All You Can Handle (Moments In Maplesville Book 5) Page 16

  “Chinese drywall,” Kiera answered. “I’ll explain later. Look, I’m expecting a call—” As if on cue, a short beep came through the line. “I have to go, Jada. I’ll see you in a bit.” And then there was silence.

  Jada stared at the phone for a minute, a bit mystified by the edginess she’d heard in Kiera’s voice. She texted her, asking her to text Mason’s new address again, then she went over to the folding card table she’d set up in a corner of her living room. It served as her dinner table, laundry-folding table, and computer desk.

  She woke her laptop up from sleep-mode and logged into one of four job search engines she regularly used in her now eight-month search to find meaningful employment. The Naughty Nights parties provided much needed funds for her everyday living expenses, but it was not sustainable income.

  There were several new job postings since she’d last looked earlier this morning. She emailed her résumé, tweaking her cover letter to fit the descriptions of each job. If she received even one call back from the ten résumés she’d submitted today, she’d count it a success. If that call back happened to be for the public relations position she’d applied for at a non-profit in downtown New Orleans, she would do cartwheels in the middle of the Maplesville Town Square.

  Her phone chimed with an incoming text message from Kiera, who was apparently done with her all-important phone call. Jada plugged the address Kiera texted into the map app on her phone. Mason had recently built a house in a newer part of town that she’d never visited before.

  She closed the window on the job search engine and checked the email account she’d set up specifically for her job search. After deleting the spam that had managed to circumvent her junk mail folder, she switched to her primary email account.

  Her eyes landed on the first email and her stomach dropped.

  “Shit!”

  She forgot she’d set up an automatic renewal of her yearly American Marketing Association membership dues. Jada knew the small cushion she kept in her account wasn’t enough to cover the two hundred-plus dollar renewal fee.

  She pulled up her bank’s online banking site and logged into her account. “Shit, shit, shit,” she murmured as the site loaded.

  “Oh, shit!” she said, dropping her head to her chin.

  Just as she’d expected—and feared—the automatic renewal had caused her account to be overdrawn by eight measly dollars. She scrolled through the recent account activity and realized the check she’d written for her utility bill hadn’t been deducted yet. If she didn’t get money in the bank, she’d have another thirty-five dollar overdraft fee.

  Jada put the laptop back into sleep-mode and went into her bedroom. She dragged the footstool from the foot of the bed to her closet and reached to the very back of the top shelf, feeling around for the old cardboard cigar box she’d gotten from her grandfather.

  She lifted the flap and moved aside the old pictures and birthday cards, uncovering a simple white envelope. The money she kept in here was supposed to be for emergencies only. In the past eight months her definition of ‘emergency’ had been twisted and tweaked so much she wasn’t sure what a non-financial emergency looked like anymore.

  Jada grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and carted her travel bag to her car. As she headed down Highway 421, the main thoroughfare that sliced Maplesville into two halves, she noticed her gas needle getting cozy with the big E.

  She groaned. It would have to wait. At the moment, making sure she didn’t give the bank another thirty-five dollars she couldn’t spare trumped filling her gas tank.

  She pulled into the drive-thru lane at Maplesville Bank & Trust and cursed when she noticed the “Window Closed” sign. Maybe she should apply for a job at the bank. They could use the extra tellers.

  She parked and headed for the double doors, slipping a twenty from the hundred dollars she’d taken from her emergency stash and shoving it in her jeans pocket so she could put gas later. She walked into the bank and stopped short at the sight of the huge, square-shaped head on the man speaking to the teller.

  Eric Pearce. Hometown football hero. Most popular boy in school. Bastard of an ex-husband.

  Seriously, the only way this day could get worse is if she were struck by a meteorite.

  Actually, at the moment, a direct hit from a falling space rock would be preferable to facing Eric. He had the uncanny ability to make her feel as if she was the President and CEO of Loser Ex-Wives of America, due in no small part to the fact that while she had to scrounge for pennies just to cover her monthly bills, he was sitting on a mountain of family money that he’d astutely kept out of her reach in their divorce.

