Clean Slate Read online

  Clean Slate

  Piper Rayne

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  © 2018 by Piper Rayne

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

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  Cover design: RBA Designs

  Line Editor: Shawna Gavas, Behind The Writer

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  About the Author

  Also by Piper Rayne

  Chapter One

  The office is quiet today. Then again, it’s Monday morning and most people are either stuck in L.A. traffic, grabbing their lattes or just plain running late. Usually I enjoy the moment of solitude, but today things are different because when my boss, Jagger Kale, arrives this morning, I’m turning in my notice.

  I pretend like I’m concentrating on my emails as I scroll through the short list I already answered last night. I jot down a to-do list of things I have to do before moving to Chicago and my gaze veers to the picture of Jade on my desk. The one personal item I brought after I felt secure enough to tell my boss I had a child. I shouldn’t have worried so much. Jagger didn’t care, as long as I did what I was supposed to and didn’t call in sick all the time he was cool.

  I smile and greet my co-workers who are staggering in with the Monday morning gloom on their face.

  My cell phone dings and as I flip it around I secretly hope it’s not Jagger telling me he’s not coming in today. I’m not trying to be selfish, but I need to get this over with. All weekend, I’ve tried to decipher whether he’ll be mad or happy or indifferent to my departure.

  The elevator door dings and I straighten my back, posed like the good employee in waiting. Another throng of co-workers empty out into the office but no Jagger. My eyes flick to the clock. It’s not unheard of him to be an hour late, especially since Quinn reappeared in his life. My shoulders slump and I drink some of the Starbucks coffee I let myself enjoy this morning as a treat for making a big girl decision.

  “Am I paying you to sip coffee?” Jagger strides by my desk, inserting the key into his office door.

  His hair is damp at the ends, his suit as always wrinkle free. He bears no smile on his handsome face. All signs point to it being a normal morning except for his damp hair which means if I’m lucky, he got lucky this morning.

  I stand, grabbing the extra cup of coffee off my desk and take out the plastic stopper before following him into his office.

  “I grabbed you one on the way in.”

  He stands at the side of the desk, takes out his laptop, his eyes flickering to mine after he’s completed the usual steps to his morning routine.

  “Why do I deserve such royal treatment?” He looks at me skeptically.

  What’s that saying? You can’t shit a bullshitter?

  My hands press on the edge of his mahogany desk. “I get you coffee plenty.”

  A deep chuckle comes out of him. “Sure, when you told me about Jade, when you needed that week off to go to Chicago last month and the morning after you called in sick because you had a fever.” He uses air quotes around the word fever to imply that I was lying.

  “It was one hundred and four and people always get sick after they’ve been on planes,” I argue.

  The first smile I’ve seen this morning tilts his lips up. “Wouldn’t know. I fly private.”

  I roll my eyes. Typical Jagger.

  “So?” he asks, sitting down in his chair sipping the coffee I got him. He nods to the empty chair across from him. “What is it?”

  I sit, my leg shaking, my foot tapping.

  “Spit it out, Victoria.” He raises both eyebrows.

  He won’t be so cocky once the words leave my mouth.

  “I have to turn in my notice.” My voice has never sounded so small and less like me. This job, with Jagger as my boss was on the con list of leaving, as much as I hate to admit it. Jagger isn’t the easiest to work for, but I’ve grown used to our banter and underneath the façade he’s actually a decent guy.

  His entire body stills and somehow that’s scarier to me than if he had popped up out of the chair in shock. He sets the coffee down in front of him on the desk, his forearms resting on the edge and his hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles are white. “What?” he says in a quiet voice.

  I nod.

  “I don’t think I heard correctly,” and coming from his lips it sounds more like a threat than a statement.

  So, he’s chosen the asshole approach. I shouldn’t be surprised. His fiancé, Quinn, has made him a little nicer, but that snarky arrogant jerk is still alive and well.

  “My mom…remember how I had to go to Chicago?”

  He picks up his coffee again. “Yeah, the last time you brought me in coffee. That one was flavored. You should’ve gone the flavored route this time, too, if you were dumping this on my lap.”

  “Well—”

  “And added a muffin.”

  “You don’t eat pastries.” I cross my arms in front of me.

  “Right about now I want to sit in front of a plate of donuts.”

  I sink back in the chair. “My mom’s sick, Jagger,” I let the words spill out. I didn’t want it to come to this. I wanted to give him the gist of my situation and leave.

  “Sick?” He picks up his coffee, stands from his desk and heads to the couches. “Are you going to join me?” he asks.

  I quickly stand and head over, sitting on the chair adjacent to him.

  “I went to Chicago because they were running some tests. The diagnosis came in. She has MS.”

  “MS?” The wrinkles in his forehead tell me he doesn’t understand the abbreviation.

  “Multiple Sclerosis.”

