by Sue Gibson
and composing reports.
Tears stung in the corners of her eyes. If he put more stock in her beauty than her brains, then Edward was a mistake too. She stared at the lifeless monitor that had ruined her day, struggling to accept the truth.
Her hands tightened into fists, and with anger came clarity. She’d cancel the interview—stay here at Loon Lake. She reached for the phone. It wasn’t too late to avoid the second biggest mistake of her life —leaving behind the job that she loved.
Chapter Twenty
Shielding his eyes from the splashes of light, Edward edged into the packed Starlight Room. From a pair of enormous speakers, the bass line of the Bee Gee’s, “If I Can’t Have You”, pulsated through his body. He resisted the urge to cover his ears as he searched for Christy.
There she was! Across the room, her hands gesturing as she spoke to a young man who was busily flipping switches on an enormous light board. Her dress was short and shiny. She was easily the most beautiful woman in the room. He smiled and surveyed the mass of moving bodies between them, searching for the path of least resistance.
“Edward,” a female voice called from the dance floor. He peered into the crowd, waiting for the spinning light to illuminate the voice’s owner. “There you are,” Flo sang out, her hands grasping his elbow. “Isn’t this fun! Let’s dance!”
She tugged at his arm until they were corralled by the jostling dancers. “I know you can do this.” She smiled a conspiratorial smile. “I remember your first lesson very clearly.”
He glanced above the heads of the dancers, searching the area around the light board. She had disappeared. He heaved a sigh. He might as well dance. Christy would be pleased with his progress and it’d pass the time.
“Alright, Flo, let’s do this,” he shouted into her ear. He owed her one anyway. If not for her advice, he never would have had the nerve to pursue Christy.
For the rest of the night, between dances, he prowled the perimeter of the room, watching for Christy. But each time he spotted her, she disappeared before he could get to her.
When DJ flicked the lights, he drew his wrist to his face. Midnight. Really?
He maneuvered through the couples, settled on a bar stool and scanned the room again, his hopes low. There she was! Just in time too, for the last slow dance. A tray of glasses in her hands, she pushed through the swinging kitchen doors and vanished into the kitchen. He slapped his thigh with his hand. No way.
Slumping to his bar stool, he watched the remaining couples sway to the music, arms entwined, bodies melting together. He swiveled his stool to face the lobby. Already a group of exhausted dancers were drifting toward the bank of elevators.
The cleaning staff discretely moved in and began to return the Disco Lounge into the elegant Starlight Room.
“Sir, the bar is closed,” Jason said politely, leaning for a moment against brass railing. A small white towel hung over his left shoulder, lines of exhaustion creasing his youthful face. “Sorry, but our liquor license is pretty specific about when we shut down.”
“No problem, Jason, I was just leaving anyway.” He slid from the stool, headed for the elevators and waited behind the milling partygoers. When the doors slid open, he filed in with the rest, too tired to hold out for a solitary trip to the top floor.
A huge moon flooded his room with pale light. He
kicked off his shoes and flopped onto the bed. His hands behind his head, he stared at the ceiling, a thumping bass line still throbbing in his ears.
Twisting, he slid his cell phone from his back pocket. He’d call Christy and confirm their breakfast date. He sat up, straining to see the keyboard. His spirits already picking up, he debated on what constituted a reasonable time for a breakfast date. Eight too early?
A glance to the top of the screen alerted him to two missed messages. One was from his office, the other from Christy. He reached to bedside table and flicked the switch.
Jon’s message at been left at 6:04 p.m. Christy’s voicemail was recorded at 6:37 p.m., while he’d been putting on the eighteenth hole. He relaxed into the pile of pillows.
His fingers tapped the keys to access the messages. He tossed a couple of stray pillows to the foot of the bed, as he waited out Jon’s ramblings. Bottom line, the PowerPoint project was done.
Over breakfast, he and Christy could check it out together. He smiled, picturing her reaction. Finally, he’d have his chance to impress.
