasons why going back to school was a good idea. Reasons why opening her own shop could be beneficial. For her and her community. Why it wouldn’t be a waste to do something she really loved—that could benefit so many.

She couldn’t say any of it, however. It wouldn’t matter. Her mother had made up her mind. And maybe she’d be better off doing what her mom wanted. Her siblings had, after all, and look at how well their lives were turning out. They weren’t screw-ups.

A cold calm spread through her, grim acceptance of her fate. She was so tired of fighting. What was the point?

“Yes, Mother.”

“Good. Now,” she said, gripping Cherice’s arm and turning her to face a group near her father. “You see that handsome young man by your father?”

She gave yet another acquaintance a fake smile and raised her champagne glass in response to their congratulations. Cherice’s stomach knotted and she took a sip from her own glass to try to ease her nerves. The battle lines had been drawn. And she wasn’t going to win this one. Her throat grew tight and she took another drink.

Her mother either didn’t notice her distress or didn’t care. “That is Dr. Jonathan Fitzgerald. He and his father have been discussing opening a new practice with your father. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how advantageous that would be for us. The Fitzgeralds are the most influential doctors in the city.”

Cherice knew what was coming. She downed the rest of her champagne and handed the glass to a passing waiter while grabbing a full one.

“Don’t get too drunk, dear. By all means, do what you need to in order to loosen up a bit. But don’t overdo it. Jonathan likes his women bubbly and cheerful, but he certainly doesn’t want a lush.”

A tiny spark of defiance reared its head.

“You can’t seriously expect me to marry some stranger just to make sure a merger goes through.”

Her mother patted her arm, her attention on the people wandering about the tented wonderland that had been erected for the reception. “Don’t be so dramatic, dear. Of course you won’t be getting married right away. We have to make the man like you first. So do try to be likable, will you? Oh, and first thing in the morning, you call that school and withdraw your application. You’ll be much too busy for that nonsense. Jonathan’s family has invited us to their villa in Majorca. We leave next week.”

Cherice stared open-mouthed at her mother. “I haven’t even met him yet. We might hate each other.”

“Not if you play your cards right. And I’m sure you will, won’t you?”

Cherice didn’t say anything. A touch of what might have been pity or compassion or maybe even a tiny bit of motherly concern lit her mother’s eyes for the briefest moment. “I know it might not seem fair at the moment—”

“Fair?” Cherice scoffed.

The soft emotion faded from her mother’s face, leaving the perfect social matron back in its place. “But, I really do have your best interests at heart. Jonathan is young, handsome, and extremely successful. He’s quite the catch. What more could a woman want?”

An image of Oz laughing after he’d made her squirm or that wink when he’d just done something he knew she wouldn’t like invaded her mind. What more could a woman want? How about a man who actually cared what she thought? What she hoped and dreamed? Who not only cared but had done what he could to make it all come true for her?

Oz had been the only person in her life, except for maybe Elliot, who had even pretended to care about what she wanted. Yes, they got on each other’s nerves and seemed to come from two different planets. But at least he seemed to genuinely care about her. And it had lasted for a whole twenty-four hours. The best day of her life, if she was honest with herself. Most certainly the best night.

She had never experienced passion like that with anyone. Ever. And she couldn’t imagine ever doing so again. The memory of that night, and this morning, were burned into her mind forever. She almost laughed. If she went along with her parents’ plans, the hours she’d spent with Oz were quite possibly the only moments of true intimacy and passion she might ever experience. And they’d been in a dingy motel with a condom machine in the lobby
and
the backseat of a car. How utterly sad was that?

Her mother took her silence for agreement and left her alone to make her rounds of the guests. Cherice backed away, moving to the periphery. The tent opened up so guests could wander about the botanical grounds. Clumps of plants had been set up along intervals to keep people from wandering too far. She found one where she could still keep an eye on the majority of the party while staying relatively secluded. She didn’t want to be bothered but felt better being able to keep an eye out for either of her parents.

It was a warm night but she shivered. Elliot stopped by her little corner a few times and tried cheering her up, but even he couldn’t coax a smile out of her. The despair seeping through her was too great this time. A rustling behind her caught her attention and she turned, not sure she wanted to see who was there. She hadn’t seen her parents or Jonathan for a few minutes. The last thing she wanted was to be cornered by them.

“Cher?”

She spun around. Her breath caught in her throat. What was he doing there?

“Oz,” she breathed.

They stared at each other for a moment, neither one moving or speaking. Then he opened his arms and for once in her life she didn’t hesitate.

…

Oz wrapped his arms around her, completely bewildered. Cher burrowed against his chest and he held on even tighter. What the hell was going on? He’d expected to get thrown off the property the second she saw him.
This
…whatever this was…hadn’t even entered his realm of possibilities.

“Sorry,” she said, pulling away from him. “I didn’t mean to…”

“No worries. You can run into my arms anytime,” he said, giving her a little wink.

Her lips twitched into some vague resemblance of a smile but it couldn’t erase the misery from her face. He’d never seen her so beaten, not even at the airport when she thought she’d had no options. Even then she’d been full of spit and hellfire. But now. He’d never seen anyone who had well and truly given up…until that moment.

“Hey,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “What’s going on?”

She crossed her arms, whether to hug herself, or to keep from hugging him again, he wasn’t sure.

“Nothing.”

“Ah, come on. Anyone could see that’s not true. And I’m not just anyone.”

Her startled gaze met his and he got a little more of a smile.

“It’s nothing. Really. Just”—she waved at the reception going on beneath the tent—“my family.”

“Ah. That bad, huh?”

She turned her head so he couldn’t see her face. “You could say that.”

“Is it your mom? Was she really that pissed that you were late?”

“No. She…it’s just…”

Her voice cracked and Oz reached for her. “Hey. It’s okay. What’s going on?”

He tried to pull her into his arms again, but she resisted and he didn’t push it. The way she was staring up at him, her eyes searching his face, almost panicked, made him want to round up every last member of her family and beat some sense into them.

“Cher,” he started. But that was as far as he got.

She launched herself at him, grabbing fistfuls of his T-shirt to drag him down to her. Her lips met his with an eagerness that left him reeling. He’d never been so confused in his life. But with her lips moving feverishly over his, her tongue thrusting into his mouth, he wasn’t about to question it. What the lady wanted, the lady got. Good motto to live by.