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  So here I was.

  Yeah, maybe I wasn't on time, but if Arden knew the grief I'd gone through to get here, she'd be kissing my ass, not scowling like someone had peed on her pancakes.

  I spotted her before she spotted me.

  She was wearing jeans and a gray T-shirt along with a little white jean jacket. Her long brown hair was tied in a tight ponytail, and her bangs fell loose over her eyes.

  She was waiting outside the door to the chemistry lab, staring up at the clock on the opposite wall. She wasn't leaning either. No. Not Arden Weathers. She was standing straight-up, as if to make it obvious that she wasn't one to lounge around, waiting for anyone while there was schoolwork to be done.

  At the sound of my footsteps, she turned to look. When she spotted me, her scowl deepened.

  No surprise there.

  She didn't like me. But hey, the feeling was mutual. Arden was too uptight, too worried about her grades, and too ready to raise her hand for extra credit.

  She was the kind of girl who made guys like me look worse than I was. And considering how little I cared for school – or for kissing ass – that was saying something.

  She was cute, even when she scowled, but that didn't mean I was interested.

  I had bigger problems than school and no time for girls who were such a hassle. I made a point to slow my pace as I approached.

  When I reached her, she said, "Nice of you to show up."

  No kidding. This morning had been a shit-show at home, and the way things had looked when I left, I might not have a home to return to.

  But I wasn't one to complain and saw no reason to start now. So with a shrug, I replied, "Hey, I thought so." I glanced toward the door of the lab. "I figured you'd start without me."

  I wasn't kidding. The last time we'd met up, she'd gotten there early and was half-way done by the time I'd arrived.

  Not today.

  Today, she hadn't budged from the hallway. That wasn't the only thing that was different. Something in the hallway reeked like a party gone stale. I asked, "What's that smell?"

  Her cheeks flushed. "Oh, shut up."

  So the smell was coming from her?

  No way.

  She smelled of smoke, booze, and cheap perfume. I grinned in surprise. Maybe there was more to my partner than I'd thought. "Hey, I'm just asking."

  "Well, don't."

  I was still grinning. "Rough night, huh?"

  She stiffened. "What makes you say that?"

  "Because you smell like it."

  Now she was scowling again – like she was embarrassed to be caught doing something other than studying.

  I couldn’t resist tweaking her. "If you need a light, let me know."

  She blinked. "What?"

  Obviously, she didn't get the joke. But hey, I had a prop to drive the point home. I reached into the pocket of my jeans and pulled my lighter. I flicked it to life and held out in front of her, old-school style, as if offering her a light.

  She gave the flame an annoyed look. "In case you didn't notice, I don't actually have a cigarette." Under her breath, she added, "Or anything else, for that matter."

  She looked so annoyed that I couldn’t let it go. "So?"

  "So I don't need a light."

  "Eh, your loss." I flicked off the lighter and lowered it to my side.

  Sounding less than amused, she said, "You do realize, I had to get special permission to use the lab today."

  Yeah. Bummer for me.

  If only the teacher had said no, I wouldn't be here at all.

  Instead, I'd be dealing with the stuff at home, or maybe working at my side job, just like I had last Thursday, when everyone else had been sitting in school like good little boys and girls.

  At the time, I'd figured it was no big deal. I had a lab partner, right? Arden never missed class, and she was a lot more vested in this than I was. But when Arden had informed me – not too nicely either – that she hadn't been allowed to do the experiment on her own, I'd felt almost guilty.

  Now, thanks to her attitude, the guilt was fading fast. I said it again. "So?"

  She sighed. "So let's just get it done already." She glanced toward the door of the lab. "And we need to be quick. I'm making cookies with my grandma at two-thirty."

  Something inside me soured. Cookies with grandma, huh?

  The image was way too sweet compared to the bitterness I'd left at home.

  Arden and I – we ran in different circles – her with the smart kids and me with a crowd several times rougher. Still, we'd sat in plenty of the same classes during the last four years.

