tone allowed for no more arguing. It was time to admit the truth. To her eternal mortification, she really did have to accept the help of the one man on earth she’d hoped never to see again.
Correction. This day was going to her top three list of bad days. Maybe even top two.
“All right,” she finally conceded, hearing the dismay she couldn’t keep from her voice. “Let’s go.”
DANEEN BRADY WALKER buttoned her blouse and smoothed her skirt in the tiny bathroom off the reception area of Boyd Realty, wishing yet again that they had a shower on hand. Paper towel cleanups just didn’t cut it after quickies on the boss’s desk.
“You swore there’d be no more quickies,” she told her reflection, angry at her lack of willpower when it came to Jimbo Boyd, her full-time boss and her often-times lover.
He’d had her in the palm of his hand for years. Whenever she tried to back away, knowing he’d never give her what she wanted—a real commitment—he always managed to seduce her back into their long-standing affair. This latest time, she’d managed to resist for a month. Long enough to start looking beyond him, beyond the fruitless dreams of him leaving his wife for her. She’d begun thinking she could live without him, though he’d been a major presence in her life since she’d been young and dumb, wowed by the attention of a handsome, much-older man.
He was still handsome and she was still dumb, as evidenced by today’s naked wrestling session on his desk.
He’d sounded so unhappy last night, that’s what had done her in. He’d called her at home, telling her how terrible his life was without her. That she believed. Jimbo was the most put-upon man she’d ever known, controlled by his rich wife. The mayor would never admit it, but Joyful knew exactly who was in charge, at work, at home and at city hall. First Lady Hannah Boyd.
Jimbo might cheat on her, but he wouldn’t leave Hannah. Daneen had thought the realization would give her the strength to stand firm when he started begging her to come back to him.
Uhh…wrong.
“Idiot,” she called herself, then left the powder room.
She’d known this morning that Jimbo would lay on the charm today, wanting an after-hours dick—yuck, yuck, hardy-har-har, emphasis on the dick—tation session. Nope, no surprise there. Not after last night’s teary phone call, and the loud argument Jimbo’d had with Hannah this morning. Fighting with Hannah always made Jimbo want to have sex…with someone else. Not that Hannah suspected that Daneen was the someone else these days.
Since it was after five-thirty, she began to gather her things to leave. Maybe she’d beat Johnny to the house and he’d never hear her phone message. She’d told him she was working late and he should heat up some leftovers in the microwave for supper.
Grabbing her purse and keys, Daneen knocked lightly on the closed door of Jimbo’s office. When she didn’t receive an answer, she pushed it open and saw him at his desk, talking on the phone.
“I told you it wouldn’t matter,” he said. “The paperwork is perfect. There’s nothing she can do.”
She waited, wondering who he’d called, knowing the phone hadn’t rung. Five minutes ago, they’d been panting and naked on his desk. He must’ve reached for the handset before he’d zipped up his fly. Well, didn’t that make her feel special.
“The tracks are covered. Nobody can do a thing. Do you think I don’t know this town? Stop worrying.”
“Jimbo?” she whispered.
He looked up and saw her standing there, then impatiently waved her out with his hand, not saying a word. Daneen stiffened, hot moisture rising in her eyes, to her absolute mortification.
God, it killed her that she loved the son of a bitch. At least, she usually loved him…on the days she didn’t hate his faithless guts.
Backing out of the office, she blinked rapidly, righteous anger drying her tears. She turned on her heel and walked to the exit, prepared to give the door a good slam as she left. But as she reached it, she saw someone standing outside.
“Came to get paid,” Cora Dillon said as soon as Daneen unlocked the front door, which Jimbo had locked shortly before their five-minute interlude in his office. The woman tried to push inside. “I did some cleaning for Mr. Boyd today.”
Cora, one of Daneen’s late mother’s friends, was known far and wide as the nosiest busybody north of Atlanta. She’d just love to come inside and catch a hint of scandal, perhaps something as damning as Daneen’s lipstick on Jimbo’s chin. Not to mention the unmistakable aroma of illicit sex.
“Sorry, we’re closed.” Daneen stepped out and tried to pull the door shut behind her. “You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”
The steely-eyed old bat had the gall to stick her foot in the door and shoulder it back open. “Mister Boyd said I could get my money today. I know he’s here, so I’ll wait inside for him.”
Daneen gritted her teeth, wishing she’d left earlier, or at least sprayed down Jimbo’s office with some air freshener. Busybodies had the noses of bloodhounds. Since their eyes were almost as deadly keen, she didn’t even dare to glance down at her blouse to make sure she hadn’t missed a button.
That’d be the last thing she needed—for her father—or worse, Johnny, to hear rumors about her and Jimbo. He’d be devastated. Humiliated. And Daneen would die before hurting him.
“You’re wasting your time,” she said to Cora, trying to sound unconcerned. “It’ll be a very long wait. He’s been in on that phone all afternoon, I barely got a minute with him today.”
God, it was hard to stay steady and meet the other woman’s eyes. She did it, though, because Cora Dillon collected gossip the way some old ladies collected ceramic pigs or antique dolls: with single-minded precision.
Daneen didn’t want anyone to know about her secret affair with Jimbo. Not Hannah Boyd. Not Cora Dillon.
And especially not Johnny.
CHAPTER THREE
TRYING TO ESCAPE the view of the onlookers still pressed against the front window of the Joyful Grocery Store, Emma sank into the passenger seat of Johnny’s SUV. Through half-lowered lashes, she watched him go around to get into the driver’s side.
Of all people in the world she hated to be indebted to, it was Johnny Walker. Well, him, and the bank that held her car loan. She’d have to figure out how to pay them after she figured out how she was going to buy her next meal.
But right up there in a close tie was Johnny Walker, the man she’d never been able to forget. Or forgive.
Getting in on the other side, he jerked the door closed, his every movement taut and tense. He obviously disliked the situation as much as she did. His jaw remained stiff as he yanked his seat belt across his lap and fastened it.
She watched, her eyes going where they had no business going before she managed to scrunch them shut. Johnny’s lap was no man’s land. No woman’s land, at least. Not this woman, anyway.
Probably plenty of others, though. She imagined with his looks and smile and those wicked blue eyes he’d probably had a lot of women in his lap over the years. “Bastard.”
He turned his head and quirked a brow. “Excuse me?”
“Hurts like a bastard,” she mumbled.
He stared, practically daring her not to blink at the lie. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. And she didn’t. Not even when her eyes began to feel like they were full of sawdust.
When he finally looked away to start up the car, she almost cried with relief. She did not want him to know she had any feelings for him one way or the other. Sadness would tell him how much he’d once hurt her. Anger implied he meant something