  He was such a bastard.

  Jada crossed her arms over her chest and jutted her chin forward as she stepped into the line for the sole teller. She did her best to avoid eye contact with Eric when he turned and started for the door, but, of course, he didn’t take the hint.

  He stopped a couple of feet from her. “Hi, Jada. You look…” His eyes trailed over her faded jeans and fitted Hello Kitty T-shirt. “Nice, I guess. How are things going?”

  The false sincerity in his inquiry grated her nerves. Maplesville was a small town. He knew exactly how things were going for her, which is probably why he asked.

  “Fabulously,” Jada answered. “I’m trying out this new thing. It’s called being happy. I had no idea such a thing existed.”

  “Maybe you should try this other new thing,” he said. “It’s called being an adult.” He huffed out a grunt. “And you wonder why I left you.”

  Jada opened her mouth to tell him off, but nothing came out. She just stood there staring at him as he turned and walked out of the bank. His words stung more than she cared to admit.

  Their relationship, which many had considered ideal—including her—had taken a sudden, toxic turn on their twelve-year anniversary, when Eric had asked for a divorce after screwing her one last time. Bastard.

  Her reaction had been somewhat lacking in the proper adult behavior department. When Jada discovered that he’d set things up to where she would get virtually nothing in the way of spousal support, she’d taken a swan dive right over the edge of sanity, reenacting every scorned woman scenario she’d ever heard of, including burning all of Eric’s clothes on their front lawn.

  It had not been one of her finer moments.

  She was determined to shed the crazy ex-wife label. She would not allow a couple of admittedly gossip-worthy incidents to define her. And she refused to allow her ex-husband to continue fostering this fear that she would never be anything without him.

  That’s what she got for marrying at nineteen.

  She went from being Montgomery Dangerfield’s daughter straight to being Eric Pearce’s wife. It was time for her to show the world just who she was. Though, she should probably hold off on that since, at present, she was an unemployed ex-public relations rep who sold sex toys to put food on the table.

  She made her deposit which, thankfully, would cover the utility bill and leave her with a few dollars. She slid back behind the wheel of her Nissan Altima, the car she purchased used after selling the BMW she got in her divorce settlement, and pulled up the directions Kiera had texted. She checked the time on the dash, praying to God that Mason was still crawling his way through the notoriously thick evening rush hour traffic from downtown New Orleans to the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain. After her brief, yet dignity-destroying encounter with Eric, the last thing she needed was Mason Coleman looking down his nose at her.

  Jada drove up to the gated entryway of Millwood Estates, one of at least a half-dozen subdivisions which had cropped up in this area that, not too long ago, was nothing but dense woods. She gave her name to the guard at the gate, who called Mason’s home to confirm that she was indeed an invited guest.

  “A bit pretentious for Maplesville.” Jada snorted as she continued past the now opened wrought-iron gate. Did they really have to announce guests in a town where practically everybody knew everyb
ody?

  She’d moved to Maplesville seventeen years ago, when the oil company her father worked for had relocated him to a refinery in South Louisiana. She’d seen more changes in the past two years than the combined fifteen years prior.

  She wasn’t a fan of the population growth spurt; it had added to traffic and was gradually stealing away the small town feel. But she couldn’t begrudge the city dwellers who were ready for a taste of country living. Even though her parents had left Maplesville years ago when her dad was relocated yet again, this time to Puget Sound, Jada had no desire to live anywhere else. This was home.

  She wound her way through the subdivision, fighting the brief bout of envy that flashed as she drove past several displays of quaint family life: a father and son tossing a football in a front yard, an older couple cleaning out their flower beds together, several kids playing basketball in a driveway. Even the weather seemed to be in collaboration, the gorgeous spring day adding to the picture-perfect scene.

  She wondered if it was a tenet of the Home Owners Association that every household look outrageously happy and content when unfamiliar cars drove through the neighborhood. As if she needed yet another reminder of what she no longer had.

