Boom Page 3

  I gave her an ominous look. "For now."

  "Yeah, but the house….it could always be rewired, right?"

  "Why?" I scoffed. "It's missing bathrooms."

  Her eyebrows furrowed. "Missing how?"

  "A place this size – two bathrooms doesn't cut it."

  "But wait," she said. "I thought you were talking about the wiring."

  "I was," I told her. "But I've moved on. Try to keep up, will ya?"

  Her mouth tightened. "Fine. Whatever. But about the bathrooms, you can just put in more, right? I mean, you've done it before. I've seen you."

  Now that made me pause. "Oh yeah?" I almost laughed. "Where?" I knew where. Our show was killing it in the ratings. But I was curious to see if she'd admit it.

  Her face, already flushed, grew a shade redder as she said, "Well, I do flip through the channels once in a while."

  From the look on her face, she wasn't a fan. That was fine by me. I had millions already.

  I smiled. "If you want my autograph, just lemme know."

  She looked at me like I was the biggest piece of shit on the planet. "I don't want your autograph," she said. "I want to know what you're planning to do with the house."

  "You mean my house?"

  "I don't care if it's yours," she said. "You can't just demolish it."

  I could if I wanted to. But the truth was, that wasn't part of the plan – not that she needed the details.

  I almost laughed in her face. "Why not?"

  "Because it's a waste and you know it." She was glaring now. "Just be honest. Are you doing this to get back at me?"

  I paused. At her?

  What the hell was she talking about? Tomorrow, I'd be sure to find out. But for now, I only shrugged.

  She made a sound of disgust. "So you are?" Under her breath, she muttered, "I knew it."

  She was wrong. No surprise there. In high school, she'd been wrong about a lot of things.

  Even now, it pissed me off. "I never said that. And you're forgetting something."

  "What?"

  "You owe me answers, not the other way around."

  "But—"

  "Forget it," I said. "I'm not telling you jack – not 'til you tell me what you were doing in my shower."

  "What do you think I was doing?" she said. "I was showering. What else do people do in there?"

  Boy, if that wasn't a loaded question. My lips twitched. "Well, one time, there was this blonde in Milwaukee—"

  "Oh shut up," she said. "That was a rhetorical question, and you know it."

  "Do I?"

  She sighed. "Alright, fine. You want the truth? I was going to crash here for the night. And before I did, I figured I'd just, you know, get cleaned up a little."

  I frowned. So she was staying here?

  If so, this was a new development. Just yesterday, after we'd closed the deal, I'd been through every inch of this place. And there'd been no Arden Weathers – or anyone else who didn't belong.

  I'd dealt with squatters before – vagrants mostly. None of them had showered – or looked half as good as the girl in front of me.

  I shook my head. "So you were squatting."

  "I wasn't 'squatting,'" she said. "I was supposed to meet Jason here. And the truth is..." She glanced away. "… well, he didn't show."

  I'd seen the texts. "No kidding."

  Her gaze narrowed. "And I guess we both know why, huh?"

  I didn't know why, but hell if I'd admit it.

  Still, I had a decent guess. The way it sounded, this Jason guy had planned some sort of hookup, maybe a mid-week fling or whatever. And he'd picked this place as the location.

  Short-term, it made sense.

  The house was big, empty, and right on the beach. Summer was still a few weeks off, but a beach was a beach. And this one was nicer than most.

  Still, what a sorry bastard. When I hooked up with someone, we didn't do it on the floor of some abandoned house, well, unless she was into that sort of thing.

  But Arden – what the hell?

  I didn't like her. But for some messed-up reason, I didn't like the idea of her hooking up with losers in vacant properties either. Call me sentimental, but the thought of my old chemistry partner rolling around in a dilapidated house, well, it was damned disappointing.

  At the realization, I frowned. Shit. What did that mean?

  Chapter 7

  Arden

  The longer we talked, the more I felt like throttling him.

  When I considered everything Brody had cost me, this latest development was just icing on the cake.

