For several seconds, Teresa just stared at her. Then her eyelids fluttered. She tilted her head, her brows drawing together. “Jeremy Bridges? That gazillionaire you used to work for?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” She shook her head a little, as if trying to make that sink in.

  “I know it seems a little weird,” Bernie said. “Believe me, I know. A man like him, a woman like me…”

  “Why? Because he’s filthy rich and you’re not?”

  “No,” Bernie said, feeling just a little bit pitiful. “Because he’s dated some of the most gorgeous women on the planet, and guess which one he gets pregnant?”

  “Hey!”

  Bernie snapped to attention. “What?”

  “Don’t you dare put yourself down like that. You’re one of the best women I know. I look up to you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look at everything you’ve done. You have a college degree. You were in the military. You’re a bodyguard. You’ve traveled all over the world. Have I done any of that? No. And in spite of the fact that he gives you a lot of shit, Bill’s more scared of you than he is of Max.” She smiled. “I like that.”

  Teresa was kind to say all that, but the truth was that sometimes Bernie would trade every one of those accomplishments to be the kind of woman a man couldn’t take his eyes off.

  “What I’m trying to say,” Teresa went on, “is that Jeremy Bridges would be lucky to get you, assuming you’d have him.”

  Bernie couldn’t believe Teresa had just said that. Jeremy, lucky to have her?

  Then again, why not? Maybe it would do him good once in a while to look at a woman as something more than a repository for silicone, bleach, and Botox. To dig a little deeper and find out what a woman was like on the inside. To have his brain challenged by a woman who read something more than Facebook entries and cereal boxes. But he clearly didn’t believe in the importance of any of that, and she doubted he ever would.

  “Thanks,” Bernie said. “I appreciate all that. But to tell you the truth, I’m the one who looks up to you.”

  “Huh?”

  “Why do you think I’m here? Because you’re really good at something I don’t have a clue about.”

  “You know I’ll help you any way I can,” Teresa said, then gave Bernie an offhand shrug. “And you never know. Maybe Jeremy will, too.”

  Maybe. But she wasn’t about to count on that. If she wasn’t careful, she’d start to depend on him, and pretty soon he’d realize that she and the babies were too big a drain on the lifestyle he’d so carefully built, and she’d be all alone again. In fact, it had been days since he’d last been at her apartment, telling her she needed to move. Was it possible he’d already reconsidered his role in all this?

  She didn’t know. She only knew that the biggest mistake she could make in this situation would be to count on anyone but herself.

  “Even if he did want to be a part of all this,” Bernie said, “it’s probably not a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Jeremy Bridges is the most infuriating man I’ve ever met. If we stay in the same room for too long, we’re liable to kill each other.”

  “Then how did the two of you ever… well, you know. Get together?”

  “That was why it happened. Because he’s so infuriating.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “One night when we were together, he made me mad. Really mad. For the first time in two years, I told him exactly what I thought of him, and God, did it feel good. But then everything went a little crazy. I remember we were arguing, and all of a sudden he was kissing me, and before I knew it…”

  “Ah,” Teresa said knowingly. “Anger sex.”

  “Anger sex?”

  “Anger and passion. Potent combination.”

  “God, I wish somebody had told me that.” Bernie dropped her head to her hands. “I’ve never done anything like that in my life. Ever. And now look what’s happened.”

  “Yeah. You’re going to have two beautiful babies.”

  Yes. She was. And if only she’d learn to think as positively about it as Teresa, she might actually get through it.

  “Mama!”

  Bernie whipped around to see Matt roll to his hands and knees and start crawling back toward Teresa. When he reached the coffee table, he put both hands on it and pulled himself to his feet. Teresa held out her hands.

  “Can you walk to me, sweetie? Come here. Walk to Mama.”

  He took one shaky step, then a couple more, before falling into Teresa’s arms. She scooped him up and plunked him onto her lap.

  “Yay!” she said, clapping her hands. “You did it!”

  He grinned and smacked his fists on his thighs, bouncing up and down, his diaper rustling. Teresa nuzzled his neck and made growly noises until he squirmed and squealed and giggled. Bernie basked in the moment, thinking if only she could conjure up the maternal feelings that seemed to come so naturally to Teresa, she’d be okay.

  And she felt that right up to the moment Matt threw up all over again.

  Teresa instantly pulled back, but the damage was already done, and her nose crinkled with disgust. “Oh, God. I would have sworn he didn’t have any left in him.”

  Bernie winced. “I guess it’s like shaking up a soda.”

  “Uh… yeah. You might want to keep that in mind for the future.”

  “I will,” Bernie said as she rose from the sofa. “Gotta go.”

  Teresa smiled. “Don’t blame you a bit.”

  “Thanks for the advice.”

  “Any time. And Bernie?”

  “Yeah?

  “I know everything seems a little crazy right now, but someday soon you’re going to look back on all this and say it was worth it. Will you trust me on that?”

  “Yeah,” Bernie said. “I hear you.”

