The Executive

by Kimberley Montpetit

  "I think I'd remember that," the man seated at the far end with a dark, almost brooding face said. He reminded her of a character from Wuthering Heights, and Kira had a vision of a silhouette of a man standing on the Yorkshire moors, the wind blowing at his hair. Maybe it was just that visiting English chef in the kitchen with the lovely British accent causing her imagination to run away.

  "You all must be from out of town." It occurred to Kira that they had the air of people who'd just flown in. They were wearing business casual. Two of them had briefcases tucked under their chairs.

  "Nope. Born and bred right here in Denver," the blond said cheerfully.

  "Okay, spill it," Kira said, and then cocked her chin at them with a grin. "Or order your food. You pick." Goodness, was she flirting now? She hadn't intended to.

  The man who had stared at her from the moment she'd seated the group didn't speak, although she wished he would. What was up with him?

  The linebacker said, "I'm Troy Thurlow. You attended Southfield high, didn't you?"

  Kira felt a jolt in the center of her chest. "How did you know?"

  "I think we all went to school together. Did you graduate about ten years ago?"

  She nodded, heat rising up her face. "Yeah, ten years last spring."

  "I think we had Biology together."

  A flash of memory flooded over Kira. "Oh my gosh, that's right. I'm sorry I didn't place you right away. You all look—so different. So grown up."

  "Ten years does that to you."

  Kira let out a small laugh. "I guess it does." These men had a worldly air about them. Well, not in a negative way. Successful, confident, and sure of themselves.

  She hadn't known many boys in high school like that. Those long-ago teenage boys had been nerds, band geeks, drama weirdos with their own specific lingo, or sports stars who strutted about like they owned the school."

  "It's a good thing we grow up, huh?" Kira pressed down so hard on her order pad she tore the sheet.

  Ten years after high school and she was still a waitress. She didn't even get to finish her graduate degree, needing to work so she could get caught up on her student loans that had been getting out of hand.

  Her dream of a music career had vanished the day her father was struck by the semi-truck. He'd been changing a tire on his own 18-wheeler one snowy night in the middle of Nebraska, and the impact had shattered his back and legs.

  Ten surgeries later, what little hope she and her mother had held on to disappeared. Her father was paralyzed forever.

  Now Kira's beloved piano sat at her parent's home, mostly unused now. Every Sunday after church she had dinner with her parents and dusted the black upright, like a ritual

  Her mother would serve her husband his dessert and coffee in the recliner and beg her to play Chopin or Rachmaninoff.

  Kira indulged them—and herself—but her fingers were growing stiffer with every passing month she hadn't studied with Vivian Ashcroft, the university professor who had taught her until she was forced to leave.

  Sometimes she had to hide the tears of longing and remorse. Getting on her knees to polish the piano's legs with lemon oil so her mother wouldn't see the pain she carried and feel even more guilt than she already did.

  There was too much guilt to go around at her folk's home.

  And now here was Troy Thurlow smiling at her, not stuck up or obnoxious at all, although she couldn't really remember him from high school. They moved in completely different circles at Southfield.

  "I'll have the roast beef special," he said, waking Kira from her state of reverie.

  Kira scribbled it down, trying to focus despite five pairs of male eyes gazing at her. Her senses had gone on high alert from the men’s overwhelming deep voices and spicy aftershave fragrance. Good grief, why was she so discombobulated by them?

  She tried to laugh off her nerves. "Guys I'm sorry I don't remember you." She turned to the next man. "Please remind me of your names when you order and then maybe I won't feel like an idiot."

  "Adam Caldwell. I'll take a sirloin, medium rare, baked potato and veggies. And," he added wryly. "I actually graduated a year after you. No classes together, so no guilt."

  Kira let out her breath. "Thank you for making me feel better about my latent memory." She moved clockwise around the table, stepping closer so she could hear better over another noisy party coming up behind her to be seated in Jan's section. "Yes, sir, what would you like to order?"

