High Maintenance Read online

  “Uh…I had to reschedule.” Lexy held her breath.

  “Babe, seriously?” He pulled forward, resting his elbows on the tidy desk, peering at her with those deep blue eyes that used to always make her tingle in fun places, but now held irritation. “You can’t keep doing that.”

  “We don’t need a coordinator, Julian.”

  Before he could respond, the door swung open, delivering Julian’s secretary with a file in hand and a skirt that could double as a bandeau. “The Windsor file you needed,” she said, glancing at Lexy as if she were insignificant. Then, she leaned into Julian’s personal space for what Lexy referred to as her “free cleave shot” of the day.

  “Thank you, Lindsey.” He tossed it aside without a glance, causing Lexy to doubt its importance as she glared at Lindsey’s backside. “Go ahead and take your lunch.”

  When the secretary’s departure was confirmed by the sealed door, Julian responded. “We’ve been over this enough times too,” he said, mocking her previous response. “You can’t possibly handle all these details. Not with working and trying to get your business off the ground.” At least he’d been supportive of that.

  “That’s why I think we need to scale down. I don’t—”

  “I know, Lex, you don’t need a big wedding.”

  “I don’t.” Lexy knew exactly who needed the big wedding: Julian’s family…more specifically, his mother. Her “acceptance” of Lexy as Julian’s fiancée didn’t seem to include Lexy’s feelings about much at all. Nine years his junior, she had constantly fought to prove her worth and maturity to his skeptical parents. Now, she pleaded with her eyes and a sweet smile.

  A pair of sexy blues was his response. They darted toward the door, then stared her down from across the desk.

  “What?” she said.

  “Come over here.”

  His tone and expression melted away her frustration, and the right side of her mouth turned up playfully. “Just because I’m sitting in this chair doesn’t mean you can order me around.” Although, the thought of a few sexy, commanding orders would be appealing enough for her to comply.

  “Here…now,” he said in a low, confident tone. His hand reached out to her.

  Lexy rose, walked around the desk, and grabbed his hand. She climbed on top of him, one knee straddling each of his thighs, unconcerned whether Lindsey would return unexpectedly. The feel of his suit pants against her skin caused a heat wave to flow through her stomach and continue downward. Pressing both hands against his clean-shaven cheeks, she whispered, “Yes, sir?”

  His hands grasped her waist just before his lips brushed against hers. “You know I just want to give you everything, right?”

  “I know,” she whispered back into his mouth. “What can you give me right now?” She rocked her hips into him before connecting their mouths in a long, slow kiss. Lexy had fantasized about having sex in Julian’s office, but he’d always stopped things before they went too far. Now she took his gesture, and his order for Lindsey to leave, to mean he wanted it too. She was surprised, and somewhat disappointed, when he pulled away. It’s not that they had issues in the bedroom. Lexy simply yearned for something more: spontaneity, passion, inspiration, perhaps.

  “Tonight,” he said. His hands wandered up her back. “I want to see you before my trip.”

  She’d almost forgotten. Another damn trip. Was this what it would be like when they were married? “How long?”

  “Should be only a few days. But I don’t want to talk about that now. I just want our wedding to be something special, something you’ll always remember. If I can make that happen, why won’t you let me?”

  Lexy shrugged, not wanting to start yet another fight.

  “I love that you’re an independent woman. You know that, right?”

  She’d had her doubts about that. “Yes, I know.”

  “So, just let me do this one thing for you. Let me give you a dream wedding.”

  Lexy sighed, removed herself from Julian’s lap, heading back to the chair. “But whose dream are you talking about, Julian?”

  Again the door popped open, but before Lindsey could say anything, Julian snapped, “Not now.”

  Lindsey froze in the doorway, her face screwing up in confusion.

  “It’s okay, Lindsey,” Lexy said. She crossed to the door, relieved to have an excuse. “I have to go anyway.” With a final glance at Julian, she said, “I’ll text you later.”

