She simply had to find someone who felt her shelter was worthy of an investment. She attempted, thus far, without any luck. Six companies turned her down flat. Tomorrow she had an appointment with the seventh. She crossed her fingers, praying her fortune would turn.
* * *
The following day, Laura drove into the business sector of Bracebridge and parked in front of a tall-story building. Gazing up at the blue and white sign, she read Britten Investment and Financial Group. She had an awful forbidding ache in the pit of her stomach, but immediately quenched it remembering the innocent faces of the teenage girls at the shelter. Straightening her shoulders, she crossed the cement walkway leading to the entrance of the building.
Immediately in the entrance was a huge circular desk with an elegant woman somewhere in her late forties seated behind it. Laura approached the receptionist with as much professionalism as she could project, and announced herself. “My name is Laura Witherow. I have an appointment with Mr. Virgil Britten.”
The older woman smiled politely up at her. “If you go down this hall to the right, there is a set of elevators. Take them up to the tenth floor. You'll be expected there.”
She thanked the woman then followed her directions. The corridor floor was long and elegantly fashioned in red marble with large black diamond eyes peering up at her. Its surface so smooth, Laura found herself carefully watching her step hoping her pumps would not give way from underneath her.
After she rounded a bend of wild ferns she came across the full-length mirrored covered elevators doors. Taking the opportunity, Laura quickly checked her reflection for any untidiness before pressing the red button glowing against the wall.
Up on the tenth floor she was faced with a long carpeted hallway, lined with offices, stretching both ways across the elevators. With surprising assuredness she turned right down the hall, recalling a time before when a decision to turn left landed her on the rocky edge of a ravine.
She was startled at the unexpected comparison. It had been a long time since she thought about that incident. A time she kept firmly in the back of her mind. Dexter O'Reilly was a man she cared not to think of twice. After the accident, she had more than her share of thoughts of him.
Many, many times she had an urge to drive by the Sunny Meadows grocery just to get a glimpse of him. She convinced herself it was simply to thank him for rescuing her and closing that chapter of her life. She even went so far as going into the shop one day. A quick perusal brought up no familiar faces so she quickly snatched up a head of lettuce, purchased it, then swiftly fled from the store. She never returned since.
Since then she firmly set the man and the incident from her mind. He had not wanted her gratitude and so Laura simply had to accept this, whether she agreed or not. She wasted enough time in her life she wasn't about to waste anymore. Chasing down a man who obviously did not want to be chased would have been fruitless.
She needed to do something productive and begin to see results immediately. With the shelter, it had done just that. It gave her great satisfaction to know she was able to help young teenagers who, otherwise, could end up on the streets doing only God knew what. This way she gave them not only shelter but safety from a harsh world that preyed on young vulnerable girls.
The corridor suddenly opened up to a large room lined with office desks and computers. She doubted she made the right turn after all, but at least here were faces and someone to direct her to Virgil Britten's office.
A young woman, not older than Laura herself, looked up as Laura approached her desk. Over the smooth hum of keyboards, she asked, “I've got an appointment with Virgil Britten. Could you please direct me to his office?”
“Is your name Laura Witherow?” After nodding yes, she was directed down yet another corridor.
This corridor was much shorter to Laura's relief. At the end was another small office, consisting of only one person. This woman, too, was around her own age and smiled upon greeting her, obviously expecting her. Laura returned the smile uncertainly. The small quarters hardly appeared to be the reception area for the president of the company.
“Laura Witherow? If you'll just have a seat, he'll be with you in a few minutes.”
She took one of the two cushioned seats against the opposite wall of the receptionist's desk then took a quick survey of her surroundings. The office was small, fairly empty, and modestly plain for one who was head of the company. The walls were a weary cream tone with one print of nothing in particular hanging from it. Laura's eyes digested the only sense of life in the room came from the receptionist's desk. It was splattered with color consisting of family photos, comic clippings, and humor mugs. She looked up to find the receptionist smiling across at her.
“Decorating is left in the hands of my boss, but the desk is all mine.” She cared to explain.
Laura smiled just as the buzzer on the girl's telephone rang. Without hesitation, the woman, Cara Henderson, as her nameplate identified, picked up the receiver. “Yes, you're 9:15 appointment has arrived. Ms. Witherow is—”
Laura glanced up as the woman's voice was cut short and her pleasant smile averted into a frown. With a brief glance in Laura's direction she looked down at her appointment book, then said into the receiver, “Laura. Laura Witherow.”
In the next second, the door adjoining the small office swung open and a large familiar form filled its entrance. “What the blazes are you doing here?”
CHAPTER 3
Laura spun around, startled at Dexter O'Reilly's unexpected appearance. Her eyes drank in his appearance, taking note of his business attire and how it formed his masculine physique and gave him a semblance of power. He was exactly how she remembered him. Right from the thick brown locks above those forceful but dynamic eyes, down to the small shadow of growth along his hard sturdy jaw-line.
She caught herself floundering as she attempted to get to her feet nonchalantly. “I see your mood hasn’t improved in the past eight months, Mr. O'Reilly.”
