Blue-Eyed Devil (Travis Family #2)(45)

"I don't have a pathetic daddy complex."

"Oh? Tell me you haven't imagined sitting on his lap." Todd grinned as I flushed. "You know what it is you smell on him, Haven? Testosterone. It's leaking out of his pores."

I covered my ears with my hands, and he broke out laughing. He waited until I had taken my hands from my ears before he said in a more serious tone, "You need to be careful with him, sweetheart."

"Careful? Why?"

"I got the sense that beneath that all-American, blue-eyed exterior, he's a little twisted."

I felt my eyes go as round as quarters. "Sick twisted?"

"No, twisty twisted. Like, bending-the-rules, foxy, conniving twisted."

"I don't agree at all. He's like Jack. Straightforward."

"No, that's what he wants you to think. But don't believe it for a minute. It's a front, that aw-shucks-I'm-just-a-redneck routine. He does it to set people up. And then he goes in for the kill."

"You're saying Hardy's some kind of master manipulator or something?" I asked skeptically. "He's from a trailer park, Todd."

"The only person I've ever seen who's almost as good at that kind of calculated underplaying . . . almost . . . is your father."

I gave a disbelieving laugh, but I felt a chill run down my back. "Do you think he's a bad guy?"

"No. But there's a lot going on under the surface. You watch his eyes. Even when he's doing his regular-guy routine, he's taking measure, learning, every damn second."

"You got all that from talking about sofas with him?"

Todd smiled. "People reveal a lot when discussing their personal taste. And I picked up a lot by watching him watch you. I think you're in for a time of it with him, sweetheart."

"Do you think I should stay away from him?" I asked in a scratchy voice.

Todd took a long time to answer. "My advice is, if you're inclined in that direction, go with your eyes open. It's okay to let someone play you, Haven, as long as you know what's going on."

"I don't want to be played."

"Oh, I don't know." A smile touched his lips. "With a guy like that . . . it could be fun."

When my lunch break was over, I returned to my cubicle and Vanessa's soft, crisp voice rose from my intercom pad. "Haven, come to my office, please."

I immediately reasoned that I hadn't done anything wrong, I couldn't possibly be in trouble, but each word pierced me like I'd been shot through the heart with a nail gun.

I was pretty sure Vanessa's romantic long weekend hadn't gone well, because she'd come back in a bitch of a mood. She wore the same serene mask as always, but when it was just the two of us in her office, she had "accidentally" knocked over her pencil holder and asked me to pick all of them up. And then she dropped a file folder, and asked me to collect the papers that had flown everywhere. I couldn't accuse her of doing it on purpose. After all, everyone had moments of clumsiness. But I knew it hadn't been accidental. And the sight of me on my hands and knees had definitely improved her mood. She seemed almost jovial by the time I'd finished putting the file back together.

I realized that in a very short period of time, I had acquired a new person in my life to be afraid of. "She does that same self-absorbed, grandiose, bullying thing that Nick does," I had told Susan during our last session. "Except she's sneakier about it. She's a stealth narcissist. God, how many of these jerks are out there?"

"Too many," Susan said ruefully. "I've heard varying statistics, but I could make an argument that three to live percent of the population has either strong tendencies or the full-blown disorder. And although I've read that three quarters of all narcissists are men, I personally think it runs about fifty fifty."

"Well, how do I stop being an N-magnet?" I had demanded, and Susan had smiled.

"You're not an N-magnet, Haven. None of us can escape having to deal with a narcissist now and then. But I'd say you're better equipped than most to handle it."

Yes . . . I knew how to handle a narcissist. You could never disagree with one. You had to look awed by everything they did, and miss no opportunity to flatter or praise them. Basically, you had to sell out in every conceivable way, until there was nothing left of your dignity, self-respect, or your soul.

Vanessa didn't bother looking up from her desk as I entered the open door to her office. "I'd like you to knock before coming in," she said, still concentrating on her computer screen.

"Oh. Sure." I went back to the doorway, knocked on the doorjamb, and waited for a response. Vanessa said nothing, only kept typing. I stood in the doorway and waited for a full two minutes until she finally paused to glance at me.

"Come in."

"Thank you," I said with exquisite politeness. "Have a seat."

I took the chair across from her desk and looked at her expectantly. It was unfair that someone so rotten on the inside could be so pretty. Her eyes were round and light in her oval face, and her hair was a perfect pale sweep across her shoulders.

"I'd like you to straighten the coffee area and clean out the machine," Vanessa said.

"I cleaned the machine yesterday," I said.