by Julia Harlow
Baycrest occupied the ground floor of a reconfigured Edwardian building. Isabel was the first to arrive in her department, and as she approached her desk, the waft of an intoxicating fragrance overcame her. An enormous bouquet of vibrant pink Casablanca Lilies filled at least a third of the surface of her desk. The flowers were arranged in a beautiful Delft Blue ginger jar with a peacock on the front. No one except her mother and Ellen knew she was partial to that design, and since it wasn’t her birthday or a special occasion, they wouldn’t be sending her flowers in a vase like this. So who’d sent them?
She carefully searched around the arrangement until she found the card, all the while inhaling the delicious scent. The flowers were from the exclusive floral shop TigerLily, and the card read:
I am sorrier than I can express for my boorish behavior yesterday. Please accept this small token of apology. –Ty Griffin
At the sight of his name, her heart gave a little flip, and a rush of pleasure surged through her body. Why was he sending her flowers? And what did he have to be sorry for? Her face flushed when she remembered how gallantly he’d behaved once he’d realized she was upset. He had arranged for a car to get her back to work on time—a miracle in itself—and had been thoughtful enough to make sure she had something to drink. That was so sweet. She felt a tingling in the fingers holding the card as if Ty had touched her hand.
She still hadn’t figured out exactly what had made her cry in his office yesterday—something to do with the way Ty had studied her with those blue eyes. For some reason, his expression while he took his time eyeing her up and down had jangled her nerves. It was lingering right there on the edge of her memory, but she just couldn’t recollect what had disturbed her to such an extent. Was it an ugly memory she’d buried so deep she couldn’t even recall it? Whatever had upset her, she knew for certain it hadn’t been Ty’s fault.
As her co-workers filed in, many of them wandered over to admire the flowers and ask who’d sent them. She blew the question off successfully to everyone except Logan, who continued to press her.
“Just an acquaintance,” she’d replied when he asked whom they were from.
He fingered the imprinted tissue paper around the flowers. “They’re from TigerLily, Isabel, the most exclusive florist in the financial district. Not sure a casual acquaintance would send flowers from there.”
His comment irritated her and she cut him off. “Look, Logan. I need to get to work. I have a lot to finish up in my last few days here.”
Isabel was counting on a glowing reference from her manager, Gloria Parnell, so she had to not only complete her projects, but also turn in exemplary work. Her particular talent lay in designing screen images for apps, not so much the technical end. She had an eye for what worked, specializing in the simplicity and uniqueness of designs that delighted users. Her boss had nominated her for a screen design award after only four months of working at Baycrest. She’d won second place. That small taste of recognition had been more than welcome while also giving a much-needed boost to her confidence.
She plugged away for the rest of the day, occasionally gazing at the flowers, breathing in their sweet fragrance, and wondering about the over-the-top attractive Ty Griffin. Was he just being kind because he felt sorry for her? Then she chastened herself for fantasizing about a man so far out of her league it was ludicrous.
At five o’clock, Gloria appeared at her desk. “There’s a black limo outside, a Maybach, if you can believe it. Any idea who it’s for?”
Could it be Conrad? Or what if it’s Ty? Her stomach flipped at the thought. How many Maybachs were there around here? After all, Baycrest was such a small start-up. She headed toward the front door just as she recognized a beefy profile approaching. She opened the door.
“Hey, Conrad, what brings you here?” Remembering how kind he’d been to her yesterday, she couldn’t help smiling at him.
“Mr. Griffin thought you might need some help getting the flowers he sent home.”
“Actually, I was just trying to figure that out.” Part of her wished Ty had come, but she appreciated the help from Conrad.
With very little effort, Conrad nestled the arrangement in Isabel’s lap after he’d helped her into the backseat. The soft classical music playing over the sound system soothed her all the way to the Victorian. She handed the vase to Conrad when they arrived and went in first to prepare Pilot before he carried in the flowers. Because she no longer had a dining table, he set them on the kitchen counter.
Isabel knew she couldn’t keep the vase. It was an antique and far too expensive to be an appropriate gift from someone she didn’t know. She turned toward Conrad as he started toward the door.
