by Nancy Warren
Something electric sizzled between them when their gazes met. He stared at her for a second and then turned to go. “Yeah. I guess I don’t.”
Chapter 13
Stephanie put on a happy face that was more fake than a kid’s Halloween mask and got herself to work. The branch manager had been so understanding, so eager to help her leave without working out her full notice that Stephanie got the distinct impression they weren’t any sorrier to see her go than she was to be leaving.
That was good, of course, since it meant she could work for Chloe sooner, but it was also kind of a blow. At least they could have pretended that she was God’s gift to the teller’s counter.
Oh well, at least Chloe would be happy. Stephanie was working through Friday, then had the weekend off before she started at her new job. And still the minutes crawled by. Toward lunchtime, there was a bit of a stir when a florist’s delivery guy came into the branch with a vase containing a dozen long-stemmed pink roses and some pretty greenery.
How romantic. Of course, Steph would have gone for something colorful, like Gerber daisies or huge, happy sunflowers. She wondered if it was someone’s wedding anniversary. Everyone, from customers to the bank execs in the back, seemed to pause for a moment in suspense.
“Stephanie Baxter?” the guy asked in a Bronx accent, glancing around with his brows raised looking like he didn’t have all day.
“I’m Stephanie,” she said and felt her heart begin to pound. Rafe hadn’t asked for her number last night, he’d waltzed out of her apartment with a peck on the lips and a “See you.” Was this his way of telling her that last night had meant something?
While the floral guy plonked the vase at her workstation and made her sign a delivery receipt, she felt giddy and girlish and giggly. “Do you mind?” she asked the woman who happened to be standing waiting to cash her paycheck.
She was middle-aged and overweight in a white blouse that had been washed so many times it was yellowing. She stood there like her feet hurt, but for that second her eyes glowed too. “No, I don’t mind. I’ve been married thirty-four years. The only flowers I see are the ones I grow in my own garden. Enjoy the romance while it lasts.”
Stephanie felt so many gazes on her, with expectation, maybe envy, that her fingers fumbled when she opened the tiny envelope.
Darling, it said. Oooh, he’d called her darling. She never would have pegged him for the darling type. Or the pink roses type.
She read the message, and then she read it again before the truth sank in.
Darling,
Please forgive me. We can make this work. I love you.
Derek
Derek. She stuffed the little card back into its little envelope and turned to her customer with a quick word of apology.
The woman’s eyes rested on her face, which felt hot and itchy, as though she were about to break out in a rash. “How did he screw up with flowers?”
“He didn’t.” She shook her head, wanting to tell somebody. Wanting to lay her head on this nice woman’s bosom and sob her heart out. “It’s the wrong guy, is all.”
“Oh, honey. As my kids would say, that blows.”
She sent her customer a quick smile. “Yeah.”
Instead of confronting Derek, which she didn’t have enough courage to do again, she emailed him on her lunch break. It was difficult to come up with the right words and it took her ages to word her simple message.
Dear Derek,
Thank you for the flowers. I wish you hadn’t sent them, though. I’m not going to change my mind. I’m so sorry. Be happy.
Stephanie
She dragged herself home at the end of the day, exhausted. “Aren’t you taking your flowers?” Elsbeth, the girl who worked beside her, asked.
“No. You want them?”
“Yeah. If you’re sure.” She bet nobody ever sent Elsbeth roses. She was exactly the sort of woman Derek would despise, which made her happy to think of those flowers going home with the colorless teller.
All she took was the little card in its little envelope, which she threw out in a city trash can so no prying eyes could see it.
Once home, she ate a bowl of Cheerios for dinner, a single-serving carton of peach yogurt for dessert, and flipped on the TV. It wasn’t that she even wanted to watch TV, she just wanted an excuse to curl up on the couch.
Of course, she told herself not to be a moron and relive all the details of what had happened on that very couch last night, so of course she was that moron. She curled deeply into it with her robe tucked around her and imagined she caught the scent of Rafe even as she relived their encounter in every amazing detail.
When the phone rang, she was so deeply into her fantasy that she was certain it was Rafe, until she realized he didn’t have her number because he hadn’t asked for it. She ignored a couple of rings, and then realized that Rafe had come here, to her apartment. He must have her number if he had her address. Being a cop, he must have access to all that stuff.
She bounded across the room, stubbing her toe on the hair dryer she’d left plugged into the wall this morning. “Hello?” she said, trying not to sound too eager.
“Steph. We need to talk.”
Her stomach felt like an elevator in freefall. If she’d ever had any doubts about her decision to call off her engagement to Derek, she didn’t have them any longer. “We already talked. I’m really, really sorry, but I can’t marry you.”
“But I love you. I have plans.”
Always he talked about himself. He never seemed to worry about her feelings, or her plans. However, she’d hurt him and she knew that, so she tried to be understanding. “I don’t think I’d be the right wife for you. You need someone more…” More what? Stable? Less inclined to shoplift when she was upset? Not so much of a slut? She settled on, “More mature. I guess I’m not ready.”
