He stood up. “I am. Time for me to get out into the real world, I guess.”
He added, heading back to his own office, “Though I have no idea what that expression you just used means.”
Camilla continued boxing up the contents of her studio apartment as her sister Carly sipped a Diet Coke and watched the proceedings.
“You can help here, you know? If you want to,” Camilla said.
“I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m sure you have a neat little system going on there, marking all the boxes so when you get them out of Mom and Dad’s basement someday you’ll know what they are. I don’t do packing anyway. There are people for that.”
“Yes, people like me.”
“Besides, I object strenuously to this whole plan of yours. I think it’s crazy.”
Camilla placed her Blackstone’s Law Dictionary in a box and, thinking better of it, tossed it into the trash. “Like you’ve never done anything crazy, sister dear.”
Carly laughed, automatically bringing one finger up to the side of her mouth, perfectly outlined in red lipstick, smoothing any incipient lines that might have the nerve to try to appear. Unlike the extra weight Brandy sported, Carly kept rigid control over her sleek body, weighing the same as she had when she was twenty. She kept the same control over her exceedingly pretty face, only God and her dermatologist knew how. Camilla swore Carly looked younger than she did, though there were seven years between them, and Carly was on the wrong end of that, which no one would ever guess looking at the two of them together.
“Well you have me there,” her sister admitted with a titter. “I have had a few escapades in my time.” She sobered. “But this doesn’t sound like an escapade so much as a recipe for poverty.”
“It’s what I want to do.”
Carly consented to folding a suit jacket and placing it gingerly in a box other than the one with the matching skirt. Maybe she shouldn’t help. “If it’s what you want, then you should do it. Follow your dream and all that. It’s just,” she gave up on the packing and went to get another Diet Coke, “your dream is so boring!”
Unscrewing the icy bottle, Carly added, “Now my dream, if I were you, would be to marry the billionaire.”
“Carly!”
“Seriously. Why not? I’ve had six thousand conversations with you in the last few weeks, ever since you got back from Michigan, where you’ve cried on my shoulder—”
“I never cried.”
“You know what I mean. Figuratively cried on my shoulder about how much you cared for this guy, but you weren’t sure he did for you.”
“I think he probably doesn’t know what he feels, and when I go back to his office, he’ll have trouble remembering my name.”
“Which is why I wasn’t in favor of this time apart to ‘think it over’ thing in the first place. You had him where you wanted him.”
Her sister shook her head with a smile. “You know I’m kidding. You did the right thing, and now you’ve figured out the rest of your life—news flash, you’re going to be poor—you’ll see how it turns out with the dreamy boss, right?”
“Right,” she said, her stomach flipping with nervousness and excitement at the thought of all the plans she had ahead of her, not the least of which included seeing Mason again. She had missed him. If she had worried that her infatuation with him was temporary, the ache she felt these past weeks at not seeing him or talking to him had cured her of that. Illogical or not, the three days she had spent with him meant more to her than the previous five years or so. Ten probably. And if the same wasn’t true for him, then her heart might just break, but if anything it would mean she was right about their enforced separation. “And he’s my ex-boss.”
“I only came over because I wanted to wish you luck.” Her sister surveyed the half-filled boxes and bubble wrapped kitchen appliances. “I didn’t know you’d be working. Shopping anyone?”
Camilla had timed her visit so it would be later in the day, well after five, in order to have less chance of running into anyone she knew at Talbot, Inc. on her way up to Mason’s office. Probably the few who would even recognize her couldn’t put a name to her face any more, since her tenure had been so brief. Mason included.
She stood outside the doors to the CEO’s office suite for a good five minutes, before she got up the nerve to push through that door.
When she did, Marcia looked up from her computer. “Hello, Miss Anderson.”
The coolness in the woman’s voice stung Camilla, but she shouldn’t have been surprised. She had not made Marcia’s billionaire boss change for the better after all. She imagined she might have even made him worse. He was probably propositioning female employees left and right now.
