Zenith Rising (Zenith Trilogy, #2) Page 5

  Rob looked over at him. “That was nice of her.”

  Spencer took a long drink of beer. “Of course, it was nice of her. She’s a nice lady. With a nice life. What’s not nice about her?”

  Rob shifted his body towards Spencer, who took a long, thirst-quenching drink of beer, overly exaggerating it. Rob smiled. “You know since the first time you ever saw her, you’ve had it for her. First goddamn time, when you were still Spike, and she came up alongside her boyfriend, Nick Lassiter, and introduced herself, you acted so strange about her. And so did she. She was gracious then, as if we were the damn neighbors coming over for a quick chat. Despite the look of fear in her eyes, when she spotted my tattoos and your hair, she got to you then. As she does now. And that’s why she was in this house tonight.”

  Spencer stared harder at the muted TV. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You do. That’s what has you so pissed off at me, at her, and at your life. I’ve done a thousand things worse than tonight, and this is what you choose to get fed up over with me? It’s not about me tonight, Spence. It’s all about her. It’s about how you feel towards Erica Heathersby.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Rob got up and slapped a hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “Yeah, sure, buddy. Just remember even though she’s a doctor, and wealthy, and everything you think you’re not, you are worthy of her. You deserve someone like her, and you’re good enough for her.”

  Spencer clicked the sound back on the TV and pretended to ignore Rob. He acted like he hadn’t heard a word Rob said. Rob sighed, but finally left the room.

  Good enough for her? For Dr. Erica Heathersby? Christ, he wasn’t good enough to clean her damn floors. She was a successful, bright, intelligent, professional doctor. She delivered babies, for God’s sake. Tonight, while he waited idly in the waiting room, she was there, actually delivering life. What did he do today? Mostly sat around, washed his car, and thought about playing some useless tunes on a piano that no one would ever hear. He’d also gone to the tavern, and drank, while thinking about screwing the waitress before getting a text from Nick Lassiter about the baby.

  He walked straight into Erica Heathersby. He couldn’t catch his breath around her. He was afraid to speak around her. He was afraid to let on what a loser he was, compared to her. She knew, of course. She saw how his lifestyle affected Joelle. She knew Spike first hand. Where could he go from there? Nowhere. There was nowhere to go with a woman like Erica.

  Yet, once alone with her, what did he do? He nearly forced her to go to the café with him, knowing she was too nice to refuse without a good excuse. Then she politely offered him a ride home, and again, she didn’t really mean it. But of course, he didn’t just say no. Oh no. He took the ride, knowing damn well the whole time that she didn’t mean it.

  And a freaking job offer! Yeah, of course, Erica Heathersby lent a helping hand to a lazy, loser, going nowhere, a nothing, like him. It all fit right into her personality. No matter what Rob claimed tonight, Spencer knew damn well he wasn’t good enough for Erica Heathersby, and he never would be.

  Chapter Five

  Spencer could see Erica through the half-opened door of her office. She didn’t look like any doctor he’d ever known. She was almost freakishly beautiful. She had on a pale peach pantsuit and the material clung to her long legs. Her startling, white-blond hair, straight and gossamer thin, fell to her shoulders, framing her face. She had green eyes that were ringed in gold. She was just sitting down at her long, ornate desk. Pushing in her chair, she smiled at the woman seated across from her. She continued talking while tossing her hair over her shoulder, and adjusting the black rims of her glasses.

  And those glasses! Who knew glasses could do so much for a woman? For Spencer? Black-rimmed, wide and thin, they seemed designed just for her. They made her adorable and approachable, where she could have come off as cold, or intimidating. Her glasses made her seem insecure, even sweet. To Spencer, they made her the most sophisticated, gorgeous woman he ever laid eyes on.

  The first time he saw her was in Nick Lassiter’s penthouse. He was still Spike then, and in full force: spiky Mohawk and all. He came with Rob, who was trying to convince Joelle to come back to him. They found out Joelle was staying with Nick, and went to see her there. And Spencer came face-to-face with Erica Heathersby, who was then Nick’s girlfriend. Spencer was as stricken and startled by her, as she was by Spike.