  Chapter 3

  Lexy entered her apartment complex lugging two bags of groceries and wearing what felt like a gallon of sweat. Houston was a hotbed of humidity anyway. Add the heat wave to the mix, and every day felt like an eternal steam room. Her building was on an energy conservation plan, causing the AC to automatically turn off during certain parts of the day, so the grocery store had been a welcome escape.

  She’d spent the previous day with Julian at his condo tiptoeing around arguments about the wedding and their living arrangements. Lexy compromised on the wedding coordinator but wouldn’t budge on moving in with him. Julian needed to realize now that she would not give in to his demands, even if everyone else did. Take her tendency to fight for her independence, and she simply wished Julian would show some empathy about why she wanted to stay in the apartment.

  As she speed-walked to the stairs, all she could think about was getting her cold items to the fridge and freezer before they spoiled. She had picked up some tea for Mrs. Granger on the first floor, but should she risk a lengthy conversation by dropping it off before putting her own things away? After a brief pause at the door, she decided Mrs. Granger could wait.

  On the first step she heard the door creak. “Oh, Lexy. Girl, I thought I heard something.”

  Lexy froze at hearing the twangy female voice, then glanced over her shoulder with a guilty grin. “Hey, Mrs. Granger.” She stepped off the stairs and turned to the woman who Lexy had guessed was in her fifties. “How are you?”

  With a mix of hospitality and smart-ass boldness she said, “Other than sweating my little southern ass off, I’m doing just fine, thank you. Hope that’s my tea in there.”

  “It is.” Lexy reached in the bag, planning to do a quick hand-off, when Mrs. Granger opened the door wider.

  “Well, come on in,” she said as she walked back into her apartment. “I was just fixin’ to have a snack. Got some more books for you, too.”

  Lexy sighed before following the woman in. With the bags set on the table, she reached inside, pulled out the large bottle of sweet tea, and handed it to Mrs. Granger. She eyed the stack of paperback books on the corner of the table. Shit. Countless days, Lexy had patiently sat through many spoiler-filled rundowns of whatever book the recently-widowed lady had read and then wanted to pass to her.

  “You’re a life-saver, hon,” Mrs. Granger said, taking the tea and putting it in the fridge. “Help yourself to those muffins, now. And, take that stack of books with you. That one on the top there…the Brad Meltzer book. Oh my God, Lexy. Does that book start with a shit-kickin’ bang.”

  Lexy painfully stared at the condensation sliding down her carton of milk, waiting for an opening to make her escape. Yeah, she felt sorry for the woman, but hell if she would risk the Cherry Garcia that was to keep her company while Julian was away. She and the ice cream had a date with her DVR of DWTS.

  With sweat beading on her forehead, the woman pulled out a chair and sat. She head-gestured to the seat across from her. “So there’s these two brothers, and they work for this exclusive private bank, and—”

  “Yes!” Lexy called out louder than she meant. She picked up the book instead of taking the seat she was offered. “I remember you telling me about this one. Maybe I can start it tonight since Julian is out of town.” Her eyes bounced from the southern bell to the door and back again.

  “Oh,” Mrs. Granger said, disappointment coloring her face. Then, her expression changed, and she reached for the next book in the stack. “Honey, if your man is gone, then you should be reading
this one.” She thrust the book at Lexy.

  “Mrs. Granger!” Lexy said, gaping at the book. It featured two men posing seductively with a barely dressed woman between them.

  “Don’t look so surprised, girl. Oh, for the love of Pete. I’m only human.”

  Lexy wasn’t sure why she had that reaction. She couldn’t think of anything to say so she smiled and took the book in her hand, examining both sides. “Thank you.”

  “My husband and I never had a chance to do any real experimenting.” She raised her eyebrows. “But I wouldn’t mind changing places with her.” She gestured with her eyes to the cover model.

  Lexy felt comfortable enough with the lady to let out a playful laugh. “I bet…well, I have to run now.”

