Boss Meets Her Match

by Janet Lee Nye

“Okay. I’ll be quiet.”

  He made it about two minutes this time. “That Catherine was something, huh? Reminded me of a little you.”

  Despite herself, Lena smiled. Then felt the guilt come back. She should be doing more for the kids out there. Time to stop talking about her. “How’d you end up as an art therapist?”

  Silence. She glanced over at Matt. He’d pushed the seat back to make room for his long legs, one arm draped on the headrest. He looked relaxed but the jump of a muscle along his jawline gave him away. She’d hit some nerve. Whether she should jump on that nerve or leave it alone was the question.

  “You are amazing with the kids,” she said. And meant it.

  He made an I-heard-your-words sort of noise. His sudden silence intrigued her. She let it go on for a while as she navigated traffic along Savannah Highway. As they approached the bridge into town, he spoke up.

  “My place is on Ashley Avenue near the intersection of Bull.”

  “Okay,” she said slowly. “What’s with the silent treatment?”

  “You told me to be quiet.”

  “But you weren’t. You were annoying me until I asked about how you became an art therapist. Then you finally shut your mouth.” She crossed the bridge and slowed down as they merged on to Calhoun Street.

  “It’s complicated,” he said.

  “How you chose to do art therapy for kids is complicated?”

  “Yes, Lena. It is.” There was a bit of heat in the words. “Life isn’t all apple pie and ice cream just because your parents have money, you know.”

  She turned on Ashley Avenue. Now he was starting to really irritate her. Rich white man whining was the worst. Standing on third base, crying about a foul ball. “Seriously, dude? I asked a simple, polite question and you are throwing attitude at me. Can you walk from here? Because you can get out of my car now.”

  He pointed up the street. “It’s right there. Just pull over.”

  She brought the car to a stop in front of a house that looked to have been divided into apartments and put it in Park. But he didn’t get out. She looked over at him but he was staring out the window.

  “I was sick a lot as a kid. Had really bad asthma. Spent a lot of time in the hospital. It’s a scary place for kids.”

  Lena tilted her head, trying to imagine Matt as a sickly young boy. “But your parents...” she started.

  He let out a harsh, angry bark of laughter and shook his head. “Oh no. They had much more important things to do than hang out in a hospital.” He shifted in the seat to look at her.

  “They just left you? All alone? In the hospital?” She could barely wrap her mind around it.

  “When I was in art school, I took a class on art therapy because a girl I wanted to date was taking it. Never did get that date, but it just sort of clicked on something in me and I knew that’s what I wanted to do.”

  Lena blinked as she took in his words. She could understand that. She’d taken her first finance class as a means to learn how to deal with student loan debt and had that same click. Perhaps not quite as humanitarian as helping kids, but she had helped her family and Sadie. And by helping them, they had helped many others.

  “That’s amazing,” she said softly.

  The bad-boy grin appeared. “Not as amazing as the story of the famous Lena Reyes.”

  “Why do you do that?” she snapped.

  “Do what?”

  “Every time you get real with me, let me see behind the smart-ass persona, you have to ruin it by being all annoying.”

  “Maybe I really want to know.”

  “Maybe you should get out of my car. I don’t know why I even put up with you.”

  He didn’t get out. He did shift closer and run a finger along her jawline. She jerked her head away. “Lena. Look at me.”

  She reluctantly turned to look. He was too close. Too everything. Those eyes. How could such icy blue be so hot?

  “This,” he said as he took her hand. “This feeling right here is why you put up with me.”

  He traced his fingers lightly across her palm. The sensation bypassed her brain, going straight from her palm to the very core of her. She could hear her breath coming faster.

  She started to say he was crazy. She started to tell him to get out. But his lips were on hers and her hands were in his hair and oh dear God the man could kiss. He pulled her even closer, deepening the kiss. She kissed him back, ignoring the alarms from some distant, rational part of herself.

