Chapter Eight
Three days. Sawyer hadn’t seen Justine for three days, not since he’d stormed out when she took the job. She was avoiding him. It was childish, really. Or she could be lying dead in a gutter, somewhere.
He dropped his head in his hands and then raked his fingers through his hair. He had to find her. How was he supposed to tell Daniel he had lost his freaking daughter?
Outside the office, Veronica ignored him as she typed into her computer. When he went to stand at her desk, without looking up, she said, “Do you need something?”
For a minute, he considered giving her hell about the attitude. Couple of things stopped him. First, she was fantastic at her job. He could ask her to climb the side of the building using only her hands and a pack of gum and she’d be on the roof in no time. Second, this wasn’t her fault. This was all him. “Has Justine been around?”
“Why?”
“I can’t find her. Haven’t seen her for days.”
“So?” Veronica kept her eyes glued to the computer in front of her.
“So, I want to talk to her.”
“Why?”
“Because.” He took a deep breath, digging deep for patience. “Because I…”
“Need to apologize for being an ass?”
“Hey.”
She shrugged a shoulder, daring him to deny it.
Sawyer put his hands on her desk and leaned down, trying to get into her line of sight. “Could you not say the first thing that pops into your head?”
“Sure.”
“Well? Have you seen her?”
She gave him a bland look.
“Is that a no?”
“I’m sorry. I was busy not saying the first thing that popped into my head.”
He threw up his hands. “Fine. Do you have her address, home phone number, anything?”
“I have all those things. Would you like them?”
“That would be helpful.” He smiled when he said it, but it came out forced and hostile. Best he could do.
She jotted down the information, handed it to him, and turned back to her keyboard.
No answer when he tried the number. He figured it wouldn’t be that easy. She wasn’t answering her cell phone, so why would she answer at her place? When he studied the address, he realized she lived in Williamsburg, about a thirty-minute subway ride away from the office. Outside, the wind froze him as he crossed the street. He’d left without even grabbing his jacket.
Standing before her apartment building, he scanned the ugly, antiquated complex. This was where an heiress lived? Why would anyone who had a choice live here? Apartment buildings gave him the creeps, anyway. He’d spent the first eight or nine years of his life in generic, old places like this. That had been plenty.
He pushed through the double glass entrance and walked straight ahead. The afternoon sunlight filtering through the doors was fading and the bare bulbs offered only pockets of light. He checked the paper again, Veronica’s compact, precise cursive easy to read.
5G
She lived on the top floor. Lucky her.
Around the time he spotted the elevator at the end of a dim hallway, a door on his left opened a crack. An old woman, short white hair permed tight to her skull, stared out at him. She looked like a poodle. A grumpy poodle. “Hi,” he said, for no reason he could think of, except he’d never trusted yappy dogs.
She pursed her lips and looked him over.
“I’m looking for someone. Pretty girl, lives on the top floor?”
Her voice barked at him, through the chain lock of the unopened door. “This building has twenty-seven apartments. I know everyone. You’re talking about Justine, and I’m telling you now, if you’re a reporter, I’ll call the police before you push the button on the elevator.”
His eyebrows shot up at this outpouring. “No, I’m not…I work with her.”
“I knew it. She’s working a nine-to-five. Never thought I’d see the day.”
“Actually, I haven’t talked to her in a day or two. I’m a little worried. Have you seen her?”
“She left here this morning, same as she has all week. Week before that, too, come to think of it.” She let her gaze slide up and down again before she stepped back, unhooked the chain, and opened her door. “You think she’s pretty, huh?” She gave him a sly grin.
“She’s…yeah, I guess. I hadn’t noticed.” He was such a liar.
“Uh-huh. You’d better not be using her for sex.”
“I’m not using her. I mean I’m not having sex with her at all.” He couldn’t believe this tiny, old lady said that. Couldn’t believe he’d crumbled and defended himself, either.
