Foul Play - By Janet Evanovich Page 0,43
towel, and pulled on a pair of freshly laundered briefs and jeans. He grabbed the lump under the quilt that was Amy’s toe. “Get up, lazy bones. You’ll be late for work.”
She stuck her lower lip out and scowled. “I’m not going to work today.”
Jake shrugged into his shirt. “We’ve been all through this. You weren’t going to work yesterday, either.”
“And you talked me into it, and it was a mistake.”
Jake looked wounded. “How can you say it was a mistake? What about lunch hour when we made love in the lavatory?”
“We made love in the lavatory because we were hiding from that group of animal rights activists camped out in the parking lot! The ones who hanged Lulu in effigy.”
Jake tugged on a pair of argyle socks and slid his feet into new loafers. “They won’t be back today. They’re picketing the White House.”
Amy got out of bed and stomped off to the kitchen. “I suppose you got that information from the cute little redhead who was young enough to be your daughter!”
Jake grinned at her. “You’re jealous.”
Amy put the teakettle on to boil. “I’m not jealous. I’m insecure, immature, ungrateful, and unemployed. I quit.”
“You can’t quit.”
“Watch me.” She poked a finger into his chest. “I can do whatever I want, buster, and I want to quit.”
“Know what I think?” Jake taunted. “I think you’re … chicken.”
“That’s not funny. You have a perverted sense of humor.”
“At least I’m not crabby.”
Amy’s eyes widened. “Are you telling me I’m crabby?”
“Damn right you’re crabby. And you’re stubborn.”
“That does it,” Amy said. “I’m leaving.”
“Good. Where are you going? I hope it’s to work, because we’re already late and Mr. Billings is coming in this morning.”
“Read my lips, Elliott. I quit. I’m good-bye. Adios. Au revoir.”
Jake looked at the kitchen clock and sighed. “I have to go. We’ll discuss this later.”
“My mind is made up.”
“Stubborn,” Jake mumbled en route to the front door. “Damn stubborn woman. Enough to drive a man nuts.” He returned to the kitchen and grabbed Amy, kissing her long and hard. His eyes briefly fogged over with pleasure before he sighed for the second time that morning and left. Elliott, he said to himself, she’s got you by the short hairs.
Amy listened to the door slam and the car sputter to life. She glowered at the cat, sitting patiently by the refrigerator door. “I suppose you want to get fed?” She took the cat food from the refrigerator and dumped it into a bowl. Motley sniffed at it disdainfully. Amy couldn’t really blame her. The stuff smelled gross.
“You’re gonna love this,” Amy said with a voice sweet enough to draw ants. “This cat food is great stuff. It says here under guaranteed analysis that there’s eleven percent of crude protein, six percent of crude fat, and one percent fiber. And this is the really important part. Two percent ash. How about that?”
Motley didn’t look impressed. Amy added a dollop of vanilla ice cream to the top of the cat food and watched Motley’s eyes light up.
“Know what, Motley? We’ve got to go. Jake’s right. I’m crabby. I’m not marriage material. I’m having a stress attack.”
She made herself a cup of tea and sat at the kitchen table calmly thinking about her life. She needed to get away. Being Jake’s receptionist wasn’t working out. She wasn’t even sure if being Jake’s fiancée was working out. She loved him, but love might not be enough.
Sometimes there were insurmountable problems. Rhode Island Red seemed to be one of them. What she needed now was a hideout. Someplace quiet and uncomplicated where she could lick her wounds and make some intelligent decisions. She had an aunt in Baltimore. Maybe a visit with Aunt Gert would be just what she needed. And Baltimore might even be a good place to look for a job. Her fame might not have spread to Baltimore.
“Depressing,” she said to Motley. “This whole thing is damn depressing.”
Amy finished her tea and dragged herself into the shower, turning the water on full force, letting it beat down on her shoulders. An overwhelming sadness constricted her throat, and she felt hot tears streaming down her cheeks, despite all efforts at controlling them. Love is the pits, she thought, slumping against the tile and sobbing, for the first time in her life understanding the term heartbroken. Why couldn’t it have worked just this once? Jake was the man of her dreams and Rhode Island Red had turned those dreams into a nightmare.
An hour