  I mean, who does that, anyway?

  Who buys a house purely out of spite?

  Brody Blastoviak, that's who.

  And yet, the thought of him buying this place, only to destroy it, well, it was impossible to fathom. Something inside me twisted, and I couldn't stop myself from telling him exactly what I thought. "You're vile. You know that?"

  If the insult bothered him, he didn't show it. With an obnoxious smirk, he said, "Hey, don't blame me if your hookup went South."

  I shook my head. "Hookup? What hookup?" And then, it hit me. "Wait a minute. You think I was here to, what, have some sort of rendezvous?"

  He shrugged. "That's a fancy way of saying it."

  "What, compared to the way you talk?" I rolled my eyes. "That's rich."

  "Yeah, I am," he said. "Deal with it."

  I stiffened. God, what a total asshat.

  Okay, so he was loaded. Big freaking deal. Obviously, the money hadn't bought him any maturity whatsoever.

  "Well, that's nice," I said. "So now you're rubbing your money in my face?" I forced a laugh. "What, you wanna toss some cash onto the floor so we can roll around in it?"

  At the image, I almost cringed. Good Lord. What was I saying?

  His eyebrows lifted. "Is that a request?"

  I drew back. "No."

  "Good," he said. "Because I'm not interested."

  So I'd heard. I made a sound of annoyance. "Do you realize that's the second time you've told me that? What is it? You think everyone in the world wants to sleep with you? That's a little arrogant, don't you think?"

  "Not if it's true."

  I started to object, but then thought better of it. Probably it was true. I mean, just look at him. The money aside, he was hot as sin, with the face to match. Probably he had a line of girls a mile long, just waiting to get a piece of him.

  Good.

  They could have him for all I cared.

  "For your information," I told him, "I'm not interested in you either."

  "Good," he said. "Because I'm not into crazy chicks."

  My jaw dropped.

  Crazy?

  Chicks?

  At this, I think I might've growled. "If I'm crazy – and that's a huuuuuge 'if' – it's only because of you. You ever think of that?"

  He paused as if thinking. "No. I can't say that I have."

  "Right," I shot back. "Because you never think about anything. Nooooo. Not you. You just waltz through life, and everything turns out all peachy-keen."

  I lowered my voice an octave and continued. "Oh, look at me. I'm Brody Blast, and I'm a billionaire. And I'm hot, too. And everyone wants to sleep with me, even though I smash historic houses for no good reason."

  He stared down at me.

  I stared up at him.

  We were still staring when a sudden gush of water poured down between us. With a yelp of surprise, I jumped back. What the heck?

  But then, I slowly looked up. As I did, my stomach sank. Oh, no. That dark spot in the ceiling was now officially a hole. Not a dent. Not a ding. But a real undisputed hole about the size of a dinner plate.

  And through that hole, a steady stream of water was pouring down between us, splashing onto the faded wooden floor of the hallway. As my gaze bounced from the ceiling to the floor and back again, I literally groaned.

  Brody said, "Told ya."

  Asshole.

  I wanted to lung
e for him. But I didn't. Because I was too horrified to move. The wet floor between us was littered not only with bits of busted plaster, but also with scattered clothes – my clothes, the ones I'd tucked under my arm on my way out of the bathroom.

  They weren't tucked anymore.

  No. They were lying there, all spread out, like someone had gotten naked in a hurry. I saw rumpled jeans, a ratty sweater, plain white panties, and the pink bra that Brody had nearly stomped on earlier.

  How totally humiliating.

  Especially the panties.

  They were old, ugly, and decidedly unsexy – even more so now that they were nestled in clumps of soggy plaster.

  Brody said, "If you're waiting for me to pick those up, forget it."

  "Oh, for God's sake," I snapped. "I wouldn’t let you near my panties."

  He laughed. "I meant your keys."

  "What?"

  He pointed. "Your keys."

