Page 4 of The Best of Friends

“I’ll see you later,” Jayne said, hugging her. “Welcome home.”

“Rearrange the pictures on the mantel,” Rebecca called after her. “It will make my mother crazy.”

“If I have time.”

Jayne waved, then hurried to her condo in the back of the building. She had less than an hour to shower, change, and get over to the Worden house in Beverly Hills. While she’d been willing to pick up Rebecca in her scrubs, her crush was powerful enough that she wasn’t willing to face David in shapeless hospital wear and no makeup.

She raced to unlock the front door and stepped inside. Bright light flooded the spacious room where her comfy IKEA sofa acted as a divider between the living and eating areas. There was a kitchen around the corner to the left and a hallway to the right, leading to the bedroom and bath.

What she liked best about the condo was the courtyard in back. It was nearly as big as the whole unit, with Mexican pavers and potted plants. She could sit out there in the morning and have her coffee. She often ate dinner at the glass-topped patio table. There was a small barbecue and a little fountain in the corner. It was her haven.

But there was no time to enjoy it now, she thought as she flew into the bedroom, tearing off clothes as she went. After plugging in her electric curlers, she brushed out her long brown hair and quickly rolled it on the curlers. She replaced her plain white bra with a lace one that pushed her breasts together and up in a way that made the most of what little she had, then washed her face and applied a tinted moisturizer. She used eye shadow, mascara, and blush.

She’d spent more time than she wanted to admit planning what she was going to wear. A dress seemed too fancy and obvious, while jeans were just… jeans. It was spring in L.A., which meant high seventies and clear skies. She pulled on a pair of tailored white pants and a fitted cotton shirt with a scoop neck. After taking out the curlers, she finger-combed her hair, sprayed the life out of it with hairspray—hoping the curls would last more than six minutes—then ran back toward the front door. She had less than thirty minutes to make it to Beverly Hills.

Blaine Worden’s great-great-great-grandfather had established Worden’s Jewelry back in the 1800s in New York. Blaine’s grandfather, excited by the fledgling movie business, had moved the family and the company headquarters to Los Angeles in the 1920s. He’d bought in Beverly Hills when land was cheap and houses were built to be the size of airplane hangars. Over the years the mansion had been remodeled and some of the land had been sold off, but the estate was still one of the largest and most elegant in town.

Jayne hit the remote control on the passenger’s-side visor, then waited for the big wrought-iron gates to swing open. She sped up to the main house, jumped out, and ran to the front door.

Her concern was silly—she knew that. Carmine would have taken care of everything before she left. It wasn’t as if David was expecting a marching band and floats to announce his return to the family home. But Elizabeth had asked, and Jayne… well, Jayne didn’t mind welcoming David home.

She’d seen him only a couple of times in the past few years. Before each meeting she’d desperately hoped he’d gotten old or fat or had grown an unattractive hump on his back. If that wasn’t possible, she waited desperately for her crush to fade. She was twenty-eight—a crush on her best friend’s brother was no longer cute.

But every time she saw him, her heart pounded, her knees went weak, and she found herself torn between wanting to bolt for cover and beg him to take her, just one time, up against the wall. Okay, she thought as she hurried up the steps and opened the front door. Against the wall would be tacky and was probably one of those positions that only looked sexy in movies. But she wouldn’t turn down a nice, slow, private seduction.

Instead, David was charming, friendly, and so obviously uninterested in her that she was left feeling foolish. It was hard to hope in the face of constant reality, but Jayne did her best.

She punched in the alarm code, then checked her watch. David was due any minute. She scanned the foyer, with its marble floors, two-story ceiling, crystal chandelier, and custom furniture, then frowned when she saw that the large, round table in the middle of the department store–size space was empty. Elizabeth always put flowers there. Well, technically Elizabeth told Carmine, who always put flowers there, but still. Hadn’t the flowers been delivered?

“No one was here,” she said aloud. She dropped her purse onto the chair by the wall, then raced down the hallway, through the kitchen, past the utility room—which was the size of her entire condo—to the back door.

Sure enough, a gorgeous spray of flowers sat on the wide rear step. It was done in Elizabeth’s signature white—a combination of Casablanca lilies, calla lilies, dendrodium orchids, and roses.

Jayne bent down to grab it and nearly lost her balance. Not only was the glass vase wet from being overfilled with water, five or six hundred dollars’ worth of flowers was damned heavy. She tried again and got the arrangement off the pavers, then stood. Her hands slipped a little. She swore. Dropping the vase wasn’t an option.

She made her way through the house to the foyer, where a series of events conspired to ruin her day.

First, she heard someone put a key in the front door. Trying to get rid of the armful of flowers before David walked in, she started to run… only to catch the side of her right foot on the leg of a small, curved sofa. She was moving too fast to stop her forward momentum, and scrambling only caused her to skid like a cartoon character. Then her fingers slipped on the wet glass of the vase. She threw herself forward in an effort to keep it from falling.

The vase went up, the flowers rained down, and Jayne was caught in the middle. She stared helplessly at the soaring glass vase. Even as cold water and flowers drenched her, her only thought was to keep the vase from hitting the marble floor and shattering. She reached up and grabbed it. The unexpected weight caused her to stagger back, where her heel came down on a lily stem. Her foot shot out from under her, and she fell, just as David walked into the house. She landed on her hip and her left wrist. The unfortunate cracking sound didn’t come from the glass… it came from her.

David Worden, tall, handsome, blond, and blue-eyed, immediately rushed to her side. “Jayne? Is that you? Are you all right?”

She sat in a puddle of water, wet flowers and greenery hanging off her, the picture of humiliation. If only she could believe the pounding in her chest was a result of her fall and not his crouching next to her, looking all concerned and drool-worthy. Even the sharp pain in her wrist, regrettable proof that she’d probably snapped a bone, wasn’t enough to jolt her out of her longing for up-against-the-wall sex.

So much for being over her crush, she thought sadly as he took the vase from her arms. So much for the sophisticated first impression she’d planned. She probably looked like a drowned rat.

“Where does it hurt?” he asked.

“My wrist. I think it’s broken.”

“Then we’d better get you to the hospital,” he said, helping her to her feet. “Can you walk?”

“It’s my arm, not my leg.”

“You have wet flowers in your hair. Do you really think attitude plays well with that look?”

Despite her humiliation and the pain and the fact that she would never be able to look David in the eye again, she smiled. “Attitude is all I have going for me right now.”