Public Relations (12 page)

“Two birds?”

Picturing how he’d have to convince Georgia of the plan made his left eye throb.

“Keep her around, probe her for more information in a relaxed setting while she helps you convince your parents you’re not a social pariah.”

When he put it that way, it sounded like a brilliant idea. Completely well thought out and balanced. Almost sane.

Not.

Carl was obviously going crazy.

“Carl?”

“Yeah?”

“Warn me next time.”

“You didn’t give me much to work with.”

“Just…” Peter sighed through his nostrils and stood. “In the future, don’t exercise your public relations muscle on my family without asking me first.”

He thumbed the Off button before Carl could reply. Tossed the phone on the bench beside him and rose to dress. Jeans. Loafers without socks. A fisherman’s knit sweater over a long-sleeved T-shirt. Hair damp, he padded into the kitchen and found it empty. Same with his study and the living room.

“Georgia?” he called, though he knew she wouldn’t answer. His penthouse felt empty of her presence. No light or sparkle, just space devoid of warmth.

God, could his balls get any more in a knot? He certainly hoped not, or he’d end up singing soprano during the carols with his family. He shook his head and put on his coat. Then realized he had no idea where Georgia had gone. He pulled up the contact info for her work cell. Dialed. Of course it went directly to voice mail.

“
Hi, this is Georgia. Leave a message.
”

He pulled the phone away and gave it a narrow-eyed glare while the beep sounded. Putting it back to his ear, he said, “Really? Is that the most professional greeting you could manage? It’s Peter. Call me. We have work to do.”

Cells were a real disadvantage in the temper tantrum department. Maybe he could have someone invent an app that sounded like an old-fashioned receiver slamming into its cradle.

In his bedroom, he put his briefcase together, stuffing the manila folder containing Georgia’s report into the side pocket. The leather creaked ominously at his rough handling. Angrier with himself than with Georgia, he jabbed his pen into the specially designed interior pocket.

His conscience asked what he had expected. He’d more than flashed the woman today and abandoned her after fucking her against a wall last night.

The devil in him answered that she’d stalked into his bathroom knowing full well he was in the shower, and it wasn’t like she hadn’t wanted the sex last night. She’d encouraged it even.

Yes, but did he have to dump her under the water, or leave her so soon last night?

The devil shot back that she’d only gotten what she’d deserved for the trick with the money.

The better part of him, the half his mother had managed to discipline into some semblance of a gentleman, grimaced at him in the dresser mirror.

“Idiot.” He scooped up his briefcase and the travel bag Miles had packed for him the night before.

On his way to the front door, he dialed Sid. If anyone knew where his temporary PA hid out, it’d be her male sidekick. The phone rang six times before the man picked up.

“Uh, yeah?”

Peter made a face and punched the call button to his personal elevator. “Where’s Georgia?”

There was a wary pause. “She’s…not with you?”

Peter heard the elevator ding. He pictured the doors sliding open to reveal a fiery pit into which he could push Sid, who was rapidly earning a demotion to newspaper delivery boy.

“Please don’t make me dignify that with a response.”

“Uh…” A rustling sound said Sid either cupped the receiver with his hand or stuffed his head and the phone up his ass. “She’s…”

“Not here,” Georgia hissed in the background. “Don’t you dare give me away to that asshole.”

Peter’s phone speaker relayed her unintended message loud and clear. It paid to invest in top technology. A feral grin spread over his face.

Gotcha.

And to think he’d intended to apologize to her for this morning and last night. He disconnected and stepped off the elevator to find a taxi. One way or another, he and his difficult little assistant were going to come to an arrangement.

Chapter Nine

Georgia flopped onto Sid’s ratty plaid couch. The fabric was pure polyester, and the cushion stuffing leaked out in orange-brown clumps. Still, this spot, right here in the corner, with the brown-and-harvest-gold afghan swaddling her shoulders, was home. More than her flat, more than her parents’ estate, and more than her desk at the office, she felt safe here in Sid’s company. She lived for the moments she spent in front of the telly watching
Facts of Life
reruns and eating take-out Chinese like a normal person.

Sid collapsed at the other end of the couch, tossing the phone between them as he went. “What’d you do to him now?”