  Jada pulled up to a deep red, brick house with white shutters. It sat at an angle in a corner lot that butted against a wooded area at the very rear of the subdivision. This was her first time seeing the house Mason built last summer. Kiera had invited her to his housewarming, but Jada declined before her friend even got the words out.

  Oil and water were bosom buddies compared to the way she and Mason got along.

  Their mutual distaste for each other was no secret, though Jada had to admit to egging it on throughout the years. Going back to their high school days, she would say and do outrageous things just to get a rise out of him. It was her way of getting back at Mason for making her feel as if he was somehow better than her, which he’d managed to do from the very first day she met him.

  Jada pulled into the driveway next to Kiera’s compact SUV and tried to suppress yet another twinge of envy that shot through her as she stared at the house. She missed living in a nice, big, comfortable home. And Mason had this one all to himself. It was so unfair.

  Of course, he probably couldn’t pay a woman to live in this house with him. The man was the very definition of surly.

  Taking out her phone, Jada called Kiera. “I’m here,” she said, as she grabbed her travel case from the back seat and rolled it up to the front door.

  The door opened and Kiera enveloped her in a hug. “I’m sorry,” her friend said.

  “For what?” Jada asked, returning the hug.

  “For being bitchy on the phone. It’s been a crazy day. The part for my mixer is stuck in a warehouse in Paducah, and I have to make six hundred puffed pastries on Saturday.”

  “Sounds like a problem.”

  “A huge problem,” Kiera agreed, gesturing for her to come inside.

  As she followed Kiera, Jada’s lingering envy brightened into a nice chartreuse color.

  The house was gorgeous. It managed to be warm and inviting despite the museum quality décor. The living room and connected dining room were decorated in rich browns, tan, and a hint of blue, with large, masculine furniture and abstract paintings adorning the walls. It must have been done by a professional. She could not picture Mason taking the time to fuss over drapes and rugs and art work. Not Mr. Always Busy, High-Powered Attorney.

  Jada suppressed a grunt. He’d had that self-important air about him way before he became an attorney. Back when they were in high school, Mason seemed more mature than some of their teachers. If one were to base their judgment solely on the way he acted, they would never guess he was only two years older than she and Kiera.

  Jada could still remember that annoying way he would roll his eyes when they mentioned doing some of the normal things that normal teenagers did, as if it was a waste of time. Even though the family resemblance was unmistakable, Jada wasn’t entirely convinced that Mason wasn’t adopted. His stuffy demeanor was just too different from Kiera and her mother, who were both the biggest sweethearts on the planet.

  “Why are you sleeping here again?” Jada asked. “You mentioned something about Chinese drywall?”

  Kiera’s exceedingly irritated sigh spoke volumes. “It turns out the company that constructed my condo building may have used that drywall imported from China that was banned in the US for having harmful gases.”

  “Yikes.”

  “Tell me about it. The entire building has to be inspected. The management company is going to call sometime between tonight and tomorrow to let me know if my condo is affected.” She put her hands up. “I so do not need this right now. I’m so mad I don’t even want to think about this right now.” Kiera nodded toward the travel case. “So, what kind of kinky toys are we peddling next week?”

  Jada rolled the bag into the dining room and started pulling out the products she’d ordered for the party.

  Kiera had the same reaction to the triple-threat vibrator that she’d had. “I’ll have to graduate up to this one. I don’t think I can handle that much stimulation,” she said.

  “I agree.” Jada laughed. She took out fuzzy pink handcuffs, feather nipple clamps, and matching eye masks. “These were included in the Valentine’s Day overstock sale, so I ordered a few just in case. Oh, and I still have to hit some of the drugstores for the Valentine’s Day markdowns. I’m waiting for it to get to at least fifty-percent off.”

  “That sounds good,” Kiera murmured as she absently rubbed the furry handcuffs, her unfocused gaze directed at a spot on the wall.

