Whispered Surrender

by Lynn LaFleur

  At the lobby’s entrance, she beckoned to Abby. “Please come with me.”

  Abby left her cart at the elevator and lifted the vase with Jordan’s two dozen perfectly matched roses. She recalled how much they cost and while carrying them, felt every cent in their weight.

  Jordan stopped outside her office door. “Please put them on the corner of my desk. I’ve cleared a space.”

  Over Jordan’s instructions, Abby heard voices coming from the elder Kincade’s office. She saw his door now stood open. She also recognized Brett’s laugh. Her heart thudded more from the sound than the weight of the roses.

  She hurried into Jordan’s office, set the roses in place, and turned to leave. That’s when she saw Jordan standing with a twenty dollar bill clasped between her index and middle fingers.

  “Thank you for delivering at exactly the time I requested.” She walked toward Abby, holding out the bill. “The Kincades wanted them delivered this morning. I convinced them how foolish that would be. These girls would have gotten nothing done today if they’d started that early.” She stopped far enough from Abby to make sure neither was in the other’s space. “I was afraid that as one of the new people at Love In Bloom, you wouldn’t have followed the directions as precisely as I stated them.”

  Jordan Ito, a.k.a. Valentine’s Grinch.

  Abby glanced at the twenty dollar bill Jordan offered her. If she knew Abby was the new kid at Love In Bloom, then she knew she was Rose’s niece. “I’m sorry, Ms. Ito, I can’t accept that. Rose Granger is my aunt.”

  “I know who you are, Ms. Horton.” As she passed Abby, she pressed the bill into her hand. “We’re done here. Or did I need to sign something to confirm delivery?”

  Abby balled her fist around the bill and sucked in her breath. She’d like nothing better than to send it flying at Jordan’s back. The woman might have been stunning on the outside, but inside, she was one-hundred-percent pure bitch.

  “Nothing to sign, but I believe I heard Brett’s voice a moment ago. Think I’ll toddle on over and say hello.”

  Jordan folded her arms across her chest and tilted her head. “I think that would be very unwise.”

  Abby folded her arms too. “Why is that?”

  Without answering, Jordan walked to her office door and closed it. She nodded toward the guest chairs in front of her desk. “Sit down…please.”

  Abby stood her ground. “If you have something to say, say it.”

  Jordan sat primly on the edge of her desk chair, rested her elbows on her desk top and clasped her hands together. Abby saw she wore a ring with a sapphire as big as a football on her right hand, and a circle of diamonds set in gold on her left thumb.

  “I’ve worked for Kincade Associates for ten years,” she began, “but I’ve known Brett most of my life. He’s a wonderful man, kind, generous, thoughtful.”

  “But?”

  “Look around you, Ms. Horton. The interior design, the furniture, the paintings, the staff. The Kincade men love beauty. They surround themselves with it.”

  “Meaning?”

  Jordan didn’t have to say a word. Her glance said it all. She’d let her eyes travel from the clips losing the war against Abby’s red curls, past her soiled shirt, her jeans and down to her sneakers.

  “I’m sure you’re a lovely woman, Abby, but do you honestly believe that with the pick of women Brett’s had all of his life, you’d rise to the top simply because he respects your aunt?”

  “What does my aunt have to do with anything?”

  “Only that Brett considers her a good friend. He knew you’d be here for a few days, that you didn’t know anyone. It’s difficult to adjust to a new city. Loneliness sets in quickly.”

  “And so he did what?”

  “Are you sure you want to know the truth?”

  “The truth about what?”

  Jordan stood and came round to the front of her desk. She perched on the edge.

  “Brett Kincade is the master of the one-night stand. Do you think you’re the first woman he’s taken to Whispers? The first one to wear one of Madame’s designs? The first to visit The Castle?”

  Abby shivered. Her body turned cold and a lump began forming in her stomach. If she’d had more than yogurt today, she might have thrown up. Whispers and the clothes aside, how did Jordan know about The Castle? Standing Operating Procedure for Brett Kincade, the greatest playmaker of them all?

  No, I don’t believe it. He wouldn’t. Not with what they’d shared last night. Not with the things they’d said to each other. “I don’t believe you.”

