Just Desserts (5 page)

“Who’s Melinda?” he asked. Layla raised her eyebrows significantly and he formed a silent “oh.” “The trollop?”

“The same.”

“Life Skills is bad?”

“Life Skills is a class for the kids whose parents can pay the steep Manzanita tuition, but who don’t perform at the desired level.”

“They have learning disabilities?” Justin asked with a slight frown.

“No. This has nothing to do with ability and everything to do with attitude. Students who
can’t
achieve but want to learn are in special tutorial classes. This class is for kids who
won’t
achieve. They are entitled and lazy, and the teacher’s job is to try to motivate them when they know they’re safe in their parents’ protection no matter what they do.”

“Why aren’t they just kicked out of the school?”

“Are you kidding? In this economy?” Layla rubbed her thumb and first two fingers together. “Money…”

Justin leaned back against the cushions, obviously more comfortable with the conversation than she was, and studied his beer for a moment.

“I taught this class before,” Layla continued darkly. “My first year. It was rugged. I hated it.”

And she’d never told anyone that before. Maybe she felt safe because he was drinking. Maybe she just needed to tell someone the sad truth—that she was in some ways a rotten teacher. “I meet with the principal tomorrow and we’ll hash this out.”

Hopefully, she’d be able to convince Ella that it would be disruptive to the students to change teachers nine weeks before the school year ended. Then she would convince her boss that the parents would forget about the unfortunate incident by the time the long summer break was over.

“What if she doesn’t budge?”

Layla’s throat closed slightly. “I…think I’d quit.”

“And then what?”

She gave a quick shrug. “I’d probably work for Sam until I get another teaching job.” She looked him in the eye before saying adamantly, “I’m not going to back down.”

“I don’t blame you. Life is too short to do something you hate for very long.”

Layla stared at him for a moment. As a teen, Justin had always done as he damned well pleased, and she’d often told herself that he was wrong to do so. That it was immature to follow the heart instead of the head. But honestly? She hadn’t been all that happy following her head, and life
was
short.

“What does Sam do now?” Justin asked. “Does she still have the bead store?”

“No. She has a small clothing and gift boutique that she started last year after the bead shop tanked. Sunshine of Your Love.”

Justin smiled. “No offense, but it sounds like a head shop.”

“It’s worse than that. She, uh…” Layla raised her eyebrows meaningfully. “Sunshine of your
love…
”

“Sex toys?” Justin asked, unable to keep the delight out of his voice.

“Gifts for lovers to share,” Layla said primly. “Along with funky clothing, lingerie and regular items. Balloon bouquets, greeting cards.”

“I’d love to see the balloons.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“Your family is nuts, Layla.”

“I know.”

“I mean that in a good way.”

“What kind of good way? What could possibly be good about shirking responsibility?”

“How is it irresponsible to run a business?”

“If you saw how Sam did it, you’d understand.” The bead business had sunk slowly but surely as her sister bought stock and put off paying for it. But Sam hadn’t had much business traffic, either. Sunshine was doing much, much better. Apparently more people wanted to invest in their love life than in jewelry making.

Layla let her head fall back against the buttery-soft leather sofa cushions, but resisted the urge to close her eyes and luxuriate for a moment. None of her furniture was this good. She’d bought cheap stuff, saving her money for more important things, like her retirement fund.

This seemed so wrong. She’d formulated a plan, made sacrifices to stick to it, and everything was supposed to turn out all right. The end. She wasn’t supposed to be demoted back to Life Skills. Or have to go work for her sister, who couldn’t afford to pay her.

Justin got up and went into the kitchen on the other side of the breakfast island and opened the fridge. “Sure you don’t want one?” he asked. Layla shook her head and he pulled out a single beer.

“Do you always drink alone?”

“I’m trying hard not to,” he pointed out.

Layla scowled at his purposeful misinterpretation. “Did your girlfriend move out?”

Justin glanced over at the box. “Very astute, Watson.”

“It was the toothbrush.” And it explained why he was drinking.

“But, no, I don’t usually drink alone and it isn’t because of Cindy.” Spoken like a man.