  He nods in understanding. “I don’t know much about it, but wouldn’t the warm weather of Los Angeles make it better?” One side of his mouth ticks up.

  Always the negotiator.

  “Not when she has to leave her entire life, all she’s ever known…her friends and family.”

  “You’re her daughter. You should be the most important thing to her. Not to mention you should trump all others—you have the grandchild.”

  I purse my lips. “She won’t leave, and I don’t expect her too. Her entire life is still there.”

  “And your life is here.” He crosses his leg, resting it on his ankle. “Surely, your ex has something to say about this.”

  I shrug.

  “You haven’t told the bastard yet?” He dips his head down to catch my eyes.

  I shake my head. “Not yet.”

  “You’re quitting your job before you tell your ex, knowing he could fight it and you might never leave L.A?”

  “Oh, I’m leaving,” I say with determination.

  “Without Jade?” he asks.

  My head shoots up and I lock gazes with him. “Never.”

  “So, next time you bring me coffee it’ll be because you need help burying the body?” he asks, eyebrow quirked.

  Jagger, Jagger, Jagger.

  “Pete will understand.” I wave that topic off. “That has nothing to do with this. I’m transferring the credits I have from school and applying to another school there. My mom needs me, and I have to go. It will be good for Jade to be closer to her grandma.”

  “I need you.” He leans forward in his seat. “I’ll double your salary.”

  I shake my head. “I ca
n’t stay.”

  “Hey, you loved Quinn’s place, remember? She’s selling it. I’ll buy it for you and Jade.”

  I shake my head again, with a chuckle this time.

  “Great neighborhood. I’m sure it probably has good schools, but can you really complain when it’s free?”

  “Jagger,” I sigh. “I can’t.”

  His shoulders sag and he leans back in his seat. “How long?”

  “Two weeks?” I ask more for permission than anything.

  “You expect to train your replacement in two weeks? It took me a year to mold you into the fine assistant you are today.” He bites down on his lip to try to hide his smile.

  “I’ll make sure the transition will go smoothly.”

  “You better.” He stands up, throws his coffee cup in the trash and sits down at his desk.

  I follow waiting for instructions.

  “What?” He looks up. “Go and do some work now.” He shoos me away. “And I don’t want some temp. Get me someone that’s not going to leave me high and dry next month.”

  I nod, exiting his office and taking a deep breath before calling Human Resources to officially put in my resignation.

  Jagger’s right though, I need to tell Pete.

  Chapter Two

  I take a seat at the empty table in the restaurant Pete insisted we go to since we both love Mexican food. While I’m waiting for him I take in the décor and contemplate if we’re even compatible in our food choices anymore. The white linen napkins and plush seating doesn’t hold any resemblance to the street tacos we’d devour back in college.

  “Tequila?” the waitress holds out the bottle for my viewing.

  “Not tonight, thank you.” I shake my head and she takes the shot glass away.

  I pull my phone out, annoyed by Pete’s tardiness. I guess in the past couple of years since we’ve been divorced, the part of me that was accustomed to his lateness shed like snake’s skin.

  I pull up Facebook and see that a few of my friends have posted some new pictures of their babies and their husbands—all smiling faces and adoring words.

  “Crock of shit,” I mutter, shutting down my phone before I hammer a post back about how many people lie on there. It’s basically the highlight reel of anyone’s life. And only the good parts. No one posts about how their spouse leaves his dirty socks laying around or how he eats chips in bed.

  “You talking about this place?” Pete asks, sliding into the chair across from me.

  His suit jacket is gone, the sleeves of his button down rolled up to his elbows.

  “You didn’t come from work?”

  He takes the napkin, lays it on his lap and raises his hand to signal the waitress. “I did.”

  I remind myself that it’s none of my business why he looks so relaxed.

  “Oh.”

  The waitress comes over, holding the same bottle of tequila.

  “Please,” Pete says and then eyes me.

  “None for me.”

  He nods and focuses his attention on the cute blonde ready to serve him. “She’s in AA.”

  I don’t even justify his lame joke with a response or an argument that I’m not. I also fail to mention I don’t drink because I’m the one going home to our daughter tonight.

  The waitress pours his tequila shot, he downs one and she pours another.

  “What are we in college again?” I ask.

  He downs the second one just for good measure, his eyes never leaving mine the entire time. He can stop with the ‘you can’t control me’ act. I was never so grateful as to be fired from that job two years ago.

  The waitress goes to pour a third, but he covers the glass with his hand.

  “That’s good, thanks.”

  “Turning into a light weight in your older years?” I smirk.

  “Don’t want us waking up in the morning together.” He winks.

  I pretend choke like I’m going to vomit. “Sober or drunk that’s not going to happen. Go ahead and have a third.” I cross my arms over my chest.

  He removes his hand from the shot glass. “You heard the lady,” he says to the waitress with a charming smile and she pours one more before walking away. I’m sure she’s wondering why table seventeen is so weird.

