by Heidi Lowe
Before You Were Mine
by Heidi Lowe
Published by Heidi Lowe Books, 2017.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
BEFORE YOU WERE MINE
First edition. December 15, 2017
Copyright © 2017 Heidi Lowe
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CONTENTS
TITLE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
BOOKS BY HEIDI LOWE
BLURB
ONE
"I wish I had better news."
In the six years I'd worked at Cross and Fritzsche LLP, there hadn't been a phone call I'd dreaded making more than the one to Bob Pounder that afternoon. A client with the firm for more than twenty years, and my personal client since joining the company, Bob had always been a joy to work with. With a sense of humor to boot. He reminded me of my late uncle, which endeared him more to me. He had an infectious laugh that set you off even when his jokes weren't funny.
That afternoon, there was no sign of his laugh. Even he couldn't put a positive spin on his company's bankruptcy.
His sigh was long and deep, came right from the soul. "I almost didn't pick up the phone today, you know. I was halfway out the door, then I turned back. Should have kept going, right?"
"It would have only delayed the inevitable. I'm sorry."
"For once I wish you weren't so damn good at your job, Lara. That you got the numbers wrong."
"Me too." I bit my lower lip and matched his sigh. I twisted my chair to face the window, to watch the raindrops cascading down the glass. April showers. The sky looked ominous and dark, though from the twenty-first floor of my office, the view of the Seattle skyline was picture perfect. I loved that about the office.
"Where do we go from here?" Bob asked, after a beat of silence. That was how he spoke, "we", as though he and I were in this together. Maybe that was why I took the bankruptcy to heart.
"My non-legal advice? Filing for Chapter 11 seems like your best option. It will get your creditors off your back. But seek legal counsel before you make any hasty decisions."
"Thirty years I've slaved away, building that company from the ground up... Talk about going out with a bang."
I sat back and listened to him reminisce about his journey navigating through the furniture business, and I couldn't help but smile. He had a way of telling a story that transported you into it, made you feel like you were right there with him.
Because I was so engrossed in his tale, I didn't notice when two of my colleagues loaded into my office.
"Hang up already," Rachel mouthed, waving her hands in my face.
"I can't," I mouthed back, pointing to the phone pressed to my ear, as though they couldn't see I was in the middle of something.
That could only have meant one thing: the work day was over, and the weekend had officially commenced. Rachel and Siobhan had some sort of allergy to them, or anyone else, working overtime. If I failed to leave the office on time, they made sure to find me and drag me out.
Their weekend, from the looks of it, had started half an hour ago. Makeup freshly applied, hair redone, looking primped and preened, ready for the night. If it hadn't been for the formal attire, no one would have been able to tell they'd finished an eight-hour shift at an accounting firm.
Siobhan gestured to the imaginary watch on her bare wrist, shook it in my face.
"That was a hard call to make," I said, once the phone call was over. I ran my fingers through my hair.
"Who cares? You're off the clock," Rachel said, proceeding to wrench me from my seat.
I wrestled my hands away from her. "I do," I said, taking slight offense. "It's Bob."
"Pounder?" Siobhan questioned. "He's a sweetheart. What's wrong with him?"
"His company is insolvent. We both knew it was coming. I guess he didn't want to believe it would happen."
"Man, that's tough." For a brief moment Rachel looked just as crestfallen as I felt. But then it passed, and she shrugged. "The others have already left. Now get your butt out of that seat, and let's get our drink on!"
Compassion wasn't one of Rachel's strong suits. I had to stifle a laugh at how heartless she was.
"You know what your problem is, Lara?" Rachel said while we were riding the elevator to the first floor.
"No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me."
"You get too invested. I mean, Bob's nice and all, but he got himself into this mess." She shrugged. "It's not your problem."
"Shame on me for caring," I mumbled.
She was wrong for the most part. I didn't get too invested, not usually. Most of our clients were pompous, arrogant, and blatantly sexist. Whether it was their inability to call us by our names, not "babe" or "honey", or their need to question the accuracy of our work, they took every opportunity to patronize the females that worked at the firm. Suffice it to say, anyone else's bankruptcy wouldn't have affected me in the least. But Bob had always been respectful; he had daughters, a wife, manners. And he gave great Christmas gifts.
"So who's buying?" I said, as the three of us made our way across the street to our usual after work haunt, Seattle In Blue.
It was a relatively small bar that was always overflowing with inebriated professionals. Unique not in its decor or drinks menu, which were both rather bland, but simply because it had a reputation for being the chosen watering hole for accountants. Most would have thought they'd walk in and find a bunch of raucous, off-duty cops, as the name suggested. Nope. Boring accountants from the three large accounting firms in the neighborhood all flocked there after a long day of crunching the numbers.
"My round," Siobhan offered, then battled her way through the crowd to the bar, once she'd taken our orders.
