Driving Her Crazy Page 6

  Chapter Six

  Oz threw his snack trash into the bag from the gas station and took a swig of his water. Cherice hadn’t said a word since the untimely demise of her shoe. But she had managed to nearly pick a hole in his shirt before giving up and going back to sleep. He tried to shy away from thoughts of clothing. The quick glimpse of lace-covered breast he’d seen was a sight he wouldn’t forget any time soon. And she looked downright adorable swimming in his shirt. Too bad that adorable package was wrapped around a seriously annoying woman who smelled like a diaper-changing station at a ballpark. Ketchup and baby powder…not a great combo.

  He didn’t know what this woman’s deal was but something was eating her up in the worst way. Maybe that was why she was so prickly. The only time she didn’t look like she was about to vomit from stress was when she was firing off barbs at him. Except when she was staring out the window trying to ignore the fact that he existed. Or pretending like she hadn’t enjoyed the glimpses she’d seen of his body. He had half a mind to make the rest of the trip shirtless¸ just to watch her squirm. It was certainly muggy enough to justify a bit of stripping.

  She finally sat up, blinking her eyes at him.

  “Hey,” he said.

  She gave him a faint smile, then turned her head and wiped at her mouth.

  He laughed. “No drool this time.”

  Her cheeks blushed but she ignored that comment. “Where are we now?”

  “Almost to West Virginia.”

  “Ah, finally. I didn’t think it would take so long to get across Virginia.”

  Oz snorted. “Yeah, it’s bigger than it looks on the map.”

  “Yeah,” she said, turning her attention back to the same scenery they’d been seeing for the last six or so hours. Lush green interspersed with towns, homes, and shopping centers, all seen through a hazy, watery filter.

  Cher didn’t seem inclined to continue their conversation. He didn’t know if she was still pissed over her shoe or what, but he had no intention of sitting silent for the rest of the trip. Hell, one of the reasons he’d wanted her along in the first place was so he didn’t have to drive alone with nothing but the radio to keep him company.

  “So what have you been doing since the med-school plan didn’t work out?”

  She let a little sigh go and turned to him. “You don’t have to make conversation with me, you know. I’m fine just sitting here.”

  “Well, I’m not. It’s a long way to New York and talking will help keep me awake and alert. Unless you want to take a turn.”

  She looked out the window at the cars whizzing by in the rain and shook her head. That’s what he thought.

  She sighed. “Fine.”

  “Did you even want to be a doctor?”

  “It’s kind of the family business. It seemed like a good idea to follow in their footsteps,” she answered quietly.

  “What about nursing?”

  Cherice gave a short laugh. “Not prestigious enough for a Debusshere. My father and grandfather are plastic surgeons. My sister is a—”

  “Plastic surgeon?”

  She shook her head. “Cardiologist.”

  “Ah. Mother?”

  “Lawyer. A very successful one. Until she married my father. She now runs the Debusshere family. Very successfully.”

  “Tough crew to live up to.”

  “Yes,” she said quietly.

  “So, what are you doing now?”

  Her chin went up a few notches. Ah, she was gearing up for battle. This should be good then.

  “I…sort of help people shop.”

  “What? Like one of those personal shoppers?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Is that something that a lot of people need?” He tried not to sound too condescending, but seriously? She shopped for other people for a living?

  “Yes, it is something that some people need. I started doing this kind of thing back in high school through our Key Club. One day, during my sophomore year at Duke, I got lost driving around and sort of stumbled across a similar organization to the one I’d volunteered for back then. They were looking for help and it had always been something I’d enjoyed and was good at. I mostly work with women who are trying to reenter the workforce. It’s not always easy knowing how to dress, what to buy. I help them do that. I also do a little freelance work—shopping for whatever my clients need.”

  Oz wasn’t sure what to say for a second. That had to be the most frivolous, ridiculous occupation for a grown woman he’d ever heard of.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she said.

  “I didn’t say a word.”

  She huffed, her lips pulling into a frown. “You didn’t have to. I’ve heard it all from my parents, believe me.”

  “You can’t get mad at me for something I didn’t even say.”

  “Just because someone like you wouldn’t understand my line of work doesn’t mean I don’t provide a valuable service.”

  “Someone like me?”

  Her cheeks flushed, the heat spreading clear down her neck. “I just meant…I mean, I didn’t mean anything bad. I just meant that you…you’re not…I mean as a man…I wasn’t referring to your…to anything…”

  “You know you’re talking out loud right now, right?”

  “Oh, shut up. Ox.”

  “Nag.”

  She glared at him and Oz gave her his innocent “what?” face.

  “Let me get this straight…there are people out there so rich that they can’t even bother to shop for themselves? They have to actually hire people to shop for them?”

  “No. It’s not like that at all,” she said, glaring at him.

  “It’s exactly like that. You shop for a living. For people too lazy to shop for themselves.”

  “No. You’ve misunderstood. I offer a valuable service for people who need advice.”

  “Really? Like what?”