  Jordan slowly and sadly shook her head, as if Abby were the most pathetic person she’d ever met. She pushed off the edge of the desk and walked back to her chair. Once seated she said, “Let me buzz Brett and tell him you’re here, that you’d like to say hello. You’ll hear it for yourself—if you dare.”

  Abby folded her arms again to still their trembling. “Call him.”

  “You’re sure.”

  Abby nodded.

  Jordan pressed the speaker button on the phone, and then two digits. “Brett?”

  “Yo, what’s up?”

  “Ms. Horton’s in the building delivering flowers. She wondered if you had time to see her?”

  He answered quickly. “When?”

  “She ought to be back in a few minutes.”

  “Oh god no, Jordan. Tell her I’m in conference, tell her anything. I can’t see her now.”

  “Will do.” Jordan pressed the button that closed the line then leaned back in her chair. “He’s a seductive man, Abby. You’re not the first, and you won’t be his last.”

  Tears stung the back of Abby’s eyes. Please don’t let me cry, please!

  “I thought… I thought he was different.”

  “He’ll never change. But you can still walk away with your pride intact. Don’t be one of the many women who’ve made fools of themselves before you.”

  Abby tried to clear her thoughts. “Call me,” Brett said last night. Too bad he hadn’t added, “I won’t take your call, but don’t let that stop you.”

  “Can I get you anything? Water, coffee?”

  For a moment, she’d forgotten Jordan. Abby drew a deep breath. She’d had other disappointments in her life. She’d thought she’d been given a chance to trust again. Brett had played her even harder than Pierce.

  Without thinking, she tucked the tendrils that tickled her cheeks behind her ears. What if she stepped out of Jordan’s office and Brett stood at the reception desk? There’d be no way to avoid him. Her throat felt so dry she had difficulty saying the words. “Would you do me a favor?”

  “Anything.”

  “I don’t want to bump into him. I left my cart near the elevators. Could you make sure he stays in his office until I’m out of the building?”

  Jordan’s face was awash with sympathy. Abby didn’t buy a blink of it. “Of course,” Jordan said. “Give me a minute or two, then duck out.”

  “Thank you.”

  Jordan touched Abby’s arm as she walked past. “If I were in your place, I’d hope someone would do the same for me.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Judy’s voice rang out, catching Abby a moment before she slipped out the back door. Of the crew, only she and Judy remained once the clock struck midnight.

  “Home…to die.”

  Judy had shucked off her vinyl apron and smock. Unlike the rest who’d dragged themselves to their cars, she still looked fresh and brimming with energy. Abby couldn’t remember a time she’d been more exhausted.

  “Naw, you’re not going to die.” Judy walked to the refrigerator and took out two cans of soda. “Come join me. A shot of caffeine will be good for you.”

  “I really want to go…”

  “I don’t care what you want, you’re not leaving this shop until you tell me what’s going on.”

  Abby looked longingly at the door. She’d managed to duck home after delivering
the flowers to Kincade Associates, zoom in and out of the shower, and change into a T-shirt and fresh jeans. Now she was an even bigger mess of thorn pricks, soil, plant and cut-flower stains. She’d done most of the grunt work—taping floral foam into dishes, baskets and vases, digging around for anything the designers needed, whether it was a pair of shears or ten more bags of sheet moss. She’d lifted, strained and grunted her way through the most grueling six hours she’d lived through in years.

  Judy handed Abby one of the sodas and pointed to the chairs at the end of one of the design tables. “What’s going on?” Her tone sounded almost maternal. “I know something’s wrong.”

  “Nothing’s wrong.”

  “Okay, let’s try this again. You spent last evening at Whispers. You were walking on clouds this morning. At five o’clock, a different Abby walked through that door and it had nothing to do with making deliveries all day.”

  “I’m tired, Judy. Can’t we leave it at that?”

  Judy chased beads of moisture down the side of the soda can. She shook her head. “We could, but I’m not going to. What happened at Kincade Associates?”

  Abby started to rise. Judy clamped her hand on her wrist. “What happened at Kincade?”

