Betting on Love Read online

  “Hey,” Arty said. “It’s getting pretty late. Are you ready to head out?”

  Absolutely she was. “Sure. Let me just find the little girl’s room and say goodbye to Blair.”

  “I should probably say thank you to the Thanes. I’ll meet you over by the serving kitchen.”

  They split ways at the landing. After a quick pee, she worked her way through the dissipating crowd. The food trays were picked over, and the bread mountain now resembled an anthill. She didn’t see Blair in the main hall. She opened the door to the butler’s kitchen and stopped on the threshold. As fluorescent light illuminated the couple, her body flooded with heat.

  Leonard Allred leaned against the counter, his full attention on Blair, who stood close to his chest, in the shadow of his broad shoulders. Blair was ignoring the stacks of dirty platters and piles of used napkins. Leonard Allred said something too quietly for Tempest to pick out, but Blair’s responding giggle could have been heard a state away. Tempest plastered on a stiff smile and strode forward.

  “There you are, Blair.”

  Blair jolted, guilt flushing over her face. “Tempest, come meet my new friend.”

  Leonard Allred turned. His rich brown eyes seemed to dance in amusement as he took her in. “Nice costume.”

  She bristled. How dare he make fun of her? “And I suppose you’re Scrooge.”

  His brow furrowed at her cold tone.

  Blair’s eyes widened. “Tempest, darling. Can I talk to you for one quick second?” She handed Leonard Allred a slice of lemon meringue. “Be right back.”

  Tempest’s belly churned as she followed Blair behind where a large man handwashed dishes with steaming water.

  “What are you doing?” Blair asked.

  “What are you doing?” It came out as a hiss.

  “I’m talking to Leonard Allred for you. This is your chance.”

  Tempest pursed her lips. “Don’t tell me you’re doing this for me. I know you. I saw the look in your eyes when I walked in here.”

  Blair stood straighter. “Fine. I’m totally into him.”

  “He’s the enemy.”

  “Not my enemy. Not if I can get him to fund my Blair-kery.”

  “That’s the keeper right there.”

  “Shut up.” Blair said it in jest.

  “You’re sabotaging the bet.”

  “That’s an added bonus.” Blair smiled. “All in the name of pink walls.”

  Tempest exhaled with a scowl.

  “I know it’s basically impossible for you to win now that he’s got a whiff of the good stuff.” Blair traced the sides of her ample curves with her hands. “But I have to go bring back another tray before I get in trouble. You go over there and talk to him. Get that date, girl.” Blair pushed Tempest in the direction of the very handsome man and then slipped through a side door.

  Tempest walked slowly, calculating risk. This man was a mountain of risk. And for what reward? Cream walls? She didn’t want a date with this man. She wanted to leave right now with Arty. But she would tell Leonard Allred how much he’d cost her before she left. Therapy. Closure. Revenge. Justice.

  He looked up when she approached. He glanced behind her, clearly looking for someone else, a shorter, curly haired someone else.

  “Blair had to go help clear for a minute. It’s almost like they expect her to work for pay.”

  He sent her an utterly charming smile as he set down the half-eaten slice of pie.

  “I’m sorry I called you Scrooge. I didn’t mean it, and it’s far from true.”

  “Forgiven.”

  Why was he looking at her as if she were a joke? “You look very nice. What’s your costume?”

  “The Count of Monte Cristo.”

  “Ah, rich guy who ruins everyone’s lives.” Her tone was cold. “How fitting.”

  He narrowed his eyes and blinked.

  She opened her mouth to tell him exactly how well he fit that description, but no words came out. He looked so young, hardly even twenty-five. And innocent, with wide welcoming brown eyes. She had a hard time imagining a genius mind behind those clear eyes. She thought of Arty suddenly—he could totally have hidden layers. She exhaled, her anger releasing. She didn’t want to hurt this nice man. That wouldn’t get her job back. That would just make her feel small and wretched. The sweet touch of forgiveness lightened her chest. She closed her mouth and smiled, a genuinely kind smile. He rocked back slightly at the sight of it.

