Her Best Friend (13 page)

Hello, 1997.

He crossed to the window and pulled the curtains wide. Outside, the straggly privet hedge still struggled to create a privacy barrier between this house and the Parkers’ next door. He stared at Amy’s old bedroom window, facing his across the way.

He’d almost done something really stupid today. If Amy hadn’t stepped back when she did…

He unlocked the window and gave the frame a thump with his closed fist before attempting to push it up. It stuck for a moment, then gave in a rush. Cool air flowed into the room as he pushed the window all the way open.

He breathed in the smell of wet earth and green things. Maybe this…
thing
he had for Amy was a reaction to being back home again after all these years. An X-rated form of nostalgia.

Or maybe he’d never quite gotten over the crush he’d had all those years ago, and it was only now that he was getting a divorce that he was allowing himself to acknowledge the attraction again.

Or maybe he simply needed to grab a good night’s sleep and wake up with some much-needed perspective. Because at the end of the day, if it came down to a battle between short-term lust and long-term friendship, friendship was the winner every time. Right?

Right?

He returned to the entrance hall to get his bag then grabbed some sheets from the hall cupboard to make up his bed. He hadn’t slept in a single bed since he’d left home. He wasn’t looking forward to reliving the experience.

He took a few minutes to examine his injuries in the bathroom mirror before he showered. The bruise on his face wasn’t as bad as he’d thought and while his ribs were sore, they weren’t overly painful. Not cracked, then, he figured.

He showered quickly, then walked naked back into his old bedroom. His bed sagged in the middle as it took his weight. He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes.

A few hours of shut-eye and the world would right itself.

A great theory, but as he drifted toward sleep, images from the day slipped into his unguarded mind. He saw Amy’s eyes staring into his, full of trust and concern. He smelled her warm, soft scent. He remembered the pink of her nipples. Felt again the press of her hands on his body.

The problem with lusting after someone you’d known for years was that it was hard to separate the lust from the liking and the love that had always been there.

He tried hard to remember why that was such a bad thing as sleep finally took him.

He gave her a quizzical look. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Despite the bruise on his jaw, he looked delicious in worn jeans and a dark gray T-shirt. Her heart did its usual little kick-skip before resuming normal duties.

“I’m good. Just not expecting you.”

He checked his watch. “It’s right on eight.”

“Sure. I meant I didn’t hear you. That’s all.” She gave him an overly bright smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Nothing that won’t heal.”

The guilt and anxiety she’d been experiencing ever since she lobbed the muffin at Ulrich tightened around her chest. She should have called Quinn yesterday and told him what she’d done. But she hadn’t, and she’d been living in fear of someone else telling him ever since. Every time the phone had rung last night she’d flinched, anticipating a blistering lecture from him for her stupid, impulsive act. But he hadn’t called, because clearly he hadn’t heard yet, despite the fact that there had been several witnesses to her muffin assault and gossip was practically one of the five food groups in Daylesford.

So tell him now. Tell him right now before he hears it from someone else.

She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

If there was one thing she’d never been able to stand, it had been Quinn’s disapproval. Worse still, his disappointment. He’d warned her. Told her not to approach Ulrich. But she’d let her emotions override her.

“We should get started. Dad’s going to deliver more primer this afternoon and I figure if we go hard we can probably get most of the cracks and holes filled today,” she said.

Quinn was still watching her as though he was trying to work something out. She was such a crap liar. Always had been.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked.

“Absolutely. Just keen to get stuck into it, that’s all. Make sure we don’t let Ulrich put us off schedule.”

She turned and grabbed a bucket of premixed spackling compound before he could ask any more questions.

“Might as well do what we did the other day,” she said. “I’ll handle the foyer and balcony while you do down here. The scaffolding should arrive some time this afternoon, so that should make things a lot easier for you, save you moving the ladder around as much.”

She didn’t look back at him as she headed for the foyer. Once she was out of sight she stopped and smacked herself on the forehead with her open palm. Seriously, what did she think she was going to achieve, putting off telling him what she’d done?

There’s always a chance Ulrich will let it slide,
a little voice volunteered in the back of her mind.
Then Quinn won’t have to know how stupid you were.
It was the weasel voice again, telling her what she most wanted to hear, and she knew better than to trust it.

