by Lane, Payton
“I wasn't eavesdropping on the conversation, so no, I don't know.”
“It's too early in the morning for sarcasm, Lynne Marie.”
Lynne shoved food into her mouth, because levity in this situation wasn't on the menu.
Eloise washed her hands and started to attack the meat in the sink. “He completely ignored the fact I left him. Instead, he told me about his latest venture.”
Her father may not be aware of warning signs, but he didn't ignore blatant words. Lynne swallowed. “Have you told him you left?”
“He should know. I said I was here with you for an undetermined length of time.”
“Exactly in that tone?” Her mother nodded, and Lynne shoved more food in her mouth to keep from saying anything.
“What? I know that look.”
She wasn't going to answer. Lynne was going to get to the bottom of the plate as fast as she could.
“Oh, so you're on his side?” Eloise's tone left no room for doubt that she had causalities in mind. The roast in the sink wasn't going to be enough of a sacrifice.
She chugged the orange juice. “I don't want to get in the middle of it. I'm grown. I shouldn't have to choose between parents. Dad has been this way for years. You've been happy with him.”
“I'm unhappy and it's my fault?”
The bacon had been the first to go, now Lynne was on the chopping block.
Lynne might as well go for broke. “From what it sounds like, you didn't tell him in a clear and concise manner that he can understand. I left you, because you're workaholic.” Lynne offered the example with raised brows. “He probably thinks you just want my company until he gets back home.”
Eloise whirled away from the sink to the cabinets, pulling out more pots and pans. She turned on Lynne again. “What kind of man doesn't get the hint when you say ‘undetermined amount of time'.”
“Apparently...Dad.”
The pressure valve seemed to be released after the statement. Eloise’s movements became graceful again. “You think I should tell him I left?”
“Put the ball in his court.” Lynne saw the fear behind Eloise's gaze.
That was the problem with falling for a man who could only see the bottom line with clarity. Lynne wasn't going to draw any comparisons to her situation with Nate. She wasn't falling for him. She wanted to roll around the sheets and make them sweaty, not dream of happily ever after. Long ago, she had accepted she would never be someone's home and hearth.
That was fine.
No, really.
Her mother opened her mouth to say something, then snapped it shut again.
Lynne took her opportunity. “Thanks for breakfast. I should be home around eight.”
As fast as she got up and out the door, she probably made a whooshing sound.
Wasn't long before she was stepping inside Hart and Style. Lynne welcomed the quiet, the peace that always came over her when she entered the store before opening. The calm before the storm.
Lynne knew her place within these walls. There were never serious doubts or regrets. If anything went wrong today, she had tomorrow and a clean slate. Someone knocked on the glass window and like before, broke the moment. She plastered a smile on her face, nonetheless. It turned sincere when she saw Jeremy.
“You're here early.” She noted he couldn't take the grin off his face. “And happy. Things are going well between you and Sylvia?”
“She wants it to be just sex. I'm happy to appease her for the moment.”
“And oblige.”
“Goes without saying. How did the date go?” he asked, throwing the question over his shoulder as he headed to her office.
She followed him. “Good, crappy, unexpected. Several other adjectives I can't wrap my mind around, because my mother is slowly losing her mind. She's cooking roast tonight. I need to invite you, or by the end of her stay you may have to butter up the doors and push me in.”
“No problem. Can I bring Sylvia?” He plopped into the chair in her office.
Lynne sat on the edge of the desk, legs crossed. “This sounds serious. I know she was worried about Nate finding out. Are you sure she's going to come?”
“I can convince her.”
She had dealt with enough problems this morning, might as well add one more. “If she doesn't?”
“She will,” he replied. A stubborn line creased his brows.
Lynne lifted her hands in the air. “I'll leave it alone. I have to call my dad before my mother goes to the grocery store. Things will get ugly if she goes there. She was soufflé mad this morning.”
“When you mother's angry, she bakes soufflés?”
“My mother will cook until she finds a solution to her problem, my dad being the problem at the given moment. Worse, I know my father. She'll make it halfway through the French cuisine cookbook I've got on the counter.”
His brows shot up. “You have a French cuisine cookbook? I've never seen it.”
“The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. And I hid it whenever you came by. It's my secret shame that I know how to cook complicated meals I can't pronounce the names of.”
“You scare me sometimes.”
“I scare myself sometimes,” she said. “Go get the store ready. I need to call my dad.”
She waited until Jeremy closed the door before dialing her father's private line.
“Preston Kelley,” he answered without any preamble.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Lynne,” he replied back. No warm and fuzzy tone. It was...business-like.
She adopted the tone. “It's about Mom. You have to come and get her.”
“She's your mother. You should spend some time together without me underfoot.”
She quelled the urge to snort at underfoot. Give him a channel that played nothing but stock tips and no one would know he existed until it was time for dinner.
“It's not that simple.” Lynne had no qualms telling her dad what was going on with her mother at any other time. The man was clueless. Bless him, but she wasn't going to be the messenger this time.