  She wasn’t then, or now, his type. But from the first time he saw her, she left him feeling sucker-punched. That first night, she made him suddenly wish he weren’t Spike. He wished then that she could look at him and see a man, not a freak. Right about that time, after meeting her, was when he started to rethink “Spike.” He was getting tired of appearing so freakish and off-putting to most people.

  As he watched Rob disintegrate, after Joelle finally left, he began to rethink everything: Zenith, the drugs, the alcohol, the parties, and Spike. All of it was becoming stupid and suddenly dangerous, where it once was fun. It used to be a kick, a “fuck you” to everyone and everything that ever hurt him in the past. Spike reclaimed his power over them all. He actually scared people. They were all repelled by him. All those people who were so secular, so normal, and never felt how he felt, or lived, or dreamed what he did. There was stuff so dark, so thick, and so blinding, he sometimes felt he was drowning in the pain it caused him.

  And Spike became his answer to all that, his way out of pain and foggy confusion. Spike was so startling and different, he wasn’t Spencer anymore. He wasn’t the poor, pathetic little Spencer Mattox anymore. He wasn’t a victim. He was Spike. Fuck-everybody-else Spike.

  That was until Erica looked at him with so much fear, she almost choked on her words. Still, she managed to be gracious and nice to him, when she could have been rude, and called him the freak he strove to be. He saw more of Erica over the years, here and there, whenever he visited Joelle. He was nearly speechless when he discovered the well dressed, socialite he believed Erica to be was, in fact, a doctor, and a baby doctor.

  He also knew her family owned a large shipping company at the Port of Seattle, Heathersby Shipping, and were old money. Nick Lassiter kind of money. Yet, she had her own career, and seemed to work her ass off at her thriving practice.

  After Joelle moved in with Nick, Spencer didn’t see much of Erica until he walked into Joelle’s hospital room and found her next to Joelle. Once again, he was nearly struck mute. Nearly useless. She was so lovely, and strikingly so. She made him nervous and he couldn’t think of what to say or how to say it whenever he was around her.

  That was until he realized she had no idea who he was.

  And now he would be working for her. Again, the nearly unnoticed “help.” What did he care though? It wasn’t like he sought a lifelong calling. He was trying to earn enough money to get out of a dark hole. The very hole Rob dug and nearly buried them in. But Spencer didn’t really mind. At least, it was a lot less darker and deeper than the hole Rob rescued him from thirteen years ago.

  Over the last year or so, he had to make do with odd jobs and deliveries, but didn’t care. He was repaying a debt he owed Rob. And now that he was doing so much for Erica Heathersby, just to earn money, it bothered him. He was once again unseen, unnoticed, and unimportant. Usually, however, he didn’t give a damn.

  But he cared about being seen this way by Erica. After starting about a month ago, he was responsible for delivering countless lab test samples, running office errands, and retrieving things, from napkins to diet soda to Xerox paper. He fixed the printer, painted the lobby and two exam rooms, and re-installed a broken handrail. Erica’s to-do list went on with things like that.

  He met with Erica for only a few moments on the day he first started. He was soon handed off to her assistant; and after that, saw very little of her. He received his paycheck, signed by Erica Heathersby, but all the time, questioned why the hell he hired on to become her invisible, handyman employee? He was barely one not
ch above the janitor.

  Spencer watched her talking. She was looking up, then looking down at her files before she finally wrote on a tablet. She was discussing something and moved with fluid, graceful lines. She smiled often and used her hands, elaborating on any point she had to make with her changeable facial expressions. She was engaging, warm, charismatic, and intelligent; and that was just how she said hello to people. He regretted taking the job sometimes. He thought, only very briefly that night at the hospital, about asking Erica Heathersby out on a date. He wanted to do it more than just about anything, but he also knew there was no possible way someone like him could possibly date someone like her.

  But when she offered him a job, he immediately thought it must mean she felt sorry for him. Probably saw him as a dried-up musician, or a stupid kid without even a pot to piss in, reduced to waiting tables and delivering packages.