  ****

  Leo opened the door to the serving area and froze on the threshold. Shit. Tempest and Dean stood against the far counter, talking. A tête-à-tête. Double shit. She smiled up at Dean, a seductive smile that practically sucked all the oxygen from the air. What the hell? Fury flared. She leaned in and whispered something that made Dean’s whole face light up. Dean slid closer to her. Maybe I really should fire your sorry ass, you traitor. She chuckled, putting a hand on her hip, her shirt pulling tight over her breast.

  Either she knew the truth, and she was done with “Arty” because he lied, and she was now hitting on Dean harder than a wrecking ball on demo day, or she still thought Dean was Leo and she didn’t hate Leonard Allred after all; she was a gold-digging little liar. Leo didn’t know which was worse.

  He wasn’t going to wait around to find out. He turned and walked away, the door swinging shut behind him.

  “What happened to the deer-lady?” the valet asked when Leo went to climb into the driver’s seat.

  “Missed my shot.” The car smelled faintly of her perfume. Damn it.

  “I’m glad to know even Sir Robin strikes out sometimes.”

  He did not tip the young punk, and he violated seventeen traffic laws on his way home.

  ****

  Leo told himself he would let it go. He’d been out with her all of three dates. And one kiss—one spectacular kiss, but still, not much excuse for him to feel all hurt and vicious. He swore he wouldn’t say a word to Dean. They worked together well, even becoming close friends these last two years, hanging out plenty outside of work. But on Monday morning when that little weasel walked through his office door with green tea and a Love Your Grains bowl for Leo’s breakfast, Leo’s voice came out sharp. “Had a good time at the party on Saturday, huh?”

  Dean halted, his eyebrows pinching in. “Good morning, boss.” He put the food down slowly, as if not wanting to poke the sleeping dragon.

  This dragon was awake. “I saw you talking to my date.”

  Dean beamed. “That deer costume looked hot on her. Well done.”

  Acid washed over Leo’s tongue.

  “She seemed super rad too. Best woman you’ve found in a long time.”

  Leo’s nostrils flared.

  “I approve.”

  “Do you?”

  Dean balked at Leo’s deadly tone.

  “Is that why you’re trying to cock-block me now?”

  Dean’s hands flew up. “What are you talking about, bro?”

  “Don’t bro me. I saw you two in the kitchen, one joke away from making out right on the leftovers.” Leo bit his tongue, heat rising to his cheeks. He could not believe he’d just said that. Any of it. Was he twenty-nine or nineteen? He waved a hand. “Forget it. It’s none of my business. Make sure everyone’s ready for the nine-thirty meeting.”

  Dean didn’t leave. An arrogant smile spread over his tan face. “You really like her.”

  “Get out.”

  “You’re being such a pig that you don’t deserve me telling you this, but I can’t let you screw up again.”

  Leo opened his mouth to argue the again comment.

  “We weren’t flirting,” Dean said. “I was hitting on her roommate, Blair. Tempest was giving me a leg up. She gave me Blair’s number and told me a sure way to win Blair over would be to take her out for fried chicken on our first date.”

  Aw, hell’s bells. Leo sank into his chair as reality hit like a punch to the gut. And he’d abandoned Tempest at the party. Just left her there wi
thout a word or text. Shhhiiiitttt. Why was he such an anxious spaz when it came to women? “Did you introduce yourself as Dean?”

  Dean’s forehead crinkled. “It never came up. I guess I never told her my name. Why?” His eyes went as wide as a dinner plate. “You’re kidding me, Leo.”

  Leo looked down in shame.

  “Who does she think you are, then?”

  “Ardy. Although she says it like Ar-tee. I didn’t correct her.”

  Dean plopped down in a leather chair.

  Leo hissed out a pent-up breath. “I royally screwed it up.”

  “Yup.”

  “I’m an epic idiot.”

  “Yup.”

  “You can’t take Blair out.”

  “Nope. I’m definitely taking her out.”

  “Does she know you’re Dean and not Leo?”