  Abby’s throat burned, and the headache she’d been fighting all evening cut loose. She didn’t want to cry and hated that a tear rolled down her cheek. If she didn’t try to wipe it away, maybe Judy wouldn’t notice it.

  “You’re not leaving ‘til you tell me.”

  “Nothing…really…”

  Judy grabbed a box of tissues off one of the shelves under the table. “Really? You’re crying because nothing happened?”

  Abby tried to swallow a sip of the soda. It wouldn’t go down. Her chin trembled against the cold, wet can. Finally, she slammed the can down. She saw Judy wince when metal struck metal. Soda spilled on her hand.

  “Let it fly, girl,” Judy said. “You can cry, scream or swear. There’s no one here but us kittens.”

  Angrier than she’d realized, Abby looked straight at Judy. “I’ll tell you what happened—Brett played me. I didn’t expect him to tell me he loved me, but I didn’t expect him to treat me like a whore.”

  Abby saw surprise and alarm replace Judy’s maternal smile. She grabbed the edge of the table with both hands and whooped, “Whoa! How did he treat you like a whore?”

  Abby pressed her lips together and thought how best to sum it up in as few words as possible. Once she started, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself.

  “The dress…the jewelry…the shoes.”

  “What about them? They’re lovely. Brett’s a generous man.”

  “More like payment for services rendered. Especially when the payee’s a lonely new mutt in town. Rent The Castle and give her a thrill.”

  Judy closed her eyes and slowly shook her head. “Where did this lonely mutt business come from? Not from the Abby I know, or from Brett for that matter. Spit it out, girl. What happened when you delivered the Kincade flowers?”

  “I already told you, Brett blew me off.” With that said, the rest of the story tumbled from her. “I didn’t hear it from someone else, Judy,” she finally wound down. “I heard it straight from him.”

  Judy leaned back and softly exhaled a long breath. “I’m not going to argue that Brett didn’t say what you heard, but let me tell you something.”

  Abby waited.

  “My mother was an obstetrics nurse. She was on duty the night Mr. Quarterback came roaring out of the chute, fists balled, legs kicking, and screaming at the top of his lungs. At fifteen, I baby-sat for him, changed his diaper and watched Lauren Kincade try to break him of sucking his thumb.”

  Abby wanted her to stop. She didn’t want to hear about the saintly side of a man she knew in a very different way than Judy knew him.

  “I don’t care how long Jordan Ito says she’s known him, my family and I have known him all of his life. Brett Kincade is a decent, caring man. He’s also a single man, and yes, he’s probably given gifts to other women and taken them to Whispers too. Why wouldn’t he? He’s rich, gorgeous, and did I mention, single?”

  “Judy, please, you don’t need to defend him.”

  “I think I do. I don’t know why Brett said what he did, but he did not invite you to Whispers because he felt sorry for you or because of his friendship with your aunt.” She edged her chair closer. “When I walked into the showroom on Wednesday morning, I saw the way you two looked at each other, and then again that evening.”

  “How can you be so sure? Jordan said—“

  “I don’t give a damn what Jordan said. She manages the firm of Kincade Associates. Lauren manages Beau, and Brett manages Brett, not Jordan Ito.”

  Abby nibbled at her bottom lip. “He asked me to call him. I did, yet he didn’t return my calls.”

  “Maybe he left his cell at home, or misplaced it. Maybe he was in meetings all day.” Judy rested her hand on the back of Abby’s. “I don’t understand why you’re so willing to believe Jordan, a woman you’ve known for ten minutes, and so ready to condemn Brett.”

  Abby didn’t know how to answer that.

  “I’ll tell you what I think,” Judy continued. “You refuse to recognize you’re a beautiful, intelligent, charming and talented woman. Pierce Horton is a moron. He not only didn’t recognize what a jewel he had, he made you doubt yourself.”

  Abby could not meet Judy’s eyes. She nodded and tightened her grip on the soda can.

  “Brett’s not stupid, Abby, nor is he Pierce Horton dressed in eagle feathers.”

  Abby looked up. “Eagle feathers?”