  Finally, the woman in Erica’s office stood up and shook Erica’s hand, while nodding and smiling in excitement.

  Erica walked the woman to her office doorway before saying a final goodbye and swinging her gaze to Spencer. She smiled graciously. Was Erica always so proper? Warm? Inviting?

  “Spencer, come in.”

  He stood up and followed her into her office, stopping before her desk. He adopted the stance of an employee waiting for the boss’s talk and she sat down at her desk.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “No. No. Nothing like that. You’ve done a great job, so far. Our warehouse here is a disaster; it’s been on my list to tackle for a long while. I was hoping you could manage it.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. Great. He got to clean out her warehouse. “Sure. You’re the boss.”

  Her eyebrows furrowed with displeasure. His tone was sarcastic, and much less than gracious than hers.

  “Do you have a problem with that?”

  He sighed and shook his head, sticking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “No, Doc, I don’t have any problem with that. Whatever you need, that’s what you pay me for.”

  She bit her lip and adjusted her glass frames. “Do I pay you enough?”

  “Why? Are you offering more?”

  “I just—yes, maybe I am. Would that lessen the sarcasm in your voice at my being your boss?”

  “There’s no sarcasm. There’s no problem. Really. I can start on that warehouse now. Just show me what and where.”

  “Thank you,” she said, getting up as her suit slid into place, and the silk lining rustled. Spencer nearly groaned at how sexy it sounded, and how pretty and proper her pantsuit looked on her. There was no physical reason why it should turn him on. But all the thank yous and please Spencers were starting to drive him crazy. He could think of a lot better ways, although perhaps, nastier, that he wished she were thanking him for and asking him to please do.

  Adding warehouse mover, cleaner, and organizer, to his resume, he nearly sighed at the lame title, not to mention the added grunt work. When the raise appeared on his check, he felt rather chagrinned, and even embarrassed for showing Erica his resentment at simply being her employee. His damn attraction to her was what really had him so annoyed, not she, and certainly not her generous salary after giving him a decent job. So, she gave him a raise, and happily, his new duties included seeing Erica each evening. He had to report to her every day before he left and tell her what he’d done that day, and how it was going. It rarely took more than five minutes. She listened, nodded, said, “Thank you, Spencer,” and returned to her desk. To work. The woman never seemed to stop working.

  They were strictly professional, and totally detached, as uninterested in each other as two people could be. Except, Spencer was anything, but that. He still pretended not to notice her, or react when her voice seemed to stimulate his body like a shock of electricity. He pretended he didn’t give a damn what she thought of him.

  Just like he never cared what anyone thought of him. Except for Erica Heathersby, that is.

  ****

  A week later, Spencer tapped lightly on Erica’s partially opened door. The rest of the office building appeared empty. Erica was at her desk, and looked up at his knock. Only then, did Spencer realize she wasn’t alone. A man was in the room, getting a cup of coffee from her coffee bar. He turned at hearing Spencer’s entrance. He was six-foot or taller, blond, and forty-ish. He wore a power suit. Client or date? He certainly looked like Erica’s type. The man glanced at Spencer, taking in his torn-at-the-knees jeans, t-shirt, and work boots, and quickly dismissed him, while nearly sniffing with disdain as he turned away.

  “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were with someone. I just wanted to tell you I got those new file cabinets in and everything transferred. So, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “You’re leaving? Now? I thought you promised to transfer last year’s files too? Shouldn’t you get that done first? Since Tamira’s desk is empty, now would be the best time.”

  Spencer turned back to Erica and raised an eyebrow. Her tone was unfamiliar and rude, nearly voicing a demand. It was something she never sounded like before. What files at Tamira’s desk? He knew nothing about them, and she never mentioned them, let alone, suddenly confer a 911 urgency to them.

  “You want last year’s files put in the warehouse? Now?”

  “Yes. Didn’t I just say that? Right now.”

  “O-kay, Doc,” Spencer replied, drawing out his syllables. “I’ll do that.” He stared at her for moment since her voice was so strange and he sensed something was off. Her expression appeared strained, and she didn’t once smile. Erica always smiled at everyone. Even him. What was going on? When was Erica ever so rude? Or so demanding? When did Erica ever insist that something be done right then and there?