“Why today? Special occasion?” To Layla’s surprise, there was a fleeting touch of bitterness in his answering smile. There, then gone.

“In a manner of speaking.” He held the unopened bottle loosely, contemplating it for a moment. “An anniversary of sorts.”

“I see.” But she obviously didn’t. And she’d never known Justin to be anything close to morose. It bothered her. “What kind of anniversary?”

He shrugged, and she could see he wasn’t about to give her a straight answer. Instead, he cocked his head, and the old Justin was back. The one she knew and could deal with. “What do you think about me, Layla?”

“Can I use long words? Or shall we stick with monosyllabic?”

“Your choice.”

“I think you’ve never had boundaries. You live life in a free-form way. I don’t believe you give a hoot for consequences. And because of that, sometimes you have to drink alone.”

“You think I’m irresponsible?”

Layla sighed. “Not exactly. I’m saying that in some aspects of your life you are more haphazard than in others.”

He studied her intently for a moment before saying, “Which aspects?” For some reason he needed her to spell it out. Fine. She’d spell.

“Well, judging from what went on in high school, you tend to be mercurial in your personal relationships.” She gestured toward the box. “How many of those have you had in your life?”

“A few,” he admitted.

“But on the other hand, you’re part of a successful business.” She shifted her head on the leather sofa cushion to look at him. “So who am I to judge?”
And what could you possibly care about my thoughts after all these years?

She got to her feet. It seemed like a good time to go. In fact, suddenly she felt as if she couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Something was off here…something that didn’t feel like it used to, and it was making her patently uncomfortable. Why was Justin asking her opinion of him? And in such a deeply serious way. And why was he suddenly looking like an attractive guy instead of her archrival?

“I need to get back home,” she said lamely. “I have…stuff to do.” More lameness.

“Do you make a spreadsheet or something for that?” he asked mildly. Layla didn’t bother answering. She picked up the case and Justin walked with her to the door. When they got there, he put his hand on the knob as if he was going to open it for her, then said, “We’ve been through a lot, you and I.”

“Meaning you made my life miserable when I was a kid? Yes.”

“If you hadn’t been so easy to mess with, so…reactive…”

“Blaming the victim, Justin?” she asked softly.

“You were never a victim. You gave as good as you got.” He touched his bruised cheekbone.

Funny, but she didn’t remember it that way. Maybe she’d tried, but… “I was never in your league, Justin, so it wasn’t a fair contest.”

He frowned a little, his expression distant, as if calling up a long lost memory—something that involved her, no doubt.

“No. You held your own.”

Never argue with the intoxicated—even the slightly intoxicated. She couldn’t judge how drunk he was. A little? A lot?

Layla smiled tightly and reached for the doorknob. Before she could turn it, Justin put his hand over hers, startling her. When her eyes flashed up at his, he slowly and deliberately lowered his head until their lips met. And heaven help her, she opened her mouth to his. Instinctively. Because that was what one did when kissed.

She could taste the beer on his tongue, felt an unexpected flash of heat shoot through her. Then she put both hands on his chest and pushed him back.

“You owe me an apology, Justin.”

He let out a soft exhalation. “I don’t agree, but I’ll tell you what. Do you want to work for your sister? If you do end up quitting tomorrow.”

“I…no.” She wasn’t going to argue that she wasn’t planning to quit. Justin wasn’t listening.

“Work for me then.”

“Oh, yes,” she said, rolling her eyes. “That would be so much better.” He was going off his rocker or he was much, much drunker than he looked. That was the only explanation for the kiss, the job offer. There was no explanation for her own response, except for the surprise and novelty factor. That was it. She didn’t have enough spontaneity in her life. Everything was always planned to the T. She’d have to do something about that—in a way that didn’t involve Justin.

“It’d be a perfect solution if worse came to worst. I need temporary help. Patty, my assistant, will be out for surgery next week. She’s supposed to be gone for six weeks, but if she knows I have another assistant, I bet she’ll be back in four.”

