The Calendar of New Beginnings

by Ava Miles

  “I thought we could start with some water,” Chase explained as the server poured. “Of course, please order anything else to drink you’d like.”

  If they were going to work together, he needed to loosen up a bit. She couldn’t work with such a starched shirt. “Even champagne?” she joked.

  His eyes narrowed for a moment before he smiled. “As you wish. I have plenty of martini lunches in D.C. with the Defense Department. Government types never shy away from drinking when a contractor is footing the bill.”

  The server was patiently waiting. “I’m good with water to start, but if you could bring me an espresso, I’d be most appreciative.”

  After he left, she leaned forward conspiratorially. “Chef T makes really great espresso.”

  “Personally?” Chase asked, looking more relaxed now. “I’m surprised he’s not off shooting one of his TV shows.”

  “He’s here now, and he knows we’re meeting. Chef T is connected to our larger family.”

  “The Hales. Your great-uncle is the legendary Arthur Hale, and everyone expects your brother, Matt, to be voted in as the new mayor this November.”

  “We try and tolerate their presence,” she said blandly. “They’re both crusaders for justice in their own ways.”

  He studied her. “And are you? Someone in human resources often has to right wrongs done to employees in a company. Have you ever had to fire anyone?”

  “Of course,” she said, sipping her water after adding a lime wedge. “If they deserve it, I keep it short and sweet. If they’re being laid off, I keep a box of tissues on my desk, but I still keep it short and sweet.”

  “I see a pattern.” His mouth quirked up, and it was hard not to notice the rugged planes of his jaw. Fortune hadn’t airbrushed anything. “I wasn’t sure what to expect after what Evan told me about you. He said you were really nice and funny.”

  This time she rolled her eyes. “Showing off my intelligence to an inventor wasn’t really on the table. What was I supposed to do? Talk about the best way to structure a job description or create a human resources manual?”

  Chase laughed, and it was one of those loud, gusty ones, which she found herself immediately liking. “Evan’s eyes would have glazed over the minute you said job description. I was the one who insisted I write one for my position. If it were up to Evan, he would have just hired me and let me do whatever I wanted.”

  This time she was the one who laughed. “I have a feeling you probably still do whatever you want—even with a job description.”

  “You’re right,” he said, chuckling darkly. “But Evan is the boss, and I try to remember that mostly. He and I—”

  “Are perfect examples of complementary leadership,” she interjected. “Sorry, I got excited. I sometimes interrupt.”

  He took a drink of his water. “No, I’m glad you aren’t one of those stiff, inflexible human resources types.”

  “Oh, don’t mistake my good humor. If we agree on a job description, I’ll follow it to the letter unless we agree on expanding the scope. And if we have a manual in place for how to run the institute—”

  “You’ll make sure every I is dotted and every T crossed,” he said, interrupting her this time.

  She traced the rim of her glass, feeling the mist from the water’s bubbles on her finger. “I understand the importance of compliance, especially in a high-security facility housing people’s inventions. I wouldn’t be laissez-faire about that. Dare Valley might be a small town, but intellectual property theft is still possible. We don’t want someone walking in off the streets to steal some head-in-the-clouds inventor’s prize project.”

  Chase lifted his glass and saluted her. “I’m glad you understand that. One thing Evan and I have always agreed on is the need to protect his inventions.”

  “It’s important to protect everything from the ideas and the prototypes to the final inventions,” she said. “Evan explained the invention process to me in great detail. I assume you’ll have visitor and press protocols in place as well.”

  He nodded. “Yes. Evan and I are still discussing the security protocols. He wants the institute to have an open and creative energy, but he recognizes most inventors are pretty tight-lipped about their projects. We’ve agreed to have low-profile guards and special access-only rooms beyond the high-tech security system I’ve finalized with our current provider.”

  “But there’s also the danger that students might try and steal each other’s ideas within the institute,” she said, shaking her head. “Not everyone is ethical. We could create an ethical protocol and provide mandatory training for everyone in the institute.”

  “I’m trying to persuade Evan to go a step further and make them sign a legally binding agreement about the use of their work and collaboration within the center.”

  Moira had a hard time imagining Evan going for that idea, which would essentially give the institute an opportunity for legal action in the event of a breach of contract. “It’s a tough spot to be in, isn’t it? The institute’s inventors won’t technically be employees, but they’ll be doing important work that needs to be protected. You also don’t want anyone to use the institute’s resources to invent some new form of a chemical weapon.”

  Chase set his glass down. “No, we don’t. Not all inventions are for the good of the world. Evan doesn’t like to sit in judgment over people’s ideas, but as an institute, we have a responsibility to ensure no harm is done.”

  Moira uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. “It’s going to be an exciting give and take, especially in the beginning. Selecting people worthy of using the institute is going to be—”

  “A pain in the ass,” Chase said, scowling now. “Evan doesn’t agree on the need for background checks in applicants.”

  “Well, that’s just crazy! Of course you need to do background checks. You can’t let any Tom, Dick, or Harry into a place like this and give them access to the resources and support the institute plans to provide.”

  He took a drink of his water, studying her over the rim of the glass. “I’m glad we agree on that.”