And then Christy’s voice came through the tiny speaker. He turned his head toward the phone. She spoke as though she was in a hurry to get to something else.
“Edward, I feel it’s best we end our relationship
…now. I’m sure you’ll find someone more compatible back home…or perhaps your mother will find you a pretty west coast girl.” The line went silent, then—“Please don’t call.”
He was standing now, his pulse pounding in his ears. He held the phone at arm’s length, as if to
distance himself from the message. What?
Please don’t call? He was calling, he wasn’t breathing, but he was calling, his fingers already fumbling across the tiny keyboard. He’d straighten this mess out. Nobody changed their mind that fast.
He blew out a huge breath and started over, methodically pecking out her number. Once, twice, it rang. A recorded voice instructed him to leave a message. No, he wouldn’t. He clicked off and threw the phone to the end of the bed. He needed to see her face, she needed to see his.
Feet to the floor, he strode to the balcony and scanned the parking lot. Her car wasn’t in her spot or anywhere else in the almost vacant lot. She must have left through the kitchen while he waited for the elevator.
Back at the bed, he rummaged through the blankets for his phone. Maybe at second listen, he’d hear something different. Something he could fix.
Again, Jon’s voice came on first. He forced himself to sit through it. Unlikely, but maybe he’d missed something there too.
“Edward, I think you’ll like the PowerPoint. The loads of photos you sent gave me lots of options. By the way, you’re one lucky man,” Jon laughed. “Check your email, the file’s attached. I sent a copy to Christy too. See you Monday.”
Loads of photos? He’d intentionally limited the selection to retain artistic control. Perhaps Jon’s remark was meant to be sarcastic, a nuance he often misconstrued.
He slumped into the chair in front of desk and eyed his open lap top. His hand moved toward the mouse. No. He swiveled away. Why bother. He’d made it for Christy, watching it alone held no appeal.
He glanced at the phone and rolled his shoulders, bracing for a second listen. He stabbed the key. Still, her words didn’t make sense.
Reigning in his emotions, he rationalized the possibilities.
Was their relationship more than she could deal with right now? He straightened in the chair. A revised, lighter dating schedule could take care of that.
Another man? His fingers tightened around the phone. But they’d been together almost constantly for the last three weeks.
Was she worried that he’d think less of her if she didn’t get promoted? He shook his head. Ridiculous and impossible.
But…she was sensitive about her image. He nodded, pleased with his intuitive discovery. She’d admitted to feeling unprepared for the Board’s interview. But by now she’d have watched the presentation and knew it was exactly what she needed to seal the deal.
In his head the scrambled rationalizations took form, falling into line like a bulleted report. The knot in his middle returned, his hands tightened on the arms of the chair as the conclusion presented.
He was the love-sick geek who’d done the cheerleader’s homework, only to be dumped just before the dance.
****
After five hours of twisting in the sheets, he got up. Still in yesterday’s clothes, he shoved his bare feet into his sandals. Striding to the closet he cleared the hanger with one swoop and stuffed his clothes into his bag. He grabbed his raz
or from the bathroom, throwing the tiny complimentary bottles of
aftershave and cologne into the garbage. Christy loved the stupid stuff; said he’d smelled delicious.
In the lobby, he shouldered through the front doors and headed for the parking lot. Eyes straight ahead, he powered past the spot he’d first kissed Christy. At the car, he tossed his bag into the back seat and slid the laptop case from his shoulder.
“Hope to see you again someday, sir.” Jason called out from the Trillium Terrance.
He managed a nod, but he knew he’d never set foot in the place again.
In the car, he shoved the gear shift into first and headed for the gravel road. He geared down as he rounded a curve, his tires sliding in the gravel. Christy worried about city drivers. They took the corners too fast and didn’t know to watch the ditches for approaching deer. His eyes flicked to both sides of the road.