And yet…

It was possible that Ulrich was so embarrassed about being assaulted by a woman armed with a bakery product that he’d let the whole thing slide. He was a short man, after all, and often short men were overly concerned with appearances and status.

That’s right, Amy, that’s the kind of guy he is—a wimp who’s more concerned with his dignity than winning. Not.

She pried the lid off the spackle bucket. She was simply going to have to wait Ulrich out, see what he did with the advantage she’d given him. Have her charged with assault, perhaps. Or maybe there was some other way he could use her impetuous act against her—not being a sneaky, underhanded lowlife, she wasn’t well-versed in these matters.

But before any of that happened, she’d tell Quinn. Definitely. Before lunch. Or at the very latest by the end of the day. Although maybe it would be best to take him out for dinner first, get him a little mellow with wine before confessing all.

She was still pondering how best to broach the subject when there was a knock on the front door around midday.

She was up the ladder in the balcony filling a large crack and she shouted down to Quinn, asking him if he was free to get it.

“Sure,” he hollered back.

She pressed spackle into the jagged crack, being careful not to overfill it so that it would be easy to sand back tomorrow. She was knifing up a fresh bladeful when she heard Quinn’s footsteps on the stairs.

“Who was it?” she asked.

Quinn didn’t immediately answer and she glanced over her shoulder to see him standing at the foot of the ladder, an official-looking envelope in hand.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“Registered letter. From Ulrich’s lawyers.”

The blood rushed from her head.

Suddenly she wished she’d been brave enough to tell Quinn everything this morning. Hell, she should have called him the moment she’d realized how dumb she’d been. Maybe then they could have come up with some plan to neutralize whatever lay within that envelope.

Because there was no doubt in her mind that there was something unpleasant waiting to be unleashed from within that innocuous-looking piece of office stationery.

She forced her stiff arms and legs to descend the ladder. Then she put down the putty knife and bucket of filler and reached out to take the envelope from Quinn.

“It’s probably another offer to buy the Grand,” he said reassuringly. “At a bargain price, naturally, now that you’ve been bullied into submission.”

She slipped her thumb beneath the flap and broke the seal. There was a many-paged document inside. She unfolded it and read the first page.

“What’s he offering?” Quinn asked.

Amy closed her eyes for a long beat. Quinn had warned her, after all.
Ten times harder.

“Amy, what’s going on?”

She opened her eyes. Looked at Quinn. Took a deep breath. “He’s suing me for defamation.”

Quinn looked taken aback. “What the hell?”

He plucked the papers from her hands and scanned them quickly.

“It says here there was an incident on the morning of the twenty-eighth of April. That’s yesterday. He’s got a list of witnesses—” His gaze lifted to her face. “What did you do?” His voice was very low and flat.

She swallowed noisily. “I screwed up. I didn’t mean to, but I did. He was just so arrogant. I wanted him to know I wasn’t scared of him. But he knew I was. I could hardly stop my hands from shaking.”

“What happened?”

“He was standing in front of the Grand, talking to his foreman, dictating notes on stuff he wanted to do. You know, once the place was his. It just really…I saw red. So I asked him what he was doing, and he offered me his sympathy. Can you believe that?”

“Tell me the rest.”

“I told him that I knew he was the one who was responsible for me having a hard time. And I called him an asshole.”

Her stomach was churning and she’d started to sweat.

“He told me to watch my mouth, so I called him an asshole a few more times and asked if he was threatening to hire someone else to vandalize the place. Then he got in my face and told me I was going to fail and how happy that was going to make him.”

She wiped her damp hands down the front of her jeans.

“Is there anything else I should know?” Quinn asked.

“I threw a muffin at him.”

“A muffin.”

“Yes. Apple and cinnamon. It was in my hand, and he’d scared me so much. I just…I called out, and he turned around. And I threw it at him.”

Quinn’s face was utterly impassive. “Where did it hit him?”

She touched herself on the forehead. A muscle flexed in Quinn’s jaw.

“I was going to tell you. Tonight. Over a nice bottle of wine.”

He stared at her for a long moment. Then he reread the cover letter and flicked through the attached pages. He looked grim. And furious.

“Am I in big trouble?” she asked.

“Let’s see. You accosted a well-known local businessman in the street and publicly accused him of hiring criminals to vandalize your property. You insulted him. Then you threw a missile at his head. What do you think?”

