by June Faver
Reggie Lee heaved a deep sigh. “Tell me about it. Being a single parent is also a tough job, but my dad has about had it. I’ve relied on him to pick up the slack since I became editor.” She shook her head. “I need to get things under control here at the paper so I can provide some sort of consistency for Shannon…and for my dad.”
“Good idea. Kids need some kind of routine… I mean, don’t they?” He gazed at her, his brow furrowed.
In spite of herself, she had to giggle. The idea that Frank Bell could give her advice on child rearing was ridiculous. “Uh, yeah. They do. I’m trying my best. But somehow the time just gets away from me.”
“How about you get your receptionist to give you a warning when you need to start wrapping up so you can pick your little girl up on time?” He shrugged. “That’s what I would do, but what do I know?”
Reggie blew out a breath. “Apparently you know more than I do.” She pushed the intercom button. “Gayle, could you give me a heads-up at about a quarter of five? I need to pick up my little daughter on time for a change.”
“Sure thing, Ms. Stafford.”
Reggie leaned back in her chair, inspecting the old ceiling for stains. “I don’t want to be one of those bosses who think they don’t have to show up and keep regular hours.”
“Reggie, you’re doing all you can to figure out your new job here.”
She straightened and met his gaze. He didn’t seem to be putting her on.
He spread his hands. “Besides, I know for a fact that you were here quite late preparing the Dear Irene column.”
She swallowed hard. Oh, yeah. I was here, and I kissed you.
“Did you get through all the Dear Irene letters?”
She shook her head. “Sorry to say I haven’t made much progress.”
He flashed a grin. “I can help you with that.”
“Who are you? My secretary?”
“I can be.” His voice rolled out, smooth as satin, almost caressing her, sending a whisper of shivers along her skin.
Reggie sucked in a breath. “Sure, help yourself.” She pointed to the stack of unopened letters holding down one corner of her desk.
“What about the ones online? Who answers those?”
She sighed. “I guess that will be me.”
“I can help. If you want, I can at least open the emails.”
“Thanks. That would help.” She logged into the Gazette email account and clicked on the Dear Irene tab. Seven recent emails stared at her. She stood and offered him her chair. “Knock yourself out.”
She was on an emotional roller coaster. She was delighted that Frank was being so helpful, especially to Elvis. But she was also feeling peevish and out of sorts. Probably due to the chaos of her morning.
Frank seemed to be oblivious to her rancor. He was impeccably groomed as usual. Somehow, even if he was dressed in faded denims, he still looked good enough to eat.
Reggie quickly dismissed that thought, blushing even though she was fairly certain Frank couldn’t read her thoughts. Or could he? She swept him with a surreptitious glance.
A little smile played around his lips.
Hmm…
* * *
Frank stole a glance at Reggie as she prepared to tackle the Dear Irene letters. She reached for the stack of correspondence and the letter opener and slit open the first one. “Dear Irene,” she read. “I hate my mother. She’s just too strict…”
Frank laughed. “Don’t all teenage girls hate their mothers?”
“At one time or another,” she agreed and reached for another envelope.
He looked at the computer screen and scrolled down the page of messages. “Listen to this one,” he said. “Dear Irene… You’re my only hope. I’m so miserable, I’m head over heels…” He snorted. “What a loser!”
She cocked her head to one side and came to stand behind him. The scent of her perfume or lotion caused his senses to reel. She leaned over his shoulder to peer at the screen. “Awww…the poor guy. He’s in love with a coworker.”
Her hair swept forward, brushing his cheek. He squelched the urge to stroke her hair. Kiss her neck…earn more of her loathing.
He inhaled another lungful of her fragrance and discreetly rolled the desk chair back. “Here—you sit down and read. I need to be going anyway.”
She lifted her gaze as he stood beside her. His tentative grasp on his emotions strained to the breaking point as he fought down the urge to plant a big one on her. Not now. Keep it cool… He held the chair for her and pushed it closer when she sat down. “See you later.”
She nodded absently. “When do you want to start on your house project?” She turned back around to gaze up at him. “I should really have some ‘before’ pictures. I’d like to take Milton, the photographer, out to your place…the Grady house. How about tomorrow?”
“Sure. I’ll try to peel a layer of dust off for the pics.”
Reggie laughed. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
He decided to go for broke. “Why don’t you come hang out with me this weekend? Bring Shannon with you? I’d love to really show you through the house, and we can talk about projects.”
She flashed a big grin. “Are you sure you want me to bring Shannon? You can’t imagine what a little terror she can be in a new place.”
“Not a problem. I love kids.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he experienced a sick twisting in his gut. Kids? Me? What am I doing here?
Her expression softened. “That sounds really nice, Frank. I’m sure Shannon will love it.”
He walked out in a daze. What was happening to him? Cool international bachelor types do not love kids. He hit the front door and stepped out into the cool breeze. But Shannon is a sweetheart. Who could resist her? Not me.
He climbed into his car and inserted his key in the ignition, wondering if he should take a road trip, anything to put some distance between himself and the crazy emotions churning his gut.