  She left the house and got into her car, feeling just a little bit better about everything. Calmer. More in control. With a better perspective on motherhood. On life in general. She decided she’d go home, haul out those catalogs again, and this time it wouldn’t look like a sea of stuff she had no idea how to navigate. She’d pick and choose wisely, make a list, and feel as if her life was in order again.

  Ahh. She felt so much better.

  Then she got home and saw the fence, and everything went nuts all over again.

  Chapter 15

  At first, Bernie couldn’t believe her eyes. She blinked. Blinked again. It was still there, an eight-foot wrought-iron fence separating the street from the scraggly lawn of Creekwood Apartments. For a moment, she thought she’d taken a wrong turn and ended up at another apartment complex. She actually turned to look at the battered sign so she could make sure she was in the right place. The workmen scurrying around still had a ways to go before the place would be completely encircled, but that seemed to be the plan.

  She pulled over, rolled down her window, and called out to a fifty-something guy in a grungy baseball cap with sweat rolling down his temples.

  “Hey! What’s with the fence?”

  “Upgrading. The gate goes up next. Controlled entry.”

  Bernie blinked. “Here?”

  The guy shrugged. “Believe me. I double-checked the address.”

  She couldn’t believe it. Farnsworth had finally decided to put a little money into this place? Granted, a new coat of paint for the siding and filling a few potholes would have been a better start, but maybe this was his way of doing something visible to improve things that the residents could feel good about. And she felt pretty good about it herself. She felt even better when she pulled into a parking space in front of her apartment and started up the stairs. The handrail that had been half pulled out of the wall was gone, and in its place was a brand-new iron railing screwed so securely to the wall that it could withstand a nuclear explosion.

  She stared at it in awe for a moment, then looked over her shoulder at the building across the parking lot, where she knew there were others that needed replacing. But all she saw were the original rickety, rusty ones. She walked to the next building to check it out, but all the handrails there were the original ones, too. After a little more investigation, she came to the conclusion that hers was the only one that had been replaced.

  That was weird.

  Okay, so maybe Charmin had designated hers to be replaced first since she’d been the one screaming about them on everybody’s behalf. But the new fence was something else entirely. That was a generalized safety issue the owner really wasn’t obligated to address.

  Wait a minute. A safety issue?

  She stood there a moment longer, turning that over in her mind. And the more she thought about it, the more she smelled a rat.

  She pulled out her phone. Hit speed dial six. A few moments later, Jeremy picked up.

  “Bernie. How nice to hear from you.”

  “A fence. A controlled-entry gate. A new handrail,” she said, as she strode back toward her apartment. “Do any of those things sound familiar to you?”

  “Familiar? As in, did I have anything to do with them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Of course I did.”

  For a moment, Bernie was speechless. “Then it was you? You got the owner to do those things?”

  “Yep. And he was actually pretty easy to persuade.”

  “But it’s not your place to persuade him!”

  “But it was a piece of cake. See, it turns out the owner sees things my way. And he’s such a nice guy, too. Handsome, intelligent, successful…”

  Bernie stopped at the foot of the stairs leading to her apartment. Farnsworth was neither handsome nor intelligent, and what man could be considered successful if he ran a place like this?

  “Bridges?” she said, a shiver of suspicion running up her spine. “What did you do?”

  “What do you mean, What did I do?”

  Then she felt silly for even thinking it. “Never mind,” she said with a tiny laugh. “Even you couldn’t have gone that far.”

  “Gone how far?”

  “Far enough to buy my apartment complex.”

  “My God, Bernie. Do you think I’d actually do that?”

  “Oh, all right,” Bernie said. “That was crazy. I was dumb to even think it.”

  “No, you weren’t. I bought your apartment complex.”

  For at least the count of three, Bernie was stunned into silence. Then it all came pouring out. “Bought it? You bought it? The whole thing?”

  “One doesn’t generally buy half of an apartment complex.”

  “No. No way. You couldn’t have bought it. Not that fast.”

  “It’s amazing how motivated one seller can be, particularly when he’s looking at a cash sale. A standard contract, an expedited title search, thirty minutes at a title company, and voilà. Done deal. I’ve been looking to buy a little commercial real estate, anyway. And the price was certainly right.”

  “You didn’t buy it as an investment,” she said hotly. “You bought it because you’re a big, fat control freak!”

  “Hey, if you wouldn’t listen to me and move out of that hellhole, what else was I supposed to do?”

  “Are you completely out of your mind?”

  “I bet you liked those improvements just fine until you found out I was the one behind them.”

  “You mean until I found out what a manipulative jerk you are?”

  “I try to protect you, and this is what I get?”

  “I don’t need you to protect me!”

  “Get used to it, Bernie. As long as you refuse to make the right decisions concerning our babies, this is how it’s going to be.”

  Bernie heard the line click. He’d hung up? She held out the phone, staring at it in disbelief. Then she hit speed dial six again.

  “Yes, Bernie?”

  “Small flaw in your plan,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  “You seemed to think my neighbor across the way was a little iffy. What are you going to do about the riff-raff you think is already inside the gates?”

  “Ah,” he said. “That’s where the armed security guard comes in.”

  Bernie’s jaw dropped. “Armed security?”

