Love Handles (Oakland Hills #1)(29)

“’Younger’ I get. But ‘softer’—what the hell does that mean? Fat?”

Liam closed his eyes. The hip replacement hadn’t improved George’s disposition. “No. Not really. Just call me if there’s a girl you don’t recognize with black hair.”

“Told you I would.”

Liam hung up and hurled the ball at the back of the door as hard as he could. “Softer,” he muttered in disgust. He should have used words George would have understood. Big tits. Big ass. He leapt up and caught the ball on its arc over his head. Big pain.

There was a thump at the door not of his making. He glanced over. “Yeah?”

The door swung open. Bev stood there, coffee in hand, wearing a dress that made him drop his tennis ball onto the floor. The garage sale suit was gone, replaced by some fitted, silky gray thing that wrapped tightly around her small waist, clung to her large breasts and hips and, he followed it down, over her long thighs to her long calves, ending at a pair of black clunky shoes that hinted at her real career. He dragged his gaze up to her face. “You’re wearing a dress.”

She looked worried. “Is that a problem?”

Hell, yeah. “You look very nice.” He looked away and took a deep breath. “Like one of the design assistants.”

She took his comment as an insult. “Damn. Maybe I should change.” She ran her hands over her hips, drawing his attention with them. “I tried on seven outfits this morning.”

“You look fine,” he said, his eyes fixed back on her face. “The assistants come out of design school and see us old slobs and realize they’re the only cool people here. Within two years they quit and move to New York.”

Her eyes went wide with alarm. “That’s not the message I’m going for.”

He shrugged and slumped into a chair as though her appearance had no effect on a callous old pro such as himself. “Looking hot is an advantage in this business.”

She looked down at herself and laughed. “Well, good. I think.” She came closer and sat in a chair next to him. “So, I noticed nobody wears Fite to work.”

“I wear it sometimes. But I’m just a dumb jock. Not a real garmento.”

“Ah. Dumb. That must be why you’re the senior executive.”

“But see, that’s just because Mr. Roche felt sorry for me.” He traced the edge of his desk with a finger and forced a smile. “My father died, you see, right after the Olympics.”

“Your mother told me. I’m so sorry.”

He cringed inwardly at the thought of whatever else his mother had told her. “And of course, Stanford only took me because of the swimming.”

“I know how you feel. UCLA only took me because of my grades.”

He hesitated, having to bite back a laugh. He met her eyes. “Losers, both of us.”

“Pathetic.”

They looked at each other, each of them smiling, until Liam realized something and his face fell. “Hey, how did you get in here without anybody seeing you?”

“Carrie saw me,” she said. “I gave her a muffin.”

Liam looked over at his desk and saw the red light wasn’t blinking on his phone. “She should have left a message.”

“And I told her I’d tell you myself that I was here.”

He bit back his outrage. “I told her to call me.”

“Are you trying to spy on me?”

“Of course. You think I can just let you wander around on your own?”

She got a sly look on her face, eyes bright. “Your mother did.”

His humor evaporated. Surely his mother hadn’t broken out the old photo albums. “You were nice to indulge her.” He struggled to keep his tone light. “But I’m sure you’re eager not to stay another night.”

“It’s a beautiful house. I slept in the Rose Room. And she made me waffles.”

He didn’t see any hint of unearthed secrets, pity, or surprise. Just a woman who’d spent one night in an unofficial bed-and-breakfast. “With vanilla protein powder? Or the real kind?”

Her eyes went wide. “Ah, that’s why they tasted a little funny.”

“We’re kind of creative about nutrition in our family,” he said, then regretted saying anything. They weren’t friends, and shouldn’t be talking about his family. He got to his feet. “Come on, I’ll show you your grandfather’s office. You can make the calls from there.”

“Calls?”

He gestured towards the door. “To the locksmith.”

“I need a tour of the rest of the place too. Are you too busy? I could ask Carrie—she and I have become buddies.”

“Carrie?” He stared at her. “Front desk Carrie?”

“Did you know she spent two years traveling in Mexico, studying silver jewelry?”

He shook his head.

“Nearly got married to some German guy with a cooking show.” He continued to stare. Bev added, “He was traveling through Mexico, you see, and they met up.”

“I had no idea she was able to conduct a conversation.”

“Maybe you should try talking to people every once in a while.”

He snorted. “I’m curious to see what she would do if you asked her for a tour, since I’ve never seen her get out of her chair. I’m not convinced she has legs.”