Tomasina's voice drifted off, and Brooke Anne smiled grimly. She knew exactly what Tomi was getting at. Tomi wanted her bonus and it was Brooke's responsibility to make sure she got it.
Carefully, she folded the note and set it next to her date book. "I'll call this lady first thing in the morning. Tomi. Maybe you and I can knock it out at the end of the week?"
Her friend winked at her. visibly relieved. "Check with my boss. If she says I'm free. I'll be there."
As Brooke Anne watched the blue Pinto drive off, she had an uneasy feeling that maybe she'd never really been meant to be with Morgan Carmichael. Money to him could be forgotten and misplaced. She'd always worked like a dog and all she had to show for it was bills. Bills and dishpan hands.
*****
Chapter Twelve
It was seven o'clock on Thursday night, and Morgan plucked the pair of gold sandals out of his bag and displayed them in clear view on his desktop.
He'd decided to stay late and catch Brooke Anne when she came to clean.
He couldn't wait to see her pretty face and tell her he was sorry. And then he needed to try and make amends.
Of course, Breva hadn't hesitated to let him know every day of the past week that he'd deserved every single thing that had happened. On the hour, she'd chimed in with little tidbits about how she'd never liked Sheri in the first place, how he'd run off the only nice girl he'd ever met, and how he'd managed to completely embarrass himself in front of every person at the company Christmas party.
Good assistants like her were hard to find.
Morgan had considered waiting for Brooke Anne on Monday night, but that had seemed too eager. On Tuesday he'd had a dinner meeting. Wednesday he just hadn't felt like subjecting himself to her hurt glances and accusations. But today he couldn't help it.
He wanted to see her. He wanted to hear about her day and talk about mundane things. His week had been filled with meetings that went on for too long, arguments over expenditures and a surprise visit from the CEO of the company. Morgan felt frazzled and more tired than he cared to admit.
But things would be better once Brooke showed up. He was sure of it. He'd give her the shoes and the money he owed her, ask her if she wanted to go out for a late dinner, and then find out more about her stint as an elf at Children's Hospital. He could be himself again - or someone he wanted to be. Someone who was good at relationships and had no problem connecting with other people on a personal level. He could give her a hug hello and practice the art of meaningful conversation.
At least for a little while.
He was starting to believe that all the things he'd held so dear before - power, money, social status - really meant very little. It had hit him the hardest Sunday afternoon, when he'd realized he didn't have a single person to call to talk about Brooke, Sheri or to ask what to do with a pair of gold shoes.
Maybe he'd convince Brooke Anne to come over to his house this weekend and help him put up a tree. They could go shopping for ornaments and lights and celebrate their handiwork with a cup of eggnog in front of a crackling fire... which would lead to a couple of kisses.
Scratch that. It would lead to a very passionate make-out session on the floor next to the tree. Just imagining how Brooke would look wearing little more than splashes of color from the twinkling lights made his mouth go dry. He'd bet that her legs were just as silky as they'd appeared peeking out from under that dress, that her stomach was flat and velvety soft....
"That's the way, uh-huh, uh-huh...'"
Morgan let go of the shoe he was holding as a beautiful, rich voice continued to sing down the hall.
"Uh-huh, uh-huh..."
Whoever it was didn't seem to know the lyrics to the KC and the Sunshine Band song any better than he did. The voice was stuck on that same line like a broken record. He went to investigate, and in the kitchen found a tall, lanky woman with cappuccino-colored skin and black silky hair, singing her heart out while washing dishes. She was wearing a white Jovial Janitors sweatshirt.
"Excuse me..."
The woman was really belting it out. '"Do a little dance... make a little..."
He tried again, louder. "Excuse me."
She let out a shriek and spun in his direction. "What are you doing, sneaking up on people in the middle of the night?"
"I've been trying to get your attention, and it's hardly the middle of the night. It's seven-thirty."
The woman gave him a withering glance and looked as if she was considering the pros and cons of launching her washrag at him. "Do you need something, sir?" There was condescension in her tone.