  “Ostensibly for the entire complex, but just between you and me, he’ll be focusing most of his attention on building six. See what an advantage it is to have friends in high places?”

  With that, he hung up again. Bernie stabbed speed dial six. Again.

  “Bernie,” Jeremy said. “So nice to hear from you. It’s been ages since we’ve talked.”

  “You know what? I think you were right in the first place. I need to move.”

  “Nah. You’re not going anywhere. See, I checked out the local rental market. Turns out you’re actually getting a deal there. As undesirable as your complex is, it’s at least borderline livable. If you were to pay that price anywhere else, you really would be living in a slum. Give those workmen another few days, and you’ll have a nice fence around the property and a shiny new keycard for access. Now, won’t that be nice?”

  And then he hung up on her for the third time, and for the third time, the sudden silence infuriated her. She gritted her teeth and dialed him back to give him an even bigger piece of her mind. But this time all she got was his voice mail.

  “Damn it,” she muttered, stuffing her phone back into her pocket. She’d had the opportunity to toss him down the stairs a few days ago. Why the hell hadn’t she taken it?

  She walked up the stairs toward her apartment. Ruby stepped out onto the landing.

  “Nice handrail, huh?” she said.

  “Yeah,” Bernie muttered. “Nice.”

  “And did you check out the fence we’re getting with the gates and all? You must have told Farnsworth you were going to blow his brains out, or something. Did you hold a gun to his head like in the movies?”

  “It wasn’t Farnsworth.”

  “Then who?”

  Bernie unlocked her apartment door, then turned back. “You remember that guy who was here to see me a few days ago? The gorgeous one with the bad attitude?”

  “The father of your baby?”

  Bernie winced. Would she ever get used to hearing those words? “Yeah. He bought the place. He’s our new landlord.”

  Ruby screwed up her face. “Why would he buy a crappy place like this?”

  “Because he was born to piss me off.”

  “Nice things around here piss you off?”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Well, they sure don’t piss me off. Not for one minute. Would you tell him that while he’s at it, I got a few things in my apartment that could stand to be fixed? Like maybe my leaky shower and the ants in my pantry closet. And I’m not so crazy about the holes in the carpet, either.”

  “Sorry, Ruby. I don’t think he’s interested in—”

  And that was when it struck her.

  Jeremy was the new owner. As far as she knew, Charmin was still around, but Bernie had already determined what a bottleneck she was. And if she was a bottleneck, who was left for the tenants to go to with their problems?

  Why, the new owner, of course.

  • • •

  The next afternoon, Jeremy sat in his office, listening to his cell phone ring for approximately the twentieth time. This time he didn’t even bother looking at the caller ID, much less answering it. He knew it was yet another call from one of the residents of Creekwood Apartments just dying to complain about something, so he let it roll to his voice mail with all the rest. Ms. Keyes wasn’t faring much better with his office phone. She hadn’t fielded this many calls since he’d dated a French supermodel who made Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction look like a cloistered nun.

  He didn’t even want to know what was going on with his home phone.

  As the day had worn on, he’d come to two very important conclusions. He was sick to death of his own ringtone, and Bernadette Hogan had been born to piss him off.

  It was almost five o’clock. She hadn’t answered her phone all day, but by God, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to keep trying. Heaven forbid he inconvenience her.

  He grabbed his phone and dialed her number for the umpteenth time. Finally, after five rings, she came on the line.

  “It’s about time you answered your phone,” he snapped. “God knows I’ve been answering mine.”

  “Oh?”

  “Don’t play stupid. I know what you’re up to. Eighteen voice mail messages on my cell phone alone. My personal cell phone. How did they get that number, Bernie? You want to tell me that?”

  “Who are ‘they’?”

  “You know who ‘they’ are! The tenants at that godawful apartment complex!”

  “So today it’s godawful? Yesterday it was a good investment.”

  “The calls are coming to my office phone, too,” he said, standing up to pace across the room. “After today, Ms. Keyes is going to be demanding a raise.”

  “Stop being a tightwad and give it to her. She’s worth more just for putting up with you.”

  “How about my home phone, Bernie? What’s going on there?”

  “With luck, there were so many incoming calls that the lines melted.”

  “Then it was you,” he barked into the phone. “You gave them my numbers!”

  “Well, in all fairness, you are the new owner. I’ve always heard it’s best for a landlord to have a cordial relationship with his tenants.”

  “Cordial relationship? All they were doing was complaining! Stopped-up drains. Nonfunctioning appliances. Holes in the wall. Bugs. Everybody had something.”

  “So what does that tell you?”

  “That Creekwood Apartments is a disaster area!”

  “Exactly. And now you’re the owner, which means it’s your responsibility to fix all of it.”

  “I’m not fixing a damned thing. In fact, if I’m smart, I’ll bulldoze the place and sell the land it sits on. And then I’m going to throttle you for having the nerve to give out my confidential phone numbers.”

  “I’m the mother of your children. I thought your goal was to protect me.”

  “I’ll wait until the babies are born. Then I’ll throttle you.”

  She sighed. “I suppose you’re going to insist on coming over here to have a word with me about this.”

 

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