by Claire Adams
"Please wait right here. Jackson didn't give you any homework, did he?" Ford asked.
"Just a few new comments, but nothing I have to do this weekend." I waved the short story pages.
Ford frowned at all the red marks. "I thought he liked it."
I smiled. "Professor Rumsfeld gives great feedback. And my story was very well received in class."
"So? Is it the one?" Ford asked.
It felt like sunlight spreading across my chest. Everything felt right. "Yes, I think it's the one."
Ford kissed me again. "I'm so proud of you, Clarity. You're going to do it, right?"
"Yes, I'm entering the contest. There's no predicting if the judges will like it but—"
"But if you win, you'll be on your way to getting published at the same time as you graduate from Landsman College." Ford grinned and squeezed both my hands. "That's a reason to celebrate if I ever heard one."
"I've heard one better," I said.
Ford pulled my hands to his lips. "Tell me again."
"I love you, and you love me. That's the only reason I want to celebrate."
An alarm clock sounded on the floor, and all the newspaper staff members jumped up from their desk. A big monitor on the far wall flickered to life, and the IT staff fluttered around getting the last-minute codes in place.
Ford looked from the newspaper floor, poised to publish, and then back to me.
"Go on; I don't mind waiting," I said.
"Put that in the top drawer of my desk. It locks, and it will still be here when we get back."
"Get back?" I asked.
"Sorry, I have to go take care of this," Ford slipped onto the floor and took care of the final details before he could publish the new online edition of The Mirror.
I took a seat at his desk and unlocked the drawer he suggested. Once my short story was inside, I sat back and took a moment to breathe. It was impossible to not want everything all at once. Then I thought about how far we'd come. From strangers at my father's party, to a student and professor, to journalists fighting against a well-funded enemy.
"What's that look?" Ford asked when he returned.
"Life just keeps getting better and better with you," I said.
Ford sat on the corner of the desk and tapped the locked drawer. "Listen, Clarity, I understand if you want to spend the weekend working on your short story. It's a huge deal. When you win the contest, you'll have the chance to find an agent or a publisher."
I shook my head. "I'm not in it for the money or the accolades," I said.
"Those things are important," Ford said.
I leaned back in his office chair and fixed him with a sharp look. "This coming from the man that is currently missing his own awards reception at Landsman College."
"It's only for being a good example. They don't expect me to actually show up to receive it," Ford joked.
I crossed my arms. "I thought we had fun the last time we were dressed up and on campus."
He smiled at the memory of me in my formal, black dress. "Well, we could go and do that, but I really had something else in mind."
"Do I have to remind you again that these walls are glass?" I joked.
Ford grinned and stood up. He held out both hands and pulled me to my feet. "Nah, I don't have to hide this from my staff because they covered for me while I went home and got everything packed."
His intern lugged two suitcases to the office door and dropped them off with a jaunty salute.
I looked from the suitcases to Ford in surprise. "What's this?"
"This," Ford said, taking my arm and gathering up the suitcases in his other hand. "Is me taking you away on a road trip."
We went out the office doors and found his car waiting at the curb.
"A road trip?" I asked with tears of joy. "I hope it has plenty of detours."
EPILOGUE
"It's okay to admit if you're lost," I said.
Ford scowled and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. I'd never seen him so tense on a road trip. He pushed the accelerator down and seemed determined to beat the clouds to the horizon.
"I'm not lost, I'm just trying to find something special," Ford said between clenched teeth.
"Hey," I joked, "I thought I was your something special."
Ford's jaw relaxed a little. "You're something else, that's for sure. I was just hoping to catch a good sunset before we have to get back to town. Hang on!" He pulled hard on the wheel, and we skidded into the gravel parking lot of a scenic overlook.
I laughed. "This is the same exact overlook you brought me to two years ago. Remember? We finally left on our first road trip, and we stopped here to enjoy the sunset."
Ford leaned back in the driver's seat and shrugged. "Really? I can't quite remember. That was two years and two dozen adventures ago."
"Come on, was the book tour really that bad?" I asked.
"Twelve cities in ten days? No." He reached over and squeezed my knee. "I loved every minute of it."
"You're just anxious to get back to The Mirror and dive back into work," I concluded. "I get it. When you find the work you love, it's hard to be away from it."
"I think people say that about people more often than work," Ford chuckled.
"So, I'm ambitious. I thought you loved that about me. Besides, I'm not the one under deadline at the moment. Don't you have the first fall publication due out at the end of the week?" I asked.
Ford shifted in his car seat and smiled softly at me. "That's right. It's almost Thanksgiving. It's almost exactly the day that I first met you."
I grinned. "Remember what we talked about?"
"I remember you telling me about the headline game you liked to play. How about this one: Couple Misses Stunning Sunset, Stuck in Car."
I laughed and reached for my door handle. Ford jumped out and ran around to open the car door for me. "Here's one for you: Exhausted Editor Fills Empty Spaces with Headlines."
