Stress and The City. Stephanie Rowe
a few nights…yeah, right. No way could she sacrifice her body to dirty old men, no matter how nice the house was. The guy from the New Year’s Eve dance was another matter entirely.…
Ack! What was she thinking?
Ty had been a mistake, albeit a fun one given Drew’s reaction, but a lapse in judgment nonetheless. He was still a man and, as such, didn’t deserve to be thought of fondly. Starting now, men didn’t exist except as target practice when she was driving her car. Oh, and as clients and, therefore, as a way to fill her bank account.
And people thought she was bitter. Hah!
She was fine and ready to work, dammit. So she pulled into the driveway of her dream house and shut off the ignition.
She pushed her car door open with her foot, testing the driveway for traction.
Ice hidden beneath a dusting of snow.
Looked friendly. Treacherous beneath the surface. Just like a man.
But she meant that in the most complimentary way possible, because she really didn’t have baggage that was going to destine her to become an ill-tempered, unwanted old lady who chased little children with her cane just to hear them scream.
Not that she was paranoid that she’d never have another chance to get married again. That was a ridiculous notion. The last thing she wanted to do was date another man, let alone get married. The fact that she was starting over in the dating arena at age twenty-seven? No problem. She couldn’t have planned her life better if she’d tried. Everything was perfect.
She planted other foot solidly on the ground, grabbed her personal digital assistant that was oh-so-handy for downloading straight into her computer, straightened her suit, dug her heels into the snow for traction and prepared herself to march up to the door of her new client and change his life.
Hmm…maybe she should get a dog. Drew had always been antidog, but he was gone now, wasn’t he? If she got a dog, at least there would be one male who would share only her bed at night. Floppy ears, thick fur, four legs and a tail now topped her list of desired attributes in a man. Wouldn’t that be entertaining, if she started asking her dates to drop their pants so she could inspect for a tail?
See? There was humor in her miserable life.
Dammit. She’d used that word again: miserable. If she kept doing so, someone was bound to think she actually felt that way. She must eradicate it from her vocabulary, effective immediately.
She watched her breath puff out in white clouds as she hurried up the steps, carefully balancing her weight so her feet didn’t slip out from under her. Think about the client. Right. She could do this. Concentrating was no problem. She was a highly sought after professional genius, right? Of course right. She was never, ever wrong.
Okay…so find the significance of the icy steps.…Wow. It was like her brain was in a deep freeze. Come on, Cassie! Think! No, don’t panic that you’ve lost your talent. Close your eyes. Take deep breaths. Relax the muscles. Think about the client. Icy steps. Client. Stress.
Got it! Obviously, Malcolm Tyler Parker was too busy to put sand on his steps. Very interesting.
Cassie pulled out her PDA and jotted down the information. The man couldn’t sleep and didn’t take care of his property. Good to know. She entered the information in the “failure to perform basic home maintenance” column and proceeded to the door.
Hopefully, her new client would be an easy fix.
She wasn’t sure she was up to a monstrous challenge with a recalcitrant client, not with her soul still splattered on the pavement and trampled by a herd of rampaging cattle.
Scratch that.
She was fine.
Her soul was intact.
Her ego…maybe a little frayed around the edges. Nothing that a quick hem job couldn’t fix. If only she knew how to sew…
She forced herself to take a leisurely moment to admire the old horseshoe that had been converted into a door knocker, then banged on the door.
One minute after seven. Perfect timing.
No one came to the door.
She knocked again.
Still no one.
Cassie frowned. Surely he hadn’t left already? She clicked on “work schedule” to double-check her file. Yes, he’d told her he left for work shortly after seven. He should still be there. Her notes were never wrong.
She knocked again, harder, pretending it was Drew’s head she was pounding against the wood. Ah, how soothing. Taking her own advice to identify her stresses and visualize resolution, however socially inappropriate or legally prohibited.
She was definitely a genius.
A door slammed inside the house and Cassie straightened. She patted her hair to make sure it was neat, checked her nylons for runs, clamped her teeth together so they wouldn’t chatter from the cold, ignored her desire to rush home and put on flannel-lined blue jeans, fleece-lined boots and a wool sweater, and readied herself to face her new client.
With any luck, he would be extremely annoyed by the interruption and she could see what he was really like. She was on a roll now. The old Cassie was back. She should become an inspirational speaker on how to recover from emotional devastation. She was that amazing.
The unmistakable click of a lock being opened cued her to don a demure smile that would neither propel her new client into more stress nor dissipate stress that might already be present. Was she good or what?
The door opened and she forgot everything. “You’re kidding.”
“Cassie? What are you doing here?”
It was Ty.
From New Year’s Eve.
The same Ty with whom she’d tongue-tangoed eight days ago.
This was so not turning out to be her month.
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