by Christa Wick
I imagine he hadn’t with any of his other temporary women, either.
Unlike the other two in that trio, Reed was still speaking to me. He was friendly, even, though I wasn’t foolish enough to believe we were actually friends. Because let’s face it; the man was my handler, plain and simple.
I knew from our past conversations before the bombing that something had happened in the past leading to his transferring out of headquarters about a month before I joined the company. It was all a big mystery—just one of many when it came to the men in Stark International, it seemed.
Belatedly remembering that he’d asked me a question, I looked up to answer politely. "No more than usual.”
His fingers strummed along the top of the cubicle wall as I returned to the report I had been typing up.
"You weren't at the barbecue Saturday," he said then in an apparent effort to make small talk.
"No, I wasn't."
A stilted silence followed and I again resumed typing.
I wasn’t trying to be rude. I knew it wasn’t Reed’s fault that my job was ridiculous, or that it was obviously part of his job now to check up on me regularly.
Truthfully, everything about this place and my life now was beginning to take its toll on me.
Sure, I did find that my face was still capable of generating a few smiles for Kelly, the bubbly intern who delivered mail and spent a few minutes chatting with me every day—genuinely and not as a part of her job description, far as I could tell. And okay, yes, I adored Max, who worked security at the front desk. The man was a big ole teddy bear who I actually could small talk with for long stints.
Unlike the man who was currently looming over my cubicle ‘handling’ me.
When I continued to work in silence, Reed’s strumming turned to tapping. "You should come to our next barbecue. Max always brings his wife. You two would get along famously."
We probably would.
But I still wasn’t going to go to the next barbecue.
Instead of reply, I simply pushed at the right edge of my monitor, turning it a little so that my head would be forced to follow and he couldn't see the well of tears building.
As a handler, Reed definitely had skills. And he was ruthless to boot. Bringing up Max’s wife who had just completed her last cycle of chemotherapy?
Just, wow.
"You know there's a Thursday happy hour—"
Grabbing my coffee mug, I stood and walked from the cubicle. Though I got that the man needed to be my babysitter, I couldn't understand his recent attempts to integrate me into the office social scene.
Over the past couple of weeks, he really seemed to be pushing that socialization agenda pretty hard. I’d go so far as to say the man was hinting that I should get out there and mingle, find some nice shorts-and-flip-flop-wearing guy in the company to hang out with on the weekends.
Hence the unexpected arrival of tears I’d just experienced earlier.
Nothing says ‘get over my friend already’ like your former lover’s good friend suddenly playing matchmaker as part of his handler duties.
Seriously. Worst. Job. Ever.
Entering the coffee station, I rinsed my mug and asked myself yet again why I was still working at Stark International. Not Collin's reason for it, but my own.
Why had I stayed?
Though extremely generous, everything Collin arranged for me here in Florida was beginning to feel like an exile. Not a sentencing per se, but a painful penalty nonetheless.
Never in a million years would I have thought I’d ever have to mourn a miscarriage alone.
Don't go there, Mia.
I swallowed down a hot gulp of fresh coffee, letting the pain in my mouth and throat replace the one burning through my heart. The medical staff and Trent had tried to convince me after I woke to find Collin gone for good that the nurse had misspoken, that her English was bad and the mention of the baby had just been an error lost in translation. The nurse had even tried to convince me herself, but her eyes told the truth while her mouth spewed something else.
After that, I’d been torn between believing the lie and knowing the truth.
Despite what they were all trying to make me believe, my heart knew. The pain didn’t lie, the emptiness in my heart was all I needed to listen to.
I had lost a baby.
When I wallowed in that fact, I tried to convince myself that perhaps, in some twisted, awful way, the loss was for the better. I hadn’t ever fit into Collin’s life or world, not really. How would a child be any different?
It would have been heartbreak stacked on heartbreak from the start.
Still.
I would’ve loved to have been that baby’s mom.
The fact that no one would speak a word about the innocent life I’d lost in my womb was just too difficult to bear. And it was eating away at me every single day.
Not only was I mourning a traumatic miscarriage by myself—a miscarriage that half a dozen people were trying to tell me never happened—but I was doing it while also mourning the loss of Collin.
Because it was now heartbreakingly clear that I’d lost him.
For a woman who’d suffered as much loss as I have over the years, you’d think I’d have some sort of coping system in place. Something to make each passing day better than the last, at least slowly, if not, surely.
I didn’t.
And part of the reason I wasn’t coping well was because of this…place. This job.
Swallowing down more coffee, I stepped into the hall that ran from reception to the open floor of cubicles. My desk was down the main aisle and I could see that Reed hadn't moved far. Likely, he wasn't waiting for my return, but I would have to pass him anyway.
Catching a building wave of voices from reception, I followed the noise to waste a few more minutes in the hope Reed would finally go back to his office, or at least another row on the floor.
Seven bodies, plus the receptionist, filled the waiting area. All of them wore employee badges and had gathered in front of the big screen television that ran a news channel throughout the work day.
