by Unknown
Jordan stuck his head through the crack between the door and the wall. “He didn’t answer,” Jordan said. “I just thought you’d want to know.”
“Thanks,” she sighed.
“Is everything okay?” His brows furrowed, his eyes asking a thousand other questions.
“Yeah. Sure. I mean, I don’t know.”
“What happened, Kate?” He stepped inside and closed the door. “Is Rich okay?”
How much did Jordan know about Rich’s situation? Kate didn’t know, and it certainly wasn’t her place to divulge any information.
“I’m just worried about him, that’s all.”
“Did something happen with Shea?” He raised an eyebrow. “She’s crazy, you know.”
Kate glanced over her shoulder at him. Her goal was to sound like it was no big deal. And she failed. “Yeah, she sent me a text message, and I’m worried…”
“She what?” He gaped at her.
“Never mind.” She turned her attention back to the task in front of her and ignored the eyes she could feel still staring at her. “I’m sure he’s fine, Jordan.” The door opened and started to close again. “Jordan?”
“If I hear from him, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks.” The drama of what might be, needed to take a back seat because she had to concentrate on what was happening right here, right now. Kate had a deadline breathing down her neck that wasn’t going to give.
The whole room was quiet, except for the scratching of the chair on the wood floor as Rich slid it out so that he could sit down. Everyone was purposely looking at anything other than the woman sitting next to him.
Something had happened while he’d been in the bathroom, and he didn’t have to be a betting man to wager every last dime he had on what it was. Kate had texted back.
With every ounce of dignity and self control he had, he covered the phone with his palm and slid it into his pocket. He stabbed a piece of turkey with his fork and popped it into his mouth. The once delectable, moist meat was now the consistency and flavor of cardboard.
The soft chinking of forks against the fine china continued around him, but the group refrained from any kind of verbal communication.
Rich took a large swig of wine and continued chewing. A thousand emotions were running through him, but ultimately, he felt like an ass. Shea had accused him numerous times of being a cheating bastard, even though he’d been completely innocent. Technically, he still was—physically.
Emotionally, though, he had very much strayed from the promise to remain faithful to Shea. He’d imagined making love to Kate. Craved it. Enjoyed erotic dreams he ached to become reality. Hoped that one day…
“Rich,” Shea’s voice brought him out of his thoughts as she spoke right next to his ear, “your whore called.”
His blood began to boil and his fists clenched, as did his jaw. Instead of shrugging off her insult, like he should have… “Don’t ever call Kate that. She is not a whore,” he snarled, scooted the chair away from the table, and stood.
She stood to meet him, her glare colder than the ice floating in the water pitcher. “So you’re not denying there’s something between you?”
Sharlice leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand.
“Shea, I am not having this conversation in front of an audience?”
Her hands were clenched into fists as she stood there seething. “Why not, Rich?”
“Yeah, why not, Rich?” ShyAnne’s whiney voice chimed in. “We’re family.”
“You’re not my family,” he spat, striding toward the door.
And with that, the Mikasa flew. A plate full of food soared past him like a Frisbee and smashed against the wall.
He turned to meet Shea’s murderous gaze. “There is nothing between Kate and me. She is nothing more than a friend. In fact, she has a boyfriend that she is absolutely crazy about.” His voice was strong, defiant, for which he was grateful.
Every last one of his words was true, but hearing them out loud caused his heart to become very heavy in his chest. He wanted to be able to tell Shea that he had feelings for Kate. That she cared for him too. But, that wasn’t right either. As long as he was married to Shea, there was even less of a chance of a future with Kate. That needed to be rectified.
Shea and the rest of her family were motionless as Rich dared any of them to contradict what he’d just said. His overwhelming instinct to defend and protect Kate was raging, and he would do so even if it came as a detriment to him.
After an awkward silence, he took his jacket off the back of a chair by the door and stepped out into the sanity of the real world.