  She never said much about her home life, but in that one statement, she told me more than I needed to know – more than I wanted to know.

  Her life was soft, easy, and filled with sentimental bullshit. Cookies with grandma, home-baked casseroles, and a big, happy family – maybe a few aunts, some uncles, Christmas trees, Easter baskets, and other shit that I didn't know much about.

  It was the kind of life I'd seen on TV, but never in person.

  Still, it fit with Arden Weathers – with her prissy attitude and obsession with grades.

  Now, I regretted coming in. "Sorry, I didn't know 'cookies' were on the line."

  "Oh? So you've got something against cookies?"

  "Me? Nah." At that moment, I almost hated her. She didn't know how good she had it. Probably she never would.

  I replied, "Just people who make them."

  "I hope you're talking about me," she bristled, "because if you mean my grandma—"

  Cutting her off, I lifted the lighter to her face. Without bothering to flick it on, I asked, "You sure you don't need a light?"

  She glared at the lighter and then at me. "Trust me. I'm sure."

  Like a total dick, I flicked it on, anyway. The flame wasn't close, but she got the idea. I was tired of her bullshit, of her perfect life, and her talk of grandma's cookies.

  Her mouth thinned as she eyed the small flame. With all the prissiness of a schoolmarm, she said, "You know that's not allowed, right?"

  So what? I did a lot of things that weren't allowed. But hey, at least she'd stopped talking about the fucking cookies.

  Forcing a laugh, I flicked off the lighter and lowered it to my side. My laugh sounded fake, just like it felt. "Relax," I scoffed, "I'm not gonna burn your cookies."

  She stared at me like I'd just asked for a blow job in the hall. "I don't get it," she said. "If you were just gonna be a jackass, why'd you bother to show up?"

  The answer to this was easy. "Because I told you I would." Hell, I might regret it, but I had promised. So here I was. For all the good it was doing.

  She shook her head. "So?"

  "So I always do what I say."

  "Oh, really?" Her mouth tightened. "Do you always do it seventeen minutes late?"

  "Better late than never."

  She stared up at me, like I was puzzle she was trying to figure out. I didn't like it. And I especially didn't like it when she said, "Has it ever occurred to you that if you just applied yourself, you'd be getting all A's?"

  Sure. I'd thought about it. But unlike Arden, with her life of Grandma's cookies and who-knows-what else, I had bigger problems. And bigger plans, too.

  Those plans didn't include college.

  But a girl like Arden Weathers – she'd never get it. So all I said was, "Has it ever occurred to you that it's none of your business?"

  "But what about college?" she persisted.

  "What about it?"

  "Aren't you worried you won't get in?"

  What a joke. "Hell no." Me? Forget college. At this rate, I'd be lucky to graduate from high school.

  I was only taking the advanced courses at all because they offered more grade points than the others, which meant I could blow off more classwork and make it up on the tests.

  I wasn't stupid. I just had other things on my mind – and no plans to spend money and time paying for a so-called education.

  Th
e only reason I remained in school at all was because my dick of an older brother promised to kick my ass if I flunked or dropped out.

  He didn't scare me. By now, I was pretty sure I could take him. But there were no guarantees. And besides, graduation was only two months away.

  I was almost done.

  Arden sighed. "Fine." And with that, she pulled out the lab key and inserted it into the lock. As she did, she muttered, "Just try not to blow anything up, alright?"

  She didn't get it. My whole life was a powder keg, just waiting for a spark. Looking to drive the point home, I gave the forbidden lighter a final flick.

  As the flame lit, I caught a whiff of something new – a smell that sent the blood rushing from my face, even as a sickening flash of light exploded out of the room. I gave Arden a hard shove as the door flew off its hinges, sending both of us reeling backward.

  I dove forward and tackled her to the floor.

  Was she hurt?

  Fuck. If she was, it was all my fault.

  If anyone should be hurt it was me. At that moment, I would've welcomed death rather than hurting a girl who'd done nothing worse than annoy me.