We said hello to our colleagues and some familiar faces from the rival firms, before we found an empty table. I ushered for a waiter to clear the glasses away and wipe the table, and received a look from Rachel.
"What?" I said, slipping into my seat.
"Do you have to do that every time we come here?"
"Do what?"
"Make a big fuss about the table? It's just a couple of glasses, Lara. It's not the end of the world."
I rolled my eyes. "It's his job. They should have cleared it before we sat down."
She opened her mouth to argue with me but slammed it shut again, waving a dismissive hand. She must have figured it was no use getting into it with me, especially about tidiness and cleanliness. I'd been this particular for a long time, and that wasn't about to change now.
When Siobhan joined us, carrying a tray of drinks (some of which we hadn't requested), we toasted to life, numbers, and assisting the rich in their tax avoidance. Our usual Friday night toast.
"Tommy's here tonight," Siobhan said, brimming with excitement, eyes darting over to the bar area, where a group of suited men had congregated.
"You're not planning on stalking him all night again,
are you? Why don't you just ask him out?" I said, taking a sip of my screwdriver. It tasted stronger than usual, but went down a treat. Just what I needed after the Bob Pounder call.
"I don't stalk!" she said, taking mock offense. "It's merely coincidence that I need to use the restroom whenever he does."
I laughed. "That sounds like stalking to me. What do you think, Rach?"
She nodded, grinning. "Yep, that's how stalkers start out. Next thing we know you'll be leaving fluffy bunnies boiling in a pot in his kitchen!"
"Are you seriously comparing me to Glenn Close right now?"
We all chuckled, and before long I was able to put Bob and his dilemma to the back of my mind. Listening to their promiscuous shenanigans, the tales of their office flings or their hookups with random men they met at a bar, always provided me with the escape I needed from a stressful day. I was even able, albeit temporarily, to pretend that someone hadn't stuck gum on the edge of our table.
"...for more than three minutes. That has to be the quickest any guy has ever...you know...with me. Needless to say, I didn't call him again."
Although I heard Rachel's words, I couldn't concentrate on them, not now that I'd seen the gum. Now it was all I could think about.
"That's disgusting!" I blurted out, suddenly unable to hold in my revulsion. "Why the hell would anyone do that?"
"Jesus, Lara, when did you become such a prude?" Rachel said, sounding hurt. "You're not exactly a saint. And I'm a thirty-five year old woman with a healthy libido–"
"What?" I looked at her, confused. "I'm talking about that." I pointed an accusatory finger at the chewed up pink gum sticking to my side of the table. "Revolting."
I felt them exchange looks, as they often did when I got into one of my moods. I hated when they did that.
Rachel laughed. "If I didn't love you, Lara, I would seriously have you committed." She picked up her napkin, reached over and plucked the gum off the table. "There, happy now?"
I let out a relieved breath, but felt my cheeks flush when they giggled to themselves. I should have been used to the ridicule by now, seeing as I'd been dealing with it since my teens. I'd spent eighteen years freaking out over other people's rubbish, with no signs of my condition ever improving, or being any closer to people without OCD understanding my plight.
I stood up quickly, desperate for any excuse to get away from their jeering. "Who wants another drink?"
"We haven't finished the ones we have," Siobhan said.
"The same again?" I said, ignoring her. Then I hurried away, taking my shame with me.
I pushed my way to the bar to put in my order.
Moments later, I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Fancy seeing you here."
The man to whom the hand belonged was good-looking with the cheekiest, bad boy smile. Strong cologne, even stronger jawline. His head full of dark hair had no signs of gray.
I smiled. "It's...Grant, isn't it?"
"Greg, actually. We met the other night." He squeezed into a space beside me.
"No, I remember. You're the nightclub owner, right?"
He shook his head, still smiling. "That must be Grant. I work in the hotel business."
"Oh, right, of course. I'm sorry."
"What are you drinking? Are you here alone?"
"No, my colleagues are over there. It's my round." I shrugged. "But I'm sure they wouldn't mind if we got out of here."
He laughed, peered down at my hand, eyes landing on my wedding ring. "Your husband might have a problem with it though."
I slipped the ring off. It always came off so easily. I'd been meaning to get it adjusted, but hadn't gotten around to it.
"He never has to find out."
"Naughty girl." With that, he took me by the hand and led me to the table, where Siobhan and Rachel were waiting.
"Excuse me, ladies," he said in his smooth way, "do you mind if I steal your friend from you for a night of unadulterated passion?"
I giggled like a schoolgirl, and blushed hard. He held onto my hand tightly, as though he'd claimed me as his.
Siobhan and Rachel laughed too, shook their heads. "Be our guest. She needs it."
He was the most handsome man I'd ever met, and I would have gone anywhere with him. I wondered whether he would whisk me off to one of his hotels, put us up in the honeymoon suite, where we would make sweet love into the early hours of the morning.