She stepped back inside her apartment and paused before she shut the door. “Maybe if you haven’t found her, she doesn’t want to be found.”
“Tell me about it,” he mumbled to the closed door. He went up and knocked, anyway. Nothing. Shit, she wasn’t home.
He retraced his steps to work, took the elevator back upstairs, and headed for the office. Inside, he rolled up his sleeves and squared his shoulders. Letting out a long breath, his shoulders slumped as he dropped into his chair. He could be fairly certain she was okay, if he believed the old lady. But Daniel told him to keep an eye on her; he wasn’t doing a good job at it this week.
With a dramatic sigh, Veronica stormed into the room. One fist cocked on her hip, she said, “Why are you acting like some great tragedy befell you?”
“I have to go tell my boss I broke his daughter.” He looked up at her, feeling like an idiot. “I was an ass.”
“You were an ass. But God, I can’t stand the face. You look like your puppy died, seriously.” She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling for a moment then sighed. “Fine. She’s not broken. She’s in the basement.”
His mouth dropped. Here? She was here? He’d spent the last few days beating himself up and she’d been avoiding him? “And you couldn’t tell me that when I asked you?”
“Nope.”
“Because that was the first thing that popped into your head.” He needed to work on his people skills.
“Right.”
Giving in, he decided to drop it. “How do I find her?”
“Are you going to yell at her?”
“I’m not going to yell at her. I’m going to demand she get her ass upstairs…”
Veronica crossed her arms, shooting him a glare, and he realized he could wander the basement for several hours before he found her. Then he’d need a trail of breadcrumbs to get back out. “I’m going to ask her to come back upstairs.”
Nothing. Just those big blue eyes, staring him down. She wasn’t going to give him anything until he played along. “I’ll say please.”
“Left from the elevator, right at the corner, second door on the left.”
“Left, right, left?”
She nodded and turned on her heel, with a final order, “Be nice.”
Years ago, the basement had been divided in half. On one side were dressing rooms and a couple of sound-stages. On the other, a maze of storage.
He took a left off the elevator and confronted a wall of monitors, cameras, and computers from some time in the eighties, each four times the size of its modern counterpart. Justine clearly didn’t notice her surroundings. The basement, her apartment building, both depressing and old. And musty.
Unsure about his location, he rounded the corner and paused in the second doorway. Justine sat on the floor, her back against the wall, staring with intensity at a legal pad, half covered in spiky handwriting. She’d pulled her dark hair back and stuck a pencil in to hold it up. On the opposite wall, she’d hung a white-board and filled it with the same spiky writing.
She let her head slip back, resting on the wall. She looked up at the corner of the ceiling, still not seeing him.
“Nice office, princess.”
She didn’t move her head, but her gaze wandered to the door. “Sawyer.”
He slid down the wall to sit beside her. She’d brought a sleek thermos and filled the mug-top with steaming coffee. “You brought your own coffee.”
“I did.”
“Got an extra cup?”
“No.” She looked back to the ceiling, her brow puckered in concentration.
He picked up the thermos top next to her leg and took a swig. “This is good.”
“Sawyer.” She stared at him, mouth open in shock.
“You should reconsider the coffee wench thing. This really is good.”
Justine took the thermos from his hand. “We’re not friends. Stop being friendly to me.”
“I was an ass, I get that. God, do I get it.”
“It’s messy in here. Look around. Messy and imperfect. Don’t you want to run back upstairs to your perfect office?”
“Do you want an apology?”
She dismissed him with a shrug. “No.”
“Good, because I’m not apologizing.”
“Fine, I don’t want one.”
He’d have liked to explain, though. Tell her he’d lashed out because he was starting to get hooked on her brand of messy, and he was worried about what she’d gotten herself into. But he couldn’t. All he could muster was, “It’s not your fault.”
“That you’re an ass?”
“Okay, can we stop with that? Do you know how many times I’ve been called that today?”