“Is she hurt? In a coma?”
A cooking zombie. “No.”
“Then why do I need to come and get her? You've never seemed to be bothered on the first day of any other visit. It usually takes two weeks before you call me.”
She rubbed her forehead and winced. She'd worn makeup. Foundation smeared on her hand. That’s why she didn't wear the stuff often, but her mother was visiting for an undetermined amount of time. She was never herself when her mother was home. This all had to end soon.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“In traffic on the way to the conference hotel.”
“Um, where are you?”
“New York.”
Silently trying to calculate how long it would take him to get there, she asked, “Has mom seemed strange to you lately?”
“I think she's gotten itchy feet since you moved away. Every now and then she wants to spend time with you. I don't mind it. I don't like her to be alone when I'm gone.”
And that right there was why she never could be mad at her father. He saw the bottom line over emotions, but he felt them.
Still she wasn't going to be a messenger for his wife leaving him. “You might want to reschedule or call someone else in and come spend some time here. I'll make you some reservations.”
“Nonsense. I'll see your mother when I'm done. I must go; traffic has broken up.”
She let her head fall on her desk. Her father needed an intervention. She didn't blame her mother for leaving, but why did Lynne have to be dragged into it?
“It's not nonsense. Call Mom. Ask her how she is doing. And please don't tell her I called you.”
“Why not?”
“If you love me, you won't even mention my name in the conversation.”
“You're talking in cryptic sentences. Is she cooking?”
Finally the heavens had opened up and were shining down on her favorably. “Roast. Call her. Don't
mention me. Love you. Bye.”
She ended the call before he could interrogate her. He would want to know what he was walking into so he could better prepare for battle. Just like if he was in a boardroom.
The day was not going to end well.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Sylvia stood outside on the stoop, her cell phone crooked between her ear and shoulder. “You want me to what?”
“Go with me to Lynne's house. Her mother is cooking.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. They'd been circling around this issue for the past week. She preferred to date openly. She'd never been the one for sneaking around. Affairs took too much energy, but this one time her job demanded it.
“You know I can't.” Even to Sylvia, her tone sounded defeated...and frustrated.
At first, silence greeted her answer. “Sylvia, you're a grown woman. Your boss shouldn't run your life.”
She knew that, but Jeremy didn't understand. “Nate requires loyalty on top of qualifications.”
“Eight years’ worth should be enough.”
“It's more than that.” She only sounded frustrated that time. She exhaled. “We aren't just boss and employee. Not with what we've been through together. I've worked side-by-side with him. I've been there for both professional and personal things.”
“If you died tomorrow, he'd find another right hand.”
“That's cold.” Her free hand balled into a fist. “And not true.”
She was Nathan's friend. His only friend. He wasn't exactly personable, but his heart was in the right place. His mother had his heart, if truth be told. Yet none of that was hers to share.
Jeremy's voice was tight now. “It's not like you don't want this. It would be different if you wanted us to be friends with benefits. I would be fine with your decision.”
“No, you wouldn't.”
Silence, then he chuckled. “Okay, I wouldn't, but that's not the point.”
“What is? I'll be gone once all this is over. This isn't my home. I need to work to get income. This isn't a fairy tale where I meet the right guy and then everything magically falls into place.”
He sighed. It wasn't frustration she heard, but resignation. “The point is you think you've found something worthwhile to hold onto, but you refuse to.”
“I can't,” she said, soft and low, feeling her heart break.
“Give us some credit, at least, and admit it's you that's refusing. Do you really think Nathan cares that much about what you do in your personal life? Don't you believe he would rather you be happy?”
She couldn't answer the question. Her relationship with Nate had been the same since the first day she came to work for him. Yes, it had grown. Some parts had changed. He trusted her more today than he had eight years ago, but certain lines had never been crossed. She had lied for him, but never to him, and that was a distinction with no thin line.
Her knees weakened, and she sat down on the stoop. She forced the next words out. “Maybe it's best if we don't see each other anymore.”
“Wow.” Then he said the word again.
She placed her other arm around her midsection. “I know.”
She heard him inhale deeply before he said, “I wish you the best. I wish you to...I don't know; be free? I know it may sound strange, but I care about you deeply.”
She closed her eyes to the words. “We've known each other for what? Three weeks.”
“And have spent every moment outside of work with each other. I know you. You have this weird habit of wiggling your toes when you take a long drink of something. You donate money to women's abuse shelters but never claim it on your taxes. You prefer straight vanilla with sprinkles over any other kind of ice cream. And, I know I l—”
“I have to go.” She knew what he would say. The unspoken words sunk their claws around her heart and squeezed. “I have to go,” she said again.
Sylvia didn't wait for him to reply but hung up the phone. Sucking in a breath, she let it back out slowly. She couldn't cry, not now. Not when she had to go back inside and face Nate. The lie had to continue. There was no way she could come clean now.