The home we fumbled into that night, however, was my own. We were already ripping each other's clothes off before I was able to get the key in the front door. Once inside, there was no way we were going to make it upstairs to the bedroom, so we collapsed on the living room couch, and made wild love to each other right there.
Naked, sweat clinging to our bodies, we held each other, exhausted from our roll in the hay.
I lay with my head on his chest, breathing in his scent.
"Mmm, Greg is definitely my favorite. I want to see him again." I kissed his bare chest.
He laughed tiredly. "You say that about all of my alter egos."
"You're right. I can't choose. They all make me so...hot!" I kissed him. "No, I take that back, James Stefan Murray wins hands down. Every time."
He chuckled. "Glad to hear it, seeing as I'm the one you married."
"How was your day?" I asked, once we'd stopped playing tonsil tennis. "Why did you get to the bar so late? The guys were there when we arrived."
"Fastidious client I couldn't get off the phone. You know how it is." He stroked my back gently, kissed the top of my head. "When we start our firm, we're going to be very selective of the clients we take on, okay? I'm tired of working for assholes."
"I don't think we'll have that luxury in the beginning, honey. Beggars can't be choosers."
Our own firm. I sighed inwardly. My decision to study accounting all those years ago had been the best decision of my life...my love life, that is. That was how I met James, while we were both graduate students at U-Dub's Foster School of Business. He asked me if he could borrow a pen and some paper, because he'd arrived to the lecture hungover, in yesterday's outfit, and with none of his things.
Unlike him, crunching numbers wasn't my calling. I'd known that from the jump. There was just something limiting about sitting behind a desk all day, staring at digits and receipts, trying to make them exciting. Yet here I was, six years into my career, no more satisfied now than I had been when I started. And certainly no closer to figuring out what my passion was. I could say with certainty, however, that starting an accounting firm with my husband was not it.
He must have felt the hesitation in my demeanor, because he lifted my head to look at him. "You're still in, aren't you? I wouldn't want to do this without you."
I forced a smile and hoped it looked convincing. "Why wouldn't I be?" It wasn't technically a lie.
Satisfied, he kissed me. "We're gonna take over the world, you and I. Murray and Murray Accounting. I can see it already."
Just because I loved him, I prayed every day that my passion for the job would miraculously materialize. But it never did; and deep down, I knew it never would. It was a conversation we would have to have eventually, one I dreaded.
"I got a call from Dad at lunchtime," I said, peeling myself off him and reaching for my clothes, which lay among his on our living room floor.
"Oh yeah? How's he doing?"
"He thinks his cook is poisoning him."
James laughed. "This is the third one in as many months. They can't all be poisoning him."
"We know that." I sighed. "It's an excuse to get me to visit. I did tell him all he had to do was ask, you know, like normal people do."
"You're going?" He pulled on his underwear but left the rest of his stuff on the floor.
"I said I would. Next weekend. I've got a few vacation days left, I thought I'd spend a week out there."
"You want me to come with? I don't mind driving."
I kissed him and thanked him for offering. Flying was completely out of the question. Al
though I had a passport, I never used it. The nervous flier gene seemed to run in my family: my father had it, my late mother had never been on a plane in her life, and my older brother Luke and I very rarely hopped on one. That was why we hadn't seen him in four years, now that he lived in Romania with his family.
As for driving myself, well, that was even more treacherous than flying, in my book, as I'd failed four driving tests, and had given up trying.
"I knew there was a reason I kept you around," I joked, stroking his face lovingly.
"Being your chauffeur, and sex. Got it," he laughed. He got up, stretched. "I'm gonna go take a shower. You coming?"
"Yeah, I'll be up in a second. I just need to..." I was too busy collecting our clothes up off the floor and fixing the couch throw and cushions to finish my sentence.
"Honey, you can leave that until we–"
"You know I can't do that. Look at this place, it's a mess!"
He surveyed the room and no doubt saw what most would have seen: an immaculate room, with not a thing out of place. What I saw, however, was a bombsite. Clothes strewn everywhere, pieces of black fluff on the cream carpet, his car keys carelessly sitting on the bookcase...
"Lara, seriously–"
"I won't be a minute. I'll meet you in there."
I heard him sigh, then he left me to it. He knew, as I did, that I would never make it to the shower in time. A minute turned into twenty, and by the time I was done, once I was completely satisfied that the house was spotless, all nooks and crannies cleaned and sparkling, he was already in bed.
I crawled in beside him, kissed him to draw his attention from his book.
"What was it this time?" he asked, not putting much into the kiss.
"What do you mean?"
"The refrigerator needed cleaning maybe? The cabinets needed a polish?" Although he said it in a jokey way, there was a tone of condescension to it that I reviled. Sometimes he was understanding about my condition, and other times, like this, he could be such a dick.
Not wanting to start a fight with him, I didn't respond, just changed the subject to something neutral. "Thirty-two years old and in bed before nine. When did we become those people?"