Sweet Trouble

"They're calling you a ruthless bastard," Diane said as she scanned the article in the business magazine. "You must be happy."

Matthew Fenner looked at his secretary, but didn't speak. Eventually she glanced up and smiled.

"You like being called a ruthless bastard," she reminded him.

"I like respect," he corrected.

"Or fear."

He nodded. "Fear works."

Diana dropped the open magazine on his desk. "Don't you ever want someone to think you're nice?" she asked.

"No."

Being the nice guy meant getting screwed. He'd learned that a long time ago. He picked up one of the messages by his phone. Ironically, the woman who had taught him every aspect of that lesson had just called.

His secretary sighed. "I worry about you."

"You're wasting your time."

"Don't panic. I only do it on my off hours."

He scowled at his fifty-something assistant, but she ignored him. While he would never admit it, the fact that he didn't intimidate her was one of the reasons she'd lasted so long. Although he had a reputation for being the kind of businessman who left his competition bleeding on the side of the road, he didn't enjoy watching his staff cower. At least not all the time.

"Did you have anything else?" he asked, then looked pointedly at the door.

She rose. "Jesse called again. That makes three calls in three days. Are you calling her back?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes. If you're going to continue to ignore her, I'd like to just tell her and put her out of her misery." Diane frowned. "You're usually more clear with your BGFs. They rarely phone after you dump them."

"I've asked you not to call them that."

Diane blinked innocently. "Have you? I'm sorry. I keep forgetting."

She was lying, but he didn't call her on it. Referring to the women he dated as BGFs--short for bimbo girlfriends--was her way of showing disapproval. She complained his women were interchangeable--like fashion dolls. All physically similar, unnaturally beautiful and lacking in heart and brains. She wasn't wrong.

What Diane couldn't bring herself to believe was that he dated them on purpose. He wasn't looking for more.

"She's someone I used to know," he said, then wished he hadn't. Diane didn't need the information. That part of his life had ended a long time ago.

"Really? Does she actually have a personality, or--" she waved her hands in front of her face as if to keep from fainting "--a brain? Now that you mention it, she sounded almost normal."

"I didn't mention it."

"Hmm. I'm sure you did. So tell me about your mysterious past with this woman."

"You can leave now."

"Why is she back in Seattle? Is she nice? Would I like her? Do you like her?"

He pointed at the door.

Diane walked across his office. "So you're saying the next time she calls to put her through, right?"

He ignored her and she left.

Matt rose, then crossed to the window. His office was at the top of an Eastside high-rise with an impressive view. His business life defined every aspect of success. He'd made it. He had everything he wanted and more--money, power, respect and no one to answer to.

Slowly, deliberately, he crumpled the note with the message from Jesse and tossed it into the trash.

Despite the promises of several famous poets and a couple of tear-jerker country songs, Jesse Keyes discovered it was possible to go home again, which was just her bad luck. Not that she could blame anyone for her current circumstances--she'd decided to return to Seattle all on her own. Well, okay, maybe she'd had a little help from the cute guy in her life.

She glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled at her four-year-old son.

"Guess what?" she asked.

His dark eyes brightened as he grinned at her. "Are we there yet?"

"We're here!"

Gabe clapped his hands. "I like here."

They were in town for the summer or however long it took to get her past in order and her future set. Give or take a week.

Jesse put the car in Park, then got out and opened the rear passenger seat. She unbuckled Gabe from his car seat and helped him out of the car. He stood next to her and stared at the four-story building.

"We're staying here?" he asked, his voice low with awe. "Really?"

The extended-stay hotel was modest at best--a local place. Jesse didn't have the money for one of those fancy national chains. But the room came with a kitchen and the online reviews had said it was clean, which is what mattered to her. Once she had an idea of how long they were staying, she would look into renting a furnished apartment in the University District. It was summer, which meant empty rooms while the students were away and cheap rent.