He checked the dashboard clock and heaved a sigh. Two long hours of uninterrupted anger and regret ahead of him still.
Ahead, a man with a green cap perched on a head of thick white hair waved from the side of the road. A black and white dog looped around the legs of a single cow as it carefully picked through the gravel.
Jim McKay and Bessie. He slammed his hands against the wheel and ran the car into the soft shoulder.
“Sorry for the hold up. The girls just can’t be hurried, bad for their milk.” Jim McKay called out.
“No problem.” Seriously, why couldn’t he just nose the car through? The herd looked placid enough.
“Shouldn’t be long.”
He looked at the field and the line of cows snaking across the pasture, all the way back to where the
bramble covered fence met the bush line. He banged his head against the head rest. Five minutes earlier and he would have been through Buttermilk Falls and halfway to Tay Valley.
He flicked on the radio and searched for CBC and a talk format. Music might lift his spirits and he wasn’t ready for that yet. The radio hissed and buzzed as the needle tracked across the yellow bar. He snapped it off and turned to his laptop case. Extracting it from the bag, he powered it up and clicked on Jon’s message.
Fingers drumming the wheel, he waited out the download. He’d check it out and then delete it from his computer. Christy was welcome to it, but after today he never wanted to see it again.
Lyrical flute notes floated from the speakers, his gaze fell on the photos of the lake and…their loons. His jaw clenched. He didn’t want to watch it, but his hands remained on the steering wheel. Gravel crunched as a car pulled in behind him. He stared at the screen. Christy would be up soon.
The first photo appeared, stealing the air from his lungs. She looked amazing—but way too sexy for the campaign. He leaned in closer. Back at the office they referred to a provocative image like this as the “hook”.
Incapable of looking away, he watched Christy climb cliffs, play tennis and perform yoga. Jon had liberally applied all the bells and whistles common in their business, air brushing, color enhancement, wind effect. The woman on the screen was a Hollywood version of Christy, not the dedicated professional he respected and admired.
Seconds later, he realized that Jon had somehow secured the complete digital file, not the set of fifteen
carefully selected photos. He stared at the laptop, willing an answer from the grey box.
A cold ball formed in his gut. His fingers rattled across the keyboard. He scrolled through his Sent mail. There was the attachment—the wrong attachment. He looked through the windshield, but saw nothing. He’d sent all the pictures. He slammed the steering wheel with both hands. He’d messed up big-time.
With his breath still short and shallow, he formulated a plan. He’d exchange the ridiculous images for the proper ones.
It wouldn’t win Christy back, but he’d promised her a quality product and he was a man of his word. He checked the field again; seven cows left to cross.
“Great day, isn’t it?” Jim McKay leaned against the fender and peered from under the peak of his cap to the sky.
He flicked his gaze to the sky, blue and cloudless. If that was all it took to make it a great day, then the farmer was correct. “Sure thing.”
Stepping away, McKay waved him on, as the last cow lumbered off the road.
He checked the clock again. Christy had the day off, so she’d probably be asleep. If she was up, she’d be tired and… grumpy—not drinking coffee and definitely not enjoying the sunrise. He sank back. God, he missed her.
He switched on the engine. Jon didn’t have to face her wrath, but he’d sure face his when he got back. His instructions had been explicit. But Jon, ever the renegade, had gone another direction, choosing to exploit her beauty—at the expense of her brains.
His hands tightened on the wheel. Like fog lifting
from the valley, his sleep deprived brain cleared, all the clues falling into place. His chest filled, he released a long breath and threw his head back. How had he missed the obvious? He wasn’t expendable because she possessed his presentation. She’d dumped him because she had hated the presentation, and him by association. A glance at the rear view mirror and he shoved his foot to the floor. He still had a chance.
Gravel flew from his tires as he shifted through the gears. Only when houses appeared on other side of the road did he let off the gas. Easing into the Graham’s driveway, he glanced at the main house. No lights there. Same at the upper story of the garage: blinds down, curtains drawn.