  Arden was good. Yeah, annoying as hell, but good at heart. She was nice, too. People would miss her. But me? Not so much.

  As these thoughts slammed around in my head, Arden kicked underneath me, trying to buck me off.

  I refused to budge.

  I didn't know if she was on fire or just freaking out. The smell of burnt hair filled my nostrils, making my blood run cold as sweat – or hell, maybe blood – dripped down my back.

  Arden gave me a wild push. "Get off me!"

  I still didn't move. "Not yet."

  With a string of curses, she shoved again. And again. And again. Everything was a hazy blur until a surprising truth hit home. Holy shit, we were okay.

  Or, at least, I sure as hell hoped so. Finally I moved aside and watched as Arden slowly sat up. With a trembling hand, she reached up to touch her face. She let out a long unsteady breath and lifted her gaze to mine.

  I was staring now.

  I was so fucking relieved she was okay.

  And, as far I could tell, I was okay, too. Still, the explosion – or whatever it was – had left its mark on the girl in front of me.

  Her bangs were singed, and her eyebrows were mostly missing. Still, in that one terrible moment, her face was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, because by some miracle, I hadn't destroyed it.

  Thank God.

  Now, she was gasping like she was about to cry. Hell, I wouldn't blame her.

  I wanted to gather her close and tell her that everything was okay, that she was alright, and that I'd never let anything hurt her again.

  But I didn't. She wouldn't want it. And I'd done more than enough already.

  She choked out, "How bad is it?"

  I looked deep into her frantic eyes and told her the simple truth. "Not too bad. You're okay."

  She frowned.

  Once again, she reached up to touch her face. When her fingers brushed the spot where her eyebrows should've been, she gave a little gasp. Slowly, she peered up toward her hairline and froze.

  She was seeing what I saw. Her bangs were a whole lot shorter and burnt on the ends.

  She shook her head. And then, she looked to me. "You asshole!" Soon she was on me, like a cat on a mouse – except I was twice her size and several times stronger.

  Still, I did nothing as she slapped, kicked, and cursed me up and down. By the time the janitors arrived to see what the hell had happened, I had a split lip and a bloody nose.

  When they pulled her off me, I called out, "Don't!"

  Still struggling in the janitor's arms, she demanded, "Don't what?"

  I was lying on the ground where she'd tackled me. "I wasn't talking to you," I said. "I was talking to him." I meant the guy who was holding her back.

  Ignoring him now, I looked up, meeting Arden's gaze. "If you want to kick me, go ahead."

  By now, she was panting and crying. Through choked sobs, she said, "I don't want to kick you. I want to kill you."

  I didn't blame her. Hell, I wanted to kill myself. And yet, I was surprised to discover I was happy to be alive.

  Huh. How about that?

  As far as Arden's words, I figured she was speaking metaphorically.

  Turns out, I figured wrong.

  Chapter 18

  Arden – Present Day

  On the phone, Cami gave a little squeal. "Oh, my God. You're kidding!"

  Me, I wasn't squealing. I was reeling. In the privacy of the bedroom where I'd slept last night, I murmured, "No. I'm not, actually."

  The offer for consulting services had arrived by email just ten minutes ago – barely twenty minutes after Landon Tarrington had disappeared into his limo.

  Obviously, he had plenty of minions to do his paperwork, because nothing else could explain how he'd been able to send me a job offer in record time – and from the road, no less.

  But that was something to ponder later. Now, I was too busy marveling at the offer itself.

  According to the contract he'd sent for my electronic signature, I'd be paid seven thousand dollars a month for a period of four months, plus a twenty-thousand-dollar bonus at the end, after the project was fully completed.

  It was the bonus that had sent me reeling.

  Adding everything up, the total was an impressive sum. With a low whistle, I said the number out loud. "Forty-eight thousand dollars."

  It was a lot more than I'd expected, especially for a gig that lasted only a few months. It even included room and board.

  On the phone, Cami asked, "So why aren't you happy?"