“I was surprised when the guard in the lobby called,” the assistant continued. “What can I do for you? Come to finally clean out your office?”
Despite how uncomfortable this was, she had to forge ahead. “I came to drop in on Mason, if that’s okay.”
The inner office was very quiet. If he was in there, and wasn’t coming out at the sound of her voice, she had her answer.
She took a shaky breath.
“He’s not here.”
“Oh!” The rush of relief that flowed through her was childish. She couldn’t put this off forever. She didn’t want to keep postponing her life. “Maybe I could, ah… I mean, is he in town?”
“Depends.”
As curt as Marcia was being, Camilla suddenly remembered that, Mason aside, she owed this woman a courtesy, should have even sent a note probably. “I wanted to thank you, by the way, on behalf of my family.”
A pause. “For what?”
“For the generous donation to Special Friends.” The chairman of the group wasn’t supposed to divulge that the anonymous gift was given in her brother’s name, but he was a family friend by now, and so he did, delighted by it. And there was only one person even remotely connected to Joey with five million dollars to donate to charity.
“What’s Special Friends?” Marcia asked.
Camilla cocked her head. “It’s a charity that, ah, offers some really wonderful services for my brother and men and women like him. You gave a donation to it. An incredibly generous one.”
“I did not.”
“It was anonymous, Marcia, but I know it was you. Or rather you did it on behalf of Mason. You probably did all the legwork, though, found out my brother’s affiliation with it, and sent in the donation, so I wanted to thank you. And him of course. Mason. It was very thoughtful, especially given the circumstances.”
Marcia went back to her typing. “It was thoughtful all right, hon, but I did no such thing.”
“What?”
“You’re right. If Mason had wanted to make a donation, I would have handled it, the man barely knows how to write a check these days, but I’ve never heard of Special Friends.”
She tilted her head. “You’re kidding.”
The typing stopped. “God’s truth. Though it sounds sort of like Camp for Kids, which Mason started actually and is still very supportive of.”
“What?” This was all not computing.
Marcia got up from her desk and showed Camilla to the couch. She must look worse than she thought she did for the woman to soften up and offer her a seat. They sat down, a few feet away from each other. “The charity you mentioned, Special Friends. It sounds like Mason’s charity. Camp for Kids is devoted to getting special children and teens who live in cities out to the country for a few weeks. You’d be amazed at what a kick these kids get out of the horses and the hay rides.”
“Camp for Kids is for…” She hesitated, since in her family there were no other words for what Joey was, and certainly none of the words that used to be so common. Not even handicapped. He wasn’t handicapped. “Special kids? That’s what Mason’s been donating to, before he met me, you mean.”
Marcia crossed her arms over her substantial chest before she then pointed one finger at Camilla, shaking it. “Let me tell you something, missy, Mason is
just about the most good-hearted person I know, and he was way before you showed up to kick him in the balls.”
Ouch. “I didn’t—”
“Since you came in here, and didn’t even have the good manners to otherwise inform me you were leaving, I’m going to tell you just what I think of how you treated that poor boy. He mopes around here all day and can’t even concentrate on his work and he went out yesterday and got himself a damn cat, and who do you bet is going to have to change the litter!”
She laughed. “Mason got a cat?”
“For your information, yes he did. Now I’ve known Mason since he was a little baby and that nutty mama of his acted like she cooked him up in a test tube and wanted to throw the batch back and start mixing ingredients again. Thank God she had to get a hysterectomy after she had him or she’d have been torturing some other kid now.”
“Torturing?” she said in alarm.
“It’s a turn of phrase. You’re getting as literal minded as he is.” She rose to retrieve a bottle of water from the fridge by her desk and tossed one to Camilla without asking. “Now, where was I?”
Camilla took a deep breath and a sip of the water. It looked like this was going to be a more lengthy conversation with Marcia than the quick exercise in good manners she’d envisioned.
