Love on the Vine

by Roxanne Smith

  He tore himself away from the window. No wonder Easton never left his office. The view beckoned Oliver, steel and sky stretched out forever. He could stand there and ponder any number of things indefinitely.

  But not now. Now, he had one chance to make this decision—this stupidly rash decision—pay off in a big way.

  He realized this may very well be the only place in the entire building where the walls weren’t covered by those useless panels, not even brokenly like in the hallway on the first floor. So maybe the panels had nothing to do with the secret room. His hands curled into fists. Without the panels, an idea that made too much sense for him to ignore, he was basically blind and back to square one. How else would someone hide a damn door?

  Easton kept his walls stark white and clean, only a few large photographs expertly framed and hung—a professional shoot, Mr. Arnell and the missus. Another photograph was Easton and the mayor shaking hands. Finding nothing of note behind either picture frame, Oliver moved on. The office, like many others, was split down the middle. One half for administrative business, the other half for hands-on projects.

  The exception was in size. Easton’s drafting table was twice as large as Kay’s. Oliver couldn’t resist a cursory inspection. Drawings, some colored in with pastels or watercolors, were scattered everywhere. A mad scientist’s laboratory. There were rushed penciled drawings of fat roses on cattail stems and careful renderings of more realistic concepts: daffodils the same dusky shade as a thunder cloud and gray roses, edged in black, the size of dimes. There were stacks of drawings, paint spatters and pastel smears marring the table’s surface.

  How in the hell did Mr. Arnell keep his suit so damn crisp and clean? Oliver had never seen the man anything less than dapper. Every hair in place, a calm smile. Behind it, an apparently frenzied artist chomped at the bit. Oliver ran the tip of his finger over the tiny roses, perfectly drawn. This was where the real Mr. Arnell came out to play.

  Oliver began his search in earnest on the business side of the large office. Huge bookcases lining the wall behind the monstrous desk took him several long minutes to inspect. None of the large tomes he picked up had the feel of a hollowed center. Easton’s few knick-knacks were all what they seemed to be. No surprises.

  The only real shock was the lack of any kind of locked cabinet. There were no files kept here. It was predominately a creative space for the director of operations, and the important files must be kept in Merit’s office, which did host a locked filing cabinet Oliver had passed up, because client files were useless to him. But maybe it was worth breaking out the picks.

  Oliver licked his lips nervously and moved to the desk with a small shake of his head. He was batshit crazy. Easton Arnell’s desk. What in the hell was he thinking? For once, he couldn’t afford to. He shut off his internal caution filters and sprang into action before his courage failed him.

  One drawer after the next. None were locked, but none held anything special. An unopened set of acrylic paints and accompanying brushes. Old birthday cards, some from the employees at Free Leaf, a couple from his wife. Oliver felt immensely uncomfortable handling these. He shouldn’t. He sorted through personal items all the time. The problem was he genuinely respected Mr. Arnell, a man who guarded his privacy like it were a state secret. Oliver hated when his work made him feel slimy. The inconvenient meeting of his duties butting up against his conscience didn’t happen often enough for him to ever get used to the feeling. He gritted his teeth and kept moving.

  He almost didn’t check the shallow top drawer centered beneath the desktop. Ten times out of ten, they held the usual suspects—sticky notes, pens, paper clips, push pins—a jumble of ordinary office staples. A veritable junk drawer, but Oliver only knew that because he was thorough. He opened the drawer and froze. Then his index finger touched lightly on a small figurine nestled into a plastic bowl of paper clips.

  A mushroom.

  Oliver picked it up and set it carefully upright on the desk. Less than an inch tall. Possibly made of clay, with the reddish brown color of the stem. The cap was glazed white with blue and green spots. He snatched it up and rolled it in his palm as he stared out of the giant window and tried to sew together fragmented information.

  It couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? They were investigating psychedelic mushrooms that were killing people. What were the odds Easton Arnell had a mushroom figurine planted in his desk? If it were simple décor, why wasn’t it displayed on a shelf?