  "Brandon Haltom. Baked chicken, French fries, lots of ketchup." He handed over his menu and sipped his water. The other guys groaned. "You should graduate to fry sauce at least. You're not in middle school anymore."

  "Hey, I like my ketchup. It's Heinz, right?" he asked Kira, a cute boyish plea in his blue eyes.

  "Always Heinz," Kira assured him. "Next?" she asked, studiously avoiding the man that continued to gaze at her two seats away. He glanced away every now and then, but then his gaze would slide back towards her as though he couldn't stop himself.

  "Ryan Argyle. Give me your best burger, please. With all the trimmings. And mustard. Onion rings on the side."

  "Good All-American choice," Kira murmured.

  "A burger?" Troy said, giving Ryan a hard time. "When you could have prime rib at Rossi's?"

  "Hey, I've been eating beans and tortillas in Peru for the last two weeks. I want a juicy, sloppy hamburger."

  "Peru . . . that sounds exciting." Kira said. She'd never traveled out of the country and hearing about exotic places just made her long for a different life than the one she'd been dealt.

  Which only caused her to feel guilty because it certainly wasn't anyone's fault that her parents were in dire straits medically and financially.

  "Business," Ryan said with a shrug. "Not that exciting. But the women were pretty."

  That got a laugh from a couple of the guys while Kira pretended not to hear the last part of his comment. "Okay, last one," she said brightly—her curiosity rising. Who was this last, final guy with the mesmerizing eyes?

  "Caleb Davenport," he said, his voice low with a smooth tenor of seductive sweetness.

  Caleb Davenport. Their eyes locked, and Kira experienced a definite shiver rocking her from her head all the way down to her toes inside her sensible black work shoes.

  She was supposed to know him from high school, just like the other men, but did she? Nothing about him looked familiar.

  "Right. Caleb," she said, keeping her face down to avoid those dreamy, intense eyes.

  He sat up straighter, leaning forward, his arms resting along the edge of the table. "So you remember me?"

  "No, I'm sorry, I don't. Guess I was trying to pretend."

  "Don't pretend," Caleb said. "You don't need to, Kira."

  He spoke her name tentatively, but eagerly, as if he'd been waiting years to say her name out loud. The peculiar reaction she was having toward him confused her Kira even more.

  "What can I get you Mr. Davenport?" she asked softly.

  "Just Caleb."

  "But you're the boss of this group, aren't you?"

  His eyebrows rose upward. "How can you tell?"

  She shrugged, and then laughed self-deprecatingly. "I don't know, I'm a good guesser."

  Troy laughed. "Good one, Kira. You must be giving off vibes, Caleb."

  Giving off vibes, that was for sure. Kira started to close her notepad and walk away. Flushing, she halted, nearer to Caleb's chair now. She could smell the faint scent of a clean spring day as if he'd just taken a shower. "I'm sorry; I forgot to take your order, Mr.—Caleb."

  He spread the menu open while Kira studiously focused on her order pad, ignoring this guy's nice hands.

  "I'll have the roast beef special, too. Even though I've been to England several times for business, I've never had Yorkshire pudding. Is it good? Does it come in chocolate?"

  She was amused. "I'm afraid not. It's not actually pudding. A thick bread baked in the oven in oil. You put gravy on it. It's terrific."

/>   "Can't wait." He handed her his menu, and their fingers touched. She swore it took him longer than necessary to release the menu into her custody, even though it was a fraction of a second.

  "So, Caleb Davenport," she said, gathering up her courage to ask. "Did you and I ever have classes together?"

  "Yep," he said softly. "English. And Algebra one semester when we were freshmen. Maybe American History?" he added.

  "That's ancient history—pun intended."

  He smiled, his teeth so white and straight Kira was sure he'd had an excellent orthodontist. Or good genes.

  Ryan spoke up, raising an empty glass, which Kira filled. "We were just talking about our ten-year high school reunion. Did you get an invitation?" he asked. "We've been debating about whether to graced everyone with our presence," he added with a wink.