Georgia groaned and let her head fall back. The lumpy cushion cradled her neck, and she closed her eyes. “Nothing he didn’t deserve.”

Silence reigned. She felt Sid’s disapproving stare like a ten-pound weight pressing slowly into her chest. He’d keep adding pounds until she fessed up.

Without opening her eyes, she said, “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“I slept with him,” she said, though the term
sleep
had nothing to do with what they’d done. Hell, they hadn’t even been horizontal.

“Oh jeez, Georgie.”

He didn’t sound surprised. Then again, very little she did seemed to surprise her best friend anymore. Either she was getting predictable or, worse, boring.

She rolled her head to the side. Opened one eye. “He was phenomenal.”

Just alluding to the tryst with Peter made a warm flush spread over her skin. The way he’d taken command of her body? She’d never experienced sex like that, where she knew beyond a doubt the guy was in complete control. He’d known exactly what he wanted and precisely what he was doing, and made sure she’d enjoyed every moment. In college she’d slept with a frat boy or two just to make sure she wasn’t missing anything, and until last night she could’ve honestly said she didn’t see what all the fuss was about. A lot of huffing and puffing certainly didn’t seem something to wreck a marriage over. Peter, on the other hand?

“I’d walk over hot coals to shag him properly.”

If only he had kissed her.

Sid scooted closer and folded his legs lotus style. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She realized she’d unconsciously mimicked the Americanism. “He was completely hot. And completely…cold.”

Sid sat back a fraction. “Cold?”

“He finished and left me.” Georgia pulled her lower lip between her teeth, then released the flesh with a sucking pull. “I’m not sure if he was still zipping up when he stepped back into the gallery.”

God, that had stung. Opening her eyes to realize Peter had no intention of kissing her. The door closing to cut her off from light and sound. From him. She’d expected it, every bit, and yet when it came down to the moment of truth, she’d hoped for better. Known at the very least she’d deserved better. What woman wanted to be left standing alone in a hallway without any underwear after sex? Come to think of it, he’d kept her thong. He’d kept it like a trophy—probably had a drawer full of underwear once worn by his conquests.

“Do you want me to punch him?”

Georgia barked a laugh and glanced at Sid. The dark look on his face—clenched jaw and flared nostrils—said he’d do it too. Attempt to lay the bastard out flat. And damn, but given how much time Sid spent at the gym, he might win. Sitting upright, she pushed her hair from her forehead.

“No. Thanks.” A slow smile spread over her face. “I paid him back. Literally.”

This morning, handing him a wad of cash similar to the one she’d seen him pay the prostitute had gone a long way toward retribution. His shock and anger were priceless. Served him right for being an arrogant, narcissistic prick. With his experience, of course he was good in the sack.

“I’m going to avoid him until Monday,” she decided. “He’s away all weekend, so I won’t have to see him.”

“Didn’t you owe him a report?” Sid reached for the remote and flicked on the television. This time of day on a Friday the only thing on was
Price is Right
. A woman waved her hands wildly as she ran down the aisle toward Drew Carey after her name was called.

“Don’t bloody remind me. I gave it to him. I stayed awake all night finishing that thing.” She scrubbed her face with both hands, not worrying about her already ruined makeup. Thank God she rarely wore mascara. “I need this weekend to recuperate from his royal highness’s demands.”

Sid flicked channels until he landed on
Let’s Make a Deal
. A woman in a little Dutch girl costume chewed her pinkie nail over whether to look behind door number one or go home with eight hundred dollars.

“Screw the cash. Always go for the door,” Sid said.

“Really?” Georgia sat up straighter. “You’d go for the door?”

“Always.” Sid’s nod didn’t dislodge his eyes from the telly. “Otherwise how do you know what you might’ve missed?”

“Eight hundred dollars? That’s what you’d miss.”

Sid snorted. “Like you need eight hundred bucks?”

Georgia stood and went to the tiny kitchen to grab a cola from the fridge. The
pop fizz
accompanied the sliding back of the door on the television program. Where a goat chewed hay.

“That”—she pointed at the television and paused to take a swallow of the cold soda—“is precisely why I don’t look behind mystery doors.”