“Would you mind doing me another favor?”
“What’s that, Miss Beachwood?”
“Wait a moment while I transfer the flowers. I need to return the vase to Mr. Griffin.”
The big man backed up, holding his palms in the air and shaking his head. “I really like my job, Miss Beachwood, and I want to keep it. Let’s just say I wouldn’t have it for long if I returned to Mr. Griffin, carrying that vase. Sorry.” With a quick shrug of his big shoulders, he was out the door in a flash.
Chapter 4
When Gloria Parnell received the call from Tyberius Griffin’s assistant to fax the list of Baycrest Enterprises’ employees to him, her stomach clenched. The cream-cheese spread onion bagel she’d eaten for breakfast felt as if a boulder were tumbling in the drum of a clothes dryer. She’d had to let three staff members go, including two of her very best, simply because of their hire dates. What the hell did that have to do with quality personnel?
The loss of Isabel Beachwood particularly stung. That young woman was one of the most creative and talented people she’d ever had the pleasure of collaborating with. Gloria had tried to convince the Grandin Financial people of that, but they’d already made up their minds.
~*~
As far as Pilot was concerned, Queenie was the most worthless dog he’d ever seen. She was like the preschooler who couldn’t hold her pee worth a darn. He, on the other hand, could be compared to that cool high-school football quarterback he’d seen at the park. He’d planned to just ignore her, but it wasn’t that easy with the prancing and squirming the annoying Welsh Corgi was performing in circles around him. Bat-shit crazy, that dog. And what was with those squatty little legs? She resembled a huge sausage link scampering around on four furry stumps.
~*~
“When are you going to stop reading this mindless romance shit?” Ellen asked as she carried an armful of Isabel’s hardbound books to the white painted built-in bookcases.
“When my heart turns to black ash and I’ve completely lost the will to live,” Isabel replied.
Half of Ellen’s loft space had been converted into two generous bedroom suites, a gourmet kitchen, and living area. The other half had been specifically designed for Ellen’s art studio.
After three trips in the borrowed SUV, Isabel had completely moved out of the Victorian and into one of the suites at the loft. Together, she and Ellen made up her queen-size bed with white sheets, a white matelassé comforter, and pillow shams. They arranged her sage-green damask upholstered loveseat, chair, and antique trunk in the living area of the suite. When they plugged in Isabel’s two brass candlestick lamps and two porcelain lamps adorned with silk shades, a comforting glow spilled over the suite.
After filling the bookcases with her treasured books, her few Delft Blue pieces, and a smattering of framed family photos, Ellen suggested hanging a few of her oils.
“Come and see the paintings I’ve just finished. You might want to hang one or two in here.” She looped her arm through Isabel’s and reached up on tiptoe to kiss her cheek. “I’m so happy you’re here, Bells.”
“Me too.” Isabel wished she truly meant the sentiment, but it didn’t quite measure up. Mostly that had to do with being forced to move out of her own first-ever apartment. But a part of her worried that living w
ith Ellen would have a detrimental effect on their relationship. Isabel needed an Iron Man cocoon to protect her from the “Daniels’ Effect.” Ellen would always be Willard’s daughter and Susan’s sister and remind Isabel of the five years of hell she’d suffered.
Even the slightest memory of Willard Daniels caused Isabel to shudder. It wasn’t his five-foot-eleven-inch height or his medium frame that were imposing, nor the black hair beginning to show threads of gray at the temples. No, something cruel in his glacial blue eyes and the perpetual sneer he wore scared the crap out of the graduate students who studied history under him at the University of Cincinnati, his daughters, and Isabel.
She followed Ellen into her studio, recalling that, when his sneer was directed at his daughters or her, it felt as though daggers would soon follow, piercing their most vulnerable, sacred places. They prayed they could protect them. But up against all that soul-sucking Dementor power, it was hopeless. She shook her head, trying to clear the hideous memory of Willard ordering his daughters, or Isabel, into his study for the “lecture.”