* * *
Reggie watched him drive away. I wonder if I’ve been mistaken about him. High school was a long time ago. Maybe he’s changed? Maybe he’s matured? Maybe I’m crazy?
She swiveled back to her desk and the partially read email. This is so sweet. She continued reading.
I’m in love with a coworker, but she doesn’t seem to like me at all. I’ve been as nice as I know how to be, but she’s cool and distant. I’m not exactly a Romeo, but I think about her all the time. I know she’s been burned in the past, but I’m not that guy. How can I warm her up and win her heart?
Mr. Nice Guy
A warm, tingly feeling filled her insides. She wanted to help Mr. Nice Guy find love with his coworker. She wanted him to win the lady’s heart… She sighed.
I want to meet my own Mr. Nice Guy. A picture of Frank Bell’s grinning face swam through her brain. She shook her head. I said Mr. Nice Guy.
She put her fingers on the keyboard and began typing.
Dear Mr. Nice Guy,
If your company doesn’t have rules against employee dating, you might want to surprise her with some thoughtful small present. Nothing big, but something to let her know you’re thinking of her. Or invite her to do something simple and non-personal. If she’s responsive, take the next step slowly. Don’t scare her away.
Irene
She read it over, smiled in satisfaction, and printed it out for publication. She would choose a few more for this week’s edition, but for now she was content to feel all warm and squishy about this sweet man… Mr. Nice Guy.
She thought about the daily coffee she had become accustomed to receiving from Frank. She was now expecting him to show up each morning, paper cup in hand. She shook her head, wondering how that had happened. Franklinstein. She pictured his handsome, intelligent face. Eeeuw! She figuratively shook herself and pushed back from the desk. I called Franklinste
in handsome! When did that happen? She blew out a long breath. Well, he is hot… And he loves kids. He can’t be all bad.
And she would be taking Shannon out to the beautiful Grady estate on Saturday.
The Victorian house had always thrilled her. In the past, when she had gone to visit Miss Rosie Bell Grady, she had secretly coveted the lovely home, imagining herself coming down the curved mahogany staircase. She loved the chintz slipcovers and the tatted doilies, the shiny marble tabletop and the highly polished sideboard. She loved the way sunlight filtered in through the sheer lace curtains. Reggie sighed. At least she would get a chance to be involved in the renovations to Miss Rosie’s house. She would make sure it retained its charm and status as a historical house.
She smiled to herself in anticipation of being able to make an impact. She hoped Frank would appreciate her tastes. A man who leased everything might have strong opinions on renovating a historical house. Well…I’ll just have to educate him.
When Gayle buzzed her on the intercom to let her know it was a quarter of five, Reggie thanked her and picked up her purse. Before leaving the building, she stopped by the bookkeeper’s tidy little office. “Hi, Roy.”
He looked up, squinting at her over the top of his glasses that he perpetually wore on the tip of his nose. “Hey, little lady. How you doin’?”
“I’m good. How are you?” She gestured to the paper strewn around his desk as he sat hunched over his keyboard.
He shrugged. “Good as can be expected. What can I do for you?”
Reggie sucked in a deep breath, hoping her shaking hands weren’t revealing how nervous she was. She gripped her purse with both hands. “I was wondering if you could print out a list of all employees and their current pay rate. I want to be sure I’m not missing anyone who is due a raise.”
Roy nodded, the fluorescent light overhead mirrored in a strip of light across his shiny bald head. “Good for you. Phil had to be hit over the head to bother to give a raise.” He returned to the task he was working on. “You can clear off that chair and take a seat.” He gestured toward a rickety-looking chair stacked high with papers and ledgers.
Reggie examined it from afar. “Um, I’m good.”
Roy typed on his keyboard for a while, searched through digital files, and finally clicked on something that started the printer sitting on a file cabinet beside his desk. “Here ya go.” He shoved his chair back and stood beside the printer while it finished cranking out pages. When it was done, he neatly patted them into shape and handed them off to Reggie.
“Thank you so very much.” She tried to steady her hand as she reached for the papers.
Roy flashed a toothy grin. “Now, if my name happens to come up as one of the employees in need of a raise, I would be truly grateful.”
“Um, yes. We’ll see.” She made a hasty retreat, waved at Gayle, who was also trying to leave, but beat her out the door. Once in her car, Reggie exited the parking lot and drove a couple of blocks before pulling over.
She was breathing hard when she unfolded the papers. She used her finger to sort through the list of names that were not in alphabetical order but apparently arranged in some mystical order dreamed up by Roy.
Her name was listed twice. Once for when she was listed as a reporter and the date she ceased to be one…and again right under Phil’s name with the same date that he stopped being editor and she began…and she was given the same salary as good old Phil. Apparently it was the prescribed editor salary, and it made her pucker her lips in a silent wow. She had never dreamed there was that much money in the world.
Reggie closed her eyes and leaned back against the headrest, clasping the papers to her chest. A single tear trickled down her cheek. This was it. She had arrived at her own special nirvana. A place where she would earn the same salary as a man.
She thought about all the things she could buy with that money. Christmas would be outstanding this year. And she would get her own house…a place for Shannon to grow and thrive.
