Taking Tiffany Read online

  “This is scaring me, Dad.”

  All the emotions from the past day, combined with my lack of sleep, hit me all at once. And, I did what any five-year-old would do—my face reddened and my eyes began to fill with tears. This was not going to happen. I would not cry. Todd took a step toward me, my dad gave him a back-the-hell-off stare, and he did. Smart guy. Dad took me in his arms and gave me a big, comforting hug.

  “Where’s Mom, anyway?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer right away, giving me a long look, waiting for me to figure it out.

  “She’s freaked out, and you took her home, didn’t you?” I surmised.

  “Yes. I told her it was probably a prank and not to worry.”

  “I know. I’m sure it is.” I nodded and wiped my eyes. “I’m just a little tired.”

  Dad, back in his overprotective mode, said, “You’re a little like me, working too hard.”

  Thankfully, the sound of sirens broke into anything else dad had to say.

  Todd was in my peripheral vision, observing the interactions between Dad and me. He wore a sad smile and appeared wistful. It occurred to me I didn’t know anything about Todd’s parents. Our conversations always seemed to steer clear of family. I wondered if that was intentional.

  Five police cars pulled up to the curb. Dad was right; they were taking this seriously. They shuffled us all farther away from the house. They’d called in the bomb squad and planned to do a sweep. Once we were in the all-clear area, one of them, a sergeant, pulled out a notebook.

  “I can see there was a scuffle here.” He asked me, “Were you assaulted?”

  Dad gave a snort. Todd stifled a grin.

  “Oh, this,” I answered, like it happened every day. “We had a little painting accident.” Now I was lying to the police. When would this day end?

  “A painting accident?” He did that one-eyebrow-raised-up thing.

  “Okay! I was angry with Todd.” I pointed at him. “And I used my, um, paintbrush on him.” I lifted my hand up and down following the line of paint on his torso. “So, I assumed he would return the favor.” I stopped for a minute. The edge of laughter started to creep up, similar to the giggles I’d get while at church. I hadn’t outgrown that particular affliction, and it was building. Deep breathing, I reminded myself. Do not laugh. “I tried to move away and I tripped on the paint tray,” I managed to get out with a straight face.

  “And I slipped trying to break her fall,” Todd added.

  “You didn’t look angry when I found you.” Dad crossed his arms.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake! This …” I pointed between Todd and myself, “has nothing to do with this…” I gestured to the building and surrounding area.

  Chapter Thirteen

  HE WATCHED CLOSELY from a good distance away, peering through his lens at the group. Focusing mainly on Tiffany and Todd, he saw they were both covered in green paint and appeared…closer. Damn. Was he too late? With an adjustment to the small telescope, he zoomed in and discovered the tell-tale signs of green paint on both their lips. This had to be stopped…now.

  He’d only heard about Todd’s impromptu visit to Tiffany’s worksite a few hours ago. His employer had Todd followed, which turned out to be a good idea. Working fast and using his valuable contacts, he obtained the needed phone number.

  Disappointment settled upon him, though, because Tiffany’s father hadn’t arrived in time to interfere with their kiss. It was hard to miss the physical attraction they shared. But, if her dad’s expression said anything, it was obvious disapproval of Todd. He knew Tiffany was a daddy’s girl, so his plan might work after all. An idea to fan the fire a little made him smile to himself. A new strategy was formed.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Todd

  WAS SHE LAUGHING? With shaking shoulders, Tiffany turned away from her father and pretended to look at the house.

  “Are you laughing?” I asked. “Because I think your father hates me a little, and it’s not funny.”

  She whispered, “Sshh. I laugh when I get nervous or tired, and I’m both right now. I don’t need my dad to become angrier than he already is. This is serious.” And with that, she placed her hand over her mouth and continued to giggle.

  God, what was it about this woman? I wanted to pull her into my arms and kiss her until her laughter turned to moans. Oh, hell. I needed to stop these thoughts, especially with her father standing only ten feet away. I had it bad for this girl.