Ford laughed and pulled me out to the scenic overlook. The sun was still warm as it nudged against the horizon. Still, there was chill sent to the air that meant autumn was on its way. It was my favorite season, especially when Thanksgiving was only a few weeks away.
"Did I tell you that my father and Polly will be home from Cuba in time for Thanksgiving?" I asked.
"I know. Your father mentioned it when I talked to him the other day." Ford popped his mouth shut and admired the sunset with a sudden keen interest.
"Oh, no, what are you and my father planning now?" I asked. "I can just imagine the headline: Men Plan Elaborate Feast, Use Every Dish in the Kitchen."
I laughed at my own joke and turned, but Ford was gone.
He was down on one knee. The sky streaked with reds and golds as he reached for my hand. "I have one last headline for you: Will you marry me?"
I dropped to my knees and kissed Ford a dozen times over before I took a breath and said, "Yes. And you can quote me on that."
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INVESTIGATED BILLIONAIRE
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams
PART 1
Chapter One
Delilah
“So what exactly are we supposed to do at one of these things?”
“Mattie, it’s an art show. We are supposed to look at the art.” I tried not to roll my eyes at my best friend.
I loved coming to art shows and had been doing it for years as a kind of release. Sometimes, I thought I could have been an amazing artist myself, and other times, I just enjoyed looking at the hard work the artis
ts had put together. It was a way of relaxing for me, and luckily, I’d been able to convince my friend Mattie to tag along this time, even if she didn’t like art all that much.
“You’ll have to excuse Mattie; she’s not as cultured as the rest of us,” Mattie’s boyfriend, Markus, said as he obnoxiously held his pinky out while sipping on his rum and Coke.
“Come on, guys; this is a great place for me to recruit people for Dating the Rich. You know we have that huge summer bonus going on right now, and I could really use that extra cash. Plus, these paintings are amazing. Can you even imagine how much time and effort goes into making one of these?”
“Delilah Hunter, are you using us to help you get more referral bonuses for work?”
“Yes, Mattie, and you get free alcohol and an evening of class and art. You know you can get the bonus referrals, too, if you would just grab some of the cards when human resources is handing them out.”
“Barf. I have to talk to people enough on the phone all day. I don’t want to do it outside of work, too.”
“Come on, it’s not that bad. Look at that painting over there; it has beautiful colors. Don’t you think?”
It was terribly hard to get Mattie to go to any events that I wanted to go to. She didn’t like running, the theater, or art shows. So, the best we could do was alternate who got to pick the event for the night. I wasn’t thrilled she had dragged Markus along with us, but I didn’t want to go alone, so it would have to do for the evening.
Art shows were the perfect place to recruit for Dating the Rich and I really did need the bonus. The men and women at art shows like this one were exactly our target clientele. Although I worked in the computer department, not marketing, I had heard about the bonus opportunity and couldn’t turn it down.
Basically, I just had to hand out cards with a link to our website on it. I had a personal link attached to my name and if they used it to sign up, then I got the bonus. It was an easy way for me to earn a little extra cash while hanging out at an art show I wanted to see anyway.
“Del, six o’clock,” Mattie said quietly as she nodded toward a man who was coming our way.
“Wow, he’s cute,” I whispered back.
“Hey, doll, you want me to buy you a drink, baby?” the man asked in a thick, Brooklyn accent.
I really had nothing against people with a Brooklyn accent. In fact, I’m fond of people with accents different than mine. The guy was decent looking, for sure. His large biceps bulged out of his dress shirt and his deep, brown eyes were mesmerizing. Unfortunately, calling me baby and asking to buy me a drink at an event that served free alcohol really wasn’t a great way to pick me up.
On the surface, the cute guy would have been exactly the type of man I liked to date. He was clean cut, dressed well, and obviously took care of himself physically. The exterior package was not everything, though, and I really had learned that over the last year of trying to date. I would much rather date a decent-looking nice guy than a drop-dead-handsome jerk of a guy.
“Nope. Enjoy your night,” I said as I pulled Mattie with me and fled the scene.
Markus followed obediently behind us as we went over to the large painting I had pointed out earlier. Standing up close with such a large painting made each detail come to life. From across the room, it had looked like just some paint splattered onto the ten-foot-tall canvas, but here, I could see words and pictures embedded into the paint. In the red, there were words of hate and as I read them, my heart raced and my emotions stung. I quickly moved over to the blue paint with words of kindness and love and felt my heartrate slowing down as I reviewed the rest of the painting.
The blue in the painting really looked more like waves from an ocean and the red like the sunset, although I wasn’t exactly sure what the artist was trying to portray. Art was one of those things where if you saw something meaningful, then it was a significant painting to you. Another person might not see the same thing and wouldn’t be willing to pay the same price.
To me, art was just another expression of what was on the inside of someone. Music and theater were some other art forms that really showed the soul of the artists. That was why I loved the arts so much: the emotions and pure feelings that artists, singers, and actors put into their work were incredible to see.