“You got cold feet. It can happen. Look, have lunch with me tomorrow. It’s the least you can do.”
She opened her mouth to agree and then stopped herself. If she went to lunch she’d do something stupid, like let him stick that ring back on her finger, and she couldn’t. She just couldn’t.
“Sorry. I’m busy for lunch tomorrow. Look, I have to go.”
“Wait.” His voice took on a different tone. Sharp. Accusing. “I’m coming by the bank. I have to see you.”
“I quit my job. I’m leaving the bank.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Probably.”
“I’m serious. You need to see someone. You’re quitting your job? And thinking about leaving me? There’s something wrong with you.”
“Lucky you, then. You’re getting rid of me.”
“Is there someone else?”
His constant jealousy used to reassure her. She’d believed a man who was possessive wouldn’t run around on her, but now she was beginning to think there was a darker side to him.
A kick of combined elation and pain smacked her. She knew that if she answered his question honestly, it would be over forever with him. She was tempted to say yes, but the truth was, she’d had a one-night stand. Just because she had feelings didn’t mean the other party did.
“I have to go.”
The receiver clicked in her ear as he hung up on her.
She closed her eyes and stood there, waiting for the regret to come. Not surprised when it didn’t. She’d always been good about hurting herself.
Then she picked up the receiver again, knowing there was another call she had to make—one she dreaded. “Mom, hi. It’s me, Stephanie.”
In less than two minutes, she had exactly what she wanted: an invitation to dinner tomorrow night. She’d tell her mom in person about the split and then she’d stay overnight in her old room. For some reason, she craved her old room, where she’d planned her big plans and dreamed her foolish dreams, before life got in the way.
Deborah did what she usually did when a client stumped her. She walked from her office to Jordan’s. They’d both seen their la
st client of the day and he was tapping away at his computer, looking scholarly and earnest.
“Jordan?”
He started and blinked when he turned to her. “Deborah, you startled me.”
“I’m sorry. I can come back if you’re busy.”
“No. Of course not. Come in.”
“I want to talk to you about the Petersons. A couple I’m working with.” She made a wry expression. “I’m not making much progress.”
“Tell me about them.”
He always did this. So calmly inviting her to share her load. So comforting. She settled into the chair across from his desk and marshaled her thoughts. “Henrik’s a workaholic. He’s rarely home, all he ever thinks about or talks about is work, and his wife feels neglected and unappreciated.”
Jordan made a sound like a snort. He never interrupted, so she was surprised and glanced up, raising her reading glasses so she could look at him more clearly. “I’m sorry?”
“Nothing. Go on.”
“I feel like I can’t get through to them. Janine, the wife, is doing the work every week but he’s resisting. He won’t do the work, refuses to acknowledge he’s got a problem. Do you have any ideas?”
Jordan stared at her for a moment. Maybe it was the way the light hit him, but she thought his eyes didn’t look as calm as they usually did. “Sometimes you can’t fix people, even when you want to.”
“We’re not here to fix people,” she argued. “We fix relationships.”
“Sometimes, I think it’s the same thing. Henrik’s not going to change until he wants to change, and as hard as someone who loves him tries, it’s not going to make a difference.”
She nodded her head, thinking of Janine trying so hard and being ignored. One day Henrik would wake up and his wife would be gone, she suspected, and then it would be too late.
“I wish there were a way we could hold up a mirror that would show people the destructive patterns they engage in that ruin their personal relationships.”
“So do I, Deb. So do I.”
She tapped her pen on her notepad. “I wonder if they’d be happier with another therapist. Would you be willing to give them a try?”
Jordan shook his head. “I think I’m done with lost causes.”
She leaned forward in concern. “Have you had trouble with a client recently? I didn’t realize. Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. It’s okay. I think I’ve figured out how to resolve it.” He turned off his computer. “I’ve got to head out. Dinner with an old school friend.”
She nodded. “And I’ve got to get caught up on some paperwork. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” She leaned across the desk and kissed his cheek.
“Yes. See you tomorrow.”
Chloe couldn’t help but notice that her newly hired associate was not looking her best. In fact, Stephanie’s eyes were heavy with fatigue and her smile seemed forced.
“You’re not regretting the job already, are you?” she said the second she saw the younger woman’s face.
Stephanie let out a startled laugh. “No. I haven’t been sleeping too well. Excited about the new job, I guess.”
“I’ll tell you what—I’ll work you so hard today you’ll sleep like a baby tonight,” she said.
That earned her a reluctant grin. Oh, dear, she thought.
Knowing she’d hear Stephanie’s troubles soon enough, she set about showing her the brand-new desk and the files and things she’d bought on Saturday at Office Depot. She’d also splurged on a second computer, thus running her credit card a little higher than she’d like when the words Harrods or Alexander McQueen were nowhere to be found on the statement.
She soon had Stephanie creating files for all the clients she had on the books, and it turned out that Stephanie knew how to use the simple bookkeeping program she’d bought and hadn’t been able to work yet. By the time she went down to make the morning coffee at eleven, she was congratulating herself on an excellent hire.