After studying Ellen’s array of canvases, Isabel chose two five-feet-by-four-feet oil paintings. One was an exquisite oil of a pond with ivory lily pads dotted across the surface and fern green in the background. Isabel fell in love with it and wanted it hung above her bed. The other was a whimsical scene from Steinbeck’s Cannery Row that Ellen had conjured. The intricate details brought back fond memories of when they’d both read the novel in high school and had engaged in animated discussions about it. This one would be perfect above the loveseat.
Ellen grabbed her toolbox outfitted with a hammer, a spool of wire, picture hanging hooks, and a level, and after thirty minutes, the oil paintings were hung. The overall effect of the combination of Isabel’s pieces and Ellen’s paintings was both dramatic and attractive.
Isabel finished unpacking the final box of her toiletries in the spacious six-drawer bathroom vanity with room to spare while Ellen perched on the edge of the white ceramic bathtub and watched. By six thirty, Isabel was on her way to take Pilot for a walk to get him acquainted with his new neighborhood when Ellen unexpectedly piped up.
“A gallery owner I’m signing on with, gave me tickets to a charity event tonight. Even though it’s going to be a raging bore, I need to make an appearance. Come with me, pretty please?” The pout Ellen had perfected hit its mark.
Isabel felt bone weary from finishing up the work during the final week at Baycrest Enterprises and then packing and moving to the loft. All she wanted to do now was walk Pilot, followed by sinking into bed as soon as possible. But Ellen had helped her move all day. Somehow she didn’t have it in her to say no.
“Okay. What’s the charity and what time is it?”
“San Francisco Child Abuse Prevention Center at eight. Tonight’s fundraiser is to fill baskets with books, blankets, and stuffed animals for children who’ve been taken from abusive homes and placed in foster care. We don’t have to stay long.” Then she added with a hopeful note, waggling her thin, perfectly arched pale brown brows, “Andrew’s coming.”
Andrew McConnell was Ellen’s attorney. She’d met him when she had needed legal advice with the real estate contract for the purchase of her loft. Isabel had asked her boss, Gloria Parnell, for a recommendation, and she’d suggested Andrew, a friend of hers, without hesitation.
Little by little, Ellen had begun to rely on Andrew for investment and financial-planning advice and as an escort when she needed a date for a particular occasion. Isabel often wondered if he were secretly in love with Ellen. He was perceptive enough to realize how skittish she was, and he treaded gingerly when he was around her. Tall and wiry with straight brown hair that hung over one brow, he wore black-framed glasses and had a sweetness about him that Isabel found endearing.
She wished with all her heart that Ellen would return Andrew’s feelings, but Ellen was so scarred by her upbringing and young adult life that she was certain no one could ever love her. If her parents didn’t love her, if her husband hadn’t loved her, how could anyone else?
Watching them interact, it seemed to Isabel that what Andrew offered Ellen was unequivocal adoration, something exceptionally hard to find, if not impossible. Ellen certainly had her share of faults, but Andrew apparently chose to accept them as part of the whole package.
When Isabel had first questioned Gloria about him, in an effort to look out for her stepsister, she found out all sorts of information. Andrew kept a white board in his apartment so he could work on mathematical equations when the moment struck him, which apparently was often. He had a pilot’s license for small aircraft and ran four miles every other day. He was a damned good attorney and a truly decent guy, according to Gloria.
He often tried to convince Ellen to join him on his morning runs. It made Isabel happy that he succeeded more often than not. But what she found most appealing about him was the dreamy expression that transformed his serious face whenever he gazed at Ellen.
No matter how exhausted she felt, Isabel couldn’t turn down the chance to support a charity that provided books, blankets, and stuffed animals to homeless children. Her eyes filled with tears at the very thought, and she swiped at them before Ellen could make a disparaging remark about her unchecked emotions.
“What’s the dress?”
“Formal. Do you have something that’s appropriate?”
“Other than an LBD?”
“God, that’s so freaking pedestrian. Don’t you have anything else?”