  Dean paused. “I never told her my name either. How weird is that? It’s like she already knew it.” He glared at Leo, his voice turning sharp. “Because she also thinks I’m you.”

  “Sorry.”

  “If you’re sorry, you’ll fix this.”

  “I will. Give me a week.”

  “I’m taking Blair out on Thursday night. You have until then before I tell them.”

  ****

  It was Thursday night. Five days since Arty had left Tempest at the party, abandoned her in the middle of their date. No words. No explanation. No apology. Tempest looked up from her Ion Biode novel when the door opened. She heard Blair grunting before the curly dark hair came into view. Blair swung the paint cans inside and set them on the mat with a thud.

  “Don’t help me,” she said, voice sarcastic.

  Tempest didn’t get up.

  Blair disappeared, returning again with more pink paint. The third time she carried in a tarp, roller brush, and blue tape. “I think that’s everything. At least that’s what the guy at Home Depot said.”

  “Great.” She dragged out the word to make it clear she meant the opposite.

  “You’re going to love it. Pink is so happy. It’ll be fun.”

  “Great.” She managed even less enthusiasm.

  “And I take it you’re not going to help me get ready for my date tonight.”

  She set the paperback down. “I’m grumpy, but not that grumpy.” She followed Blair down the hall to the messy bedroom.

  Blair had food magazines stacked on her desk, clothes hanging over the chair back and across the bed, and lipstick tubes spread out like Easter eggs.

  “Did he say what you’re doing tonight?”

  “Nothing fancy. I think just dinner.” Blair pulled a seductive face. “Unless we go somewhere for dessert.” She stretched the last word suggestively.

  “Just don’t come here for it.”

  Blair glanced at the pile of unfolded laundry on her love seat. “Definitely not here.” She winked as she looked at Tempest. Blair didn’t seem to have any hesitations about bringing a man home to her “delightfully lived-in room,” as she called it, but she was kind enough not to rub Leonard Allred in Tempest’s face tonight. “And I’m dying to see his place. I wonder if he has jets installed in his bathtub.”

  “It won’t be nicer than Art…” Her voice died as Blair gave her a compassionate frown. Tempest turned away.

  Blair pulled out a tunic that made her torso look longer and wouldn’t show grease if Leonard Allred came through with the fried chicken. She put on a final sweep of mascara when a knock came at the door. The women froze. Blair let out a nervous little squeal, then she sobered. “Are you sure it’s okay if I go out with him? I’ll get rid of him faster than moldy potatoes if you say the word.”

  Tempest took Blair’s hand. “Like I’ve told you fifty thousand times this week, I am more than fine with it. I don’t think I could have handled going out with him even if I had managed to talk him into it. And I’ll get a much better, much cooler job when this is over, I’m sure.” She tried to believe it but couldn’t. Her job search so far had been dee-pressss-ing. “I think you should fall wildly in love and open the fanciest dessert parlor and have really cute, really smart babies.” That was true. She only wished good things for Blair.

  “Thank you, Stormie.” Blair kissed her on the nose. “Are you going to hide in here until we leave?”

  “Yup.”

  Blair flounced out. Tempest heard her say, “Hello, handsome.” Seconds later the front door closed.

  Tempest made one of her regular weeknight meals, veggies roasted on a sheet pan with a few slices of organic chicken sausage. Prepared, consumed, and cleaned up in under forty minutes. After dinner, she sat down with her book. It was the third in the Ion Biode series, the one where everything went to crap. It seemed fitting at the moment, but it only made her think of Arty all the more. That first day they met, he’d actually defended Malcom Tribone’s behavior. She should have known he was trouble when he sided with the book’s epic villain. She snapped the spine shut. She couldn’t focus on the words, not with Arty in her head and those paint cans over there practically screaming the word loser.

  She put on a blue-and-white T-shirt she’d been given at a charity walk for lung cancer. It was a men’s XL. She didn’t have pants to sacrifice to paint, so she only wore the shirt-dress, bra, and panties. Thursday night par-tay. She turned on music, pushed back the furniture, spread out the tarp, and taped along the baseboards. She pried open the first can of paint.