  Spencer glanced at the man in her office, perceiving something wasn’t right. What was it? And, if she didn’t want the man there, why didn’t she tell him to leave?

  Spencer went over to the bookkeeper’s desk and looked at the massive files stacked behind it on the wall. From Tamira’s desk, he could easily see through Erica’s door, the open door she regularly shut when talking to patients. Spencer got some boxes from downstairs, and started yanking all the January dates and putting them inside. His noisy pulling and dropping of files clearly revealed his annoyance. What the hell was going on? A half hour later, he finished the files and the man was still there. Spencer knew something was awry. Erica kept glancing his way. Was she checking to make sure he was working? Or just that he was still there?

  Finally, the man emerged from Erica’s office. She followed. He stopped and clasped her hand while half embracing her. She tolerated it, but her back was stiff, and her posture rigid. Spencer stood by Tamira’s desk, waiting.

  “Well, I can’t wait to hear from you, Erica.”

  “Yes. I’ll get back to you.”

  “Maybe next time, we’ll meet outside the office, where we can put things on a more personal level.”

  “Well, I’m pretty busy, I’ll have my secretary schedule you an appointment.”

  The man took her hand and kissed it, then turned and left. Erica watched him leave before her rigid posture sagged. She let out a deep breath and glanced at Spencer. “I’m sorry for that.”

  “For what? What was that? Your suddenly needing Tamira’s files moved?”

  “I don’t know what it was. Just a feeling. A weird… I can’t explain kind of feeling.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of the creeps.”

  “What? Of the suit? Who is he?”

  “He’s a preacher, who has a very large congregation and church down the street from here. Nondenominational, with lots of political clout.”

  “What’s he need an Ob-Gyn for?”

  “He doesn’t. He wanted to tell me something.”

  “What was it? What could a preacher have to say that would freak you out like this?”

  She hesitated. Her tongue darted out and she licked her lips. Was she nervous? Of what? Telling him something? “To discuss
the rights and wrongs of life.”

  He frowned. “I’m not following.”

  “Of abortion, Spencer. The rights and wrongs of abortion.”

  Spencer paused and straightened his back. “You perform abortions?”

  Erica turned, absently straightening papers on Tamira’s desk. “I do whatever is in the best interest of my patients. I do what they ask of me; although not necessarily what I always want to do.”

  Spencer let out a breath. “Never thought about it. Or what it entails. What you have to face.”

  “I face a lot of things. Some hard. Some exhilarating. Sprinkled with lots of boring, routine exams in between. What puzzles me is how that guy knew anything about me or what I do.”

  “Did he threaten you?”

  “No. Nothing like that. He was, in fact, quite nice. He seemed like he wanted to debate the issue, and make sure I knew certain Biblical quotes and references. But nothing I’d classify as threatening.”

  “Except you seemed afraid of him.”

  She shrugged. “I shouldn’t be. He didn’t do anything. Or say anything either. It was more the subtle undertones that brought out the goose bumps on my skin. I have no real explanation. But thank you for staying. Obviously, I insist that you add the time on your timecard, and I apologize for being such an alarmist.”

  “No. I am happy to do you a favor. And I’d rather you were an alarmist, than naive.”

  “Thanks for saying that. I feel slightly less stupid for getting so uptight.”

  Spencer leaned back onto the edge of the bookkeeper’s desk, folding his arms over his chest. He found it interesting that Erica suspected the suit, whom Spencer assumed was her date, very off-putting, since he, formerly as Spike, so terrified Erica. Did he suddenly become someone she trusted?

  “I take it then, that I don’t scare you anymore?”

  “You?” She glanced up with a surprised frown.

  “Yeah, me. As Spike, and now Spencer.”

  “Oh. Well, as Spike you were rather startling. No, downright shocking! Especially the first time I met you. I had no warning or expectations. But you never were intimidating, or off-putting towards me, personally. Even as Spike, I didn’t fear for my physical safety.”