  "I am happy," I said. "I'm just surprised. That's all. I mean, there's got to be a catch, right?"

  "Of course there is," she said. "There's always a catch. But with this, you already know what it is."

  I frowned into the phone. "You mean Brody."

  "Exactly!"

  Oh yeah. She was right about that. But I was starting to think there was even more to this story. "You wanna know what I think?"

  "What?"

  I winced. "I think I’m the new Miss LaRue."

  She laughed. "Oh stop it. You are not."

  It was no joke. During the show's previous season, a new team member had appeared on the scene. Her name was Rebecca LaRue, and she was a high-end interior designer – mostly for rich and famous people, like movie stars and what-not.

  Although the show featured several houses per season, Miss LaRue, as she preferred to be called, had helped with only one house – a vintage mansion in Beverly Hills, where her business was located.

  Her taste had been decidedly upscale and even more impractical.

  I almost smiled at the memory. The brothers had not been thrilled with any of her suggestions, and they hadn't bothered to hide it.

  Still, it had made for some great television as "Miss LaRue" tried to convince all of them that kitchens without countertops were "just the thing."

  Even now, I wasn't even sure what that meant. But this – along with a whole bunch of other insane ideas – had made for some great fireworks, with Brody in particular.

  On the show's final episode of the season, Miss LaRue had quit in a huff, leaving a trail of bleeped-out profanity in her wake.

  The episode had slaughtered the competition, ratings-wise, and had spawned a multitude of memes and parodies.

  I heard myself say, "Landon – that producer guy – he thinks we're not gonna get along."

  "Who? You and Miss LaRue?"

  "No. Me and Brody. That's why Landon made the offer. He thinks we're gonna fight."

  Cami snickered. "Either fight or donk."

  Donk – I'd heard this word plenty of times over the last few years, and I knew exactly what it meant, to Cami, anyway.

  "Trust me," I told her. "Brody and I are not going to donk." I didn't care that he had a hot body or that everyone else drooled over him. I didn't like hi
m. And I didn't want him either.

  Cami replied, "Yeah, but the producer doesn’t know that. And really, when you think about it, he wins either way." She hesitated. "I mean the producer guy, not Brody."

  At the mention of Brody's name, I bit my lip. As Cami went on to speculate on the producer's motives, I wandered to the nearby window and peeked out through the gaps in the blinds.

  Brody was leaning against the door of his pickup, glowering as Waverly griped up a storm.

  From here, I couldn’t hear a single word, but the look on her face was clear enough. She wasn't happy.

  It was easy to guess why. After Landon and his limo had disappeared down the street, she'd coldly informed me that if I took the job, she'd be my boss.

  She'd said it like a threat – as if such a thing could scare me off.

  Hah!

  I'd waitressed my way through college – in restaurants and in dive bars. It would take a lot more than a bad boss to scare me away.

  It was a good thing, too, because just when I'd resigned myself to the idea of working under Waverly, Brody had coldly announced that he'd be my boss, not her.

  As if that were an improvement.

  The funny thing was, Waverly didn't even put up a fight. Instead, she'd simpered up at him like he was the juiciest morsel in her favorite steak house. And then, she'd apologized for the mistake. To him. Not to me.

  But in the end, both of them were wrong.

  According to my contract, assuming that I'd be signing it, I'd have no boss, not officially anyway. The contract had been very clear about that, along with its final clause. If I didn't make it to the end of the season, I'd receive no bonus whatsoever.

  Oh, I'd make it, alright.

  It wasn't just about the money. For years, I'd dreamed of fixing up the house. And I wanted it done right, not just the mechanics of it all, but the feel of the place, too.

  And now, by some miracle, I'd been given a once-in-a-lifetime chance to help make that happen.

  So, after I hung up with Cami, I did the only thing that made sense. I added my electronic signature to the contract and sent it on its merry way.

  Brody or no Brody, there was no going back now.

  Chapter 19

  Arden

  Barely two minutes after I accepted the offer, I heard the sounds of rummaging in the kitchen.