  By the time Oliver caught the whisper of feet on carpet outside the door, he had to choose between closing the drawer or dropping the mushroom back inside, because he couldn’t do both. He slid the mushroom in his pocket, simultaneously using his hip to close the top drawer, and was standing at the window with his palms pressed against the glass when the door behind him whooshed open.

  Oliver turned with a wide-open expression, launching himself into his role. “Mr. Ar—oh. You’re not Mr. Arnell.” He didn’t have to fake his momentary surprise.

  Brendan stepped into the office and clasped his hands behind his back. Tall and wiry, his black button-up and matching thick-framed glasses, and his hair sticking straight up, made Oliver think of a burnt matchstick. “Oliver. Not sure you should be in here.”

  “I know, I know. To be fair, I looked for you.” Perfectly true. He’d peeked around for Brendan to make sure he was busy with Kay. Their meeting sure hadn’t lasted long. Hopefully, this one wouldn’t, either. “When I didn’t find you, I decided I’d wait for Mr. Arnell here. I need to talk to him.”

  Brendan stared, as if hoping to move Oliver to some deeper confession by the weight of his authority. Maybe if Oliver were a legitimate employee, it would’ve worked. As it was, he found Brendan Berkley about as intimidating as a member of the nighttime cleaning crew.

  He shook his head ruefully and turned back to the window, deliberately running his hands over the glass, smearing his fingerprints. He had something prepared, but he’d been hoping it wouldn’t come to this. “I think I really messed up.” He turned from the window and hurried toward Brendan, letting desperation build on his features. “If I could just explain myself to Mr. Arnell. Merit’s great, but she’ll never understand. But if I could get Mr. Arnell on my side, surely he’d help me out. I can’t lose this job. I’ve worked too hard.”

  Brendan still seemed unsure. “So, you snuck into his office instead of making an appointment?”

  Oliver swallowed hard enough to make his Adam’s apple bob. He blinked several times and rubbed his hands together. Dealing with Brendan had always been a tightrope situation. Oliver was loud about his desire to move up the ranks. But to keep Brendan from feeling threatened, he played the village idiot. Hopefully not so well he wouldn’t be considered for a promotion if the chance came up, but he couldn’t afford to give Brendan a reason to watch him too closely.

  “Look,” Oliver said, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “It’s extreme, but something...” He licked his lips. “Something stupid happened between me and Kay at Capital Acres. If I can explain before Pattie tells on us, maybe I won’t get fired. Mr. Arnell seems so reasonable. He’ll hear me out, don’t you think?”

  Brendan glanced around the office. “You could’ve waited outside.”

  Oliver had been ready for that, too. He toed an imaginary spot on the flawless carpet and smiled up at Brendan. It’s a good thing he didn’t blush, because inside he bubbled with embarrassment. He was a little too good at playing the part sometimes. “I know. But everyone knows about Mr. Arnell’s window. I-I tried the door. I just meant to have a look.” He brightened his expression with a full smile and hooked his thumb toward the window. “Have you been in here before? The rumors are true, man, look at that thing! I meant to have a quick peek but I couldn’t pull myself away. I could stare out at that view for hours. You’ve seen my office, right? Freakin’ mop closet.”

  Finally, Brendan smiled. His shoulders relaxed—only a fraction, but enough for
Oliver to take note—and he walked toward the window. Oliver followed, and they stood side by side. “Tell you what, Oliver, why don’t I explain things to Mr. Arnell for you? I’ll wait, of course, to see if Pattie even says anything. I doubt she will. You know how much she hates the office games we all love to play.”

  Genuinely surprised, he looked at Brendan. “You’d cover for me?”

  Brendan slipped his hands into his khaki slacks and shrugged. “Why not?”

  Oliver had to make sure he wasn’t being led by his ear. “I don’t know. Doesn’t feel right. I should take the heat myself. It’s not fair to ask you to get involved.” He doused each word with a liberal coating of doubt. What did Brendan gain by helping him?

  Brendan answered by clamping a hand down on Oliver’s shoulder and pressing his lips together in a thin, firm smile. “Look, Oli, I don’t want you to get into any trouble. If Mr. Arnell had caught you in here...I hate to think. I promise, I’ll let you know if Pattie says anything. If she does, I’ve got your back. Count on it.”