  I looked to where he was pointing. Sure enough, my small ring of keys was lying near my left foot. Crap. They must've fallen out of my pocket – maybe even out of the pocket of my discarded jeans.

  As far as the specifics, I didn't know, and I didn't care.

  With a muttered curse, I squatted down and gathered up the keys and the clothes. I shoved the keys into my front pocket and then wadded up the now wet and grubby clothing.

  I tucked the clothing back under my arm and stood to give Brody a long, withering look, which only made him smile like he knew something I didn't.

  Fine. Whatever.

  I returned my attention to the ceiling.

  From somewhere above us, rainwater was still coming down – now more a trickle than a gush.

  Still, with ever-growing concern, I looked once again to the floor. Already, water was pooling at my feet and seeping into my cheap red sneakers.

  I didn't care about the shoes. But I did care about the house.

  A lot.

  It was in that awful moment that I realized something. Even if I could've purchased the house on my own, I still would've been totally screwed, because the place was obviously falling apart.

  To repair it would cost a fortune – a huge fortune, at least by my standards. Nobody I knew had that kind of money – nobody except, well, the guy standing in front of me.

  The realization hit so hard, I nearly staggered under the weight of it. Brody – he was good at repairing things. Really good. And he already owned the place.

  Sure, the thought of him living here was a little hard to stomach – okay, really hard to stomach – but it was a lot better than the alternative.

  Some might say this was just a house. And maybe it was. But my parents had divorced when I'd been just a toddler. Over the years, I'd moved way too often. Different cities. Different houses. Different schools. Different boyfriends and girlfriends, too – not mine, my parents'.

  They'd shared custody – probably because neither one of them had wanted to be a full-time parent. But through it all, one thing had remained constant – this place, where my grandparents had lived.

  Thanks to them, it always felt like I had a home, a real home.

  In high school, I'd actually lived here for four blissful years when both of my parents had decided that even part-time parenting was more trouble than it was worth. Turns out, it was blessing in disguise, because in the end, those were some of the happiest years of my life.

  As far as the house itself, I knew for a fact that my grandparents had always planned for it to stay in the family. They'd told me so personally.

  But now, I had to face facts. Obviously, that wasn't going to happen.

  I'd failed.

  Not keeping it in the family was bad enough. But to think of the house not being here at all, of it being razed to the ground to build some McMansion in its place – it made me want to cry.

  But I refused to cry, especially in front of him – the guy who'd been ruining my plans for years

  I was still looking down to the floor. By now, my shoes were utterly soaked, and the rain was seeping into my socks. Softly, I heard myself say, "You could save it, you know."

  When Brody said nothing in reply, I looked up.

  He wasn't smiling anymore. His eyes were dark and intense, like a storm of his own was brewing somewhere beneath the surface.

  In a tone that wasn't encouraging, he said, "Save what?"

  "The house." I gave him a pleading look. "This house, I mean."

  His mouth tightened. "Why?"

  "Because it's the smart thing to do. You know it is."

  He crossed his arms, making his muscles pop in a way that might've distracted the heck out of me, if only I weren't distracted enough already. With a low scoff, he said, "You're gonna have to do better than that."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean your presentation needs work."

  I didn't get it. "Okay, so what do you want?" I forced a laugh. "For me to beg you or something?"

  He cocked his head as if thinking. As he did, a terrible silence stretched out between us. Finally, he said, "That's one approach. But not my first choice."

  At this, I grew very still. "So… what are you suggesting instead? Because if you're suggesting something, um, physical—"

  "I'm not." His voice hardened. "I already told you, I'm not interested." And now he looked pissed-off.

  Yeah, well, that made two of us. I wasn't even sure who I was angrier at – him for being so rude about it, or me for jumping to such an asinine conclusion.

  Of course he wasn't interested.

  I wasn't interested in him, either. But more than that, I wasn't the prostituting type. And Brody? He could get plenty of action for free. I mean, just look at the guy.

  Still, the whole thing was beyond humiliating. "So what do you want?" I said. "Are we back to begging?"