  Almost as if she read my thoughts, her expression grew serious as and her intense gaze traveled to my lips. The electricity pulsed and sparked between us. My control snapped, like a brittle twig. Her lips parted, and I leaned forward.

  “Tiffany!” her dad bellowed. “Time to go.”

  “Hang on a minute, Dad.” She shrugged. “Bye, Todd.”

  “Tiffany…” I needed to tell her.

  “Yeah?”

  “I had fun today.”

  A huge smile brightened her face. “So did I.” She placed her hands on my shoulders, stood on her tip-toes, and kissed me on the cheek. Her eyes lit with rebellion. I stole a quick glance at her dad. Yep, he was watching. Something strong and powerful expanded in my chest. At that moment, I decided not to let my past dictate my future. She didn’t know it yet, but she was mine. I tilted my head in her dad’s direction. Bring it on.

  ***

  FOUR DAYS LATER and my confidence had fled like a screaming girl from one of those slasher movies. Sitting alone in my condo, I’d dialed and hung up the phone around ten times. I paced around my living room, stared out the windows, and finally sat down. Just call. With wet palms and a renewed determination, I finally let the call go through to Tiffany. She picked up on the first ring.

  I cleared my throat and asked, “I’d like to make you dinner on Friday. Can you come?” A long beat of silence. “Just dinner,” I added.

  We’d been talking and texting all week, so this shouldn’t be a huge surprise. Or maybe it was. A racing pulse and full body sweat accompanied my other symptoms as I waited for her answer.

  “I’d love to. Are you really going to cook?” She sounded a little breathless.

  “Yeah. I’m practically a chef,” I exaggerated.

  “Now I know you’re teasing me. But I am impressed that you want to try to cook for me.”

  “Try?” I asked.

  “Let’s just say I’ll have a granola bar stashed in my purse, just in case,” she joked.

  Friday couldn’t come quick enough. I’d cleaned and organized, shopped and prepped the food, and turned around and cleaned and organized for a second time.

  Now that I’d finally made a decision, I was nervous. After denying my feelings, the insane attraction I had for Tiffany, it felt liberating to acknowledge them. But it came at a cost. Now I needed to convince her. We obviously had physical chemistry, but…did we want the same things? And did it matter? I wasn’t lying to her; I hadn’t invited her over to get her into bed. Just dinner. I wanted her on my own turf, even though being alone with her was risky considering our explosive chemistry. But I’d stay true to my word. This date would be all about getting to know her, how she thinks and feels about her life…and me.

  After meeting Tiffany’s dad and seeing a little of their interactions, I had a good feel for their relationship. Gerald Thompson could be gruff, intimidating even, but he was all bluster. He loved his daughter—dearly—but he didn’t come across as the type to make demands. Suggestions, maybe. But when Tiffany kissed me on the cheek in front of him, it sent a message to both of us. “I’m a fully grown woman; I make my own decisions. So…back off.”

  But before we could move further, there were things she needed to know about me. Painful things that took me years to get over. I had a history, a blackened one. Savannah’s dad used it to convince his daughter that it wasn’t only my lack of “breeding or wealth” at issue, it was the horrible circumstances I survived. But I had survived. And yet, somehow, he’d even twisted that.

>   The day I’d said goodbye to Savannah, I wasn’t sure who’d felt the agony more. We were both a mess. Savannah never had a hair out of place—a southern girl to her core. But on that day, she’d cried anguished tears and paced. Her perfect hair and makeup—gone. Her happy manners—gone. Her love for me—still there. Which made our break-up so much worse. Her father placed her into the unimaginable situation where she was forced to pick—either her family or me.

  She chose family. She loved them more. Or maybe she loved the lifestyle more. Back then, I was a poor college student. I’d majored in business and had only just started working with Braydon. She had no idea I’d be successful. I’ll never know if it would’ve made a difference.

  Tiffany deserved to know about my past. I needed to tell her about my parents before she found out on her own. I dreaded that conversation. I’d avoided the topic at all costs. But I’d come clean tonight.