  "Um, no, I didn't actually. Maybe it's in the pile of mail at my folk's house. I'll look."

  "You don't need the official invitation," Brandon said. "We're all inviting you right now. Can't leave out a local classmate. The more, the merrier."

  A high school reunion wasn't exactly high on Kira's priority list. She'd rather be back at school in New York, frankly. "When is it?"

  "Hotel Monaco. Next Friday at seven," Ryan answered.

  "Dinner, a live band, a slide show with old pictures so we can all laugh at each other," Troy added. "Hey, we'll even take turns giving you a spin around the dance floor."

  "Won't you be bringing your wives—or girlfriends?" Kira teased.

  The guys all shook their heads, lifting their left hands up in the air in a mocking fashion. No wedding rings, although that didn't always mean anything.

  "Will you come?" Caleb said, reaching out a hand as though he was going to touch her arm, but quickly dropping his fingers back to the table instead.

  "Sure, why not?" Kira answered flippantly. It was easier to say yes than explain her reasons for staying home. "Okay, gotta get your orders in before the kitchen closes."

  She strode across the carpeted floor toward the kitchen, wondering if she had anything besides waitress uniforms in the back of her closet. No dress was certainly a deal-breaker when it came to a fancy evening out.

  Chapter 3

  Caleb turned his head slightly, watching Kira briskly walk away, noticing her lean legs under her skirt. He'd also noticed her beautiful long fingers as she took their orders, her short nails painted a pearled pink color.

  His face flushed with the shock of seeing her. After ten years of searching for her in every crowd and every country around the world, here she was waitressing at Rossi’s. Of all places.

  It was all he could do not to pull out the ruby necklace and beg her forgiveness for that stupid thing he'd done by taking it. He hadn't meant to keep the necklace.

  Caleb had always assumed he'd run into her somewhere—a gas station, the grocery store, the movies—and when weeks turned into months, he planned to call her up and bring it over to her house, apologizing profusely—and then finally ask her out if she wasn't totally pissed off at him.

  But the longer it took him to drudge up his courage, more months passed. By then, he was embarrassed to tell her the truth. He knew she would hate him. The idea of Kira rejecting him, telling him to get lost was more than he could bear to think about.

  Even so, Caleb kept one ear tuned into the gossip of Southfield, in case there was anything said about a missing necklace through the grapevine. He attended the University of Colorado's Business School right there in Denver and there was a rumor Kira had gone out-of-state to college. Which meant that Denver had most likely become a distant memory for her.

  Caleb used to picture her touring with a symphony. Wearing elegant gowns that brushed the stage. Marrying the rugged first-chair guy from the trumpet section.

  He tried to tell himself that the necklace was a cheap nothing. But that was merely a rationalization for his growing guilt. And it nagged at him, especially when he couldn't reconcile the fact that he'd probably never see her again.

  Kira Bancroft was always the girl he'd wanted to ask out but never did. Never had the courage or the confidence. In high school, he'd been a total loser. Kira never looked at him twice.

  So many years had gone by. And now, despite a wrinkled apron and tired circles under her eyes, Kira was even more beautiful than Caleb remembered. If anything, she had blossomed over the decade. Still slim, but with startling curves. A smile that made his body go warm. Humor that was subtle, yet charming.

  The biggest question was: What the heck was she doing serving food and wiping down tables at Rossi's?

  Something had gone terribly wrong. And Caleb intended to find out what had happened to her.

  Chapter 4

  Kira had never felt so painfully self-conscious being around her last table of dinner customers. These men she'd gone to high school with raved about the food, drank three bottles of wine—divided by the five of them didn't amount to that much really, and then it was coffee pots until closing.

  "Thanks for letting us hang out here to go over our trip reports," Caleb said when she handed over the check and a credit card. "The other guys were needling me about an early morning tomorrow. Now we can all sleep in an extra hour."

  "You're very welcome; I hope you enjoyed your evening." Even to herself, Kira's reply sounded formal and stiff. Her awkwardness around these tall, handsome men showed in spades.

