by Francis Ray
Claire rushed across the room … and saw the letter lying on her desk. “You, too?”
Brooke’s head snapped up. Misery and tears swam in her eyes. She slumped back in her chair. “Me, too.”
Claire didn’t know what to say. She certainly didn’t plan to mouth all the things that were said to her, because no matter how skilled, how shining your resume or exemplary your recommendations—it was an employer’s market. But Claire had never imagined Brooke would be caught in the crunch. Her sales record was the best in the firm. “I’m sorry.”
“I thought you were Opal coming to gloat.”
During their weekly lunch date Brooke had told her about her manager’s jealousy of her. Claire had been around long enough to warn Brooke against annoying the older woman. But Brooke was young and unfortunately thought the world was reasonably fair. Claire had long since given up the illusion.
“Is there anything I can do?” Claire offered, feeling helpless. She had never been good at comforting people.
Brooke finally lifted her head. Sorrow and pain replaced the perpetual happiness in her dark eyes. “No,” she said, her trembling voice barely above a whisper. Then her long lashes swept back down over her eyes.
“Well,” Claire began, her hands flexing on the box. Telling Brooke about her own termination suddenly didn’t seem like a good idea. “Can I get you a glass of water or something?”
Brooke shook her head, then stood and walked to the window that looked out over downtown Charleston. “I don’t know whether to be angry with Opal for being so disgustingly gleeful or the knothead in upper management who let her get away with dismissing me.”
“From personal experience I’d say it doesn’t make any difference. The results would be the same,” Claire offered gently.
Brooke glanced over her shoulder. “Forgive me. I’m thinking about myself when you’ve gone through the same thing at one time.”
Twice, Claire thought, but it went no further. “This … it knocks you for a loop.”
Brooke nodded, running her hand through her stylishly cut coal black hair. “I guess I better get started.” She motioned toward the box in Claire’s hand. “Can I borrow that when you’re finished?”
Biting her lip, Claire decided to stop hiding the truth. Propping the box against her hip, she lifted the white envelope from inside the box.
Brooke’s eyes widened, then she was around the desk, her arms going around Claire. “I’m sorry! Why didn’t you say something?” she asked, stepping back to stare up at Claire, who was a couple of inches taller despite Brooke’s four-inch heels.
“I didn’t want to add to your problems,” Claire admitted. “You had enough on your mind.”
“All I can say is that Middleton is going to be in trouble without the both of us,” Brooke said, trying to smile.
But not as much trouble as they would be in, Claire thought, but she left the words unsaid. “You want me to help?” Claire asked, setting down her box. “There’s plenty of room in here.”
“Thanks.” Brooke’s hand trembled as she picked up a sterling silver framed picture of her and her parents at her college graduation. “How am I going to tell them?”
“They’ll be more concerned about you than anything, from what you’ve told me about your parents,” Claire offered, trying to figure out where to begin packing. Brooke had several family pictures, a collection of crystal paperweights, and an expensive desk set.
“I wish Randolph were here or at the very least that I could reach him.” Brooke picked up another picture, this one of her and Randolph wearing formal attire. “With the five hour time difference, he’s already left the office. I left a message at his flat.”
Claire thought that at least Brooke had a man in her life to call. Claire had no one. Not even a pet. She’d always thought there’d be plenty of time for a family after she climbed the corporate ladder. Her stomach clenched when she compared going home to an empty house with what might have been.
“Why don’t you come home with me?” Claire suggested impulsively. “I live in a beachfront cottage on Sullivan’s Island. We can keep each other company.”
Brooke paused in picking up another framed picture, a frown marring her beautiful face. “Randolph might call.”
“I understand,” Claire quickly said. Why would Brooke want to spend time with her when she probably had loads of friends? “I’ll go find some newspaper to wrap your things.”
“I have some,” Brooke said, pulling out The Wall Street Journal from the chrome wastebasket, then handing a section to Claire. Silently they began clearing the desk. By the time they’d finished they had filled two Saks shopping bags retrieved from Brooke’s desk drawer and Brooke was fighting tears again.