  “Okay, that’s enough of this.” Jada slapped a rubber crop on the table. “What’s up with you?”

  Kiera looked over at her, blinking rapidly. “What?”

  “I’ve known you too long. I know something is up.”

  “I’ve been put out of my house and may not have the part for my mixer. Isn’t that enough?” she asked, tossing the handcuffs back into the travel case.

  Jada slid her a skeptical look. She’d known Kiera since the day she and her best friend, Callie Webber, had caught Jada defacing the locker of the captain of the cheerleading squad. They’d taken her into their fold soon after and the three of them had been friends ever since.

  Of the three of them, Kiera was the most optimistic. She rarely let anything get to her.

  However, they all had their moments over the years, and Jada had known Kiera long enough to know that she wouldn’t be able to pry anything out of her that Kiera didn’t want her to know. She also knew that if she waited long enough, her friend would eventually open up.

  ***

  Mason adjusted the intensity setting on the driver’s seat of his Mercedes CL550, groaning with pleasure as the rolling massage reached his lumbar region. He was actually happy to get stopped at the red traffic signal at the entrance of his subdivision. It gave him a few extra minutes to enjoy the seat’s ministrations.

  The light turned green and Mason turned into the subdivision, flashing his keycard up to the electronic keypad to open the gate. A few minutes later, he frowned as he pulled up to his house and spotted a white Nissan next to his sister’s Mazda CX-5. It was blocking the entry to the side of the garage where he parked his car.

  “Shit,” Mason cursed under his breath.

  He pulled in behind Kiera’s SUV so that whoever was parked on the other side of the driveway could move out of his damn spot. Mason reached over to the passenger side and grabbed his briefcase and the mail he’d picked up from his post office box on the way home. He locked his car and walked up to the Nissan, peering inside. He noticed Hello Kitty seat covers and groaned.

  “Oh, God, not her. Not today.” Releasing a heavy sigh, Mason strode up to the front door and entered the house. “Shit,” he said again when he confirmed that it was indeed Jada Dangerfield sitting in his living room.

  “Nice to see you again, too, Mason,” Jada said in a voice tha
t belied her words.

  “You’re blocking the way into my garage,” he said, pitching his keys into the top drawer of the apothecary chest that sat just off the right of the entryway.

  Kiera rolled her eyes while Jada’s narrowed with annoyance. Without another word Jada stood, pulled a set of car keys from the pocket of her tight jeans, and marched toward him, her gaze fiery enough to singe. Mason met her rage with a look of bored indifference, because he knew it would piss her off.

  She stuck that pert nose in the air as she strode past him, leaving the door opened behind her. Seconds later, the rumble of a starting engine sounded from outside.

  Mason advanced toward the sofa, thumbing through his mail.

  “Why must you turn into an ass whenever you’re around Jada?” his sister asked.

  He looked up from the parcel of bills, credit card offers, and other junk mail. “Asking her to get out of my parking space makes me an ass?”

  “Never mind.” Kiera shook her head. “Anyway, thanks again for letting me stay here a couple of days. I could have gone to Mom’s, but you’re so much closer to my kitchen.”

  “I told you it’s not a problem. It’s not as if I don’t have the room. Besides,” he said, loosening the knot in his tie. “Having a caterer bunk here for a few nights means I don’t have to worry about ordering takeout. The chicken pasta thing you make with the cream sauce will work.”

  Again with the eye roll, Kiera said, “The chicken is already defrosting. You’re just that predictable.”

  Mason heard the front door open and grimaced. He’d meant to head to the back before Jada returned. He’d had a hard enough day at the office; he wasn’t in the mood for engaging in combat in his own house.

  “Happy?” she asked as she resumed her seat on the sofa.

  “I don’t know. Will I find a mysterious scratch on my door?”

  “If I wanted to vandalize your property, I wouldn’t do it behind your back, Mason. I’d make sure you had a front row seat.”

  “The way you did when you poured nail polish all over the hood of my Caprice?”