“Maybe if I apologized…?” It might be enough to appease Ulrich. It would be hard to make herself sound sincere, but she’d do it for the Grand.

“He doesn’t want your apology, Amy. He wants to break you. He wants to suck your bank account dry so you have no choice but to sell him the Grand. There’s no way he’s going to accept an apology. He will play this out till it ends up in court and you’re charged with every legal fee and damage he can throw your way.”

She stared into Quinn’s angry face. He wasn’t exaggerating. He was simply telling her what she had suspected the moment she calmed down enough to realize what she’d done. She’d screwed up. Big time.

“Why do you think I told you to stay away from him? Did you need me to spell it out to you? I told you he was the kind of guy who’d use anything you did against him. And still you went out and handed him your own head on a silver platter.”

Quinn threw the letter away as though he couldn’t bear to look at it a moment longer.

“You should have just given him the keys to the Grand. Saved yourself a few years and thousands of dollars.”

He had more to say, but it faded to white noise as the full reality sunk in. A huge wave of dizziness hit her. In all the years of saving and bargaining and scheming to make the Grand hers, she’d never doubted that she would succeed. She’d simply refused to accept that it would be any other way. She’d been unshakable.

But she couldn’t see a way out now. Even if Quinn agreed to represent her for free, there would be court costs and other expenses. By the time Ulrich had finished with her, she’d be broke. And she would lose the Grand.

The edges of her vision went blurry. She was in real danger of passing out. How very damsel-in-distress of her.

She bent her knees, stretching out a hand to find the floor as it rose up to meet her. She landed on her ass with a thump. Her knees came up instinctively and she put her head between her legs, panting as though she’d run a race.

“Amy.” Quinn’s voice seemed to come from very far away.

She couldn’t get enough air, even though she was breathing like a bellows.

“Amy, calm down. It’ll be okay.”

He was on his knees beside her, a concerned look on his face.

It wasn’t going to be okay. She could see it all now, Ulrich smiling smugly as she signed the papers to give him the Grand, could practically hear the wrecking ball smashing into the building.

“I’m sorry for yelling,” Quinn said. “I freaked out for a moment, but we’re good. We’ll work this out, okay?”

She shook her head. Tried to explain despite the fact she was hyperventilating. “You’re right…should have kept my mouth shut…wanted to prove…I wasn’t afraid. Just…shot myself in the foot.”

Quinn put his hands on her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake.

“Listen to me. We can fix this.” She shook her head again and he squeezed her shoulders. “We can, Amy. We’ll find a way. I promise. You won’t lose the Grand. I never should have said that.”

Her breathing slowed. She peered up at him, wanting to believe him so badly but desperately afraid of the future she’d seen laid out before her.

He held her gaze, his own absolutely steady and certain. “Have I ever let you down, Ames?”

She stared at him, their faces a few feet apart. The only time Quinn had ever disappointed her was when he’d chosen Lisa instead of her. And she’d never blamed him for that. He was the best friend a person could have, bar none. A man in a million.

And she’d tried to excise him from her life because she couldn’t get over her own jealousy and frustration.

Her eyes widened. For a moment she was stunned as the full enormity of her own stupidity and selfishness hit her. She’d almost pushed this good, loving, amazing man out of her life.

She made an inarticulate noise. Fueled by guilt and regret and love and gratitude, she launched herself at him. Her body hit his with enough force to make him grunt as she flung her arms around his neck, her face finding his shoulder. For a moment they teetered off balance, then her momentum tipped him over. He landed on his back, her arms still clamped around his neck, her body sprawled on top of his.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her words muffled by his T-shirt. “You deserve so much better. I’m so sorry. I’ve been so stupid. So bloody stupid.”

Their legs were tangled, her breasts flattened against his chest. One of Quinn’s hands warmed the middle of her back, the other found the nape of her neck.

“Ames, you don’t need to apologize to me. Like I said, we’ll work this out. Ulrich is trying to scare you, and I shouldn’t have let him get to me.”

He didn’t understand. Had no idea what she’d tried to do.

“I don’t deserve you,” she said. “You’ve always been such a good friend to me.”

“You’ve been a good friend to me, too, Ames. The best.”

His deep voice vibrated through her with every word. She could feel his chest rising and falling with each breath. She lifted her head to look into his eyes. He looked back at her, a small, sweet smile curving his lips.