  I’d tell her about Savannah. My ex-girlfriend ripped my heart out and didn’t bother giving it back. Although, that wasn’t really true. My heart had been in hibernation for a long time now, but it was coming back to life. I could feel it. The first few years after our break up, I’d been sure it was dead. I’d felt nothing. Following that, the pain started, and it was excruciating—which meant my heart had come back to life, full-force. The past year, it began to heal. Bruised and battered, it started to beat again.

  This time, for someone else

  Chapter Fifteen

  Angela

  Six Months Earlier

  I MADE MY grand exit from the office and walked toward the cafeteria. Damn. Where the hell was I going?

  The skinny little creature/girl hung on my leg, making it difficult to walk. I looked closer. Was that snot she leaked onto my jeans? Oh, no you don’t. Again, I tried to pry her body from my leg. Those twiggy, little fingers of hers were strong.

  “You’re a stubborn girl, you know that?” I whispered.

  She looked up at me then, her eyes wide open and looking scared. Our eyes stayed locked. I couldn’t look away. What had she gone through to look and act like this? A vivid flashback of my pink and ivory room at home came to mind, and I felt … ashamed. I never appreciated that room. Or maybe I had…once. But I couldn’t draw the memory of it back.

  I shook my head. I wasn’t here for this. I was only here for punishment. I didn’t need or want to learn the “lesson” my parents insisted on. I will not learn. I will not change a thing about myself. I will not allow them to win.

  I needed a strategy with the leg-clinger.

  “Here’s the deal. You can stay on my leg for a little while longer. Well, until you’re more comfortable. But when I have to use the bathroom or shower? You, little one, are coming off. I don’t care if I have to throw cold water on you. Are we in agreement?”

  Those huge eyes stared back. God, I couldn’t stand how her face caved in under her cheekbones. She closed her eyes, placed her head back on my leg, and gripped tighter. But, she nodded. Now were making progress.

  “Also, this is my first day. I’m telling you right now, I don’t know what I’m doing. Are you sure you want to stick with me?”

  Another nod.

  “Okay,” I told her. Shit. “These Romanian names are confusing. I think there are almost fifty kids here. I’ll never remember all the names. How about I give you an American name so I can remember you?” I’d never forget, but her name was probably attached to some pretty horrific memories. I’d put my parents half million dollar investment in my education to good use. Psych 101. A new name, a new beginning. “How about Ivy? It means strong.” And stubborn.

  For the first time, a ghost of a smile hinted on her lips. Moisture pricked behind my eyes. Stop it. It’s jet lag. You need some food.

  “Have you been to the cafeteria yet, Ivy? Because I don’t know where the hell…I mean, where the heck it is.”

  “Over this way,” Mr. English accent said from behind. His voice was so…ugh! It was deep and sensual when he wasn’t shouting about how I was the worst person on the planet. “And you shouldn’t be swearing in front of the children.”

  “I corrected myself! Open your ears Mr. Proper English-man.”

  He turned toward me, hands on hips. I mimicked his stance, but I couldn’t quite pull off intimidating like he could. Not with a rug rat attached to my leg. I watched as his entire demeanor shifted.

  He squatted down to speak kindly to Ivy. “How are you doing today, Mirela?”

  She buried her head in my leg and shook her head.

  “We were just going to find the cafeteria.” That’s when I heard it, that same squeaky sound when I’d first entered the office.

  “Ivy,” she said as she pointed to herself. Oh, I guess she does talk after all.

  “Yeah. We just had a little chat. I decided I’d call her Ivy.”

  Dr. Stefan rose slowly with a blank look on his face. He turned and walked away. Great. I’d probably already broken some rule.

  “Well, it looks like we won’t get an escort from the doctor. But he pointed in this direction.” What was his problem anyway? I rolled my eyes. Whatever.

  We did manage to find our way to the cafeteria with a few helpful tugs on my leg. Ivy must have visited already. Too bad she wouldn’t eat. The food wasn’t disgusting, a bit bland, but at least it didn’t have bugs crawling out of the stew. When I first arrived—was it only hours ago?—I assumed the food would be inedible.