  He eyed me with obvious contempt. "Sure, why not?"

  My mouth opened, and I made a sound. I'd meant it to be a laugh. But it wasn't. It was something else, something raw and jagged. "So you're telling me I need to beg?" I swallowed. "Seriously?"

  With a shrug, he said, "Hey, it can't hurt."

  He was wrong. It could hurt. And it would hurt. It would hurt a lot – but only my pride. And the truth was, I'd sacrifice just about anything to keep the house standing.

  When I spoke again, my voice was barely a whisper. "Alright."

  He looked unimpressed. "Alright, what?"

  I took a deep breath and just said it. "I'm begging you."

  His gaze flicked to the floor. "You're not on your knees."

  Again, I tried to laugh. "Oh come on. You don't really expect—"

  "Don't I?"

  My stomach clenched, and I looked down to my feet. Even now, the puddle in the hallway was spreading. If it spread much further, it would soon be dripping down the stairway like some sort of perverse, slow-motion waterfall.

  I didn't understand. Three years ago, when my grandpa had died of a sudden heart attack, my cousin Jason had ended up with the house. Long story there. But, after some serious persuading on my part, Jason had agreed to share ownership with me – and to let me buy his share after I graduated from college.

  In the meantime, he'd been supposedly living here – enjoying the house and keeping an eye on things.

  It had been a win-win, or so I'd thought.

  But now Jason was nowhere to be found. And already, I'd come to the sad conclusion that even though I'd been sending him money for repairs, he hadn't been making them at all.

  I blinked away unshed tears. My own cousin had totally screwed me over.

  Now, in hindsight, I realized just how stupid I'd been all along. Worst of all, there was nothing I could do about it.

  I had nothing in writing, which meant that I had no claim on the house, not officially.

  God, I'd been such an idiot.

  As I stared down in stupefied silence, the first drops of rainwater began easing down the stairway. Oh yeah. I'd been an idiot, alright.

  When
I finally looked back to Brody, he appeared angrier than ever – not at the damage. At me.

  Under the weight of it all, I felt like sinking to the ground. In fact, I was sinking to the ground. Almost before I knew what was happening, I was already on my knees – whether with raw despair, or as some sort of desperate response to Brody's demand.

  Either way, he was getting exactly what he wanted. As usual.

  As water seeped into the denim of my fresh jeans, I tried not to dwell on it. I tried not to dwell on a lot of things.

  During my twenty-four years on this Earth, I'd never sunk so low – literally or figuratively. Buy hey, I was already down here, just like he'd asked.

  I might as well finish it, right?

  I stared up at him and refused to flinch or look away, even when his expression darkened with an emotion that I couldn’t quite decipher. As tears slid from my eyes, I choked out, "Fine. I'm begging you. There. You happy?"

  Chapter 8

  Arden

  On the other end of the phone, Cami sputtered, "I'm gonna kill him."

  I huddled deeper under the covers and tried to smile. Cami was my very best friend. Until just last week, she'd been my college roommate, too.

  She was loyal to a fault, and her righteous anger was a soothing balm to my battered soul.

  Even though I was alone in the small, unfamiliar bedroom, I kept my voice low, just above a whisper. "You can't," I told her. "Well, not until he finishes the house, anyway."

  It was just past nine o'clock in the morning, and I was giving her an update on everything that had happened between me and Brody. I'd just reached the part where I'd begged him to save the house.

  Cami said, "Can I least maim him or something? I mean, seriously, what a lunk-blaster."

  As a general rule, Cami didn't swear. Or at least, she didn't use traditional swearwords, which meant that she sometimes had to get creative when she got all worked up, like now for example.

  On the phone, she was still raving. "He seriously made you get on your knees?"

  At the memory of last night, heat flooded my face. Technically, he hadn't made me do anything, but yes, that had been Brody's price for his promise to save the house.

  And he got it, alright – my total humiliation.

  I sighed. "Yeah, well, I guess it could've been worse."