  He sips his drink this time, then places it down. “So, why have you summoned me here tonight? Jade and I stayed in last weekend and watched movies. I brought no women home and other than overdosing on pixie sticks, I was a good boy.” His lips tick up in that playful smile that once drew me to him.

  “She came home raving about the fort you made. You actually slept on the floor?” I pretend to peruse the menu, even though I figured out what I wanted half an hour ago since Pete can’t tell time.

  “In the middle of the night I snuck up onto the couch and before she woke up, I moved back down to the floor, but that’s our secret. I made a pact with her.”

  “Go figure you not keeping good on a pact.”

  The playfulness drops from his face and his gaze holds mine. “Below the belt, Clarke.”

  I nod. He’s right. “I’m sorry.”

  The cocky smile that gets him more pussy than I care to know about snaps back into place. “So?” he picks up his menu, glancing over it.

  I twist the cloth napkin in my fingers. “Remember how I went to Chicago?”

  He puts the menu down and focuses in on me. The lawyer in him tipping him off that what I have to say is pertinent and it’s almost ingrained in him to listen.

  “Yes.”

  “My mom…the diagnosis came back, and she has Multiple Sclerosis.”

  He frowns. “I’m sorry.”

  Pete and my mom have never gotten along, but I know he understands what it took for me to move from Chicago to L.A. with him in the beginning of our marriage. And since he can still read me, I don’t even have to broach the subject we’re here to discuss.

  “You want to move back?” he asks, his hand sliding across the table to his glass. He downs it and then raises his hand as the waitress is walking by. “Whiskey neat.”

  Once she leaves to fill his order, he starts playing with the fork, flipping and turning it over.

  “I’m not sure what you want me to say.” His voice has lost the boisterous tone it usually bears.

  “I hate to ask, but with your hours…”

  His palm goes up to stop me, which I do. “I know I can’t keep her here. That week you were gone proved that. Until I find my next wife, which will be never, I can’t have Jade full-time and have my career.”

  If someone other than me were sitting across from him, they’d probably think that was a horrible statement for a father to say, but truth is, Pete knows who he is, and he doesn’t apologize for it. He’s a workaholic defense attorney who works unhealthy hours. His only true time off is during the two weekends a month when he has Jade.

  “I know it will be difficult, but I think it’ll be good for Jade to be surrounded by the rest of her family. Besides this’ll get you back in Chicago to see your parents more often and I’m sure they’ll like that.”

  “Quit while you’re ahead, Vic.” He gives me a sad smile. “Have you found a job yet?”

  I glance down at the table for a second. “Not yet.”

  “There’s always McDonalds to fall back on.”

  “You know I can’t cook.” I break the somber mood quickly overtaking our table. “Or grill.” I add, and we share a smile, both remembering our grill catching on fire on the patio of the house we shared when we were married. Needless to say, we never owned a grill again and Pete decided when people come over for dinner we cater.

  The waitress sets the drink next to the shot glass. “Did you need a few minutes?”

  “I think I lost my appetite.” Pete hands her the menu.

  “Come on. If you’re going to drink that much.” I eye his filled glass. “Then you’re going to eat food. You brought me here, tell me what’s good.”

  Okay, I admit it. I’m playing him. You don
’t go through a marriage like ours, one where you practically grew up together and not know what can turn a night around. Pete suggested this restaurant to show off. He loves to order for people, watch them eat something he was certain they’d like. I tell him I’m moving his daughter over two-thousand miles away and I’m letting him do what he loves. It’s a win-win situation for both of us.

  He studies me for a second and I’m double guessing my tactic before he finally speaks.

  “We want all tacos.” He smiles and then orders what’s clearly more food than we’ll consume.

  “How long are we going to be here?” I ask once the waitress has left to tell the kitchen table seventeen will need barf bags included with their meals.

  “Deal is if you want my daughter, you eat all the tacos.” There’s not one wrinkle of amusement on his face. Although, I’ve never really gotten the lawyer side of Pete the entire time I’ve known him, I can’t help but think this is what he looks like when he’s negotiating at work.

  “Deal.”

  A smile cracks his composure and he shakes his head. “I always did hate your tenacity.”

  “I hate the way you turn everything into a negotiation.” I smile back at him.

  He nods understanding our own secret language. Usually I’d leave it at that, but the fact that he’s allowing me to take Jade away says what kind of a man Pete really is and as much as I hate having to say the words, he deserves to hear them. “Thank you, Pete.”

  He nods again. “You just better make me up a room because we’re going to have some sleepovers.”

  “Done.”

  Chapter Three

  The next day at the office, my stomach isn’t sinking to depths I didn’t know it had. I’m leisurely going through emails, flipping through some resumes that Heather from HR sent over that she kept on file. Not that I have the final say, but Jagger being Jagger has told Heather that everyone will be cleared by me before he sees them.