  “Like…okay. For instance, I had a lady come in a couple months ago. She’d gotten her first office job and needed a new wardrobe to go with it. I had already helped her pick out her initial interview outfit and then we worked on stocking her closet with everything she’d need once she got the job. We set her up completely. Those are the clients I really love. I do have a few on the freelance side who are what you’d call frivolous, but I think they’re fun. Like the ones who need furniture or some exotic birthday gift or something. I don’t get too many of those in North Carolina, though.”

  Oz shrugged. “Well, it still sounds hokey to me, but if that’s what you want to do with your life…”

  “I didn’t say it’s what I wanted to do with my life. But I don’t want to sit around doing nothing, either, and I’m good at it.”

  “I don’t doubt that,” he muttered, hurrying on before she could give voice to the outrage on her face. “So what does your family think?”

  She turned her gaze back to the rain drenched trees that seemed to be flying by. “I told you what they all do. I’m sure you can imagine.”

  “It can’t be that bad.”

  “Every member of my family is at the top of their field. Every one of them. Except me.”

  “Ah, come on. Don’t sell yourself short. I bet you are a world-class shopper.”

  She rolled her eyes and folded her arms across her chest. “And you wonder why I don’t want to talk to you.”

  Oz grinned, having a lot more fun than he probably should be, considering the topic of conversation.

  “Yeah, okay, I get that it sucks to not live up to your family’s expectations, but come on. It’s not like you’re slinging newspapers in the middle of the night.”

  Cherice snorted. “No. I haven’t sunk that low yet. But I might as well have in my family’s eyes.”

  Oz’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. He wasn’t sure what had made him use newspapers as an example. It’s not like he didn’t already know how she’d feel about that. And he wasn’t ashamed of what he did. He made good money with his route. Enou
gh to pay several bills. And it was honest work that he could do at night that didn’t mess with his other jobs. Still, it stung to hear her dismiss it so harshly.

  “So why do you care what they think? It sounds like you only aimed for med school to please your family. Did you even want to go?”

  “Of course. Being a physician is an honorable profession,” she said, her voice completely monotone like she was repeating something she’d memorized from birth.

  Oz snorted. “Yeah. Say that a few more times and I might actually believe you.”

  Cher’s full lips twisted into a petulant pout. “I’m not trying to convince you of anything. It’s my life. I don’t know why you care so much, anyway.”

  Oz’s hands tightened on the steering wheel with the effort to hold on to his temper. “Because you’ve got everything and you’re sitting there all depressed, acting like you’ve got no options. I mean, come on! You’ve probably got more money than most people will see in a lifetime. You don’t have to worry about bills or keeping a roof over your head or food on your table. You could go anywhere, do anything you want. So why don’t you?”

  “That is so typical!” Her mouth snapped shut and she dragged a deep breath in through her nose. When she spoke again, her voice was a bit calmer, but her face was still flushed. “Just because my family has money, people always think my life is so easy. You would never understand the kind of pressure I’m under all the time. You have no idea what it’s like to be the only one in your family who has failed at becoming their ideal offspring. To be the only one who hasn’t done anything to build up the family name. I’d give up every dime they’ve ever given me to have the freedom you have, to do what I really want to do.”

  His jaw clenched. Only people who had never been without money talked so causally about throwing it all away. She might think she really meant it, but she didn’t know what it felt like to worry about whether or not you could pay the rent that month. She’d never had to function on three hours of sleep because she’d spent every waking second working whatever jobs she could find to keep food on the table. Despite what she obviously believed, someone like her would never understand what it felt like to want something with all your heart and not be able to go for it.

  He kept his gaze glued to the road. “That’s just the thing, Cher. You do have the freedom to do what you really want to do. Yeah, your family might be disappointed in you. They might even be pissed as hell. But they won’t really be hurt by it. They won’t lose anything that really matters.”

  She looked back out the window at the overcast skies. “You don’t get it.”

  “No. I don’t. And neither do you. I don’t have any freedom. I do what I have to do to take care of my family. I gave up my dreams a long time ago so I could do something more important. There was a good reason for me to do what I did. But it wasn’t really a choice. If I didn’t do what I do, my family would be starving on the streets. That’s not the case with you. There’s just no good reason for you to do it.”

  “Just because it’s not a good reason to you doesn’t mean it isn’t one to me,” she said, plucking at the hem of her shirt again.

  Damn. She had him there. He still disagreed with her. She was being ridiculous letting her family dictate how she lived her life. His family did the same to a certain extent, he supposed. But because they needed him. Not because they had some screwed up priorities about what really mattered.

  “Touché,” he said with a small smile.

  “You know, we really aren’t so different. We’re both just regular people, wanting to make our families happy.” Her lips echoed his smile.

  He completely disagreed on the whole “regular people” bit. There was nothing regular about her. She’d break out in hives if she had to be around regular people for more than two minutes. But he didn’t feel like ruining the tenuous, and probably temporary, peace in the car to point that out. At least not with that line of discussion.

  He needed to change the subject. “I’m hungry. Let’s find someplace to eat.”

  A few miles down the road, they passed an exit sign with a bunch of symbols for food joints. He pointed to it. “Any preference?”