“If Opal is behind your termination, then there’s nothing that would give her more pleasure than seeing you in tears,” Claire told her.
Brooke’s head came up. Her eyes narrowed. “She’ll wait until hell freezes over.” Plopping her Louis Vuitton attaché case on top of the bag closest to her, she gathered the company’s laptop, cell phone, calling card, and pager. “I’m going to turn these in to her, then we’re leaving. If the invitation still stands, I’d like to take you up on it.”
“Why did you change your mind?” Claire asked in surprise.
“I can only hold my anger in so long and then I’m going to explode. I’ll have a better chance of not being arrested if I’m on the beach rather than in my condo. Then, too, I’m not ready to hear ‘I told you so’ from my parents.” She sniffed. “They tried to warn me that my job might be in jeopardy, but I didn’t want to listen. I thought I was safe.”
“No one is safe in corporate anymore.” Claire picked up the other bag.
“Claire,” Brooke said, her voice frightened, her face pinched, “what are we going to do?”
“Take one day at a time,” Claire said, then followed Brooke out of what was once her corner office.
CHAPTER TWO
It didn’t take long to reach Brooke’s place, an upscale condominium nestled on the banks of the Ashley River with its own marina and river walk. A domed elevator with black grill ironwork dating back to the early nineteenth-century quickly took them to the top and fourth floor. Built on a marshland peninsula, Charleston had very few tall buildings because of zoning laws to preserve the historical beauty of the city. Brooke’s place was lavishly furnished with silks and ornate furniture upholstered in the palest earth tone shades.
“Your place is beautiful,” Claire said, setting the shopping bag on the sandstone-colored carpet instead of on the hand-painted coffee table topped with a neat stack of fashion magazines and a fresh-cut arrangement of gladiolas in a cylindrical vase near a trio of vanilla candles on a crystal tray. “When I was your age I had a one bedroom with second-hand furniture.”
Brooke’s eyes misted again. She glanced around the spacious living room. “I may be lucky to have that if I can’t find another job.”
Once again silence descended between the two women. Claire didn’t want to give false hope. It had taken her ten scary months to find another job. “You could do temp work.”
“With bonuses and incentives I make way over six figures. Temp work is not going to pay my bills,” Brooke said, anger creeping into her voice.
Since Claire understood and remembered her own anger, she didn’t take offense. She’d been impossible to live with the first few days after she lost her job. “Be sure and pack a swimsuit in case you want to go swimming.”
Brooke started down the hallway, then abruptly turned back. “I’m sorry if I seem to be taking this out on you, and I’m not sure I won’t do it again. Do you still want me to go with you?”
Claire nodded. “I know it’s not me. I want you to come.”
“When did you stop wanting to scream?” Brooke asked, her voice trembling with a mixture of pain, fear, and embarrassment.
Claire had experienced all of them. “Not until I held my Middleton ID badge in my hands.”
Brooke’s eyes shut, then blinked open. “Ten months. I’ll lose everything.”
“No, you won’t,” Claire said, glad this time she could be honest. “Because it won’t take you as long.” Catching Brooke’s arm, she steered her down the hall. “You’re bright, energetic, intelligent and somewhere there’s a man in personnel who is going to fall all over himself to give you a job.”
Brooke immediately perked up. “I’ve always had a way with men.”
Claire smiled at the understatement. “They practically fall at your feet like ripe fruit. The security guard at the entrance to your condo was staring at you so hard after you drove through, he almost closed the gate on me.”
“Simpson is a sweetie,” Brooke said, entering the last door on the right.
Claire followed. The room was feminine and furnished just as beautifully as the rest of the apartment. Brooke lived well.
As if reading her thoughts Brooke turned to Claire. “I could probably pack the things I own outright in my car. If I don’t find a job within a month I’ll lose everything.”