  She could only imagine the power struggle that would erupt between Chase and anyone who stood in his way. Surely this was a man who was used to getting his way. “While we’re talking about agreements, I would need it to be clearer who I report to directly. Evan clearly will have a role as the creative genius behind the institute, and it sounds like he plans to work with inventors on their projects from time to time.”

  Chase sighed, running his hand through his dark hair. “I’m dreading that part. I told Evan his first priority has to be to inventing for Quid-Atch, but he gets distracted by good ideas. It’s what makes him brilliant. Plus, he always geeks out with other inventors. So far, I’ve only witnessed this with Rajan Singh, the head of our R&D, and our team, but with this extra influx of people…”

  “He’s going to be in inventing heaven,” she finished for him, smiling wryly. “He might have mentioned it.”

  “You’re smart to ask who you’d report to,” Chase said, casting a glance at her resume. “But it won’t be so clear-cut. Evan will be the creative mastermind, as you said. Plus, he lives here now. He’ll want to do things we technically aren’t supposed to do. That’s why I’m going to be involved. Evan and I have been engaged in the battle between invention and management since we first met.”

  She’d suspected that tension going into the interview. “I don’t want to be caught in the middle. I’m not eager for a lose-lose situation here, especially since it involves me relocating back to Dare Valley.”

  Chase added another lime to his water. “I can’t promise easy waters every time, but Evan and I always figure out an agreement in the end. I don’t expect you to be a party to that.”

  “If I were offered the job,” she said, looking him squarely in the eye, “I’d want there to be an agreement upfront about that.”

  “There are always scenarios we can’t foresee,” Chase said, waving his hand. “Lo
ok at me. I’m sitting in Dare Valley, talking with you about a job at a new invention institute. Trust me, even though Evan’s like a brother to me, I didn’t see this coming. But we adapt. Evan is a genius and a visionary, don’t get me wrong. But he sometimes needs people to help him think through his plans in terms of practicality and budget.”

  “Visionaries aren’t always the best managers,” she said, thinking back to one of her first bosses, who could rally a board of directors but lacked the strategic ability to lead the company into a new market.

  “I also won’t be here 24/7,” Chase said. “I need someone who has a good head on her shoulders who can handle such issues on an ongoing basis.”

  “You need someone who will keep the ship running, keep you informed, and keep the institute’s burgeoning reputation intact.”

  “Exactly,” he said as another knock sounded on the door. “Your espresso, I presume. Enter.”

  The server came in carrying her coffee. Chef T had certainly had a hand in making it—he knew her preferences, and there was a small jar of honey with a silver spoon on the saucer instead of brown sugar.

  “You take your espresso with honey?” Chase asked. “That’s very Italian of you.”

  She raised her brows. “What can I say? When it comes to some things, the Italians know best.” She refrained from mentioning the fine cut of his suit, but the unbidden thought prompted another issue they hadn’t discussed. “Beyond the ethics protocol and training, I hope you plan on including sexual harassment protocols and training. I’m not sure how many female inventors will be selected, but it’s important to make sure inventors with less than ideal people skills understand the law.”

  She added her honey to her espresso and took a sip. Heaven.

  “That’s serious human resource talk,” Chase said, “but I like it. Evan didn’t have good people skills in the beginning either, but he’s grown up. I expect we’ll be dealing with some inventors who have them and others who don’t. Inventors run a wide swath, I’ve discovered. And as for female applicants, I can say from our experience with Quid-Atch that there’s not near enough of them involved. Our R&D team is composed of mostly men since they still dominate the math, science, and engineering fields.”

  “Unlike human resources, which boasts nearly all female employees,” she said, making a face. “Hopefully more balance will be achieved over time.”

  “Agreed,” Chase said. “Let’s order some lunch. I have some questions to ask you about your background.”

  As Moira looked into the shrewd eyes of Quid-Atch’s chief financial officer, she knew she had a ways to go before she convinced him she was the best candidate for the job.

  But she had no doubt she would.

  Chapter 20

  Lucy’s first photo shoot happily landed on the day when she’d awoken to discover the vision in her right eye marginally improved. It had only taken a couple weeks, thank God. When she closed her left one, she was able to make out the painter’s signature in the corner of the fake Monet hanging on the wall in her bedroom in Merry Cottage. Her doctor’s words about psychosomatic changes echoed in her ears, but she decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  She’d immediately grabbed her phone from her bedside. Her mom had already sent her a text. Shocker.

  Are you sure I can’t come for the photo shoot? I promise I won’t be in the way.

  Lucy thought about screaming her frustration into a pillow, but decided not to waste the energy.

  Mom, we talked about this. I’m working with the volunteers individually. People do better with less distractions. Talk to you later. Love you.

  She hoped that would satisfy her for the moment. That woman was like a dog with a bone when it came to the calendar. And her hounding hadn’t stopped just because Lucy had agreed to do things her way.

  Well, she wasn’t going to let her mom dim her happiness over the improvement in her vision, so she texted the one person she knew would be thrilled. Well, he was the only one who knew, besides Tanner, who was basically a vault, but…

  Hey, Andy Cakes! My vision suddenly seems marginally better. I can make out some finer details. Stay tuned. Oh, and thanks for a wonderful time last night. Dinner out with you and Danny was wonderful. Have a great morning.