  She grimaced. “Isn’t there any place where we can get something that doesn’t come with a plastic toy?”

  Oz spied a place just off the road and turned his head so she wouldn’t see his smile. She thought she was regular, hmm? Let’s see how she did around real regular folk.

  “Looks like there’s a place down the street a ways.”

  “Anything is fine with me.”

  Yeah. They’d just see about that. He pulled into the parking lot of the Roadkill Roadhouse and shut off the car.

  “What are we doing here?” Cherice asked, looking out the window with a frown.

  “We’re getting something to eat. You said you wanted something that came without plastic toys. They’ve probably got waitresses and everything.”

  She didn’t look convinced.

  “Come on, Cher. You might be able to live off granola bars and water but I need something a little more substantial than rabbit food.”

  “And this is the best place you thought we could find?”

  For food? Hell no, not by a long shot. But it would serve his other purposes just fine.

  “It’ll do. Come on, I’m melting out here. It’s gotta be air conditioned, at least.”

  “So’s the car,” she muttered.

  She climbed out and glanced down at herself. His shirt hung halfway down her thighs and was big enough for two of her, and the flip flops…he didn’t bother hiding his grin when he caught sight of her toes, painted red with black and white dots which made each nail look like a ladybug sitting on her toes. Surprisingly playful. She could have easily put both feet in one flip flop but at least they provided some protection.

  Oz held the door open for her and tried not to smile as he looked around the run-down diner. He couldn’t have picked a better place to make her squirm than if he’d spent a month researching locations. It would do perfectly to prove to the princess, once and for all, that he was right. They were from two different worlds and she could spout that we’re the same regular people wanting the same things nonsense all she wanted. People like her were nothing like people like him, and her attempts to say otherwise weren’t fooling him at all.

  Her repeated comments against, for the lack of a better phrase, his social class, made his butt pucker and he was in the mood to yank her chain a little. The fact she didn’t even realize how insulting she was made it even worse. So. A little harmless revenge might be just the ticket to improve his mood a bit. Let’s see how she did in a real dive.

  He slid into a booth near the window so he could keep an eye on the car. The fact he felt the need to do that probably pointed to the diner being a little more of a dive than even he was comfortable with. But there was no backing out now, though it was a bit of a moot point since he couldn’t really see through the grime on the glass, anyway.

  He picked up the menu and looked over his options. He’d made it through the appetizers before he realized Cherice was standing at the end of the table staring at him.

  He sighed. “Cher, sit. I realize it’s not Spago or wherever the hell you usually eat, but it’s not going to kill you.”

  “It might.” She glared at him but slid carefully into the booth. He pushed a menu across the table to her but she left it where it was and opened her handbag, taking out the travel wet-wipes.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  Her eyes narrowed even farther. “I don’t feel like eating my meal on top of whatever this substance is,” she said, scrubbing at the table in front of her.

  Oz ducked back behind his menu. He did enjoy watching her being uncomfortable after spending the last several hours with her. But even he had to admit the place was nasty. Fifty-year-old wallpaper peeled from the walls in spots and the broken neon light outside the dirty window was probably going to induce a seizure in someone at any m
inute. An old jukebox in the corner didn’t look like it had been touched in years and Oz was pretty sure the woman standing outside who had just spit on her cigarette and tucked it behind her ear was their waitress.

  She nodded at him through the window and shouted, “Be right with you!”

  Oz didn’t dare look at Cher. He could feel her look of disgust through the laminated menu he held.

  Their waitress came back inside and dug a pad and pencil out of her apron. After noisily hacking into the crook of her arm, she asked, “You folks ready?”

  Oz put down the menu. “I’ll have the tuna melt and fries, and a large Coke, please.”

  “Um hmm. And you?” She turned to Cher who hadn’t even opened her menu.

  “Um. Just a salad with ranch dressing, please. And a bottled water if you have one.”

  “Sure thing.”

  The moment the waitress lumbered away, Cher lit into him. “If I get food poisoning from this place I’m aiming at you.”

  “Oh please. I’m sure the food is fine. Even places like this have to follow the health code. Besides, it’s usually these kinds of places that have the best food. Like hidden local treasures.”

  Cher shook her head. “Impressive.”

  “What?”

  “You almost sound like you believe that.”

  “I do.”

  “Uh huh.”

  Oz managed to keep up the act until their waitress came back with their meals. She seemed to have forgotten their drinks entirely but one look at their food and Oz had no intention of reminding her.

  “Bon appétit,” she said, in a surprisingly good French accent.

  Cher looked at her salad and then looked back at him. He peered into her bowl. The lettuce looked as though it had been microwaved. And he hoped that dressing was blue cheese because if not…he swallowed and turned his attention to his own plate. And…he wished he hadn’t. Was tuna supposed to be gray?

  “Go ahead,” Cher said, a little smile dancing on her lips. “I dare you.”

  Oz narrowed his eyes. Oh, she was not going to win this one. He picked up one of the pieces of toast covered in what he assumed was tuna smothered in a layer of what looked like a melted crayon but must have been the cheese.