He shot Laura a troubled glare. “Who told you where to find me?”
Laura was taken aback. “No one. I found you myself—I mean, I found Britten Investment myself. Where you came from, I've no idea.”
“I happen to work here. I’m Britten’s chief financial officer. What are you doing here?”
“I thought you ran Summer Meadows?”
“I’m just their financial adviser. So again, what are you doing here?”
“I thought you were the owner?”
His lips thinned. “It’s none of your business my position in the food chain. Now, whatever your reason, I suggest you turn around and leave the same way you came. I have no interest in a reconciliation with you.”
Angry, she threw back at him. “I’m not here to see you. I'm here to see Virgil Britten. I have an appointment—”
He swore under his breath and scowled down at her for the longest moment before growling, “When will you get out of my life?”
Startled, she muttered, “Pardon?” But then found herself hurt by his blunt words and immediately went on the defense. “I'm not in your life. And if you would kindly direct me to Virgil—”
Turning abruptly, he marched back into his office. His reaction was so swift it completely took her by surprise. Floundering for only a moment, she felt a surge of irritation and swiftly followed him into the interior of his office.
“Do you mind?” she promptly demanded.
“Yes, as a matter-of-fact, I do,” he snapped. “It looks as if we're stuck with each other for the time being, so the sooner we get started the sooner we can finish.”
Shut inside the small interiors of his office with only herself and an overbearing and unpleasant Dexter O‘Reilly, suddenly had Laura feeling utterly vulnerable. Unconsciously, she lifted her chin defiantly. “Listen, I think there's been a mishap—”
“Virgil doesn't deal with this portion of the business. That's my usual post.” he rudely interrupted. “I wasn't sure how this meeting got mes
sed up and landed on his desk. But now that I realize it was you—”
“I didn't set up this meeting with you on purpose. As a matter-of-fact, it's Mr. Britten I would rather see, so if you wouldn't mind—”
“Believe me, I wouldn't like anything more. However, as running businesses go he does a grand job, but for investing his company’s money, he's lousy.” He dropped his large weight in the swivel chair behind his desk. “So sit down and let's get this over with, shall we?”
She frowned at his curt manner. Yes, it most definitely was what she remembered most about Dexter O'Reilly.
Sighing heavily, she dropped her own weight into the wide cushioned chair opposite him. Folding her hands over her lap, she suddenly had an attack of nerves. Asking for money from all those other faceless companies had been comparatively simple when confronted with the possibility of closing down her shelter. Yet sitting here across from Dexter, preparing to do just that, was the hardest thing she ever had to face.
“I need some money.” She felt direct approach was best, but immediately hated the way the words spilling from her mouth sounded. “I mean, I need your company to invest in me—in my organization. It's just small and fairly new, but I desperately need the backing or I'm afraid I'm going to have to close my doors. Permanently.”
He frowned as he listened to her skittish splutter of words. “And what exactly is this organization?”
Laura knew this was when the look of interest on their faces turned to disinterest, and swallowed hard. “A homeless shelter for teenage girls.”
He fixed her with an unyielding frown, then scraped back his chair and got to his feet. “I hardly think so.”
“That's it? You won't even hear me out?”
“I don't need to hear anymore. We are an investment and financial group. Where is the return in this? The profit? There is none. It would be foolish to put money into something that guarantee's absolutely nothing in return. We don’t invest in charities.”
Her eyes grew angry as she stared up at him, then proceeded to get to her own feet. “Not everything in this world is marked by dollar signs. There are other things to consider, like the lives of these young adolescents—”
“They don't concern us—”
“You mean they don't concern you! How stupid of me to forget what a pompous cold-hearted individual you are. Not everything has a price tag above its head Dexter, and not everything is guaranteed.”
“In the world of business that's exactly what you deal with. If you don't like the rules, don't play the game.”
“Is that how you see these young people? As pawns in a game? They have names, faces, they are flesh and blood who feel hunger and pain.” Her gaze grew hard. “Just like you Dexter, they are human.”
His cold gaze held hers, and then with a jerk he turned away. “I can’t help you. You’ve come to the wrong place.”
She felt a startling pang of hurt, knowing instinctively, it had nothing to do with the shelter but with this heartless man instead. Closing her eyes from the affliction he conjured, she turned away.
At the door, he unexpectedly stopped her. “Look, Laura, we’re looking to expand our high-tech portfolio. If you had a new software program that needed financial backing, maybe then—”
“But I don't. I have a homeless shelter full of teens needing to be fed and kept warm this winter. A computer program just won't do the trick.” Then as professionally as she could, she walked out of his office.
* * *
The windshield wipers flashed back and forth as the rain continued to fall heavily outside of Laura's van. She had been grateful to have the vehicle back so quickly from the garage, but groaned when confronted with the bill. Indeed the problem had been the alternator—as well as the fuel pump, a leak in the radiator, and the watcha-ma-callit the mechanic tried unsuccessfully to explain to Laura's lame-brain. But she was pleased she had a means of transportation to Huntsville, a town some sixty kilometers north, for her appointment with yet another investor.