“Rich, wait,” Shea called from behind him. “Honey, wait.”
He whirled around and glared at her. “Honey? Are you kidding me?” She reached out toward him and he jerked away from her grasp. “Hell, no! We are so not doing this right now. You’ve already produced enough of a drama in the house.”
“I love you,” she whispered.
“I’m sure you think you love me. But, Shea, the way you treat me can in no way be construed as love. Disdain? Hatred? Yeah, that’s how I’d perceive it.”
She started to cry, dropping her head into her hands. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “We can work through this.” She walked over and leaned against his chest, and being the pathetic fool he was, his arms eased up around her.
“Shea, honesty is important in a marriage.”
She sniffed, and he hoped there wasn’t a trail of mucus left on his shirt. “I know.”
“Have you always been honest with me?”
She launched herself out of his arms and put her hands on her hips. “So that’s how it’s going to be, huh? You’re feeling guilty, so you’re going to throw it back on me.”
“Whatever, Shea.” He opened the door to the car.
“Rich, no.” Hysterics returned. “We can go to therapy.”
“We don’t need therapy…. You need therapy.”
The look of hatred in her eyes was one that Rich had never seen before. He wondered if he had finally pushed her too far. She stood in the middle of the road, hands on her hips, glaring down the street after him as he drove away.
Going home was going to be hell tonight. There was little doubt of that.
He thought of Kate and was afraid he’d put her directly in the crosshairs. His only hope was the Christmas party next week. If Shea saw with her own eyes how happy Kate was with Jesse, how much she loved him…
Damn. That would protect Kate from Shea, but what would it do to him? It was a pain he did not look forward to.
His phone was still in his pocket and was a nuisance as it pressed funny into his hip. He reached in and pulled it out. It was off. Shea had turned it off. If there was a heaven, that’s all she did.
After flipping it open and turning it on, Rich pressed some numbers and held it to his ear.
“Rich, you okay?” Nate truly sounded concerned.
He laughed bitterly. “Do you have time to talk?”
“Sure, we’re just hanging out at Roxy’s parents’. Come on over.”
“I don’t want to impose.” But he didn’t want to be alone either.
“Rich, come over. It might be helpful for you to talk to Roxy’s mom anyway.”
Claudia Reynolds was one of the biggest names when it came to divorce lawyers. She was the best. ‘A real shark’ was how she was regularly described. If anyone could give Rich sound advice on how to handle things with Shea, it would be her.
“Okay, see you in a bit.”
An hour later, Rich was seated comfortably in the Reynolds’ living room. The conversation had gone from wedding plans to the game that Utah State finally lost, to bank business, then to Robby Jr.’s recent success at the U.
When there was a heartbeat and a half of silence, Nate winked and opened his mouth. “So, Claudia, Rich has a real piece of work he needs to get rid of.”
“Nate,” Rich hissed then turned to Mrs. Reynolds, embarrassed. “I
’m sorry. Please ignore him.”
Nate laughed. “You should hear some of the things she’s done to him. I’m sure some of them are near criminal.” He then began to rattle off the events of Rich’s life that were humiliating in private; but being aired to a group of near strangers, they were utterly mortifying.
Rich prayed that if life was fair and good, that the floor would open up and swallow him whole, chair and all. Then, with any luck, the chair would squish him like a bug.
To his surprise though, there was no laughter—well, except from the guy he once regarded as his best friend. Rich would soon be interviewing new applicants for that title. His eyes shifted around the room, meeting each of the people staring back at him. There were many emotions in them; humor, sympathy, pity, compassion, and understanding.
Mrs. Reynolds smiled. “I’ve pretty much heard it all, Rich.”
He nodded, feeling validated for the first time since all of this started.
“So what are his options?” Nate asked.
She turned her head slightly in Nate’s direction, but kept eye contact with Rich. “That depends on what Rich wants to do. Have you had enough?”
There was that question again.