She opened her eyes and sat up straight, taking a few deep breaths and blowing them out noisily. What she needed to do was to continue to live with her dad, appreciate that he was willing to help her raise Shannon, and put the major part of her raise in an account for Shannon’s future. A college fund. That felt right.
Reggie slipped the car into drive and proceeded at a very calm rate of speed. So very happy she could have floated to pick up Shannon.
* * *
When Frank checked the email in the seldom-used account, he was surprised to find a response from “Irene.” His heart had leaped up, thinking it was from Reggie Lee, but no… It was an automated response from the Dear Irene email saying “We’ve received your letter for the Dear Irene column, and we thank you. It’s not possible to print every letter that we receive, but if yours is selected, it will appear in the paper.” There was a disclaimer telling him that by sending his letter to the Dear Irene column he was giving tacit permission for the letter to be printed in full or in part.
He swallowed his disappointment. Of course she wouldn’t send him an email. Now he had to wait and hope that she might post something in the weekly paper, but he was encouraged that she had read it when he was in her office. Maybe he had used the right bait. Maybe he could reel her in.
He pushed back from the computer, his desk chair almost hitting the opposite wall. What do I care? This is Reggie Lee Stafford, the girl who hates me. When she finds out it’s me, she will kick me to the curb.
But why should she? If I follow her instructions, maybe the ice queen will thaw out… Why do I care?
He stared at the monitor for some time, contemplating that last question.
I do care. I really do care about her. Am I falling in love with Regina Vagina? He blew out a deeply frustrated breath. When was I not in love with her?
Frank straightened his spine. He knew what he wanted, and he was willing to acknowledge it to himself. How did he go about getting her? He was a man who went after what he wanted in the most direct way possible, but he knew if he used his usual ball-peen hammer approach, she would walk—no, run away.
He’d made plenty of mistakes with her from the first day they’d met. Well, he wasn’t that kid anymore. He was a successful grown man and had finally come to terms with the fact he was in love with Reggie Lee. He wanted to make a life with her. He wanted to take her and her daughter with him when he left this town. I’ll show her the world…my world. I can provide a much better life for both of them.
Frank experienced a warm feeling flooding his chest when he thought about waking up with her in his arms. He envisioned her in his New York condominium. He wanted to show her the Europe he had come to love. Surely she could appreciate the things he could provide for her and her daughter.
* * *
Gayle’s insides were quaking. She sat in her car outside Babes in the Woods Day Care, her fingers gripping the steering wheel. This was her big chance, and she didn’t want to blow it.
She couldn’t believe that Reggie had given her this opportunity. First she had let her try her hand at writing the obituaries, which had been Reggie’s responsibility before she was appointed to the position of editor.
Gayle closed her eyes and tried taking in huge gulps of air, filling her lungs completely and blowing all the air out slowly through her pursed lips. That was supposed to lower heart rate and help one get centered.
Okay, I can do this.
She stepped out of the car and locked it, clutching a pen and notepad to her chest. She had considered using her tablet but thought the old-fashioned approach would be better.
Gayle stood outside the gate, examining the exterior before crossing into the property.
The building itself was adorable. It was a really attractive old bungalow with a porch and actual ivy growing up on one side. The landscaping was minimal but neat, as most of the yard had been
turned into a play area.
There was a swing set and a sandbox. A low slide was on one side of the swing set. Everything appeared to be very well kept. The most charming feature was a wooden structure, obviously meant to inspire creativity and imagination. It could have been a playhouse or a pirate ship, depending on what the child envisioned.
Heaving a sigh, Gayle opened the gate and walked inside, securing it behind herself. Don’t want any little kiddies to escape.
Stepping onto the porch, she inhaled a wonderful fragrance and realized the plant growing on the side of the house was actually jasmine. The beautiful tiny white flowers were supported by a trellis affixed to the side of the house near the door. Her footsteps sounded loud as she crossed the wooden porch, and before she could knock, the front door was thrown open by a small woman with a thick head of almost-white hair on the blondish side.
“Hello,” she said. “Come right in. We’ve been expecting you.” She pushed a pair of large, red-framed glasses up on her short nose.
“Um, okay.” Gayle had been startled, but the woman who stood grinning up at her appeared to be friendly.
“I’m Betty Jo Nevins, Jill’s pre-K teacher. I retired from the school district last year, but I’m having a great time teaching the younger ones.” She flashed a grin.
There were young children in the front room busy with various activities. Tiny tables and chairs were arranged around the space, with some kind of floor game that almost appeared to be like a quilt or rug on the floor. Several children were holding it down and examining the squares.
“Miss Betty Jo!” One little boy came running up with a piece of paper on which he had used crayons. “Look what I made for you.” He stood with eyes shining and a big grin on his face.
Betty Jo’s face morphed into one of surprise and awe. “Oh José. I love it! You know red is my favorite color.” She gave him a hug. “I’m going to post it on the bulletin board right now. I really love it.” She hustled to the other side of the room and tacked the drawing onto a large corkboard. “Beautiful!” she exclaimed.
When Gayle turned, there was a little blonde girl gazing up at her with large and solemn blue eyes. “Hi,” Gayle said.