It figured that he had an angle. “I—”

“I’m not asking you to bake. I’m asking you to follow directions. In return, you’ll get a handsome paycheck and something new on your résumé while you look for that perfect next job. Plus I can probably give you more hours than Sam.”

What was Layla dealing with? Pity? Lust? Rebound effect? The thought of Justin rebounding with her was ludicrous. “No,” she said, taking refuge in extreme politeness. “But thanks for the offer.”

“Why not come work for me?”

She lifted one edge of her mouth in a gently smirking half smile. “Because you’re drunk and will regret making this offer in the morning. A condition I’m certain you’re used to, but this time I’m going to save you from yourself.”

She reached up to lightly touch his stubble-roughened cheek, just to show that she wasn’t the least affected by his kiss. “But thanks for the offer, Justin. I’ll see you around.”

He smiled at what was obviously a lie, since she was going to take great efforts not to see him, and stepped back. “Yeah, Layla. Sounds good.” He hoisted the bottle in a salute.

She was barely outside the door—retreating, as she always did after a confrontation with Justin— when what he’d said sank in: she’d given as good as she’d got.

Had she?

Maybe not, but it was never too late to set matters straight. She turned and knocked. Justin opened the door, a questioning expression on his face that froze there when she pulled his head down and kissed him.

“What was that for?” he said when she released him.

“That was for every time I’ve taken the high road and didn’t respond in kind to all the stuff you and Derek and Eric did to me.”

He rubbed his thumb over his lower lip. “I like the way you retaliate.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah.”

“Well…good.” With that Layla spun around and walked down the steps. It did feel good to retaliate, and she wasn’t going to think about the part where kissing Justin was a turn-on.

CHAPTER FOUR

AFTER HOURS OF TOSSING sleeplessly, Layla finally drifted off, only to wake suddenly to the disturbing thought that everything she knew, everything she’d believed in and had built on, was wrong.

Why else would she be in this position after trying so hard to do everything right?

She lay in bed staring at the ceiling instead of leaping into action as usual, but the renegade thoughts didn’t evaporate. They continued playing in her head as she got out of bed and showered, brushed her teeth, put on her makeup. As she prepared for her meeting with Ella.

Predictable. By the book. Rule follower. That was her. She wasn’t a wimp, but she did tend to avoid controversy. Someone in her family had to. And that was probably what Ella was banking on. She figured Layla would give in, take the transfer to Life Skills out of a sense of professionalism. What her boss didn’t know was that, when push came to shove, Layla had a backbone.

That trollop was not getting her advanced class without a fight.

Kissing Justin seemed to have jarred something loose in her brain. She felt positively rebellious, and realized with a start that perhaps there was more Taylor in her than she’d realized. Perhaps she wasn’t the image of stick-in-the-mud Grandmother Bonnie.

Maybe she wasn’t going to take it anymore—not even to keep her job.

Layla was loading the coffee filter with fresh grounds when she heard the distinctive squeak of her front steps. Doorbell ditchers and surprise visitors never had much luck at Layla’s house because of that squeak.

Who on earth would be here at this time of the morning?

Justin again? Her heart did a small pitter-pat.

Robert.

He was halfway down the steps when she opened the door and nearly tripped over the box he’d left there.

“Hey!”

His head jerked around, his guilty gaze meeting hers. “Layla,” he said. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You certainly haven’t wasted time cutting all ties,” she said with clenched teeth. He’d probably counted on her being asleep. Coward.

The coward straightened up, shoved his hands into his overcoat pockets, and she felt a deep need to make him suffer. “Will you carry it inside for me?”

“Yeah, sure.” He eyed her cautiously as he headed back up the steps and hefted the box she could have picked up herself, trailing snow behind him as he walked into the house.

“On the coffee table there.”

“It’s heavy. There’re a lot of books in it.” Books she’d shared with him, though she suspected he hadn’t read any of them, since he’d put her off whenever she tried to discuss them.

“It’s a sturdy table.” Layla swung the door shut and stood in front of it, barring escape—for a few minutes, anyway. Less than a week ago she’d fancied herself in love with this snake. “How long have you been sleeping with Melinda?”

