124 - Hide Your Heart

[5:30 PM]RICH: Don’t guess u changed ur mind yet?

During their ride to the appearance, it had been all business.   That made sense to him, because it was time to work.  Then, after, when he wanted to talk to Denny about going to Jersey again, she disappeared.  Sending him on his way home, she claimed she had other things to do and left him to his own devices.

She didn’t want to be around you.

[5:31 PM]DENNY: Not going to. Put ur big boy pants on n deal with it.

His full lips flattened into a line of displeasure.

[5:32 PM]RICH: I’m gonna say please.  If u don’t come, I’ll find a work reason 4 u to b there.

[5:32 PM]DENNY: U wouldn’t do that.

[5:33 PM]RICH: Try me Darlin.

It was behavior totally outside of his norm, but he was afraid if he went to Jersey for three or four days, she would never talk to him about yesterday.  The situation called for drastic.  He was doing drastic.

[5:34 PM]DENNY: Why r u doin this?

[5:35 PM]RICH: Told u I wanna talk. U can’t avoid me on a plane.

Evidently, she had no answer for that.  Text messaging was convenient, but he had no idea what direction this little chat was really going.  Without voice inflection or facial expressions, he was taking the words exactly as they were written.

He’d been studying the screen so intently that the chime of the incoming text startled him.

[5:38 PM]DENNY: We can talk now

[5:39 PM]RICH: Face 2 face not phone

Come on, Den.  Don’t chicken out on me.

[5:41 PM]DENNY: Be there in 20 min

He let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding.

[5:42 PM]RICH: Thanx. Be careful

Time enough to finish packing.  I’ve still gotta find that black suit.

☠ ☢ ☠

“Did your mom make it home okay?” Jon asked from his position behind the bar.  He was pouring them both a glass of wine after dinner.  Petey had the jukebox play the Eagles and they were going to take a minute to decompress from their hectic life before bed.

“She did.  I just got a text reminding me that we still need someone to officiate the ceremony.  I think – I know – she’s more excited about the wedding than I am.  Thank you,” she murmured, accepting the Pinot Grigio he offered her before ensconcing himself next to her on the couch.  Smiling, she watched him bend one knee, pulling his heel to dig into the cushion he was sitting on.  He always had his legs bent up, or over the arm of the chair.  Jon couldn’t just sit and relax.  He was twisty.

“But you’re happy with the wedding stuff?  The rings we found today?”

Hers was a narrow platinum band of alternating pink and black diamonds that matched her engagement ring.  His band was also platinum, but with a black titanium inlay that was laser-etched with skulls. 

Jon smirked into his glass.  He liked it.  A lot.  There were perks to having a Goth wife.

Wife.  That feels weird.  You would think the prenup would have made it real, but that thought just did it.

“I’m ecstatic with everything.  I can’t believe how smoothly it’s all coming together.”

“Money talks,” he remarked dryly, reaching for her foot and tugging at the glossy pink toes.  “You should know that by now.”  Watching her throat muscles work as she drank her wine, he saw the excitement wane to be replaced with a distant thoughtfulness.   “Something wrong?  More than usual, anyway?”

The ghost of a smile accompanied her absent head shake as she stretched to put her empty glass on the coffee table.  “I was thinking about Richie.  He said he might bring his assistant.  Any idea why?”

Jon huffed a little disgustedly.  “He didn’t say and I didn’t ask, but I’m hoping he’s starting to see the light.”

“Oh?”  A careless hand ran through her hair, leaving it more tousled than usual.  “How so?”

“Mm.”  He cupped her calf with his free hand, massaging along its length until she purred.  “Denny has a thing for him, I’m pretty sure.  Has for years, but he’s never noticed.  She would be good to him.”

“And you haven’t mentioned it? You’re supposed to be his friend.”

“Sugar,” he laughed.  “If I told Richie Sambora every time a girl had a thing for him, I’d never get any-fuckin’-thing else done.  We stay out of each other’s love lives.  That is…”  She squirmed when he skimmed over the back of her knee.  “…until you came along.”

“Don’t blame me.  I told both of you I didn’t want a relationship.” Petey removed her leg from his grasp and scooted close with an impish smile, kissing the corner of his mouth.  “I can’t help it that you hate taking no for an answer.”

☠ ☢ ☠

“Richie?”

Denny didn’t knock or ring the bell, she just opened the door and stuck her head in, as per usual.  It often felt as though she spent more time here than she did at her own house.  She spent more time going through the door, anyway.

“I’m upstairs!  Come on up!”  From the sounds of it, he was in his bedroom, probably packing.

She closed her eyes and cursed quietly.  This never got any easier.  Bracing herself, she resolutely mounted the steps, firmly ensconced in the cloak of professional demeanor.   It was only a few steps down the upstairs hall, and she hesitated only long enough for a deep breath before casually placing a hand on the door facing and peering in with a smile.  “About ready to go?”

His dimples went full-throttle at seeing her, and his eyes did that happy dancing thing.  “Yeah, just about.”  He held up two shirts, both black button-downs.  One of them was slimmer cut, with wide cuffs.  Other than that, they were identical.  “Which shirt?  Petey said black suit and black shirt, but I think either one would be okay.  What do you think?”