“I imagine it happens quite often, every day.” She turned toward the white board.
Semi-apology a fail, he crossed to examine the board, trying to read her writing. “What’s all this?”
“Ideas. It’s like thinking out loud. Which is harder to do when the person you’re supposed to be working with doesn’t want you around messing up his world.”
He could make out a couple of names. “How did you know my picks?”
She pointed to the folders stacked in the corner, next to an armless mannequin with linebacker shoulders.
“Veronica copied the files for you?” He stared at her, amazed at how the two of them had teamed up and turned on him.
Justine sat up, her spine ruler-straight against the wall. “Depends. Are you going to be an ass? Sorry, upset with her?”
“Oh, no. No, I’m not going to say a word to her. She’s scary. And sadistic.”
She tilted her head, a smile quirking up one corner of her mouth. “I think that’s why I like her.”
For a minute, he looked Justine over, there on the floor, legs folded in front of her. He hadn’t noticed when he’d first come in because he’d been jumbled up with nerves and anger. Her jeans were old, still expensive but old and worn, topped with a plain white button-up. “You look like a normal person. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“Go me.” Then she stood up, her legs long, jeans hugging her hips, and her shirt settling around her curves. A lock of hair slipped from the pencil and teased her cheek.
Oh, hell. He wanted to kiss her until she made that little sound, a breathless sort of whimper he couldn’t stop thinking about. Not even in his dreams could he forget. He closed his eyes and turned back to the white board. “Yeah, so what’s all this again?”
“It’s what I think of your picks.”
“And the translation of this mess you call writing?”
“I don’t like them. They’re okay, and we can do the interviews, but I’ve got someone else in mind.”
“Fair enough. See? We can work together.” He pretended to try to read her writing. “So, who is she?”
She reached past him, a light brush of her breasts on his arm, and pulled a picture from the top folder. “Liann Linell.”
“That’s your big plan?” He exhaled with annoyance. “She doesn’t even work anymore. Is she still alive?”
“Yes, she’s alive. And she’s perfect. She’s a huge name with a scandalous past.” She held up the picture, twenty years old, easy. “She’s beautiful and charismatic. And my God, she has chemistry with everyone. She’s exactly what we need.”
He took the picture. “I’ll humor you. How are you going to get her? Does she even have an agent anymore?”
“Probably not. My father gave her her big break. She used to come to our house all the time when I was a little girl. I adored her. Maybe she’d at least talk to us.” She gazed full of hope up at him. “Couldn’t we try to talk to her?”
“Yeah. We’ll talk to her.” He couldn’t say no to the excited look on her face. Plus, he wasn’t supposed to help her any longer. Let Justine take the lead and see what happened. Hell, maybe she was right. “It’s late. I’ll drive you home.”
“You don’t need to take me home. I can ride the subway.”
“Nice isn’t my natural state, princess. Cut me a break?”
She smiled at him, a full on, genuine smile. For the first time in days, Sawyer’s stomach gave a strange tug. Not lust. He didn’t know what it was, but he was out of his depth on this one.
He led her to his car, and they rode in silence. Inside her building, the lady with the poodle hair stepped out to block them. “You found her.”
Justine turned, eyebrow cocked. “You came looking for me?”
Sawyer leaned in conspiratorially to the elderly lady. “You were right. She didn’t want to be found.”
Poodle lady gave him a wink. “Doesn’t seem to mind so much now.”
Justine laughed. “Play nice, Helena.”
The two of them didn’t speak in the elevator. He detested the smirk on her face. No, the smirk was cute. It was the idea of her smirking at him trailing her around town like a puppy that bothered him.
Outside her door, he held back. “You know, I wanted to make sure nothing bad happened to you. It’s not a big deal.”
“Not at all. Come in, I’ll make you some fresh coffee. One time offer.”