  “Congratulations. It’s a girl!”

  She poured the amoxicillin-colored goo into the tin and started rolling. At least it was probably better than the taupe brown there now. The slick, slick, slick of the roller relaxed her thoughts, took her away from her troubles. She didn’t think about work, Arty, or Leonard Allred. Paint fumes, pink, and pop music consumed her whole world.

  She’d almost finished with the first of two walls when she heard the knock at the door. She jumped down from her step stool and flicked off her music. She did not answer the door. She wasn’t home right now. She stepped up on her stool again and kept painting. She was reaching for the top corner when the door cracked open. She looked over her shoulder with a sharp inhale. Arty stood in the doorway like a stone statue, his eyes wide and staring at the backs of her bare legs. What was he doing here? Fire rushed through her veins, and her voice came out hot.

  “Hey. I didn’t say you could come in.”

  He blinked, his gaze now going to her face. “I know. You didn’t open the door, but you left it unlocked, so…”

  She climbed down the ladder and dropped the paint roller in the pan. She put her hands on her hips. “That won’t hold up in court.” Her jaw tightened against the warring thoughts in her head. By the look of the little blue box in his hand and the regret on his face, he came here to apologize, but it was too late for that. She wouldn’t give him the chance to burn her again. But her heart betrayed her, giving a little flutter at the size of his sad steel-blue eyes.

  “Tempest.” The word was a plea, a prayer.

  She held tight to her hurt. “You left me. Abandoned me at the party.”

  He flinched. “I am so sorry. I have no excuse. Well, I have excuses, but you don’t want to hear them.”

  “You’re right, I don’t.” She picked up her roller brush and started spreading more cheery pink.

  “Bold choice,” he said, looking over the wall.

  “I lost a bet. Again.”

  “What was it?”

  Don’t talk to him. “The dumbest bet I’ve ever made. And I’ve made plenty. When I lost my job, I made a half-drunken bet with Blair that I could get Leonard Allred to take me out just so I could tell him how his precious Red Rocco had ruined my life.”

  Arty’s face was doing something weird, the skin mottling red and white above his beard.

  She pointed with her brush. “You don’t have any right to get all judgey on me after your stellar performance on our date.” She sighed, her tone loosening. “And I didn’t go through with it anyway. So now the front room is pink, and ironic
ally, Blair is out with Leonard Allred right now.”

  “No, she’s not.”

  Tempest turned, the brush drooping at the low tone of his voice.

  “I’m Leonard Allred.” The words were soft, but they cut like knives.

  She just stood there, not breathing, seeing the truth written everywhere. The house, the car, the cashmere, the intelligence. Yes, he was definitely Leonard Allred. And she was definitely an idiot.

  “So.” His pale eyes flashed. “It seems you actually won your little wager, including telling me how much you hated me the first time we met. Congratulations.”

  Sweat prickled in her pits at the surge of resentment. “No one is winning here. Least of all me. Not only did you ditch me on our date, but you’ve been lying to me this entire time. That’s messed up—Arty.”

  “I didn’t mean to.” His empty hand flipped up as if emphasizing his earnestness. “Sometimes I give strangers the old nickname my sister made up when we were little. Ardy. I would have told you that first night to call me Leo instead, but after you said I ruined your life, I was too ashamed to admit who I am.”

  “You just decided you would ruin my life more instead?” Her fingers dug into her waist. “You pretended to like me long enough take me out, kiss me without consent, and then leave me at a party.”

  “You kissed me back!”

  “I liked it at the time!”

  He balked, then his face softened. Hers did not.

  “I wasn’t pretending. I did like you. I do like you.” Arty—Leo looked at her with a face stricken with regret. “I saw you talking to my assistant Dean in the catering kitchen. I guessed that you thought he was me. It looked like you were hitting on him for his money, and I overreacted.”

  Her body tensed, and her jaw hardened so much it was hard to spit out the words. “You should leave now.”