I had no idea what they were all so interested in watching, but I was grateful for the diversion.
"Damn, I wish I could have a secretary like that."
I looked up to see what everyone was looking at finally when the comment was met with masculine approval from his buddies.
The woman in the photograph on the TV screen was definitely beautiful; I could certainly see why my colleagues were drooling over her.
Blonde, statuesque although sitting down, she looked like she belonged on a runway. I read the news tape at the bottom of the screen to learn that the station was covering a Miami security conference.
That was right around the time I stopped listening to what the newscaster was saying.
Because it was clear now why everyone was watching this particular news clip, which in fact, had nothing to do with the woman at all. Rather, the news piece was about the man the woman was accompanying as his new secretary.
Collin Stark...
Another male spreadsheet jockey elbowed the first one who’d commented on wanting a secretary as gorgeous as her. "I hear his last secretary was ancient. Nice upgrade."
Mentally correcting the man, I shook my head as I spun on one heel. No, Collin Stark's last secretary was the plump, naïve one after the ancient one.
Actually, stupid was probably a more fitting description than naïve. Naivete implies I shouldn’t have known better when in fact, I really damn well should’ve.
I’d been stupid to place my heart in his hands then, just like I’d been stupid to spend the last four months waiting for him to come to me to discuss the end of our relationship, or at least the loss of our baby.
The fact that a part of me still hoped he would come, not just to discuss things, but come for me was…
Was there a description a thousand times more foolish than stupid?
Returning to the coffee station, I absen
tly rinsed the mug and placed it in the dishwasher. From there, I returned to my desk, logged back into my computer with numb fingers, input my hours for the day then logged out and powered down. I didn't glance around my desk or look in the drawers. Four months into working at the office, I hadn't brought in a single picture or plant. Nothing personal occupied my cube.
From the supply room, I grabbed a padded envelope and deposited my security badge, car keys and company phone inside. In black marker, I wrote Reed's name on the outside. Exiting the building, I stopped at security and handed the envelope to Max.
Too numb to cry, I managed a smile. "I'm sorry I missed seeing Clara Saturday."
"She asked about you." His face lit up at the mention of his wife. "Docs say a few more weeks and she'll be back to cooking up a storm like she always did on Sundays. You've got a standing invitation. From both of us."
A little less numb than I thought, I took a deep breath before responding. "I'd like that."
I jerked my thumb at the front doors and offered the last smile Max would ever get from me. "Few errands to run."
With that, I quietly left Stark International.
In every sense of the word.
Half a city block from the office building, I stepped into a mobile phone store and purchased a prepaid phone. I used it to call a cab. By the time the driver dropped me at the doorstep of my company townhouse, I had an evening flight to the Martin County, North Carolina, airport booked.
Like my office, nothing in the townhouse belonged to me. The furniture had been there when I arrived, as had the linens, dishes and cookware. I had added nothing personal. My life of the last four months fit into three suitcases and a carry-on.
At the airport, I stopped by the business kiosk. Securing another padded envelope, I dropped my house keys inside then added postage and Reed's name, the office address below it.
It was time for me to not just start a new chapter, but start a new life completely.
3
Mia
I spent the night in a cheap motel near the airport, an equally cheap rental car parked outside the room. As hard as walking away from Stark International had been, I had a tougher day ahead of me and wanted to start fresh in the morning.
More than six years had passed since I last stepped foot in Keeling, North Carolina. I had left at the beginning of my twentieth year after scraping enough money, grants and loans together to graduate from the county community college.
My reason for hanging around had vanished with my mother's death shortly after I graduated high school. The horse farm that had been in the family for three generations passed to my stepfather, a small life estate in the guesthouse the only provision my mother had made for me in her will.
Stunned, I had lived in the guesthouse those two years and watched the horses slowly disappear, bought by new owners as I struggled to make my tuition payments. Leaving with my associate's degree, I had promised myself I would never return.
Easiest to break—those promises we make to ourselves. Quitting Stark (yup, he was just plain ‘Stark’ now in my mind) and his company, I couldn't think of any other place to regroup. When the airline's booking agent asked my destination, the answer had been automatic. Once uttered, I was embarrassed to change it. So, a little past ten thirty the following morning, I pulled to a stop in front of the house I had grown up in.
The trees that canopied the drive hid the lawn from view. Stepping from the small Mazda, I surveyed the landscape to find that more than a season had passed without anyone taking care of the grounds.
I stepped onto the porch, heart pounding in my chest. Dust covered the wooden boards, spiderwebs filled the corners and the paint beneath my shoes had cracked and peeled. Raising the brass knocker on the front door, a dreadful realization went through my head.
If the main house looked this bad, in what condition would I find the guesthouse?
The door jerked open before I could release the knocker. My fingers twisted and I bit back a pained cry as I met the bleary gaze of my stepfather. It took a few seconds for him to recognize me. I knew the instant it happened because he snorted. Looking past my shoulder, he eyed the rental and offered another snort.