“Then you’ll just have to find one.” Taking the bag out of Brooke’s hand Claire set it on the floor. “Come on and pack. Then we can both go down to the beach and scream.”
* * *
Claire pulled into her attached garage and was getting out just as Brooke pulled in beside her. Claire’s dusty blue Chevrolet looked more pitiful than ever next to Brooke’s gleaming silver Jag. Claire had thought that once she had a handle on the bills she might look into buying a new car. She swallowed the lump in her throat and gathered her things.
“Come on, we can go through the garage.”
Closing her door, Brooke picked up her overnight bag. “I didn’t know you lived in this exclusive area. I can see just the tip of Sullivan’s Island from Randolph’s terrace. He has a couple of friends who have homes out this way.”
Claire considered that she might not be living here for long, but refused to dwell on it. She’d find another job. She had to.
Unlocking the back door, she moved to one side so Brooke could enter first. “I bought this place for my parents fifteen years ago when the prices weren’t so high. You could comfortably fit two of my homes into a single floor of many of the houses on the island. But it was just right for my parents, and they loved the house.”
Entering the spotless yellow and white kitchen, Brooke turned to Claire with a smile. “It smells wonderful in here.”
“It’s the candles,” Claire said, closing the door behind them.
“These are beautiful,” Brooke remarked, picking up a creamy white candle in a three-inch cylindrical-shaped glass container enclosed in pale netting and tied with a satin ribbon that matched perfectly. A tiny white rosebud peeked from the bow’s knot. “Where did you buy these?”
For a moment Claire just stared at the candle Brooke held, then she closed her eyes. “Oh, no.”
Immediately, Brooke was by her side, her hand on her arm. “We’ll find another job. Don’t worry.”
Claire’s eyes blinked open to see Brooke staring up at her. “It’s not that.” Setting her things on the counter, she went to the sweetgrass basket filled with carefully wrapped hand-made soaps on the kitchen table. Her hand closed around one of the bars encased in yellow netting with a wire yellow ribbon bow.
“Then what is it?” Brooke came up beside Claire.
“I made these as gifts.” Claire never took her eyes from the soap in her hand.
“What!” Brooke’s attention snapped back to the basket. She picked up one of the bars. “You’re kidding, right?”
Once Claire would have been pleased by the awed appreciation in Brooke’s voice, but not as of nine-seventeen that morning. “They were to be gifts to the other members of the book club I belong to. The monthly meeting is scheduled here tomorrow night.” Slowly she returned the soap to the basket. “I had planned an elaborate menu of all kinds of seafood to make up for all the times I hadn’t been able to have the meeting at my house. I was going to the market early in the morning so everything would be fresh.” Her eyes shut briefly. “Now I can’t.”
“How much do you think it would cost?” Brooke asked slowly. “Maybe together we co—”
“No, but thank you. You need all your money.” Claire swallowed. “So do I. It wouldn’t make sense for me to spend money when I don’t know how long it will take before I find another job.”
“This is just so unfair!” Brooke said, anger creeping back into her voice.
“You won’t get an argument from me. Come on I’ll show you to your room.”
Leaving the bright yellow kitchen, the women passed through the large family room, which continued the color scheme. The sofa and overstuffed chair were upholstered in neutral khaki and taupe, while the accent pillows and table skirt of the pedestal end table were done in a bold tropical fabric with a yellow background. The three French doors were topped with cornice boards in the same bold fabric. Through the glass, the peaceful blue Atlantic was endless beyond the glistening sand dunes.
“The sandy beach stretches for three miles along the Atlantic side of the island. We’ll go out later if you’d like,” Claire said. “My parents loved the island and the ocean. Evening was their favorite time here.”
“This place is fabulous,” Brooke commented, stopping to stare at the vastness of the ocean. “Property values here must be through the roof.”