She unlocked her door and let him in. He looked around her apartment while she made the coffee. The first time he visited her building, he’d expected something sophisticated, expensive, and grand. And then, after being inside the building, he’d expected shabby without the chic. But she lived in a nice place. Here and there, expensive baubles stood out on her bookshelves or hung on the wall. Her apartment had a comfortable, welcome feel, with bare brick walls and polished wood floors.
“It’ll only take a minute.” She sat down on the arm of the couch while the coffeepot gurgled to break the silence.
“That’s a fast coffeemaker you got there.”
“Life necessity. When you need coffee, you need it right now.”
“So, where do you keep all your clothes? I bet your closet is the size of Rhode Island.”
She chuckled and headed to the kitchen to grab a couple of mugs. “Not quite. I use the other bedroom.” He gave her a look, and she shrugged. “That’s how I live. I do like pretty things, though.”
“I can tell.”
She poured the coffee, talking over her shoulder. “Oh, please. You hate my clothes.”
He took the mug from her and sipped. “I don’t hate them. I’m wondering if you can ever not look…” He shrugged, unsure what he was trying to say.
“Look what? Overdressed? What?”
“Beautiful.”
“Oh. I’m not beautiful.” She blew on her coffee, peering into the cup. “Really, I’m not one of those women, who are all, ‘Please, go on,’ and they totally mean that you should. I’m not that. My mom’s the one who is beautiful.”
Through the rushed monologue, he wondered what about the compliment had freaked her out. Saying it had freaked him out a little, but for obvious reasons. He didn’t want to delve any deeper, didn’t want to go back to the place where all things were awkward between them so he crossed to the window and looked out, giving them both a minute.
She had a terrible view, but lots of windows, which made up for it. Leafy green plants trailed vines, at least four pots, cluttering the windowsill. The place was homey. Every time he thought she made sense, she changed everything.
He turned around and she stared into her mug, a distant expression on her face. “So tell me how you sell your clothes.”
“No, it’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid. You market yourself, magazines print up free advertising. It’s brilliant.”
She studied him, like she couldn’t tell if he meant it, and then stepped over to her laptop. “Okay. Well, I buy the magazines and find the pictures of me in the clothes.” She spread out several, from glossy entertainment magazines to tabloids with jagged edges.
Justine flipped open the one on top, until she found a photo of her at a movie premiere, and sat down at the desk. A rock musician, hair longer than hers, stood to her right, his hand at the small of her back.
Sawyer, standing at her shoulder, picked it up to look closer. “This guy looks like an asshole.”
“No, he’s not. He’s a decent guy who opens the door for me, pulls out my chair, and doesn’t paw me on the way home.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I can’t believe I said that. I didn’t mean…”
“Yeah.” He was an asshole. He didn’t open doors, or pull out chairs, or call the next day. And whether she remembered or not, he could be counted on to get grabby in the backseat.
She looked straight ahead, hands flat on her desk, obviously disturbed by what she’d said. “I meant it’s not a date. It’s beneficial to us both to go together and he’s not…he doesn’t act like it’s a date. He’s polite. God, shut me up.”
“Then what?”
She opened the laptop and busied herself with the keyboard and attached mouse. “Then I take a picture of the clothes by themselves and scan the picture from the magazine in. I put them both up, together, then I type in any details; like where I was, who the designer is. I have a template. I post it online and that’s it. Easy money.”
“Do they know they’re buying them from you?”
“Oh, no. That seems a little desperate and sad. They’re buying the idea that I have a glamorous and exciting life. I post them as my maid.”
“You have a maid?”
“No.” She shut the laptop and took a sip of her forgotten coffee.
“We should hire you in the PR department.” He stopped at the door. “Leo’s coming in the morning. Are you going to be there?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to be in the basement?”
“No.” A smile flirted at the corners of her mouth.
“Good, because I was going to get you a real desk tomorrow.”
“You sure know how to make a girl feel special.”
“That’s me. See ya.” He closed her door behind him and let out a slow exhale.