“I thought you were her friend. His mother’s, I mean.”
“You think I wanted to stay ‘friends’ with Mason’s mama, Rita? Friends, hell! I only did it for the boy, the cutest little thing I ever saw, all black curls and blue eyes, Rita complaining that he didn’t talk for so long and didn’t want to be held. Who’d want that harpy holding him?”
“Ah, so not a friend.”
“More like a defensive tackle these days, just trying to keep her out of his life. And then you come along.”
She held up one hand. “Stop. Wait. I don’t know what he told you—”
“Damn near nothing since he got back from London and you didn’t. For a week I thought you were still there negotiating the deal, for God’s sake. And now, he barely says a word to anyone unless he’s snapping it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not me you should be saying that to. Now I don’t know about that charity thing you mentioned, if that’s all you wanted, but I think you got more business with Mason than that if you don’t mind me saying.”
She nodded. No reason to hide it. In fact, it was looking up on that score, though there were still some unanswered questions. “Has Mason gone to any PR parties since he got back?”
“Parties! Girl, have you been listening to a word I’ve said?”
“I have, and thank you.” She patted her hand. “And as to Special Friends, I think I know what happened. I think Mason donated that money to my brother’s charity.”
“I just told you he didn’t.”
“No, I think he did. On his own. Anonymous and not even through you because he didn’t want anybody to know.”
“Honey, I hate to burst your bubble, but I don’t think Mason’s capable of that, the mechanics I mean.”
She stood up. “I think Mason’s capable of a lot more than you, or I give him credit for.”
“Well, I’ll ask him.”
“No! No, you don’t. I’ll ask him. Is he in town?”
A long pause indicated Marcia was on the fence as to whether to let Camilla into her boss’s life again. Finally, she said, “He is in town. And you might be interested to know where he’ll be tonight.”
Mason didn’t trust himself to pick up his wineglass his hand was shaking so badly. There were a dozen people sitting on the dais in the ballroom, and as if the whole setup wasn’t bad enough, they had insisted he assume his place up there with them. So now the entire audience at tables on the main floor, one hundred and twenty guests, all the women in their long, glittery dresses and jewels and men in their tuxedoes, had paid five hundred a ticket to see that he could barely touch his chicken dinner. They could probably hear his stomach growling as well, not from hunger but from nerves. Every pulse in his body urged him to flee, but he remained rooted to his seat.
The young man next to him, barely out of his teens if he had to guess, reached over and scooped up a French fry from Mason’s plate and popped it into his own mouth with a big grin. Dressed in a tuxedo, too, his neighbor looked infinitely more comfortable in the evening wear than Mason did, not even bothering about the dollop of ketchup he had dropped on his lapel, though his outfit probably fit him about the same as Mason’s, too short in the sleeves and loose in the waist. Mason tried to remember the guy’s name as the woman on the other side of him leaned over and said, “Nathan, you know that’s not polite. That’s Mr. Talbot’s plate.”
Nathan. That was it.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m not hungry right now.”
“Can I have all your French fries then?”
“Nathan,” the woman remonstrated. Mason couldn’t remember her name, either, but he was pretty sure she was on the board.
He pushed the plate toward Nathan. “Go for it.”
The young man dug in, his own plate clean. Between bites, he said, “Why aren’t you hungry?”
Mason yanked on his bowtie. The board member had turned away to the woman on the other side of her, and he leaned a little toward his co-conspirator. “I’m nervous.”
“You are?” Nathan started in on the chicken, picking the lightly basted piece up in his hands. Mason was glad the board member had turned away. He for one thought hands were the only way a person should eat chicken, but not everyone agreed. The woman on the other side of Nathan had already insisted he use a fork on his own chicken breast.
“Why are you nervous?” he asked. “Because you have to sit up here? I’m not nervous. They said it was because I was so good that I got to sit up here, next to you even.”
Mason smiled. “Next to me, huh? What’s so special about me?”