She was about to carry the tray upstairs, showing Stephanie what a truly modern employer she was, not only making the coffee herself, but serving it to her secretary, when the doorbell rang. Putting the tray down on a hall table, she opened the door to find Rafe standing on her doorstep.
She was delighted to see him, fairly certain her optimism about him had been well founded. “I do hope this is good news?”
He nodded. “I thought about the favor. I’ll do it.”
“Fantastic.” She beamed at him. “Come upstairs to my office and we’ll talk. Do you want a coffee?”
“Sure.”
He waited until she had a mug and then surprised and delighted her by taking the tray out of her hands and carrying it up himself.
She was behind him as they reached the top of the stairs. She could see Stephanie through the open door. Her head was down and she was at the table by the window, but obviously she heard footsteps for she said, “Chloe, I was wondering about these files.”
She turned, her hands full of files, took a step forward. Then, before Chloe’s bemused gaze, she went pink, then white, and dropped the files on the floor.
For a second there was no sound but that of the cardboard folders plopping on top of one another like a deck of playing cards being shuffled.
“Stephanie, are you all right?” She would have rushed straight in, but the bulk of Rafe standing there with his tray was somehow in her way.
“Hi, Stephanie,” he said, and there was a world of intimacy in that tone. He entered the second bedroom-cum-office and Chloe popped in behind him.
Chloe glanced sharply between them. Stephanie stood stock still, her color still fluctuating between feverish pink and chalk white. Rafe looked exactly the same as he always did, but Chloe could feel the heat coming off him.
She didn’t need a crystal ball to tell her that these two had slept together. How interesting. How very interesting.
Stephanie knelt to pick up the folders, saying, “Hi,” on her way down while her hair swung in front of her face, hiding her expression.
Rafe took a step forward and then stopped himself, as though he’d forgotten he was holding a tray of filled coffee mugs. He glanced around and put the thing down on top of Stephanie’s desk. The silence was so thick you’d need a sledgehammer to crack through it.
“I didn’t put in milk and sugar because I wasn’t sure how you liked it,” she said, feeling very much like a gracious hostess smoothing over an awkward moment.
When no one said anything, she shrugged, stepped forward, and helped herself to milk from the jug she’d prepared, adding half a spoonful of sugar.
“When you’ve got yours, Rafe, would you come next door to my office?”
“Sure,” he said, eyes still trained on her secretary, who’d risen from the floor and was stacking the folders once more, looking anywhere but at him.
She walked next door, thinking she’d give them a moment. She heard the low tones of his voice, and a short, quiet burst from Stephanie, and then Rafe walked into her office. He didn’t have a coffee and she didn’t bother remarking on his forgetfulness.
“Shut the door,” she said.
He hesitated, then complied, before walking forward and sitting in the chair opposite her desk.
“How is it that you can take this time off work?” she asked him.
“I was working undercover and I’ve got a lot of comp time coming.”
“Comp time?”
“You don’t get paid overtime when you’re undercover. Instead you take compensatory time. Comp time. At time and a half, I’ve got a fair bit banked.”
“And you want to spend your time helping me out?”
He sent her a cop stare. And it was a good one. But she’d stared down angry lovers, her brother, and on one never-to-be-forgotten occasion, Princess Anne, when she’d called her horse by the wrong name. Rafe didn’t bother her a bit.
Finally, he said, “You asked me to do you a favor, remember?”
“I did. However
, you didn’t seem too enthralled by the idea. Or by the compensation.”
He shrugged. “Maybe I’ll get you to break up a bad relationship for me sometime.” He shifted on the chair. “So, tell me about the shrink.”
She held up a hand. Not so fast. “Tell me about you and my secretary first.”
“That’s personal.”
“So is the business of breaking up relationships. I don’t want any messiness.”
“No messiness.”
“Right.” She’d ask Stephanie. In her experience, it was always easier to get the goods from a woman than a man. “Here’s Deborah Beaumont’s book. I should warn you, the contents will make you positively queasy, but you’d better read it. What I want you to do is be as untidy, as hopelessly messed up as you can be.”
He took the book and turned it over to read the back cover. “Why?”
“It’s a theory I have that this poor woman, as you’ll see from her book, is so hopelessly trapped by her systems that what she really wants is a terrible mess of a man to fall in love with and fix.”
Rafe’s shoulders went rigid. “I can’t make a woman fall in love with me.”
“Just go once and see what happens. Here’s the address. I’ve already made you an appointment for tomorrow.” She handed him her business card, on the back of which she’d written both the address and the time of his appointment.
“You did?”
“Yes. Otherwise you’d have had to wait more than a week to get in.”
“But I might have turned you down.”
“Then I would have canceled the appointment,” she said sunnily. “But luckily you didn’t turn me down.”
“I should have. I’m getting a bad feeling in my gut about this.”
“Nonsense. You’re helping two people to find happiness. What could be better?”
“How can she find happiness with me? I don’t want anything to do with a shrink.”
“Sometimes escaping from the wrong person brings almost as much happiness as getting together with the right person. At the very least, I’m hoping you’ll make her rethink her own relationship and see that it’s not working.”