Easing the car door closed, he hurried across the wet grass. His shoes leaving a dark wet trail, he took the wooden steps two at a time. He tightened his hands into fists, then shook them out, like a boxer before the bell. Leaning in, he wrapped his knuckles against the wooden frame. Down the block, a car started up. He knocked again, harder.
“Go away.” A muffled voice croaked. “It’s my day off.”
“I know, sorry.” He slammed his forehead with an open palm. A simple “sorry” would only make her angrier. It couldn’t come close to clearing his huge mistake.
Only silence. He dropped his hand from the door, but his feet remained planted on the wooden landing. His throat tightened, she had to be hurting. She needed to know the truth about everything, the messed up presentation….his feelings. He was not driving away.
He knocked again, hard with his fist, rattling the
windows. “Christy! I’m not leaving until you open the door.”
Below, her mother, wrapped in a dressing gown, opened the back door, glanced at his car, then up to her daughter’s door. “It’s Edward, dear,” she called out over her shoulder.
“Sorry, Mrs. Graham, but I’m leaving today and I need to see Christy.”
She glanced at her watch, opened her mouth and then closed it. Pulling the door behind her, she called over her shoulder, “Good luck, Edward.”
From inside the apartment he heard a thumping and shuffling, then footsteps padding toward the door. He wiped his palms on his pants and stepped back from the entrance. The deadbolt scraped. He lifted his chin—his mistake, he’d pay the price, any price. The door opened eight inches.
Chapter Twenty-One
Daylight streamed through the narrow opening. With one hand on the door and the other shading her eyes, Christy fixed her gaze on the big maple just to the left of Edward’s head. This was her turf, no need for polite pleasantries. “Shouldn’t you be in Ottawa by now?”
“McKay’s cows held me up.” There was an edge to his voice she’d never heard before.
She pushed a tangle of hair from her face and looked at his face. Lined with fatigue, he looked older. “So,” she tossed out with the belligerence of a thirteen year old, “what do you want?”
“You.” His jaw tightened. His gaze drifted down from her uncombed hair, rumpled cotton nightie to her bare feet. “Just the way you are.”
She crossed her arms and hugged them close to her body. He’d said exactly what she needed to hear from her boyfriend. But it
didn’t explain the corporate Barbie image he’d created and presented to the Board. Tears sprung to her eyes.
He reached for her hands. She yanked them free and clasped them behind her back. “No. I don’t want you.” She did, but the Edward she trusted, not this complicated stranger.
“At least hear me out.”
She reached to shut the door. “I already know you’re a super salesman, but I’m not buying what you’re selling.”
His foot shot out, blocking the door. “I not selling myself, I’m asking you to forgive me,” he shouted.
Her hand dropped from the door. She glanced down at her parent’s home; a corner of a kitchen curtain lifted, then dropped. She grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. His body nearly filled her tiny kitchen. “Quit yelling. My parents will worry.”
“They know I’d never hurt you.” His voice was softer now.
“But you did.” She stepped backwards into the dim kitchen, slumped into a chair and stared at the placemat.
“I know. I’m sorry.” He followed her into the tiny room. ‘I should’ve checked the stupid PowerPoint before Jon sent it out. It’s my fault—I’ll delete the ridiculous photos as soon as I get home. I promise.”
A spark of hope flared; he’d called the photos ridiculous. “Who’s Jon?”
He straddled the chair across from hers and leaned over the table. He needed a shave and a good night’s sleep, but he’d never looked quite this sexy before.
“I didn’t want you to think I’d reverted to type, so I got a guy back at my office to finish up your presentation.” He didn’t look away or drop his gaze. “I was in too much of a hurry and accidentally sent him all the pictures I took that day, instead of the specific fifteen I’d intended.” He leaned even closer. He wasn’t wearing her favorite cologne anymore. “Trust me. In those shots, you looked capable and intelligent.”