  “Really, Ivy. It isn’t horrible. It’s not great, but…look, there aren’t bugs,” I coaxed, tipping her bowl so she could see.

  I was rewarded by another hint of a smile. Progress. Once I got her to eat, I could shake her loose. Literally.

  Maybe she wasn’t eating because of the chaos in the room. It was a large space with ten round tables all within a few feet of each other. Five children and one adult sat at each. I hadn’t met everyone yet, but they all seemed to know I was coming. Once Ivy and I entered the room, we received distracted waves as the workers tried to either help or contain the children. Loud talking and laughter filled the room. I could barely think straight. It was no wonder Ivy froze up and wouldn’t eat.

  “Ivy, let’s blow this Popsicle stand. I’ve got something better.” And I did.

  Limping, walking, and dragging across the property, back to my hut, took up most of my energy. I opened the door, ready to be assaulted by the horrible stench of death, but I was met with…lemons? Without the smell that catapulted me outside the first time, I was able to take a good look around. My living quarters were about ten-by-ten feet, with exposed beams and a thatched roof with bits of sunlight seeping through. That meant I would also feel the rain. Great. I loved the rain, but sleeping with it while it pelted me? Not so much. But I’d worry about that later.

  At least it was clean, or at least it looked clean. I lifted the sheets that covered the small twin bed. I’d always slept on a queen, so this would be another adjustment. The sheets smelled good, like fresh linen. Elise must have changed them. The blanket was worn, but also appeared newly washed. A small, wooden dresser was tucked into the corner. I slowly opened each drawer, half expecting some hideous creature to spring out. But nope, all clear.

  Another door on the far wall beckoned me. A closet, I hoped. Again, opening it carefully, I was pleasantly surprised to find a bathroom that included a toilet and shower. Granted, it was bare bones, but still a welcome sight. The toilet looked like it was from the 1920s and the shower didn’t even have a curtain. By the long shape of the hut, I assumed I’d share this bathroom with whomever lived on the other side. I didn’t care, as long as I didn’t have to traipse around in the dark at night.

  Now, back to Operation Get-Rid-of-the-Leg-Strangler.

  “Ivy, I’m going to the bathroom now.” Her head burrowed into my leg, and she shook her head.

  “I can see you’re not ready. Okay, I’ll make you a deal. You move down my leg a little while I use the toilet.”

  She complied.

  I p
ulled my jeans down to my knees, and plopped onto the cold porcelain seat. It took a few minutes for me to let myself go. If your friends could see you now. I realized I didn’t care what any of them thought. Before I’d even left Seattle, I’d come to the conclusion I didn’t have any friends. Not really. Every last one ditched me as soon as the headlines appeared—Angela Bartholomew…A Fraud. I did commit fraud; that was true. But worse, I was a fraud. Right down to my soul.

  Grabbing my suitcase from the corner, I set it on the small twin bed. If this didn’t tempt Ivy, nothing would. I reached under my folded clothes for my smuggled stash of junk food. Specifically, Cheetos. Yep, I would bribe her to eat. I didn’t think there was a human on the planet who could resist. Okay, maybe it was only children, but I knew she wouldn’t be able to turn them down. Or at least I hoped she wouldn’t.

  I replaced my suitcase and lay back on my bed with Ivy still wrapped around my leg like…well, like ivy.

  “Yummm. Cheetos, my favorite.” I made sure to eat them one at a time, exaggerating the crunching and chewing. “I love these so much, I brought them from America.” That got her attention. Her eyes followed me from my mouth back to the Cheeto I held. “I’d offer you one, but I heard you weren’t eating.” I sighed with dramatic flair. “I’m going to take a little nap now. I’ve been traveling for days to get here, you know.”

  I placed the bag of opened Cheetos on the bed, just out of her reach. I adjusted my position and closed my eyes. Ten minutes later, Ivy’s grip loosen from around my leg. A rustling sound followed, then the sound of crunching. I suppressed my smile and allowed myself to fall asleep—this time, for real.