  It wouldn’t make sense for the village idiot to press the issue. So, Oliver smiled stupidly, as if in awe of his good fortune, and shook Brendan’s hand. “Even if I got promoted, I wouldn’t ever fill your shoes, ya know it? I don’t even know how to thank you.”

  “Just try to stay out of trouble.”

  Oliver made a beeline for the door like he couldn’t get away fast enough. “I guess I owe you that much.”

  Chapter 7

  Kay stepped into conference room one wearing her brightest smile. A smartly dressed man and woman in matching beige pantsuits—slacks for him and a knee-length skirt for her—sat closest to the door. Mr. Arnell stood at the head of the long table, leaning forward on his palms.

  If she stopped and stared for a moment, it was because anyone would have. Easton Arnell was a huge man. Linebacker huge. Broad shoulders seemed to take up more space than they should, but they tapered into a trim waist and narrow hips, and thighs that fought the confining material of his slacks. As if he were used to having the impact of making new acquaintances speechless, Mr. Arnell took the lead, offering a giant muscled hand for Kay to shake and an apologetic smile. “Ms. Bing. A pleasure.”

  “All mine,” she mumbled, watching her hand as it was swallowed whole.

  He turned his smile to their clients. He wore his dark brown hair pushed back from his forehead, and gentle blue eyes held a steady gaze. He had an unassuming air. Kay liked him right away. “Ms. Bing is our new head designer. In fact, your spa is her launching pad here at Free Leaf Concepts, so I bet we can all expect great things.”

  Introductions were made, handshakes exchanged. It was then Kay realized Mr. Arnell had stepped back, essentially giving her the floor. A test, then? To see how she handled their precious clientele? A hell of a way to get a bead on her, but she grudgingly admitted the tactic was effective. Instinctively, Kay knew she’d get this one chance to impress Mr. Arnell, which his countenance naturally made her want to do. Trying too hard would spell certain failure. She swallowed. She had to do this the Kay Bing way or not at all.

  Instead of taking a chair across from her clients, Kay settled next to Mrs. Followill. “I’m actually glad you’re here. I have an idea. Not unheard of, but different from what most spas are doing these days.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Followill exchanged a glance. The woman folded her hands together. “We’re open to suggestions.”

  “Free Leaf Concepts is known for fountains. That’s our bread and butter. So it’s given nearly every building and business we’ve worked on has one. The lobby of the Grand Pines Hotel, Parry Donald’s Salon inside the Brookdale Mall, to name a couple. We could make your spa something magical...but more than that, we can make it unlike anything else this city has seen.” Kay laid out her plan in detail.

  Mr. Arnell seemed pleased. “Did Jasper come up with this?”

  The idea to forgo the tropical bamboo forest concept was Kay’s own, inspired by the mocha-colored paint Guillermo brought to the drafting table that morning. The rich tone had captured her imagination, inspired thoughts of fairy tales and magic. Instead of light bamboo-green, why not rich, deep pine?

  She wasn’t letting Jasper get a speck of credit. “No, sir. I’ve dropped him from the project.”

  Mr. Arnell nibbled his lip, while the Followills seemed uncertain for the first time, exchanging another glance.

  Kay put extra warmth into her smile. “As Mr. Arnell has suggested, Kind Lotus Spa is my opportunity to prove myself here at Free Leaf Concepts. Jasper’s specialty is the fountains we’re so fond of. I’ve simply set him to another task more aligned with his area of expertise.”

  That seemed to put them at ease. At least her clients. Mr. Arnell had receded into himself, distracted and distant, which Kay found unprofessional, but being the director gave him leeway to act however he wanted, she guessed.

  As the Followills were leaving, Mr. Followill shook Kay’s hand and smiled approvingly. It was at absolute odds with what came out of his mouth. “I foresee a single problem. Our working name for the business. Kind Lotus implies something of a Far East design, doesn’t it?”

