Rusty Nailed (Cocktail, #2)(29)

“Tell me about your favorite place for cheesesteaks,” I said as he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me down on top of him.

For the next twenty-seven minutes I lay on top of Simon, listening to him talk about a mom-and-pop sandwich shop. And the importance of both sweet and hot peppers. In doing so, he told me more about his family and the place he’d grown up than he had in the entire year we’d been together. I realized that I’d never even seen a picture of his parents, had no idea what they’d looked like.

I’d ask him about that soon. Not tonight, but soon. Tonight was all about cheesesteaks, and everything that came with them. And I’m not talking just about the sweet and hot peppers.

? ? ?

“Caroline, there’s a call from someone over at the Design Center. They want to know if Jillian would be teaching her class again next month? Can you take it?”

“Caroline, Mrs. Crabtree is calling again, Jillian’s client. She needs to know exactly what shade Jillian painted the trim in her sitting room ten years ago, and if we have any kind of guarantee that it shouldn’t be yellowing? She also mentioned to me that she smokes two packs a day in that room and never opens a window; you want to handle this?”

“Caroline, there’s a guy from the heating and cooling company in the lobby, says we’re due for our fall maintenance check. Did Jillian mention this to you?”

“Caroline, I think I accidentally deleted the last few billing invoices on the Peterson account, but I know Jillian always keeps paper copies of those. Any idea where?”

“Caroline, can you—”

“Caroline, will I need—”

“Caroline, I superglued this doorknob to my—”

I gazed out the window of my new office, realizing that with the bigger office came not only bigger responsibilities but also bigger headaches. And the one I currently had was a whopper. I’d officially been in charge of the office for one week, and I was ready to throw myself to the sea lions. How the hell did Jillian manage all this? She had her own clients, she had her team to mentor, she was the answer woman and the puter-outer of all fires, and she managed to do it with her signature calm style.

I was frazzled, freaked, and f*cked.

I could have called Jillian, of course. But she was on her honeymoon; I didn’t want to interrupt her and Benjamin while they were . . . well, while they were. Besides, I didn’t want to admit that there was so much to running this business that I wasn’t aware of. I was determined to handle it on my own, figuring it out as I went, so when Jillian checked in after a few days, I lied through my teeth and told her everything was great.

After the office, house-sitting was a piece of cake.

That week we spent two nights in the Sausalito house, and two nights in our own apartments. I worked round the clock, while Simon enjoyed some time off before his next trip. The two nights we spent across the bay he stayed the entire next day, hiking in the headlands, biking through the town, and by the weekend, he was asking when we were heading over.

I worked late Friday night while Simon had a night out with the guys, and Saturday morning we packed our bags and left. Our neighbors Euan and Antonio agreed to baby-sit for Clive; it didn’t seem fair to him to transport him all the way over there for just a few days. If it seemed like we were really going to enjoy it, then I’d consider moving him in. For now though, I was enjoying the perks of being Jillian. Namely, racing her Mercedes convertible through the winding streets up into the hills, with Simon riding shotgun.

“Pretty sure Jillian wanted me to drive her car while she was gone,” he insisted, grimacing as I took a turn too fast.

“Bullshit, she wanted me to enjoy myself. Get over it.” I laughed, punching my foot to the floor as we took off into the breeze.

We ran errands, hit the market, then headed back home to fire up the grill before Mimi and Ryan came over. We’d decided to christen our first weekend with a quiet dinner, and since we couldn’t agree on whether to invite Sophia, or Neil, or both, we settled on just the couple we could count on not bumping chairs.

Sitting on the terrace, Mimi and I watched the boys grill burgers as we munched on carrots. There was a late fog moving in, blanketing the bay with gray clouds and shrouding the city entirely. Shivering a bit, I moved closer to one of the heat lamps that was stationed around each patio.

“We have really pretty boys, don’t we?” Mimi sighed, crunching down on a carrot. I looked at them and sighed as well.

“We really do.”

“Speaking of pretty boys, has Sophia seen Barry Derry since the wedding?”

“Nope, the curb got that one. Good thing too—that man was so dull.” Mimi mimed falling asleep in her chair, snoring.

“We boring you, dear?” Ryan asked, buttering his buns.

“Nope, just thinking about Barry Derry and his insurance ways,” she piped back.

Simon looked over at me and mouthed the words “Barry Derry?”

“The guy Sophia brought to the wedding,” I answered, pulling Mimi out of her chair and ushering her inside the house, the guys following us with their meat. Ahem.

“Oh, that guy? He tried to sell me travel insurance. Was telling me all these statistics about air travel and why I really needed to make sure I was covered.” Simon laughed, setting down the burgers.

I poured more wine for everyone and we each grabbed a seat and a bun.