Whatever it was about this deal had him stressed. This was important to him, and spilling her guts now would throw him off his game. You didn't do that to your boss; it was unprofessional. You didn't do that to a friend either.
Sylvia fisted her hands and placed them over her eyes until the sting went away. She sucked in a few more breaths until the tightness in her chest, from trying to hold back the tears, subsided to an ache.
Finally, she stood, lifted her chin, then walked back inside the store.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Nate answered the phone on the first ring. He knew it would happen as soon as he sat down to watch some infomercials at home—the rental.
“I'm still not dead,” his mother announced, “but I don't know what my son looks like anymore. Do you still have that curl?”
“I had a Jheri curl back in seventh grade. From what I recall, you made me get it because you thought it would fit my face. You finally let me cut it after I was suspended twice in one month.”
His mother laughed. “It was in style.”
“With men over the age of forty. I was twelve.”
“And greasy. I had to get rid of that couch. Could never get the spot out.”
He leaned back into the rented couch cushions. “How are you doing, Mom?”
She pffted. “You would know—”
“If I came to see you,” he finished for her. “I will soon.”
“Soon. I've heard that one before. You were too busy at Christmas. You better make it here by Easter, or I'm getting the details out of Sylvia. You know she's always had a soft spot for me.”
“I know, and I promise.”
“A promise?” She gasped. “You must be serious this time. You never make a promise you know you can't keep.”
“I intend to keep it.” Someone knocked on his door. “I've got to go. I'll call you later.”
He didn't promise he would, so his mother just said, “Later and behave yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have that stubborn tone like you intend to conquer the world.”
“What's wrong with that?” he asked, somewhat offended.
“Sometimes the world isn't yours to conquer. Sometimes it's nice to have a piece you can call yours. A piece of the world you love or have loved. At my age that's more than enough.”
He wanted to tell her she shouldn't have to talk about love in the past tense, but didn't. His mother deserved the world, not a crumb of it. Nate was going to give her the world she should have had.
He couldn't bring his father back. The store would have to do. A home in this town would also do for her. All that was a promise he had to give her. Nothing else would be enough.
He dropped the phone on the couch then answered the door. His hand gripped the doorjamb. Lynne stood in a flirty dress and heels, biting the side of her lip. His stomach tightened with need.
Nate wasn't ready to see her. Not when his thoughts were full of regrets, of grief, and of anger. Every run-in with her had only proved he needed to handle Lynne with a cool head. She read emotions like an ingredients label. His were volatile. But then he caught sight of her taut jaw line.
“Good evening, Ms. Kelley,” he said without inflection.
“May I come in? Or are you having a mental breakdown too?”
He frowned, but stepped aside. “Trouble brewing?”
“Don't want to talk about it.” She stepped inside and blew past him, headed toward the kitchen. “I've brought wine. If you're willing to give me a glass, I will gladly sip until I pass out in a spare room.”
He went into the kitchen, blocking out the memories of the last time they'd been in it. “Is that your way of asking me if you can spend the night?”
“I do everything ass backward, so, yes, I guess that is my way around an invitation. What's your answer? And do you want some of
my wine? I'm asking to be nice, because I really don't want to share. Just so you know.”
“I have beer and infomercials,” he said with an even tone, though he wanted to laugh.
The irritation tightening her mouth into a thin line vanished. She laughed. “I thought you were pulling my leg about the infomercial thing.”
He reached for the bottle in her hand. A good year. What was also amazing was that she didn't get arrested for walking down the street with it.
He muttered, “Everything I've told you is the truth.”
She went quiet for a moment. “You don't lie; you evade. I can almost respect you for it.”
He popped the cork, then poured a glass of wine. When she'd taken it, he placed the open bottle in the refrigerator and got a beer for himself.
He wasn't in the mood for company, but her being here would give him another chance to talk her into selling. He had to find an angle. Everyone had an angle.
He latched onto one. “You can stay on one condition.”
She glanced at him, shook her head. “I'm already into my cups, so you will have a problem getting rid of me now. Look at how people will perceive you if you kick a sad drunk out into the streets.”
“I can deal with the aftermath.”
She sipped her wine, but leaned against the kitchen counter. “What's the condition?”
“You have to tell me why you won't sell the store.”
She bit her lip, sizing him up at the same time. “Let me be honest with you. I'm more than willing to tell you why, but you have to tell me your reason. You can't have all the power. It's not how I work.”
She raised her brows in challenge. He considered the ground he would lose by telling her. She would know more than he wanted most people to find out about him. Surprisingly, the press had never caught wind of his father being murdered. It would have made sensational cover copy.
But now, Lynne wanted him to talk about his reasons. She wanted to know the man behind the business suit. He hated her for prying. Hated how years later his throat still tightened at the thought of speaking the words.
Lynne pushed off the counter and strode into the living room, leaving him to decide. It should have been easy. He could recite the facts. He would not speak of how he still missed his father. How even though the boys who killed him were now men and would probably die in prison. And it still wasn't enough.