His mind mulled the question over and over while the silence in the room dragged on. There was no pressure for him to answer. After several minutes he looked up at her. “Yes, I have.”
The older blonde woman was as beautiful as her daughter, Roxy, and her eyes were kind as she smiled at him. “Rich, divorce is never an easy decision, but sometimes it is for the best. No one can decide for you, and you have to be a hundred percent sure that it’s what you want because if she contests it at all, it probably won’t be pretty.”
His lips pulled into a tight smile the rest of his body didn’t feel. “If I try to divorce Shea, she will contest it, and she will make it difficult.”
“You have other options,” she continued, listing possibilities that included counseling, legal separation, or keeping things status quo. “Do you feel that she’s a threat to you?”
Nate’s bark of laughter interrupted the silence that hung in the air due to Rich’s lack of response. “He sleeps behind a door that has a dead bolt.”
Mrs. Reynolds didn’t acknowledge Nate’s outburst, and Roxy chided him in a whisper, “Nate, this isn’t about you, or your opinions. Please keep them to yourself.”
“Sorry.” He dipped his head, looking more like a scolded child than a strong, confident man. He smiled an additional, silent apology to Rich.
Rich tipped his head slightly, acknowledging Nate, but said nothing for a long time. The ticking of the large clock on the wall—and Nate’s incessant fidgeting—being the only sound to break the silence. “I guess I have a lot to think about,” Rich said. “Thanks for talking to me, Mrs. Reynolds.”
“Claudia, please.” She stood, walked over to a date book sitting on a table near the fireplace and pulled out a card, holding it out to him. “If you decide you need to talk some more, don’t hesitate to call me.”
“Thanks.” He looked down at the card that could save him.
Claudia rubbed her hands together then asked, “Now, who’s ready for dessert?”
Nate jumped to his feet and was heading in the direction of the kitchen before she’d even finished the question. Rich slumped back into the overstuffed chair and leaned his head against the soft leather, closing his eyes.
Someone cleared his throat, and Rich opened his eyes to see Mr. Reynolds standing in front of him. “I know you’re in a hard place, Rich. I can honestly say that I don’t envy you at all.”
He had no idea how little he would truly envy him. The Reynolds only knew about the horrible events in his marriage. They didn’t have any idea of the depth of his feelings for a girl who was very much emotionally involved with another man.
Mr. Reynolds looked over his shoulder to make sure that the two of them were, in fact, alone. “Rich, there is no excuse for the way she has treated you; belittling you, emasculating you.” He placed a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to live that way. If…” he paused, then clarified, “when you’re ready, let Claudia help you.”
“I will,” he said, knowing that it was only a matter of time before that phone call would happen.
He smiled and winked. “I’ll make sure she gives you a good deal too.”
Rich laughed at his attempt to lighten the mood, but it was truly more of a courtesy to the man who had opened his home on a holiday made for family than because he found real humor. “Thanks, Mr. Reynolds.”
“Rob. Please call me Rob.”
“Thank you, Rob. Honestly, I didn’t come here for free legal advice.”
Rob Reynolds tossed another look toward the kitchen. “We know. If you had, you wouldn’t have gotten it. But any friend of Nate’s is a friend of ours. Now let’s go get some dessert before Nate eats it all.”
Chapter Six
Kate walked up to the desk where Olivia feverishly typed on her computer, unaware of anything going on in the room behind her. “Okay, Olivia, your story is ready. A minute thirty-six.”
She turned around and smiled. “Thanks, Kate.” Her black hair was in an uncharacteristic disarray due to the number of times she’d run her fingers through it.
Jordan looked up from his computer. “What would you like me to do next?”
“You’re writing?” Kate asked, sounding more incredulous than she’d actually meant.
He looked at her, letting irritation crackle between them. “I did go to college, Kate.”