“They are.” Claire continued to the first door down the short hallway. “There are only about two thousand homes here. They’re all on at least a half-acre lot. I understand houses sell very quickly. I was lucky. If it hadn’t been for Gray, the mortgage company wouldn’t have loaned me the money and the sale might have fallen through.”
Brooke stopped and stared. “Gray? You aren’t talking about Gray Livingston, are you?”
Twin furrows marched across Claire’s forehead. “You know Gray?”
“Girl! Every single woman between the age of eighteen and sixty in Charleston knows of Gray.” Sighing, she entered the sunny bedroom. “That is one fine man. I’ll tell you a little secret. If you promise not to tell anyone.”
Claire had no idea why her body tensed. “All right.”
Brooke sat on the white iron daybed that had once belonged to Claire and pulled Claire down beside her. “Well, you know my theory that you can fall in love with a rich man as easily as you can a poor man.”
“Yes,” Claire said, her hands clenched in her lap.
“I thought about Gray Livingston being that man.” Brooke confided. “I did my research on him. I knew all about the Livingston mail-order catalogue business that his grandfather started, that Gray has been the CEO for the past year since his grandfather’s death, and I know about Gray’s very public and messy divorce after three short months, two years ago. Then I met him and changed my mind.”
“Why?” Claire asked, unaware of the challenge in her voice. Gray was six-foot-three and heart-stopping handsome with piercing black eyes. His slender nose flared slightly over a mobile mouth that easily curved into a smile. His chin was determined. In her opinion, he was much better looking than Randolph and had a self-assurance about himself that put you at ease instead of making you feel as if you weren’t worthy to be in his presence, the way Randolph had made her feel the one time she’d met him.
“He has the looks, the money, the prestige.” Brooke ticked off the items on her fingers. “Lord knows his body is to die for and he has all the qualifications on my short list, but when he looked at me there was nothing there. No spark. Nothing. He probably forgot about me as soon as he turned away.”
Claire stared at Brooke in disbelief. “Men fall all over themselves for you all the time.”
“He didn’t.” Brooke wrinkled her nose. “It might have hurt my feelings if his reaction to the other women in the room wasn’t the same. Of course behind his back they were whispering about his ex-wife, Jana. According to the juicy gossip she pops back in town every now
and then from wherever the current jet-setter hot spot is to warn other women off. Seems she was here a few weeks ago. Talk is she wants him back.” Brooke leaned closer to Claire. “Is it true that when he found her and her lover in their bed he tossed both of them out of the house naked?”
“I don’t know.” Claire glanced away. Conversation about Gray and his ex-wife always made her unbearably sad. She’d seen pictures of his beautiful ex-wife, but had never met her and hoped she never would. The last time she’d seen Gray was at her mother’s funeral. “The Gray I knew was caring and fun-loving. It must have hurt him terribly to be betrayed by his bride. Gray is very loyal and, although you might not expect it, sensitive.”
“A cheating bride would certainly dent a man’s ego and his pride. The couple of times I’ve seen him, he’s always been with a different woman. Guess his ex’s plan is working,” Brooke confided. “It’s going to take a special woman to get him to the altar again.”
“Perhaps.” Standing, Claire walked to the closet and took out three padded hangers. “The dresser drawers are empty. The connecting bathroom is through there.”
Opening her overnight bag, Brooke took out two sundresses and reached for the hangers. “So how do you know Gray?”
Obviously Brooke wasn’t going to let the subject drop. In any case, Claire reasoned, it was better than thinking about not having a job and all the bills she needed to pay. “My parents worked for his grandparents from the time I was eight until they retired about five years ago. I was always there after school, but especially during the summer. Each summer from the time he was ten Gray would come down from Atlanta where he lived with his parents and sister for at least a month to learn the business.”
“Talk about missed opportunity,” Brooke said, hanging up the dresses.
Claire blushed. “Gray never thought of me that way.”
Brooke picked up her French lingerie, frothy bits of nothing that cost dearly. “Well, you certainly must have made some kind of impression if he helped you get this place for your parents.”