Nathan paused, his fingers buttery from the chicken, and Mason handed over a napkin, which he took and put the chicken down, wiping his mouth and his fingers. “I don’t know what’s so good about you, but they said you were the guest of honor.”
“Apparently.”
“Don’t be nervous.”
“I’ll try, but I’m supposed to give a speech.”
“Me, too!” he confided with a grin even wider than when he’d been snatching a French fry. “But I’m not nervous at all.”
“You’re a better man than I am, Nathan.”
“I don’t think so. But thank you.”
Mason smiled. “You’re welcome.”
The woman board member stood up and went to the podium in the center of the dais, then tapped on the microphone that he had been distressed to see was there.
“Now, ladies and gentleman, we’ve let you eat long enough. It’s time for the actual ceremony part. We are so lucky to have with us tonight a man who has given so much of himself to Camp for Kids.”
“That’s you,” Nathan stage whispered.
“I guess.” He barely got the words out.
“And tonight he’s giving us something even more precious, a little of his very valuable time to meet some of you and let us thank him properly for his contributions.” Someone handed her a plaque. “Mr. Talbot.” She waved him over.
“You better go,” Nathan said, very loud, and the audience laughed. Softer, he added, “Don’t be scared.”
Mason nodded and went up to the microphone.
She handed him the plaque as the audience clapped. His face flushed under the bright lights, and his breathing sounded very loud to him in the microphone. After a minute, the board member faded back, resuming her seat, and he was up there, alone, the only noise some rustling of chairs as people positioned themselves to listen to him.
He set the plaque down on the table and reached into his inner pocket for the speech Marcia had meticulously typed out for him in eighteen-inch font so he could read it easily even if the paper was vibrating from his nerves. He set it down in front of him
, smoothing it out with his hands.
The silence felt stifling and he looked up, a sea of expectant faces. Then he looked over to Nathan, who smiled.
“Uh, thanks,” he began, gesturing to the plaque. “I, ah, I appreciate it.”
The words of the speech that Marcia had written were right there—when he had started the charity, how happy he was that it flourished, how wonderful it was to be here tonight.
He pushed the speech away. For a second, he wondered how it would feel to have Camilla sitting next to him at the dais, smiling at him, sharing the moment. Sharing all the moments.
“I, uh, I started Camp for Kids, and most people probably think I did it for the tax deductions.”
There was a laugh from the audience.
“Which are very good.”
Polite silence.
His voice was shaky, and he probably wasn’t fooling anyone about how nervous he was, but he continued talking anyway.
“I haven’t been out to see any of the actual camps or meet the kids, before tonight that is.” He looked over to Nathan who was beaming and nodding, making it clear he had met him. “And it’s not because I’m so busy or my time is so valuable. It’s, uh, sort of for the reason I started the camps in the first place.”
He took a deep breath, his heart pounding.
“When I was, uh, little, maybe five or six, some people, I mean my, my family, thought I might have something they called a long, funny name. When I looked it up it meant something they didn’t think was very good. They called it Asperger’s Syndrome.”
The audience was dead silent now, everybody staring at him, and he rushed to get it out, to say what he had to say.
“It had to do with being different, not what people expected. And it made everybody quite sad to think I might have it. Doctors were involved of course. Diagnoses. About a year or so, it went on and all I remember from that time was how different I really felt. Not good. Not special. Different.”
He glanced at Nathan, who had wandered off to Mason’s rolls now and wasn’t paying attention. Mason looked back at the audience, his voice stronger. “And I didn’t like the feeling. Even when all the doctors consulted their guidelines and the results of their tests on me and came back with their pronouncement that I didn’t have the horrible thing with the long, funny name, and everybody breathed a sigh of relief, it didn’t matter to me. I was still the same kid I was. I was still different. And I felt that way my whole life. Different. Not what people expect. I don’t feel comfortable in crowds, I don’t warm up to people easily, I’m cranky.”
Tempting the New Boss Page 19