  Her embarrassment from the evening had her ready for a break from everything. The only place she forgot about her family's woes and her interrupted music career, was on the piano bench. Lost in the music. Fingers flying over the ivory keys like dear, old friends. She often felt Mozart sending love through the centuries, or Rachmaninoff showering her with romance.

  Maybe that was pathetic, but it was true. She rarely dated, and evenings with friends were rare since she began working nights two years ago, adding extra hours or shifts when they were available to make ends meet, not only for herself but her parents.

  Pasting on a smile, Kira took the credit card from Caleb. "I'll run your card and be right back." His fingers were warm on hers, and she had to force herself to wrench her hand away so she could concentrate and continue doing her job. Kira swore she could feel his eyes on her back as she walked to the register. Caleb's eyes held a curious melancholy all evening. Had there been some kind of history between them ten years ago and she'd completely forgotten?

  Was she supposed to be embarrassed? Was she supposed to have remembered and gone flying into his arms with a "Caleb, it's you! How could we have ever parted?"

  The thought made her grin as she tore off the receipt and scrabbled through a drawer for a pen to get his signature.

  Tonight's encounter left her unsettled—and more than curious.

  Unless she'd been suffering from amnesia the last decade, Kira knew she had never spoken to Caleb Davenport before. They had never dated. Not even partied at the same location together.

  He must be mixing her up with somebody else.

  The group of five stood, scraping back their chairs across the carpet and then shrugged into jackets when she returned with the receipt.

  Caleb scribbled his name and left it on the table, giving her a small wink. A peculiar thrill ran up her neck and Kira forced the blush that was rising down to her toes so she didn't embarrass herself further.

  "Hey, Kira, save us a dance," Troy and Ryan joked as they departed.

  She lifted her hand in a brief wave, exhaustion hitting her when she glanced at the time on her cell phone. Caleb and his group of friends had closed up the place. It was well after ten o'clock and her eyes were scratchy with fatigue.

  Kira cleared the last of the dessert dishes, hurrying so the night cleaning staff could get to work. It would be close to midnight before she got to her apartment.

  Underneath Caleb Davenport's cheesecake plate, she found his business card for his company. DREAMS, the words read in a striking font. Set against the striking backdrop of the Colorado Rockies.
His name, business address, and phone number were on the bottom like every good business card design.

  She was curious, after listening to them at dinner, to learn more about the business these guys dealt in, and why they seemed to travel so much. "Huh," she said, wiping down the table with antiseptic soap and fingering the business card. "DREAMS is an app."

  It was interesting that five guys from high school had started a company together. Supposedly, they'd been in her graduating class, but she never recalled them hanging out together. The big group of guys she remembered seeing around high school was usually the sports players, not computer nerds.

  But what did she know? She'd never taken a computer class. She was always in the choir, and then musical theatre for one semester, but too shy to belt out Broadway songs. She ended up accompanying the soloists.

  Dropping the card into her pocket, Kira finished up and met Jan at the door.

  "Long night, huh?" Jan said wearily, running a hand through her hair.

  "We still have the weekend to go, too," Kira agreed.

  "Miss Bancroft," Mr. Rossi called out.

  "Yes," Kira said, turning toward her boss and stifling a yawn.

  "You forgot to pick up your tips. It must have been a good night," he added, handing over an envelope.

  She gave him a tired smile. "That's always the hope."

  "Keep up the good work," Mr. Rossi said with a bemused smile on his face. "I think those young men were taken with you. They were quite generous."

  "Oh, I'm sure it was Mr. Bickels. He's always so sweet and big-hearted."

  "Goodnight ladies," Mr. Rossi said. "See you tomorrow."

  Walking out to their cars together, Jan turned. "So how much did Bickels tip you tonight? Pass him along to me sometime, will you?"

  Kira opened up the envelope that contained a copy of the dinner receipts from the customers she'd served and the cash tips enclosed. She let out a sharp gasp of disbelief when she saw a thick stack of bills.