  Right now, she cared for nothing except for how good this felt. How right this felt.

  You are kissing a client in broad daylight in public! That thought finally rose above the howls of her libido and she turned her head away. Lifting a shaking hand, she covered her mouth and looked back at him. The smirk was gone. He looked as shell-shocked as she felt.

  “Lena,” he began.

  She shook her head. “No. This didn’t happen. Mistake. Never again. Just go on. Get out. Go home.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Yes, you can. This was a horrible mistake, Matt, okay? You are my client. This is beyond unprofessional.”

  “You’re allowed to be human, Lena.”

  “No,” she said quietly, “I’m not.”

  She turned her head to the window and started the engine. After a moment, he got out of the car.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  WHEN SHE PULLED into her assigned parking space, she saw he’d left the drawing in the front seat. She caught it between her thumb and index finger and rested it against the steering wheel. It was a very rough sketch, but good enough that anyone would know it was her. A few light lines made up her hair and the shape of her face. The curve of her lips and cheek were more defined. But it was the eyes that he’d focused on. What had she been doing or thinking to have the warmth she saw in the eyes he’d sketched?

  Ugh. Dear Jesus. She’d screwed up. Royally. What had she been thinking? You weren’t thinking—that’s the whole problem. He gets too close and your brain just shuts down. She frowned at the sketch and resisted the urge to crumple it into a ball. A long sigh escaped her. She rolled it up and tucked it carefully into her purse.

  Kicking off her shoes as soon as she got inside, she scooped up Sass and draped her over a shoulder, the only way Sass would accept being held. She rested her cheek against the sleek orange-red fur and was rewarded with a purr.

  “You love me, right, Sass? Even though I manage to screw up everything?”

  She took the increase in purr volume as agreement and not an attempt to manipulate an early dinner offering. She let Sass jump off her shoulder onto the couch as she passed through to her bedroom. After taking her bra off with her La Raza shirt still on, a skill she never tired of performing, she shimmied into her favorite leggings and went to wash the makeup off her face.

  At the mirror, she leaned in close. There was a mark on her chin. She touched it with a hesitant finger. Beard burn. She rifled back through her memory and couldn’t come up with another kiss that ever matched the heat she’d felt with Matt.

  “You have lost your ever-loving mind, chica,” she told her reflection.

  She washed her face and padded barefoot into the kitchen. Sass came in, weaving between her feet. “Sass. If you kill me, you will starve to death. You know this, right?” She looked at the clock. Almost four. Close enough. “How about this, Sass? You get early dinner if I get early wine time?” Sass meowed. Perfect. We’re all in agreement.

  Two glasses of wine in, her brain helpfully reminded her of the odd feeling she’d felt at the center. The way the kids had been looking at her. That they even knew who she was. She smoothed a hand down her T-shirt. La Raza. When had she become that person? Some myth whispered about? Held up as an example by parents? She could easily name at least eight c
ousins who had advance college degrees. Why her?

  The shame wriggled around again, making her skin burn. Because you’re rich. She sipped the wine. Remembered the look of awe on the boy’s face as he’d asked if it were true. She wasn’t ashamed of being rich. She was ashamed because while she hadn’t forgotten her family, she had forgotten where she came from.

  She was sashaying her ass around town, living large in her condo on the waterfront, driving her BMW and making rich white men even richer. Pretending that the color of her skin didn’t matter. But it did. If she thought otherwise, all she had to do was remember the time she wore a black dress to an event and was mistaken for the help. She had to consciously govern her expressions so she didn’t look angry or threatening. She had to smile and laugh and politely dodge the hot-Latina-momma comments. Hell, she couldn’t go to the grocery store in jeans and a T-shirt without seeing the looks. God forbid someone hear her speaking Spanish to a family member in public.

  She wasn’t a part of the society she moved through. She was merely tolerated because she was useful. On some level, she always knew this but it hadn’t bothered her because she was using them just as well. Using them to build her future. Using them to build the foundation of stability for herself and her family. She’d finally reached that comfortable place. Now what?

