Sam was trying to look annoyed about me directing him to revisit something he’d already finished, but I could see the ideas beginning to churn in his head as I spoke.
“I think my original idea might have been off—maybe we don’t need something that stands out so much as something that fits perfectly, but still offers a level of comfort and pampering you can’t get here now.”
“You gonna set up another meeting with McLaren?” Sam was still gazing at the drawings before us.
I nodded and raked a hand through the hair that was always falling on my forehead. “Or maybe I’ll just drop in.”
“Turn on the Palmer charm,” Sam smiled.
I punched him in the shoulder. “You mean the Chance Palmer charm. You’ve got about as much charm as a bulldozer.”
“I’m charming. Ask Miranda.” He rubbed his shoulder and then threw a surprise jab, turning to face me and catching me in the pec.
My hands went up reflexively and suddenly I was twelve again, sparring with my little brother. I had no idea why he kept volunteering for me to beat the crap out of him, but I didn’t want to disappoint the guy. “Miranda tolerates you. At best.” I threw a combo at him, and caught him open, landing a punch in his stomach.
Sam bent forward and I thought I’d won, but he surprised me by popping right back up with an uppercut that got me in the ribs because I’d let my guard down. “Hey!” I bellowed. It was on now. I was going to end this thing sitting on Sam’s chest and pinning his arms to the ground while I noogied him to within an inch of his life.
We threw punches, circling and grunting, both of us sweating and swearing as the play fight escalated. Sam had just struck another good blow in my side when the front door of the office swung open and Miranda stepped in, pulling his attention. I leapt forward and circled his neck with my arm, pulling his head to my chest and finally delivering the victory noogie. As I pressed my knuckles into my brother’s scalp, I called out, “Hey Miranda, how’s it going?”
“Damn it,” Sam howled from his muffled position against my chest.
“Would you guys knock it off?” Miranda said, shooting me an irritated glance. “I thought you promised no more wrestling in the office after you broke my monitor last time?”
That had been an honest accident. An expensive one, though. I gave Sam one more good rub and let him go, stepping quickly out of his reach. “Sorry, Mom,” I said, grinning.
Sam was huffing with irritation and rubbing his hands through his hair, shooting me hard looks. Still, he said to Miranda, “We promised no wrestling. This was boxing.” He straightened up and turned to face her.
Though she was trying to look annoyed, I watched her face change as she took in my little brother’s rumpled shirt and red face. Even at his worst, you could see her admiration and affection for him. Her features softened and she smiled, and I could see the beauty that Sam had always recognized in her. I turned away as she smoothed his hair and kissed him, pushing down a tight ball that had formed in my gut. “No fighting,” she clarified. “Okay Chance?” Her voice rose in volume and I knew she was looking past Sam for my agreement.
“He started it,” I said, unable to stop myself from reverting to the twelve-year old I’d once been. “Anyway, we have business to attend to. Sam is going to draw me another resort.”
“I’ll get to it,” he said, sounding annoyed now.
“Get to it now. I want to show it to her tomorrow.”
Sam sighed, “There are other things to be done around here, you know.”
“The McLaren Resort?” Miranda asked, her voice brightening. “Did we get it?”
“No,” Sam told her. “Chance didn’t manage to charm the rep, even though it was a woman. I think it’s a first for him.”
Miranda turned to look at me, and actual astonishment colored her features. “What happened?”
Seriously? I was being called to the carpet for not being charming enough? “She was distracted. I’m going to get another meeting. I’ll charm her this time, but I need the new drawings first. Might actually have to sell a little, too.”
“Get to work, Sam,” Miranda said, clapping her hands in front of her chest. “I’m dying to do the interiors on that one. You’ve got to sell them.” She shooed Sam from the lobby and into his office, pushing his back lightly and trilling, “go, go, go.” I was glad Miranda was on my side. She was a force to be reckoned with.
“Thank you,” I called out.
“I’ll have ‘em for you tomorrow,” Sam called back. “And you can go reengage. Practice your charm between now and then. Sounds like you’re rusty.”
The summer sun seemed to gain strength as I drove down the two-lane highway from King’s Grove toward Michaela Grayson’s office in Fresno. Halfway down I rolled up the windows and put on the air conditioning, but even the frigid temperature inside my truck wasn’t able to keep my nerves at bay.
Great. I don’t have an appointment and now I’m going to smell like a cowboy when I get in there. She probably already thinks I’m a mountain hick—smelling like I’ve been wrestling bears won’t help.
I pulled up outside McLaren Management in the early afternoon—later than I’d intended to get there, but Sam had last minute touches to the drawings, and I’d actually lost my sunglasses somewhere between home and the office, which I never did. I found them dangling from the collar of my shirt. Because, of course.
Since meeting Michaela the first time, my mind seemed to have latched on to everything about her that I admired, and inflated every attribute until she became some kind of unattainable example of femininity that bordered on perfection. Which made no sense. I wasn’t trying to date her—I just needed her to greenlight the King’s Grove Resort plans.
It was business. Nothing else.