  Clutching her phone to her chest, she focused on the scarves on the brass footboard. She still couldn’t make out the differences between the two red ones, she discovered, when she closed her good eye, or the deeper mustard yellow from the sunshine scarf next to it.

  She’d focus on the progress. That’s what she wanted, after all.

  Certainly there had been progress in her relationship with Andy. They’d fallen into the dating thing pretty easily over the past couple of weeks, thrilling their families. They’d had years of experience talking, hanging out, and laughing together, so that aspect of their relationship felt as natural as breathing.

  Then there was the new joy of watching each other while thinking of getting the other person naked—or so Lucy liked to joke to herself. And the touching and kissing? The man had skills there, and if it ever got awkward, like it did the first time he took her bra off last week, they knew how to defuse the weirdness with laughter. Both of them had busted up laughing at her joke about him finally making it to second base. But then they’d quickly discovered second base wasn’t going to satisfy them.

  Her phone buzzed. That’s great. Let me know if Dr. Davidson wants to see you, and I can take off. I had a good night too. Gotta run. Rufus just barfed, and Danny won’t put his pants on. If you don’t hear from me in a few hours, I’ve run away to Bali.

  An irrepressible smile spread across her face. He always made her smile. Laughter was the best medicine, he’d say, and he wasn’t kidding. Her spirits were better. Classes were going well. She was grading her first photos of road kill, discovering she had no trouble whatsoever judging their technique or composition.

  But she hadn’t taken any more pictures herself. Not until today. She’d been hoping her vision would miraculously correct itself, so she wouldn’t have to learn a new way. At least her vision was back to the condition it had been in before her fight with her mother. Would it improve a little more with time? God, she hoped so, but she couldn’t wait any longer to take the photos for the calendar. Her mother had made that clear.

  Another text came in. Good luck capturing Jill’s maracas. Please don’t feel like you need to share the details. I’ve been scarred enough today between my dog and kid. Call me if you need me.

  The last part of his message made her heart clench. They didn’t focus on the problems with her vision, but they didn’t dance around them either. A couple of nights ago, while they were sitting on the couch after Danny had gone to sleep, he’d asked her to describe what her vision looked like now. In halting terms, she’d tried to explain it, and afterwards, he’d held her quietly until she finally made herself drive home.

  As she dressed, she decided to call Dr. Davidson to tell him the news. Though she dreaded that he might tell her she was imagining it, making the call was the right thing to do. The phone call was brief because the doctor was in the car on the way to the hospital, but he agreed that her news was encouraging. Afterwards, she drove over to The Grand Mountain Hotel to face her demons.

  She’d already checked out the media room Chef T had volunteered for today’s shoot. It was equipped with the kind of state-of-the-art equipment Lucy never had in the field, taking photos for humanitarian organizations’ calendars and the like. Yet her work hadn’t suffered for it.

  Once again, the volunteers had agreed to draw names to establish the shooting order, and it was Lucy’s luck to begin with Jill. She was grateful her mother’s name had been drawn last, although that meant her mother had more time to shop for a headdress worthy of Cleopatra.

  When Lucy entered the hotel’s fancy lobby, Jill met her in a surprisingly conservative white blouse and navy shirt, in keeping with the hotel’s elegant ambiance.

  “Are you
ready, Lucy?” the quirky redhead asked, practically bouncing in her pink ballet slippers, the only nod to her away-from-work style. “Just to get Chef T’s goat, I threatened to show up in his kitchen with only my fruit hat on. He took the day off out of fear. Coward. Since he deprived me of my fun, I asked Moira and Natalie to come and drink mimosas with us. I hope that’s okay. Your mother really wanted to watch, but I told her I’d like to keep it to us girls.”

  So her mom had gone around her, looking for Jill’s permission to be there since she didn’t have Lucy’s. Lovely. But even though Jill had denied her request, thank God, Lucy wasn’t off scot-free. Moira was going to be a problem. She was probably going to ask her a bunch of photography questions and notice if she made any mistakes. Great. Like she wasn’t already nervous enough.

  Lucy had never taken photos while drinking a mimosa in her life, but heck, it sounded pretty good about now.

  “No mothers,” Lucy said as Jill put an arm around her tense shoulders and led her up the hotel’s wide staircase to the office area where the media room was located. “I figured you probably needed some space for your first photo shoot.”

  “You too, Lucy,” Jill said. “We all know this isn’t your normal. I hope it at least can be fun for you.”

  Was Jill being all sweet and sensitive now? Lucy almost didn’t know how to take that. Had Andy said something to her? No, he wouldn’t have. “Am I that obvious?” It wouldn’t hurt for the volunteers to think she was nervous because this wasn’t her usual subject matter.

  “Yep,” Jill said, shaking her playfully. “But we’ll get through this together. Brian says my maracas are pretty inspiring.”

  Oh, good Lord, here we go. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to handle that much inspiration, Jill.”

  Snickering, she replied, “That’s what he says.”

  “You’re so bad,” Lucy said as they made their way down the hallway.