  “You need to go back,” she said out loud. “There’s more to be done than putting some coloring books in a room.”

  She set the wineglass down and stood up so suddenly that Sass scurried off the couch and ran for the bed. “Knock it off, Drama Queen,” Lena said irritably. She grabbed a legal pad and a pen from her desk and returned to the couch.

  She curled up and balanced the pad on her legs. Uncapping the pen, she stared down at the blank page. What was the hardest? She wrote “What I Wished I’d Known” along the top of the page.

  How to apply for financial aid and scholarships. Top of the class doesn’t mean ready for college if you are in a poor school district. About SAT prep classes. How to write an essay for college applications. She reached for the wineglass and sipped. Walking into her first college class had been the scariest thing she’d ever done. The weight of the expectations of the entire family rode on her shoulders. She added “how to find tutors in college” to the list.

  She’d been at the top of every class through elementary school up to the moment she gave the valedictorian speech at high school graduation. Her first freshman semester had yielded a GPA that barely let her hold on to her scholarships. She’d been running scared ever since. She felt her heartbeat speed up. Was that it? The car, the condo? The Broad Street office? Was she still running scared, trying to prove she belonged?

  Pushing thoughts of herself aside, she focused on the list. She had contacts. She could make this work. Maybe through the Charleston Center for Women. She scribbled a few names by each of the items and tossed the notebook on the coffee table. Monday. She’d take care of this on Monday. Brushing orange cat hair off her yoga pants, she frowned. The weight that had settled on her chest at the center still remained.

  “What?” she asked out loud, dropping her head back to stare at the ceiling. What was this feeling that wouldn’t go away? Guilt? No, it wasn’t guilt. It was hotter than guilt. Shame. Is that what this is? You should have gone back sooner. You should have always been reaching back.

  She stood and walked to the bedroom. Enough of this. “I’m going to the gym, Sass.”

  * * *

  SHE HATED HER GYM. It was too much of a show-up-and-look-pretty kind of place, but it was the only one on the peninsula where she didn’t get testosterone poisoning from the lunkheads. She didn’t show up to look. She showed up to sweat. She showed up when the weather was too hot or too wet for running outside. When it was dark and she needed to outrun her thoughts. Plugging earbuds in, she cranked up Green Day and started pounding out the miles. As she ran on the treadmill, she kept her eyes focused on the blank TV screen in front of her. Earbuds in, no eye contact kept the men away. She’d had enough of men today. Man. You had enough of a man today. She increased her pace. If you can think, you aren’t running fast enough.

  A motion from the free-weights side of the room caught her attention. She flicked her eyes in that direction and felt her stomach drop. Matt. What was he doing here? He was spotting for another guy. Lunkheads. She forced her focus back to the blank screen but her gaze kept drifting. His friend was cute and certainly well acquainted with the weight machines. They must be here to be looked at. Matt moved to the pull-up bar and began a series of chin-ups. The flex of muscle and the way his tank top revealed brief glimpses of his chest filled her with a sudden lust so strong she almost lost her pacing. She shook her head and slowed the pace a bit as she struggled to regain her focus. But the memory of his mouth on hers came raging back. Along with all the feelings he’d stirred.

  Hell. She might as well just go home. This was doing nothing to help her outrun her own thoughts. In fact, it was making it worse. She reached out, intending to hit the cooldown button but stopped as another movement caught her eye. Oh, here we go. A couple of twenty something look-at-us-in-our-two-hundred-dollar-yoga-outfits women came out of the classroom and sauntered in the direction of the weight room, Matt and his friend. Not even going to be subtle about it. She slowed her pace to watch.