So why couldn’t I think about her without getting a giddy flip in my stomach? Part of me wanted to decide it had something to do with the rapidity with which she’d departed our last meeting. Maybe I was just feeling like things were incomplete? I knew that probably wasn’t it, though. Still, women generally did not have this effect on me, and I was sure it had something to do with how much I wanted to land this deal.
It wasn’t about her.
Not at all.
I stepped from the truck and took a minute to smooth my shirt and run a hand through my hair. Man, it was hot.
Plans tucked under my arm, I locked the car and headed for the McLaren offices.
The building was a few stories, and the main lobby had a checkin desk and a couple of security guards working. I signed in, telling them where I was heading, and they called back before they let me in. The cool air that greeted me when I’d pulled open the front door was a blessing I appreciated, and I immediately felt better. I was surprised when they buzzed me in, considering I hadn’t even called ahead, but I wasn’t going to argue with a guy wearing a gun, especially when he was giving me what I wanted. I took the elevator to the third floor.
When I exited the elevator, I smiled and approached the receptionist, who sat behind a low desk in a waiting room that felt more like a spa than an office. There was a waterfall in one corner, several little seating groups of plush rattan chairs with big cushions, and more greenery than you’d find in your average greenhouse. Soft music played, and the entire feeling was totally relaxing. Nicely done, I thought. I felt immediately calmer.
The room was empty, except for a small boy who sat next to the waterfall with a backpack at his feet and his nose tucked into a book called Big Nate Strikes Again. I figured he must be the receptionist’s kid.
“Hi there,” I said, meeting the eye of the girl behind the desk. As soon as she looked up from her computer screen, I revised my assumption that the kid could be hers. She was probably seventeen—red hair, pretty brown eyes, and a mouth full of braces that promised to make her a complete knockout when she grew into her looks. “I’m here to see Michaela Grayson.”
“Okay,” she said, her eyes flitting down to the computer screen again.
“Do you have an appointment?”
I leaned in a bit. “No, I’m sorry. I had hoped I might be able to pop in and see her. Can you help me out? I drove almost two hours to come here today.”
The girl looked up at me again, and she smiled, her features softening a bit.
The charm seemed to be working fine now, I thought with some relief.
“What’s your name, sir?”
“Chance Palmer. I met with Ms. Grayson yesterday, and our meeting was interrupted by an emergency phone call. I hoped to finish our conversation today—if she can spare a few moments.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” she said. “You’ll probably have to wait a bit, if you don’t mind. Take a seat.” She rose and waved toward the chairs. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?”
“No, I’m fine, thanks.” I gave her one of my best smiles and was gratified to see a pink flush rise in her cheeks.
Charm definitely working.
I turned and moved toward a cluster of chairs in the corner near where the little boy’s nose was still deeply buried in his book.
The receptionist returned from the back and sat back down. “She says she’ll try to work you in, Mr. Palmer.”
“Thanks.” I wondered how long I might be sitting here and wished I had a book to read. I pulled out my phone and checked email before idly scrolling through Facebook.
A half hour passed, during which I played Candy Crush until I ran out of lives, took an online quiz to find out what kind of cheese I was, and took a selfie for no real reason at all, except to check that I hadn’t completely melted on the long drive down. I stood and approached the desk. “Any idea how much longer it might be?” I asked the pretty redhead.
“Sorry,” she shrugged. “Could be a while. She’s been really busy.”
“Ah, okay,” I said, resigning myself to an even longer wait and returning to my seat.
I wasn’t good at waiting. I wasn’t good at entertaining myself, either. I liked to have things happening around me, to have some action going on.
“Good book?” I asked the kid, who was flipping pages every few minutes and giggling to himself now and then. I kind of wished I had a Big Nate book. It seemed pretty entertaining.
The kid glanced at me over the top of the book and then looked back down, not answering. I felt oddly annoyed being ignored by a random eight-year old. I stood and paced the room, investigating the sprawling palms and staring out the front window at the blazing sky over the parking lot. I wanted to check out the waterfall, but didn’t really want to get in the kid’s space. Still, after I’d been waiting an hour, I couldn’t help myself. I walked over to where the kid sat and stepped next to his chair to investigate the waterfall wall.
There was a cluster of rocks at the top that looked like they were kind of built into the wall, and the water sheeted down from there, landing in a long copper rectangle at the bottom, which was filled with more rocks. I stared at it for a few seconds, and finally couldn’t resist. I stuck my finger into the water, and the spray leapt out over the top of my hand, spattering my shirt and sprinkling the little kid behind me. I yanked my hand back, embarrassed, and spun to apologize.
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
The kid had put his book down and was wiping water from his face as he looked up at me, astonished. His eyes were wide and at first I thought he might freak out, or cry or something. I didn’t know a lot about kids, and hadn’t spent much time with them. I wasn’t sure what to expect. But after a second, his mouth turned up in a grin and his eyes met mine, filled with laughter.
“Sorry,” I said again, with a little shrug. “I couldn’t resist.”
He squinted up at me sideways, and then dropped his head, and said, “It’s ok.”