"I need the keys to the guesthouse, Evan."
His attention returned to me. He studied my clothes, his expression disappointed as he looked for jewelry or a watch. He wanted to know how much he could squeeze me for. Between the plain clothes I had intentionally selected for this meeting and a bottom of the barrel car rental, his prospects weren't looking too good and he knew it.
The door slammed in my face.
I waited, seething on the inside while keeping a placid expression aimed at the door. If he didn't return with the keys, I would have to visit the county clerk's office and get a copy of the will. Then I would have to sweet talk the clerk into helping me figure out which form I needed to file to force Evan to let me onto the property. Better to wait a few minutes or even hours for his foul morning mood to pass than to hastily start a legal process that would have him digging in.
Surprisingly, the door opened ten minutes after it closed. He held a set of keys in one hand, the other hand palm up and thrust in my face. "Gonna need the first month's electricity in advance."
Opening my purse, I pulled out my wallet.
"Three hundred should—"
"You're not getting that much." I removed a hundred in twenties and offered it to him. "I'll have the utility company out here to put in a separate box before the week is up."
He spit at the ground, a thick glob of phlegm landing a few inches from my low-heeled pumps. Taking the money, he handed me the keys. What should have provoked at least some small measure of relief brought a sense of unease as a sour grin puckered Evan's mouth and he spit again.
"Welcome home, little girl."
"Home" was as inaccurate as "little girl." The farm had stopped being my home years before I moved away from Keeling, all because of the man standing in front of me.
Ignoring the slow crawl of disgust down my spine, I offered a flat smile and returned to the car. Navigating the potholes dotting the dirt lane that ran through the property from the main house, past the stables, and ended a little beyond the guesthouse, I figured at least three years had elapsed since the last time Evan had graded the lane.
Pulling in view of my old/new home, all but the worst of my fears materialized.
Bushes that had been no higher than my knees when I left six-plus years before towered above my head, their thick branches and foliage likely the sole reason the windows on the old place remained intact. If only the same could be said for the roof over the garage. A heavy branch from an untrimmed pine tree had punched a hole in it. If the door between the garage and the house had been opened after my departure, I likely would have a family of raccoons inside, squirrels and possum at the very least.
I walked the perimeter, both to examine the rest of the exterior and to find a sizable branch I could wield as a club in case I did find wildlife inside. My heart sank a little lower on the structure's backside. The windows were whole, but part of the roof sagged above the corner bedroom. Thankfully, it was the second bedroom and I had left it empty.
Branch in hand, I returned to the front, removed a newly purchased flashlight from my trunk and opened the door. The flashlight threw the thinnest of beams into the dark living room. Heart running wild in my chest, I moved through the space to reach the curtains on the double wide windows. I pulled the drawstring, releasing a little sunshine and six years' worth of dust into the atmosphere.
Turning, I examined the furniture, relieved to find the sheets I had placed over the couch and side chairs in place and undisturbed—a good sign no critters had made their way in from the garage. I moved from the front room to the kitchen. The rod and curtains fell into the empty sink when I tried to open them. I made a mental note to add a screwdriver and an electric drill to my shopping list as I walked toward the door that opened onto the garage.
I
didn't want to open the door, but I wanted electricity and the breaker was in the garage. Lord only knew what waited in that space.
Feral things, naturally.
Stopping, I laughed at my sudden cowardice.
Feral things—really? I had been in a limo that had a bomb explode alongside it. I had been in Collin Stark's arms. And I had just told the meanest damn bastard in the entire county he couldn't extort three hundred dollars from me. How could I possibly be afraid over a momma raccoon?
I turned the inside lock, grabbed the handle and threw the door open, bracing for an inward rush of vermin. When nothing came at me, I knocked the branch back and forth in the doorway, letting it bounce off the frame a few times to wake any creatures.
Satisfied with the continued silence, I crossed the garage and flipped the breaker switch then double-timed it back into the kitchen and relocked the door. I turned on the ceiling light, the bulb's filament popping. Thankfully, I had come prepared for such an event, having stopped on the drive in to pick up basics like lightbulbs, matches, candles, and toilet paper, among a few other items.
Reaching the refrigerator, I plugged it in, set the temperature and closed the doors that had been blocked open. Back in the living room, I tried the ceiling light, another set of filaments popping. I decided to retrieve the box of bulbs from the car and change them before venturing into the rest of the house. If I needed to beat a hasty retreat from the bathroom or bedrooms, shrieking like the girl I was, I didn't want to trip over the furniture in the shadowy living room.
I replaced the lights as I went, living room and kitchen first, then the hallway, then the bathroom, where I propped my branch against the door from the inside and took my first pee in my old/new home. I flushed with trepidation, the toilet gasping and gurgling as it refilled. The pipes were the same when I turned the bathroom sink on to wash my hands. Rust-filled water spurted against the porcelain for a good thirty seconds before it was clear enough to put my hands under the faucet.