  There was a lot of hair flipping and body language going on. Matt’s friend was into it. He was smiling and talking. Laughing. But Matt not so much. That was interesting. She would have put money on him hound dogging on such easy prey. He wasn’t rude to them, but he remained seated on the bench, only made brief eye contact and his smile was obviously strained politeness at best. Lena felt a smile touch her lips and a strange sensation in her chest. It felt like...smugness. Oh my God. I’ve turned into one of them.

  She steadied herself and hit the stop button. Her heart pounded as she straddled the track, her breath a ragged echo almost lost in the music that pounded in her ears. What the hell was that? That sense of superiority because the man that wouldn’t flirt with another woman had kissed her earlier? She didn’t play that game. Men weren’t a competitive sport. Head down, she focused on getting her breathing under control. This day had certainly gone to shit.

  A hand entered her peripheral vision. Matt. She looked up at his wave. Gave him her best leave-me-alone glare. He grinned and lifted his phone. A moment later, the message appeared on her phone’s screen.

  Lunch. Tomorrow.

  She shook her head. No. A moment later, her screen lit up again.

  I’ll be at the Pineapple Fountain. 1 p.m.

  Again she shook her head. He smiled at her. Then he did that thing that guys do. Pointed at his eyes and then at her. I see you. The scowl that began to form fell away as he formed his hands in the shape of a heart and pointed at her again. Staring after him as he walked away, she frowned. What on earth? I see your heart? What was that supposed to mean?

  She grabbed her phone as he left the gym.

  I said no.

  She got a smiley face back. Damn that man. She suppressed the urge to send him that middle-finger GIF she’d saved the other day. She climbed off the treadmill and wiped her forehead on her sleeve. So infuriating. Lunch. Tomorrow. Not even a question mark. Well, he could have lunch all by himself there at the fountain. Hope it rains on him too.

  * * *

  “AM I A bad person?”

  “No. Why would you even think that?”

  Lena swung her legs up on the couch. A long hot shower had done nothing to ease her mind. So she’d sought out her most avid cheerleader. Her mother.

  “I was at St. Toribio’s today,” she said as she rubbed a hand across her eyes. “Now I’m jumbled.”

  Her mother’s voice, sweet and low, murmured in lilting Spanish. “No, my heart. You are not a bad person.”

  “Then why do I feel like I am?” Lena asked in Sp
anish. The language that once separated her family from America now seemed like a secret refuge.

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. The kids there. They knew me. And treated me like I used to treat the rich white people who came offering charity.”

  “That’s a child’s interpretation, Magdalena. The color of a person’s skin, the contents of their wallet, those are not the things that define a person.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “Why did they all know who I am? Why me? Why not Hannah? Or Sam? Or anyone else in the family? Why me?”

  “You know why. You’re the most successful. You’re the one people look to for what is possible.”

  A knot twisted in her throat as she fumbled for the wineglass. Her body was already aching from the exertion of the labors of that morning and the half marathon she’d done on the treadmill. Now her heart was aching.

  “Mamacita,” she whispered. “I feel like I’ve let everyone down.”

  Between the sob she pushed down and her mother’s pause, Lena saw the truth. She had let the community down. She’d hidden her past and her culture so she could move more easily through the white world. Ignored or downplayed her browness. But she’d had to. To survive, to thrive.

  “Lena.” Her mother’s voice soothed her. “You’ve set a good example. What you’re feeling now? Maybe it’s just the Lord’s way of telling you it’s time to give back.”

  Lena rolled her eyes. The Lord and she hadn’t been on speaking terms for quite a while. But she couldn’t deny the truth of her mother’s words. “I think I’m late on doing that.”

  “Magdalena. Listen to me. There isn’t one of us who doesn’t understand the tightrope you’ve been walking. We knew once you got your balance, you’d turn back to us.”

  Is that what it was? She’d found her balance? She’d never felt more off balance than she did now. Those kids looking at her. Sadie getting married. Her family pressuring her to find a suitable husband. Matt. She couldn’t even think about it all at once without feeling her entire life was out of control. Like Alice down the rabbit hole.