“Layla…there’s nothing to gain by dissecting this situation.”

“Closure, Robert. I need closure.” He shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Shortly after the Christmas party, I’m guessing.”

He shrugged, giving her the answer she needed through omission. Two months. Two months she’d been sleeping with him while he’d been sleeping with Melinda. It made her feel sick.

“Did she initially call you or…?”

Robert straightened his back, rolled his shoulders slightly. “I called her.”

“Why?” Layla’s lips were dry, but she didn’t moisten them, didn’t want to give one sign of the pain coursing through her. Not pain at losing Robert, but pain at being such a trusting fool.

“She was interesting.”

“And I wasn’t?”

“I didn’t say that, Layla.” He focused on a spot somewhere over her left shoulder. “But she doesn’t have so many…parameters.”

Layla frowned. Forced herself not to become defensive, because that wouldn’t help her obtain her objective. “Parameters.”

“Rules. Regulations.”

Robert was an anal engineer, and he was put off by her parameters? She’d thought he’d lived for parameters, and she said so.

He took a couple nervous paces over to the nearest basket wicker chair, his hands still shoved deep into his pockets. “But not in every aspect of life. Damn it, Layla, you have many fine qualities.”

Fine qualities?
She clenched her fists. It sounded as if she were a prize heifer.

“But they’re overshadowed by your…” He pulled a hand out of his pocket and gestured in a way that expressed frustration. “Being such a tight ass.”

Despite her anger, Layla felt a wash of old insecurities sweep over her. Insecurities from her adolescent years that she was old enough to have moved past, but somehow hadn’t. Not totally, anyway.

“In all arenas?” she asked softly.

“The sex was good,” he said.

“Thank you for that.”

“But it could have been better…if you had been able to cut loose.” He may as well have slapped her. The-man-is-always-on-the-top Robert wanted her to cut loose. She had done that quite nicely in the parking lot at Lake Tahoe. His nose was still red and slightly swollen.

“That works both ways,” she said without missing a beat, but inwardly she was curling up, dying. She’d never been all that secure in the personal relationship area, and now Robert was standing there, confirming her fears. “Why the hell didn’t you just break up with me?” He didn’t answer, and Layla had a sudden flash of insight. “You liked the danger.”

“No…” He made another gesture, negating her theory, but his face said it all. Robert was so easy to read—good thing, too, or she would still be with him. Clueless. Playing the chump.

“Well,” she said, wishing she hadn’t invited him in, but thankful for hearing his interpretation of the truth. “Thank you for bringing my stuff back. I wish you and Melinda every happiness.” She opened the door and all but pushed him outside.

A second later, after closing the door with a quiet, definite click instead of slamming it as she wanted to, she heard the distinctive creak, creak, creak.

Robert creaking out of her life, and all she felt was cold, mind-numbing anger.

JUSTIN WOKE WITH THE HEADACHE he deserved.

After Layla had left last night, he’d settled back on the sofa with his beer and started thinking and drinking instead of watching the game, which remained on mute. He reflected on how he’d hid from thoughts of his kid over the years. Protected himself. Refused to allow the child to be real. Because then he’d have to deal with feelings he didn’t know how to categorize or manage.

Would he have been able to remain in denial if Reggie hadn’t made him an uncle to the world’s cutest baby girl? He didn’t know. It was very possible that the worry, the concern and the guilt would have come anyway.

A few years back he’d suddenly realized that his son was about to start first grade. The thought had startled him. Hell, Justin could remember starting first grade himself, going to school hanging on to Reggie’s hand. But he’d been able to tamp down the feelings, excuse himself from the memories, step back into denial.

Tell himself this was all for the best.

It was getting harder to do that—mainly because he had questions that wouldn’t go away. Was his kid all right? Were the child’s parents taking good care of him? Did they love him the way Reggie and Tom loved Rosemary?

And then he’d tell himself that his kid was fine. He was the one with the problem, he was the one who’d signed the papers for a closed adoption, thus ensuring he’d never be able to get answers to any questions he might have, and he’d simply have to carry on.

What more could he do?