The little guy seemed friendly, so I gave him a thumbs up and said, “It’s a pretty cool waterfall.” I turned back to look at it some more and literally couldn’t help myself. I was desperate for any kind of entertainment, and if an eight-year old was willing to entertain a conversation with me, that’s how I’d pass the time. “I like how it sheets down in one solid plane like this,” I said, holding my hand parallel to the falling water. After a second I looked over my shoulder to see if the kid was going to add anything to my scintillating evaluation of office water features, and he gave me a stern look.
“Don’t put your whole hand in,” he said quietly. “My mom gets super mad if you get the carpet wet out here.”
I nodded, considering his warning, and then stuck out my hand for him to shake. “I’m Chance.”
He made a face and said, “Weird name.”
“Thanks?” I grinned at him and dropped my hand, sliding into the chair facing him.
“Sorry.”
“No worries,” I said.
“I’m Finn,” he said.
I squinted at him. “And you’re giving me a hard time about my name?”
He laughed, and then turned his attention back to his book, which had him giggling almost immediately.
We sat in silence for a minute, the sound of the waterfall filling the waiting room with its gurgling music, and then I pointed at Finn’s book. “Pretty funny, huh?”
He nodded and held the book out for me to examine. I took it and looked through the first few pages, which were written with a lot of illustrations like a comic book, and featured a kid and his friends in some pretty funny situations. “Big Nate doesn’t look all that big,” I commented.
Finn laughed.
“He seems to find his way into quite a few predicaments, too.”
The kid laughed again, and I found myself charmed by the sound, and trying to think of more things that might make him chuckle.
“Like here,” I said, while I pointed to a page. “Where he tells the girl he doesn’t like that her baby picture is the cutest because he thinks it belongs to the girl he has a crush on…”
Finn slid off his chair and came to sit next to me, and I pointed to the page I was talking about. He giggled and took the book from my hands, and flipped a few pages to another funny part. I read it and laughed, and then we were flipping through the book together, pointing at things and laughing.
That was about when Michaela emerged from the back office.
I could only imagine what she must have thought—not only was I chuckling over a book like a little kid, I had a small sidekick practically sitting on my lap while I did it. Totally professional.
Chapter 4
Michaela
I’d kept Chance Palmer waiting longer than was polite, but when Eva came back to tell me he was in the lobby, I’d gone through a series of conflicting emotions. First—why would the guy just show up without an appointment? I was busy, and I didn’t have a lot of wiggle room in my schedule to accommodate him driving down here on a whim. Then there was part of me that was impressed he’d driven so far just to finish our conversation—and it had been me who’d ended things rather abruptly and with no real explanation. And the last part of me kept him waiting out there because if I was honest with myself, I was hesitant to see him again. My body uncontrollably reacted to his presence, and frankly, that worried me.
But I’d also kept him waiting because there was more going on at work than normal—thanks to the end of my ex’s jail sentence and his father’s inability to see that just because the system declared Jeff rehabilitated didn’t make him a good person.
“I understand your concerns, Michaela,” Harvey said on the phone with Jeff sitting next to him, conferenced in. “But the goal of jail time and rehab is to give people second chances. Jeff knows he’s made mistakes—especially with you and my grandson. And he has admitted them, apologized, and served time for them. Now it’s up to us—to society, to his family—to accept that apology and move forward.”
I wasn’t ready to move forward with Jeff in my life and I didn’t want him around Finn. “I guess I’m just going to need to see his dedication to this rehabilitation,” I said. “It’s hard for me to forget what happened.”
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br /> “If the company can forget embezzlement, it seems like you can forget some arguments that got a little heated,” Jeff piped up. I was glad it wasn’t a video call. I hadn’t seen his face since the day he’d been arrested, and I would have been happy to never see it again. It was hard enough looking at Harvey, who had the same light hair and dark eyes as his son.
“My arm was in a cast for eight weeks, Jeff,” I told him, my voice flat. “My son quit speaking for almost two years.”
“Our son.”
Anger beat a path through my veins and I wanted to scream at him, but I bit my tongue.
“That’s another thing,” Jeff went on. “I’ve been talking to my lawyer. Now that I’m out and healthy, and now that I have a good solid job with a steady income, she thinks I have a case for custody.”
I sputtered. “Custody?” Shock sent me to my feet. “You want Finn?” He’d never written to his son, never tried to call him. He’d abandoned him long before the police had come to take him physically away, preferring the drugs and alcohol to his family. “No.” The word dropped flatly from my lips.
“It’s not really for you to decide.” Jeff’s voice was smug, and I had a flashback to the arguments we’d had years ago, to that self-righteous way he defended his indefensible actions, to the way he’d always made me feel small and wrong.
“Listen,” Harvey interjected. “There are a lot of issues to be worked out here, but the bottom line is that this is a family business. It has been ever since the two of you broke our no-fraternization rule and got together.”
God, how I regretted that—only, how could I? That decision, made in the heat of the moment, had resulted in Finn. I wouldn’t trade him for the world, and I certainly wouldn’t let him go to a man who’d never shown the slightest bit of interest in his well-being. The only reason I stayed at McLaren was that Harvey made it almost impossible to leave, giving me the flexibility and salary I needed to take care of us in the wake of Jeff’s destruction. But it seemed his benevolence was nearing an end.
Love Redefined Page 3