"Yes, as a matter of fact. I'm looking for the girl who usually cleans this office."
"That girl would be me."
"No, someone else. I'm looking for Brooke. Do you know her? She's petite with blond hair. She was here cleaning a week ago."
The woman's eyes turned appraising. "You met her last Thursday?"
Morgan nodded. "Yeah. Brooke. Is she in one of the offices down the hall?"
The woman's eyes narrowed. "What do you want her for?"
Because he needed information, he bit back a sharp retort. Something told him that, for some reason, this woman was practically itching for a fight. "I have something to give her. Could you tell me where I could find her?"
"There's no Brooke here," she replied, setting down her dishcloth and stepping forward.
"Is she sick?" he asked.
"Look, I don't know why you want Brooke, but this company is my account."
"So why was she here last week?"
No answer.
"Listen, it's important. Can't you give me some information?"
One minute passed. "No."
The woman was turning surly, and he didn't know why. Again he strove for patience. "Could you give me her phone number?"
"Are you crazy?"
Frustrated now beyond words, Morgan sat on the edge of a circular table. "Look, I need to see Brooke, and if she's not here, I need to get ahold of her. Cut me a break and help me out."
The woman didn't look at all cowed by his tone. She merely leaned against the opposite table, folded her arms across her chest and glared at him.
"Do you even know Brooke?" he asked, exasperated.
Her eyes narrowed. "Brooke who?"
"Brooke.. .Anne?"
One eyebrow raised. "Anne? Is Anne her last name?"
Her contemptuous stare made him uncomfortable. "I believe so."
"So, you're not even sure."
Honestly, this woman could've given Perry Mason a run for his money. Morgan shrugged. "I don't know her all that well."
"Well, I don't know you too well. What's your name?"
"Morgan Carmichael. And you are..."
"Tomasina Edwards."
"Pretty name."
She treated him to a superior look. "It is."
"Do you know the Brooke I'm talking about?"
"I do."
Lord, it was as if they were going in circles. "Will you Please let me know how I can get in touch with her?"
Tomasina gave him another hard stare, then shook her head. "I don't think so."
Maybe a little subtle bullying would help. "Look, I'm going to find Brooke's whereabouts one way or another. In fact, I could just call Jovial Janitors right now and ask to speak with her."
Tomasina's lips twitched. "First of all, no one is ever there to answer the phone. It's switched to be picked up by a machine."
"Why is that?"
"Do you think we just hang out in the office all day?" She shook her head. "Why don't you tell me why you want to talk to her. What did she do, touch your desk by accident?" she asked sarcastically. "Erase something on the whiteboard in your room?"
"This has nothing to do with cleaning. It's personal." The woman eyed him for a long moment, as if making a monumental decision about his right to speak to her friend. In spite of himself, Morgan stood at attention, waiting for her approval.
Apparently, it wasn't his
to be had. "No, I don't think so."
They were obviously at a standstill - and Tomasina was matching him word for word in obstinateness. "Why the hell not?" he demanded.
"Because I don't think I like you, that's why, Brooke's nice and doesn't appreciate people swearing. She's got delicate sensibilities."
"Ah, so you do know her well."
"Never said I didn't." Tomasina narrowed her eyes at him again, glanced at the clock and frowned. "I've got to finish up here. My baby's at home with her daddy, and they've no doubt got my dinner ready. How about you just give me a note to pass on to Brooke? She can deal with you if she feels like it."
"That's all you'll do for me?"
"Uh-huh. Take it or leave it."
Great. He was now at this Tomasina's mercy. There was something about her militant stance that made Morgan positive she wasn't about to change her mind. But as Brooke's pretty smile popped into his mind, he realized he was willing to do just about anything to see her again.
"All right," he said slowly. "I need to go fetch some paper from my office. Promise you won't leave before I get back?"
She looked amused. "Scout's honor."