  “Did you know eagles are monogamous? The male begins his hunt for a mate at a very young age. When he finds her, they mate for life. I guess you could say they’re the classic soul mates. Brett’s an eagle, Abby—strong, majestic, the consummate protector. Once he chooses his mate, he’ll stay faithful forever and fill his nest with a flock of little eaglettes. Family’s everything to him.”

  Abby had guessed as much, and that’s what rankled most. She wanted that life too. A husband who loved her and stayed faithful, and as Judy put it, a flock of little eaglettes they’d love and nurture together. Tears still stung the back of her eyes. “Fine, Brett Kincade’s a saint,” she said. “But he’s thirty-six years old, Judy. If he’s so hot to find his soul mate and start a family, what’s stopping him?”

  Judy smiled, somewhere between a grin and a smirk. “Maybe the same thing that’s stopping you?”

  * * * * *

  Abby worked the showroom until noon, then climbed into Love In Bloom’s delivery van and coasted into her spot in the ten-vehicle convoy Ronn led aboard his motorcycle.

  A few miles later, they turned off of Seaside’s main thoroughfare and onto the quarter-mile drive that led to the Seaside Country Club. Surrounded by sheltering oaks, the antebellum style clubhouse perched on a bluff overlooking the ocean.

  A drive led past precisely-manicured greens and fairways, with even the roughs perfect in their own way, and along stands of pines and weeping willows. Nearer the club house, she passed brightly colored spring flowers and budding ornamental fruit trees festooned with their pink and purple flowers. What a contrast to Manhattan, with its dull gray winter skies, slush and snow darkened with vehicle exhaust, grumpy pedestrians and taxis bent on destroying anything or anyone that got in their way.

  How would she ever survive another Manhattan February after this?

  At a curve in the drive, Abby caught a full view of the club house, with Brett’s black Porsche parked under the side portico. The longest Mercedes sedan she’d ever seen stood in front of his vehicle. Behind it, a small BMW with vanity plates that read: 1ClseLady.

  The driver behind Abby blared his horn and forced her to move along before she spat out the expletive on the tip of her tongue. It didn’t take an Army cryptographer to guess who thought of herself as one classy lady.

  At the rear loading dock, several SUVs and vans queued up behind
an eighteen wheeler from Seaside Party Production. Uniformed men and women moved quickly to unload furniture, scenery and decorations in red and white, the colors of the day. Abby tapped the steering wheel with her fingertips while she waited. This, she guessed, would be the party to end all parties.

  Once inside the club, she saw chaos reigned. People scurried about, shouting orders, swearing, waving their arms, and generally doing their best to mimic the floor of a stock exchange. They dressed in work clothes, cutoffs, or anything else that would see them through a long day.

  The doors and partitions had been opened on all of the ballrooms to create one massive open space. Abby had attended enough galas and fundraisers to know that when the party guests arrived, they’d walk into a fantasy world of intimate spaces, bars strategically placed so no one waited longer than a few seconds for a drink, probably a string quartet playing in one of the areas, a strolling violinist in another and, of course, a full orchestra in the main ballroom.

  Ronn started cracking his whip before Abby had a chance to catch her breath. She’d really grown to like his quirky ways and felt sad that this might be the last time she saw him.

  “Move it, move it, move it,” he shouted at their crew while he pranced about. To her surprise, she had already begun doing her tasks even before he turned his attention to her. Amazing, how quickly she’d caught on to things she’d never tried before, and even enjoyed them.

  So engrossed in what she was doing, Abby jumped at the screech of the sound system. After a few adjustments by an audio tech, the melodic voice of Jordan Ito trilled through the air.

  Abby wiped her damp palms on the sides of her shorts and turned to watch Jordan in action. The dark-haired woman stood on one of the orchestra’s risers, with a large poster board seating chart resting against her hip. The other workers listened a few minutes then went back to what they were doing. Abby shoved her hands in her pockets and stared. With the exterior doors opened wide, the air conditioning couldn’t keep pace. Sweat and grime hung in the air, but Jordan looked cool and in control in a pair of navy linen slacks and a bright yellow jacket that cried out Vera Wang.