She shook her head, her hands flailing in an attempt to apologize. “No, no, I didn’t mean…”
Olivia saved Kate from her stammering. “Just pick anything in national and pound it out for me. Thanks, babe.” She smiled lovingly at Jordan.
“Sure thing, hon.” He winked at her, stood and grabbed his notebook without so much as glaring at Kate. Not only had she offended him, it seemed that he was really pissed.
Olivia watched until he walked back into editing. She sighed and put her hand on her chest. “Damn, I love that man.”
Kate laughed. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without him today.”
Kate’s eyes roamed the deserted newsroom again. “Yeah, where are all the PA’s?”
“Robin was supposed to produce and she’s sick—allegedly.” The fact that Olivia sounded so doubtful of the validity of Robin’s illness made Kate laugh. “I was going to assist while she produced tonight so I’d have some extra time off for Christmas. Chris is the only other PA.” Olivia looked over her shoulder, leaned in and whispered, “Jordan can write three stories for every one of hers, and he’s out of practice.”
“Do you want me to write something?”
She glanced up at the clock. 9:30. “Um, no, I’d rather you proof what you’re going to read on air. If you don’t like it, change it. You’re the one who’s got to say it on air.”
Olivia and Kate were the only ones in the newsroom, which was unheard of on a weeknight. “Is Monica around or is Jordan pulling double-duty too?”
“No, she’s here somewhere. Technically, he’s still off. He must really love me, huh?” She asked the question with a cheesy smile on her face, already knowing the obvious answer. The man adored her.
“I would dare say that Jordan has some sort of feelings for you, Olivia,” Kate said over her shoulder as she walked to her desk and logged on to the rundown. She began going over the scripts that she would be reading in less than thirty minutes.
Less than thirty minutes.
An onslaught of butterflies began their assault on her stomach. Why a girl with public speaking issues would decide to be a reporter, Kate would never understand. But here she was.
Her phone beeped with a text message.
You’ll do great.
Talk to me.
Love you!
J
A sigh escaped her lungs. Of course, he would know that
she was nervous.
Thanks…
Love you, too!
A few of the stories were in need of reworking to make them sound intelligible, and Kate made the changes quickly. As she was just closing the rundown, Olivia and Jordan walked over to her desk, holding hands.
“You ready?” Olivia asked, practically giddy for Kate’s chance to prove herself.
Jordan offered a smile of encouragement—and forgiveness. “Don’t worry about earlier. It won’t the last time you stick your foot in your mouth…just don’t do it on the air.”
Kate stood, laughed lightly, and grabbed her jacket off the back of the chair, pulling it on to her shoulders as the trio walked toward the studio. “Let’s go cover the black.”
The familiar music began and Kate smiled into the camera. “Good Evening, I am Kate Callahan filling in for Leslie Williams. Tonight we start with breaking news. A tire fire is lighting up the night sky this Thanksgiving. Clayton Tate is live at the scene and has been following the story all evening. Clayton, what can you tell us?”
The master of all things arrogant began his description of the scene and interviewed a fire spokesman who had been dragged away from his holiday as well. Kate fumbled with her scripts to make sure they were all in the right order. Teleprompters were great unless they took a dump and left you needing the hard copies.
Jordan appeared off to the side of the set. He offered a two-thumbs-up and smiled. “You’re doing great.”
“Thanks.” She felt a little awkward getting praise, but was grateful it wasn’t the other kind of response.
When Clayton was finished, Kate thanked him and began relating the rest of the day’s news; the economy, the latest in the Middle East, and numbers from the Salvation Army on how many people they’d fed today. She waited while the weather guy delivered the forecast and the sports guy regurgitated the scores from the college and professional football games that had been played in the last twenty-four hours.
“We end the night with the lucky bird that was pardoned by the President.” A fluffy white turkey was flitting around in front of a bunch of stuffy politicians, flashes signaling that still cameras were also documenting the event. “He’ll live to see another year. Thanks for letting us be part of your family this Thanksgiving and always. Good night.”