The man loved people.  No doubt about it.  She’d learned long ago that his joy at seeing her was the same as the joy at seeing anybody else.  The lesson was too slow in coming, as far as she was concerned.  By the time she realized it, she’d already developed a schoolgirl crush on him.

“Since you’ve lost weight, the one with the wider cuffs looks better on you.”

It was part of her duties to give unbiased opinions on a variety of personal matters.  Hence, the ‘personal’ in personal assistant.  In a lot of respects, she was like his wife. 

Jon isn’t his only sexless marriage partner.

“Thanks.”  The shunned shirt went back in the closet, while the favored one went in the garment bag with his suit.  It was zipped up and hung on the doorknob of the closet, and his battered carryon was plopped onto the floor next to it.  She knew from history that it had a pair of pants, a couple of t-shirts and all his toiletries, along with his laptop.

“Thank you for coming.” 

While she’d been engrossed in his luggage, he had stealthily glided across the carpeted floor to stand in front of her.  Denny lifted her face, a little startled by his close proximity.

“You didn’t give me a lot of other options,” she reminded him caustically. 

“Nope,” was his amicable reply.  “You wanna talk here…”  Richie gestured to the bed, where they’d chatted on at least half a dozen occasions, usually to review the itinerary while he was packing. “…or downstairs?”

That was a no-brainer.  “Downstairs.”  She’d answered so fast that Denny felt she should qualify the statement.  “I’d like something to drink.”

Richie didn’t offer any indication of what he was thinking, his expression remaining friendly, yet impartial as he encouraged her to precede him down the staircase. 

For a hot second, Denny was glad she was wearing the jeans that made her flat butt look a not quite so flat.  Then she felt completely inappropriate for even thinking it.  It didn’t matter what he wanted to talk about, Richie was her boss, and a damn good one at that. 

You should have kept your mouth shut.  If he wants to mindlessly screw his way through Hollywood, that’s his business. 

“I’ll grab you a Diet Coke and meet you on the deck.” 

Sitting on the glider that overlooked the lake, she supposed that one of LA’s perks was comfortable January temperatures.  He would run into much colder weather back in Jersey.  He hated winter back East.  That reminded her…

Denny pulled the phone from her back pocket and made a note to remind Richie to take his gloves.  The ones Jon had sent him for Christmas.

“Here you go, sweetheart.”

Endearments like that were intrinsically Richie.  They didn’t mean any more than the demonstrative greetings.

She silently accepted the iced glass of soda and took a small sip as he leaned against the railing, obstructing her view of the lake.  He crossed his ankles and looked at her expectantly.  “So…  Let’s talk about that parting remark at lunch yesterday, shall we?  You said it was ‘right in front of my face’. Tell me what’s right in front of my face, Denny.  Tell me what’s already mine, if I’d just reach out and take it.  No bullshit, no games.  Just tell me.”

She’d had more than twenty-four hours to come up with an answer to this, and she still wasn’t able to come up with anything other than she acted impulsively and had a big mouth.  She turned the tables on him to buy a few more useless minutes.

“What do you want most in the world, Richie?”

He didn’t even pretend to think about it.  “You seemed as though you knew the answer to that.  I’d like to hear it from you.”

Crap.

Taking care of his needs had become so second nature, she half-considered him a child.  It was a major oversight on her part, because he wasn’t a child.  He was an intelligent man whose time was better served by not getting caught up in the mundane details of his job.  Last night he told her he wasn’t helpless, and it was very true.  He’d merely made a choice early on to delegate the details of life to someone else, so that he could focus his energies on creativity and people.

Just tell him.  Have it done with and tell him.

“You want somebody to love you for who you are, with their whole heart, the same way that you love.  Whatever you tell the rest of the world, I believe in my heart that what you want most is love.”

The sky was fading to gray as the sun sank into the sky, and the breeze off the lake cooled the air considerably.  Her thin sweater was allowing the chill to break through, and the cold drink in her hand didn’t help matters.  She put the glass on the deck, glancing up to find him studying her intently.  That particular expression always made her feel that Richie was seeing deeper than he was meant to see.

“I’d say that’s a fair statement.  Go on.”

She didn’t have any more to say.  Admitting that her schoolgirl crush had long-since morphed into a significant adult emotion wasn’t feasible.  It would screw up her current existence.

“That’s it,” she told him quietly. 

Crouching before her, he looked for some hidden mystery in her eyes.  “I don’t think so,” he differed.  Richie didn’t reach for her.  As a matter of fact, his wrists were dangling loosely over bent knees.  But he figuratively reached out to her with the same effect as if he’d touched her.  “Are you what’s right in front of my face, Den?  Are you waiting for me to reach out and take you?”

The words were merely a repetition of what she’d said yesterday, but they pooled like a warm oasis deep in her belly.  How many nights had she dreamed about Richie taking her?  Too many to count.  It was her favorite fantasy.

“It doesn’t matter, Richie.  We have a working relationship – a good working relationship.  I need this job to support my three teenagers and I can’t put that in jeopardy.”

“Denny.”  Now he lifted a hand to capture her chin.  His thumb trekked lazily along the line of her jaw while his index finger curled firmly around her chin.  “Nothing’s in jeopardy.  Tell me.  Are you what’s in front of me?”