So, he’d found her. Sort of apologized. He headed down the hall and jabbed at the elevator button. And now, he realized she could be likable. Not that he liked her. But it was possible.
****
Justine used her key to let herself into her mother’s brownstone and called out, “Anyone home? Mom?”
She looked to her right, into the blue parlor, and while there were still boxes everywhere, the couch was back in place and the crystal goblets were in the cabinet. Good. Her mother was setting things back to rights.
Justine had payment confirmation in her purse that stated her father had paid Thea’s mortgage. He’d sent it down to her office by Monique. She couldn’t understand why he hadn’t given it to her himself, so she could at least properly thank him for helping. But that seemed to be their relationship lately.
Thea came rushing down the stairs. “I’m here, sweetpea!” She stopped short in front of Justine in the foyer.
Justine pulled out the confirmation and held it out to her. “Nana’s home is safe. Dad paid the mortgage off.” When Thea just looked at the paper, Justine went on, “Isn’t that wonderful?”
Thea took the piece of paper, her hands trembling. “I went to see your father last night.”
“Well, he paid it off this morning, so he wouldn’t have had this then.”
“He paid it off a week ago, when you first came to him.”
“Then why make me jump through all these hoops?”
Thea took her hand and led her to the blue silk couch in the parlor. They sat down and she gave Justine a weak smile. “Because he wanted to give you a reason to try. He says he only wants to see you happy.”
“He has a funny way of showing it.”
“Maybe.” Her mother shrugged. “He also offered me a blank check to help me get on my feet.”
“That’s wonderful.” Justine gave her mother’s hand a squeeze, relief washing over her. Maybe her mom would be okay.
“I wouldn’t take it. It reminded me of when he bought off that boy and set you on this terrible path.”
“Gee, thanks, Mom. I didn’t realize my life was so ‘terrible.’”
Thea extracted her hand and waved her off. “You know that’s not what I meant. I think you’ve done a wonderful job of recreating your life. I just meant maybe you wouldn’t have had to if he hadn’t bought that boy off. Don’t get me wrong. I think we’re both horrid parents. This isn’t all of his fault. I remember after the film came out, and you said we were always arguing over whose fault you were. And you were right. We did that.”
“You’re not horrid parents. That’s ridiculous. And you don’t do that anymore.” Justine walked over to the cabinet with the Waterford crystal. “You’re just not typical parents. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. You both love me, and I know that. A lot of people can’t say that about their parents.”
“Not typical, I love that.” Thea threw her head back and laughed. “He also was aware I’d started a business.”
“I didn’t tell him.” Justine faced her mother, ready to deny any wrongdoing.
“No, I know you didn’t. Gossipmongers, how I love them.”
“So, what did he say about it?” If Justine knew her father, he had an opinion on it, he had an opinion on everything.
“Actually, he offered to help me. Said it would be like getting a consultation from a successful business man, which would be true.”
“That’s…unexpected.” Justine would never have guessed her father would offer to help her mother, no strings attached. It didn’t sound like him at all. “Did you accept?”
“No. I’m not sure I’m in the right business anymore.”
“Why would you say that?” Justine asked.
“Well, do you know how girls wear safety pins in their lips these days? At least, some of them do,” Thea said. “Those are the ones I like. The others, with the bouncy hair and white dresses, they creep me out, a little. I keep wondering if I was like that, a lifetime ago.”
“Oh, Mom. I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay, because your father made me feel a little better about it. He said I was a safety pin girl on the inside. I rather like that.”
Laughter bubbled up and Justine couldn’t hold it in. “I can’t believe Daddy said that.”
“Anyway, this whole business thing is just very up-in-the-air right now. I’m not sure I want to teach safety pin girls how to be normal. I’m not sure I want them to be normal. I like knowing there are safety pin girls in the world.”
Justine crossed the room and gave her mom a hug. “You’ll figure it out. I know you will.”
Justine wished she had as much faith in herself as she did in her mother.