  Ignoring Lexy’s last comment, she continued. “You know if my Ethan could talk to me from the heavens right now, he’d say, ‘Tricia, you go right ahead and get your pleasures in whatever way makes you happy.’ He’d want me to enjoy life.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, Mrs. Granger. Well, I really should get these groceries upstairs. Thanks for the books.” Lexy loaded the paperbacks in with the groceries and then pulled the bags off the table.

  “Anytime, sweetheart. And, if you see that sexy new maintenance guy out there ask him to stop by later.”

  The two women stopped at the door. An image of Tate holding his toolbox, muscles glistening with perspiration flashed through Lexy’s mind. “Oh, uh…”

  A crash and a strained voice in the back of the apartment had them exchanging concerned looks.

  “What was that?” Lexy said.

  “Oh, goodness. I’d forgotten he was here.”

  For a brief moment, Lexy envisioned a couple of men in the bedroom reenacting the erotic book cover. “Who?”

  “C’mon.” Mrs. Granger turned and hurried to the hallway. Lexy dropped her bags and followed her to the bedroom.

  On the floor next to the bed was a confused Ray Bowers. Shattered pieces of something surrounded him. His workman’s clothes poorly disguised his fragile body. The two women helped him up and over to a chair.

  “Don’t fuss over me, ladies,” he said, waving his thin arms away from their grasp.

  “His hand is shaking,” Lexy said.

  “He’s diabetic,” Mrs. Granger said.

  “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here.”

  Lexy kneeled down next to him and rested a calm hand on his arm. “Should we call somebody? A doctor?”

  Mr. Bowers patted her hand. “You’re a sweet girl, Lexy. A little pain in my ass sometimes, but a sweet girl. Your father would be proud of you.”

  Taken aback, Lexy stared at the man. She hadn’t realized Ray Bowers had known her father that well. “Thank you, Mr. Bowers. But are you going to be all right? What happened?”

  “It’s okay,” he continued. “I just lost my balance and dropped a couple of light bulbs. Nothin’ to write home about.”

  “You sure, Ray?” Mrs. Granger said, concern in her voice. The confident, outgoing persona she’d portrayed only moments ago was replaced with a timid, fearful lady.

  Pushing from the sides of the chair, Ray attempted to rise, only to return to his seat looking frightened. He rubbed at his arm and winced. Lexy had no idea what was going on with this man.

  “I could maybe use a little juice,” he said. “And, please call my son.”

  Lexy stayed with Ray while Mrs. Granger retrieved some juice from the kitchen and called Tate. Attempting to distract Ray while she worked to clean the mess, she said, “Next time let me take care of the light bulb.”

  “I’ll remember that, Missy. But I don’t know if this building could handle another blackout.” He squinted through a teasing smile that reminded her of his son.

  “Very funny.”

  “Besides, I do have my son helping out now. Said he met you the other day.”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “You made quite an impression on him.”

  Sure her face flushed red, she turned it to the side. “I did? Well…I don’t think I did anything special.”

  “Huh?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, nothing. It’s just that’s the word he used to describe you: Special.”

  Moments later Tate arrived, surprised to see Lexy in the room. It was a challenge for Lexy to look at him and not think about what Ray had just told her.

  “Hi,” he said to no one in particular before he stepped over to Ray. “Come on. Let’s get you to your place so you can lie down.”

  Lexy noted that Tate hadn’t asked a single question. “I’ll get his things for you,” she said.

  An appreciative smile and nod came her way, but behind Tate’s smile she clearly saw angst. Something had passed between them in that moment. She understood what he was going through, what it was like to feel helpless and worried. To try to be there for someone who used to be there for you. That alone had connected her to him.

  Chapter 4

  Lexy stepped into Ray Bowers’ apartment behind the man and his son. She set Ray’s tool bag and jacket on the ground near the sofa and stood awkwardly next to it as Tate guided his dad to the bedroom. Should she go back to her own apartment now? Her stomach ached at the familiar scene keeping her from leaving. Her eyes drifted across the man’s living space. Similar to her own father’s apartment, it had air of loneliness, maybe even finality.