Her pleasure, however, was short-lived as her request for financial backing was, once again, refused. Turning off the provincial highway she headed east past a small harbor and followed a deserted township road leading back to her home in Bracebridge. Their explanation had been the same, if not more pleasantly put, than Dexter O'Reilly's. Their company just didn't have the extra surplus to invest in Laura's new, somewhat uncertain, organization.
She scoffed at their choice of words. What they really meant was they found her to be a risky, insecure investment in which they wouldn't give a solitary dollar to help out. At least Dexter had been honest and up front, if not rude and to the point.
The rain began to fall faster and heavier causing Laura to increase the speed of her wiper's. She had just rounded a bend when she noticed a lone vehicle parked alongside the shoulder of the road. The hood was up and the occupant was outside peering into the engine as the rain hammered down around him. He was obviously not immune to the cold climate surrounding him, as he was not properly dressed for it. Even from her point of view, she could see his dark trench coat and thick brown locks were completely drenched.
Without even seeing his face, recognition was swift. She slowed her vehicle and pulled up beside Dexter O'Reilly's black Volvo. He looked briefly relieved at the assistance in the form of Laura’s approaching vehicle, but frankly more disturbed as he reached for the handle and swung the passenger door open. Immediately, the pouring rain blasted the interior of the van before Dexter seated himself and slammed the door shut behind him.
“Thanks for stopping. I'm grateful for—” He turned in his seat and gave the driver his full attention for the first time. Large hazel eyes grew bigger in anger. “You again!”
She grinned. “Yep,”
She took in his damp appearance, from the wet heavy mop of his dark hair down to the genuine leather waterlogged shoes at his feet. An unexpected pleasure lifted her spirits. At least some good would come out of the day.
Infuriated, he turned back to the door and began to grope unsuccessfully at the handle, reminding Laura repairs on the passenger door handle were still needed. “For pity's sakes, don't be foolish.”
“Damnation! How the hell do you open this thing?” he spat out angrily, his temper, obviously beginning to rise.
“You're being ridiculous. It's pouring outside.”
“I'd rather wait for the next vehicle, thanks, so if you wouldn't mind opening this door!”
“I will not. There are barely any cars out on the road today because of the rain. You could be waiting for hours before the next one stopped.”
He growled a negative response.
Determinedly, she crossed her arms over her breast. “Dexter O'Reilly you are being childish. You won't even accept help from another.”
“Wrong. Just you.” He fiddled harder with the knob.
Laura sighed. “Do you have CAA?”
Disgruntled, he replied, “Generally no need for it.”
She shrugged. “Well, seems to me you have no other options.”
“Just let me out and I’ll walk to the closest farm and call a garage.”
“What’s wrong with your cellular?”
Slightly abashed, he shifted in his seat and answered shortly, “Dead.”
Exhaling what little patience she had left, she said “Look, call it even. You rescued me from the side of the road, more or less, and now it's my turn. It's the least I could do, considering you wouldn't accept my thanks.”
With an angry thrust he punched the paneled door before slumping back exasperated into his seat. “Just drop me off at the closest phone booth.”
“Fine,” she agreed, before turning the over-sized van back onto the road. A quick glance at his appearance once again, had her saying, “You better get out of those wet cloths, or you'll catch—”
“Keep your eyes on the road and mind your own business.” He grumbled before reaching down and slipping very expensive but very wet Dockers from his feet. �
��With your track record, I would appreciate not landing in a ditch somewhere.”
She clamped her mouth shut from retorting something crude back, refraining from lowering herself to his level. Instead, she asked, “Is that why you didn't want me to pick you up? You think I'm a bad driver?”
He removed his socks and was ungraciously twisting water from them over the van floor.
“Hey!”
“Send me the bill,” he snapped, before turning next to his soaking trench coat. “It's about the only money you'll get from me.”
“So, it was personal!”
“As I said, it's not a worthy investment.”
“You would actually allow seven young girls and a baby to freeze and starve because of your dislike for me?”
“It has nothing to do with you.”
“Hah! You could barely accept this ride. The other day in your office you would have liked nothing more than to throw me out on my backside.”
“Now that would have been a sight.”
“What is it with you?” she demanded angrily, receiving a scowl from her companion. “What is it you don't like about me? Ever since we first met, you've had it against me. Why?”
“I don't particularly like people.”
Laura frowned. “Me in particular.”
He didn't respond. Laura's frown only deepened. She was caught off guard by the sudden pain in her chest this revelation brought on. She had been able to recognize from the start his dislike for her. However, his silence now only confirmed it. And it hurt.
Shortly, he asked, “Do you always pick up strangers?”
“I happened to recognize you.” Muttering under her breath, she added, “And I still picked you up.”
He shot her a sour glance indicating he had heard, but decided to check any retort, not wanting to get into another heated wrangle. It was what he remembered most of the woman, and what more than likely caused his dislike for her. Her irksome ability to protract maddening emotions from him, for that matter any emotion. Her bewitching amber-green eyes had his insides doing funny things. He scowled out the window. Yes, it was best if he simply did not look at her.
Misfortune: Christmas With Scrooge Page 5