Sometimes, I’d thought I really wanted to be an artist when I grew up, but then I became a mother and realized I had to have a job that was more responsible.
“One million dollars!” Mattie exclaimed so loudly that everyone in the room turned to look at us.
“Shhhhh.”
“Del, they are seriously selling this painting for one million dollars. How on earth did I not become an artist? If this is how much money they make for putting globs of paint onto a canvas, I seriously need to rethink my profession.”
“Come on now, this painting took a lot thought and work, look closely,” I said in defense of the artist. Although, I couldn’t imagine anyone would pay that high of a price for artwork, either. It seemed pretty astronomical.
“You just like it because it looks like something Connor would paint for you at school,” she laughed.
“I have to agree; it does look a lot like one of his paintings. Except he doesn’t charge as much for his artwork. I could make a real killing if I started marketing his school artwork. Maybe I should get started on that.”
“How is Connor doing in kindergarten?” Markus asked.
“Really good. I like that he doesn’t have to go to daycare all day. The school day is much better because he really loves to be busy, just like his dad. I don’t think he ever sits down.”
The mention of my late husband quickly had both Mattie and Markus quiet. Anytime I mentioned Spencer, people didn’t know what to say. It was as if I had set off a bomb in the room. First, total silence; then, a quick change of subject so no one had to talk about the dead husband or that fact that I was officially a widow at only twenty-seven years of age.
“Do you think anyone will buy this?” Mattie asked as she changed the subject to avoid being uncomfortable. “It seems like a lot of money for someone to pay for one painting. I mean, not even a rich person would want to pay this much, right?”
“I don’t know, probably. There are a lot of really wealthy people here, and art is so subjective. Maybe the painting will mean something to the person who purchases it. You just never know.”
“It blows my mind that there are people in the world who have an extra million dollars to just buy spattered paintings. I mean, think about it: if they can afford a painting like this, it means they’ve paid for all their bills, all the fun extra stuff, probably have a summer house and tons of extra money. You don’t just spend this kind of money if it’s your last million dollars. The person who buys this is going to be so filthy rich, they literally think this is just a fun purchase. That’s mindboggling to me.”
“A lot of our clients at work are this rich. That’s why it’s called Dating the Rich, Mattie,” I laughed.
“Technically, I know that, but it’s always an abstract thing since I’m just on the phones for customer service issues. Really, most of my conversations are with ditzy girls who are trying to set up their profiles and can’t figure out how to upload their scantily-clad photos. It’s odd to me that these girls end up landing the rich guys. I mean, come on, do they have no shame, at all? These guys are actually just looking for a piece of ass.”
“Yep, that’s basically what we do. Hook up old, rich men with beautiful, young women who want their money,” I said, and we both busted into laughter.
The dating criteria some of the men from our website had seemed a little ridiculous. Many of them were simply looking for a pretty girl to show off and didn’t actually care if she was smart, career oriented, or had any goals in her life. There were some guys who seemed to be looking for a real partner and love match, but they were much fewer than the other type of guys.
“Excuse me, ladies,” a young man said as he walked past us to put a
sold magnet over the placard for the painting we were looking at.
“It sold? I can’t believe that,” Mattie exclaimed.
“Yep, we only have a couple paintings left; they are over there, if you’re interested.”
“Okay, thanks,” she replied as she tried to play off her shock as being upset because she was just about to buy it. I could hardly contain my laughter and turned away so the worker couldn’t see me. “I’ll go take a look. Thank you so much.”
“Hey, doll face,” the handsome Brooklyn man said as I turned almost directly into his chest. If I hadn’t stopped quickly, I would have run smack dab into him.
I had to admit the firmness of his chest was very appealing. It had been months since I had been laid, and although that wasn’t a driving factor in choosing a date, I was starting to consider the benefits of a one-night stand with this guy. With a babysitter in place and a whole evening to myself, it did seem like a waste not to at least have some sex.
“Are you enjoying the art show?” I asked in an effort to test the waters and see if I could handle an evening with him.
If I wasn’t looking for a guy to actually date, I could settle for someone a little less than perfect. This guy was handsome. He would probably be fun in bed. I started to play over the possibility of bringing him home with me, but first, I’d have to at least have a full conversation with the guy.
That was my problem when it came to one-night stands. I had this crazy notion in my head that they needed to be able to hold a conversation. It was certainly a woman-type of criteria for a one-night stand; I doubted guys worried if their women could hold a conversation before they brought them home for a night full of fun.
“Sure, man, this is on point. I love art shit.”
“Will you be buying any of the pieces?” I ventured to guess he wasn’t wealthy enough to purchase one of the paintings, but you never knew what someone had in their wallet.
Money wasn’t all that important to me, though. I didn’t plan on settling down with any man in the near future, so I was only asking as a form of reference to see why this guy was at the art show. If he was there to purchase something, at least I’d know we had art in common.