Finish drinking his six-pack and toss in a shot of Jack for good measure.

Cindy had come and gone while he was sleeping, taking her box of stuff and leaving her key on the coffee table. So much for goodbyes. Justin wasn’t much for goodbyes, anyway—although he should be with the practice he’d had lately.

He showered, letting the spray beat on his back until the water started to grow cold. Had Layla felt this rough after her binge the other night?

Layla.

He smacked a hand on top of his wet hair, the water channeling through his fingers and over his face. He’d kissed Layla. Two or three beers in, when she’d stopped by to get her bag.

And not only had he kissed her, he’d offered her a job?

The water was getting really cold, but still Justin stood under it, torturing himself as the memories continued to surface. He’d kissed Layla. How stupid could he get?

He cranked off the shower control. He’d been stupid because she’d caught him in a weak moment. A time when his guard was down and he’d needed…human contact. Something. And there she’d been.

He grabbed a towel, sniffed it to make sure it was relatively clean. He really had to get a housekeeper or something. The towel passed muster and he rubbed it over his head.

So he’d kissed her. No big deal. She’d demanded an apology, too.

Very Layla.

And then she’d left, come back and kissed him. With a vengeance.

Not at all like Layla.

That
could quite possibly represent a big deal. He shook his head as he toweled off.

Or not.

Regardless, he did owe her an apology…and he also needed to withdraw that job offer.

Justin skipped breakfast, buying a cup of coffee on the way to the kitchen, and pulled into the front lot of Tremont Catering a few minutes later than scheduled.

Eden was already at the stove when he walked in through the reception area. Reggie, who was once again pregnant and ultracareful after losing the last child, wasn’t supposed to arrive until after noon, due to a doctor’s appointment, leaving them short a cook. It was going to be rough with both Reggie and Patty out.

“You’re hungover,” Eden said.

“Maybe a little,” he agreed, taking a look at the calendar. The kitchen was slow during late March, just prior to wedding season, so maybe they would be all right. But he still had a steady stream of cake orders for various occasions. Eden was awful with icing, so she wasn’t getting near the stuff. Besides, she had a job and a half to do, plus planning her own small May wedding to Nick Duncan, the detective who’d mistakenly thought Tremont Catering was involved in money laundering. He’d also believed his job was the center of his world after losing his wife, but Eden had taught him a thing or two.

“Because of Cindy?”

“Maybe,” he said, hoping she’d drop the matter.

“Why do you only date people that are obviously wrong for you?” his sister asked, lowering her spoon to her side.

“Self-preservation,” Justin replied easily.

“From what?”

“Look,” he said patiently, “I know that people engaged to be married, such as yourself, want everyone else to be as happy as they are, but some of us are thrilled to be single. I can leave my socks wherever I want, eat what I want, go to bed when I want—”

“Are you talking about having a mother?”

“I’m talking about being single and liking it. Living life the way I want to. And I date women I enjoy. Who enjoy me. We’re just not the committing type.”

“Cindy was.”

“How do you know?”

“We talked.”

“Saints preserve us,” Justin muttered, heading into his pastry room. Eden, of course, followed him, to finish a conversation he didn’t want to finish. He took her by the shoulders, turned her around and gave her a gentle push toward the door.

“You are going to live out your years a lonely man,” she called before the door shut.

Yes, he probably was, because he couldn’t let his relationships move past a certain point.

He and Cindy had hit that point.

And he shouldn’t have kissed Layla.

LAYLA USUALLY WALKED INTO the school with a sense of purpose, rapidly ticking off items on a mental agenda, but today she had only one item on her list—take back her English classes. Before the disastrous evening at the lake, she’d been a huge proponent of the stiff upper lip. Today she was operating on more of a what-the-hell Taylor attitude and it felt good. Empowering.

Seeing Melinda’s little blue sports car parked close to the rear entrance only increased her resolve. She was
not
going to be in a position where she had to listen to Melinda brag about the class that Layla had created, and she would never again suffer the sleepless nights and chronic headaches induced by Life Skills. Okay, so she was a horrible person and teacher. She wouldn’t do it.