Feeling as if he was in junior high, Morgan hurried to his office, pulled out a sheet of monogrammed paper and tried to think of something to say that would bring Brooke back into his life. His pen hovered over the paper.
Brooke,
I have your shoes and the money I owe you. Please stop by on Monday to get them.
Morgan.
There. Though there was nothing the least bit romantic about his note, it was straightforward and to the point. That had to count for something, right? Hastily, he folded it up just as Tomasina came walking down the hall.
"Here. Will you please give it to her?"
"Maybe." Without a flicker of guilt, the woman opened up the letter and scanned it quickly. "Now, this is just the type of note to make my heart go pitter-pat."
Tomasina was right. As far as love notes went, this one sucked. Still, he held his ground. "I'm not trying to make anyone's heart, uh, do that. I'm just trying to get in touch with Brooke."
She met his gaze. "And here I was thinking that she meant something special to you," she said softly.
"She might." Biting the bullet, he said, "What's she like?"
That same eyebrow rose again. "Don't you know?"
"Not well enough," he said, though privately he recalled that she had tiny feet and an elegant neck, and she'd smelled like vanilla and...almond?
But he wanted to know more. "Tell me one thing about her."
"Brooke Anne is the dreamiest little thing you'll ever meet," Tomasina said after a moment's reflection. "And she can really scrub a floor."
With that, she stuffed the note in her jeans pocket and sauntered away.
Morgan went back to his office and carefully slipped the shoes back in a drawer. He'd need them on Monday.
*****
Chapter Thirteen
"Gosh, Mom.. I don't know," Brooke Anne hedged as she contemplated throwing the phone out the window.
"But dear, what else will you do over the holidays?"
"I've got a million parties to go to, Mom." Well, to clean for.
"But your sisters and brothers will be here, and all the kids. They'd love to see their favorite aunt."
That was a direct hit. Her mother knew her nieces and nephews were her weakness. Of course, she'd be sure to run into Russell, her ex-boyfriend, as well. With Suzanne and their new baby. Did she really want to see him again? Remember that she'd been jilted by him in front of all of her friends?
No way. Looking at the blank calendar, she tried to sound regretful. "Gosh, Mom, I'm sorry, but I just can't get away this year."
"Tell me one good reason why."
There was no way she could tell her mother the whole truth, that she just didn't have the funds for a trip to Nebraska. That she couldn't bear to see Russell again. That she didn't want to see all her siblings married and happy and be reminded that she was alone. Still.
If she admitted any of those things her mother would turn chatty. Start in on her speech about how Brooke Anne should move closer to home. How they could help her, be there for her. Introduce her to some good men. How Mrs. Vance two streets over had a divorced son just about her age. How she needed to stop daydreaming so much and live.
Oh, it would be awful.
Thinking quickly, Brooke improvised. "I...I met a man."
"Brooke Anne! Really?" The way her mother said it was the way other people reacted to scientific discoveries.
"Uh-huh."
"What's his name?"
"Morgan. He's an executive with a hotel chain. He's the product purchasing manager." There. That sounded impressive. And it wasn't even a lie. Mentally she gave herself a pat on the back.
"What kind of job is that?"
"I don't know, Mom. A good one, I guess."
"And you're going to spend the holidays together?"
That sounded good. "Yep. He practically begged me to stay here," Brooke Anne said, as she fingered his note for about the hundredth time. "I'm sorry, but I promised him I'd try." She glanced at her reflection in the living-room mirror, for fear her nose had grown from all of these tall tales she was spouting.
"Maybe you could bring him home with you. Has he ever been to Nebraska before?"
To her mom, Nebraska was one of the great, untapped places of the world, just like in the National Geographic magazine.
Somehow, Brooke Anne didn't think Morgan Carmichael was the Nebraska type. "I don't know if he's been there or not."
"If he came home with you, we could all meet him."
Like that would be fun. She could introduce Morgan to her overprotective mother and let him hear about how Russell had broken up with her in front of her friends and family.