  A moment later, a knock at the door drew Tate from around the corner. She watched as he answered it and took the bags from Mrs. Granger. She’d forgotten all about her groceries. When Tate transferred both bags to one hand so he could close the door, one of the books tumbled to the floor. Lexy’s eyes widened, noticing which book lay at Tate’s feet. She lunged forward to grab it, but Tate kneeled down to swipe it up. After a quick glance at the cover, he arched an eyebrow at her that could have left her embarrassed and scrambling to explain. Instead she snatched it proudly from his hand, smiled, and said, “Thank you.”

  “I should be thanking you,” he said, turning serious before handing her the bags. “My dad’s…going through a lot right now.”

  The sincerity and vulnerability sat so naturally on his face. She pondered why such an odd thought would enter her brain, and then denied it could have been because it was so unlike Julian.

  “No need to explain. Is he going to be okay?” she said.

  “I’m sure he will be. He goes through these times where he’s just not taking care of himself.”

  The urge to touch him propelled her hand forward, but she withdrew it quickly. “He’s lucky you’re here. Is there anything I can do right now? For either of you?”

  Before Tate could answer, Ray called from the bedroom.

  “It’s all right,” she said and walked to the door. “I have to get these things to my fridge anyway.”

  Tate looked toward the bedroom and then back to Lexy expectantly. “Will you please come back when you’re done? I want to talk to you about something.”

  “Oh…okay.”

  “Just let yourself in.” Then, he disappeared down the hall.

  ***

  After Lexy secured her half-melted ice cream in the freezer, she deposited the rest of the items in their proper places. Standing in the middle of her kitchen, she inhaled a deep breath. What could Tate want to speak to her about? Most likely he’d explain about his father, though she wasn’t sure she wanted to become involved in their problems. It hit too close to home. Her eyes welled up, a reminder that the pain of losing her father hadn’t lessened over the last six months. You’re a strong woman, Alexia. His words rang in her head as real as if they were being whispered in her ear. A deep breath helped her remember how to be that woman. But another reason for avoiding the situation nagged at her. Becoming too attached, feeling sympathy, wanting to help. It could be dangerous business opening up to all of that. Especially when the handsome, strapping Tate was the one on the receiving end.

  Lexy returned to Ray’s apartment, letting her
self in quietly in case he was sleeping. She padded to the hall but stopped short when she heard the two men talking.

  “Stop lecturing me. I’m a sick old man, remember?”

  “Don’t gimme that sick shit. You just need to take better care of yourself…but you are pretty damn old, old man. ”

  “Thanks.”

  “I guess someone needs to stay on your ass now. Look at all these bottles, Dad. I had them all organized.” During the pause she heard shuffling and movement. “Maybe you fell because you took the wrong fucking pills.” The desperation in Tate’s voice permeated the room.

  “Nag, nag, nag. Why don’t you make me a pot roast and go watch some soap operas, Wilma.”

  “It’s not funny. Jesus, this one is empty. You were supposed to get that filled last week. I’m calling your doctor.”

  “No!” Ray’s voice came loaded with panic. “I don’t need a nursemaid,” he said, calming. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Another pause came before the sound of the mattress creaking. She should have left to give them their privacy but she didn’t move. A part of her knew it was too late to stop from getting involved. Too late to be touched by their story.

  “Promise me you’ll call.”

  “I will. I’m sorry you had to come here and deal with this, Son. I’m just so damn sick of being sick. I’m sixty-fucking-seven years old and deteriorating into an old man. And, what have I got to show for my life?”

  “I’m sorry too, Dad.” Tate’s voice softened then. “I know it’s hard for you. I’m just trying to help.”

  “What I hate worse than being sick is having you so worried about me. I’m your father. I’m supposed to be helping you, not being a burden to you.”

  “Hey, you worked your ass off your whole life. You spent your retirement money to put three of your four kids through college. I’d say you’ve earned it, so I don’t wanna hear that crap anymore.”