“Too many goats?” Sid finally looked at her.

She nodded. “And way too few cars. At least I know what I’m getting with cold, hard cash.”

Blink, blink, blink
. Sid shook his head slowly. Blinked some more.

“What?” Georgia plopped down on the sofa. A spring squeaked.

“I bet he thinks just like you.”

Snatching the remote from Sid, she asked, “Who?”

“Peter.”

She lowered the remote. “What?”

“You heard me.” Sid took the remote back and flicked to an unexpected marathon of
America’s Next Top Model
. “I bet he likes the cash too. When you pay for what you want, you know exactly what you’re getting. No surprises.”

Well, didn’t that little observation just run a cheese grater over her mood. “I am not like Peter Wells.”

The door buzzer rang. Long. Loud. Like someone had leaned into it.

“Speak of the devil,” Sid muttered.

“What? Good God. No.” Georgia stood so quickly the cola sloshed over her knuckles and dripped onto the brown carpet. “I am not here. Not one molecule of me. You haven’t seen me in a week. You’re fearing I might’ve been abducted by aliens. I don’t care what you say, but I am not here.” She whirled around, looking for a place to hide. “Do you hear me?”

Sid glanced from his front door to his single bedroom door and back before narrowing his gaze on Georgia and shaking his head. “Nope. You’re on your own this time.”

“Some friend you are!”

A pounding started on the door at street level. Georgia eyed a heavy vase by the window. Sid moved between her and the pottery.

“Don’t go wrecking my stuff just because you’re the one who told him you’re my roommate.”

What remained unspoken constituted the real issue. If Peter came in and saw the single bedroom door, he’d get a whole other idea. Worst case, she’d lied and Sid had covered for her. Or best worst case, she and Sid were lovers. Which was so obviously untrue.

Sid pushed at Georgia’s back, propelling her toward the door and scooping up her coat at the same time. “Go. Don’t get me fired. Unlike you, I need this job.”

She tried to argue, but Sid yanked open the door and pointed toward the dim hallway. Repressing the urge to tell him he looked like his mother, minus the hair rollers, Georgia tilted her nose in the air and swept over the threshold. The door slammed behind her, and the lock and chain clinked with finality.

Sod a dog. So much for a peaceful Friday.

* * * *

Peter’s hands fisted around the leather steering wheel with all the finesse of a farmer wringing a chicken’s neck. Everything about his demeanor shut Georgia out, from the jutted angle of his jaw to the way he single-mindedly flicked his gaze from the road to the car’s instrumentation and back.

When she’d approached him on the street in front of Sid’s, he’d jerked the passenger-side door open and walked away. She’d hesitated on the curb. Was it really a good idea to be alone with him? He’d given her a pointed stare over the top of the sports car and said,
“Get in.”

Even if he’d been a known ax murderer, she probably wouldn’t have been able to resist the demand. All sleek lines and growling ferocity, the vehicle he’d invited her to ride with him in spelled sex. Headboard-shaking, toe-curling, mind-blowing sex. The kind where she had to stop midway through for a snack and brought the chocolate sauce back to bed after. If she made it that far. Visions of a Peter sundae slapped Georgia hard, and she tore her eyes away from the curve of his lower lip.

Running her hands over buttery leather beside her thighs, she asked, “Is this a Maserati?”

He didn’t answer.

“Really? You’re giving me the silent treatment?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s juvenile. Even for you.”

“And running off in the middle of a workday isn’t?” Whipping his head to the right, he shot her a death glare. “You’re lucky you’re still employed, you know that?”

The implied threat made her nostrils flare. He looked back to the road, and she turned away to stare fixedly out the window. Brick apartment buildings had given way to three-family homes and mid-twentieth-century architecture. Peter slowed the vehicle at a green light and veered to the right. Signs for the Hutchinson River Parkway flashed past in green and white.

The highway stretched ahead. Apparently detecting an opening, Peter accelerated and squeezed them into traffic. Confusion and adrenaline made Georgia gape. She straightened and craned her head to peer behind them. They were on the throughway.

“Where are we going?” She hadn’t thought to ask the question before, but she sure as hell asked now.

Peter rolled his shoulders, popping his neck. “Home.”