"That would've been nice, Mom, but -" she racked her brain "- he's asked me to go to his parents' house Christmas Eve. We're going to have a turkey there and then go to midnight Mass." Brooke Anne rolled her eyes. Sure, why not add church in there, too? Why not just keep those lies coming?
"Well, goodness. It sounds serious."
"I wouldn't go that far," Brooke Anne said with only the barest sense of remorse. She was seeking self-preservation, after all.
"Do you think he's the one?"
Oh, there was so much her mother left unsaid. Brooke Anne knew she meant is he the one, finally? The way Russell had almost been. Fighting an onslaught of nerves, Brooke Anne wandered over to her puzzle and furiously tried to pop one of the pieces into place. "I don't know."
"Well, if he wants you there for Christmas, I'd say there's a good chance he might be, Brooke Anne. Maybe your father and I could pay you a visit in January. Get to know this Morgan a little better."
"January in Cincinnati isn't all that great, Mom. Maybe you should come in the spring instead." Yeah, surely by spring she'd have her life figured out.
"But we might have some serious planning to do. You'd need my help."
"Serious Planning" meant wedding plans. Brooke Anne tried again to press a puzzle piece into the wrong spot. Tension started to build in her shoulders. She jammed the piece in harder.
It was time to get off the phone, fast. "Gosh, will you look at the time? I've got to go."
"Where?"
She thought quickly. "Work. And then a dinner date. Bye, Mom."
Brooke Anne hung up, then grabbed her coat. She really did need to leave. She and Tomi were going to go clean the shrill-voiced society lady's home. The one who was desperate to have a clean house for her soiree.
She and Tomi had had a good laugh at that. What exactly was a soiree, anyway? How many people did that involve? What kind of food did they serve? It was a great mystery.
Before the soiree cleaning, Brooke Anne had something far more important to do. She'd promised the volunteer coordinator at the hospital that she'd pick up a few more Barbie dolls on her way there. One of her jobs as a Christmas elf was to hel
p wrap the hundreds of donated items. Then they'd match the toys they received with the children's wishes.
Minutes later she was striding toward the neighborhood toy store when Warren, the shoe salesman, caught her eye from his shop window. Seeing as she at least owed him a thank-you for his help with her makeover, she crossed the street. His face lit up when she approached.
"Well, if it isn't Cincinnati's very own Cinderella. How did things go?"
"I looked the best I ever have," she said, sidestepping his question. "Thanks to your assistance."
He nodded in response. "Glad to help. How were your shoes?"
"My shoes were lovely," she said, and hoped he didn't hear the tinge of regret in her voice. Warren didn't need to know that they'd given her blisters and were now lost forever.
"And your young man? How was he?"
"Fine...at least in the beginning."
"But not in the end?"
"No, my prince kind of turned out to be a frog."
"Oh?"
"I left early."
Warren studied her, his eyes traveling downward to her brown-and-orange sneakers. "Are you coming in to get more shoes?" he asked hopefully. "Perhaps some leather tasseled loafers?"
"No, I'm sorry, I've got to go buy some Barbie dolls for the hospital, then get to work."
"All right. Take care, Brooke Anne. Come by soon for some hot tea, even if you're not in the market for shoes."
He sounded so sincere that Brooke Anne immediately took him up on the offer. "Thank you. I will, soon."
She ran into the toy store and bought a dozen angel Barbies with the credit card the volunteer had given her for the purchase, before setting out on her way again.
The weather was cool and crisp, with no sign of rain or snow in the air, rare for Cincinnati in the winter. She'd decided to take advantage of the day and walk to the drop-off point for the toys. Then she'd quickly pick up her Jovial Janitor van and drive to Tomasina's.
It gave her a lot of time to think about the note that Tomi had delivered yesterday afternoon.
Tomi had handed her Morgan's letter with scarcely a word, something that was surprising in itself. And when she'd read the missive - she could hardly call it anything but that - Brooke Anne had felt chilled to the bone.
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