  I’m such an idiot. Kay licked her lips. “I was going to see how you liked our model before I suggested something as drastic as name change.”

  He laughed. “I guess no one filled you in on the first half of the meeting. That’s why we’re here. We wanted to change the business name before you started on your designs. We’re calling it Sweetclover. No spa at the end, either. We’re hoping curious folks might drop in to see what we’re about if we don’t label.”

  Relief flowed like a light summer breeze. Talk about stars aligning. She beamed. “That’s brilliant. Great marketing strategy. I’ll have it look so amazing inside, people will take any excuse to stay.”

  Mrs. Followill grinned excitedly behind her husband’s shoulder. “We’re going to have a menu of quick services just for drop-ins. Ten-minute facials, that kind of thing.”

  “I plan on being one of your first customers.” Kay couldn’t have begged for her first client meeting to go any better. She turned to Mr. Arnell, happy and flush with her success, only to find him still drawn and worried. Her initial frustration was quickly overcome by concern. “Sir? Can I ask what I did wrong?”

  Slowly, Mr. Arnell’s anxious gaze settled on hers. “Probably nothing. Jasper is...uh, well, he’s my best friend’s boy.” He flapped his hand as if that hardly mattered, even as the revelation caught Kay in the gut.

  Her thoughts went to Merit. “For what it’s worth, it’s not the popular opinion. But it is mine, and I stand by it. I had no idea of your personal connection.”

  “No one does. Except for Merit, of course.” Mr. Arnell rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “I’ve been remiss, haven’t I? Jasper is okay. Not great.” His gaze became uncertain as it alighted on Kay again. “I commend you, making that tough call. Not one I could make.” His gaze darted away again, and his eyebrows rose slightly at the admission. “Just as bad, playing favorites, though. May I ask who you’d like to replace Jasper on the Sweetclover project?”

  Kay decided Easton Arnell was a strange man. An open book, but folded into himself. It made her wary, and she could see how he kept employees in line, even intimidated them, without doing anything more than having a large body and a distant mind. She experienced a strong shot of gratitude that he asked her opinion. He was treating her like her job title, not according to her appearance.

  She cleared her throat. “Well, sir—”

  “Easton. You can call me Easton.” His expression was still drawn in worried consideration, but the words were polite.

  “Okay. Um, Easton. I thought maybe we could subsidize the job, just this once. Jasper is good, you’re right about that. But he could be better. With some practice, maybe some classes down at the university, he could be great.” For some reason, something held her back from confessing Jasper’s talent was only half his problem.<
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  “You have impressive friends to call on,” Easton said, nodding to himself. “You have my permission to hire whoever you’d like. I’m intrigued by your vision for the Followills’ spa.”

  “Thank you, sir. Easton. I’ll do my best to follow through.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course you will.” He glanced at his watch. “Noon already. I have an appointment. I bet you haven’t taken lunch.” He walked to the door and opened it for Kay. An honest-to-goodness gentleman.

  “No, not yet.” She smiled tentatively. “We can go down together.”

  “Oh, no, I...” Easton cleared his throat and straightened his tie as he walked into the hallway after Kay and closed the door to the conference room. “I take the stairs. Elevator’s always occupied. And the exercise, it’s good for a man my age.”

  Kay stared. She’d die of exhaustion, taking on five flights of stairs multiple times a day. No wonder she’d never seen him coming or going. “Okay, then. Thanks for the support, Mr. Arnell. Easton.” She’d never, ever get used to that. He was simply the kind of man due a certain degree of respect. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t think I’ll ever feel right calling you Easton.” She laughed nervously. “But thanks, you know, for supporting me.”

  He smiled, but he’d grown more distant, and it was a flash, there and gone in seconds. He stared at the floor now, hands in his slacks pockets, already moving in the opposite direction of the elevator. “Best thing a boss can do is let their employees do their jobs.”

  She nodded. Didn’t know what else to say. With a dorky little wave, she left him.

  Panic consumed her immediately. She’d done it. Convinced her boss to let her bring in outside help. Not even Merit could override her, now that she had Mr. Arnell’s blessing. Securing it had been easy compared to what came next.