“Well, let me take a look.” Unlike Ellen’s almost unlimited funds, Isabel’s bank account was sparse, and she had to limit her clothing purchases to dresses, skirts, and blouses for work.
She searched around in the new closet she hadn’t had time to organize. Its generous size swallowed up her modest wardrobe. She located a Saks Fifth Avenue garment bag Clarissa had sent her for her twenty-fifth birthday last month. She’d forgotten about it with all the work she’d been buried under at Baycrest Enterprises and in the rush to move. Inside was a sleeveless Donna Karan orchid silk sheath. She carried it into the bathroom and tucked it up under her chin in front of the mirror.
“Oh, hell yes! That’s perfect! You have to wear it.” Ellen vigorously nodded, blond spikes whipping across her cheeks.
“What’re you wearing?”
“Oh, you know me. I never go the feminine route. I’m wearing a man’s tuxedo shirt and black tuxedo pants.”
“Really, Ells? You sure you don’t want to venture in another direction, just for fun?”
“Nope. Get ready. Andrew will be here in an hour. I need to clean some brushes and put away my paints.”
After Isabel took Pilot for a quick run, she showered, shampooed her hair, and blew it dry. Her makeup for the evening consisted of smoky eye shadow, a touch of mascara and blush, and a swipe of soft pink lipstick. As she shimmied into the dress, Ellen waltzed in and lent a discerning eye.
“Let me put your hair up.”
Considering Ellen’s impeccable sense of style, Isabel relaxed in a chair in front of the mirror and let her do her thing. The resulting elegant up-do was exactly the right combination of sexy/messy that worked perfectly with the killer dress. A squared neckline displayed Isabel’s flawless, creamy skin to perfection.
Ellen tilted her head, studying Isabel’s reflection in the mirror. “You know I was sick with jealousy over you all those years ago. While I was an indecipherable clone of Valerie, Susan, and Bitsy, you were this unique, glorious creature. You had all that dark, lustrous hair I would have sworn you put butter on to make it so shiny. And you had breasts when mine were shaped like half dollar coins. Boys, and men for that matter, always followed you with their eyes, and never me or my sisters when we all went out together. It was so infuriating.
“I sketched you dozens of times, always hiding the pictures so Susan wouldn’t find them. She was a devious snoop, and I knew she nosed around in my room when I was out.” Ellen plucked an invisible speck off her bl
ack T-shirt. Isabel noticed she wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I still have them. Do you want to see them?”
“Good God, no! Just the thought of how I looked back then causes my insides to shrivel.”
“You are so wrong about that. Not that my sisters or I helped. While you’re a sensational beauty now, you were on the cusp of being a beauty then. You just needed to grow into your features a little bit. And boy did you ever!”
Isabel turned her head from the mirror and regarded Ellen. “How ironic. I was sick with envy of you, Susan, and Bitsy with your tiny bodies and silky blond hair. I always felt like a giant mutant next to you three.”
As Ellen planted a swift kiss on the top of her head, they heard the doorbell ring and Queenie’s subsequent frantic high-pitched barks.
“That will be Andrew. Entertain him while I dress.”
Isabel hurried to the door and opened it to Andrew in a traditional tux. She did a double take. He was all broad shoulders, long legs, and masculine elegance. At the same time, he took in Isabel, eyes widening and grin spreading across the angular planes of his face.
“Whoa, Isabel, you look stunning. Now I’m going to have to keep the men at bay from both of you tonight. I should have brought brass knuckles . . . or a Taser. It’s a tough job, but somebody’s got to do it.” His genuine smile reminded her why she was so fond of him.
“You look pretty hot yourself, Mr. McConnell. Maybe I’ll need to keep the babes from falling all over you.”
“Ha! No worries there.” His eyes strayed longingly toward Ellen’s bedroom. “Is she ready?”
“She graciously offered to help me with my hair first, so it’ll be a few minutes.”
“Are you all moved in? I would’ve helped, but I mentor a thirteen-year-old boy on Saturdays.”
“It actually wasn’t too bad. Ellen borrowed a friend’s SUV, and she helped a lot. She’s stronger than she looks.”